this isn't really a question but i've been reading from your fics and sometimes it is hard to follow because of the long paragraphs. as a reader and writer myself i try to shorten up the paragraphs so the reader could easily understand what is happening. hope this helps <3
btw i loved your fics and your writing is so good 🫶🏻
oml i just saw this. Thank you so much for loving my work. :( I don't even post anymore but i appreciate it!
[ you thought being a famous model meant you could do whatever you wanted . . . until your new bodyguard park sunghoon decided to be the one to finally tame you !]
WRITING 𓈒 PWP , MINOR DNI , switch hoon , miscommunication , p in v , no protection (dont b silly wrap ur willy!!) , masturbation (f) , oral (f) , foot humping... (hoon..) , knee humping (if u squint) , outdoor sex , LOTS OF JEALOUSY!!!!! , petname : doll , princess , baby , good girl , good doll , good boy , make up sex , hoon lowk turned into a pup by the end , riding , cumming inside , squirting , slight angst , sunghoon turns VERY submissive , hickeys , brusing , sorry heeseung </3 𓏵
wc: 13.3k
a/n . . SET IN HONG KONG. this is my 1.5k followers treat!!!! pls pls PLS enjoy ^^ i worked hard on this </3 this is NOT proof read , m sorry for any mistakes
as the final flash of the camera went off, you let out a heavy sigh. you'd spent the last eight hours on the streets of mong kok in different fabrics of silk and under the red and green lights. and finally, your photoshoot was done.
you shrugged off the last piece of your outfit, the fur boa, and pulled up your usual clubbing attire, a black leather top, and matching skin-tight shorts. your sense of freedom.
which was about 30 seconds.
your bodyguard, park sunghoon, practically teleported from wherever the fuck he was. he was silent the whole day, from the moment you guys arrived on set, to lunch, where he let out low hums as he served you the shumai, untill now, as he stepped into the fading red light, the black suit practically the only shade you could see.
"car's ready to take you back to your apartment," he stated, no 'that was amazing!' or any 'good job out there', it was just a command.
"what? i'm not going home," you said rather angrily, brushing past him towards the makeup station to (aggressively) remove the remnants of your mascara. as you wiped the liquid away, you caught his reflection in the mirror. he hadn't moved a single bit.
"you have a 6am call time for the coastal shoot."
"and i'll be there," you sighed, swivelling around on the stool to face him. "but… first, i'm going to go to chaconne. they're having a like… private event thing for the post shoot."
"that's a three-hour commitment. minimum. and with traffic, that lands you going back at 2am. miss l/n, you need that resting period," he had stated, like he was reading medical documents.
"i dont need that resting period, i need a drink," you argued, flicking the wet wipe into the bin, "i need to be around people who aren't paid to stand around and look menacing," you whined, watching him through squinted eyes.
the expression on his face didn't change; it stayed stoic. however, something in the air did. it tightened.
he studied your face for a while, the way you tilted your chin upwards, the pout hidden in your lips, the outfit leaving little to the imagination. you saw his gaze do that slow sweep he rarely did, from your eyes, to your well-sat chest, to your thighs, and back to your eyes.
he wasnt just looking, he was taking notes. memorising. and it made your skin crawl.
"fine," he said with a graze of his teeth, the word quiet you almost couldn't catch it.
you blinked, a small smile filling your lips. "fine?"
"go." he gestured with his head towards the door, "go to the club."
your mind raced at his words, but the suspicion crept in slowly. "just like that—? you'll really let me go?"
"you're not a prisoner, y/n. you're my client." he sighed, shaking his head as he pulled out his phone from his inner pocket. "my job is to make sure you're safe, not your schedule." his eyes peered at you for a second, scanning over your body once again before looking back down at his phone. "i'll inform the drive of the change."
you didnt know how or why, but the win didn't feel like something victorious, it felt like a dangerous game.
—
as soon as you set foot into chaconne, you were immediately swallowed by the familiar faces, and the smell of baileys hit your nose. for the first hour, you practically blended in. you danced, you laughed, you let the bass of the music block sunghoon's silence entirely.
but, you never forgot he was there.
amidst the grinding bodies, he was practically a statue. he was propped against the bar, a bottle of water in his hand, his eyes tracking you through the crowd. not with any type of jealousy, but it was predatory. everytime you'd glance over at him, he'd already be watching. waiting for any type of signal from you that it was time to leave.
as the second hour started, the mood in the air soured. his gaze became heavier, a weight pressing down the back of your neck. your laughter started to feel forced, every smile feeling forced and awkward under his harsh gaze.
you tried to push the heavy feeling away, to drown it in the noise of shouting and singing. to your fortune, an opportuinity presented itself almost immediately, a fashion designer you vaguely recognised from one of your runways slid into the space beside you, his smile sly yet practised.
"hey," he murmured, leaning in a bit too close, his hot breath fanning your ear. "what's someone as beautiful as you doing here all alone? mannequins should never leave the store."
you internally grimaced at the shit pick up line, forcing out a sheepish laugh as you tilted your head. "maybe this mannequin is looking for a new owner." your face scrunched at your own words.
his eyes shone under the light. "is that so? well, i have an exclusive collection for you. private try-ons only." his hand settled against the small part of your back, a hot touch that you both welcomed, but resented. it was a distraction, something to take your mind off of sunghoon. "i've heard that your shoot today was… brutal. let me buy you a drink, a real one, yeah? something to soothe the nerves."
you were about to reply, to lean into the empty flirtation, when the atmosphere around you had frozen. it felt heavy, the tension strong enough that you could shatter it with a hammer. from the corner of your eye, you had seen sunghoon straighten from his lean at the bar. he didn't move, but his stillness became more… aggressive. his gaze was fixated on the man's hand on your back. as you looked back up you could see the change in his expression. his eyebrow slightly furrowed, the way he bit the inside of his cheek, the way his jaw twitched slightly.
and the designer must've felt it too. his face faltered at the feeling. "you, uhm… you came here with someone..?" he asked, voice losing the smooth edge feeling.
before you could even answer, the man's hand twitched and lifted from your back as if the leather had scorched him. he took a full step back, eyes darting past your shoulder with a sudden wariness and fear. "right— okay, maybe another time," he mumbled, already drifting back into the large sea of bodies.
you stood there, his touch now a ghost around your back. your face had heated up with a slight embarrassment as you looked at sunghoon once again. he hadn't lifted a finger, nor said a word. he'd existed, and that was enough to clear the area around you. the message was undeniably clear: enough.
your mind raced in fury and a hint of alchol. he wasn't trying to protect you, he was trying to restrict you.
and you decided to make it impossible for him, with a stomp of the foot you had pushed deep into the crowd of dancing bodies, deliberatley breaking his line of sight. and for five minutes, you were free. you had let the music take you away, throwing your head back, arms in the air, probably grinding on someones dick.
without a warning, an arm had snaked around your waist, locking you in place.
you yelped, but the sound of the music was too loud for anyone to hear it. before you could even process it, the world was upside down. the floor had vanished, replaced by the dizzy view of people's moving backs and flashing lights. the air had left your lungs, leaving you winded.
he had slung you over his shoulder like a sack of flour, a hand braced across the back of your thighs as he had owned you.
"what the hell are you doing!?" you shrieked, pounding your fists against the solid muscle of his lower back, to him it felt like you weren't doing anything. "put me down! sunghoon!"
he didnt answer, he had just began to move through the crowd with a dominance that made people stumble out of the in fear. the heat of his body seared through the leather top, his shoulder was pressed uncomfortably against your stomach.
you were mortified, livid, and painfully aware of the sheer power in the way he moved, effortlessly carrying you as if you weighed nothing. "you said fine!" you yelled, voice muffled by the music and his suit jacket, which smelled annoyingly like whiskey and axe bodyspray.
"your 'fine' is over," his voice was a low, rumble that you felt through his chest rather than heard. "i've told you, the 6am call time isn't negotiable. this is." he pushed through the fire exit of the building, the music replaced by a sudden silence and the cool air of the alley making you shiver.
he didnt put you down, he carried you all the way towards the black suv, opening the door with his free hand, his arm around your thighs, tightening as if he wanted to hold himself back, and practically threw (sat you down with aggression) you onto the cold leather seat.
he braced a hand on the doorframe, leaning in, his entire body blocking any chance of escaping. his hair was slightly dishevelled and sticking to his forehead from the crowd, his breathing still perfectly even. in the midst of it all, you could see his eyes from the car's subtle light. they were dark, filled with something wild.
"the next time," he said, voice hoarse, the threat dancing over your skin giving you goosebumps, "you decide to test me, consider how it'll end up. i can do this all night, darling, but, can you?"
he closed the door, not letting you answer his words; the darkness surrounded you in an instant. your heart hammered against your chest in humiliation and a hidden thrill. he'd manhandled you, and he won. you could feel the ghost of his shoulder and the imprint of his arm around the back of your thighs still burning. you wanted to tell yourself it meant nothing, you tried to, but you could feel your stomach coil just by thinking about it.
sunghoon sat in the opposite seat, taking deep breaths as he tried to cool his mind. his hand straightened his suit jacket, smoothing a hand over his dishevelled hair. he was looking out the window at the blurred lights of the city, his profile sharp, as if he hadn't tossed you over his shoulder infront of the cities elite's, as if your body wasnt still hot and heavy.
"you touched me," you said, voice trembling, not from fear, but with a rage that was dangerously close to something else you didn't want to admit.
he didn't turn, eyes glued to the outside. "i needed to remove you from the dangerous situation."
"dangerous?" a bitter laugh left your throat. "it was the fucking dance floor."
he let out a heavy sigh before finally shifting his head, streetlights fractured in his dark eyes. "you were three minute's from being followed into the bathroom by a man whose name you didn't even know, y/n." he scoffed, crossing his arms. "i bet you didn't even know his friends were recording from the bar. i'm pretty sure that's dangerous."
the information ran through your mind in an instant. you hadn't noticed, of course not. you were too busy trying to escape the sight of sunghoon, to even realise. the anger that was once racing through your mind had now faded into a sickening shame.
but, you didnt want him to see him, you couldn't let him see it. so, you doubled down on your words, facing away towards the window and crossing your arms over your chest. "so, your solution was to… manhandle me? like im some sack of potatoes?"
"my solution," he said, voice dropping to a rasp and one vibrating between the small space of both of you, eyes zeroing in on the way your chest popped out, "was the most efficient way to drag you out without causing a larger scene." his eyes gazed from your chest, down to your thighs which were clenched together, and back up to your wild hair. you could feel the tension and desire radiating off of him. "you left me no choice."
"i hate you," you whispered, the words having no meaning behind them.
he let out a content hum, turning away to face the window as well, mirroring your position. "right back at you, brat." the nickname just split out of his mouth, making your eyes wide, a wave of heat travelling through your skin. yet, you didn't mention it, letting the words hang in the car.
as the car stopped, he was out the door before the driver could even move or turn off the car, opening your side of the door. he didn't offer a hand; he just stood there with the door wide open, eyes sharper than ever as he watched you and waited.
with a huff, you slid out, legs unsteady and shaking. you had made a point to brush against him as you passed, your hands gliding against his own, and you could feel him go perfectly still. making you smirk as you walked in front of him.
the ride in the elevator was worse. the mirrored walls reflecting both of you, the silence filling up the small box. you could see every bit of your own emotion, your flushed cheeks, disheveled hair, and the bewildered glint in your eyes. while he was calm and 'controlled'.
but, you knew better than anyone else.
you watched his face through the reflection. you could see the subtle twitch in his jaw when you shifted your weight. you caught the way his gaze flicked down for a split second, a violation of his own rules, before snapping back to the ascending numbers on the screen. you noticed each blink that lasted a second too long, the way his tongue swiped over his lower lip.
he was holding himself back from doing something he'd regret in the future.
the elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, the cool air hitting both of you in an instant. you took fast steps towards the penthouse's door, heart racing slightly as you opened the doors, tossing your clutch onto the side table with a sharp clatter.
you expected to hear the door shut behind you, leaving you alone in shame and humiliation. instead, you could hear his footsteps right behind you. he'd followed you in. he never came this close, unless it was to do a security sweep of your place.
with a furrow on your face, you whirled around to face him. "what?"
he stopped a few feet away, his hands back in that relaxed position behind his back. "you will drink a full glass of water, and take the aspirin i've left on your counter." his voice left no room for argument, as he placed a small box on the kitchen island. "you'll be in bed, lights out, within an hour." his eyes traced the lines of your face, the way your chest frantically rose and fell. "i'll known if you arent."
"or what?" you scoffed, shaking your head softly to seem intimidating. but, it came out soft, less sure. "you'll tuck me in yourself?"
the silence that followed was deafening; it practically sucked out the air of the room. you noticed the way his jaw tightened again, the muscle twitching. his gaze dropped to your mouth and your neck, just for a heartbeat, before snapping back to your eyes.
his professional persona was still there, but underneath it, you could see him fighting with his own control.
"do not," he mumbled, words so quiet they were almost inaudible, "push me tonight, y/n."
it wasn't a threat from your bodyguard, but a warning. one from the man hidden behind his professionalism, one filled with honesty and admission. the line between you two is thinner than ever.
your breath hitched as you stood there frozen. the anger now gone, burned away and replaced by something white-hot and fragile in its place. your emotions rushed through your brain, and you wanted to scream. cry. you wanted to close the distance between you both and see what would happen if you finally went against his words and pushed him.
he was the one who had broke the tension first. he let out a shaky, almost disappointed sigh, as he nodded, turned on his heel, and walked out. the door closed with a soft, definitive click. you didn't move after he left, just placed your hand on your stomach. you could feel the ghost of his shoulder against you, the raspiness in his voice. do not push me tonight, y/n."
after five minutes, you had moved. your mind racing as you followed his orders. you poured the water he'd demanded, you swallowed the aspitin left neatly on the counter. his voice practically controlling you as you mindlessly completed his tasks.
however, you didnt go to your bedroom like he told you to. you found yourself on the wide, cold ledge of your window knees drawn to your chest as you stared down at the city lights below you. mind replayed every single second. the possessive grip, the dizzying view from his shoulder, the way his jaw tightened when you called his name, the feeling of his hands branding your thigh.
a soft buzz cut off your thoughts; the glow of your long-forgotten phone had lit up the glass beside you. a notification, one that sunghoon had probably set when you were doing your photoshoot.
6 am - costal shoot , call time @ repulse bay.
your heart raced at the notifiaction, your fingers couldnt move to even pick up your phone. you just stared at it until the screen faded to black, leaving you with your thoughts again.
a sound of the car beeping made you snap back to reality, head shaking in an instant. he thought he had won, he thought once he left he had reestablished the boundary between you two. and he did, for 10 minutes. he though you'd be a good girl and go to sleep, like he told you too.
with a shaky exhale, you slid off the ledge, a new calm settling over you. you didn't change out of the leather top and skin-tight shorts. you just walked to your bedroom, but not to sleep. you sat on the edge of your bed in the dark, watching the digital clock on your bedside table tick to 2 am.
you were going to that shoot, you were going to be on time, and professional. but something was going to change, sunghoon was going to change.
you picked up your phone, the glow illuminating your face, expression unreadable. without a thought, you clicked the camera app open, and pushing down your tubetop, your breasts practically falling out in an instant, nipples barely hidden by the shirt. with a hidden smirk, you clicked the photo button.
next, you pushed your pants down, just below your ass to reveal your panties, before you breached the waistband of your underwear, snapping another photo.
with a shakey breath, you had clicked the 'record' option, placing the phone beside you, at an angle where sunghoon could see your side, yet not enough of you.
your fingers delicately swiped over your clit, letting out a shivery moan. before dipping your fingers into your hole, the slick instantly coating your fingers. "sunghoon…" you whispered, loud enough for the camera to catch, two fingers instantly pumping in and out of you.
your mind blank as you curled your fingers, your palm hitting your clit— and just like that, you came and saw white, sunghoon's name on your tongue as you moaned. your fingers rested inside you, slowly scissoring to let you ride down your high.
with a smirk, you went to stop the recording with your free hand, searching his contact name on your messanges: park sunghoon , kinda annoyingly hot bodyguard
you : [attachment: 2 images , 1 video]
you : come over m so lonely ;(
you hit send with a sigh, the silence stretching for one minute. then two. and you saw him read the message, ellipsis dissappearing and reappearing. and by that moment, you knew you've gotten him. before he could even send a message, you tossed your phone onto your bed, chest still heaving slightly before rolling over to fall asleep.
sunghoon : miss y/n? what is this?
sunghoon : fuck, is that what you really think of me?
sunghoon : it's 2:07 am.
sunghoon : dont fucking tempt me. dont send me shit like this again.
—
the alarm beeped aggressively beside your ear, waking you up rudely from your dream of getting fed grapes like a god. in it, however was sunghoon, his eyes doe and almost submissive. everytime he spoke it sent shivers down your spine.
you fumbled to silence the blaring noise by your head, outside still dark due to the early morning of 4 am, for a moment, you just layed there. the memories of last night's actions rushing back to you, resulting in a red face, yet not in regret or embarrasment, just reality hitting you. you had crossed a line, and you couldn't erase it.
you moved through your usual morning routine with a eerie clamness. the shower was hotter than usual, your skincare just a tad more sloppier than usual, your outfit more simple than usual, a oversized hoodie and some shorts. something had switched.
you didn't check your phone, you didn't need to. the proof of what you'd done was heavy in the air of your penthouse. you could feel chills running down your spine as you took a step out of the door, your eyes trying to adjust to the bright light of the lobby at 5:28 am, you practically saw it immediatley. the suv was already there, waiting for you.
sunghoon stood outside the passenger door, arms crossed over his broad chest, staring directly at the building's entrance. but you could tell something was off, he wasn't in his usual composed stance, no. his foot was tapping ever so slightly against the concrete, he wasn't wearing his suit jacket, just the white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and he looked like he might've slept in it.
as soon as you stepped foot into his eyesight, you could see the tension and eyebags under his eyes. there was no professionalism left, his gaze dark and furious as he intensely stared at you. you noticed the way his jaw tightened and how his biceps through the thin material pop.
he didn't speak, nor did he open the door. he just stared, waiting for you to come closer, his entire presences a practical question.
you gulped a hard lump in your throat, own expression blank as you walked to the car. you stopped a few feet from him, morning air cooler between your bodies. the scent of axe body spray and coffee had wrapped around you.
"you're early…" you said, voice unnaturally calm in the heavy silence of the morning.
his eyes, the sharp gaze on you didn't waver. "you're late," he countered, voice low and rough. it wasn't about the time.
after what felt like forever, he'd finally move a sharp single step that closed the distance. he was close enough now that you could see the redness around the corner of his eyes, the way his pupils were dialated, the way his adams apple bopped. he had reached behind him, yanking the car door open for you. it wasn't a gesture of service, but an order.
"get in."
you hesitated, just for a second, looking up at him. you were this close to flipping the script, follow his orders like a pet, just like you did last night. but you didnt, you huffed, crossing your arms once again.
"or what?" you whispered, the challenge in your voice lacked its usual heat, this time it was a genuine question.
a humorless sound escaped his lips. he leaned in, voice dropping to something more dangerous only you were meant to hear. "or i wont be responsible of what i say or do, pretty. we both have a long day ahead of us, so if you wouldn't be such a brat…" he straightened himself, moving towards the side to let you in, "get. in. the. car. now."
the threat was different than his usual ones, he wasn't going to physically remove you. it was about words, truths. about the way he was holding everything that had built up between the both of you. with a exhale, you slid into the backseat of the car, not missing the way he looked at your backside as you entered.
as soon as you buckled your seatbelt, he didn't slam the door, he'd just closed it with a precise finality. the sound ending anything you would've wanted to say. as he walked around towards the other side, you saw him run a hand through his already messed up hair, a rare occurance, before he had composed himself, straightening his shoulders as he got in.
the driver pulled away from the curb, the only sound surrounding you was the engine. you were alone in the back with him, anything could practically happen. you glanced up at him with a almost worried look in your eyes. he stared straight ahead, his profile still perfect than ever, just… his eyes had more emotion, a storm of them. anger, dangerous and something raw, one that made your stomach clench.
you opened your mouth, not even sure of what you would've said, an apology? something to provoke him more? the words died in your throat before it could even reach your mouth.
"don't," he said, the single word cutting the silence instantly. he didn't look at you, his voice low and strained, almost painful to hear. "don't say a single word to me right now."
he finally turned his head, full force of his gaze weighing down on you. it wasn't anger anymore, just an exhausting intensity.
"you think this is a game," he started, voice dropping lower and almost trembling. "you think sending me… that.. in the middle of the night was just another way to win." he leaned in slightly, making you press your back against the seat. "you have no idea what you're playing with. no idea what you're asking for."
you wanted to move away, jump out the car even, but you couldn't. he held your wide-eyed star for a long, almost punishing moment before turning back to the window without another word, as if he couldn't bear to look at you anymore. you could see his hand, the one resting on his thigh, clenched into white knuckled fists.
the rest of the drive passed in a sufforcating silence, as you watched the citylines of causeway bay turn into discovery bay, the secenery nothing but a smear of random colours against the window. you wanted a reaction, but you got a reality check, one you werent able to even handle.
—
the shoot was basically torture. you were following his words to the bone: punctual, polite, cooperative top model. not saying you weren't, but you'd have to be on your best behaviour infront of sunghoon.
your smile's were filled with more sugar, your short patients miraculously had turned into hours as you waited for the stylist's adjustment's of your dress, and you even took the photographer's critisism with a simple nod, no argument.
it was basically a performance, and one that was solely for him.
sunghoon stood at his usual post, his dark shadow against the white rental van, but his professional mask now a facade. you could feel his gaze on you, more hotter than the morning sun. every time a male staff member's hand lingered near your shoulder to adjust a strap, you saw the subtle flare of his nostrils. every time you laughed at a joke from the photographer, his jaw tightened just a bit.
you have never been more away of your own body, of every gesture, every glance.
the first break came, you were shivering under the sun, the sea's wind hitting you like an ice brick. you hugged yourself, rubbing you arms to heat yourself up.
"tough gig, huh?"
the voice practically made you jump. you turned around with wide eyes, only to relax as you saw him. kim sunoo, a model you've done dozen campaigns with. he was a harmless and friendly guy, who was convienetly in a long puffer jacket. "they always forget we're humans, not mannequins, huh?" he laughed, already shrugging out of it. "here, before you turn onto a frozen statue."
you rolled your eyes, smiling in an instant. "you're an angel," you laughed, already accepting the vest. as you pulled it on, you practically moaned in relief as you felt the warmth envelop you, your arms wrapping your body once again. "seriously, i owe you, sunoo."
"just get me a coffee later," he joked, leaning a shoulder against the same equipment crate you were near.
you chatted about anything and everything during your break, your mutual ganecy, about what you'd do after your careers, five nights at freddys lore, anything. you let yourself relax into the conversation, despite the high-stakes war with your own bodyguard.
from across the set, sunghoon watched. he saw the way sunoo gave you his jacket. he saw you hug it around yourself, face softening in a way it never did for him. he saw how sunoo leaned in, how close you were, how you smiled. it wasn't the blantant provocation of your videos, but worse.
it was natural, a glimpse of you that existed outside of him, a you who could be warm and smiled at by someone else.
a cold, quiet rage began to bubble in his veins, one slow and deadly.
the shoot resumed, you gave the jacket back with another thanks. but, the damage was already done. for the next hour, sunghoon's mind filled with a storm of emotions. his silence grew heavier, more oppressive.
he had stopped obesrving, and began to track your every move. when sunoo passed you a bottle of water, sunghoon's eyes followed the bottle as if it was a knife. when sunoo just brushed past you, sunghoon's eyes followed him as if he was robbing you.
the final straw came during the last setup. you were waiting for the lighting adjustments with a hot pack in your hand. sunoo had went over to you to show you a funny video, as you offered him a hot pack as well. with a laugh, you both leaned over the screen, heads held close together. the sound from the both of you genuine.
that was it.
sunghoon moved for the first time.
he didn't just walk, he took long steps that closed the distances with a terrifying speed that had staff members stumbling out of his way. once he reached you, he didn't utter a single word to sunoo. he had simply inserted himself between you, his back to the other model, body physically cutting him off from you.
his hand closed around your elbow, but it wasn't the polite touch of a bodyguard, but from someone who was possessive, jealous. the grip firm enough to make you gasp.
"we're leaving. now," his voice left no room for argument, it practically vibrated with tension that had been built for hours. now, this wasn't about any safety. it wasn't about the schedule. it was all about him.
"sunghoon, what— the shoot, it isn't—" you started, heart hammering.
as his eyes locked onto yours, you noticed something. you noticed how his controlled composure is gone, replaced by something feral and animalistic. "do not," he bit out, each word laced with venom, "say another word."
he turned, pulling you with him. he didn't lead you to a car or a tent. he marched you towards the secluded cluster of jagged rocks that hid you from the view of the silent, stunned set. his grip was burning into your wrist, steps long and furious on the uneven sand, forcing you to stumble to keep up in your heels.
the sound of the sea grew louder, the crash of waves against the stone's muting the distant murmurs of the staff and set.
once you were hidden, he released your wrist only to spin you around, backing you against the cold rough stone. his rough hands came up on either side of you, caging you in, body blocking out the sky.
he was breathing heavily, not from any sort of tirdness, but from the amount of emotion holding him back. the scent of the sea practically nonexistant by the heat of him, the smell of his deodarant now making your head spin.
"explain." he demanded, voice low and a ragged growl. his eyes searched your face, hungry and furious. "the video you sent. the messages. and… him." he didn't say sunoo's name, as if it would kill him if he did. "what is this game, y/n? what do you want from me?"
he leaned in closer, face a breath away from yours. his gaze was terrifying, and… you'd hate to say it, but it was hot.
"y/n, i've done everything to control myself. i've tried my best to maintain every rule i've set for myself. and— you. you have done nothing but try and provoke me." his voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "so tell me. right now."
"what. do. you. want?"
your breath hitched, a sharp sound lost in the crash of the waves. your lips parted, but no sound came out. your eyes dropped from his predatory glare, to his mouth, then back up.
his own restraints was as visible as yours. you could see the veins of his neck popping out, the way his hands pressed against the rock beside your head, whitening knuckles, shaking slightly, from holding back from closing the distance between your bodies.
"y/n." he said, your name sounding desperate and broken. "answer me."
you swallowed, the lump in your throat nearly choking you.
the truth, the stupid, terrifying truth, tumbled out in barely a whisper.
"you."
the word hung in the cool air between the both of you.
a ragged exhale escaped him, eyes squeezing shut for a second as if it was a dream. when they open again, the possessivness was still there, but it had melted. melted into something more hotter, and definitely more dangerous.
"me," he repeated, words low and almost disbelieving. "you want, me?" he shifted, one hand from from the rock, his fingertips coming to brush against the pulse hammering in your throat. "the anger? frustration? the man who loses his mind because another man dared to give you his jacket?"
you nodded, a tiny, almost unoticible movement. "i want you to stop being my bodyguard for a second, sunghoon." you gasp, heart pulsing out of your mouth. "i want you to just be… him. the one who gets angry, the one who manhandles me out of the club. the one who probably jacked off to the video i sent you at 2 am."
his breath hitched at your last words, a soft blush creeping onto his face. his thumb swept over your jawline, touch still terrifyingly gentle compared to his intensity. "that… that man isn't safe for you," he breathed, forehead lowering until it touched yours. "that man wanted to do things… things that breaked every single rule. since the first day i saw you."
"then break them," you whispered, own hands coming up to fist the front of his shirt weakly. "please, for me. break them all."
a low, tortured sound rippled through his chest, it was the sound of something snapping.
"fuck you," he murmured, voice lacking of any threat, as his mouth captured your own.
it wasn't gentle, it was something claiming, one of a desperate answer to everything you've thrown his way.
the hand on the rock left to frame your face, his kiss swallowing your gasp, pouring the months of tension into you. from the sleepless nights, to the seething frustration to your provoking moves. you could feel him tighten his hand around your neck just a tiny bit, as he pushed his body closer to yours. the rocks behind you digging into your back as his knee slotted between your legs.
you moaned into the kiss as you felt his knee push against your cunt, only for him to growl into your mouth as a warning. the hand around your neck tightening. "don't be too loud, princess." he rumbled, his chest vibrating against yours.
a sound punched out of you, a desperate gasp you didn't even recognize as your own. your body moved on its own, your hips seeking friction against the muscle of his thigh through his slacks and your dress. a tight coil practically hit your stomach, and you knew with humiliating clarity that he could also feel how desperate you were. how the slick heat rushed through you onto your panties.
a low dark chuckle vibrated in his chest, one that sounded of pure male satifaction. "easy now," he murmured, breath hot against your lips. his voice was rough, thick with control that was entierly different than before, this. this was the control of a man who knew he'd won. "i know we just… 'confessed'."
god, he was so hot. and he clearly, almost devastatingly, knew it. the hand that had been at your neck tightened for one last possessive squeeze, before sliding down. his palm tracing a path over your bollarbone, the curves of your breast, to setllte firmly on your waist.
his other hand joined it, fingers splaying across the small of your back. "here," he growled, word more of a command than endearment. he guided your hips against his thigh, his own hip foward, the press deliberate and undeniable, letting you feel the hard proof of his own lack of control. "this is what you wanted, isn't it? to see me break, to see me like this?"
he moved again, a slow, griding roll that had stars trickling behind your eyelids. his forehead dropped against yours, eyes burning into yours inches away. the feral anger had disappeared, transforming into a smoldering, possessive heat.
"congrats, brat." he breathed, his lips a hair away from yours. "you've got exactly what you asked for."
his mouth didn't touch yours. he held that agonizing, painstaking distance, letting the heat of your ragged, breaths mingle in the space between the both of you. he was taunting you, showing you how he could control you.
and that made you see red.
enough of these games. enough of the torturous pace. your hands flew up, fingers tangling in the dark strands of his gelled hair. you didn't coax him, you pulled him. yanking his head down with a force that erased any distance.
the moment your lips met, it wasnt sweet. it wasn't gentle. it was something final, furious. one that ended the war of pining between you two. a gasp was wallowed between you, and he froze for one second, shock stilling him.
then, with a low growling sound, that was filled with pure hunger, he had gave in.
no, he took over.
his arms wrapped around your waist tighter, crushing you against the wall of his chest and the cold rock behind you. the kiss transformed from a desperate claim into something almost pathetic. it was all the heat and demand, his mouth moved over yours with a starving intensity. you could feel his hard on grinding against your clothed cunt.
"please." you begged, unsure of what you were even begging for. the sharp thrust of his cock against you made you practically cry. your moans silenced by his kisses. "shh…"
one of his hands slid from your waist to under your dress, the heat almost unbearable. his finger hooked your panties to the side, feeling the slick against your cunt. "so needy for me arent you?" he muttered, his index and middle finger inside of you within seconds, just like the video you sent him.
his fingers curled and scissored you, making your knees feel weak. you didn't know how, but fuck, he was good. his palm slapped your clit occasionally, the sensation making you moan into his mouth louder than before.
he was practically drinking them up as if it was whiskey, the sound music to his ears. "i need you to turn around for me, can you do that, baby?" his hands already pulling away from you, to unzip his slacks.
you eagerly nod, turning around as your hands braced the harsh rocks. you could feel his mushroomy tip glide across your hole, making your back arch, and push towards him. sunghoon practically took his time with you.
each movement was slow and deliberate, your stomach curling into an aching need, it was practically crazy how bad you wanted him. in public.
"want me bad, dont ya?" he muttered, his hand fisting the flesh of your ass, to spread you wide open. his tip finally slides into you with ease, making you both moan.
he practically gave you no time to adjust, pulling out to slam back inside of you. the thrusts were so rapid you needed to grip onto the rocks until your knuckles turned white. "shit, i've been waiting," he groaned, his teeth nipping the back of your neck. his hand going down to land a sharp slap on your ass cheek.
you cried out at his words and actions, biting your lip till it bleeds. "fuck, sunghoon—" you whined, eyes practically rolling to the back of your head. you could feel his hands grip around your waist, leaving marks against your neck which wont disappear for another few weeks,
"gotta show everyone who you belong to, yeah?" he growled, teeth still connected to your skin as his hand goes to circle your clit. his thrusts still as brutal as ever. "i want you to cum." he whispered, the sound almost so seductive contrasting the waves.
you nod against the rocks, earning a sharp slap against your already red ass cheek. "y—yes!" you winced, your stomach coiling and knotting at the feeling.
"good girl." he purred, and that alone made you cum on the spot. your moan high pitched as your gummy walls clenched around his cock.
"hoon—" you cried out, letting yourself ride out the high by sunghoons brutal thrusts.
"shit, baby. i'm gonna—" he groaned, pulling out just in time so he came onto the rocks, his cum shooting ropes onto the grey stone, which, in your opinion, was a waste.
he groaned softly as he tucked himself in, his mind clouded with the feeling of you wrapped around his cock. but, he still had a job to do. he kissed your temple softly, landing a playful slap on your cheek, making you jolt and whisper his name.
before you could even process it, his hands were on you again. he fixed you with a meticulous care, one more that any other guy has before. he tugged your panties back into place, the fabric damp against your senstive skin. he smoothed down the rumpled skirt of your dress, knuckles brushing your thighs.
then, with a smile, he pulled out a neaty, white handkerchief from his inner pocket. he knelt, just slightly enough, the sand dusting on his knees, to wipe away the slick evidence from your earlier activites, the feeling making you sigh softly, as he stood up and tucked it away back into his pocket for other uses.
he used his thumb to wipe away the tears, which you hadn't even realized were there. his expression was unreadable, something fixed with pure focus but also a hidden adoration behind it. when he finished, he cupped your chin, tilting your face to meet his eyes. a warm unusal smile plastered on his face.
"now," he hummed, voice low and even, laced with authority that left no room for argument. "be a good doll and finish that shoot for me, yeah?"
he released your chin, giving your hip a final pat, stepping back to hold out a hand to guide you away from the rocks. the change, sudden, but one you'd welcome. you smiled softly, one not os submission, but a secret understanding. you placed your hand in his, allowing him to guide you away from the rocks and back to the set.
as soon as you turned the corner, the entier set seemed to freeze. dozen eyes snapped to both of you, both wide and bewildered with curiosity. they could tell what had happened, evidence all over the both of you: the faint, reddish-purple bite marks on your neck and lower lip, the red, puffy rims of your eyes, the slight tremble in your legs. they saw him, his face no longer stoic, but composed with an undeniable smirk on his puffy lips as he held your hand, his thumb stroking a slow circle over your knuckles.
the silence was deafening, but not a single person, not the photographer, not the stylist, not even sunoo, had dared to say a word. the energy between you was raw and possessive. it needed silence.
sunghooon led you directly to the mark for the next shot. he leaned in, lips brushing against your ear as he adjusted a stray strand of hair for the cameras, his voice a low murmur only for you to hear.
"perfect. just like that, doll. don't forget to smile, yeah?"
he took a step back, melting into the background once again. but, you could feel his gaze on you, heavier and more possessive. you turned towards the lens, smile blooming effortlessly like you hadn't just fucked more than 10 minutes ago.
the shoot continued, everyone, forgetting what had happened, but you didn't. sunghoon was less aggressive, more clingy during your breaks, hands lingering on your waist, fingers brushing each strand.
you were his, and everyone on the beach knew it.
—
after the fiasco on the beach, as the both of you privaetly valled it, didn't end with a whispered agreement. it ended with a decision made in your comfortable at 3 am, his lips still tasting of the salty sea and your own lips. "no more hiding," he muttered into your hair, arms wrapped around your torso. "they'll find out either way, i'd rather they heard it from us."
and he was right, less than 48 hours it was all over every social media platform ever.
breaking news!
model, y/n l/n, now dating her bodyguard, park sunghoon!
. . . click here to see more !
the article had a grainy photo of the both of you shot from afar, leaving a quiet dinner, his hand not guiding you as usual, but intertwined with yours. the comments were a mix of shock, fake concern for your future, and people in denial. you didn't read most of it, and sunghoon made sure of that. plucking the phone out of your grasp, replacing it with a towel so you could dry his damp hair. "it's just noise, baby. we knew it would be."
you let out a laugh at his newfound clinginess, your finger going to tap his nose softly as you dried his hair, "you're like a dog, hoonie."
"i'm your dog." he mumbled, pressing a kiss into your thigh, making you slap him lightly with a towel.
"ow!"
over the month, you were inseparable. dynamic clearly shifting, he was no longer a shadow, but he was your boyfriend, present in every dimension of your life.
at shoots, he stood and watched, not from the shadows, but now from a director's chair with your name on it, going over security briefing notes, or more often than not, watching you with a pride that made your cheeks a soft pink.
dueing breaks, he didn't linger at the service table; he'd walk right onto the set, handing you a customised coffee, and kissing you softly, not caring about the crew's judgmental looks. "missed you," he'd whisper, as if you both were weeks apart.
in meetings, he sat beside you, not behind you. when a brand executive talked down to you, it wasn't you who stood up for yourself, but sunghoon. voice cold and lethally polite, would cut through the sharp air. "i'd reconsider your tone when you're talking to my girlfriend." the room would go silent, he wasn't just someone working for you, but someone who cared about you.
in the car, the drives were no longer silent; they were loud and bubbly. his hand would rest on your thigh, his thumb stroking absently as he scrolled through emails, while you talked about the drama inside the modelling scene, or you'd doze off with your head on his shoulder, lulled off by the way he would talk about his past careers before working for you.
the public saw a possessive bodyguard who'd crossed a line, but they didn't see the man who had learned how to braid your hair before bed to keep it from tangling, or the one who had a whole notes app dedicated to you and what you hated or enjoyed. they saw a scandal, while you saw someone hopelessly devoted to you.
he was there for you when you needed someone to hang onto, he was there when you needed someone to laugh with. he was also there when you got an invitation to go to one of the most luxurious galleries in hong kong.
the venue was a sleek, members-only gallery, all white walls and whispered conversations. you were on sunghoon's arm, wearing a silver and long dress, you practically felt like royalty. he was in a tuxedo, looking less like a bodyguard, and more like your future.
and for the first hour, it was perfect. you moved through the crowd together, you sipped champagne, admired the rather confusing art pieces and laughed at a few, you exchanged polite smiles with well-known models and artists.
sunghoon's hand never left your back, something that made you warm and comfortable. this was something you havent even dared to think about outside of your dreams, but here you are, the two of you, in this gallery full of famous people, only belonging to each other.
it felt like you lived on cloud nine.
until you felt his hand leave your back.
he leaned down, his lips pressed against your cheek softly. "i just got a text, i need to find the head of security," he murmured, voice a warm rumble. "two minutes, okay? don't move from this spot."
you nodded, a warm fuzz growing in your stomach, giving his arm a tight squeeze. "okay, hoon."
he shot you a look that was filled with affection and a small warning as he melted into the crowd with a silent elegancy.
you turned back to try and admire the banana tapped onto the wall, sipping your drink as your mind wandered. what the fuck is this and who bought it.
"a work of art looking at another work of art, huh?" a smooth voice hummed beside you.
your face scrunched, to see a man, tall and his hair a ashy brown, holding a business car between his fingers like he was trying to tell you a secret. "lee heeseung. i've been trying to get an introduction from you all night. your energy… is just wow."
he let out a soft hum, gaze flickering rather dismissively towards the direction sunghoon had gone. "right, mr. park? he seems like… a dedicated bodyguard, doesn't he? a bit intense for a place like this, don't you think?" he laughed, taking half a step closer to you, invading the space that sunghoon always maintained around you. "a masterpiece like you shouldn't be hidden by some… shadow. i'm having an after-party on my room, very exclusive. private. the view is undeniable. you look like you could use a taste of freedom."
your skin crawled at his words. you opened your mouth, you were about yell at him, tell him to stop, when the air around you shifted. the temperature didn't just drop, it congealed. you felt him before you even saw him.
sunghoon had returned, he stood fifteen feet away, his face from loving now carved into fury. he wasn't looking at you. his whole being was focused on heeseung, on the distance between you two, on the way he was leaning into your space. you saw the instant transformation of sunghoon in a detail you never wanted to see: the way all the colour drained from his pale face, his knuckles clencing into his fists, nails piercing the skin of his palm slightly, the strain in his neck, the blankess that filled his features.
then, without a word, he had turned and walked away. not towards you, but away. and you swore you could see his eyes cloud up. he cut through the body of people with sharp, angry steps, heading straight for the outdoor bar, by the balcony.
your heart sank at the view. he was leaving you there, with this parasite. this idiot. fine. that was fucking fantastic.
you turend back to heeseung, smile now sharp enough to cut paper. "mr. lee," you said, voice dripping with poision. "let me be perfectly clear. the only thing im interested in is you getting the hell out of my sight. if your brain was as intellegant as the way you spoke, you'd have noticed the man you insulted could practically break you in more ways than your money could ever fix!" you cheered, clasping your hands together. "now, you will turn around, and you'll walk away. and if you so much as think of my name again, i'll personally ensure the only thing you'd be reciving is a punch into that cocklette of yours."
the colour drained from his face, the smug confidence evaporating in a second. his hands flew to his clothed cock, as he stammered something with a red face and fled.
with a huff, you turned around, gaze pinned to the bar by the balcony. and there, you could see your handsome boyfriend against the night skies and a… girl. she was stunning, wearing a blood-red drss and her hair flowing in confident curves. you watched as she smiled, tilting her head.
she had said something, touching his forearm lightly with a pout. sunghoon simply nodded, face masked of a polite attention. he didn't take a step back, nor did he look uncomfortable. he just listened to her.
a hot, prickling feeling crawled up your neck. jealousy.
you swallowed the lump in your throat as you cut through the crowd, steps quickening by the second. as you got closer, you could hear her velvety voice.
"…you poor thing, it must be so demanding, a job like yours. all that focus. all that strength." she let her gaze travel over his shoulders in lust. "you look like you could handle anything."
sunghoon gave a single, acknowledging nod. "situational assessments and de-escalation are key components of being a bodyguard, yes.."
you almost choked at his words.
she laughed a flirtatious sound, leaning in closer to him. "i'm sure. i feel so much safer just talking to you. maybe you could give me a private lesson sometime, hm? i have a penthouse with a… very complex security system."
sunghoon's brows furrowed slightly, as if he was given a math problem. "i don't do private residential consultations… but my firm could refer you to a qualified specialist."
that was it, that tiny, meaningless gesture, after the build up of jealousy you'd just witness in him, was enough to fuel the tank.
(not so) calmly, you turned, back facing the scene. you watched as a waiter walked past you, allowing you to place the flute glass down, loud enough it made an echoing sound. you took large steps as you collected your clutch and the faux fur wrap from the coat rack with a smile, nodding at the attendant.
you moved through the lobby like a ghost, one untouchable and icy. your hands struggling to push the heavy doors into the cool night, the cities sound welcoming you made your head pound, silencing the sufforcating murmurs of the gallery behind you. you took a deep, shuttering breath as you took a step in your heels. you'd walk home in them if you had to.
you'd had made it exactly five steps away from the building when a familiar black car slid right beside you, the tinted window rolling down with a soft 'vrrr' sound.
he was inside.
you didn't know how, he was there so quick but you didn't mention it. he didn't lean foward, wasn't straining to see you. he was reclined in the leather seat, one arm draped along the back of the seat. you could see his eyes glancing at you with a unreadable emotion.
"get in."
his voice was quiet. flat. devoided of the rage you had heard, the warmth you craved. it was the voice he used to state facts. fork found in the kitchen. sky is blue. get in.
you stopped, letting out a huff and lifting your chin. "you don't get to do that. you don't get to walk away when some creep was all over me, then just show up and give me orders when you get jealous."
"he touched you?" the question was sharp, body going rigid.
"not the point!" you shot back, voice trembling. "the point is, you left. she showed up, and you— you actually acknowledged her! answered her when she flirted with you."
there was a second of silence, one that stretched for too long. "she asked about the job, i told her i'll refer her back to my company. that's all it was."
it sounded reasonable. it was most likely the truth. but your jealousy was already powered up, risen through the roof. "well, it didn't look like nothing. not after what i saw on your face. not after you walked away from me!"
he winced softly when you yelled at him. that was the first time he's ever heard you raised your voice. "get in the car." he repeated, the command now quiet and weaker, straining at the edges. "we'll talk at home."
"no." the word was final. you took a step back, away from him and the car. "i'm not getting in that car. i'm going to walk, and be alone. and you don't get to stop me this time."
as you started to turn, you saw it. the fracture in the dim light, you saw the mask crack. his eyes were widening, just a fraction, the way they started to cloud with something raw and painful. his lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out. for the first time, he had nothing to say.
he said nothing; he just stared. the patient confidence drained from his posture, leaving something hollow in his place.
with the lack of silence you caused, you turned on your heel. you didn't look back, just started to walk away. the sharp clicking of your heel on the pavement is loud and echoes against the night. you expected to hear the car door slam, expected his footsteps to be swept up and carried off despite all your protests.
but, none of that happened. you only heard the soft hum of the car window rolling up. then the whisper of tires driving off, leaving you alone on the sidewalk.
your words, now hollow and sucking at your chest with regret. you walked, the cold air a slap against your skin with each step. he had let you go. not on his own will, but because you had asked him to, and you had no idea how to come back from that.
—
the silence of the penthouse was different as you shut the door. it was heavy, a familiar silence, one usually filled with his quiet presences, the rustle of paperwork, the soft click of the glass being set down, the quiet whines for your attention, the low hum of his breath as he slept. now, it was replaced by the silence of your own breath.
you hadn't even bothered with the lights. you'd kick of your ruined heels at the door, the silver dress pooling around you like it was a sack as you sank onto the cold leather sofa. you didn't cry, just stared at the black tv screen, seeing nothing yet feeling everything.
the minutes blended into hours, the ice that ran through your veins had dissapeared, behind replaced by a needy ache. you had replayed it all, the way he had stilled, turned and left you, your own sharp words, the hury in his eyes before the window rolled up. the anger had burnt up, leaving only regret.
your fingers came to your lips, teeth instantly biting against your manicured nails. the sound only interuptted by a soft single knock.
not the key in the lock, not the soft beep of a security system.
just a soft knock.
your heart stuttered, then began a frantic rhythm against your ribs. he had never knocked, this was his house, their house, he had keys, codes, face recognition.
the knock came agian, this time a little harder. not impatient, but almost insistent.
slowly, as if moving through quick sand, you stood up. the silk pooled around your legs as you padded barefoot across the cold floor. you didn't turn on the foyer lights. you stood by the door, hand hovering over the handle.
you could see the shadow of someone standing in the hallway through the peephole. tall, broad-shouldered, head slightly bowed. you knew who it was.
with a gulp, you pulled the door open.
sunghoon stood there, barely in his tuxedo, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. his tie was loose, the jacket long gone, his buttons undone. his hair was disheveled, as if he had ran his hands through it for hours. he wasn't looking at the door when it opened, he was staring at the floor, where your feet were.
he didn't move to enter, but his head slowly lifted up to look at yours. his composure long gone and replaced by vulnerability. his eyes were red-rimmed, a sign he cried, his hands wrapped around the bouquet, shaking.
your breath hitched, the sound painfully loud in the quiet hallway. the sight was too much. it shattered the last of your own pride. without a word, without metting his eyes, you moved to push the door shut. it wasnt a slam, but a poor attempt to block out the heartbreaking image infront of you.
a soft, pained escaped him, a silence wince. then, his foot, covered in a polished leather, now ruined from walking, slid into the narrow gap, stopping the door from closing. his hand gently resting against the wood.
"please—"
the word was a ragged breath, something fractured. it wasn't his usual demands, but a plea, one from a place so deep it hurted, leaving no room for pride and games.
"please— y/n," he whispered, voice breaking on your name. he leaned his forehead against the door, eyes squeezing shut instantly. "let me in, let me talk—"
the bouquet of flowers, forgotten in his over hand, brushed against the door frame. he was holding onto it like a lifeline, the only thing he thought to bring as an apology now crushed.
"sunghoon, i dont—"
"please, y/n i promise—" his voice cracked, you could hear his voice waver. the words trembling in his throat. "i'll be… i'll be a good boy."
your eyes flew wide, your face flooding with heat in an instant. a good boy? the phrase, coming from someone like him, was oddly… hot? it sparked something low in your belly, a confusing clash of heartbreak and thrill. what was happening right now?
"i'll— i'll do anything, baby." he pleaded, the words rough in the tense space between the door and the frame. he pushed the door future open, just enough do his eyes found yours. and you could tell he was desperate, there was a sense of vulnerability behind him, and you were the one who saw it. "for you. to accept my apology, i'll be quiet if i have to! i'll obey. just, tell me what you want."
this was no longer a plea for forgiveness. it was an offer, a surrender of himself. he was begging to be let in at any cost. the word 'obey' didnt just hang in the air, it snapped something between the two of you.
you didn't move to open the door wider, you held his gaze through the narrow gap, your own breaths shallow. "you'll be quiet?" you repeated, voice dropping to a low, testing murmur.
he nodded, a sharp, desperate jerk of his chin. "yes, shit. anything."
"even if i don't want you to speak?" you asked, the sentence laced with a new, unfamiliar authority.
a shudder ran through him, his eyes, still red, darkened with an understanding that wasn't just about forgiveness. he let out a soft whine, nodding at your words. "even then," he breathed.
with a new recognition, you slowly released the pressure on the door. he didn't rush; he just pushed it enough for him to slide through, closing the door softly behind him, the final click sealing you both in the dim foyer.
he towered over you, yet it didn't intimade you, rather it empowered you. you could see the soft tremble on his body as he waited. you reached out and took the crushed flowers from his shaking hand, your fingers brushed against his. tossing the flowers onto the table without looking away from him.
"kneel."
the words were a soft command, and he didn't hesitate. sunghoon, your bodyguard, park sunghoon, had sank to his knees on the marble floor. his head bowed, broad shoulders tensed up.
the sight was beautiful, one that made you realise you had power over him, and he would'nt stop you.
you took a step closer, the hem of your dress brushing his bent knee. you let your gingertips trail from his temple, down to the line of his jaw, tipping his face up to yours. his eyes were glossy and shaking, making you smirk.
"you walked away from me tonight," you said, thumb brushing his lower lip. "you let me think you didn't care about me."
a pained distraught sound escaped his throat. "i care too much, baby. it destroys me."
you let out a soft laugh, your hand going to grip his hair lightly. "then show me," you whispered.
that was all he needed. his hand came up to grasp your hips, not to pull you down, but to anchor himself as he leaned foward, face pressed in the fabric that covered your stomach. his breath was hot and whiney. "i'm sorry," he murmured, words vibrating against your skin. "'m so sorry, i'll never do it again. i'll be good for you. so so good."
his voice was raw, and desperate. he turned his head, lips seeking the skin of your hip bone, kissing you through the silk. his hand slid around your lower back until you were pulled closer and cradled by him. "please…" he whined into you, unsure himself of what he wanted.
you let out a small coo at his words, helping him get you out of the dress. your hands fumbled with the zip at the back before shrugging the dress down, revealing the matching lace bra and thong you had one, the ones that made him water at the mouth. "y'know, babe. i was going to surprise you, but you've been such a bad boy."
the words bad boy rung in his ear, making him wince like a puppy. shaking his head instantly, tears threatning to slip. "nonono, please— i havent." his hands travelled around your hips, tugging at the waistband of your thong. the rough fingers feel desperate and needy.
a warm laugh vibrated through your chest as you let him peel the lace down your legs, his mouth watering at every inch revealed. "you're soso pretty, baby." he murmured, kissing the inner corner of your thigh.
your fingers threaded through his dark hair, not gently but filled with possessiveness that made him cry. you leaned back against the cool wall of the foyer for support. "show me how good you'll be for me," you whispered, command dark against the quiet penthouse.
a broken needy sound tore from his throat, a whine that was filled with surrender. he didn't hesitate. his hands tightened against your hips, holding you steady as he leaned in, mouth on your slicked hole in an instant, no teasing, nothing. a low moan vibrated against your core as his tongue lapped a desperate stripe through your slick, as if drinking you down was the only thing that could save him.
the taste of you seemed to push him more, a ragged groan echoed through your skin, as his arms wrap around your thighs to pull you even more firmly against his mouth. he wasn't skilled or practiced, rather hungry. his tongue worked on you with a worshipful intensity, his nosse pressed against you, breathing you in like you were his only source of air.
every lap, every suck, was a silent plea, one that wanted to demonstrate his promise. i'll be good, see? i'll be so good.
his fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, leaving small nail indents, as you arched into his mouth with a sharp cry, the combination of emotion and way was brutual, short-circuiting your thoughts. this was forgiveness, punishment and pleasure at once.
you felt his tongue dip deep in you, a throbbing pulse. then, as it manuvered through your gummy walls, it found the spot that made you moan louder than usual. the heat rushing through you and walls fluttering around the sudden feeling. he was mercilessly thorough, his tongue stroking a slow deep path before curling.
you let out a sharp gasp from your throat as he pratically abused it, hsi tongue flattening and pressing against your g-spot until the sensation was almost too much pleasure.
"fuck," you moaned out, the words broken. "you— you're so good."
the praise rushed through him, your hand fisted in his hair, tugging harshly as he groaned against you. the vibrating sound travelling staight to your core, the pain fueling him even more. his efforts redoubled, his tongue working faster, more accureatly, his lips sealed around your clit to suck gently, then harder.
you felt him shift, you heard the rustle of the fabric. then you felt it, the thick, hard line of his erection against your foot. the choked, desperate moan he let out was muted by your cunt, but you felt that as well, the way it mingled with the friction of his tongue.
the senstation was relentless, the wet heat between your legs and the view of sunghoon under you, proof of his own arousal, pushed you to the edge. your hips began to move as if they had a mind of their own, meeting the rhythm of his mouth, your breath came in ragged sobs.
he was worshipping you, serving you as if he was made to, and getting off on your foot from the sheer act of it. the power was intoxication, one where you were both completely lost in the storm you created. your body twitched occasionally, your head hung low as you felt your orgasm approaching. "such a good boy for me—" you groaned, liquid spilling out of you and down your thigh in an instant.
sunghoon's mouth just there to catch it for you, not spilling a single drop. his hips slowly starting to move like a dog on your foot. moans and whimpers escaping his lips as he felt his own orgasm approaching fast.
your cheast heaved as you watched him, how pathetic he looked. the grip in his hair was more powerful than ever as his hips stuttered, cumming in his boxers. "good boy, came just for me, didn't you?" you mocked, stroking his hair like he your pet.
he whined at your praise, a high, needy sound you'd never heard from him before, leaning into your touch as his teeth grazed your inner thigh in a possessive bite. "yes, yes yes! 'm your good boy, doll, please…!" he cried, looking up at you with the most devastatingly earnest doe eyes you had ever seen.
you could feel the hard line of his cock straining and growing against his trousesrs, pressing into your foot. a low laugh escaping you, the sound of pure power. "eager, aren't we?"
"only for you, princess." he gasped, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary rock against your foot. "always for you."
"c'mere, baby," you hummed, voice dropping to a velvet command. your hands fisted in the crisp, ruined collar of his tuxedo shirt, and you pulled. he rose to his feet in one fluid, powerful motion, his body towering over you, all heat and trembling in his muscles.
but you didn't let him look. you pulled him down, your grip harsh, bringing him face level with yours. his breath came in pants, lips glossy and parted, his eyes dazed with a desperate hunger and surrender.
"let me ride you," you murmured, your nose brushing against his, the words a hot promise against his mouth. "right here, right now. you're going to be so good and let me take what i want, arent you?"
a shudder was visible against his body. he nodded, frantic, beyond words, as his large hands came to cradle your face with a frantic tension. "all yours," he choked out, the words sounding like a cry. "however you want me. however you need me. i'm all yours."
with a slow, wicked smile, you tighted your grip on his hand and pulled. he followed without any resistance, trailing him. you led him towards the cool leather sofa that you earlier sat on, thinking about the very guy you were about to fuck.
with a gentle yet firm push, he sank back onto it, his own eyes wide and dazed, fixated on you. you didn't hesitate, straddling his hips in on smooth motion, settling your weight directly over the growing hardness straining against his trousers.
a gasp escaped him, his hands flying down to your thighs to steady you, grip brusining in intensity. the damp heat of you, had left a dark stain on the wool, but his eyes never left your face. he didnt care about the fabric, the mess, anything,. he had you on him, around him, and that was where he'd only want to exist.
without a word, your gaze locked onto his, your hands slid down the hard planes of his stomach, fingers working quickly of his belt, the buckle obscenely loud. you pushed his trousers and boxers down in one swift efficient motion, with the aide of his hips, a silent yet desperate cooperation.
his cock sprang free, thick and flushed as it slapped against his stomach. beads of precum glistening against the night's light.
"aww," you giggled, the sound dark yet as sweet as honey. you hooked a finger, against his cock, letting it drag against your warm slit. making him jerk in an instant.
you leaned fowards, one hand braced on his shoulder, lips a breath away from his. "is this what you want?" you whispered, voice a promise. "to be quiet and take what he's given by me?"
he could only manage a ragged, choking nod, jaw clenched so hard the muscle ticked in his cheek. his eyes pools of pure need, all his earlier sobbing tears turned into ones of desire. he was absolutely beautiful like this, under you. pleading for you.
you kissed his cheek softly, before guiding his cock into you, the thickness of his tip already enough to make you feel the sting as you pushed down slowly. earning a moan from the both of you, how the heat of your walls wrapped around his cock and the way the pain stretched you.
it was one of the most intoxicating feelings you'd ever known. the solid weight of him underneath you, the way your body settled perfectly against his, that unmistakable, thrilling pressure in your lower belly.
your eyes drifted down, watching the subtle, undeniable shift of your stomach with a deep breath he took. a smirk, wicked and satisfied, touched your lips as you looked up at him through your lashes, feigning innocence.
"look at you," you purred, your own hips giving a tiny, deliberate roll, drawing a sharp, choked gasp from him. "filling me up just like the good boy you promised to be, yeah?"
he nodded rapidly, his eyes wide and dark, fixated on your face. the words seemed beyond him, the hands on your hips werent there to guide anymore, they were there to cling. his fingers pressed into the silk hard enough that you knew there would be marks there later, something to prove his desperation, his need to be good for you.
"ah, ah, ah. use your words, sunghoon," you whispered, leaning foward to brush your nose against his. "tell me."
a sharp inhale tore from him. "yes," he managed, the word strained. "yes. good boy. for you, only you."
the admission so raw and submissive, sent a fresh wave of heat through you. you captured his lips in a kiss filled of possession, swallowing his whimpers and the taste of salt from his earlier tears. he kissed you back with a helpless intensity, large hands trembling as they slid up your back, holding you to him as if you were the only thing in his world.
your hips rolled against his for one last time, until you lifted yourself up, almost completely, drawing a broken, needy sound from his throat. his grip on you tightened, not to force you back, but as a plea, not to let go.
and you answered it.
you slammed back down in a single, pistoned motion that punched the air from his lungs. a shattered moan was torn from him, head falling back to thud against the plush pillow behind him, eyes squeezing shit. his body had locked entirely, back arching at the way you repeatedly dropped down on him like it'd be the last thing you'd ride.
"look at me," you commanded, your own voice breathless.
his eyes flew open, glassy and overwhelmed with pleasure. they were dazed, worshipful, wrecked.
"see?" you breathed, beginning the ruthless thrusts down onto his cock, each lift a teasing promise of return. "this is what happens when you're good, you get to feel everything. you get to have this."
he could only nod, his ability to speak gone. his words weren't just narrowed anymore, but defined by this, by your punishing and sloppy thrusts onto his cock. but how you watched him come completely apart.
you felt his cock twitch inside of you, a sign he'd come soon. "don't." your voice warned, strong and raspy, making him whine and cry, fingers tightening. "wait for me, baby, okay?"
he could only nod, as he tried his best to hold it in. his cock twitched as your movement became faster, a hand going to rub your clit softly for a faster orgasm, stomach and walls clenching around his cock. "feels good, yeah?" you moaned, biting your lips.
"yesyesyes, so good—!" he cried, waiting for your command.
your hips stuttered as you let out a loud wail, a gush of strong liquid seeping down onto him, walls clenching him tightly that he couldn't even wait, his own cock twitching as he shot ropes of white cum inside of you. your juices mixed, as his hands tightened and bruised your waist.
after a quick second of silence, which felt like forever, you looked up at his dazed face, tears streaming down, lips puffy and red, and chest heaving softly.
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: a night that was never supposed to mean anything changes everything. what starts as reckless indulgence, saeryeong between you, sunghoon behind you, the lines blurring too fast, becomes something impossible to ignore. the truth is getting harder to bury. you’re getting too close to him, and the closer you get, the more dangerous it becomes. lies stack on top of each other, deception coils tight around your ribs, and sunghoon’s own self-destruction threatens to take you down with him. whatever this is, whatever it was becoming, it was never built to last.
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: college au, small town vibes, explicit language, explicit sexual content(18+), explicit themes, one tree hill inspired, early 2000s vibe, power play, dom reader/sub sunghoon dynamics, rough sex, explicit language, deep-throating, nipple play, reader choking sunghoon, spitting, degradation, praise kink, fingering, intense grinding, overstimulation, unprotected sex, oral sex. rough sex, explicit language, threesome (yn, sunghoon, saeryeong), girl x girl fucking, yn doms hard, yn is possessive and jealous, scissoring, sunghoon fucks behind y/n, saeryeong in front of her, degradation, so much smut this chapter, she spends most of the time riding his cock, sweaty, intense, unhinged smut, they’re obsessed, the desperation is suffocating, intense cockwarming, deep grinding and rolling hips like always, rough riding, overstimulation, deep penetration, possessive dirty talk, throat fucking, hair pulling, forced eye contact tit worship (sucking, biting, flicking, kneading), orgasm control, creampie, oral (m + f recieving), y/n plays nurse for him twice this chapter, he gets into two fights, you finally see that party scene but from their perspective, jake is on a mad one, saeryeong and y/n get close! y/n has a very important performance
listen to 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 whilst reading <3
𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐋
Sunghoon hadn’t expected this.
Hadn’t expected to find you in the center of it all, the one setting the rhythm, controlling the pace, guiding Saeryeong with an effortless dominance that left no room for hesitation. Saeryeong was shy, hesitant beneath you, her breaths coming out in soft, unsure whimpers as you kissed her, as you molded her to your liking, your hands splayed across her bare skin with a confidence that made Sunghoon’s stomach tighten.
It was the way your hips moved, the way you rolled against her, grinding down with slow, deliberate pressure, that had him gripping himself tighter. The slick slide of your bodies, the way your pussy dragged over hers in an unhurried rhythm, the breathy, stilted moans Saeryeong let out as you pushed her deeper into the bed, it was intoxicating. Your fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face just how you wanted, lips grazing over hers without giving her the satisfaction of another kiss, and the sound she made—desperate, needy—only seemed to spur you on. You were fucking her without ever needing to say a word, your body dictating exactly how you wanted it, the pace, the friction, the teasing push and pull that left Saeryeong clinging to you, gasping under your control. And Sunghoon, watching it all, feeling the pulse of his own arousal throb painfully in his grip, knew he was absolutely wrecked.
He knew Saeryeong. Knew how she could be during sex, the way she second-guessed herself, the way she hesitated before giving in. He knew the way her breath hitched when she was overwhelmed, the way she clung to the feeling of being wanted, the way she let herself be pulled under only when she was sure it was safe. But not like this. Not like the way she was now, looking up at you with those doe-eyed glances, pliant and eager, waiting for you to tell her what to do.
His cock was already hard, twitching at the sight of you straddling Saeryeong’s lap, rolling your hips just enough to tease, just enough to feel the friction between your bodies. But it was the way your lips moved against hers, slow and deliberate, that sent a raw, searing heat down his spine. Your fingers cupped her breasts, kneading, teasing, your nails grazing over sensitive skin until Saeryeong’s head tilted back with a breathy little moan.
"Ease up for me, pretty," you murmur, voice a soft, sultry whisper, your lips brushing against Saeryeong’s cheek. She whimpers, nodding, body melting into the mattress as you knead her breasts, fingers teasing her nipples until she’s gasping. "That’s it, just let me take care of you."
She was so soft beneath you, melting under your touch, her body pliant in a way that made it obvious she wasn’t used to being led like this. Her hands gripped your waist, but they didn’t guide you, no, you were the one dictating the movement, the one rocking against her at just the right angle, letting the slick heat between your legs rub against hers.
And Sunghoon was watching.
His hand was wrapped around his cock, slow, lazy strokes as he took in the sight before him. You and Saeryeong, tangled together, lips brushing between gasps, legs slotting together in a way that made his mouth dry. You looked like you belonged there, looked like you were made to lead, and fuck—he hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected you to be the one orchestrating this whole thing, to be the one guiding Saeryeong into something she clearly wasn’t used to.
“Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough, barely above a whisper. His eyes were locked onto the way your hips moved, how your thighs clenched with each deliberate shift forward. “You like showing off for me, huh?”
You hummed against Saeryeong’s lips, pulling away just enough to look at him, eyes heavy-lidded and knowing. But you didn’t stop moving, didn’t stop dragging yourself against Saeryeong, your fingers still cupping her breasts, still playing with her the way you wanted. She whined beneath you, pressing her face into your neck, and you felt the way her breath stuttered when you rolled against her a little harder this time.
Saeryeong was sensitive—so easily undone—and it made something possessive curl in your stomach. You liked having her like this, needy and wanting, and Sunghoon could see it. Could see the way your fingers traced her sides, could see the way you whispered something in her ear that made her whimper.
You were teasing him, too.
Sunghoon groaned, squeezing himself a little harder as he watched, his jaw tight, his brows drawn together in something close to frustration. “You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, his voice lower now, rougher. He wanted you. Needed you. You felt it, the raw, high-voltage arousal radiating off of him, but you made him wait.
That was when you really looked at him. The way his hand was moving, slow but firm, his thumb swiping over the tip with a quiet hiss. His chest rising and falling just a little heavier than before. The way his mouth parted when your hips stuttered against Saeryeong’s. And for a second—just a second—his eyes flickered away from you, caught up in something else, some stray thought.
That’s when you moved.
You didn’t ask. Didn’t hesitate. You just grabbed his face and kissed him, all heat and control, forcing him to snap his focus back to you, to remember exactly who he should be watching. Your tongue slid against his, demanding, claiming, your fingers tangling in his hair as you shifted forward, barely giving Saeryeong a second thought as you moved onto Sunghoon’s lap instead. You sank down onto his cock without hesitation, he felt it all at once—the heat, the slick glide of you stretching around him, the way your thighs clenched around his waist as you began to bounce.
And fuck, he felt good. His body was solid beneath yours, warm and tense, his hands gripping your waist before he could even think about it. He groaned into your mouth, deep and desperate, his cock pressing against you in a way that made you ache, but you weren’t done taking what you wanted from him yet.
“This is so unfair,” Saeryeong muttered beside you, voice breathy, watching the way your body molded against Sunghoon’s. You could feel her gaze—like she wanted to touch, wanted to be touched, but wasn’t sure how to ask.
Sunghoon didn’t respond to her. Didn’t even glance in her direction. Instead, he just kissed you, harder this time, pressing you down onto his lap, grinding you against his cock in a way that sent a sharp, shuddering heat up your spine. You almost let yourself sink into it, almost let yourself get completely lost in the way his lips moved against yours, the way his fingers dug into your skin—
But then he turned away.
And kissed her.
You shouldn’t have felt that bitter little sting. You shouldn’t have. Not after all the times you’d kissed Saeryeong tonight, not after all the times Sunghoon had to sit there and watch. But something about it made something coil hot and tight in your stomach, something dangerously close to resentment, and you had to look away. Had to focus on the way his hands stayed on you even as his mouth moved against hers.
“Sit on my face,” Sunghoon muttered suddenly, voice thick, and Saeryeong lit up, shifting immediately to position herself above him. But his hands—his hands never left you. He reached for you, fingers intertwined with yours, gripping tight as he laid back and let Saeryeong lower herself onto his mouth.
It shouldn’t make you feel tense, shouldn’t make something coil tight in your stomach, shouldn’t make your breath hitch in a way you refused to acknowledge. Saeryeong was the one moaning, the one trembling, the one shivering through the slow, torturous strokes of Sunghoon’s tongue—but you weren’t looking at her. You were looking at him. At the way his fingers curled around yours, gripping tight even as his mouth worked against her. At the way his body tensed, his muscles flexing beneath you, like even now, you were still the one grounding him. Like even with Saeryeong falling apart above him, he still needed to hold onto you.
You looked away.
And suddenly, you missed his lips on yours.
The moment was a blur after that—heat pressing in on all sides, breathless gasps swallowed between kisses, your body pulsing from the aftershocks of Sunghoon’s touch. You came first, trembling and arching against him, his name spilling from your lips in a breathy moan that left no room for shame. Saeryeong followed soon after, thighs clenched around his face, whimpering as his tongue coaxed her through it, and even though he was beneath her, his hands still gripped you.
And before you knew it, you were on her again. Saeryeong’s body was still sensitive, still shivering in the aftermath, but she didn’t resist when you pushed her back against his bed, straddling her with the same surety as before. Her lips were red, swollen from kisses, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. She was hesitant, uncertain—but she let you lead. Her gaze flickered toward Sunghoon, something uncertain, like she was waiting for reassurance.
You tilted her chin, forcing her to look at you instead. “Here,” you murmured, your voice soft but commanding. “Eyes on me.”
Saeryeong swallowed hard, then nodded, letting her fingers ghost up your waist, her breath coming out in short, shaky exhales. Her moans were softer this time, breathy and unsure, a stark contrast to the pronounced, confident way you moved against her. You rolled your hips, pressing into her, setting the pace, controlling the rhythm, and Sunghoon groaned quietly beside you, his hand palming over the curve of your waist, mesmerized. His attention was on you. And that’s exactly where you wanted it.
Saeryeong’s touch grew bolder, her fingers sliding up your back, gripping at you, pulling you in closer. But then she reached for him. Her hand found Sunghoon’s wrist, tentative but deliberate, like she wanted to pull him closer, wanted more from him but you didn’t want that. Something possessive curled in your stomach at the thought of Sunghoon giving her attention—touching her, kissing her. You didn’t want to feel that pang of jealousy, didn’t want to acknowledge it, but it was there. So you deepened the kiss.
Your fingers slid through her hair, gripping tight, your hips grinding down harder, pressing her into the bed sheets as her moan broke apart into something desperate. You gave her something else to focus on, tilting her face back toward you, reminding her who she should be looking at, who she should be touching. She gasped against your lips, her fingers tightening on you instead, and satisfaction bloomed hot in your chest.
When Sunghoon leaned closer, his breath warm against your shoulder, you flicked your gaze toward him, a heated glance heavy with meaning. He had kissed Saeryeong before—too many times tonight—but he hadn’t touched her the way he touched you, hadn’t held her the way he held you. And now, with her gasping beneath you and his fingers pressing into your skin, you wanted to keep it that way.
Sunghoon slides in behind you, his chest firm against your back, his hands wrapping around your waist and then he pushes in. The stretch forced the air from your lungs, stealing your breath for just a second before the pleasure unraveled, slow and deliberate, curling its way through your spine. He groaned against your skin, deep and wrecked, his fingers flexing against your hips, pressing you further onto him as he filled you completely, inch by inch. He didn’t move right away, just held you there, letting you feel every part of him, letting your body adjust to the fullness before rolling his hips in a way that made your thighs tighten around Saeryeong.
You were caught between them now—Saeryeong’s fingers trembling as they clutched your sides, Sunghoon’s cock buried deep inside you, the warmth of both of them pressing in from all sides. It should have felt overwhelming, maybe too much at once, but the only thing you could focus on was him, the way he held you steady, the way his body stayed locked against yours, his breath hot and uneven against your shoulder, groaning softly every time you clenched around him.
Sunghoon set the rhythm, slow and controlled, matching the way you moved against Saeryeong, his thrusts syncing perfectly with the roll of your hips. The pleasure doubled, sharpened by the friction of her thighs against yours, by the way she moaned softly beneath you, breathless and waiting, her touch hesitant but eager. She let herself relax under your touch, let herself fall into it, let herself move in sync with you, but then her hand slipped lower, past your ribs, past your stomach, reaching blindly for Sunghoon, like she wanted to pull him closer, like she needed his attention too.
It settled in your chest like a slow, insidious heat, creeping in through the cracks before you even had the chance to name it. A weight, an ache—something unspoken curling around your ribs, coiling tight and insistent, threading itself through every roll of your hips, every drag of Sunghoon’s hands against your skin. You didn’t want to acknowledge it, didn’t want to chase the feeling to its root, but it was there, pressing in, making it impossible to ignore the way your stomach clenched at the thought of him giving her anything close to what he’d been giving you.
You redirected her to you once more, catching her mouth with yours in a deep, claiming kiss that stole the breath straight from her lips. Your hips moved harder, grinding against her in a way that made her moan into your mouth, her fingers tightening on your skin, forgetting whatever she had been reaching for before. You swallowed the sound of her gasps, to give her something else to focus on.
Sunghoon’s fingers flexed against your hips before gripping tighter, pulling you further back onto his cock, making you feel the full, deep pressure of every slow, deliberate thrust, matching every motion of your body against Saeryeong with his own. The pleasure layered over itself, your own moans breaking apart as he filled you completely, as the heat built and built with every movement, every roll of your hips, every grip of his hands that told you exactly who was in control here.
You felt him hesitate, felt the way he slowed for half a second when Saeryeong moaned particularly sweetly against your lips, and without thinking, you turned your head, catching the way his gaze flickered over to her before snapping back to you. And that was all it took.
Your hips moved with more intent now, grinding down, rolling forward, pushing back against Sunghoon in a way that made him groan through gritted teeth, his grip on your waist tightening enough to leave marks. You kissed Saeryeong deeper, letting her feel the shift, letting her know you were the one setting the pace, the one controlling how this played out, the one who was still making Sunghoon fall apart behind you. And if he thought for even a second that this was about her, if he thought this was anything other than you showing him exactly who was in control, he was wrong.
The air was still thick with the weight of last night, heat trapped in the sheets, the scent of sweat and liquor embedded in the fabric of the room, in your skin, in the slow, unfiltered clarity that came with the morning. Everything felt heavier somehow, but it wasn’t exhaustion, wasn’t the ache in your muscles or the dull soreness along your thighs; it was something else entirely, something that settled in the silence, something you couldn’t place. The mattress felt too empty beside you, the sheets just a little too cool, the quiet absence of steady, even breathing making it obvious that Saeryeong had left. She must have slipped out early, maybe while you and Sunghoon were still tangled in sleep, before the haze could lift, before the night could turn into something she had to acknowledge.
The quiet that remained wasn’t peaceful, wasn’t restful. It just sat there, pressing in around you, too hollow to be ignored, stretching between you and Sunghoon even as his arm remained slung over your waist, even as his body remained warm and solid behind you. His breath fanned over your shoulder, slow and deep, still caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, but it did nothing to dispel the unease creeping beneath your ribs, threading itself into your thoughts before you could push it aside. It wasn’t just last night lingering on your skin, wasn’t just the bruises along your hips and the sharp, visceral reminders of what had happened. It was the way it already felt distant, like something slipping through your fingers before you could decide whether you even wanted to hold onto it.
Your phone buzzed from the nightstand. You blinked against the dim morning light, fingers curling around the device before you could think better of it, pulse stuttering slightly when you saw her name. The message was short, effortless in a way that made your stomach turn.
Saeryeong — Thanks for the wild night. See you soon.
That was it. No hesitation, no weight, nothing to suggest that she had spent even a second thinking about it past the moment she walked out of the door. It should have been a relief, should have been exactly what you wanted, but the breath that tried to push past your lips never quite made it, catching somewhere in your throat, tangled with something heavier, something you didn’t want to name. Maybe you had expected it to feel cleaner than this, something detached and uncomplicated, something you could leave behind as easily as she had. Maybe that was what last night was supposed to be, but you couldn’t ignore the way it settled uneasily in your chest, couldn’t shake the lingering sensation of her hands on Sunghoon, the soft, breathy sounds she had made against his mouth, the way his focus had shifted for that brief, infinitesimal second before he had turned back to you.
Sunghoon stirred with a slow inhale, his body shifting against yours, muscles tensing before relaxing, warmth stretching along your side as he blinked himself into wakefulness. His lashes fluttered, his lips parting slightly, that familiar sleep-dazed expression softening the sharpness of his features, and you smiled without meaning to. His arms tightened around you as he moved, pressing his weight into you, rolling onto his elbows, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he hovered above you. The sheets rustled as your hands slipped along his back, nails skimming the firm lines of muscle, feeling the slow flex beneath your fingertips as he settled against you, pressing your bodies together with no urgency, no rush, just warmth and the kind of comfort that came with familiarity.
“Good morning, baby.” His voice was low, still rough with sleep, and you echoed the words back to him just as his mouth met yours, the kiss slow, deep, unhurried in the way it built between you. There was no urgency, no sharp edges, just the steady push and pull of lips parting, of breath hitching between kisses that never fully broke apart, his tongue sweeping against yours with just enough pressure to make your stomach tighten.
His hand slid along your waist, fingers ghosting over bare skin, teasing, but never pressing for more, as if he was content to just be here, to let the kiss stretch and deepen in its own time, to let it consume the space between you without ever tipping over into something demanding. The heat of it pooled low, slow and simmering rather than desperate, a different kind of indulgence entirely, one that made your limbs feel heavy, made your body sink deeper into the mattress, made your thoughts blur for just a moment.
And then he pulled back, exhaling as he shifted beside you, not moving far, just enough to stretch out with a satisfied sigh, his arm still resting along your waist, fingers tracing mindless patterns against your skin. He hadn’t said anything about last night, hadn’t mentioned it, hadn’t even let his expression shift toward acknowledgment, and for a fleeting second, you wondered if it was as much of a hazy illusion to him as it was to you, something already dissolving into the periphery of memory before either of you could give it weight. But then his eyes flickered with something familiar, something smug, the corner of his mouth curling as he finally spoke, his voice tinged with amusement, with pride.
“Guess we got carried away last night, huh?”
Your stomach twisted, though you nodded anyway, because it had been a good memory, because there was no reason to pick it apart, no reason to let yourself linger on something that didn’t need to be anything more than what it was. You weren’t the type to get caught up in things like this, weren’t one to let emotions complicate something that was supposed to be simple. There was nothing logical about dissecting a moment that had already passed, nothing rational about looking for meaning in something that was never meant to have any.
“I think that was our best one yet,” he murmured, voice slipping into something lazier, something more self-satisfied, the words punctuated with a low, drawn-out moan as he stretched.
You hummed, noncommittal, not trying to read into it too much, but you didn’t agree, not really. You could count other threesomes that had been better, nights where everything had aligned in a way that last night hadn’t, moments where it had been more thrilling, more seamless, more satisfying. But there was no point in saying that, no point in contradicting something that wasn’t meant to be debated, wasn’t meant to be measured, wasn’t meant to be anything more than another indulgence to be acknowledged and then left behind.
“She’s cool with it,” he murmured, voice as easy as ever, something reassuring in the way he said it, like that was the only thing that mattered, like it was supposed to make everything simpler. Yet you’re unsure how he knows she’s cool with it when he hasn’t spoken to her since it happened. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
You nodded, or at least, you thought you did, but the motion felt stiff, something you didn’t quite control, something instinctive rather than intentional. It doesn’t have to mean anything. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? That was why you had pulled her in, why you had been the one to kiss her first, why you had made sure that every second of it revolved around Sunghoon looking at you, choosing you, keeping his focus on you even when her hands were on him. You had wanted control, had wanted to dictate the terms of last night, had wanted to let yourself sink into something reckless without consequence, without aftermath, without weight. And yet, something about it sat differently now, something about the morning made it harder to accept, something about the way Saeryeong had let it go so easily made your chest feel tight, made your pulse pick up, made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t understand.
Sunghoon reached for his phone, unlocking it with a lazy yawn, voice still laced with sleep as he read aloud. “She said she had fun.”
His breath fanned against your skin as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, lips grazing your shoulder, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Mmm,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep, low and coaxing. “Wanna go again?”
You exhaled slowly, tilting your head slightly as his lips trailed along your throat, soft at first, teasing, before his teeth scraped gently against sensitive skin, his fingers slipping beneath the sheets to find your hip. He wasn’t in a hurry, wasn’t pushing, wasn’t asking for more than what you were willing to give, but you could feel it—the silent invitation, the ease with which he expected you to give in.
You could say no. You could turn away, put space between you, start your morning like nothing had happened. You could ask a question you didn’t want the answer to, let the weight of it settle between you like a bruise that wouldn’t fade. But none of those things would change what this was. None of them would make the night before anything more than what it had been—a game, a distraction, something that had already been discarded before the morning light had even touched it.
So instead, you turned in his arms, let your fingers slip into his hair, let yourself press into the heat of his body the way he wanted you to, the way you wanted to, the way that made it easier to let the morning pass without thinking too hard abou anything at all.
You caught his mouth with yours before he could say anything else, stealing the smirk from his lips, swallowing the quiet hum of satisfaction that rumbled in his chest. He kissed you like he had kissed you before—deep, slow, unhurried, the kind of kiss that could stretch into something else, that could take its time unraveling, that could make you forget for a little while longer.
And that was all you needed. Just a little while longer.
Later that day, in a quiet, understated study room just off the library, you and Sunghoon sit together on the worn leather couch, the space around you cluttered with open notebooks, glowing laptop screens, and a whiteboard streaked with half-erased equations and hastily scribbled diagrams. It’s a private room, one of those tucked-away corners of campus that no one really uses unless they know it’s there. The door is shut, the low hum of the heating system filling the silence between you, insulating you from the outside world.
The air here is calmer, stripped of the sharp edges that had lingered between you yesterday. The tension hasn’t disappeared entirely, but it’s dulled, softened into something quieter, more reflective. Between you, the project sits at seventy percent completion—almost there, almost finished—but instead of relief, there’s an undercurrent of trepidation. The final stretch means looking at everything you’ve built, everything you’ve observed, analyzed, picked apart, and making sense of it all.
Your legs are draped over his lap, the position casual, familiar in a way neither of you comment on. His hand rests on your knee, fingers brushing absently over your skin as he scrolls through something on his laptop. Every now and then, he lifts his cup to his lips, taking a slow sip of his iced americano before glancing at your screen, eyes flickering between your notes and the half-eaten meal beside you. He had brought it over earlier—your favorite, iced matcha and something light to eat, placed in front of you without a word, without making it a big deal.
You take a slow sip now, fingers wrapped around the cool condensation of the cup, the faint taste of vanilla lingering on your tongue. Sunghoon watches you from the corner of his eye, not saying anything, but the way his fingers press a little firmer against your thigh doesn’t go unnoticed.
You hum, setting the drink down, before shifting slightly, leaning in just enough to press a kiss to his cheek. His brows twitch, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips, but he doesn’t react beyond that—at least, not until you do it again, this time closer to his jaw, slower.
Sunghoon exhales, his grip on your leg tightening briefly. “You trying to distract me?”
You smirk against his skin, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. “Just making sure you’re still paying attention.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head before nudging his nose against your temple. “I am. Just not to the project.”
You roll your eyes, but your lips still brush his once, soft, before you settle back, fingers grazing against his wrist where his hand still rests on your thigh. The quiet between you stretches, not awkward, not heavy—just there, a shared space that neither of you feel the need to fill. Sunghoon’s hand rests warm against your thigh, the weight of it grounding, familiar, a quiet tether between focus and distraction. His laptop hums beside yours, both screens illuminated with charts, transcripts, and scattered data points, but the atmosphere between you is anything but clinical.
The project sits at the intersection of logic and feeling, of measured analysis and unquantifiable tension—the same way you and Sunghoon exist in this space, side by side, caught between what’s professional and what’s deeply, undeniably personal. “The study examines how mental strain and personal relationships affect an athlete’s decision-making, stress responses, and overall performance during high-stakes moments,” you murmur, skimming your notes, the sound of the words familiar, rehearsed, but feeling heavier in this context.
You shift, reaching for your laptop, scrolling until you find the data set you’ve been refining for the past week—the one you haven’t shown him yet. The graph is clean, sharp lines mapping the fluctuation of performance against recorded stress levels, each point anchored by something deeper: external conflicts, personal pressures, the weight of expectation pressing down on specific players, some more than others. Sunghoon’s name is scattered throughout the annotations, not just in the raw physiological data but in the margins, in the self-reported interviews that reveal patterns even he hasn’t acknowledged yet.
Sunghoon hums in response, but his attention drifts, his fingers smoothing over your thigh, pressing in just enough to remind you he’s there, always touching, always lingering. His thumb moves absentmindedly along the inside, warm and slow, tracing the fabric of your shorts before dipping lower, featherlight, enough to send a quiet shiver through you. It’s distracting, the way he does it without thinking, without breaking eye contact with the screen, like he’s testing how much you can take before you lose focus. You inhale, steadying yourself, shifting slightly to remind him—the project—but his grip only tightens, not enough to keep you still, just enough to let you know he feels it too.
You try again. “We’ve been working with a mixed-methods approach—observational notes from games and practices, self-assessment questionnaires, post-game interviews, physiological markers like heart rate data—”
He cuts you off with a quiet hum, low in his throat, and you glance at him just in time to catch the way his gaze flickers over your lips before meeting your eyes. The look is brief, but it’s enough. You don’t think about it before leaning in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against his mouth. Sunghoon exhales softly, his fingers tightening against your thigh, not pulling you closer, but not pushing you away either, letting you decide how long to stay there.
The project is still open in front of you. The weight of your words, your analysis, the meticulous framework of months of research, all of it is still waiting—but so is he.
You pull back just slightly, lips barely grazing his as you continue, voice quieter now. “We’re also expanding the study to explore the role of external reinforcement—how synchronized energy from the cheerleading team influences collective morale.”
Sunghoon’s lips quirk, his breath warm against yours. “Right,” he murmurs. “How much of it is psychological versus reactionary. How external energy translates into in-game confidence.”
You nod, about to respond, but he catches your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up just enough to kiss you again. This one is slower, deeper, his other hand sliding up your waist in a way that makes it difficult to focus on anything other than the way he tastes—faintly of hazelnut, of something sweeter, something entirely him.
When you part, it’s by necessity, not by choice. Your head feels lighter, your thoughts slipping slightly out of order. Sunghoon grins, like he knows exactly what he’s done, but instead of teasing, he leans in again, pressing his forehead against yours.
“You were saying?” he murmurs, his voice all lazy amusement, his fingers still ghosting against your ribs.
You exhale, shaking your head, trying to recall the next point in your notes. “That… the study isn’t just theoretical. It’s rooted in real-time data—observable patterns, measurable effects…”
Your words trail off when he dips lower, his lips brushing along your jaw, pressing just beneath your ear, deliberate in a way that makes you wonder if he’s doing it on purpose. The warmth of his breath sends a shiver down your spine, the slow drag of his mouth lingering, teasing, waiting for you to react.
“Uh-huh,” he murmurs, unbothered. “And?”
You inhale slowly, trying to maintain the thread of the discussion, trying not to lose yourself entirely in the way he’s touching you, the way he always manages to pull you right to the edge of distraction without even trying.
“And…” You swallow, exhaling softly. “And it’s personal.”
Sunghoon pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, something flickering behind his eyes—something deep, something knowing, something he doesn’t try to hide from you this time. His fingers stay on your thigh, still pressing, still there, his grip tightening just slightly like he’s grounding himself in the same moment you are.
“Yeah,” he says, quieter now. “It is.”
The words settle between you, heavier than the pages of research spread out across the table, heavier than the numbers and transcripts and physiological data you’ve spent weeks compiling. The weight of the project lingers—the open documents, the unfinished conclusions, the work still left to be done—but none of it feels as immediate as the warmth of his touch, the slow drag of his thumb against your skin, the way his breathing shifts, uneven now, mirroring yours.
This project is meant to be structured. Professional. Controlled.
But so much of it isn’t. So much of it is tangled up in the spaces between objectivity and subjectivity, between logic and emotion, between the things you analyze and the things you feel. And so much of him—of Sunghoon, of his presence, of his weight beside you—is wrapped into it now, impossible to separate, impossible to ignore.
He exhales, slow, measured, like he’s trying to steady himself, but his grip doesn’t loosen. And neither does yours.
The shift between the data and the reality it represents is subtle, creeping into the conversation without either of you explicitly addressing it. You scan through the compiled notes, flipping past pages of recorded interviews, self-assessment forms, and annotated game footage, the weight of months of observation laid out before you in clean, methodical rows. The numbers are exact—measurable, mapped out, logical—but the truths they expose aren’t.
Sunghoon leans closer, eyes narrowing slightly as he skims through the correlations you’ve drawn between stress indicators and in-game performance. His arm is still pressed against yours, the warmth of his body steady where it meets your side, and though he hasn’t said much in the past few minutes, you can tell he’s reading. Not just skimming, not just indulging you, but actually taking in the data, processing it, seeing himself in the trends you’ve outlined.
“We’ve tracked decision-making under high-pressure conditions,” you say, your voice even, professional, despite the quiet tension still simmering between you. “The physiological markers—heart rate fluctuations, reaction times, self-reported stress levels—are consistent across the board. But what’s more interesting are the qualitative patterns we’re seeing in the interviews.”
Sunghoon hums, still not looking at you, his fingers absentmindedly toying with the edge of the printed report in his lap. “What kind of patterns?”
You turn your screen toward him, scrolling to one of the analysis sections. “Conflict. Performance dips in direct correlation with interpersonal tension. The data from the self-assessment forms matches up with our recorded observations—players second-guessing themselves, hesitating in high-stakes moments, making riskier decisions when emotional stress is high.”
Sunghoon exhales through his nose, scanning the transcript of one of his own post-game reflections. Had a good rhythm at first. Got in my own head. Pressure felt worse in the second half. Couldn’t shut it out. His jaw tightens slightly, and you don’t miss the way his fingers press into his thigh.
“Your patterns are the most consistent,” you say carefully, watching his reaction. “Your shooting percentage drops when your external stress markers spike. And those stressors—” you tap the screen, highlighting the key trends, “—aren’t just tied to the game itself. They’re tied to everything around it. Team dynamics, personal relationships, the weight of expectation.”
Sunghoon lets out a quiet scoff, though it lacks real bite. “So, what? I play like shit when my life is a mess?”
You don’t smile, but there’s something softer in your voice when you answer. “I think you feel more when your life is a mess. And that feeling affects the way you play.”
He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he shifts, finally lifting his gaze from the screen to meet yours, and there’s something there—something that flickers in the space between resistance and recognition.
The study has been about them—the team, the game, the broader psychological implications—but here, in this quiet, closed-off room, with your legs still draped over his lap and your hand resting against the table just inches from his, it’s about him. About how much of himself he’s put into this game, into this identity, into trying to be something his father won’t pick apart, something the world won’t question.
You see it now, laid bare in the numbers, in the words he’s written in those self-check-ins he thought no one would read too closely. The meticulous practice journal, the detailed post-game reflections—things he’s done not just because he was told to, but because, deep down, he cares. About being good. About proving something. About not failing.
He exhales, tilting his head slightly, something more measured settling into his voice. “So what now? You gonna tell me I need to meditate before games? Do some breathing exercises?”
You shake your head, tapping at a different section of the report. “We integrate this into something usable. Something practical. The self-awareness is already there, even if you don’t want to admit it.”
Sunghoon watches you for a beat longer, his eyes flickering to your mouth for just a second before he shifts again, this time resting his palm more deliberately on your thigh. It’s not distracting, not teasing—just there, an anchor.
“You really dug into all of this,” he murmurs, voice quieter now.
You nod. “Because it’s important to me.”
Something passes between you, something weighty and unspoken, neither of you moving to break it. The study might be methodical, academic, built on data and observation, but the thing beneath it—the thing you aren’t saying—is as real as the numbers in front of you.
Sunghoon exhales, shifting beside you, and the warmth of his hand still resting on your thigh is suddenly impossible to ignore. Your gaze flickers toward the laptop screen, the open game footage paused on a moment of high-pressure play—Sunghoon in motion, his body tensed, his eyes sharp with focus, his stance slightly off. The exact second he’d hesitated. The exact second his mind had gotten ahead of his body.
“You overthought this,” you murmur, tilting the screen slightly, gesturing toward the frozen frame. “You had the shot, but you waited half a second too long. Why?”
Sunghoon scoffs, leaning in, his shoulder pressing against yours. “You already have the answer to that. You just spent the past hour breaking down how my mental state fucks with my performance.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “I want your answer.”
Sunghoon watches the screen for a long moment, his jaw tight, before his fingers tap against the table once, twice. “I was thinking about the last game. About the shot I missed before. The crowd was loud as hell, and for a second, I wondered if I was about to choke again.”
You nod, shifting your focus to the notes beside you, cross-referencing the self-assessment data from that match. “Your heart rate spiked at that moment. And your passing choices right after this play were more conservative.”
Sunghoon snorts. “You’re saying I got scared.”
“I’m saying your confidence wavered,” you correct, glancing at him. “And you adjusted your game to avoid another mistake instead of just playing.”
He doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t quite agree, either. Instead, he watches you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something softer in his posture, something less guarded. “You’re annoyingly good at this, still can’t believe your major isn’t psych or something.” He mutters, shaking his head.
You smirk, closing your laptop just slightly. “I study patterns. And you just happen to be one I read effortlessly.”
Sunghoon exhales a laugh, shaking his head before turning toward you fully. His hand shifts before curling lightly around your waist. “You calling me predictable?” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly.
You don’t answer, at least not with words. Instead, you lean in, catching his mouth in a slow, deliberate kiss, the warmth of it sinking into you before he even has a chance to react. Sunghoon inhales against you, his grip tightening slightly, and then he’s kissing you back, leaning into you, pressing into you, his body relaxing under your touch like it’s something he’s been waiting for.
Neither of you move to pull away.
The research, the project, the half-finished analysis—it all fades into the background, slipping further and further from the immediate moment, leaving only this: the press of his lips against yours, the warmth of his hand tracing slow circles at your waist, the way he lets you set the pace, like he’s willing to stay here for as long as you want.
You shift slightly, sliding your arms around his neck, letting your fingers trace the warm skin at his nape, the short strands of his hair slipping between them. The weight of him is familiar now, his presence settled against yours like he belongs there, like neither of you need to think about the way your bodies fit together. You press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering just long enough for him to notice the way your breath catches before murmuring against his lips, “Thank you.”
Sunghoon stills for a second, his brows twitching slightly as he blinks at you, like he wasn’t expecting that. Then he exhales a quiet laugh, the sound low, affectionate, his lips brushing against yours when he speaks. “For what?”
“For actually helping,” you say, the words gentle but firm, punctuated with another slow kiss, this time against his jaw. Your fingers continue their slow exploration, brushing through the short hairs at the back of his neck, feeling the way he shivers under your touch. “For not just coasting through this.”
Sunghoon hums, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. He tilts his head back just enough to look at you properly, his dark eyes flickering over your face, like he’s searching for something. Then, with a lazy smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, he murmurs, “It’s my project too. Partially.”
You huff out a small laugh, but before you can respond, he leans in, catching your mouth in another kiss, this one deeper, slower, something more unspoken settling in the space between you. His lips move against yours with easy familiarity, like he’s taking his time, savoring the moment, the warmth, the way you don’t pull away. His hand drags up your spine, fingers pressing into the soft fabric of your sweater, keeping you close without forcing it.
You smile into the kiss, pulling back just enough for your forehead to rest against his, your fingers still tangled in his hair, the weight of the moment sitting heavy between you. The air feels different now, thicker, heavier with something unsaid. You let the words settle in the quiet before whispering, “I’m happy it’s you, though.”
You don’t give him time to deflect, to downplay the weight of what you just said. You just kiss him again, soft and slow, until he exhales into it, until his hand moves up your back, pulling you in closer, until there’s nothing left between you except warmth and quiet, steady understanding.
Sunghoon’s fingers tighten at your waist as you shift onto his lap, legs bracketing his hips, the heat of your bodies aligning in a way that neither of you try to fight. His breath stutters against your lips when you start to move, rolling your hips in slow, teasing circles, feeling the way he hardens beneath you. His hands slide down, gripping, kneading, his head tilting back as you press your mouth to his jaw, tracing the line of it with lazy kisses.
His fingers slip beneath your hoodie, warm against your bare skin. The study room is quiet except for the rustle of papers shifting as you press closer, his mouth chasing yours, deepening the kiss until all thoughts of research, deadlines, and responsibilities are drowned out by the slow, unhurried grind of your bodies. He groans into your mouth, his grip tightening when you roll your hips down just right, pressing exactly where he needs it.
And then your phone vibrates. The alarm goes off loud in the silent room, making you jerk slightly against him. You don’t move at first, lips still brushing against his, hoping you can ignore it, but Sunghoon’s hand slides up your back, his fingers slipping into your hair as he groans in frustration. “What is it?” he mutters, lips still against your jaw.
You sigh and reach blindly for your phone, barely glancing at the screen before your heart stutters in your chest. Meeting with Saeryeong. The project—the research—had been your priority from the very start, the reason you were even here in the first place. But now, the next phase of it, the first time you’d have to interact with Saeryeong in a strictly academic setting, would be happening here, in this room, barely a day after last night. What were the chances?
You hesitate. Saeryeong wouldn’t care, you tell yourself. She wouldn’t view this project as anything important. She’d probably forget, brush it off, let you reschedule. And really, would one missed interview even matter?
You press snooze. Whatever it was, it could wait.
You don’t think twice before kissing him again, slow and deep, letting yourself sink into it, letting the weight of him, the feel of him, press into you completely. Your fingers slip into his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you tilt your head, deepening the kiss, savoring the way he exhales against your mouth, the quiet groan that rumbles in his chest when you shift slightly in his lap.
The study room is quiet, filled only with the hushed rustle of papers shifting against the couch and the low hum of your breathing as Sunghoon’s fingers continue their slow, idle tracing along your thighs. You don’t move, still settled in his lap, still caught in the lingering heat of his mouth against yours. His grip is firm, his hands resting beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips pressing into your skin like he’s grounding himself in you. There’s nothing hurried about it, nothing frantic—just the slow, deliberate press of lips, the lazy rhythm of your hips rolling against his, a warmth so all-encompassing that everything outside of it ceases to exist.
And then—
The door creaks open.
It pricks at the edges of your awareness, the unmistakable feeling of being watched, of the moment being intruded upon. You don’t react at first, still locked in the lull of Sunghoon’s kiss, still feeling the way his hands tighten ever so slightly, as if he’s sensed it too. But then—
“Oh.” Saeryeong’s voice slips into the room, light and teasing, but something about it feels just a fraction too forced, like she’s playing into something she’s not sure she wants to be a part of.
The shift is subtle. A slight pause in Sunghoon’s breath, a tensing of his fingers at your waist, the smallest shift of his jaw as he processes the intrusion. But it’s fleeting, barely noticeable, and he doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge her presence. If anything, he’s the picture of indifference, his attention fixed solely on you, his grip on your waist steady, his body relaxed beneath yours like nothing has changed at all.
She steps further into the room, lingering just inside the doorway, eyes flickering between the two of you, taking in the way your bodies are still pressed together, the lingering flush on your skin, the unmistakable tension still thrumming between you and Sunghoon. There’s something unreadable in her expression, something caught between amusement and hesitation, but whatever it is, she masks it quickly.
“Should I close the door and join in?”
This time, Sunghoon moves but not towards her. His hand slides further up your back, fingers pressing into the nape of your neck as he tilts your chin, guiding your lips back to his. He kisses you again—slow and deep, like a promise, like a statement, like Saeryeong isn’t even there. There’s no rush to it, no urgency, just a lazy sort of possession, the unspoken weight of something far too intimate to be shared. His grip tightens when you shift in his lap, pressing flush against him, and for a moment, it’s as if the moment resets, as if the interruption never happened.
When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t move far, his lips dragging along your bottom lip before parting from you completely. He still doesn’t turn to Saeryeong, doesn’t shift his focus, doesn’t acknowledge the intrusion at all.
“I’ll leave you two to it,” he murmurs, voice low, almost distracted, like he’s reluctant to let go.
One last kiss—slow, lingering, barely a breath apart—and then he’s standing, stretching lazily, rolling his shoulders back as he grabs his phone. He steps past Saeryeong without so much as a glance, his focus never wavering from you, and it’s only when the door clicks shut behind him that the silence fully settles.
Saeryeong watches him go and for the briefest second, something in her expression flickers. It’s subtle—just a small shift in her eyes, the slightest hesitation in her posture, the way her lips part before she presses them together again. It’s gone in an instant, smoothed over by the same easy smirk she always wears, but you catch it. You see it in the way she looks away too quickly, in the way she doesn’t meet your gaze right away, in the way her arms cross over her chest as if shielding something she doesn’t want you to see.
She exhales, shaking her head slightly, composing herself before turning back to you. “So,” she muses, voice lighter now, carefully neutral. “Guess I’m finally part of your little science experiment.”
You let out a slow breath, keeping your expression unreadable as you reach for your pen, flipping open the notebook resting on the table between you. You don’t acknowledge whatever passed between her and the door Sunghoon walked through, don’t entertain whatever unspoken thing lingered in her eyes when she looked away. Instead, you glance down at your notes, tapping the end of your pen against the paper before nodding. “Let’s get started.”
The air shifts slightly, the weight of the previous moment settling into something steadier, more structured. You push past the awkward edges of it, the residual heat, the tension that still lingers like the ghost of last night, and focus. Saeryeong does the same, straightening in her seat, crossing one leg over the other as she watches you, waiting.
“I asked you to meet me today because your role in the team dynamic is essential to this phase of the project,” you begin, keeping your voice even, professional. “We’re examining how mental strain and external factors affect player performance under high-stakes conditions. Cheerleading, specifically the way it impacts team morale and player confidence, is something we’ve started tracking. You, as the team captain, are integral to that.”
Saeryeong hums, tilting her head slightly. “So you’re studying us too?”
“In a way,” you reply. “It’s more about the interaction between both teams—how the energy of the squad translates to the players, how external motivation plays a role in maintaining performance under pressure.”
She considers this, tapping her fingers against her knee, before glancing back at you. “Makes sense,” she says after a moment. “Though I can’t say I expected you to be the one leading a study like this.”
Something about the way she says it makes your spine stiffen slightly. You level her with a look, pen stilling between your fingers. “And why’s that?”
She shrugs. “Just never thought you were the type to be so… involved.”
The comment hangs in the air, not entirely pointed, but something about it makes you feel like she’s referring to more than just the project. Her gaze lingers, like she’s reading into you in a way you don’t quite like, like she’s still thinking about last night, and before you can stop yourself, you sigh, setting your pen down and leaning back in your chair.
“Listen,” you start, tone measured. “Yesterday was fun. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed you and Sunghoon, but it’s not going to happen again. Okay? When I fucked you it was only sex to me, nothing more.” You know it’s harsh, and maybe a small part of you feels the bite of it too, but it has to be said. It has to be clear. Saeryeong is sharp—she reads between the lines, finds gaps in what isn’t spoken, and you can’t afford to leave room for misinterpretation.
Saeryeong’s expression doesn’t change immediately, but there’s a shift—a subtle flicker of something in her eyes, a barely-there smirk that doesn’t quite reach her lips. “That so?” she muses, voice unreadable.
“Yes.” Your voice is firm, leaving no room for interpretation.
For a second, she says nothing, just watching you, gaze steady and unblinking, like she’s waiting for you to crack, waiting for something unsaid to slip out. When you don’t, she exhales lightly, shaking her head. “Shame,” she murmurs, but the teasing lilt in her tone is hollow. “I didn’t think it was that serious.”
You don’t flinch, don’t hesitate. “Exactly, it isn’t serious. I had fun with you last night because that’s all it was. Fun. But me and Sunghoon are exclusive. It’s different.”
Saeryeong hums again, but this time, there’s something sharper in the sound, something almost amused. “Exclusive,” she echoes, drawing the word out like she’s turning it over in her head. “But private. No labels. No acknowledgment. Just him walking out of here kissing you like he owns you while I’m standing right there.”
Your jaw tightens. “What’s your point?”
She leans back, stretching her arms over her head before crossing them again, tilting her head slightly. “Just saying,” she muses, voice light, almost careless. “That kind of dynamic never ends well. Sooner or later, someone’s going to feel like they’re being hidden, and it’s gonna bite you in the ass.”
Irritation flares in your chest. You sit up straighter, eyes narrowing slightly. “And you’d know that how?”
Saeryeong smiles, something knowing behind it. “I’ve seen it before.”
Your stomach tightens. A small, involuntary gulp catches in your throat, and you hate that she might have noticed. There’s something unsettling about the way she says it, the quiet certainty in her voice, like she’s drawing from experience, like she’s already mapped out exactly where this is going to end. You don’t want to ask what she means, don’t want to entertain the thought, don’t want to let her words burrow any deeper than they already have.
Instead, you shift, forcing a slow breath through your nose, flipping the page in your notebook as if that alone could wipe the last few seconds clean. “How did you find the bar?” you ask, tone even, unaffected—at least, that’s how you want it to sound.
Saeryeong blinks, caught slightly off guard by the sudden shift, but she recovers quickly, lips curling into a smirk. “It’s not that difficult to find,” she says, tilting her head. “Not if you know where to look.” Her answer doesn’t settle right, doesn’t quite explain why she was there, how she found it. But you don’t press—there are more important things to focus on.
Your fingers twitch against the table, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you pick up your pen again, flipping to a new page in your notes, forcing the conversation back on track. “Let’s just focus on the project,” you say, voice clipped.
She watches you for a moment longer before relenting, shifting in her seat. “Alright,” she says, letting it go—for now.
The tension lingers, thick and unspoken, but you force yourself to move past it. You flip your notebook open, scanning the list of pre-prepared questions, grounding yourself in the one thing that still makes sense—your project. “So,” you say, keeping your tone even, professional. “Let’s start with your role in the team. As the captain, you set the tone for the rest of the squad. How do you manage that, especially in high-stress situations?”
Saeryeong exhales, seemingly glad for the shift in topic. “It’s a balance,” she says, crossing her legs. “Confidence is key. If we look uncertain, the players feel it. It’s why we have set routines, specific calls, and structured energy shifts. We don’t just move—we control the atmosphere.”
You nod, jotting notes, catching the way she slips into something more comfortable now, something practiced. “And do you notice when it affects the players? When they’re off?”
“Always,” Saeryeong says without hesitation. “They’re athletes, sure, but they’re still human. I can tell when Sunghoon’s distracted, when he’s too in his head, when the energy from us isn’t getting through to him. Same with Jake, or really any of them. Some feed off it more than others, but it matters.”
Your pen stills for a second, but you don’t dwell on it. You shift gears, pressing forward. “Would you say you adapt your calls based on what the team needs mid-game?”
Saeryeong tilts her head, considering. “Sometimes. But mostly, they adapt to us.”
Your brows lift slightly at that, and she smirks, reading your expression. “You think the cheer team is just background noise?” she muses, arms crossing. “Think again. We’re the ones who set the tempo. If we chant at a certain pace, they start moving at that pace. If we get louder, they push harder. If we drop our energy, even for a second, they feel it. We dictate more than people realize.”
You absorb that, nodding slowly, tapping your pen against the paper. That was the kind of insight you needed. The intersection between performance and external reinforcement, the way synchronized energy impacted team morale in real-time.
“We should go see it in action,” you murmur, half to yourself.
Saeryeong lifts a brow. “The team’s running drills right now. If you want to observe, we can head to the gym.”
It’s convenient. Too convenient. The timing of this—the way everything keeps circling back to places Sunghoon is, the way last night’s haze refuses to settle fully into the past. But you’re not about to back out of your own project just because of that. “Let’s go,” you say, tucking your pen into your notebook and standing. Saeryeong follows, stretching slightly before falling into step beside you.
The walk to the gym is quiet at first, your mind sifting through layers of research, the weight of unfinished conclusions pressing against the personal stakes you’d rather not acknowledge. Saeryeong, on the other hand, moves with an easy kind of confidence, flipping her phone in her hand, occasionally glancing at you like she’s debating whether to say something but ultimately deciding against it.
Once you’re inside, Saeryeong leads you toward the bleachers, where you both settle, your gaze immediately drawn to the team spread across the court. Sunghoon is there, of course—muscles tense, focused, driving himself through the drill with a precision that’s both calculated and instinctive.
But your attention shifts, recalibrates. You watch the cheer team instead, the way they move in sync, the way their presence doesn’t just exist in the background but actively fills the space, dictating the momentum, feeding into the players’ rhythm. Saeryeong nudges you slightly. “See what I mean?” she says, nodding toward the court. “Watch how they react when we call out.”
Right on cue, the squad erupts in a sharp, synchronized chant, their voices cutting through the noise, a shift in tempo pushing through the atmosphere. And sure enough—on the court, the players move accordingly, the subtle but undeniable impact visible in their footwork, their posture, the way their focus sharpens.
You scribble notes, absorbing it all. The project was never just about individual performance. It was about the ecosystem that shaped it—the unseen forces dictating momentum, confidence, hesitation. Every movement on the court was a response to something else, a ripple in a much larger current. And Saeryeong, whether she realized it or not, was at the center of that just as much as the players were.
And, in a way, so were you.
The realization settles just as the air in the gym shifts. It’s not immediate, not something you can pinpoint, but you feel it. A slight lag in the cheerleaders’ timing, a break in the seamless synchronization they usually held. It’s small—just an offbeat count, a hesitation in a landing—but it carries weight, like a crack forming beneath the surface, invisible until it’s too late. That energy spreads. It drifts past the baseline, creeping onto the court, threading itself through the players’ movements. Jake adjusts his stance, eyes flickering toward the disruption, his body tensing just enough to be noticeable. Sunghoon hesitates before taking his next shot, just a fraction of a second too long, just enough for the defense to close in.
Basketball is about rhythm. About instinct. The ability to anticipate where the ball will land before it even touches the floor. And yet, something about the flow of the game is off. There’s a disconnect now, something unspoken fraying the edges of their movements. The tempo has changed, the balance unsettled, and in the space where momentum should be, hesitation lingers instead.
The disruption takes form as the gym doors swing open, and Nahyun steps inside, she enters in a rush of motion, trying to slide past Saeryeong like she might go unnoticed, but that was never going to happen. The uniform clings to her, the pleats of her skirt barely settling from her hurried steps, the ribbon in her hair slipping loose, strands sticking to the light sheen of sweat along her temple. She looks every bit like she’s just sprinted across campus to get here, her breath a little uneven, her eyes flickering to you for just a fraction of a second. The contact is sharp, brimming with unspoken weight, and it stills you.
“If you’re late, don’t bother,” Saeryeong says, voice cutting through the gym like a whip crack. She’s not just annoyed—she’s pissed, and rightfully so. “Skip practice.”
Nahyun exhales, rolling her shoulders back as if she’s shaking something off. Then, in one smooth motion, she yanks the pom-poms from her hands and tosses them in Saeryeong’s direction, the movement almost lazy. “I’ll do one better,” she says, and there’s something detached in the way she delivers it, something that makes your stomach turn before you even realize why.
Saeryeong catches them on reflex, but she barely acknowledges the weight in her hands. “Nahyun—” she snaps.
“I’m quitting the team.”
It takes half a second for the words to sink in. Then, chaos. A handful of the other cheerleaders react immediately, voices overlapping, the shock ricocheting through the gym as they glance between Nahyun and Saeryeong, waiting for someone to fix it. But Saeryeong is frozen, her grip white-knuckled around the clipboard in her hands, the sharp edges digging into her palms as she processes what just happened. The match is tomorrow. A full-team, choreographed routine. Every movement accounted for, every person essential. Losing one now isn’t just an inconvenience—it’s a disaster.
Her jaw tightens, something flickering through her eyes before she lets out a slow breath. And then, as if a switch flips, she’s moving. “Again,” she calls out, clapping her hands sharply, the authority in her voice snapping everyone to attention. The drill sergeant act begins. She’s harsher now, sharper in her corrections, her movements clipped as she steps between the girls, fixing stances, repositioning arms, demanding precision. There’s no room for error, not anymore. Every move has to be perfect. Every count has to be sharp. The weight of the upcoming match presses into the gym, and you can feel it in the way the air tightens around you, in the way the cheerleaders push themselves harder despite their muscles already straining.
It’s a direct reflection of what’s happening on the court. Jake and Sunghoon are arguing again, their voices rising above the squeak of sneakers against the polished floor. It’s not about anything important—not really. A bad pass, a missed opportunity, something that would normally be brushed off within seconds—but today, it lingers. Today, it festers, infecting the rhythm of the game like a slow, creeping disease. Sunghoon is distracted. You notice it in the way his jaw tenses, the way his body reacts a second slower than usual, the way his movements lack their usual ease. Something is on his mind, something is pulling at him from the inside out, and it’s affecting his game. You watch him carefully, trying to pinpoint the exact moment where the tension shifts, where it finally snaps. He shoves the ball into Jake's hands a little too hard, and Jake shoves back, the frustration on both their faces unmistakable.
Back on the sidelines, Saeryeong is just as relentless. “Again,” she commands, stepping back to watch the girls fall into formation. They move quickly, their bodies obeying instinct more than thought now, sweat dampening their uniforms, their breath coming harder. She’s drilling them, pushing them, but there’s something else in the way she watches them move—something sharper, something more desperate. You don’t miss the way she glances at you in the middle of it all. You can’t read her expression, can’t tell if she’s angry or focused or just thinking, but she’s staring hard.
“You’re staring,” you murmur, smirking slightly as you step closer, your voice just low enough for her to hear.
“I’m just thinking,” she responds, grip tightening around the clipboard she’s holding, her knuckles briefly whitening against the plastic.
Your brows lift slightly, intrigued. “And what exactly is there to think about?”
Saeryeong exhales, but doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she watches the team for another beat, eyes flickering between the formations, tracking the movements with something close to scrutiny. You hum, stepping even closer, lowering your voice just enough to tilt the dynamic between you. “You didn’t seem this interested in my technique last night.”
Her jaw tenses, her grip tightening even further on the clipboard, but she doesn’t rise to the bait. Not this time. Instead, she just smirks, eyes flicking back to the team. “Formation!” she calls out, voice snapping back to its authoritative edge.
The atmosphere in the gym fractures under the weight of Areum’s voice, sharp and cutting through the static. “This isn’t working!” she snaps, throwing up her hands, her frustration barely veiled beneath a thin layer of exhaustion. “The team isn’t in it!”
The routine stutters. One beat off, then another, until the entire formation falters, a hesitation spreading like a domino effect. The energy is wrong. The precision is missing. The movements lack conviction. You can see it in the way the cheerleaders push through their motions—legs not fully extended, landings too soft, their usual electric synchronization dulled into something mechanical and uncertain. No one seems entirely present, least of all Areum.
She exhales sharply, already turning away from the group, her arms crossed, gaze sliding to Saeryeong with something bordering on indifference. “We need a replacement,” she says, voice clipped, more matter-of-fact than concerned. “We’re missing a body, and if we don’t fix this now, we’re going to be completely off tomorrow.”
She doesn’t seem particularly worried about the team or the performance, not in the way Saeryeong is. Her frustration is pointed, but it’s not at the cheerleaders’ failure—it’s at the fact that they’re still here, still running the same routine, still dealing with the same problem Saeryeong refuses to let go of. She just wants a way out of this headache. Then, as if on instinct, her eyes flick to you.
It’s brief—just a split-second, just long enough to send a sharp jolt through your spine. Your reaction betrays you before you can control it. Your shoulders tense, your breath catches, your composure wavers just enough that the widening of your eyes gives you away and Saeryeong notices. Her gaze follows Areum’s, landing on you, and something shifts. It’s in the way she stills, the way her lips part slightly, the way understanding settles behind her eyes like a match striking against a fuse. She looks at Areum, then back at you, and then she grins.
Her hands clap together, the sound slicing through the air like a verdict. “That’s actually a great idea.”
“No,” you say immediately, voice flat.
But Areum, catching onto the opportunity, latches onto it without hesitation. “You have to join. We’re out of options.” She’s already looking away, like the problem is solved, like she can check this off her list and move on.
You shake your head, a firm, unwavering refusal. “Absolutely not.”
Saeryeong tilts her head, something unreadable in her expression. “And why not?”
You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to stand your ground. “Because I’m not a cheerleader.”
Areum sighs, shifting her weight onto one foot, already looking disinterested again. “You don’t have to be,” she mutters, not even trying to be convincing. “All you have to do is understand body coordination. It’s about angles, timing, movement—you analyze this stuff better than anyone. And your build—” she gestures vaguely at you, barely looking, as if she’s already lost interest in the conversation—“is perfect for the routine. You’d fit right in.”
Your brows knit together. “Fit right in?”
“Look, I wouldn’t be asking if this wasn’t important,” she continues, voice softer now, less cutting, more genuine. “Nahyun’s gone, and that screws everything up. We don’t have time to rework the formations, and we sure as hell don’t have time to teach someone else all the counts by tomorrow. But you—you already know them. You’ve been watching us, studying us. You’re the only option that makes sense.”
You shake your head. “Saeryeong—”
She exhales sharply, frustration threading through the edges of her voice, but not at you—at the situation, at the fact that she’s even asking you this. “Please,” she says again, and the word lands heavier this time, like she’s forcing it out against every instinct in her body. “I know you don’t want to, but I wouldn’t be asking if I had another choice.”
You exhale, rubbing a hand over your face. “I can’t believe I’m saying this.”
The reflection staring back at you in the mirror doesn’t look quite like the person you’ve always known. The cheer uniform hugs your curves like it was made for you, the fabric sleek against your skin, the Raven’s colors bold and striking in contrast. The snug top lifts and accentuates your chest, the neckline just high enough to keep things modest but tight enough to leave little to the imagination. The pleated skirt flares at just the right angle, emphasizing the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips, the smooth length of your thighs. It’s too short, just barely covering anything when you move, the hem skimming the tops of your legs, teasing the thick press of your skin underneath.
You smooth your hands down the material, fingers grazing over the soft fabric before you hook them beneath the waistband, rolling it up ever so slightly, just enough to shorten the skirt, just enough to make it sit higher on your thighs. Your lips part slightly as you exhale, your body warm under the gym lights, your pulse a little too steady as you take yourself in. You look good. You look incredible.
And someone else sees it, too.
A shift in the air, warm, slow, deliberate. The faintest sound of breath behind you, the softest rustle of fabric, and then the unmistakable heat of a body stepping in close, crowding into your space like he belongs there. His presence settles around you before you even see him, a slow, creeping awareness that sends a shiver down your spine.
Sunghoon’s hands find your waist first, firm and possessive, fingers pressing into the snug fabric of your uniform like he’s testing the feel of it, like he’s already thinking about ways to ruin it. His breath fans warm over the curve of your neck as he exhales, lingering just long enough for you to feel the way his chest rises and falls against your back. You don’t have to turn around. You don’t have to ask. The way he touches you, the way his fingers dip lower, teasing at the hem of your skirt, tells you everything.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice lower, rougher, his palm pressing into your lower back as his other hand lifts above your head, spinning you just enough that you’re no longer looking at yourself, you’re looking at him. His gaze is molten, burning as it drags down your body, over the tight stretch of your top, the way the skirt barely covers you, the way your thighs press together, the way your ass curves under the fabric. His tongue flicks out over his bottom lip, his fingers tightening like he’s barely holding himself back. His grip tightens as he pulls you flush against him, making sure you feel just how much he likes this, how much he wants this.
“My girl.” The words are possessive, reverent, his eyes locking onto yours as his fingers flex again, squeezing before sliding up the back of your thigh. “Goddamn, baby.” His hand braces you against the mirror, caging you in. His eyes don’t leave yours, dark and hungry as he watches the way your lips part, the way your body melts into his. He can’t stop looking, can’t stop touching, can’t stop imagining all the ways he could fuck you in this.
His fingers skate up higher, pushing the fabric just enough to tease, enough to make you shift against him. “Did you roll this up for me?” His voice is a little smug now, laced with amusement, but the way his grip tightens betrays how wrecked he already is. “Wanted me to see just how good you look like this, huh?”
His reaction sends heat curling in your stomach, an electric buzz sinking beneath your skin. You smirk, tilting your head slightly, shifting your weight so his fingers brush against more of you. “Like what you see?”
He scoffs, his grip turning firm as he pulls you even closer, his nose brushing the shell of your ear as he leans in. “Like it?” His voice is low, almost dangerous. “I love it. You’re gonna fucking kill me, showing up like this.”
“Like it?” His fingers flex, teasing, testing, skimming beneath the hem of your skirt just to feel the way you shiver. “Baby, I fucking love it. You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.”
His teeth graze your jaw, his hips pressing forward just enough for you to feel exactly how much he means it. “You show up looking like this, and you think I’m just gonna let you walk out of here? Not a chance.” His lips brush against your skin, slow, deliberate, the promise of something darker coiling in his tone. “You’re gonna be late, baby. I need a minute. Need to touch. Need to taste. Need to see just how good you feel in this.”
You press a lingering kiss to his lips, letting it stretch just long enough to feel the warmth of him, the way his breath hitches when you pull away. His hands linger at your waist, reluctant, like he doesn’t want to let you go yet, but you just smile, smoothing your fingers down his chest before nudging him toward the bench behind him.
“You should sit down,” you murmur, your voice light, teasing, but beneath it, something softer lingers. Something careful.
Sunghoon hums, low and thoughtful, his eyes flickering over your face like he can tell there’s more to your words than just playfulness. And maybe there is. You’ve been watching him, noticing the way his usual sharpness on the court has dulled just slightly, the way his movements have felt just a little off, half a second too slow, a fraction of an inch imprecise. It’s not something anyone else would pick up on, but you do. You always do. And now, with the big game looming, the weight of it presses in on you, the way it must be pressing on him.
He exhales, but he listens, dropping onto the bench, legs spread as he watches you, his hands resting loosely on his thighs. Even now, with the tension still thick in the air, with the way he’s looking at you like he wants to drag you back into his lap, you can see it, the strain just beneath the surface, the way something has been sitting heavy in his head. You don’t push, not yet. Instead, you step between his legs, brushing your fingers through his hair, letting the touch linger as you tip his chin up, forcing his gaze to meet yours. “Just relax for a second,” you murmur, softer now, more intimate. “You know I’ve got you, right?”
His head tilts back against the cool metal, his eyes dragging over you again, slow and deliberate, heat simmering beneath the surface. He exhales, his grip on his thighs tightening, but his voice stays low, teasing. “You always do this,” he murmurs, gaze locked onto yours. “Take care of me before I even say a word.” His fingers flex, like he’s fighting the urge to pull you closer, to let this moment shift into something heavier. But then his lips curl, something lazy, something knowing. “What are you up to, baby?”
You lean in, pressing your lips to his, slow at first, teasing, testing, before deepening the kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair as you grind down again. He groans against your mouth, his grip tightening, his body already responding to yours. But then you pull back, just enough to meet his gaze, your voice softening as your fingers trace over the nape of his neck. “Hoon,” you murmur, “I know in your last few games you haven't been as good as you normally are.”
Sunghoon tenses beneath you, his hands faltering slightly on your hips. “Y/N, you don’t need to—”
“Yes, I do,” you cut him off, your voice firm, steady. You cup his face, making sure he’s looking at you, making sure he knows you mean it. “You know I’ll always support you, right? Especially with basketball. You’re the best player out there, Sunghoon. You just need to focus. Don’t let anything else get to you. Just play your game, and I promise I’ll always be right there, cheering you on, quite literally this time.”
His eyes flicker with something unreadable, something heavy, but he nods, his fingers tightening on your waist again. “I know, baby.”
You smirk, shifting slightly in his lap, the movement deliberate. “And now that I’m a cheerleader…” You trail off, letting the words hang between you, letting the implications sink in. Your hands trace down his chest, slow, teasing. “I guess that means I have to make sure my star player is taken care of.”
Sunghoon’s breath hitches, his hands twitching against your waist, fingers pressing in like he’s barely keeping himself in check. His voice is rough, caught somewhere between arousal and disbelief. “Fuck,” he mutters, eyes dragging over you, watching the way you shift in his lap, the way your weight presses down against him, the slow, teasing roll of your hips making him groan low in his throat. “What are you doing?”
You don’t answer, not with words. Instead, you slide off his lap in one fluid motion, your movements slow, deliberate, your eyes never leaving his as you sink gracefully to your knees between his spread legs. His breath catches, his thighs tensing beneath your hands, the realization hitting him all at once. His entire body goes still, anticipation thick in the air, his lips parting as his chest rises and falls a little heavier now. Your fingers skim along the waistband of his shorts, just barely slipping beneath the fabric, teasing the heat that already strains against them.
A smirk plays at his lips, half-amused, half-wrecked already, but his voice is all low, unfiltered hunger when he finally speaks. “You gonna suck my cock, baby?” His fingers thread through your hair, not forcing, just holding, just feeling. “Gonna get on your knees for me, looking all sweet in that little fucking skirt?”
You hum softly, pressing a kiss to his hipbone before looking up at him through your lashes, your eyes wide, deliberate, knowing exactly what it does to him. “Just for good luck,” you murmur, the words dripping with sweetness, the kind that only makes his cock throb harder in anticipation.
A groan rips from his throat, his hand tightening in your hair as he watches you, his jaw clenching as you pull down his shorts, freeing his cock, thick and flushed and already leaking for you. “Fuck,” he mutters, his stomach flexing as you wrap a hand around the base, your fingers barely meeting. “Look at you, my fucking cheerleader, on your knees for me before my game.”
His cock twitches in your grip, and you don’t give him time to say anything else before licking a slow stripe up the underside, your tongue swirling around the head, tasting the salt of him. His reaction is instant—his breath shudders, his thighs tense, his fingers gripping at the back of your head, his lips parting as a quiet, wrecked moan spills past them.
“God, baby—” His voice breaks slightly, his free hand curling into a fist beside him. “You really want me playing all fucked out, huh?”
You hum around him, your tongue flattening against the vein running along his length, and his hips jerk up involuntarily, a curse spilling from his lips. “That’s it,” he grits out, his voice rough, raw. “Suck my cock, baby. Show me how much you wanna see me win.”
Your tongue flicks out, slow, teasing, dragging over the head, tasting the salt of him before wrapping your lips around the tip. The way he reacts is instant, his whole body tenses, a sharp inhale cutting through the air, his grip tightening just slightly as his thighs shift beneath you. You hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper inch by inch, letting your mouth stretch around him, letting him feel the warmth, the wet heat of your tongue gliding along the underside. His hips jerk slightly, an involuntary response, a low groan spilling from his throat.
“Shit—” he breathes, his jaw clenching, his eyes burning into you as you take him deeper. “You’re too fucking good at this.” His fingers tighten, guiding you just slightly, his chest rising and falling as he watches the way your lips wrap around him, the way your lashes flutter when you moan softly around his length. His cock twitches against your tongue, and the sight alone nearly wrecks him. “God, baby, look at you,” he groans. “So fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth.”
You hum around him, the vibration making his head tip back, his muscles locking tight. You set a slow, steady rhythm, letting your tongue drag along every inch of him, your lips sealed tight as you bob your head, sucking him down in long, wet strokes. The noises he makes are wrecked, desperate, his restraint slipping with every slick pull of your mouth. “Taking me so fucking well,” he mutters, voice strained, his grip tightening just slightly as his hips shift. “You love this, don’t you? Love getting me like this before a game, all worked up for you.”
Your response is to take him deeper, swallowing around him, making him groan as his head falls back against the cool metal behind him. His stomach flexes, his breathing uneven now, his thighs trembling slightly as he fights the urge to fuck into your mouth. “Fuck, baby, I can’t—” His voice is raw, desperate, his fingers tangling tighter in your hair. “You’re gonna make me cum.”
You moan in encouragement, your tongue swirling over the tip before sinking down again, taking him as deep as you can, letting your throat tighten around him. It’s the final push he needs, his grip on your hair tightens as his hips jerk forward, his breath catching on a groan as he spills into your mouth, thick and hot, his whole body shuddering beneath you. His head tips back, his chest heaving, a curse slipping past his lips as you swallow every drop, slurping him clean, your tongue flicking over the sensitive head just to hear him hiss in overstimulation.
His eyes are heavy-lidded when he looks down at you, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips, his expression full of heat and something softer, something almost reverent. He pulls you up, his grip firm, and the second you’re upright, his mouth crashes against yours, his tongue sliding past your lips, tasting himself on you as he groans against your mouth.
His hands are already tugging at your cheer skirt, his fingers gripping your thighs as he moves you, pulling you onto his lap with ease. His cock is still heavy against his stomach, not entirely softened, and when you grind down, teasing him, rolling your hips against his length, he hisses, his hands flexing against your ass.
“Shit,” he rasps, his voice low, rough around the edges. His eyes flick up to meet yours, dark with something unmistakable. “You’re really that desperate, huh?”
You smirk, dragging your nails down his chest, leaning in to press your lips against his jaw. “You know I always take care of you, baby,” you murmur, your voice low, teasing. “Especially when it comes to your game.”
Sunghoon tilts his head back, a slow, wicked grin stretching across his lips as his hands grip your waist, his thumbs digging in. “Then don’t keep me waiting,” he rasps, already positioning you, already pulling you down onto him. “Make it worth my while.”
And then he thrusts up as you sink down onto him, the stretch forcing a gasp from your lips, your nails digging into his shoulders as he fills you completely. His hands grip your hips, guiding you as you start to move, bouncing slowly, rolling your hips, feeling every inch of him pressing deep. His breath is uneven, his head tipping back as he groans.
“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he breathes, his fingers digging into your skin. “Ride me, just like that.”
You grind down, rolling your hips, the pressure hitting just right, and he groans, his grip tightening as he helps you move, meeting your rhythm, matching your pace. His lips find yours again, desperate now, messy and consuming, and you lose yourself in it, in the heat, in the way he fills you, in the way his hands hold you like you’re the only thing in the world.
Sunghoon might have a game to win, but right now, with your body pressed against his, the heat of you searing into him, nothing else exists, nothing but the way you feel, the way you move, the way you take him apart.
The ball clatters off the rim, ricocheting sharply before hitting the floor, the sound hollow and almost accusatory. Sunghoon stands frozen for a split second, his chest rising and falling harder than it should be, his eyes following the ball as though he can will it back into place, back into what should have been a clean shot. The tension in his jaw is sharp enough to cut glass, his hands flexing at his sides as he turns, pacing toward the edge of the court. He’s unraveling in slow motion, and everyone sees it.
You see it most.
From your position on the sidelines, the rhythmic stomp of cheer shoes and the carefully timed claps of the routine fade into white noise. Your focus is singular, trained entirely on him, on the sharp line of his shoulders, the way his hands rake through his hair in frustration, the way his movements are missing their usual edge. He’s off, and it’s like watching something delicate start to crack under too much pressure.
Your stomach twists, a complicated tangle of emotions you don’t have the time or space to dissect. You’re worried about him, frustrated with him, aching for him. You’re worried because you know him, know the precision and control he usually carries, and watching him falter feels wrong, like something is slipping through your fingers. You’re frustrated because you’ve already poured so much into him, your touch, your words, your body and yet here he is, unraveling as if none of it reached him. And you ache for him, deeply, because you saw the vulnerability in his eyes just minutes ago, the way he let you steady him, let you hold him in ways he’d never let anyone else. It’s all tangled together, your care and your anger and your longing, because no matter how much you try to separate yourself from this moment, his pain feels like yours, his failures like something you should’ve been able to fix.
Just minutes ago, it was different. You’d had him pressed beneath you, your fingers threading through his hair, your lips brushing his skin as you whispered his name. His body was warm, pliant, and utterly at your mercy. The way he’d looked up at you—wide-eyed, lips parted, his breath shuddering as you touched him—was burned into your mind. You’d taken your time with him, grounding him with every slow roll of your hips, with the way you’d drawn his focus to nothing but you.
He’d clung to you like you were the only thing tethering him to the world, his voice hoarse and low as he murmured “My girl,” between kisses, his hands mapping your body like he was afraid you’d disappear. And by the end, when he’d spilled against your skin, his head tipped back, the strain in his voice matching the tension in his body, you were sure—sure—that it would be enough to steady him. To bring him back to himself.
But here you are, standing in your cheer uniform, the pleated skirt brushing against your thighs as you shift your weight, watching him unravel on the court like none of it had mattered. Like you hadn’t spent all that time trying to piece him back together with your body, your words, your touch.
You catch the smallest movement, a flicker of his gaze. Not to you, but to the stands. Your eyes follow his line of sight until you see them. Two guys, seated casually but with their attention fixed squarely on Sunghoon. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and you feel your pulse quicken, unease curling low in your stomach. He’s glancing at them again, the same furtive, almost nervous looks you’ve noticed before. He doesn’t think anyone sees it, but you do. You always do.
And it stings. Because no matter how much you tell yourself that you’re here as part of the team today, that this game isn’t about you, it doesn’t feel that way. His distraction isn’t just a threat to the game, it’s a threat to you, to what you thought you’d fixed, to the fragile balance you’d worked so hard to restore.
Your hands tighten at your sides as the game moves forward, but all you can do is stand there, a carefully practiced smile on your lips as you keep time with the routine. Your movements are sharp, precise, your body drawing more than its fair share of attention on the sidelines. But your mind is elsewhere, on the way Sunghoon’s hands felt on you just hours ago, the sound of his voice when he told you he needed you, and the crushing weight of watching him fall apart in real time.
You should be detached, an impartial observer with a clipboard and a steady hand, but the line between researcher and participant has blurred beyond recognition. Your focus should be on data points and team dynamics, yet all you can see is him. Sunghoon, pacing near the court, shoulders taut, his movements a fraction too slow, too unsure. This isn’t the player you’ve studied, the one who moves like clockwork, precision and instinct perfectly aligned. The sight of him faltering stirs something sharp in you, frustration at his carelessness, worry at his obvious distraction, and a deeper ache you can’t quite shake. You know him too well to ignore the shift, the weight in his posture that speaks of something unspoken pressing down on him.
And still, you perform. Your body moves with practiced ease, the routine second nature, Your presence commands attention, not just from the crowd, but from him. You can feel his eyes on you, those fleeting, stolen glances that betray the composure he tries so hard to maintain. It’s a tether between you, one that pulls tighter with every look, every unspoken exchange.
You’re an actor, slipping into this role as effortlessly as you breathe, molding yourself into the polished, magnetic cheerleader they expect to see. You wear it well, your uniform hugging every curve, the pleated skirt swaying just enough to draw the eye, the fitted top framing your figure in ways that beg for attention. Each movement flows with deliberate precision, the subtle curve of your hips and the snap of your arms radiating a confidence that feels both instinctive and dangerously new. You know the power you hold, but it’s his gaze that burns the hottest. Sunghoon watches you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, his eyes dragging over every inch of you, lingering too long on the curve of your hips, the bare stretch of your legs. There’s heat in his stare, raw and unrelenting, as though he’s memorizing the way you look right now, as if he can’t help himself. And when your eyes meet, when you dare to look back at him, the connection is electric, a silent, searing current that leaves no room for pretense or composure. It’s just the two of you, playing a game only you seem to understand.
Around you, the other cheerleaders are whispering, their words barely audible over the thrum of the game. “Look at them,” one murmurs, her eyes darting between you and Sunghoon. “They’ve been doing this all game.” Another adds, “She doesn’t even blink.” You hear them, feel their curiosity and suspicion, but you don’t care. Your focus is singular, unwavering, locked onto Sunghoon as if the rest of the world has faded to static.
Your pulse matches the rhythm of his movements, every missed shot, every hesitant pass and it’s as though you can feel his frustration, his conflict, as if it’s your own. You remain still, unreadable to those around you, but inside, you’re unraveling, torn between wanting to shake him out of his daze and wanting to pull him close, to fix whatever it is that’s weighing him down.
Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Areum’s gaze. She doesn’t join the whispers; she doesn’t need to. Her expression says enough. She’s seen it before, seen the way Sunghoon kissed you once, caught in a moment neither of you thought anyone was watching. Now, as she watches you watch him, there’s no confusion, no surprise. Just a knowing look, quiet and unspoken. Beside her, Saeryeong shakes her head slightly, a smirk playing on her lips. “They’re so obvious,” she murmurs under her breath. Areum doesn’t respond, just hums softly, the sound tinged with something like amusement.
But none of it matters. Not the whispers, not the knowing glances. Not the way the tension in the air feels like it’s coiling tighter with every passing second. All that matters is him, the way his jaw clenches, the flex of his hands as he grips the ball, the flicker of something in his eyes when they meet yours. Whatever this is between you and Sunghoon, it’s no longer something that can be hidden, no longer just yours to carry. It’s out there now, in the open, undeniable and electric, and you don’t know what happens next. But you can feel it, something is about to break.
The tension coils around Sunghoon like a vice, tightening with every missed shot, every mistimed pass, every second he spends pacing instead of playing. His presence is heavy on the court, not in the way it should be, not commanding, not steady, but fractured, leaking uncertainty into the spaces between plays. The team feels it. The rhythm they rely on, the instinctual trust in movement and momentum, is gone. It’s hesitation where there should be decisiveness, strained glances where there should be unspoken understanding. Coach Suh’s voice cuts through the noise, clipped and edged with frustration, but Sunghoon barely reacts, jaw clenched, shoulders taut, locked in a battle with himself that no amount of yelling can fix.
The chemistry that once felt effortless now seems jagged, broken at the seams. You watch as Jake, Sunghoon, and Heeseung move through their formations, their bodies trained to anticipate one another, to read the court with instinctual precision. But instinct is failing them tonight. Jake’s movements are just a fraction delayed, Heeseung’s passes slightly off-kilter. And Sunghoon, Sunghoon is the biggest disruption of all. Sunghoon’s gaze flickers toward you again, a split-second glance before he catches himself, his shoulders stiffening. It’s not just a look, it’s a search, a silent plea for steadiness, for something to ground him. But that brief hesitation is enough for Jake to cut in, his voice sharp as he waves Sunghoon off. “We need to get it together, man.”
“I know,” Sunghoon mutters, jaw tightening, but the way his fingers flex against his shorts betrays his frustration.
You watch it all unfold, the way every exchange between them carries weight, the way the team struggles to recalibrate around them. There’s no trust, no synchronization, nothing but irritation simmering between Sunghoon and Jake, threatening to unravel everything. And you know why. A few games ago, they were in sync, moving as if tethered by instinct alone, Jake adjusting his positioning just before Sunghoon’s pass even left his hands, Sunghoon shifting to cover ground the moment Jake needed him.
You remember the way Jake had purposefully missed a shot after a split-second look from Sunghoon, a moment of unspoken strategy you never brought up, though it sat in the back of your mind ever since. But now, it’s different. Now, Jake looks frustrated. Sunghoon doesn’t look at him, doesn’t acknowledge him beyond necessity. Whatever unspoken deal they had is broken, the trust beneath it eroded, and it’s throwing everything off, Sunghoon’s timing, Jake’s patience, the team’s rhythm. You don’t know what changed between then and now, but whatever it is, it’s bleeding into the game, and no one can ignore it anymore.
You shift your weight, your movements precise, controlled. The routine continues, the rhythm of the cheer blending seamlessly with the game, but even that feels different now. The other cheerleaders maintain their bright expressions, their bodies moving in practiced unison, but the tension has bled into them too. The nerves show in the slight hesitation of a step, the faint uncertainty behind their sharp smiles. They know what’s at stake, and they know what happens when energy like this seeps into a performance.
Sunghoon glances at you again, this time longer. It’s not careful anymore, it’s blatant, his distraction laid bare. You hold his gaze, unwavering, but it doesn’t settle him like it should. If anything, it makes it worse. You can see it in the slight clench of his jaw, the way his fingers tighten around the ball, his chest rising and falling just a little too fast and then, like a fault line finally giving way, it cracks.
“Come on, Sunghoon, that pass was bullshit!” Jake’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and raw with irritation.
Sunghoon exhales sharply, shoving a hand through his hair before turning on him. “Shut up and play.”
But Jake doesn’t back down. The frustration has been simmering for too long, and now it’s boiling over, spilling into the open for everyone to see. What started as a miscommunication on the court has turned into something else entirely, something deeper, something heavier, something that has nothing to do with the game and everything to do with them.
The tension shatters when Sunghoon’s shove sends Jake stumbling back a step, but it’s not the force that stuns him, it’s the intent behind it, the sheer frustration crackling between them, years of resentment and unresolved competition erupting into something ugly. Jake barely hesitates before he’s pushing back, his shoulder knocking into Sunghoon’s chest. Then, without warning, his fury redirects, his gaze snapping to you. It’s unexpected, a sudden shift that sends a jolt through you, heat curling at the base of your spine, though you don’t know if it’s adrenaline or something far more dangerous.
It happens fast. Too fast. The court is no longer just a game, it’s a battlefield. Sunghoon swings first, but Jake is just as quick, grabbing at Sunghoon’s jersey, dragging him forward as they collide. The sound of their scuffle is drowned out by the explosion of voices, teammates rushing in, sneakers skidding against the polished floor, the sharp blasts of Coach Suh’s whistle cutting through the chaos. Someone yells Sunghoon’s name. Someone else is pulling Jake back, holding him by the arms, but his chest still heaves, his eyes still locked onto Sunghoon with something unspoken, something furious.
Sunghoon is seething. His jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might crack, fists curled at his sides even as he’s restrained. He shakes off whoever’s holding him, stepping back, breath unsteady, chest rising and falling too fast. And when his gaze lifts, when his eyes find you standing on the sidelines, watching, it’s unreadable. Not anger, not regret, not even recognition. Just blank.
The game is forgotten. The play clock still ticks down, but it doesn’t matter. You’re still staring at him, waiting, waiting for something, anything, some sign that he’s coming back to himself but Sunghoon doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink. That’s when it hits you, whatever part of him you were trying to hold onto, it’s already slipped through your fingers.
The tension from the game hasn’t faded. It lingers, thick and suffocating, pressing against your skin like heat trapped in the air. Sunghoon sits back, legs spread, a towel slung around his neck, his brow cut, knuckles scraped, frustration still simmering beneath his skin. You settle onto his lap, your fingers skimming over the bruises lining his arms, the sharp contrast between your touch and the rawness of his wounds making something heavy settle in your chest. He watches you, quiet, jaw tight, the weight of everything still pressing into him, but he doesn’t push you away.
You should say something, ask if he’s okay, tell him he needs to stop letting shit get to him, remind him that none of it should matter as much as it does but instead, your hands move on instinct, smoothing over the tension coiled beneath his skin, pressing into the deep ache in his forearm, feeling the way his muscles twitch under your touch.
He exhales sharply, head tipping back against the lockers, his grip on your hips tightening like he’s grounding himself in you, like if he holds you close enough, he won’t have to sit with whatever’s been clawing at him all night. The tension in his body unravels beneath your touch, but it’s not just relief, it’s something deeper, something raw, something he won’t say out loud.
“You’re good at this,” he murmurs, voice low, rough, thick with something dark, something desperate, something that makes your stomach tighten. His fingers flex, dragging you forward, pressing you down onto his lap like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. “No one takes care of me like you do.”
Your nails scrape lightly over the edge of a bruise, teasing, pressing just enough to make him hiss through his teeth. His fingers tighten in response, his hips rolling up to meet yours, slow and unhurried, like he wants to pull you under with him. But you know him. You know this. You see the way he’s using this to drown out whatever’s really on his mind.
“Someone has to,” you murmur, softer now, dragging your fingertips along the ridge of his jaw, tracing the tension still wound tight beneath his skin. You press a kiss there, barely-there, something delicate in contrast to the way he holds you, and his breath stutters. His hands twitch, slipping beneath the hem of your skirt, his grip greedy, insistent, like he needs this, like he needs you, like this is the only way he knows how to ask for something more.
“Yeah?” His voice is hoarse now, rough with something tangled between hunger and avoidance, between want and fear. His lips graze your temple, then lower, slow and deliberate. “That why you’re still on my lap, baby?”
Your breath catches, your fingers flexing against his shoulders, but you don’t move. His words sink into your skin, thick and heavy, laced with something teasing, something knowing but there’s a challenge buried beneath it, too. You tip your head back slightly, just enough to let your lips brush against his jaw, your voice softer now, but just as steady. “Maybe I just like the way you feel.”
Your fingers trace over the bruises spreading across his ribs, pressing just enough to make him hiss through his teeth, the sharp inhale betraying the pain he won’t acknowledge. “You don’t have to be so rough with yourself,” you murmur, smoothing the cooling balm over his skin, letting it sink into the heat of him. You take care of him like this, always have. With steady hands and soft words, with the kind of tenderness he pretends not to need, with the kind of devotion he won’t admit he craves. And still, his body hums beneath you, tension coiling in his muscles, something unreadable flickering behind his heavy-lidded gaze. You know this look. You know where this is going.
Sunghoon doesn’t just sit back and let you help. He never does. His fingers tighten on your thighs, tugging you forward, redirecting your focus from the bruises to the way his cock presses thick and heavy against the inside of your leg, barely constrained by his shorts. Heat radiates off him, his body burning beneath your hands, beneath your touch. He’s already hard. He's already aching. Already so deep into whatever this is between you that he can’t think about anything else. His breath is slow, measured, but you feel the restraint in the way his fingers flex against your skin, the way his pulse thrums beneath your touch.
“You should take responsibility,” he murmurs, the words teasing, almost lazy, but there’s an edge to them, something darker, something that makes your stomach tighten. His lips brush against your jaw, lingering there before trailing lower, a deliberate path down your throat, the heat of his mouth sending a shiver through you.
“For what?” You already know the answer, but you ask anyway, just to hear him say it.
“For this.”
A slow roll of his hips, dragging against you, making you feel the full weight of his need, the thick press of his cock nudging right where you’re already sensitive, already aching. Your breath catches, your thighs clenching instinctively around him, and his grip tightens, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your skirt. His touch is deliberate, like he’s testing you, like he’s daring you to stop him. But you don’t. You never do.
Your palms smooth over his shoulders, pressing against the solid muscle, as if you’re trying to steady yourself, trying to remind yourself of why you’re here, why you should be doing something else. Why you should be asking about the fight, about the way he looked in the crowd, about whatever the fuck is going on in his head. But then his thumbs stroke over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, his mouth moves against your collarbone, and suddenly, none of that matters.
Sunghoon shifts, one hand sliding up your back, fingers curling around the nape of your neck as he pulls you down into a kiss, deep, slow, meant to consume. He kisses you like he needs you, like this is the only way he can ground himself. And when you feel his cock twitch against you, feel how thick and hard he is through his shorts, something inside you gives.
His hands guide you down, shifting you, positioning you exactly how he wants, until the slick heat of your pussy is stretched around him, taking him in inch by inch, so full it makes your breath stutter. Sunghoon groans, the sound low and wrecked, his grip tightening on your hips as your walls flutter around him, sucking him deeper. He doesn’t move right away—just holds you there, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust, letting you feel every inch of him stretching you open.
“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, his head tipping back, his fingers digging into your skin. “Feel how tight you are? Squeezing the fuck out of me—shit.”
Your nails rake down his chest as you grind down, rolling your hips in slow, teasing circles, relishing the way his cock pulses inside you. His breath is uneven now, his control slipping, his jaw clenched as he tries to hold himself back, but you don’t want restraint. Not from him. Not now.
“Sunghoon,” you whisper, leaning in, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “Let me take care of you.”
And then you move, fucking yourself on his cock, slow and deep, dragging him through your soaked, pulsing walls, taking him exactly how he likes. His hands guide your movements, grip tightening every time you sink down, every time your pussy clenches around him, milking him. The stretch burns in the best way, pleasure curling low in your stomach, the wet slide of him inside you obscene, messy, perfect.
“You take such good care of me,” he groans, his hands slipping under your shirt, dragging over bare skin, over curves, over the parts of you that make him weak. “Always so fucking good for me.”
Your thighs shake as you pick up the pace, your clit grinding against his lower stomach, your walls fluttering around his cock, pulling him deeper, dragging him to the edge. Sunghoon tilts his head forward, his teeth grazing your throat before his mouth latches on, sucking, biting, leaving proof of this all over your skin.
“You gonna cum for me?” he murmurs, his voice rough, thick with heat, his fingers slipping between you to rub slow, teasing circles over your clit. “Wanna feel you cum all over my cock, baby. Show me how bad you need it.”
The words snap something in you—not your release, not even when he tilts his head, his breath hot against your ear, coaxing, commanding, whispering for you to come for him. You don’t. Not because you can’t, but because the weight of realization is settling heavy in your chest, pressing into the space between your ribs, something cold and unshakable creeping in despite the heat of his body against yours. You know what he’s doing. And worse, you know what you’ve let him do. You’re not lost in this. You’re not mindless. You feel everything for him, every sharp, unbearable inch of it, and you let yourself move with it, let yourself give to him in a way you’ve never given to anyone else. You were doing this with awareness, with full knowledge of the way he’s trying to turn this into something physical, something easy, something he can control. And Sunghoon is good at control,. But you—you can’t let him off that easily.
There’s a pause in your movements, a slight hesitation as your fingers still against his skin. Your gaze sharpens, steady and unwavering when you finally meet his eyes, something resolute beneath the surface. “Who were they?”
His body goes rigid beneath you, a shift so slight most people wouldn’t notice but you do. You feel it in the way his hands still against your hips, the way his fingers flex before going stiff, the way the air between you thickens, tightens, as if a wire has been pulled taut. He doesn’t need to ask what you mean. He knows. It’s obvious. The two guys in the crowd. The ones you caught him glancing at when he thought no one was watching. The ones he kept looking for, even when he should’ve been focused on the game, even when he should’ve been focused on you.
He doesn’t answer. Your fingers press into his chest, but it’s not a push, it’s softer than that, something careful, something patient. Your voice lowers, gentler now, a deliberate contrast to the tension humming beneath his skin. “Sunghoon.” You give him a chance. You give him the space to choose honesty, to trust you with whatever it is that has his mind somewhere else, his game falling apart, his temper fraying at the edges. He doesn’t take it.
“Leave it.” The words are quick, clipped, and he doesn’t look at you when he says them.
Your jaw tightens. “No.” It’s firm, unwavering, without room for argument. “Who were they?”
His grip on your thighs turns bruising, fingers digging into your skin as his jaw tics, something sharp flickering behind his eyes, something that warns you to stop pushing, but you won’t. You can’t. “I said drop it.” His voice is lower now, rougher, but it’s not anger. It’s something else.
Your stomach twists. You hate this, the cracks forming beneath the surface, the feeling that there’s something slipping between your fingers. “What’s going on with you?” Your voice is still measured, but you don’t miss the way frustration edges in now, curling around the words, bleeding into the space between you. “Why the hell did you and Jake fight?”
Sunghoon exhales sharply, his head tipping back, his fingers still locked around you like he’s bracing himself against something, like he’s barely holding himself together. “Jesus, Y/N, just let it go.”
And then, before you can react to the bite in his tone, he’s moving again, his lips grazing the curve of your jaw, his breath warm against your skin, his hands pulling you back into him like he thinks he can just kiss this away. Like he thinks he can pull your focus from the weight in your chest, from the thing that’s coiling tighter and tighter inside you.
Your palms come up to his chest, pressing, pushing, creating space where he wants none. His hands slip from your waist as you push yourself off his lap, his body shifting back, his eyes darkening as they track your every movement, the muscle in his jaw jumping.
“Fine,” you snap, voice sharp, cutting, biting back the sting building in your throat. “Keep your fucking secrets.”
His lips part, his brows knitting together, and for a second, you think he’s going to say something, something real, something that matters. But he doesn’t. He just watches you, something unreadable flickering across his face, something quieter than frustration but just as sharp.
You shake your head, pulse pounding in your ears. “Don’t talk to me if you’re not gonna be honest.”
Sunghoon’s gaze stays locked onto yours, steady even as his fingers curl against his thighs, even as the tension in his shoulders winds tighter. “Come back.” His voice is lower now, softer, like he’s pulling himself back from the edge of whatever’s unraveling between you. “I’ll take you to mine.”
You let out a sharp breath, scoffing before you can stop yourself. “You really think I wanna go with you?”
His jaw tics, his eyes flashing. “Y/N—”
“No.” Your voice is firmer now, the finality in it unmistakable. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to shut me out and then pull me back in just because you want to.”
His fingers twitch, hesitant, caught between instinct and restraint. Like he wants to reach for you, pull you back down onto his lap, onto his body, let the press of your skin against his silence everything he refuses to say. It’s what he’s always done, used you as a distraction, turned feeling into something physical, something easy, something he could control. But you don’t move, and for once, he doesn’t either. The space between you feels like a test, and he knows he’s failing.
“I’ll call you later,” he says, and his voice is steady, too steady, like he already knows you’ll pick up. Like he already knows he has you.
Your fingers curl into fists, nails biting into your skin, grounding you, anchoring you in the weight of what this moment means. “Don’t.” The word is sharper this time, heavier. Not just a dismissal—a warning, a promise, a line drawn in the sand.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, but you see it—the way his jaw flexes, the way his fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for you, like he’s considering stopping you, saying something, fixing this. But he doesn’t. He won’t.
And so, you turn. Your heart slams against your ribs as you walk away, every step pulling you further from him, from whatever this is, from the wreckage of a conversation that never even got the chance to happen. You don’t look back. You don’t give him the satisfaction.
Your fingers curl around the handle, the cold metal grounding you for a fraction of a second before you push the door open, ready to walk out, to leave Sunghoon sitting there, to put as much distance between you and the mess of tonight as possible. But before you can take a step, a shadow moves into your path, a figure stepping forward with the kind of casual, unhurried presence that somehow feels heavier than if he’d stormed in. The movement is slow, deliberate, as if giving you time to register it—giving himself time to register you.
Jake stops in the doorway, his posture relaxed, but his expression anything but. His eyes flick over you first, a quick scan that lingers just long enough to send a prickle down your spine, then shifts past you, toward the locker room, toward the space you’ve just left.
Your breath catches.
His brows pull together for the briefest moment, something flickering across his face before he smooths it over, resets, masks. And then, just like that, his features harden, his lips pressing into a line before he exhales sharply through his nose and rolls his eyes.
It’s so immediate, so pointed, that you feel your own irritation flare before you can school your expression. Your shoulders tense but you’re relieved—so relieved—when you glance back and see that Sunghoon is dressed. Shirtless still, but at least his shorts are on, at least he looks decent, at least there’s nothing explicitly damning about the scene Jake has just walked in on.
Still, Jake looks at Sunghoon, then at you, and then he rolls his eyes again.
You laugh, but there’s an edge to it, sharp and tight. “Why are you looking at me like that?” You force your tone into something light, something unbothered. “After Sunghoon stormed off after his fight with you—because you’re both just so mature—this is where he came, and I needed to catch up with him about the project.”
Jake huffs out a laugh, but it’s humorless. “If that’s the story you wanna go with.” The words don’t land the way they should. There’s something else in his voice, something you can’t immediately place, but it sticks.
Your lips part slightly, confusion flickering across your face before you smooth it over, slipping into something calmer, something sure. “What are you doing here?” you counter, tilting your head just slightly, your arms folding across your chest, the movement slow, deliberate. The confidence in your voice is effortless, woven so seamlessly into your tone that it almost feels ridiculous for him to question you at all.
Because you’re the one in the guys’ locker room. You’re the one who should feel out of place. But the way you stand, the way you hold yourself, the way the words roll off your tongue like you belong here, it turns the moment inside out, shifts the dynamic so naturally that, for a second, it’s almost like he’s the one who doesn’t.
“I should be asking you that.” Jake rolls his eyes again, voice dripping with sarcasm, but his tone is clipped, irritated. He exhales sharply through his nose before huffing out another humorless laugh, his head shaking slightly. The expression on his face is unreadable, something between disbelief and something colder.
Your patience thins. “Don’t make this a thing, and don’t get sassy with me.” Your tone dips, firmer now, a quiet scold.
“Stop telling me what to do,” he snaps back instantly, voice lower, sharper. You blink. There’s something beneath the surface here, something that has nothing to do with his fight with Sunghoon, something heavier, something personal.
Your stomach tightens. “What is your problem?”
Before he can answer, movement behind you shifts the air. Sunghoon stands, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, his face unreadable, his presence fleeting. He steps past without so much as a glance, without hesitation, without acknowledgment. As if you’re nothing. As if none of this ever happened. The absence of reaction is more damning than anything he could have said. The locker room door swings shut behind him and the silence that follows is unbearable.
Jake also doesn’t acknowledge you as he moves past without a glance, his presence a force you can feel but not reach. At his locker, his hands find the dial with practiced ease, twisting it like muscle memory, his focus fixed on anything but you. The deliberate way he ignores you is louder than words, the space between you thick with something unspoken, something simmering just beneath the surface.
Your pulse kicks up, frustration curling in your gut. “Tell me what’s wrong,” you say, stepping closer, trying to meet his gaze. “Tell me why you’re angry at me.”
Nothing. He continues as if he didn’t hear you, as if you’re not even there.
Your patience snaps. “Jake.” Your voice is sharper this time, more frustrated, more demanding.
He stills. Fingers hovering over the locker, shoulders drawn tight, the kind of stillness that isn’t relief but restraint. He doesn’t look at you, not yet, but you can see it—the way tension coils in his frame, the way his breath sits too heavy in his chest, like he’s holding something back, like if he doesn’t keep himself in check, something will break.
And then, finally, his voice cuts through the silence, low and taut, stretched so thin it could snap. “How long have you been with Sunghoon?”
Your stomach lurches, a cold, sinking weight settling in your ribs.“What?”
He turns, slow and deliberate, his gaze locking onto yours with a force that pins you in place. There’s no room for misinterpretation in the way he looks at you now. His expression isn’t just anger, it’s something deeper, something wounded, something that sees straight through you and into the places you’ve tried to keep hidden. His jaw flexes, the muscle twitching, his brows knitting together in something between disbelief and betrayal.
“How long have you been fucking Sunghoon?”
And this time, it’s not a question. It’s a reckoning.
You don’t react at first. Can’t. Because something about the way he said it—the sharpness, the certainty—makes it feel irreversible, like a stone dropped into water, the ripples already spreading too far to stop. You inhale slowly, methodically, forcing each breath to even out despite the constriction in your chest. The tightness lingers, a quiet pressure that you refuse to acknowledge, keeping your expression composed, unreadable. Around you, the world narrows, lockers lined in perfect rows, the muted scrape of sneakers against tile, the distant murmur of voices just beyond your reach. None of it matters. You compartmentalize, filter through the moment with precision, cataloging every detail while refusing to let them settle. The ground beneath you is firm, steady, and you anchor yourself in that fact, in the control you refuse to relinquish.
The silence stretches, unbearably thick. Jake is still staring at you, waiting, shoulders tense, jaw locked, the space between you charged and unrelenting. He knows something. He knows something. And if you don’t get ahead of this, if you don’t control the narrative, then—
You huff a laugh. Short, dismissive. The kind designed to make someone feel stupid for even asking. Your lips curve into something unimpressed, an effortless performance of nonchalance, perfected over years of hiding in plain sight.
You roll your eyes, shift your weight, make a show of how unbothered you are, as if his accusation isn’t curling like smoke in your lungs. “Jake, you’re making things up.” Your tone is even, just the right amount of disbelief layered into it, as if the very idea is ridiculous. As if you aren’t calculating every move in real-time, as if your heart isn’t hammering against your ribs.
Jake doesn’t blink. Doesn’t react. Just exhales through his nose, gaze sharp, unwavering. The corridor suddenly feels too open and too suffocating at once. A few distant voices filter in, but they’re background noise, unimportant, a reminder that people could be listening, that you can’t let this get out of control. You hold your expression steady, your body language loose, bored. A masterclass in feigned indifference. He’s not buying it.
Your pulse spikes, fingers curling at your sides, but you don’t let it show. You can’t. Because Jake has always been good at reading you, but this—this—he can’t figure out so you tilt your head, arch a brow, and let the silence stretch just long enough to make him feel like the absurd one. To make him second-guess himself but he doesn’t waver and suddenly, you realize, you’re on borrowed time.
He doesn’t let you escape this. His voice is unshaken, steady in a way that makes your pulse hammer, in a way that makes your stomach twist. He’s not lashing out, not throwing accusations with reckless abandon, not even angry in the way you expect him to be. And that’s what makes it worse. There’s something measured about the way he’s looking at you, like he already has every answer, like he’s just waiting to see how you’ll try to spin this.
“I found something of yours in Sunghoon’s apartment,” he says, voice flat. “When I was over at his place, helping him set up for the party.”
The words land with weight, pressing against your ribs, but you don’t let them sink in. You roll your eyes, the dismissal coming so naturally, so smoothly, you almost believe it yourself. “No you didn’t—”
“In his living room.” He doesn’t even blink. “Your hoodie. The one you always wear.”
It’s nothing. You can spin this. You can make this nothing. “I’ve been over for the project,” you say, cool, practiced. “That’s it. He’s busy with basketball and his major so I had to go to his and I must’ve left my—”
“The project,” Jake cuts in flatly. “Right. Then explain the picture.”
Your mouth opens before you fully process the words. “What picture?”
There’s a shift in him, something more resigned than angry, something that tightens his shoulders and flickers behind his eyes. He doesn’t answer immediately. When he finally does, his voice is quieter. “In his room.” His jaw flexes, his fingers tightening at his sides, like he doesn’t even want to be saying this, like part of him still doesn’t want to believe what he already knows. “You and him.” His throat bobs, his next words slower, heavier. “I didn’t even recognize you at first.”
Your stomach twists, but you don’t react. You force yourself to stay still, to keep your expression unreadable, to act like this is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard. But Jake sees it. He’s studying you, watching you too closely, his eyes flickering over every small detail, the slight part of your lips, the way your breath is just a fraction too slow, the way your fingers curl slightly at your sides.
“It was in one of the drawers,” he continues, and his tone darkens, something bitter edging in. “I didn’t want to look at it, it was just there. I barely saw it before turning my eyes away and wishing I never did. I wanted to bleach my eyes out.” He exhales sharply, shakes his head, like he’s trying to rid himself of the memory. “I barely looked at it, so I can’t tell if it’s you for real, but the one second I saw it… it looked like you.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. You don’t move. You don’t break. But your ribs feel like they’re caving in, pressing inward with the weight of his words, with the weight of what you can’t explain, with the weight of what you won’t let yourself explain because you know exactly what Jake saw. Sunghoon has taken pictures of you before. Naked, spread out beneath him, fucked out and hazy with pleasure, his hands on your hips, your thighs, your face. He’s taken them with his phone, with his camera, kept them and printed them out and maybe you should have told him to delete them, maybe you should have thought about the risk, but you never did.
You never questioned it. Never hesitated when he angled the camera just right, when his fingers traced over your skin, when he murmured something low about how good you looked like this. You let him, let yourself exist through his lens, let him keep pieces of you in ways no one else ever had. It wasn’t even something you thought about—not then, not after because it was him.
Because there was never a doubt, never a flicker of hesitation, never a moment where you considered what it meant to let someone keep you like that. Because the thought of him ever betraying you, ever letting something slip, ever being anything but yours in the ways that mattered, it simply never existed. Because in those moments, there was no reason to think about anything beyond the way he made you feel. Sunghoon wasn’t careless. He never was. If they were those photos then there was no way Jake could have seen them. Sunghoon always tucked them away, always double-checked, always locked the drawer before you even had to think about it. He never left them out, never risked anything.
Unless Jake wasn’t talking about you. Unless it wasn’t your picture he found.
The thought hits hard, slicing through your chest with a cold, sinking weight. You’re spiraling before you can stop it, every possibility unraveling in rapid succession, if it wasn’t you, then who? Another girl? Someone before you? Someone during? The rational part of your brain claws at the panic, tries to steady itself against the onslaught of what-ifs, but it’s useless. The seed is already planted.
Jake exhales sharply, and it’s as if he can see it, the way your mind is racing, the way you’re trying to find an answer before he gives you one. His eyes flicker with something unreadable, something that makes your stomach lurch, and then, his voice cuts through the thick air between you.
“When I was over at his apartment, helping him set up for the party, he asked me to grab something from his room,” Jake says, voice steady, deliberate. “He told me exactly which drawer it was in. Even gave me the key.”
Your stomach twists.
“I opened the wrong one first. Complete accident. I’m sure you’re well aware how massive and confusing everything in his apartment is.” A humorless exhale, something tight in his jaw. “I didn’t even mean to look. I didn't want to look. I barely even glanced at it before I slammed the drawer shut and wished I never fucking saw it.”
Your pulse spikes. The walls feel like they’re closing in. You don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t let a single flicker of your real thoughts surface. Because Jake doesn’t need to know what you’re thinking. He doesn’t need to know that Sunghoon has taken pictures of you like that before. That you let him. That you wanted him to. That you trusted him with it. Because if Jake saw something, it could only mean one thing, that he was right. And if Jake is standing here, barely holding himself together, trying to make sense of something you don’t want him to understand, then you’re already too close to losing control of the situation.
Your mind is working at a frantic pace, scanning through every possible escape, every justification, every lie you could feed him. It’s instinctual, the way your brain flickers through past memories, grasping at anything—any explanation, any excuse, any way to twist this so it’s not you standing in the spotlight, stripped raw under Jake’s scrutiny. But nothing sticks. Every justification that forms crumbles before it even fully materializes.
It’s like a scammer running algorithms in your head, feeding potential responses into a system and watching each one spit out bright red—failed. Another lie? Failed. Another deflection? Failed. Deny, deny, deny? Failed. The weight of his stare, the tightness in his jaw, the way he hasn’t even raised his voice but is still pinning you in place—it’s all unraveling you, pushing you toward a breaking point you cannot afford to reach.
And then—
Green.
Your gaze flickers past him, catching on something small yet glaringly out of place, and for a moment, the world tilts. Just a sliver of orange, half-hidden in the dim lighting of the locker room, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it—but you weren’t. You weren’t supposed to see this. And yet, there it is, tucked just inside the open locker, a prescription bottle sitting upright like it belongs there. Your eyes trace the label before your brain fully registers what it is, what it means, but the second it clicks, your stomach tightens, your breath catches, and suddenly, everything else fades into static.
At first, you don’t react. You just stare, your mind lagging behind your eyes, trying to piece together what you’re seeing, trying to reconcile it with the Jake standing in front of you. The tension in his body, the exhaustion he’s been carrying like an extra limb, the quiet strain that’s been leaking through the cracks, suddenly, it all makes sense.
Your breath falters, something deep in your chest tightening. Slowly, carefully, you reach out, not in accusation, not in anger, just in quiet, dawning realization. Your fingers brush over his wrist, curling around it as you pull him toward you, not yanking, not demanding, just needing him to let you in. “What’s this?” Your voice is quieter than you expect, the words lacking the sharpness you usually wield. But the weight is still there. The urgency. The fear.
Jake stiffens under your touch, every muscle in his arm going rigid. His pulse jumps beneath your fingers, a fleeting stutter of hesitation before he rips his wrist away, shoving the bottle back into his locker like that could undo the fact that you saw it, like he could erase the truth by hiding it from view but it’s too late.
It’s HCM medication.
A slow, sinking feeling takes root in your stomach, and the world around you seems to press in tighter. The distant echoes of laughter from outside, the faint squeak of sneakers on tile, the rhythmic drip of a leaky faucet somewhere down the hall, it all fades into a dull, meaningless hum, drowned out by the thoughts crashing into each other in your head.
You think back, Jake at practice, rubbing at his chest when he thought no one was looking. The way he’s been more fatigued lately, more on edge. The weight he’s been carrying in his shoulders, the quiet stress etched into the corners of his eyes. How did you not see it before? When you meet his gaze again, there’s something unreadable in it, something guarded, something scared and suddenly, everything else, the accusations, the tension, the tangled mess between you and Sunghoon, feels so small.
Your lips part, but no words come. Because there’s nothing you can say, nothing that could possibly bridge the gap between the Jake you thought you knew and the reality standing in front of you. It’s stupid. It’s selfish. But for a fleeting second, relief seeps through the panic, because you have a way out. A shift in the conversation. A weapon in your hand.
Jake stays chillingly silent. His jaw tightens, his gaze shifting just slightly, not away from you, but past you, like he’s bracing for something. The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, and it unsettles you in a way you can’t place. You expect defensiveness, some half-assed excuse, maybe even an attempt to brush it off, but instead, there’s nothing. Just the weight of his stillness, the sharp set of his shoulders, the way his fingers curl slightly at his sides as if restraining something.
Your chest constricts. You exhale, measured, deliberate, trying to keep your voice steady. “Jake.” His name comes out softer this time, less of an accusation, more of a plea. You take a step closer, watching for a reaction, anything to gauge where his mind is, but he won’t look at you. That’s when the first sliver of doubt cuts through.
“Does Coach know?” You ask, and the second the words leave your lips, the air shifts.
Jake swallows, the movement barely perceptible, but the hesitation that follows is impossible to ignore. It’s brief—just a second too long—but it shifts something in the air, sets your nerves on edge. A creeping sense of unease settles in your chest, because this isn’t the reaction you were expecting. He should have already scoffed, rolled his eyes, tossed out some sharp remark about you overreacting. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, too still, too quiet. And that’s when it hits you, you’re the only one asking. You’re the only one aware.
Your stomach twists. “Jake,” you repeat, but this time, the plea is edged with something sharper, something uneasy. “Who knows?”
His fingers flex, a breath hitches in his throat, and then he finally looks at you. “No one.”
It’s quiet, barely audible, but it slams into you like a physical force. You blink, trying to process what that means, what it implies, what it confirms. You shake your head slightly, like you misheard him, like he’s lying, because surely, someone knows. He wouldn’t—he couldn’t—keep something like this to himself. “What do you mean no one?”
Jake exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, but his composure is slipping now. You see it in the way his brows knit together, in the way his breathing is just a little too forced, in the way he’s finally looking at you, like he knows he’s just given you something he can’t take back. “I mean no one,” he says again, his voice flattens this time, like if he says it without emotion, it won’t feel as damning.
Your pulse spikes. “Not even Coach?” Your voice wavers, but you don’t care, because the longer this goes on, the worse it gets. “Not your teammates? Not anyone?”
Jake doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to.
Your stomach drops. “Are you—” you swallow hard, struggling to even form the words. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
That gets a reaction. His expression darkens, something defensive flickering behind his eyes, but you don’t let him speak. “You’re playing like this? You’re pushing yourself—training, competing, running full speed up and down the court—for what? What the hell are you thinking?” Your voice rises, incredulous, anger cutting through the worry now, because this isn’t just reckless, it’s dangerous. It’s Jake.
He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “You think I don’t know that?” The frustration in his tone matches yours, but it only makes you angrier. “You think I don’t wake up every day knowing exactly what this means? You think I haven’t thought about it?”
“You haven’t thought about it enough,” you snap, shaking your head. “Because if you had, you wouldn’t still be playing.”
Jake presses his lips together, like he’s trying to keep himself from saying something he can’t take back. “It’s not that simple.”
“No,” you agree, “it’s worse.”
He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “This isn’t your problem.”
That stings. You weren’t expecting gratitude, but the dismissal, the blatant refusal to acknowledge the weight of this, makes something twist deep in your chest. “Oh, I know that’s bullshit,” you shoot back. “And you know why? Because if something happened—if you collapsed in the middle of a game, if you—” your voice catches, and for the first time, your composure slips, but you don’t stop. “I’d have to watch. Everyone would. Your team, your coach, your mom—”
Jake flinches.
“—but they wouldn’t know why, would they?” Your breath is unsteady now, but your words are razor-sharp. “Because you haven’t told anyone. Because you’d rather pretend you can outrun this than actually deal with it.”
Your grip tightens at your sides, but your voice stays steady, unwavering. “You tell Coach, or I will.”
Jake doesn’t react immediately. He just stares at you, the tension between you thick enough to suffocate. His jaw ticks, his throat bobs, but no words come out. For the first time tonight, he doesn’t have an immediate response, no sarcastic remark, no frustrated retort—just silence. And that silence tells you everything.
Good. You’ve got him now.
You should feel victorious. This was the whole point—to turn the heat off yourself, to back him into a corner before he could do the same to you. And it worked. You’re watching him struggle, watching the weight of his own secret press down on him, watching him realize that he’s the one being confronted now. You should be relieved, smug even. But the way his shoulders stiffen, the way his breath comes just a little too sharp, the way he suddenly won’t look at you—it’s more emotional than you expected. He was supposed to fight back. He was supposed to be angry. He wasn’t supposed to look like this. Like he’s breaking.
“Wait,” he finally mutters, quieter this time, the fight draining from his voice. His head dips slightly, hands braced against the edge of the open locker like he needs the support. That single word, spoken in a way you haven’t heard from him before, nearly knocks you off balance.
You shake your head. No. You can’t let this get to you. Not now. “No,” you say simply, stepping back. “We’re done here.”
His head snaps up, but you’ve already turned on your heel. Your pulse thrums in your ears as you walk away, not looking back, even when you hear him shift behind you, even when his voice rises just enough to chase after you. “We still need to talk.”
You keep walking. Past the lockers, past the tension still thick in the air, past the weight of his voice hanging behind you. You don’t slow, don’t hesitate, don’t give him a chance to pull you back into something you’re not ready to face. The sound of his breath, uneven and strained, lingers in your ears, but you don’t look back.
If you stop now, if you so much as glance over your shoulder, you’ll see the way he’s watching you. You’ll see the questions he still hasn’t asked, the accusations he’s holding back, the unspoken plea buried somewhere beneath all his frustration. And you can’t afford that. Not tonight. Not when the balance of power has finally tipped in your favor.
The night air is sharp against your skin as you step out of the locker room, the heavy door swinging shut behind you with a dull finality. You storm across campus, the familiar pathways bathed in the glow of streetlights, casting long shadows across the pavement. The student center looms in the distance, voices and laughter spilling from the open doors, but you barely register it. Your pulse is still racing, your breath uneven, the adrenaline from your fight with Jake still coursing through you like a live wire.
You don’t know where you’re going until you see Sunghoon, sitting on one of the low stone walls near the quad, his body instantly shifting when he notices you. His legs spread slightly, elbows resting on his knees, and then, like instinct, he reaches a hand out as if you’d take it. As if you’d go to him. As if you came here for him.
You scoff, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. The audacity. After everything. You’re already turning away, already prepared to ignore him, to put even more distance between you, but then you see that he’s sitting with Saeryeong. Your stomach twists, your anger flaring hotter. It’s irrational, maybe but the sight of them together sets you off. She’s sitting close, too close, her body angled slightly toward him, her fingers tapping an idle rhythm against her thigh, completely at ease in a way that makes your pulse spike. She hasn’t done anything, hasn’t even acknowledged you yet, and still, the sight of them together makes your chest tighten, your breath press harder against your ribs.
“Hey guys,” she says suddenly, looking between you and Sunghoon, her voice light, too light, laced with something suggestive. She wiggles her eyebrows, lips curling into a slow smirk. “Wanna head to the bar again?”
You deadpan. Your stare is unflinching, your expression flat as her meaning sinks in. She’s not just asking about drinks. She’s asking about that night, she obviously wants to fuck again. Your shoulders tense, the memory flashing through your mind in fragments—her lips on your neck, Sunghoon’s hands gripping your waist, the way you felt them both against you at once, tangled together in a mess of heat and sweat and stupid fucking choices.
“Saeryeong,” you say, voice steady but sharp. “I told you that won’t happen again.”
She pouts, her head tilting in disappointment. “But it was so good.”
You shake your head, exhaling through your nose, but you can’t stop the slight smirk that tugs at your lips. Of course it was good. You don’t leave people unsatisfied. You never have.
Saeryeong notices, eyes lighting up, sensing an opening. “Okay,” she relents, leaning forward. “We don’t have to fuck again, but let’s just go to the bar. It’ll be so much fun.”
Your gaze flickers to Sunghoon, the frustration still simmering beneath your skin, tangled with the weight of everything left unsaid. He meets your eyes, steady, unreadable, but you know him. You know the way his mind works, the way he’s already calculating, already deciding. If you said yes, he’d go—not for Saeryeong, not for the night out, but for you. To keep you close, to keep you within reach, to make sure you don’t slip further away before he can pull you back in.
You can see it in the slight tilt of his head, the way his fingers curl against his knee, the unspoken challenge in the way he holds your stare. If you agreed, he’d make sure you ended up next to him, that you talked, that you worked through whatever storm was brewing between you but you won’t give him that satisfaction.
Your lips curl, a slow, dangerous smirk forming as you meet his gaze head-on. “Me and you can go to the bar, Saeryeong,” you say smoothly, voice dripping with something sharp and deliberate. “Only us.” Saeryeong’s brows furrow slightly, her mouth parting like she wants to argue, but after a second, she sighs, relenting. She wants both of you, but if she can’t have that, she’ll take what she can get.
Sunghoon’s silence stretches, but it’s not passive. It’s loaded. His fingers twitch against his knee, his jaw tightening just enough to make the muscle tick, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you. He’s steady, too steady. The kind of controlled stillness that’s meant to bait you into moving first. You know this game. You’ve played it before.
And then— “Hey.” His voice is low, a little rough, enough to make Saeryeong glance between the two of you. “What is that supposed to mean?”
You arch a brow, feigning confusion, though your smirk doesn’t waver. “What’s what supposed to mean?”
His head tilts, his stare cutting, but you don’t falter. Not yet. “Don’t start with me.” He exhales, a slow, measured breath through his nose. His patience is wearing thin, but his restraint is still there, coiled beneath the surface, wound tight. “You’re not going anywhere with her.”
A laugh escapes you, sharp and amused. “You think you get to decide that?”
His lips press into a thin line, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You know what you’re doing.”
“I do,” you concede easily, letting the words settle before leaning in, dropping your voice just enough that only he can hear. “But I don’t think you do.”
His reaction is instant. Subtle, but instant. The way his jaw tightens, how his hand flexes against his thigh, how his nostrils flare just the slightest bit. He knows what you’re implying, what you’re digging at, what you’re trying to get him to admit and God, you love it.
“You wanna fuck with me?” His voice drops lower, quieter, but not soft. Not gentle. It’s a warning.
You lean in just a fraction more, your smirk widening. “Isn’t that what we do?”
Sunghoon doesn’t look away. Doesn’t blink. But his silence is different this time. Less composed, less controlled. There’s something else beneath it, something volatile and sharp and right there.
Saeryeong shifts beside you, aware but unwilling to get involved. She can feel it, the tension stretched tight between you and Sunghoon, the undercurrent of something sharp and unspoken but she’s not stupid enough to step directly into it. Still, her patience only runs so deep. “So are we going or not?” she asks lightly, her voice breezy, as if she isn’t standing between two people locked in a silent war.
You don’t take your eyes off Sunghoon as you answer. “Yeah, we are.”
The muscle in his jaw jumps. He leans back slightly, his gaze flicking over you, slow and calculated. “Right.” A short pause. A beat too long. “Have fun.” You don’t miss the way his hand fists against his knee, or how his gaze darkens as you turn away. But you don’t give him the satisfaction of looking back.
At least, not yet.
The bar hums with low music, the air thick with the familiar mix of liquor and conversation, but it doesn’t feel the same. This is your space—yours and Sunghoon’s—where stolen glances cut through the dim lighting, where every touch lingers longer than it should, where the tension between you both has always settled into something intoxicating, something charged. But tonight, that current is off. It’s disrupted. Because Sunghoon isn’t here. Saeryeong is. And as you slide into your usual booth, the cold leather against your thighs, something about the night feels wrong, like you’ve stepped into a scene you weren’t meant to be in, like you’ve invited something in that can’t be undone.
The shift in dynamic is immediate, something off-kilter, something wrong. This isn’t her space. She doesn’t belong here, and neither do you, at least, not like this. Not without him. It’s an intrusion, and the air seems to recognize it, thickening with something just shy of warning. There’s a sense that you’ve invited something in that you can’t take back. A storm that hasn’t hit yet but will.
Jihyo walks past, her gaze flicking over you, slow and assessing, narrowing slightly when she registers Saeryeong at your side. You don’t react. You just hold her stare until she looks away, disappearing into the crowd. You turn your attention back to Saeryeong. She looks comfortable, content even, her fingers trailing along the rim of the menu in idle thought. But you can feel the anticipation rolling off her, you can see it in the way she shifts slightly closer, in the way she doesn’t reach for her phone like she usually does when she’s out with someone she doesn’t fully trust.
Saeryeong orders something bold, rum and coke, the kind that goes down easy but hits hard when you least expect it. Something that burns just enough to remind her she’s drinking but smooth enough to keep her sipping without second thoughts. You don’t follow her lead. Instead, you order something sharper, something meant to linger, vodka with a splash of something citrus, a drink that bites first and numbs later. Not your usual, but that’s the point. You don’t want to settle into familiarity tonight. You want control, precision. You want to feel the sharp edge of it on your tongue, the slow, creeping warmth in your veins, loosening just enough to make everything seem clearer. The bartender barely raises a brow as he slides the drinks over, and Saeryeong grins at you, tilting her glass in some unspoken toast before taking a long sip. You match her, but slower, measuring, waiting.
The warm glow from the overhead light catches against the sharp curve of her cheekbone, the faint tension in her expression betraying that, despite her outward ease, she’s waiting too, waiting for the night to unfold in whatever way you intend for it to. You glance around, taking in the scene, letting your fingers tap against the wooden table as if you’re just another patron here to drink and unwind. But you’re not. You have questions. You have an agenda.
The ice in your drink clinks against the glass as you swirl it absentmindedly, watching Saeryeong over the rim, waiting. The way she taps her nails against the condensation, the slow exhale like she’s shedding something heavy, it all works in your favor. Let her get comfortable. Let her sink into the illusion of an easy conversation.
“Thanks for inviting me out,” she murmurs, voice dipping into something soft, something pensive. “It’s nice to get away. Sunghoon’s busy, Areum’s with Jake, and I… just needed a change of pace.”
Your lips twitch, barely a smile. You tilt your head slightly, letting the pause stretch. “Is that all?”
Her eyes meet yours, sharp but searching, and for a moment, you think she’s about to say something real. Something important. But then she just exhales again, like she’s letting it go, and lifts her glass. You watch her take another sip before motioning for another round. Let her drink. Let the night unravel. Let the pieces fall exactly where you want them to.
The bartender refills your glass, and Saeryeong doesn’t hesitate to bring hers back to her lips, drinking deeper this time. You match her sip for sip, but there’s a difference, she’s drinking to relax. You’re drinking to keep yourself from slipping because there’s a reason you brought her here. It isn’t just to kill time, it isn't just to play at some shallow attempt at bonding. You have questions, ones that have been clawing at the back of your mind since the night you fucked her, Saeryeong is a piece of the puzzle—one you need to fit into place before the picture starts making sense.
“How’d you even find this place? You don’t just stumble onto it, it’s the kind of spot you have to be looking for. Which means someone pointed you in the right direction.” You tip your drink toward her in a lazy gesture, the alcohol warming your throat as you take another sip. You keep your voice light, uninterested, but you watch her carefully, waiting for her answer.
Saeryeong smirks, propping her elbow against the bar, her cheek resting against her palm. “Sunghoon brought me once. A while ago.”
Your fingers tense around your glass before you can stop them, the cool condensation seeping against your skin, grounding you just enough. But not enough.
“He likes it here,” she adds, swirling the liquor in her glass, watching the way the light catches against the amber liquid.
Of course, he does.
It sinks its teeth into you before you even realize it’s there, something dark and twisting, something that shouldn’t have a name but does. It knots itself between your ribs, tight, suffocating, pressing until your breath feels thin, until your pulse kicks up against the cage of your chest. You should be better than this. You are better than this. More in control, more composed, more indifferent to things that shouldn’t touch you. But the weight of her words, the ease in her tone, it slips beneath your skin, digs into the spaces you swore were untouchable.
You drag in a slow inhale, steady, deliberate, letting it pass through you like it could take the feeling with it. Your shoulders relax, your expression smooths, the crack sealing before it can be seen. A perfect picture of someone unfazed. Someone unaffected. Someone who doesn’t feel the way you do right now. When you smile, it’s practiced, deliberate, the sharp press of your teeth against the rim of your glass as you lift it again. “Yeah,” you murmur, voice light, easy, just like hers. “He does.”
“What’s the deal with you two, anyway?” Your voice is smooth, practiced, like you’re just curious, like it doesn’t matter. “Did you ever date?”
Saeryeong hums, oblivious, playing with her rings. “Not really. We just always end up fucking—hard, fast, like we can’t help it.” She grins, voice dipping as if sharing a joke. “It’s always good. Sunghoon knows what he’s doing.”
The silence lingers, thick enough to press into your ribs, to make something inside you coil tight. Saeryeong shifts, not looking at you, not seeming to notice the way the air between you has shifted. “Used to,” she corrects, her voice quieter now, like she’s only just processing it herself. “We used to fuck each other.”
Another pause. A beat too long.
“A few months ago, he just… stopped. Stopped coming over, stopped wanting to fuck.” Her head tilts slightly, a half-exhale slipping past her lips. “I thought maybe he was seeing someone secretly.”
She lets the words hang there, testing them, weighing them. Then, almost amused, she adds, “Turns out, I was right.” Saeryeong takes another slow sip before sighing. “First time I fucked him in a long time was that night with you.” Something in her voice shifts, not bitter, but close. You lift a brow, feigning nonchalance, watching the way her lips press together for a second before she speaks again.
Your fingers press into the wood, the grain biting into your skin as you hold yourself still, every muscle wound tight beneath the weight of something you refuse to name. “Do you regret it?” The question leaves you before you can decide whether you really want the answer.
Saeryeong exhales slowly, like she’s considering, like she’s weighing it in her hands, turning it over. Then she shakes her head. But after a beat—too long, too telling—she nods.
“It was a good time,” she says, but there’s something mechanical about it, something rehearsed, like she’s trying to convince herself. “You’re both—” Her tongue flicks over her lower lip, as if choosing the right words matters now. “You’re both good people to fuck.” The corner of her mouth tugs up, but it’s humorless, empty. “I mean, it wasn’t fair. I barely even touched him the way I should’ve, but…” She shrugs, eyes flicking to yours, lingering. “I enjoyed when you fucked me.”
Something sharp scrapes against the inside of your ribs, a sensation you can’t quite name. You force yourself to hold her gaze, to keep your breathing measured. The air between you shifts, something unspoken settling heavy, something neither of you want to acknowledge but neither of you can ignore.
Then, softer, like she’s confessing something that shouldn’t leave her mouth, she murmurs, “It was different.” She hesitates, fingers curling around her glass like an anchor. “That’s the first time I’ve ever felt something deep when having sex with him.” A pause, then, quieter, almost like she’s speaking more to herself than to you—“And I barely even touched him.”
“Why did it feel different?” The question is steady, deliberate, but there’s a razor-thin edge to them, a quiet demand hidden beneath the calm.
Saeryeong doesn’t answer right away. She swirls her drink, watching the liquid turn, slow and unhurried, as if the answer might rise to the surface if she waits long enough. The pause stretches, a carefully measured beat, testing your patience, testing you. And then—
“Didn’t feel as good as before,” she says finally, voice even but lacking the ease it should have. Her fingers skim the rim of her glass, a restless habit. “I felt—” A slow breath out, something hesitant in the way she shakes her head. “Left out.”
The words land like a fist to your ribs. Not hard enough to break anything. Just enough to leave a bruise. Your grip tightens, but your expression remains untouched, smooth and impassive as you tilt your head. “Left out?” You mirror the words back to her, curious, distant, practiced.
She hums, rolling the glass between her palms, still not looking at you. “He was barely looking at me.”
You force yourself to hold her gaze, to listen, to absorb every word she says without letting them sink too deep, without letting them take root where they shouldn’t. But there’s something about the way she says it, the way she exhales like she’s emptying herself out, the way she isn’t looking at you when she admits, The words land in your chest, and at first, they don’t do anything. Not in the way you expect them to. They don’t slice through the moment, don’t set off any immediate, sharp reaction. They just settle, thick and heavy, sinking into the quiet spaces inside you, spreading like ink through water, irreversible. And then, slowly—painfully—you understand.
Because you know what that means.
It’s not about the way she fucked him. It’s not about the way she didn’t. It’s not about the way he touched her or the way he didn’t, the way he let her in or the way he didn’t. It’s about where he was, who he was with, who he was looking at, and the undeniable fact that it wasn’t her.
Something in you pulls tight, twists in on itself, immediate and ugly, something you don’t have the time to shove down before it sinks too deep to ignore. You school your breathing, controlling the way your fingers curl just slightly tighter around the edge of the table, but your stomach twists with the weight of it, with the understanding that hits you all at once.
Saeryeong noticed. She felt it. She felt the way he wasn’t there with her, not fully. She noticed that she didn’t have all of him, that some part of him wasn’t hers to have. She felt the absence of something she hadn’t even realized she should have been looking for, something she only recognized because she’s seen it before, she’s seen him give himself, seen what it looks like when he lets go, when he loses himself completely in someone, when he can’t look away.
And it wasn’t with her.
And you—you—know exactly where that place is.
Your throat tightens, but you keep still. Keep your expression easy. Keep yourself from letting her see the way this knowledge unravels something deep inside you, the way it confirms something you hadn’t dared to say out loud. But Saeryeong is looking at you now, eyes flickering over your face, searching, and you know—you know—she’s already found what she’s looking for. There’s something new in her gaze, something sharp, something creeping in at the edges like she’s just pieced something together, like she’s staring at the answer she didn’t even realize she was asking for.
You breathe in slowly, smoothing out the edges, tucking away every misplaced emotion, every sharp edge that threatens to cut too deep. You raise your glass, let the moment stretch, let her sit with the weight of whatever just passed between you, and when you finally speak, your voice is as even as ever. “Guess that should tell you something, then.” The silence lingers, stretched thin between you, a moment that neither of you is willing to break first. Saeryeong’s gaze doesn’t waver, but you can see it happening—the way something inside her starts to fray at the edges. She’s holding on, but barely. The alcohol has loosened her limbs, her inhibitions, her careful self-control, and it’s starting to show.
Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing just a little too shallow. When she exhales, it’s uneven, like she’s trying to steady something that’s already slipping through her fingers. And then, quietly, she says, “I wish someone would look at me like that. Like how Sunghoon looks at you. Like how Jake looks at Areum.”
She’s not meeting your eyes now, too focused on some distant point, as if looking at you would make this admission too real. “I don’t even know why I’m saying this.” A soft, bitter laugh slips out, but there’s no real amusement behind it. “Maybe I just want to hear myself say it out loud.”
You don’t rush her, don’t prod. You just wait, watching the way she wrestles with something that’s been buried for too long, something that the alcohol is unearthing whether she’s ready for it or not. She shifts in her seat, and then, finally, she says it: “I’ve always felt some way about Sunghoon. Ever since he and Areum first got together all those years ago.”
It’s careful, hesitant, but the weight of it lands anyway.
You watch her closely, waiting for her to continue. She hesitates, jaw tightening, then sighs and shakes her head like she’s trying to clear it. “It’s fucked up. I know that. I don’t even—” She cuts herself off, pressing her fingers to her temple. “It’s not like I wanted him to leave her or anything. It wasn’t even like that. But I’d see them together, and I’d think—” Her voice falters. “I’d think, I wish he looked at me that way.”
The confession hangs between you, raw and unfiltered, and for a moment, she looks like she regrets saying anything at all. But it’s already out now. She exhales sharply, muttering under her breath, something you don’t quite catch, and then takes another sip of her drink, like that might wash away whatever’s left of her restraint.
Her fingers drum against the table, restless energy bleeding into every movement. “That time with you and Sunghoon,” she says suddenly, and you know she’s talking about the threesome, though she doesn’t say it outright. Her voice is quiet, like she’s feeling around the edges of something she doesn’t quite know how to explain. “It was different. I thought maybe—” She stops, inhales, tries again. “I thought maybe if I was there, if I was a part of it, I’d understand. That I’d feel something close to what Areum had. What you have.”
There it is.
You let her words settle, turning them over in your head. There’s something tangled in them, something that isn’t just jealousy or longing or regret, but all three at once, twisted together in a way she probably hasn’t even fully unpacked herself. She shifts again, the movement agitated, her nails clicking against her glass. “But it didn’t work,” she mutters, almost to herself. “Even then, I still felt like I was on the outside looking in.”
You should feel bad for her. Maybe a part of you does. But there’s something else there too, something dark, something quiet and smug curling at the edges of your thoughts, satisfaction at the way the pieces are falling into place.
You lean in slightly, just enough to keep her talking, and she does. “I don’t know why I kept going back to him,” she admits. “Maybe it was habit. Maybe I thought if I just kept trying, it would be different.” She exhales, rubbing a hand over her face. “But it never was. It never is.”
And then, finally, the opening you were waiting for. You let a beat pass, keeping your expression neutral, then smoothly tilt your head. “So how come you used to fuck your best friend’s ex-boyfriend so much?”
It’s a simple question, thrown out casually, but the effect is immediate. Saeryeong freezes, fingers tightening around her glass before she forces herself to relax, but you already saw it, the flicker of something behind her eyes, the momentary lapse, the guilt that she didn’t manage to mask fast enough.
She’s never admitted it before. Never let herself slip, never confirmed what you’ve always suspected—that it wasn’t just after they broke up, that it wasn’t as clean as she’s made it seem. That Sunghoon would fall into her bed during those on-again, off-again breaks, when he and Areum weren’t technically together, but weren’t apart either. That she was always there, always available, always waiting.
You’re not even sure how much of it was deliberate, how much of it was her making herself a safety net for him, and how much of it was Sunghoon knowing exactly what he was doing. But it doesn’t really matter. Because it happened. And now, for the first time, she has no way out of admitting it.
She exhales, slow and measured, then shrugs, like she can make the answer sound insignificant if she says it lightly enough. “It’s… complicated.”
You don’t miss the way her voice wavers. You don’t say anything, just watch, waiting for her to fill the silence, and after a moment, she does. “It always makes me feel bad.” She lifts her gaze then, meeting yours, and you can see it, the hesitation, the internal battle between wanting to keep this buried and the alcohol pulling it loose.
You don’t let up. You let her sit in it, let the silence stretch long enough to become uncomfortable, long enough that she has to break it. And eventually, she does. “Areum knows Sunghoon and I hooked up after they broke up,” she admits, voice quieter now. “But she doesn’t know just how much we fucked during their off-breaks. She doesn’t know we fucked at all back then.”
Bingo.
You don’t react, just nod slowly, like you’re just taking it in, like this isn’t exactly what you wanted. Saeryeong sighs, pressing her fingers to her temple, eyes slipping shut for a second. “It’s a mess,” she mutters. “Everything’s a fucking mess.” You hum in agreement, fingers tapping idly against the bar, then shift slightly, angling yourself toward her, tilting your head just enough to make it seem like you’re a little more interested now.
“It’s not that I want Sunghoon, at least I don’t think I do, it’s confusing.” She clarifies and you do believe her—not because she’s particularly convincing, but because there’s no real hunger in her voice, no raw, unresolved longing when she says his name. It isn’t him she wants, not in any way that matters, not in any way that would make what she’s saying feel like a confession. It’s the illusion of him—the role he plays, the validation he could offer, the comfort of being wanted by someone who has always belonged to someone else. There’s no intimacy in the way she talks about him, no attachment beyond the surface. Sunghoon has always been the kind of person who fills spaces, who commands attention without asking for it, who makes people feel like they are standing in the center of something bigger than themselves. And that’s what she envies—not him, but the weight he carries, the gravitational pull that keeps people circling around him while she remains on the outside, drifting, unmoored. She doesn’t crave him. She craves the feeling of being chosen.
She hesitates, and when she speaks again, her voice is softer, more uncertain. “I just hate being the odd one out. I hate the way things shift, the way people move on and… I don’t know. I just—I don’t know where I fit anymore.” You hear everything that lingers beneath her words. The quiet sense of being left behind. The creeping realization that the people she once felt closest to are slowly pairing off, finding places that don’t include her, moving in directions where she’s no longer a central part of the equation.
You tilt your head slightly, letting a small sigh slip out, something soft, understanding. “That sounds rough,” you murmur, voice dipping lower, more intimate. “I get it. It’s tough when everyone seems to have someone but you.”
She doesn’t respond immediately, just watches you, studying your face like she’s searching for something in it. You hold her gaze, keep your expression open, warm, let her mistake your interest for something purely compassionate.
And in a way, it is compassionate. You recognize the pain in her words, the loneliness curling at the edges of her voice, and some part of you, some real, unfiltered part, understands it. You know what it’s like to feel like you’re standing on the outside looking in. You know what it’s like to watch people slip through your fingers, to realize they don’t need you in the same way anymore.
But that isn’t the whole picture because even as you offer her comfort, even as you let her see a version of you that feels safe, there’s something else working beneath the surface—something methodical, something deliberate. You want her to trust you. You want her to keep talking, to keep peeling herself open, to keep letting things slip that she wouldn’t under normal circumstances. Because every piece of information, every glimpse into her insecurities, every carefully veiled confession—it’s all useful.
And right now, she’s giving you everything.
So you lean in slightly, just enough for her to feel the shift, just enough to make the space between you feel smaller, more intimate. Then, voice softer now, just a little playful, just a little reassuring, you say, “But hey, you’re not alone tonight. I’m here, right?”
She exhales, a sound that’s part laugh, part something heavier, something resigned. “Yeah,” she says quietly, swirling the liquid in her glass. “I guess you are.”
You smile, just a little, just enough. Because she thinks she’s found comfort in you. She thinks this is a moment of shared understanding, a moment where she’s being seen and maybe she is but the difference between you and her is that you know exactly what you’re doing.
Saeryeong watches you for a long moment, something thoughtful flickering behind her eyes, something slow and steady, like she’s only just beginning to put the pieces together. She tips her head slightly, gaze dragging over your face, your mouth, the way you’re still watching her like she’s entertainment, like you already know what she’s about to say and you’re just waiting for her to catch up.
“You know,” she murmurs, fingers trailing absently along the rim of her glass. “I thought I had you figured out.”
You arch a brow, but don’t respond. Just wait, just let her keep going. Let her fill the silence with whatever assumptions she had about you before tonight.
“I thought you were…” She trails off, lips pressing together like she’s trying to find the right word, like she doesn’t want to offend you but also doesn’t particularly care if she does. “I mean, I knew you weren’t innocent. Not in the traditional sense. But I thought you were—softer. More careful. Someone who played it safe.” She exhales a short laugh, shaking her head like she can’t believe how wrong she was. “I thought you’d be shy about sex, or at least… quiet about what you want. Like you’d let things happen to you instead of taking.”
You just blink at her, waiting.
“But then.” She pauses, swallowing, gaze flickering lower, almost as if she’s remembering something. “Then I saw the way you fucked me.” Her voice is different now, lower, more deliberate. “The way you had both of us on our knees for you. The way you told me exactly how you wanted it. How you wanted him.” She tilts her head, watching for your reaction. “You took what you wanted. And you knew exactly how to make him lose his fucking mind.”
Your lips curl slightly, not confirming, not denying.
Saeryeong exhales again, something between amusement and disbelief. “I thought Sunghoon was the one in control.” She shakes her head, smiling a little, almost dazed. “But he’s the one who’s obsessed with you, isn’t he?”
Your fingers tap against the table, just once. A quiet, meaningless movement. But Saeryeong notices.
“He follows your lead,” she continues, almost to herself. “Even when he doesn’t realize it. Even when he doesn’t want to.” Her gaze sharpens, like she’s looking at you differently now, like she’s seeing something she didn’t before. “He’s always been the one in charge. With me, with everyone else. But with you…” She lets out another small laugh, shaking her head. “He doesn’t stand a chance, does he?”
You don’t answer. But you don’t need to.
“And it’s not just sex,” she adds, leaning in slightly, voice quieter now, more intimate. “It’s the way he looks at you.” She exhales, shaking her head like she’s trying to piece it together. “I mean, fuck, even when I was on my knees for him that night, it still felt like you were the one holding him there.”
Something stirs deep in your chest, something dark and warm and knowing.
Saeryeong’s gaze lingers, slow and considering, like she’s still trying to work through everything she’s realizing about you in real time. There’s something in the way she looks at you now that wasn’t there before—not just curiosity, not just intrigue, but something deeper, something unsettled.
“I thought I knew you,” she murmurs, almost to herself, like she’s retracing every interaction she’s ever had with you, reevaluating them in light of what she knows now. “But you’re not what I expected.”
She exhales sharply, shaking her head, letting the weight of her words settle. “You’re…” she trails off, searching for the right phrasing, something that will encompass all of it, everything she’s trying to articulate. “Sexier than I realized.” Her lips curl slightly, not in amusement, but in acknowledgment, like she’s coming to terms with something that should have been obvious before. “And not just because of how you look—though, that doesn’t hurt.”
She tilts her head, watching for a reaction, but you don’t give her one.
“It’s more than that,” she continues, voice dipping lower. “It’s the way you carry yourself. The way you watch people, like you already know what they’re going to do before they do it. The way you talk—like you’re never saying everything you’re thinking, like you’re letting people wonder, letting them fill in the blanks themselves.” Her fingers trace the rim of her glass absentmindedly, her expression thoughtful. “It makes you… impossible to ignore.”
She pauses, glancing away for a second, then back, exhaling softly. “I don’t usually misread people.” A beat. “But I got you wrong.”
Your smirk is slow, lazy, deliberate. “Good or bad?”
She breathes out another laugh, shaking her head. “Neither.” She looks at you again, something unreadable in her gaze. “I just know I trust you.”
That makes you pause. You weren’t expecting that. Your fingers still where they rest, tension coiling beneath your skin, but you don’t let anything show, don’t let the shift in your chest register on your face. “Why?”
Saeryeong shrugs, but it’s careful, like she’s thought about it and doesn’t fully understand it herself. “I don’t know. I just do. I can tell. I always go with my gut, and my gut’s never wrong.”
You let the words hang, and then you exhale a quiet chuckle, shaking your head. “That’s a dangerous thing to do.”
She grins, but there’s something real in her eyes, something genuine, something she isn’t trying to hide. She likes this—whatever this is, whatever you are. She doesn’t know what to make of you yet, but she likes it.
And then, just as you think she’s about to say something else, she suddenly perks up, eyes flickering with a different kind of excitement. “You should join us.”
You blink. “Join you?”
“The cheer team,” she says, nodding eagerly like she’s just now putting the idea together in her head. “You were so good last time. You boosted the whole team. You boosted Sunghoon.” She nudges your arm with a teasing smirk. “Don’t act like you didn’t see how much he liked it.”
Your lips twitch, amusement curling at the edges. “So what, you think I should just slip into a skirt and start shaking pom-poms?”
Saeryeong rolls her eyes. “It’s not just about that.” She pauses, then grins. “Although you’d look hot.”
You snort, shaking your head, but she’s already moving on. “No, but seriously, it’ll help Sunghoon. It’ll help the team.” Then, just as suddenly, her face lights up with something mischievous. “Oh my god, you need to do the cheer oath with me right now.”
Your brows furrow. “The what?”
“The cheer oath,” she repeats, as if that explains anything at all. “We all did it when we joined. It’s tradition.”
You glance around, noting the way a few nearby patrons are already side-eyeing Saeryeong’s enthusiasm. “Saeryeong,” you mutter, voice dry, “we are in a bar.”
“So?” She waves you off, completely unbothered. “Just do it. Come on.”
You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Absolutely not.”
She gasps dramatically, clutching her chest like you’ve gravely insulted her. “You can’t say no,” she insists, eyes glinting with mischief. “It’s against the code.”
“There’s a code now?”
“There’s always been a code,” she says, nodding seriously.
You shake your head, exhaling through your nose, but then you catch the way she’s looking at you—like she’s daring you, like she’s testing you, like she wants to see how far she can pull you in. And maybe it’s the liquor, maybe it’s the challenge, maybe it’s the way she’s so effortlessly letting you into her world without even realizing it—but you smirk.
“Okay, okay,” you concede, raising your hands in mock surrender, playing along even as something coils deep inside you, something calculating, something considering. “I’ll do it. But only because I can’t say no to someone about to fall off their barstool.”
Saeryeong beams, victorious, already caught up in the moment, already looping you in. She straightens, pushes her drink aside, and raises her hand with exaggerated seriousness, clearing her throat like she’s about to recite something sacred. You only watch her, leaning back slightly, letting your lips curve as the words fall from her lips—
“I swear to bring the energy, the fire, the heart. To hype the team, to keep the spirit, to never let the game die. And—most importantly—to be loud, to be fearless, and to never, ever let a bad call slide.”
She grins as she finishes, eyes sparkling, waiting, expectant. And for a moment, you let it stretch between you. This is ridiculous. You know that. You should roll your eyes, brush it off, tell her she’s drunk and to get over herself. But you don’t. Instead, you raise your hand, mirroring her, and repeat it back, slow, deliberate. A play at amusement, at indulgence, but something deeper slips through. The words feel heavier leaving your mouth, weighted with something neither of you acknowledge, something neither of you meant to place there. Saeryeong giggles, clinking her drink against yours in celebration, oblivious. But you sit there, pulse slow, steady, watching her, knowing—deep down—that this is how it starts.
A step. A shift. Another thread tying you tighter into Sunghoon’s world. The door creaks open. At first, you don’t bother to look, too preoccupied with the weight of Saeryeong’s words still lingering between you, with the way her presence feels like it’s pressing into corners you don’t want anyone to see. But then the air changes—not lighter, not heavier, just different. An unfamiliar presence threading through the room, tugging at the edges of your awareness.
You glance up, instinct overriding hesitation, and your stomach clenches. Jay, Sunoo, Shotaro, and Ni-ki walk in like they own the place, their laughter and easy banter cutting through the subdued murmur of the bar. They don’t pause, don’t hesitate, don’t even seem to notice the quiet disruption they’ve caused—but you notice. Your fingers tighten imperceptibly around the edge of the table, nails pressing faint crescents into the wood. Five people now—Saeryeong first, and now them. That makes five. It’s not a coincidence anymore. It can’t be. Someone told them, led them here, and the realization sends a ripple of unease through you. It tightens in your chest, lodges itself beneath your ribs, twisting and stubborn.
Your mind races, darting between possibilities. Did Sunghoon tell them? Did he let something slip? Did he lead them straight to this place, this tiny piece of your world that’s always been just yours and his? The thought burns, a low, simmering heat that you can’t quite extinguish, even as you force yourself to stay still, to stay composed. Saeryeong doesn’t notice. She’s too busy stirring the ice in her drink, her lips curling into a faint smile as she watches the group making their way toward you, but you notice immediately, before your mind even catches up, before you can tell yourself not to react. The moment Jay steps through the door, the casual way he scans the bar, his eyes flickering over the crowd until they land on you—your stomach lurches. Sunoo isn’t far behind him, his usual lazy confidence in place as he follows suit, Shotaro and Ni-ki trailing close behind, their presence just as easy, just as wrong. The booth around you, the low-lit bar, the familiar walls that have always felt like yours—all of it suddenly feels like it’s shrinking. You’re being watched, your space being occupied. But what unsettles you the most isn’t their arrival. It’s the way they don’t react to seeing you here.
Not a second glance. Not a flicker of confusion. No wide eyes, no surprised remarks. Just a smooth, uninterrupted beeline toward you, like they’ve done this a hundred times before, like it’s routine. And that’s when you know—it’s not a coincidence. It can’t be. You don’t get a chance to process it, don’t get a chance to try and piece together how they could have found you here, because Jay’s already moving, already pulling out a chair with an obnoxious scrape against the floor as he slides into the booth, taking the empty space beside Saeryeong like it’s his seat, like this is his table, like you aren’t already sitting here, barely holding onto the last thread of composure that you still have.
“Yo, Y/N,” Sunoo drawls, settling himself in on your other side, his arm stretching over the back of the booth, body angled toward you like this is any other night, like he belongs here. “Fancy seeing you here.”
You have to remind yourself to breathe. You don’t move, don’t shift, don’t let anything show, but you can feel something inside you locking up, your hands curling against your lap, pressing your thighs tighter together as if that’ll stop the way your heart is hammering too fast in your chest. The forced smile you manage feels brittle, tight, stretched thin in a way that feels far too obvious, but you hope they don’t pick up on it. They can’t pick up on it.
“Hey, guys,” you say, your voice light, breezy, but there’s something off about it, something forced. You feel it, but you don’t have time to fix it, don’t have time to readjust, because you need to get ahead of this before they make it something you can’t control. “What are you all doing here?”
Jay shrugs, his gaze flickering around the bar, like he’s still assessing it, like he’s taking it in piece by piece, filing it away for later. “Checking out the scene,” he says smoothly, voice low, calm, unaffected. “Heard this place was cool.”
It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does, but the way he says it, the way his eyes finally settle back on you, something unreadable lurking beneath the surface—it makes something cold crawl up the back of your neck.
Heard?
Your fingers tighten against the table, nails pressing into the wood, grounding yourself through the rising unease twisting in your stomach. Who told them? Your brain moves fast, scrambling through the possibilities, trying to make it make sense, trying to find an answer that isn’t the one you already know is the only real possibility. But there’s only one name that fits.
Sunghoon. Sunghoon told them. The realization settles like a weight on your chest, pressing against your ribs, making it harder to breathe. Your lips part, but you stop yourself, force the sharp inhale through your nose instead, keep your expression smooth, unreadable. You laugh, but it’s wrong, sharper than you meant for it to be, too pointed to be real. “Didn’t think this was your kind of spot,” you say, careful, measured, balancing the words on a fine edge.
“Why not?” Ni-ki asks, his head tilting slightly, the innocence in his expression making something twist inside you, because you know better, you know he’s not as clueless as he looks. “It’s a bar, isn’t it? People come to bars.”
“It’s not just any bar,” Sunoo cuts in, his grin widening just slightly, and the way he leans forward makes something bristle inside you. “This place has, like, a vibe. Didn’t peg you for the ‘hidden spot’ type, Y/N.”
You should’ve seen this coming. You should’ve known. Of course this is what happens when you let your guard slip, when you think you can keep anything separate, when you think you can have something that’s just yours. Because it’s not yours anymore, it never was, and now you’re here, trapped at a table with people who aren’t supposed to be here, their presence pressing in from all sides, suffocating, stealing the air from your lungs.
You laugh again, but this time it’s even tighter, bordering on unnatural, too controlled to be casual. “Guess you don’t know everything about me.” Sunoo raises a brow, his expression shifting slightly, something sharper flickering behind his eyes. “Guess not.”
And you hate the way he says it, the way the words settle over you, thick and heavy, the way they feel like something more than just an observation. You glance at Saeryeong, hoping—praying—for some kind of distraction, something to break whatever this is, but she’s still too wrapped up in whatever Jay just said, too far gone in her own world, completely unbothered, completely unaware.
But you know. You feel it, deep in your chest, in the tightness coiling beneath your ribs, in the way the air suddenly feels thinner, heavier, pressing down on you like a weight you can’t shake. This isn’t just an interruption—it’s an intrusion, deliberate and calculated, a hand reaching into something that was supposed to be yours alone. And it’s not a coincidence. Sunghoon did this. Sunghoon wanted this. You don’t know why, don’t know what he’s trying to prove, but the truth settles in your stomach like a stone, cold and immovable. He told them. He let them in. And now the walls you’ve carefully built around this space are crumbling, bricks collapsing one by one, leaving you exposed in a way that makes your skin crawl. Your pulse thrums at the base of your throat, your grip tightening beneath the table, fingernails pressing into your palm until the sharp sting reminds you to breathe. But you can’t—not properly, not fully—because your mind is already running ahead, already cycling through possibilities, already piecing together a conversation you don’t want to have but need to. You have to talk to him. And it won’t be a good conversation.
But you can’t focus on that right now as another problem arises. It’s been a night of interruptions, of walls being breached, of spaces being invaded. First, the guys showing up at the bar, settling in like they belonged, oblivious to the way their presence cracked something in your foundation. And now this, Saeryeong, drunk and loose-lipped, spilling things that were never meant to be spoken aloud. It’s problem after problem, like a fault line spreading beneath you, fracturing faster than you can piece it back together. The night is slipping, unraveling, slipping, unraveling, and you can’t seem to hold onto anything long enough to stop it.
Your focus has been shot ever since they arrived, mind cycling through the implications of Sunghoon sending them here, of what it means, of how it exposes you in a way you hadn’t anticipated. You’ve been too in your head, too caught up in calculations and frustrations, so you weren’t paying enough attention to what was happening beside you. You’d let Saeryeong keep talking, let the conversation drift, half-listened as the group eased into their drinks and jokes, let the hum of conversation blur into background noise. And that’s when it happens. You don’t catch the beginning of the conversation, don’t know what prompted it, don’t know where the discussion was leading—but you do catch the moment it detonates.
“We all fucked.” Saeryeong says it offhandedly, almost lazily, like it’s an obvious fact rather than a bomb dropped in the middle of the table. The reaction isn’t immediate. There’s a second—one long, painful second—where the words hover in the air, settling in, waiting for impact. You feel the way the atmosphere shifts, the way something tightens around the group like an invisible grip.
Jay blinks first, his brows pulling together, head tilting slightly, like he misheard. “Who’s we?”
Saeryeong barely even looks up, just tips her chin toward you in a lazy motion, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Me, Sunghoon, her.” The reaction this time is instant. You don’t even have to look up to know every single pair of eyes at the table is suddenly on you. You can feel it, a slow, searing heat crawling up the side of your face, pressing against your skin, dragging over you inch by inch.
Sunoo is the first to recover, letting out a sharp, disbelieving whistle. “No fucking way.”
Ni-ki exhales a short laugh, but there’s an edge to it, his gaze flicking between you and Saeryeong like he’s waiting for someone to clarify. Shotaro, on the other hand, looks scared. Wide-eyed, lips parted slightly, his expression stuck somewhere between confusion and the genuine fear of having just overheard something he was never meant to. Like a kid caught in the wrong room at the wrong time. His gaze darts from face to face, searching for someone to confirm whether or not this is a joke.
He swallows, looking like he wants to shrink into his seat. “Oh,” he says weakly. “Cool.”
“Cool?” Jay wheezes, finally cracking a grin. “Bro, you look like you just saw a ghost.”
Shotaro forces a laugh, but it’s nervous, high-pitched, a little painful. “I’m just—processing.”
“Processing what?” Ni-ki asks, amused. “The image of them fucking?” Your stomach clenches, but your face remains still. You can’t react. You can’t let yourself react. The moment is precarious, delicate, balancing on a blade’s edge, and if you move wrong, even slightly, it’ll tip.
You don’t need to think about it—it’s instinct, second nature, the calculations usually seamless, automatic. But something is wrong. The mechanism in your mind, the one that sorts through situations, that feeds you the right response, the right move, the right lie—it’s stalling. Glitching. The pathways are flickering in and out, solutions forming only to collapse before you can grasp them. It’s like staring at a screen filled with static, commands blinking in and out, solutions forming and dissolving before you can grasp them. Every possible response—every lie, every deflection, every carefully constructed misdirection—feels useless, inadequate, wrong. There’s no path forward that undoes this. No route that erases what’s already been said. Whether you deny it, laugh it off, twist it into something else, it doesn’t matter. The damage is done. The truth has been released into the air like a spark waiting to catch, and you have no way of smothering it before it ignites.
Saeryeong, on the other hand, is still talking. “It was…” She pauses, blinking as if recalling a distant memory, like she’s searching for the right words, and you want to stop her. To cut her off, to steer this somewhere, anywhere, that isn’t here. But your body isn’t moving, your lips aren’t parting, your mind isn’t catching up fast enough. And then she finds it. “Fun. Yeah. Really fucking fun.” She giggles, leaning in slightly, pressing into your side like you’re in on the joke. “Right?” No one else is laughing. The air feels too tight, the weight of every gaze pressing down on you in a way you feel—on your skin, in your lungs, wrapped around your throat. The silence stretches, thick and expectant, until Jay finally shifts forward, resting his elbows against the table, his gaze flicking over to you now, narrowing just slightly. “Are you serious?”
Saeryeong scoffs, rolling her eyes like it’s obvious. “Of course I’m serious. Why would I lie?”
And just like that, the world tilts again, the weight shifting, the inevitable spiral pulling you further in. The weight of the words, the meaning behind them, the truth in them. You watch it settle across the group, the realization dawning piece by piece. The moment stretches longer than it should, the silence thick and heavy, the air charged with something electric and unstable. It’s shifting everything, reconfiguring something in real-time, warping the way they see you, the way they see Sunghoon, the way this entire dynamic is framed in their minds now.
Ni-ki shakes his head slightly, eyes wide, exhaling sharply. “Holy shit.”
“God.” Saeryeong groans, slumping into you, rolling her eyes like this is boring to her, like she doesn’t even understand why they’re so fixated on it. She’s about to say more. You feel it. She’s teetering on the edge of elaboration, her mouth already parting, her mind already cycling through whatever thoughtless confession she’s about to drop next. Your fingers snap out, clamping down on her thigh, firm enough to stop her, to silence her, to keep her from making this worse, but it’s too late. The words are out, the knowledge is out, they know. Your breath catches, throat closing slightly as the realization fully settles, the weight of it pressing down on you, suffocating, the air too thick, too heavy, your grip beneath the table tightening until your nails nearly break skin. And now you have seconds—seconds—before this spirals into something completely out of your control.
The car ride is suffocating. The air inside the vehicle feels thicker than it should, pressing against your skin, against your ribs, filling the small space with something heavy and unspoken. The engine hums beneath you, the low vibrations of the tires rolling over pavement the only consistent sound. The streetlights flicker past in slow intervals, their glow casting brief, fleeting shadows against the interior. No one speaks. No one has spoken for a while.
You keep your gaze fixed on the window, arms folded tightly over your chest, jaw locked, eyes tracking the blurred shapes outside. You can feel them looking at you, feel the weight of their glances exchanged over the center console, the quiet conversation happening in their heads. You don’t turn. You don’t give them the satisfaction. Jay exhales sharply from the passenger seat, shifting in his seat like the silence is making his skin itch. “So… that was… interesting, huh?” His voice is casual, too casual, but it does little to ease the tension stretched thin in the car.
Sunoo snorts, shaking his head. “Never thought I’d see the day we had to stage an intervention for you, Y/N.”
You don’t flinch, don’t react, but something prickles down your spine at the word. Intervention. It tastes sour, settling wrong in the pit of your stomach. They think they know something. They think they need to talk to you, to fix something, like you’re unraveling in front of them, like you don’t already know exactly what you’re doing. The radio hums low in the background, the soft static between songs filling the empty spaces where conversation should be. Ni-ki clears their throat.Sunoo shifts against the leather seat. The tension festers, lingers, pressing tighter against your skin. You exhale slowly, steadying yourself. You tell yourself you’re fine. You tell yourself you’re still in control. But you don’t say a word.
Ni-ki’s bedroom is familiar, comfortable, casual in a way that normally feels easy. You latch onto the details instinctively, a desperate grasp for something solid, something normal. The gaming consoles stacked near the TV, the posters curling slightly at the edges, the hoodie slung over the back of his desk chair like it’s been sitting there for days—things that should ground you, things that belong to routine. But none of it feels quite right. Not against the weight pressing down on you, not with the unspoken words coiling in the air, thick and suffocating. They usher you inside like they’ve already decided this isn’t a conversation you get to escape from. A silent agreement made behind your back. A decision that’s already been made for you. You sit on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, muscles wound tight beneath your skin, gaze fixed somewhere—anywhere—but on them.
They stand around you, leaning against furniture, hands shoved into pockets, arms crossed over chests—like they’re bracing for impact, like they’re waiting for you to cave first. The tension is worse now, worse than the car, worse than the bar, worse than every second that led up to this.
Ni-ki, ever the one to break the ice, tilts his head slightly, voice light, almost teasing. “Congratulations, Y/N, this is your first intervention.”
Your lips part slightly, a scoff forming, but the exhaustion outweighs the amusement, and all you can manage is a quiet, dry, “Great. Can’t wait.”
Sunoo clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he flops into Ni-ki’s desk chair. “Someone cue the sad violin.”
The others huff small laughs, but it’s thin, strained, barely cutting through the weight in the air. You force yourself to lean back slightly, fingers curling into the hem of your sweater, scanning their faces one by one. They all look different degrees of exasperated, concerned, some a little more unsure than others.
You don’t like this. You don’t like feeling like a spectacle. You don’t like being the subject of their intervention, their whispered thoughts, their too-observant eyes and yet, here you are. You swallow, pressing your tongue against the inside of your cheek. “So,” you say, lifting your chin slightly, forcing a lightness into your tone that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Who’s going to start?”
Jay exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, glancing at the others before looking at you. “Okay,” he says, voice measured, steady, like he’s trying to approach this the right way. “I’m just gonna say it.”
He exhales slowly, like he’s giving himself a moment to choose his words. His fingers tap idly against his knee, his gaze flicking to the others before settling back on you. “You don’t feel like you anymore.” It’s not harsh, not cutting. It’s soft in a way that makes it worse, in a way that makes it feel too real, too direct, too impossible to deflect. He’s not throwing accusations at you, not trying to corner you. He’s just saying it, like a fact, like something he’s already spent too much time trying to figure out.
Your arms tighten where they’re crossed, your nails pressing faint crescents into your skin. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Sunoo sighs, tilting his head against the dresser, expression unreadable but voice lighter, like he’s trying to take the edge off. “Come on, like you don’t see it.” His lips twitch, but there’s no real amusement behind it. “You’re sneaking around, getting caught up in shit you’d normally be too smart to touch. And, I mean, since when do you keep things from Jake?” He raises his brows, waiting, and when you don’t answer, he clicks his tongue. “That’s how we know it’s bad.”
Shotaro shifts where he sits, the movement careful, thoughtful. His voice is quiet when he speaks, not prying, not demanding. Just… gentle. “We’re not trying to push you. We just—” He exhales softly. “We’re worried.”
A prickle of irritation creeps up your spine, hot and uncomfortable, not because you don’t believe them, but because you do. Because they wouldn’t be looking at you like this if they didn’t mean it. Because none of them would be sitting here, in this room, if they didn’t care.
You push past it. “I hide a lot of things from Jake.”
“Yeah,” Ni-ki says, resting his elbows on his knees, gaze steady, unreadable. “But not like this. Not when you know he’d care.”
Your pulse flickers. “I don’t need you all staging an intervention because you don’t like who I’m fucking.”
Jay shakes his head. “It’s not about that. It’s not about him.” He leans forward slightly, elbows on his thighs, his stare unrelenting but not harsh. “You don’t let people in. You barely let us in. And now you’re letting Sunghoon break down all your walls?”
Your throat tightens, and for a second—just a second—something inside you wavers. “It’s not like that,” you say, immediate, sharp, because you have to shut this down before it turns into something worse. “I’m in control.”
Sunoo hums, tilting his head. “Are you?”
You don’t respond. But you don’t have to. The way they glance at each other, the way Jay exhales, nodding like this is confirmation enough—it makes something coil tight in your stomach, something unsteady, something dangerously close to recognition.
Shotaro shifts again, slower this time, voice careful. “This isn’t just about Sunghoon.” His words are quiet, weighted with something that makes your chest tighten. “It’s about you. We just—” His brows pull together faintly, like he’s searching for the right words. “We don’t really… recognize you right now.” And for the first time tonight, you don’t have a sharp reJake waiting on your tongue.
The moment the conversation veers toward Saeryeong, you feel it before you hear it—the slight shift in the air, the waySunoo straightens, the glint in his eye that only ever means one thing. Trouble. “Okay, but why Saeryeong?” he says, throwing his hands up, looking genuinely exasperated. “Of all the people—of all the bad decisions you could have made—why her?”
You press your lips together, fingers tightening against the fabric of your pants. “It wasn’t—”
“Don’t say it wasn’t planned,” Jay cuts in, pointing at you. “Because that is obvious. But why her?”
You exhale sharply, feeling the weight of their stares closing in. “It just… happened.”
Sunoo lets out a sharp laugh, disbelieving, his head tilting as he levels you with a stare that’s just shy of condescending. “That’s your explanation? It just happened?” His voice lilts mockingly at the end, like he can’t fathom the words even leaving your mouth. He leans in, elbows bracing against his knees, gaze flicking over your face like he’s searching for something. “You know how many things just happen and don’t involve picking the person with the messiest fucking history with Sunghoon?”
Ni-ki mutters under his breath, “Literally any random person would’ve been less drama.”
“Exactly!”Sunoo smacks his thigh, his energy crackling like he’s just getting started. “Like, come on. Everyone knows the only way to keep a threesome clean is if the third person is a total stranger—a one-time thing, no strings, no history. Not someone already tangled up in the mess.”
Shotaro shifts uncomfortably, more hesitant but still firm. “It’s just… it makes things complicated. More than they already were.”
You scoff, trying to ignore the way your pulse hammers, how the walls feel like they’re pressing inward, how suddenly, you’re boxed in. “And what? You think I should’ve—what? Found some random person off the street? Like that would’ve been better?”
“Yes,”Sunoo says immediately, tone dead serious. “Yes! I could literally list twenty better scenarios than this.”
You shoot him a dry look. “Oh, please.”
“No, seriously.” He sits up straighter, looking around at the group like he’s about to launch into a full-blown TED Talk. “Scenario one: you and Sunghoon drunkenly pick up some hot rando at a bar. Scenario two: some mysterious out-of-town babe neither of you ever have to see again. Scenario three—”
“Okay, we get it,” Ni-ki cuts in, unimpressed.
Sunoo ignores him, eyes back on you, sharp and focused now. “Do you? Because I don’t think you do.” He leans back, arms folding across his chest, his voice shifting—no longer teasing, no longer playing. “This isn’t just about hooking up with Saeryeong. It’s about who Saeryeong is. What she’s been to Sunghoon.” He shakes his head, like this is the part that truly gets him. “You know their history, right?”
“No?” Ni-ki responds confused.
Sunoo exhales sharply, pressing his palms together like he’s weighing his words, then flicks his gaze to the others. “For those of you not in the know,” he drawls, his tone edged with something wry but serious underneath, “Saeryeong wasn’t just some random hookup for Sunghoon. They had a thing. A whole thing. It was casual, but consistent. She was his girl. And then, even when she wasn’t, she still kind of was.”
Jay frowns slightly, piecing it together. “But she’s Areum’s best friend.”
“Exactly.”Sunoo gestures like he’s glad someone else is catching up. “They were all intertwined—Sunghoon, Areum, Saeryeong. Sunghoon and Areum would break up? Saeryeong was right there. They’d get back together? Saeryeong would back off, like clockwork. And then rinse and repeat. Areum never found out.”
Ni-ki exhales through his nose. “So basically, it was never going to be clean.”
Sunoo turns back to you, expression leveling out. “And you had to know that.”
The air thickens. The weight of their stares presses down on you, suffocating, like they’re waiting—expecting—you to give them an answer, some kind of justification, some explanation that makes this all make sense. But there is no explanation. Not one that matters. Your throat tightens, and you look away, jaw flexing. You don’t answer and that silence says enough. Jay exhales, shaking his head. “You do whatever you want, you know that. We’re not trying to—” He pauses, searching for the right words, something careful but firm. “But we just don’t want you waking up one day realizing you can’t get out of this. We truly do care so much about you.”
And that’s what makes something coil in your stomach, what makes your fingers press into your thighs. Because they’re not wrong. They’re not wrong. And they know it. And worse—you know it too. Jay watches you carefully, his gaze steady in a way that makes your skin prickle, like he’s seeing something you don’t want him to. He’s always been like this—sharp without being harsh, perceptive in a way that feels too close, too knowing. And right now, it’s unbearable.
“I know you think you can handle this,” he says, his voice quieter than before, more level, like he’s making sure you don’t shut down before he gets the words out. “But you’re unraveling.” You scoff, shifting where you sit, forcing yourself to roll your shoulders like the tension hasn’t settled into them like stone. “I’m not unraveling.”
Jay doesn’t push, doesn’t react, doesn’t even blink. “You’re the most black-and-white person I know.” He says it like a fact, simple and absolute, like he’s laying down a card he’s been holding onto for a while. “You keep everything in its own little box—what matters, what doesn’t. What’s casual, what isn’t. And you never let the two mix.” His gaze flickers over you, steady, calculating. “Until now.” You hate the way your pulse stutters, the way something in your chest clenches, the way your fingers tighten against your thigh.
Jay doesn’t gloat. He doesn’t even look satisfied. He just exhales, shaking his head slightly. “You think you’re the one calling the shots,” he says, voice softer now, more careful. “But tell me this—if you woke up tomorrow and Sunghoon was done with you, if he decided he was over it, would you still be fine?”
The words are a blade, sharp and precise, cutting through every excuse, every flimsy justification, every lie you’ve told yourself just to keep going.
Your response is immediate. “Sunghoon wouldn’t do that.” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, sharp, certain—too certain.
Ni-ki exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “Guys are guys at the end of the day,” he mutters, voice dry but laced with something heavier. “You think Areum didn’t say that about him? He was with her for years. And what did he do? Fucked her best friend behind her back.” He shrugs, like the memory is just another fact in a long list of things that prove his point. “Wasn’t technically cheating, but it was messy. The secrecy, the lies—it’s not exactly a great track record.”
Your jaw tightens. “That’s different.”
“Is it?” Yangyang’s voice is quiet, steady, like he’s not trying to argue, just trying to make you see. “You’re banking on Sunghoon not being that guy, but how well do you really know him outside of this?”
The weight of it is suffocating. Jay doesn’t argue, doesn’t rush to fill the silence you leave hanging between you. He just waits, like he already knows how this plays out, like he’s already seen through every excuse you might try to reach for.
“I’m fine,” you say, but it’s quieter now, less certain. Your fingers tighten where they rest against your thighs. “I just—look, it doesn’t matter.”
He tilts his head slightly, gaze unwavering. “It does.”
You swallow, but the lump in your throat doesn’t budge. “You’re not sleeping,” he continues, listing it off like evidence in a case you don’t even realize you’re losing. “You’re acting out. You’re doing things that don’t make sense—not for you.” His tone isn’t judgmental, but it’s firm, pointed. “And it’s because you care more than you’ll admit.”
The words land like a punch to the gut, and for a second, you swear the room shrinks, the air pressing too tight against your ribs. Your instinct is to deny it. To scoff, to roll your eyes, to throw something back in his face just to make him move on. But you can’t, because the truth is sitting between you, thick and undeniable.
You don’t look at him. You don’t look at any of them. Your nails press into your palm, and for a moment, you think about saying something—anything—to make this conversation end, to regain even an ounce of the control that’s been slipping through your fingers all night.
In the end, all you do is exhale, slow and measured, before finally forcing yourself to speak. “I never said I didn’t care.” The words are quiet, reluctant, like they’ve been dragged from somewhere deep in your chest. And for the first time, no one pushes. No one tries to make you say more because they know this is the closest you’ll get to saying it out loud.
The weight of your words lingers between you, stretching into the silence, settling into the spaces where arguments usually go. But this time, no one rushes to fill it. No sharp retort fromSunoo, no quiet probing from Shotaro, no pointed reJakes from Yangyang. They just watch you, absorbing it, letting the confession sit, unchallenged.
You shift, pressing your fingers into your thighs, grounding yourself in the fabric of your jeans, in the way the tension has shifted—not gone, just… waiting. Like they know this isn’t over. Like they know you aren’t done unraveling yet.
Jay exhales first, raking a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he says, quiet, but resolute. “That’s enough for tonight.”
No one disagrees.
Shotaro stands, stretching slightly, rolling out the tension in his shoulders before reaching for his phone, like he’s giving you an easy way out. Ni-ki follows, rubbing a hand over his face, muttering something about the time, but the look he gives you as he passes is knowing.
Sunoo leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, lips twitching like he’s debating one last comment. He settles on something softer instead. “Think about it, okay?” His voice is unusually serious, but not unkind. “Not just what’s happening now, but where it’s going.”
Jay lingers the longest, waiting until the others start filing out before looking back at you. “You’re not as alone in this as you think,” he says, watching you carefully, like he’s making sure you hear it.
The door swings shut, the last of their voices fading into the walls. You don’t move. You sit there, spine rigid, fingers curled tightly around your wrist, the cool metal of the charm bracelet biting into your palm. If you focus hard enough—on the weight of it, on the way the small charms press into your skin—you can force yourself to stay whole. You should get up, leave, shake this off like you always do. But something feels different this time, something heavier, something irreversible.
You hear the hesitation before you see it—the faint shift of weight, the quiet pause just beyond the threshold. When you glance up, Shotaro is still standing there, lingering in the doorway, his hand hovering near the handle like he can’t decide whether to stay or go. But the thing is—he already did. He was the first to leave, the first to step out with the others, to make his way down the hall without looking back. And yet, he didn’t. Not really. He left, but he didn’t fully leave.
That does something to you. Shotaro never pries, never pushes, never makes anything harder than it has to be, but he also never misses things. And right now, he’s seeing something you don’t want him to. His eyes flicker to your clenched fist, to the bracelet peeking out between your fingers, and something in his face shifts—something softer, something cautious. You don’t have the energy to glare, to deflect, to throw up your usual walls before he can see too much. You just tighten your grip around the bracelet, pressing the charms into your palm until they leave imprints against your skin.
It starts as a flicker, a hairline fracture splitting through something unseen, too small to notice at first. A breath catches wrong, a thought misfires, and for a moment—just a moment—everything wavers, like the ground beneath you isn’t as solid as it should be. Then the flicker turns into static, distorting the edges of your thoughts, dulling the clarity you rely on. It spreads, slow but certain, unraveling the carefully constructed order you’ve spent so long maintaining, the scaffolding of control bending under a weight that wasn’t there before.
You try to smooth over the edges, to reset, to realign the circuits misfiring in your head, but something is off-kilter, slipping further out of sync with every second. The logic you’ve clung to doesn’t hold, the calculations are wrong, the safeguards that should keep everything contained have stopped responding. And then—without warning, without ceremony—the structure gives. Not all at once, but piece by piece, logic warping at the seams, order turning to chaos, something once unshakable collapsing in slow motion.
It should feel like losing control. But it doesn’t. Not exactly. It feels like something else, something worse. Like finally acknowledging the inevitable, like recognizing the moment the cracks in the glass stop being cracks and turn into something irreparable. Like standing in the wreckage of something you swore you could contain, something you built to be unshakable, and realizing it was never as strong as you thought it was. Shotaro watches you, still and waiting, and it’s unbearable because he doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He doesn’t press, doesn’t try to fill the space with empty words, doesn’t give you an escape route you could pretend to take. He just stands there, presence quiet but unrelenting, his patience a scalpel carving through every layer of pretense you’ve spent months perfecting.
And it’s the worst fucking thing.
Because you don’t want to be seen. Not like this. Not when your grip is too tight around the delicate charm bracelet in your palm, the one biting into your skin like a reminder, like a brand, like something fragile enough to break if you squeeze just a little harder. Not when your chest feels like it’s caving in, collapsing inward under the weight of something you never meant to carry this long. You should tell him to leave. You should shake this off, slip back into something sharp and deflective and distant, because that’s what you do. That’s who you are. But you don’t. You can’t. Because the failure has already happened, the collapse already in motion, and you’re just standing in the fallout, pretending you can still control how it ends.
“Come in,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.
Shotaro hesitates, brows furrowing, mouth parting slightly like he’s searching for the right thing to say. But there’s nothing. There’s no right thing. So when you speak again, sharper this time—“Close the door.”—he doesn’t argue. The click of the latch echoes in the quiet, final and inescapable, turning this into something neither of you can step away from. He doesn’t sit. He doesn’t fidget. He just waits and that’s worse because it means there’s no room for avoidance, no way to shove this back down where it belongs. It means there’s no reason left not to say it.
Your fingers tighten around your wrist, the bracelet cold against your skin, the weight of it nothing compared to the weight pressing against your ribs. Your heartbeat is too loud in your ears, too uneven, too much. You need to stop this. You need to pull yourself together before you—
“I’m falling for him.” It slips out before you can stop it, a confession that isn’t really a confession, a wound being torn open without ceremony. The words taste like metal in your mouth, sharp and unyielding, impossible to take back.
Falling for him feels like stepping into a trap you set for someone else—one you built carefully, meticulously, thinking you could control the outcome, thinking you could dictate the terms. It should’ve been simple. Keep things physical. Keep things detached. Keep things within the boundaries you’ve always maintained so well. But the moment you realize what’s happening, the moment the first thread of it catches at the edges of your ribs and pulls—you know you’re already too deep. It’s not like falling off a cliff. That would be too obvious, too cinematic, too easy. It’s more like waking up one day and realizing the ground beneath you isn’t solid anymore, that you’ve been walking on something unstable for longer than you realized, that every step has been leading you toward this whether you meant for it to or not.
It’s the moments you didn’t think twice about at the time—the way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking, the way he tucks his fingers into the hem of your hoodie absentmindedly, the way his touch lingers longer than it needs to, the way he says your name like it means something, like you mean something. It’s the small shifts, the subtle fractures in the walls you swore would never break, the way you catch yourself thinking about him when you don’t want to, when you shouldn’t, when there’s no reason to. It’s the way his absence feels like something missing instead of something peaceful. It’s the way you stopped thinking about escape routes the moment you stepped into his orbit.
And it’s terrifying.
Because Sunghoon is not safe. He is not easy. He is not someone you can walk away from without consequence. He is not the kind of person you can fall for gently, quietly, at a distance. He is something consuming, something undeniable, something that takes up space in your life until there’s no part of it untouched by his presence.
Falling for him is a contradiction because it defies every instinct you have—every rule you set for yourself, every safeguard you built, every calculated move meant to keep you from exactly this. It’s a paradox because it’s both destruction and desire, something that should feel like a mistake but doesn’t. You should hate him for it. You should resent him for letting them in, for chipping away at the spaces you carved out for yourself, for unraveling the one thing you thought you had under control. But you don’t.
Because despite everything—despite the way he’s obstructed your safe space by telling them where the bar is, despite the intrusion, despite the tangled, impossible mess of it all—you’re still falling. You don’t know how to stop. You don’t know if you even want to. It’s wreckage, but it’s the only thing that’s ever made you feel alive. It’s chaos, but it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense. It’s the sharp edge of a blade pressed against your throat, but for some reason, you’re the one leaning into it.
Shotaro doesn’t react. Not right away. He just breathes, slow and steady, his silence stretching into something heavier than words could ever be. His gaze doesn’t flicker, doesn’t falter, doesn’t fill the space with reassurances or attempts to fix what can’t be fixed. He just looks at you. Really looks at you. And something inside you wavers.
You don’t know what you were expecting. Shock, maybe. Pity. A quiet attempt to convince you that it’s not as bad as you think, that there’s a way out of this, that you aren’t as lost as you feel. But he doesn’t say any of that. He doesn’t say anything at all.
Instead, he moves, slowly, carefully, he crosses the space between you, each step deliberate, each moment stretching unbearably long, until the distance is gone and he’s lowering himself onto the bed beside you. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t press. Just reaches out, fingers brushing against yours for only a second before curling around your hand, warm and steady and grounding.
And that’s when it happens.
Your breath catches, the inhale cutting sharp through your ribs, but it doesn’t reach your lungs. The weight of it—of everything—presses in, a slow, crushing inevitability, like the air itself is thickening, turning to tar, pulling you under. It settles deep, deeper than thought, deeper than reason, coiling around the spaces you’ve fought to keep untouched.
That’s when you realise how completely, utterly, inescapably fucked you are.
You feel it before you register it—something warm, something foreign, a dampness blooming on your cheek, trailing downward in a slow, aching path. A single eclipse slipping past the horizon, quiet, unnoticed, until it’s already gone.
Shotaro squeezes your hand, just once and for the first time in a long time, you let it fall.
Sunghoon — good morning baby
Sunghoon — did you sleep okay?
Sunghoon — coach suh emailed. did you get it?
Sunghoon — he wants to meet with us. probably to check in on the project
Sunghoon — baby?
Sunghoon — i’ll see you on campus
Sunghoon — i miss you
You don’t check your phone. You don’t need to. You already know what’s waiting there, sitting unread in your notifications, messages stacking one after another—Sunghoon’s name, over and over, his words growing more urgent the longer you ignore him. You can picture his frustration, the sharp edge to it, the way he’s probably running a hand through his hair, jaw clenched, trying to figure out why you’re still avoiding him.
You’ve had arguments before. Worse ones. Arguments that left you seething, pacing, words sharp enough to cut, fights that bled into the early hours of the morning but never ended like this. Never with silence. Never with you avoiding him. He knows he messed up by not telling you why those two guys in the crowd got to him. Not telling you the real reason he couldn’t focus, why his game was slipping. Keeping whatever this is locked away in his head, trying to deal with it on his own, like he always does, like he hasn’t learned by now that you hate being shut out. And he thinks that’s why you’re doing this now. That this is payback. That you’re pissed, and you have every right to be, but he’s trying to figure out why this feels different.
What he doesn’t know—what he can’t know—is that it’s not just about the secret that he’s keeping from you. It’s not just about the bar, or those guys in the crowd, or the pieces of his life he still hasn’t let you see. It’s about you. It’s about the way this thing between you is warping, shifting, growing too fast and too wild for you to contain, bleeding into spaces it was never meant to touch. It’s about the way it lingers, about the way it catches at the edges of your thoughts even when you’re trying not to think about him at all. It’s about the way you miss him.
And you do. You fucking hate that you do.
You’ve spent the last few days treating your own avoidance like an act of control, convincing yourself that if you just keep moving, keep slipping through the gaps before he can catch you, you can keep this thing from swallowing you whole. But it’s not control, not really. It’s desperation. It’s buying yourself time in the only way you know how. And maybe that’s why it feels worse now, why your stomach twists at the thought of seeing him again. Because you knew this was coming. You knew you couldn’t keep running forever.
And today, you’ve run out of places to hide. A scheduled meeting with Coach Suh. A mandatory study session. No excuses, no easy exits. Your luck has finally run out, and you’re late. You never run late, but your head has been all over the place this morning, your thoughts dragging you in too many different directions at once, making it impossible to move with your usual precision. It’s not until you push open the door to Coach Suh’s office, the wood creaking slightly on its hinges, that you realize just how badly you’ve miscalculated your timing—because Sunghoon is already there, leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes lifting to meet yours the second you step inside. And for a second—just a second—he looks at you like he’s been waiting, like he’s been counting the minutes, like whatever irritation he should have over your lateness is eclipsed by something else entirely, something dark and searching and wanting, something that makes your breath catch in your throat before you force yourself to take deep breaths.
His gaze doesn’t waver, doesn’t break, just stays locked onto yours with an intensity that makes your skin feel too tight, like it’s trapping heat beneath the surface. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t have to—you can feel the tension stretching between you, thick and charged, something dangerous crackling in the space where words should be. The way he’s looking at you—like he’s been waiting for you, like he’s already decided you’re his next move—sends a slow, curling heat through your veins, pooling low in your stomach. His fingers tap against the chair, slow and deliberate, his body angled toward you just slightly, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do, if you’ll acknowledge the fact that you’ve been dodging him for days, if you’ll admit that it’s affecting you just as much as it’s affecting him.
His tongue darts out, wetting his lower lip, and your breath catches, because it’s not just tension—it’s awareness, it’s memory, it’s the way you know exactly what that mouth feels like against yours, the way his hands fit against your body, the way he never just touches, he takes. You force yourself to look away, to shift your attention to Coach Suh as he clears his throat and glances between the two of you, clearly sensing something in the air but choosing not to address it. But even as you move toward the empty chair beside Sunghoon, you can still feel him watching you, the weight of his gaze pressing into your skin like a brand.
Coach Suh clears his throat. “Glad you could join us,” he says, his voice even, but there’s a note of expectation in it. He folds his hands over his desk, eyes flicking between the two of you. “I called this meeting because I wanted to check in on your progress with the project. You’re in the final stretch now, and from what I’ve seen so far, it’s been excellent work.”
You nod, smoothing your palms over your thighs, steadying yourself. “Yes, we’re in the final stages. We’ve compiled the research, structured the data, and outlined the presentation format. Right now, it’s just a matter of fine-tuning everything before we submit.”
You pause, inhaling carefully before continuing, feeling the weight of Sunghoon’s gaze on you. “We’ve analyzed the post-match statistics to refine predictive accuracy, cross-referenced it with real-time player performance metrics, and incorporated psychological factors—things like heart rate variability under pressure, response times after fatigue, even the effects of crowd engagement on overall gameplay.” Your voice is steady, but your pulse stutters as you remember just how involved Sunghoon has been in this part—how he’s sat beside you, fresh off games, muscles still tense, going over footage with an intensity that was almost obsessive.
“He’s helped a lot with the breakdowns,” you add, glancing at Sunghoon before you can stop yourself. It’s a mistake. His gaze is already on you, unwavering, something unreadable simmering beneath it. “Fine-tuning the data to match real-world conditions.” Your words slow slightly, an almost imperceptible hitch in your breath as his expression darkens, heat flickering behind his eyes like he’s remembering too.
You shift, clearing your throat. “And we’ve been assessing how external variables factor in—game-day pressure, audience interaction, even the psychology of cheer teams and how they influence player engagement.”
Coach Suh nods, clearly pleased, but you’re already pressing forward. “I also requested an extension for the final report,” you continue, voice measured, purposeful. “The final stage of our research will take place at the state championship game. It’s the most important match these guys will ever play—high stakes, peak intensity, a real-world culmination of every factor we’ve analyzed so far. There’s no better moment to collect the last set of data.”
You don’t look at Sunghoon this time, but you don’t have to. His presence is a pulse at the edge of your awareness, charged and humming, a tension coiling tight between you. You know what this game means to him. To all of them. And now it means something to you, too.
Coach Suh leans back in his chair, considering. “You’re confident that this will provide the final necessary insights?”
“Yes,” you answer without hesitation. “This is where everything comes together.”
Coach Suh hums, nodding approvingly. “That’s what I expected. I knew when I paired you two together, it would either end in disaster or brilliance.” His mouth quirks slightly. “Looks like we landed on brilliance.”
You exhale a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Thanks for the faith, Coach.”
Coach Suh straightens a stack of papers on his desk, then exhales, slow and deliberate. “There’s something I wanted to discuss with you, actually.” He pauses, studying you. “You’ve been on my radar for a while now—not just for this project, but for your work ethic, your academic performance, your extracurricular involvement. And I’ve been in contact with some institutions that are very interested in someone like you.”
Your fingers clench slightly against your lap. A beat of silence stretches between you before you find your voice. “Institutions?”
He nods. “Specifically, Deloitte’s international research division. They’ve been keeping an eye on our top candidates for their post-graduate global program, and your name was at the top of the shortlist.”
Your breath stutters. Deloitte. The dream company. The kind of opportunity that people in your field don’t just get—it’s something they fight for, something they spend years working toward. And yet, somehow, you’re sitting here, being told that they want you. A shaky exhale escapes before you can stop it. Your hand flies to your mouth, as if you can physically catch the reaction before it spills out further.
Sunghoon shifts beside you, his body going rigid. You barely notice.
Coach Suh’s expression softens slightly. “They’ve been thoroughly impressed with the work you’ve put into this project. Of course, the final review will happen once everything is submitted, but I’d say it’s more of a formality at this point.”
Your chest feels tight, full, like there’s too much air in your lungs, too much emotion pressing against your ribcage.
A credit. You’ve always been a credit to yourself, to your team, to your education. You’ve spent your whole life working toward something like this—toward an opportunity that validates every late night, every sacrifice, every moment you chose ambition over ease
Yet, as the excitement crashes through you, another emotion lurks just beneath it, threading through the moment with something heavier, something unshakable. Because you’re not the only one in the room. Because Sunghoon is sitting there, silent, unmoving, his presence is a weight you can’t ignore, pressing against the edges of your awareness. You don’t have to look to know he’s staring, don’t have to meet his gaze to feel the way it lingers, the way it burns. And that changes everything. Because suddenly, this moment isn’t just yours—it’s his, too. His to witness, his to react to, his to take in with that sharp, unreadable expression you know too well. The air shifts, thickens, a tension settling between you that has nothing to do with the words still hanging in the room and everything to do with what’s unspoken, what’s unsaid, what can’t be acknowledged here, now, in front of Coach Suh. You should be celebrating. You should be throwing yourself into the sheer impossibility of this dream coming true. But all you can think about is him.
Sunghoon exhales through his nose, shifts slightly in his seat. His voice cuts through the air, low and edged with something you can’t quite place. “No offense, but why am I here?”
Coach Suh barely spares Sunghoon a glance before settling his attention back on you. “You’re here because I wanted to ask Y/N to report on you—to see if you’ve been behaving and actively participating without disruption.” His tone is even, measured, but there’s an edge beneath it, something pointed. “You haven’t been playing well recently, so I want to make sure you’re not bothering her on the project.”
Sunghoon scoffs, a short, incredulous sound, but he doesn’t argue. His jaw tightens just slightly, his arms settling more firmly against the chair as he leans back, stretching out like this entire conversation is nothing more than an inconvenience.
Coach Suh’s gaze flickers between the two of you before he leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “And how would you assess the level of collaboration?” he asks, directing the question at you now. His eyes shift briefly to Sunghoon. “Have there been any setbacks?”
You know exactly what he’s asking. Your partnership had been an unorthodox one from the start, a carefully calculated gamble after Sunghoon’s challenging behavior after Jake had joined the official team. The arrangement was meant to be a structured challenge—could you, the model student, keep someone like Sunghoon in line? Could Sunghoon, the star athlete, rise to the academic standard expected of him? But the lines between those expectations had blurred somewhere along the way, tangled in ways no one could have predicted. Late-night study sessions stretching until dawn, whispered arguments over post-game statistics, tension thick enough to choke on, the heat of his body too close, the way his voice would drop when he leaned in to ask if you were paying attention.
It’s in the way he takes up space. The way he stretches out beside you during study sessions, legs sprawled just enough that his knee brushes against yours under the table, that easy, deliberate kind of arrogance that makes your breath catch before you can stop it. It’s in the way his voice drops when he leans in, close enough that you can feel the heat of him at your side, his breath fanning against your jaw as he murmurs, You following, baby? It’s the way he doesn’t move away when you shift in your seat, when you tilt your chin just slightly, almost testing, almost daring—and the way his lips quirk like he knows exactly what game you’re playing.
It’s in the way he watches you. Not just in the classroom, not just during your sessions, but in the moments between. The slow, steady drag of his gaze across your face when you’re speaking, like he’s memorizing the way your lips move around the words. The way his eyes flicker lower when you push your hair out of your face, tracing the column of your throat, lingering at the neckline of your sweater. It’s subtle, practiced, but you know him too well now—you see it. You see the way he flexes his fingers when you roll your wrists after hours of typing, the way his jaw ticks when you bite your lip in thought, the way he watches, watches, like he’s thinking about something he shouldn’t.
And it’s in the way he touches you. How it never feels accidental, never careless. The way his hand settles against the small of your back when he reaches over to grab your notes, a touch so light, so fleeting, but enough to make your breath catch. The way his fingers ghost over yours when you hand him a pen, lingering just a second too long before he takes it, his thumb grazing over your knuckles like a quiet, unspoken challenge. The way he lets his palm brush against your thigh when he shifts in his seat, too casual to be innocent, too practiced to be anything but intentional.
And worst of all, it’s in the way you react to it. The way your pulse kicks up when he gets too close, the way your skin burns where he touches, the way your stomach twists at the way he says your name, slow and deliberate, like he’s testing how it sounds in his mouth. It’s in the way you pretend it doesn’t get to you, even though it does. Even though it always, always does.
“We work well together,” you say, careful, precise. “He’s been… helpful.”
That’s an understatement. You’ve had to drag him through some parts of this project, yes, but Sunghoon has always been sharp when he chooses to be. He understands patterns, probabilities, the way the smallest shift in data can alter the entire outcome. You’ve seen it happen in real time—the furrow of his brows when something clicks, the way his fingers drum against the table when he’s locked onto a problem he actually cares about. He’s more capable than people realize—more capable than he lets himself believe.
You clear your throat, straightening in your seat, voice more certain. “He’s done everything I’ve asked. He helped me analyze the probability models, double-checked the correlations in the performance metrics, even compiled the predictive scoring data on his own.” You glance at Sunghoon again, pulse hitching despite yourself. “And he’s… good at it. He picks up on patterns fast, catches inconsistencies most people wouldn’t even notice. He’s—” A pause, lips pressing together before you finish, quieter now. “He’s better at this than he thinks.”
But that’s not all. It’s not just the project—it’s the way he’s helped you. The way he’s taken things off your plate when you’re stretched too thin, running calculations for hours just because he knows you won’t sleep until they’re right. The way he’s brought you coffee before you’ve even asked for it, remembering your exact order down to the smallest detail. The way he’s noticed—really noticed—when your shoulders ache from being hunched over your laptop too long, when your brain is too fried to function, when you need a break but won’t take one unless someone forces you to. He never says anything about it, never makes a show of it, but you feel it in the way he lingers when you’re the last two left in the library, in the way he nudges your ankle under the table when you’re zoning out, in the way his fingers brush against yours when he hands you a pen, a notebook, a lifeline.
Your lips part, a breath catching at the base of your throat, because suddenly it’s all too much. The weight of it—of everything unsaid, everything deliberately ignored, everything you’ve been forcing into the tight, unyielding spaces between logic and restraint—presses down all at once. It’s in the silence between words, in the charged space between bodies, in the way your own pulse betrays you, racing at the edges of something you can’t name. You feel it in the static between your fingertips and the smooth wood of the desk, in the heat at the back of your neck, in the way the air seems too thick, too slow, like it’s dragging against your skin.
And then—without thinking—you glance over. It’s a mistake. Sunghoon is already watching you. His posture is deceptively relaxed, but his eyes are anything but. Dark, searching, laced with something that coils tight in your stomach. The air between you stretches, sharpens, thins to a thread pulled too tight. His gaze drags over your face, lingering like he’s reading something there, like he’s pulling apart the edges of your composure just to see what’s underneath. And maybe he already knows. Maybe he’s known for a while now. Because that look—God, that look—carries the weight of memory, of things unspoken but deeply felt, of hands pressing into sheets and mouths parting on gasps and the way you’ve traced the shape of his name against your own teeth.
Your breath stutters, a small hitch that feels too loud in the stillness of the room. His lips twitch—barely, just a flicker of something between amusement and something else, something heavier. Something that makes heat curl in your spine. You bite your lip, snapping your gaze back to Coach Suh before your thoughts can slip further down the path they’re threatening to take. You force your breathing steady, force your expression smooth, but the weight of Sunghoon’s stare lingers, an imprint against your skin.
Coach Suh hums, nodding. “Good. I was hoping to hear that. It’s been interesting keeping up with the project’s progression, given the… unconventional pairing.” You fight the urge to shift in your seat, to press your thighs together against the slow, creeping ache unraveling at the edges of your restraint. Sunghoon does shift, just slightly. A slow movement, fingers drumming once against the chair arm before stilling. And you don’t dare look again.
The meeting with Coach Suh ends, but the weight of it lingers. You gather your things with careful precision, aware of Sunghoon’s presence beside you, aware of the way he moves a second behind you, like he’s waiting to speak. But he doesn’t—not yet. Not until you step out of the office, the door clicking shut behind you, and he finally exhales. Neither of you say anything as you make your way to the study rooms, the air between you thick with the unspoken. It isn’t until you’re inside, the door closed, the world outside sealed away, that the tension starts to settle into something heavier, something more intimate.
“Set that down,” he breaks the silence, his gaze flicking to the notes clutched too tightly in your hands.
You set your notes down on the table, fingers smoothing over the pages, flipping through them with a mindless kind of focus. You should be reviewing everything—going over the details of the project, the final stretch before submission—but the silence between you is pressing, suffocating. Sunghoon sits across from you, his eyes unreadable, but there’s something there—something that makes your stomach twist. You open your mouth, about to say something, anything to cut through it, but then he moves.
He reaches across the table, fingers curling around the edge of your chair, and before you can react, he pulls you closer. The scrape of the chair against the floor is loud in the quiet room, but the only thing you can focus on is him. His proximity. The way his knee brushes against yours beneath the table. The way his fingers linger on the armrest, like he’s grounding himself in the space between you..
“I’m sorry, okay?” His voice is low, rough around the edges, but there’s something else beneath it—something real, something raw. He’s looking at you now, fully, like he’s waiting for you to look back, waiting for you to see whatever’s hidden in the depths of his eyes.
But you don’t. Not yet. You just press your lips together, fingers gripping the edges of your notes like they might keep you steady.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he continues. His voice is quieter now, more controlled, but no less heavy. “I didn’t because—fuck, I don’t know. I didn’t want you to see me like that. Like someone who’s in over his head. Like someone who can’t handle his own shit.” He shakes his head, jaw tightening. “I thought I could fix it on my own but I can’t.”
Something tugs at your chest, something sharp. Sunghoon leans forward further, his knee brushing against yours. His voice dips even lower. “I know how you think. You want answers, reasons. And I kept them from you. I made you feel like you couldn’t trust me, and I—I fucking hate that, too.”
“I don’t want to keep any secrets from you,” he says, voice so quiet now it’s barely more than a breath. “Not anymore.”
Your pulse skips, you finally lift your gaze, finally meet his eyes. Sunghoon isn’t good at apologies. He’s stubborn, headstrong, too proud for his own good. But this? This is real. This is him laying himself bare in a way he doesn’t do for anyone and it makes something flicker in your ribs, something fragile, something you don’t want to name. “Okay,” you murmur.
Sunghoon watches your face, searching, then nods once. He exhales, the tension in his shoulders loosening just slightly, and leans back in his chair. “I’ll tell you,” he says, quieter now. “I’ll tell you everything.”
Sunghoon exhales sharply, running a hand down his face. He leans back in his chair like the weight of what he’s about to say is pressing down on him, forcing him to brace himself before he speaks. His jaw works, teeth pressing together like he’s trying to find the right words, like he’s already regretting the ones he knows he has to say.
“Their names are Eric and Sunwoo,” he starts, their names like acid on his tongue. He tilts his head back slightly, staring at the ceiling, as if that’ll make this any easier. “It started last season. I got involved in some stupid shit, gambling, point shaving. Nothing serious—at first.” His lips curl slightly, bitter. “That’s how they get you. Small favors. Small bets. Small debts.”
You stay still, watching him.
“And then suddenly, it’s not small anymore.” His voice is rough, edged with something almost self-loathing. “Suddenly, they own you.” Sunghoon glances at you, like he’s gauging your reaction, like he’s waiting for you to pull away, to look at him differently. But when you don’t, when you just stay silent, waiting, he exhales again, shifting in his seat.
“They knew who I was,” he continues. “Knew I was my father’s son. Knew I had a reputation. A future. They saw me coming from a mile away. And I—” He shakes his head. “I was fucking stupid. I thought I could handle it. Thought I could stay ahead of them. I told myself it was just a game.”
Your stomach twists.
Sunghoon rubs at his temple, fingers pressing into his skin. “And now? Now I can’t get out. I owe them more than I can ever pay back, and the worst part? They don’t even want my money.” He laughs, but it’s hollow, humorless. “They want control. They want favors. They want to use me. And if I don’t do what they want—” He trails off, his throat working as he swallows hard.
Your pulse thrums, your body coiled tight. “Sunghoon…”
“I know,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I know. It’s fucked. I was reckless. I didn’t think.” He exhales, shoulders caving slightly. “And now I don’t know how to fix it.”
Sunghoon barely has time to react before you’re climbing into his lap, settling against him like you belong there, like there’s nowhere else you should be. His breath catches, a sharp inhale against your temple, his hands coming up to grip your waist instinctively.
And then—he exhales, long and slow, like something inside him unravels just from having you this close. His fingers tighten, pulling you in, anchoring himself to the warmth of your body. You shift, pressing down, molding yourself against him, and he sighs again, softer this time. Almost like a moan, like something he’s been holding back finally slipping free. His forehead drops to your shoulder, his breath fanning over your skin. You feel it, the way he lets himself enjoy it, the way his tension eases, just for a moment. Like this—just like this—it’s enough.
“We’ll figure this out,” you whisper, hands smoothing over his shoulders, threading through his hair.
His arms tighten around you, lips parting against your collarbone, pressing a kiss there—light, barely there, but enough to make something coil low in your stomach.
“You’re not alone in this,” you murmur, shifting to brush your nose against his.
Sunghoon makes a sound, low and rough in his throat. “You shouldn’t have to—”
“I got you,” you interrupt, firm, steady. “Don’t worry about it now.” His lashes flutter, and when he looks at you, something in his gaze flickers, something deep, something raw. His lips find yours before you can say anything else, slow and searching, drinking you in like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, the way you taste, the way you breathe against him. But you’re nervous.
And you don’t get nervous. Not when you stood in front of rooms full of professors who expected you to fail. Not when you faced the cold, calculating looks of men who only saw you as an object, a curiosity, a game to play and discard. Not when you walked through back doors into smoke-filled rooms, where hands brushed too close and voices murmured promises laced with hidden threats. You have seen the worst of people and still never flinched, never let them see you sweat. You have lived in places Sunghoon will never touch, built walls so thick that even you struggle to see past them sometimes. And yet, here you are—faltering in the arms of the only person who has ever made you feel like those walls don’t matter.
Sunghoon notices. Of course he does. His gaze flickers over your face, searching, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against your back. He’s waiting, patient in a way that only makes it worse. Because this isn’t some impossible task, some unscalable challenge. It’s just a question. Just words. But it’s him. And that changes everything.
Because the thought has been gnawing at you for days, a quiet, poisonous whisper at the back of your mind. He told people about the bar. You don’t believe it. You don’t want to believe it. But the fear is there, lurking beneath your ribs, winding tight around your throat. You trust Sunghoon. Don’t you? You shift against him, and his grip tightens, not rough, just enough to still you, to remind you that he’s here, that he’s waiting. His gaze flickers over your face, searching, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against your back. “What is it?” he murmurs, low and careful.
You should just say it. You should rip the words out and get it over with but instead, you kiss him. Sunghoon stills for only a fraction of a second before he responds, before his lips part under yours, before his hands slide lower, anchoring you against him as he deepens the kiss. It’s slow, unhurried, the kind of kiss that makes your stomach tighten, makes your breath hitch, makes your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt just to steady yourself. And then he shifts beneath you, his grip firm and deliberate as his hands slip under your thighs, lifting you just slightly, just enough for you to feel the suggestion in the way he moves, the silent encouragement, the unspoken plea. His touch is warm, insistent, guiding you forward, urging you into the rhythm he wants, the rhythm he’s aching for.
“Come on, baby,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice low, coaxing. His fingers flex against your skin, squeezing, pressing. “Let me feel you.” Your breath stutters. He rolls his hips up, slow, teasing, making you feel just how hard he is, how much he wants this, how much he wants you. His grip tightens, his fingers digging into your thighs, pulling you down just a little, just enough for your body to react, to chase the friction on instinct. Heat surges through you, liquid and heady, and for a moment, you almost give in. Almost let him pull you where he wants you, let him sink you down onto his cock and fuck every thought out of your head until nothing else exists except this, except him. But—no. Not yet.
You press your hands against his chest, stopping him before he can push further. His brows furrow, his eyes flicking up to yours, dark and questioning. His grip doesn’t loosen, but he pauses, waiting. You can feel his restraint, the tension in his body, the way he’s holding back from flipping you onto your back and taking what he wants.n“Not now,” you breathe, voice softer than you mean for it to be.
He narrows his eyes slightly as he glances at you, sharp and assessing, the way he always does when he knows something is wrong but you haven’t said it yet. His fingers flex against your waist, his grip grounding, steady, but he doesn’t push. He just watches. Waits. “Baby,” he says again, quieter this time, the warmth in his voice seeping into your skin. “Talk to me.”
And that’s when you realize, he’s felt it. The hesitation in your body, the tension in your shoulders, the way you’re holding yourself together like you’re afraid of unraveling. He’s felt it in the way you keep pulling back, in the way your touch lingers but doesn’t take, in the way your body is here but your mind is somewhere else. Sunghoon doesn’t let go. He doesn’t loosen his grip, doesn’t give you space to slip away. But he doesn’t tighten it either. He just stays right there, letting you feel him, letting you decide. Your throat tightens. Your pulse pounds in your ears. The question you’ve been carrying for days, the thought that’s been twisting inside you like a blade—it won’t let you move forward until it’s answered.
“I need to tell you something.” His hands flex again, his eyes locked onto yours, unwavering. He hums your name, soft, coaxing, the way he always does when he wants you to let him in.
“Tell me,” he murmurs, patient, gentle, the warmth in his voice settling over your skin like a quiet plea. You open your mouth, but the words won’t come out, lodging themselves somewhere deep in your throat, thick and immovable. You close it again, pressing your lips together, feeling the weight of themof what they mean, of what they could change. Because you don’t want to say them. You don’t want to bring them into existence, don’t want to make them real, don’t want to see the way his expression might shift if he knew what you were thinking. The words are right there, pressing against your ribs, curling into the spaces between your breath, but you swallow them down, keep them locked away, because you’re not ready. Because if you say them, there’s no taking them back. So you shake your head, your fingers curling slightly where they rest against his shoulders. “I need to ask you something.”
Sunghoon doesn’t react right away, doesn’t blink or frown or tighten his grip. But something shifts. Something subtle. A slow inhale, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Still, his voice stays the same, smooth and low when he says, “Go ahead.”
You lick your lips, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, even as your pulse stutters. Even as your stomach twists. Even as something inside you screams that you don’t want to ask this, don’t want to give life to the doubt that had no business being in your head in the first place. But you have to because it’s there, pressing against your ribs, lingering in the spaces between your thoughts, refusing to let you breathe fully. You take a slow breath, steadying yourself. “Did you tell anyone about me at the bar?”
His expression shifts instantly. Not in anger. Not in offense. Just—something steady. Something unwavering. He doesn’t move. His grip on you doesn’t change. But his body stills completely. His eyes don’t waver, don’t flicker with confusion or even the slightest hesitation, just lock onto yours with something resolute, something unshakable. “No,” he says, firm, certain, unflinching. “I would never.”
And it’s the way he says it—without pause, without even a breath between your question and his answer, without a single shadow of doubt—that makes you believe him. The breath you’ve been holding finally releases, slow and measured, slipping past your lips like a confession, like something you didn’t realize was weighing you down until now. His fingers flex against your waist, grounding, his warmth bleeding into your skin, tethering you back to something solid. “Of course I wouldn’t.” His voice is lower now, gentle but insistent, like he needs you to understand, like the very idea of it—of him betraying you, of him being the one to break something between you—is unthinkable.
You nod, exhaling, the tension in your chest unraveling as you let yourself believe it. Because of course he wouldn’t. Because despite everything, despite the way he makes you crazy, despite the way you fight and push and pull—he’s never been careless with you. Not with this. Not with the things that matter. Sunghoon watches you carefully, his gaze flickering over your face like he’s reading something unspoken in the way you breathe, the way your fingers tighten against his shirt, the way your head tilts forward until your forehead brushes against his. “Why?” he asks, quiet, searching. “Has something happened?”
Your pulse stumbles. You bite your lip, shake your head, but something in his eyes tells you he doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t push, doesn’t press, just lets the silence settle between you, lets it stretch, lets you decide what to do with it. And for the first time, you choose to leave it there. And then—before either of you can say anything else, before the silence between you can turn into something sharp, something that demands to be named—you lean in, brushing your lips over his again. It’s softer this time, unhurried, drawn out like an inhale, like something inevitable, something that was always meant to happen.
Sunghoon hums against your mouth, the sound low, steady, something that sinks into your bones. His hands slide up your back, slow and deliberate, fingertips pressing into your skin, pulling you closer, pulling you in. There’s no hesitation in the way he holds you—like he knows you won’t pull away, like he’s memorized the weight of you, like he’s certain now in a way you’ve never let yourself be. It should scare you. It should make you want to run, because this isn’t a game anymore, not something you can twist and control, not something you can keep at arm’s length. This is real. This is sinking, surrendering. This is the moment before the fall.
His chest rises and falls beneath your palms, slow and sure, a rhythm you could lose yourself in if you let it. His breath fans warm against your skin, a quiet, steady thing, anchoring you in place even as something deep inside you strains against it. His hands trace slow, absentminded patterns against your back, not asking, not urging—just there, a presence, a reassurance. You close your eyes. Feel the weight of him beneath you, the quiet certainty in the way he holds you, the way his fingers flex slightly like he’s memorizing this moment, like he doesn’t want you to slip through his grasp. He isn’t trying to pull you under, isn’t trying to make you give in. He’s just here. Solid. Steady. Unshaken.
And for the first time in longer than you can remember, you don’t question it.mYou breathe him in, press closer, let the warmth of him seep into the cracks you’ve been pretending don’t exist. Let yourself believe in something, in someone, without running the numbers in your head, without calculating the risk of loss. You let yourself fall. But somewhere beneath it all, beneath the hush of the room, beneath the way his hands settle so easily against you, beneath the fragile, unfamiliar trust settling in your chest, something stirs. A shadow that doesn’t belong to the dim lighting. A whisper threading through the silence, curling at the edges of your mind, slipping through the cracks even as you try to drown it out.
Not for long.
Your body moves like it has no choice, driven by something deeper than want, deeper than frustration. The slick stretch of him inside you makes you gasp, the fullness, the heat, the unbearable drag of every movement turning your limbs liquid. Sunghoon’s grip is bruising, fingers digging into your hips like he’s grounding himself in the way you’re taking him—like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing keeping him tethered. “Fuck,” he groans, voice raw, strained, teeth clenched as he watches you, his chest rising and falling beneath you. “I missed you, baby.” His hands slide up your sides, palms skimming your waist before one moves to cup your tit, rolling a nipple between his fingers, making your breath stutter. “Missed this.” Your nails sink into his shoulders, your thighs trembling as you move faster, chasing something desperate, something fevered. The pace is punishing, your body colliding with his in sharp, slick sounds, the heat between you unbearable. His cock pulses inside you, dragging against every sensitive part of you, hitting so deep you feel it in your stomach. You lean in, pressing your forehead to his, breath mingling, and the moment your lips part, the words slip out before you can stop them. “I missed you too.”
Something in his expression shifts, something dark and knowing flickering in his gaze. His hands tighten on you, dragging you down harder, meeting every roll of your hips with deep, bruising thrusts. He doesn’t question it, doesn’t push—just lets you take what you need, lets you use him to get yourself off, lets you fuck him like you’re trying to wring every ounce of tension out of your body. His fingers curl around the back of your neck, pulling your mouth to his in a kiss that’s all heat and teeth, his tongue sliding against yours, swallowing every moan, every shaky breath. Your fingers twist in his hair, tugging hard, making him growl into your mouth, his hips snapping up with a force that nearly knocks the air from your lungs.
“Take everything from me, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick, rough. “Take what you need.” And you do. You slam your hips down, your movements frantic, desperate, chasing friction and relief and something deeper, something you can’t name. The room is hot, sticky, filled with the sound of your bodies meeting, the wet, obscene noises of him fucking into you, the sharp little gasps spilling from your lips every time he grinds deep.
Sunghoon watches you like he’s memorizing every second of it, eyes lidded and heavy, jaw clenched as he meets every desperate bounce of your hips with upward thrusts that make your vision blur. His grip is possessive, firm, one hand sliding up to wrap around your throat, his thumb pressing just enough to make you shudder, to make your pulse stutter beneath his touch. You press your lips together, your head dropping forward, breath coming in short, uneven gasps. Your hips move in slow, deliberate rolls, grinding down just the way he likes, feeling every pulse and twitch of his cock inside you, the way his grip tightens, his control fraying at the edges.
“Fuck,” he groans, voice low and wrecked, his hands sliding to your ass, fingers digging in, squeezing, guiding. “Just like that, baby. Keep going—just like that.” Your thighs tremble, the coil in your stomach winding impossibly tight, every movement pushing you closer, every deep, perfect thrust unraveling something inside you. His fingers press deeper into your skin, his breathing rough, his gaze locked onto yours like he’s trying to pull something from you, like he’s waiting—waiting for you to break. And then you do.
Your body tenses, back arching, hands flying to his chest as pleasure crashes over you in waves, so sharp and overwhelming it rips a strangled moan from your throat. He follows just seconds later, groaning your name, his grip turning bruising as he grinds up into you, filling you, dragging you down until there’s nothing left but heat and breath and the slow, lingering haze of the aftermath. Your movements turn frantic, each roll of your hips sharper, needier, pushing you both toward something inevitable. Sunghoon groans, his hands gripping your ass, guiding you down harder, deeper, his cock dragging against every sensitive part of you. The stretch, the fullness, the unbearable friction—it’s too much and not enough, your body burning with the intensity of it, your thighs trembling as you chase something just out of reach.
Then, without warning, he shifts beneath you, one hand sliding up to palm your tit, his fingers rough and greedy as he kneads the soft flesh. His thumb flicks over your nipple, making you gasp, making you jolt, the sensation sending a sharp pulse of heat straight to your core. And then—his mouth. Hot and wet, lips wrapping around the sensitive bud, tongue swirling, teeth grazing, sucking deep and slow until you’re keening, your fingers twisting in his hair, tugging hard. “Sunghoon—” His name breaks from your lips, a half-moan, half-whimper, your body arching into his mouth, into his touch, into the way he holds you, takes you, devours you.
He groans against your skin, sucking harder, tongue flicking over the stiff peak before his teeth scrape just enough to make you shudder. His hands never stop moving, guiding your hips, pressing you down onto his cock, making sure you take every inch, making sure you feel just how deep he is inside you. His other hand slides up, wrapping lightly around your throat, tilting your head back so he can watch you come undone. “Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your breast, his breath hot and ragged. “You ride my cock so fucking good. Look at you. So needy.” His grip tightens just slightly, his fingers pressing into your throat, just enough to make your pulse race, just enough to make your breath stutter. “Say it again.”
Your nails scrape down his arms, your body rocking against his, grinding deep, your clit catching on the hard plane of his stomach with every movement. “I missed you,” you breathe, and it’s not just about this, not just about the sex, but you don’t let yourself think too hard about that. Sunghoon groans, his hips snapping up, meeting every desperate roll of your hips with deep, bruising thrusts. His fingers flex against your ass, his mouth dragging from your breast up to your jaw, his teeth grazing your skin before he captures your lips in a kiss that’s all heat and hunger, all tongue and teeth and frustration.
Your hands slide over his shoulders, pressing against his chest, your movements growing erratic, desperate, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter with every wet, obscene sound of your bodies meeting. He watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, his jaw clenched, his grip possessive, like he never wants to let you go. Your head tips back, your body burning, and somewhere in the haze, the thought comes unbidden, slipping past your lips before you can stop it. “I’m excited for my performance tonight.” Sunghoon’s grip tightens on your hips, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he recovers, his hands dragging you down harder, deeper, until you’re gasping. “Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice low, wrecked, but there’s something else in it now—something darker. “You gonna wear something short for me, baby? Let me see you all pretty up there?”
You bite your lip, meeting his gaze through the thick, heavy air between you. “Maybe.” You smile, shaking your head slightly, breath catching as you keep moving, keep grinding down, rolling your hips just the way he likes. His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding down to your ass, guiding you into every deep, perfect thrust like he can’t get enough, like he wants you to take everything he has. “It’s different tonight though,” you murmur, voice thick, edged with breathlessness. “Good different. I think you’ll love it.”
Sunghoon groans, his grip tightening, his restraint fraying right in front of you. And then he thrusts up hard, knocking the air from your lungs, making you gasp, making heat curl tighter in your stomach. His fingers dig into your skin, desperate, possessive. His head tilts back, lips parted, chest heaving. “Fuck,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, like the thought of it is already undoing him. He swallows hard, tilting his head back up, locking eyes with you again, gaze dark and unreadable. “M’gonna bail on the party. Just so I can watch you.” You falter, just slightly, because you weren’t expecting that. But Sunghoon notices—of course he does. His grip tightens, like he’s steadying you, like he’s grounding you right back into him. Your fingers flex against his chest, your breath shaky, your thighs trembling with the effort of keeping up with the brutal pace you’ve set. His hands move again, one sliding up to your back, the other curling around your hip, keeping you right where he wants you. “Yeah?” you manage, voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah,” he breathes. His fingers flex, like he’s imagining it, like the idea of you on that stage, moving, singing, owning the room, is already ruining him. “Not gonna miss it.” You bite your lip, suppressing a shiver at the way he’s looking at you, at the hunger, the heat, the quiet, consuming need. You can feel it in the way he holds you, the way his body strains beneath yours, like he’s already thinking about how he’ll be there, how he’ll watch you, how this—whatever this is between you—keeps pulling him deeper and deeper in. You lean in, your lips grazing his ear, your voice barely above a whisper. “You better.”
Sunghoon shudders, his hands flexing against your waist before he pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark, heavy gaze locking onto yours. And then—softer than you expect, so different from the way his body is coiled with tension—he leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips, slow and deep, like a promise, like an answer. “Of course I will, baby,” he murmurs against your mouth. And then, just as quickly, the softness vanishes. He shifts, his grip tightening, his cock pulsing inside you, stretching you open, dragging against every sensitive inch of you like he wants to carve himself into you. His breath is hot against your lips, voice thick with possession. “My girl,” he growls, his grip unrelenting as he drags you down onto him, burying himself deep. “This pussy—so tight, so fucking perfect. You were made just for me.”
His hands slide down, gripping the curve of your ass, forcing you to take him deeper, take everything, making sure there’s not a single inch of you he doesn’t claim. The sensation makes your head spin, makes a moan rip from your throat, makes your body arch as he fucks into you, relentless, insatiable, like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else. You feel yourself unraveling, pleasure crawling up your spine like a fever, making your limbs weak, making your head tilt back as heat licks at every nerve ending. Sunghoon’s rhythm doesn’t falter—if anything, he fucks you harder, deeper, chasing your reaction, chasing the way your walls flutter around him, tightening, squeezing. Your moans turn into whimpers, high-pitched, breathless. Your nails dig into his back, your legs trembling as you arch against him, your body desperate for more, desperate for everything. “Sunghoon—” His name leaves your lips in a sob, your entire body tensing, pleasure curling, building, teetering on the edge.
And then you shatter. Your orgasm rips through you, so intense that your vision whites out, so powerful that your body seizes up completely before it breaks apart. A cry wrenches from your throat as your pussy clenches around him, as wetness spills out of you, soaking his cock, dripping down between your thighs. Sunghoon groans, his fingers digging in even harder, his pace brutal, relentless, thrusting through your release, dragging it out until you’re twitching beneath him, overwhelmed, overstimulated.“Fuck, baby,” he grits out, eyes locked onto the mess you’re making, onto the way your slick coats his cock, drips down onto his thighs, wet and obscene. “So fucking perfect. Look at you—fucking soaking me.”
You’re still shaking, barely able to breathe, your body wrung out, but Sunghoon doesn’t give you a second to recover. The moment your orgasm crashes through you, he’s moving, shifting onto his knees and dragging you up with him, his grip firm on your waist, lifting you like you weigh nothing. His cock is still buried deep, still pulsing inside you, and when he pulls out just to slam back in, the sharp, wet sound of it makes your breath stutter, makes your head spin. He groans against your skin, his teeth grazing the curve of your shoulder, his hands forcing your hips down as he drives into you, each thrust knocking the air from your lungs. “Gonna make me come so deep inside you, baby,” he mutters, his voice fraying, dark and wrecked. “Gonna fill you up, fuck—take it all.”
You can only moan, nails raking down his back, meeting every brutal snap of his hips with your own, your thighs trembling with exertion, with need. Your body is still sensitive, still throbbing from your last orgasm, but the way he’s fucking you, the way his cock stretches you open, strokes against the deepest parts of you—it’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s everything. “Come inside me,” you beg, breathless, barely coherent, your lips dragging against his jaw. “Please, Sunghoon—fuck, please.”
His rhythm stutters, something snapping inside him at the sound of your voice, at the way you’re pleading for him, desperate, ruined, his. A low, guttural moan spills from his lips, his thrusts turning erratic, frenzied. And then he’s gone—his body tensing, his grip bruising, his cock pulsing as he spills inside you, filling you up with deep, heavy strokes, dragging you over the edge with him. You tighten around him, milking him, wringing every last drop from him, your body trembling, your breath ragged as you both come undone together. Sunghoon presses his forehead against yours, his hands still cradling your waist, still holding you close like he doesn’t want to let go. You can feel his breath on your lips, warm and unsteady, his heart pounding against yours, his body still twitching with the aftershocks of release. And when he finally exhales, when his lips brush against yours in something softer, something almost reverent, he murmurs, “My girl.”
The words barely have a chance to settle before he moves, before his hands tighten and he flips you onto your back with a deliberate, fluid motion, his body following seamlessly after. He’s on you in an instant, pressing you into the mattress, the heat of his weight sinking into you, grounding you, stealing the breath from your lungs. There’s no hesitation, no restraint—just urgency, just need. His hands roam with purpose, gripping, pulling, claiming, like he’s memorizing the shape of you with every touch, like he’s trying to remind himself that you’re here, that you’re his. His mouth follows suit, trailing over your jaw, dragging down your throat, teeth and tongue working in tandem as he sucks bruises into your skin, marking you in places that won’t fade easily, places that’ll remind you of him long after this moment is over.
“Missed you, baby” he mutters against your pulse, voice thick with hunger, his breath hot against your skin. He thrusts deep, knocking the air from your lungs, his cock splitting you open, stretching you in a way that feels almost unbearable. “Missed your sweet pussy. Miss how you fucking drip for me.” Sunghoon doesn’t just fuck you—he wrecks you, takes you apart piece by piece, leaves you trembling and desperate beneath him, every thrust sending pleasure splintering through your body like you can’t take any more—but you do. You take all of it, all of him, your body made to accommodate his brutal pace, your walls clenching around his cock like they never want to let him go.
“Fuck—look at you,” he groans, his voice thick, laced with hunger, eyes dragging over where he’s stretching you open, where you’re soaking him, dripping, wrecked. His fingers dig into your hips, hard enough to bruise, keeping you pinned, keeping you exactly where he wants you. “So fucking wet, baby. You love this, don’t you? Love how deep I am, how I fill you up.”nYou whimper, nodding helplessly, but it’s not enough for him. He grips your jaw, forces your gaze to meet his, forces you to see the way he’s unraveling above you, the way his lips part, his brows furrow, his body trembling with restraint he’s barely holding onto. “Say it,” he demands, his cock pushing deeper, grinding against your sweetest spot, making you sob. “Tell me how much you love it.”
“Love it—fuck, Sunghoon, I love it,” you gasp, your nails clawing at his back, dragging over sweat-slick skin, desperate for more, desperate for him to fuck you even harder. Your legs tighten around his waist, locking him in place, refusing to let him pull away, refusing to let him slow down. “Need you—need you to ruin me—” And he does.
A growl rips from his chest, his pace turning savage, his hips slamming into yours with enough force to send you skidding up the bed, your back arching, your body surrendering to the onslaught of pleasure. It’s overwhelming—his size, the way he stretches you, fills you, owns you. His hands slide up your body, groping, squeezing, claiming. One wraps around your throat, not enough to hurt, just enough to make your head spin, to remind you who you belong to. “You’re mine,” he grits out, his breath ragged, his body coiled with tension, every muscle straining as he pounds into you, as he fucks you like he’s trying to leave his mark inside you, like he needs you to remember exactly who makes you feel this way. His fingers find your clit, rubbing quick, ruthless circles, pushing you closer, closer—until you’re right there, dangling over the edge, ready to fall.
“Come for me,” he orders, his voice rough, low, full of something dangerous. “Come on my cock, baby—let me feel you.” It slams into you like a tidal wave, ripping through you, leaving you breathless, your walls clamping down around him, pulsing, milking his cock, dragging him right over the edge with you. He curses, his thrusts turning sloppy, erratic, his fingers digging into your skin as he spills inside you, warmth flooding your core, filling you completely.
But he doesn’t stop. Even as his body trembles, even as his breathing evens out, he keeps rolling his hips, grinding deep, making sure you feel every last drop of him, making sure you know exactly who you belong to. His hands slide up your sides, slow and possessive, his lips dragging over your collarbone, your jaw, finally settling at your mouth.
Even as his body trembles, even as his breathing evens out, he keeps rolling his hips, grinding deep, making sure you feel every last drop of him, making sure you know exactly who you belong to. His hands slide up your sides, slow and possessive, his lips dragging over your collarbone, your jaw, finally settling at your mouth. His voice is quieter now, rough at the edges, his breath warm as he presses his lips against yours. “Mine,” he whispers, not a demand this time but a promise, a confession, a claim he already knows you won’t deny. And you don’t. You kiss him back, slow and deep, letting him pull you under, letting him consume you, letting him own you completely. Because no matter how much you fight it, no matter how much you should know better—you are. You always have been.
Sunghoon’s apartment is suffocating with heat, thick with the scent of smoke, sweat, and something sharper—something almost metallic, like the moment before lightning cracks open the sky. The air is heavy, charged, humming with an unseen energy that coils between bodies pressed too close, lips dragging over collarbones, hands ghosting over hips. The room sways in rhythm with the bass, deep and relentless, reverberating through the walls, through the floorboards, through your chest, until it feels like your own pulse is trying to match it. Cigarette smoke curls through the dim lighting in slow, twisting ribbons, snaking around shoulders and fingertips, clinging to damp skin and the bitter aftertaste of liquor. A joint passes from mouth to mouth, the ember glowing like a warning in the shadows, its scent melting into the static-charged air. The overhead lights flicker in uneven bursts, bathing everything in fractured gold, distorted silhouettes stretching long against the walls, shifting like ghosts.
Someone spills a drink, the amber liquid splattering like rain against the wooden floor, but no one notices, no one cares. Laughter cuts through the haze, too sharp, too loud, the kind that feels like a distraction—like everyone here knows they’re dancing on the edge of something, but they don’t want to name it. The music throbs, an unrelenting rhythm that grips at the edges of your consciousness, winding tighter and tighter. Outside, the sky is restless. The kind of darkness that isn’t just night, but something heavier, pressing in from all sides. Wind rattles the windows in short, breathy exhales, slipping through the cracks like something alive, something waiting. The world feels poised, breath caught in its throat. Then, in the next beat, the sky splits apart. A sudden, violent flash, silver and searing, illuminating the windows for a fraction of a second before vanishing, plunging everything back into the thick, honeyed dark.
You shift on the couch, pulling your cup closer, though you haven’t taken a sip in minutes. Jay is beside you, animated as ever, his words punctuated by Shotaro’s laughter, a sharp contrast to the deeper, lazier chuckles from Sunoo, who’s sprawled out across the cushions, head tipped back, half-drunk smile playing on his lips. Chenle is saying something smart, something cutting, and it makes Sunoo laugh harder, his hand smacking against the armrest. It’s familiar, comfortable—they are your safe space. But your eyes keep drifting across the room. Sunghoon’s here, obviously, it’s his party, he's surrounded by his own circle—Jaemin, San, Chenle and Jake. Your friends, a part of your life that’s intertwined with his, a few others from the team. He looks good, too good, in that effortless way he always does. Black jeans, a plain black t-shirt that clings to his body in all the right places, the silver chain at his throat glinting under the dim lighting. He’s laughing at something, head tilted back just slightly, lips curled into that smirk you know too well.
You smile at it before you can stop yourself. Hours ago, he was inside you, pressing you down into his mattress, pulling sounds from you that still linger in your throat. And now you’re here, across the room from him, pretending you don’t feel it—that familiar ache settling low in your stomach, the restless need for more. It’s always like this. You could have him, have all of him, and it still wouldn’t be enough. But tonight, something feels off. There’s always been a divide between you and him, invisible but present, a line neither of you have ever crossed in the light of day. His world and yours. But you don’t know why it feels sharper tonight, why the space between you feels heavier, like something is shifting and you can’t quite place it. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t looked at you once. Not since you got here. Maybe it’s because Jake is standing right there.
Your fingers tighten around your cup, frustration simmering just beneath your skin. This isn’t enough. This will never be enough. You exhale sharply, forcing yourself to turn back to Jay, nodding along to whatever story he’s telling, trying to focus—trying to pretend. But even as you go through the motions, you feel it—eyes on you. Slowly, cautiously, you glance across the room. Sunghoon is watching you now. His gaze is unreadable, dark and steady, lips slightly parted like he was about to say something but forgot how. The air between you stretches tight, a thread pulled too thin, and your stomach clenches, heat creeping up your spine, because even from across the room, even with the noise and the smoke and the bodies between you—he still does this to you.
You wet your lips, fingers curling against the rim of your cup. You could go to him. You could push past whatever invisible barrier is holding him back tonight. You could cross the room, slide up next to him, press your mouth to his ear and whisper something just for him, something that would make him smirk, make his body relax, make him look at you the way he does when you’re alone. But before you can move, someone claps him on the back, and he blinks, his gaze tearing away like nothing ever happened and just like that, the moment is gone. You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to ignore the ache pressing against your ribs. You wish you could just—stand up. Walk over. Touch him. Instead, you sit there, sinking deeper into your seat, pulse still stuttering in your throat.
You know how this goes. You’ll pretend not to care, and so will he. You’ll exist in the same space but never acknowledge it. You’ll sit on opposite sides of the room, pretending the air between you isn’t charged, pretending the weight of everything you are together doesn’t settle into the cracks of the night. But later—when the party is over, when the bodies are gone, when the music dies and the only thing left is the hush of the house and the lingering smell of smoke—he’ll find you.
He always does. Tonight, it’s in one of the side rooms, dimly lit and half-forgotten, tucked away from the noise but not far enough for the bass to disappear completely. Sunghoon is on the couch, legs spread, a joint balanced between his fingers as he rolls it, his movements slow and methodical. He looks up when you step inside, his gaze flickering over you once before settling, like he’s been waiting for you. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches as you linger by his side, fingers tapping absently against his bicep. It’s a nervous habit—you’re not even thinking about it, but he notices. Of course he does. His eyes narrow slightly, his head tilting as he studies you. “You’re worked up,” he murmurs, reaching for you without hesitation. His fingers wrap around your wrist, firm but gentle, guiding you closer until you’re standing between his legs. He looks up at you from beneath dark lashes, his expression unreadable. “What’s got you like this?”
You inhale sharply, your hands settling on his shoulders, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of him. “I don’t know,” you lie, even as the weight in your chest presses harder.
Sunghoon doesn’t believe you. He never does. His hands slip beneath your sweater, fingers trailing up the bare skin of your waist, slow and deliberate. His touch is warm, steady, something to hold onto when everything else feels too much. He leans in, lips brushing just above your navel, pressing a kiss there—soft, lingering, before his voice rumbles against your skin. “You look like you haven’t slept.” You snort, the unexpected concern in his voice making you laugh. “Well, I would be asleep or just chilling right now,” you tease, shifting just slightly in his lap, enough to make him groan. “But you wanted me here. So here I am.” There’s so much weight behind those words. Because it’s not just about tonight. It’s about every time you’ve let him pull you deeper into this, every time you’ve let him win. Sunghoon’s hands flex on your waist, gripping tighter, guiding your hips forward, dragging you into a slow, teasing grind. His smirk is lazy, cocky, the kind that makes your stomach tighten, makes you want to wipe it right off his face.
“See?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing. “You do know how to listen.” His fingers tighten, pressing you down harder against him, like he’s proving a point. His breath is warm against your jaw as he leans in, lips brushing just beneath your ear. “Bet it’s not so bad, doing what I say.” Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, but the sound comes out more like a laugh. “Careful, baby,” he warns, nipping lightly at your skin. “Keep acting like this, and I might start thinking you like it when I’m in charge.”
Sunghoon’s eyes flick up to yours at the shift in your tone, his grip still firm on your waist. Normally, you’d be teasing him right back, snapping something sharp and quick off your tongue, giving him hell just for the fun of it. But you don’t. Not this time. There’s something else on your mind, something heavier, something that makes your usual quips die in your throat before they can even form. You don’t mask it well, and Sunghoon notices—of course he does. His smirk fades just slightly, his gaze sharpening as he studies you. “Can you do me a favor?” you murmur, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.
Sunghoon hums, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. “Anything.” You hesitate. Then, finally, you say it. Your fingers tighten against Sunghoon’s shirt, your voice quieter now, more careful. “People from campus have been showing up at the bar lately. Not a lot, just a few. But it’s weird—no one should know about it. No one apart from you should know about it.”
You swallow, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Tonight’s important to me. Can you make sure you’re the only one from campus who comes? I trust you—I know you’d never say anything, never tell anyone about me, but… just keep them here. Make this party good enough that no one wants to leave.” Sunghoon watches you for a beat, unreadable, and then—his lips twitch. “My parties are always good.”
You roll your eyes, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Then make this one better. Get everyone drunk so they forget where they are. So high they wouldn’t know how to leave even if they wanted to. Just… make sure no one turns up at the bar.” Sunghoon huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Right, and when campus security shows up asking why half the student body is unconscious on my floor?”
You shrug. “That’s a future Sunghoon problem.” He exhales sharply, amusement flickering in his eyes, but there’s something steadier beneath it now, something quieter. His grip on your waist tightens just slightly, his voice dipping lower. “I don’t know if I can promise all that, but—” his gaze sharpens, locking onto yours, playful teasing giving way to something serious. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll do my best, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you murmur. Then you kiss him, slow and lingering, a silent promise passing between you. Sunghoon lingers in the kiss, slow and warm, his fingers pressing into your waist like he wants to keep you here, keep you steady. When he pulls back, his eyes flick over your face, studying you the way he always does—like he’s searching for something, something just out of reach. Then, casually—too casually—he says, “How are they even finding the bar?” His voice is low, thoughtful. “It’s not exactly somewhere you just stumble into.”
Your stomach twists, a sharp pang of unease curling in your chest. Your fingers tighten against his shirt before you force them to relax. “I don’t know, Hoon.” You shake your head, pressing your lips together. “Maybe someone slipped. Maybe they overheard something.” Your voice is steady, but the words taste strange on your tongue, like you’re trying to convince yourself more than him. Sunghoon hums, tilting his head, eyes still searching yours. “Just seems weird, is all.” He says it lightly, but there’s a weight to his tone, like he’s waiting for you to give him something more. You don’t.
Instead, you exhale, staring past him, at nothing in particular. “It won’t stay quiet forever,” you murmur, voice almost lost beneath the distant bass pounding through the walls. “That’s just how this campus works. One person finds something, then a few more, and before you know it—” You cut yourself off, swallowing hard. Sunghoon watches you carefully, his brows drawing together slightly. “Before you know it…?”
You inhale sharply, shaking your head. “Doesn’t matter.” You force a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “That’s why I need you to keep everyone here tonight.” He doesn’t press, doesn’t ask the question lingering between you. But the way his fingers flex against your hips, the way his gaze lingers, unreadable, tells you he’s thinking it. Still, he leans in, kissing you slow, firm, grounding. His lips brush over yours as he murmurs, “You don’t need to worry.” And for now—for this moment—you believe him.
The kitchen is eerily still, the silence so absolute that it feels unnatural, like the entire space is holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. The only light comes from the under-cabinet LEDs, casting a dim glow over the countertops, their cool marble surface smooth beneath your fingertips as you steady yourself against them. The sounds of the party outside feel distant, muffled by thick walls, nothing more than a dull vibration of music and laughter that doesn’t quite reach you. In here, it’s just you, the soft click of the cupboard handle as you pull it open, the rustling of packaging as your fingers instinctively search for what you need.
Your body moves with familiarity, second nature guiding you, knowing exactly where everything is, knowing exactly where your snacks are. You don’t think about it—it’s muscle memory, an unconscious routine you’ve fallen into so many times before. The top shelf is where Sunghoon always keeps them, tucked away neatly behind rows of protein bars, energy drinks, and the healthy, practical food he actually eats. His protein powder sits in the corner, massive tubs of vanilla and chocolate stacked on top of each other, alongside the shaker bottles he always forgets to rinse out. There are pre-workout packets, neatly lined up beside an assortment of beef jerky and mixed nuts, the kind of food that fuels him, keeps him going between games and gym sessions.
But your section—the part of the cupboard that doesn’t belong to him, but is always stocked anyway—is different. There’s an unopened bag of your favorite chocolate, the exact brand he knows you like, sitting right next to a stash of chips, the kind you always crave late at night. Tucked in the back, behind all of his health-conscious choices, is a row of instant ramen cups, the ones you swear taste better when made in his kitchen. There are fruit gummies, the soft ones that you absentmindedly chew on when you’re overthinking, and a few granola bars—not the protein-heavy ones Sunghoon eats, but the sweet, chocolate-drizzled kind you reach for when you need something quick. Even his fridge, if you checked, would have the drinks you always grab—the bottled iced coffee he never touches, the specific brand of tea you like, even the yogurt he once caught you eating straight from the container.
You lean up onto your toes, stretching slightly, your sweater riding up in the process, the waistband of your jeans dipping lower as you reach. It’s not until you’ve grabbed a handful of candy—the kind you always chew on when you’re stressed, the kind you only ever eat at his place—that you feel it. A presence. A weight in the air that wasn’t there before. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, a slow, creeping awareness settling into your spine before you even register why. You don’t move. You don’t turn. You just listen, ears straining, waiting, hoping— “What’s that?” Jake’s voice isn’t loud, but it cuts through the silence like a knife. Sharp. Raw. Betrayed.
Your stomach plummets so fast it leaves you dizzy. For a second—just one fleeting, fragile second—you think maybe you misheard him, maybe you imagined it. But you know better. His tone is unmistakable, laced with disbelief, a question that isn’t really a question at all. It’s an accusation. A demand for an answer he already knows. Slowly, carefully, you turn. He’s standing near the doorway, just a few steps inside the kitchen, close enough that you wonder how long he’s been there, how long he’s been watching. His posture is tense, shoulders squared, his jaw tight as he stares—not at your face, not even at your hands still clutching the candy. No. His eyes are locked lower, fixated on the exposed skin just above your waistband. On the number inked into your flesh. Twenty-three. Sunghoon’s number. It’s seared into you, black against soft skin, a permanent Jake that was never supposed to be seen. Never supposed to be known. The air between you shifts, something invisible but tangible pressing down on your chest, crushing the breath from your lungs. You don’t speak. You don’t move. You just watch as realization carves its way across Jake’s face, the soft disbelief giving way to something colder, harder.
His voice is lower this time, but there’s no softness in it. No room for excuses. “You really got his fucking number tattooed on you?” Your throat tightens. You force yourself to stay composed, your fingers gripping the counter behind you for something—anything—to ground yourself. When you finally manage to speak, your voice is light, dismissive, a carefully constructed mask of nonchalance. “What do you mean, Jake? It’s a number. I wanted a tattoo, and you know that ‘23’ has always been my favorite number.” His reaction is instant. A sharp breath, a hollow laugh, something incredulous and bitter scraping at the edges of his voice. He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, the movement tense, almost restless. “Don’t do that.” His tone is rising now, the barely restrained frustration bubbling beneath his words. “Don’t fucking do that.”
You swallow hard. “Do what?” “Lie to me,” he snaps, his voice cracking at the edges, his patience thinning by the second. His eyes snap back to yours, piercing, furious. Desperate. “Just tell me the truth.”
Your breath hitches. Because this is it. This is it. Jake knows. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Because what can you even say? Jake isn’t stupid. Jake isn’t blind. The pieces have been laid out in front of him for weeks now, scattered hints and undeniable evidence piling up until there’s no more room for doubt. The tattoo is just the final crack, the final push that sends everything crumbling. He doesn’t need you to admit it. He already knows and that’s the real betrayal. His gaze flickers away from you, scanning the kitchen, and when he scoffs, it’s not just at the tattoo. It’s at everything. His voice is lower, but there’s something sharp, something deadly in it. “You think I don’t see it?” He gestures vaguely to the cupboards, to the open drawer still stocked with your favorite snacks. “You think I’m stupid?” He laughs, but it’s empty, humorless. “These snacks—your favorites? You really think it’s a coincidence that Sunghoon has them all here? You really think I haven’t noticed the way he looks at you? The way you look at him? The fucking photo?”
Your spine stiffens, but you still don’t speak. “And now this?” His gaze drops back to the ink on your skin, dark eyes narrowing. “You really got his fucking number tattooed on you?” The words land like a slap, and your stomach twists, nausea curling low in your gut. Because admitting it—admitting it makes it real. So you scoff. Shake your head. Force out a laugh that feels hollow, unnatural, like the walls you’re trying to keep from cracking. “So what?” Your voice is clipped, sharp, defensive. Jake’s expression falters, his mouth parting slightly, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “So what?” he echoes, his voice rising, his anger spilling over the edges. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, Jake. So what?” You push back, your own voice rising, meeting his frustration head-on. “It’s a tattoo. It doesn’t mean anything.” And it’s a lie. The biggest fucking lie and Jake sees right through it. His voice drops, but somehow, it’s even worse that way. “You don’t even believe that.” Your breath stutters. And suddenly, you’re not angry—you’re exposed. Vulnerable in a way you don’t want to be. You snap before you can stop yourself, the words ripping out of you in a way that’s messy and raw and unfiltered. “You put me at a different standard than you put everyone else.” Jake recoils slightly, his brows drawing together in confusion. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means you judge me for this, but you’d never judge anyone else,” you bite out, your voice shaking, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. “It’s not fair.” Jake exhales hard, the breath coming sharp through his nose, his chest rising and falling with the weight of whatever he’s trying to hold back. His fingers twitch at his sides, his whole body taut, like he’s barely keeping himself from exploding. His eyes flick over your face, searching for something—anything—that makes this make sense, that gives him a reason to believe he’s wrong. But there’s nothing. Just you, standing there, defensive and wounded and refusing to let him be right.
“I don’t—” He stops, dragging a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. His voice is incredulous, almost breathless with disbelief. “What the fuck are you talking about?” “You act like you know me,” you snap, stepping forward before you can stop yourself, your voice dangerously low now. “Like you get to decide what’s right and what’s wrong for me. Like I owe you a fucking explanation for every decision I make.” Jake shakes his head, his jaw clenched so tight you can see the flicker of muscle along the side. “I do know you,” he says, his voice rough, unsteady in a way that makes your stomach churn. “Or at least, I did.” You inhale sharply, but he’s not done. “I knew you before this,” he says, his tone biting, the words precise, like he’s cutting straight to the bone. “Before you started sneaking around, before you started lying to me. Before—” He stops, his expression twisting, like even saying it hurts. “Before him.”
Something inside you snaps, hot and reckless and uncontrollable. “And what, Jake? You think you know me better than I know myself? You think you get to sit there and act like I’m some fucking stranger because I make choices you don’t agree with?” Your voice wavers, but you push through, stepping closer, forcing him to look at you, really look at you. “You don’t get to decide what’s right for me. You don’t get to fucking dictate what I can and can’t do, like you have some ownership over me.” His lips part slightly, and for a second—just a second—he looks hurt. But then it’s gone, replaced by something colder, something sharper. “That’s bullshit,” he spits, and suddenly he’s not just angry—he’s furious. “This isn’t just about making a choice. This isn’t just about a fucking tattoo or whatever excuses you want to make. This is about him. About Sunghoon.” His voice catches, but he swallows it down, shaking his head like he can’t believe what’s happening. “And you know what? Maybe I did think I knew you. Maybe I was fucking stupid enough to believe that no matter what, you wouldn’t—” He exhales sharply, his fists curling at his sides. “That you wouldn’t do this.”
Jake’s reaction doesn’t make sense. You knew he’d be irritated, maybe even pissed that you didn’t tell him. That much you expected. It’s weird, sure—sneaking around, keeping secrets, seeing his brother behind his back. It makes sense that he’d feel caught off guard, maybe even hurt that you didn’t trust him enough to be honest. But this? This isn’t what you expected. He’s too angry. Not just annoyed, not just frustrated, but something deeper, something you can’t quite place. His face is tight with something unreadable, his body wound up like a wire pulled too tight, barely keeping from snapping. And it doesn’t make sense because Jake and Sunghoon get along now. Their relationship isn’t what it used to be. There’s no more tension, no more rivalry, none of that deep-seated resentment that used to simmer between them. Jake doesn’t see Sunghoon as the bad guy anymore. He doesn’t see him as a threat. He let that go a long time ago. So why is he acting like he hasn’t? Why does it feel like he’s fighting a battle that’s already been won?
And then it clicks. Your stomach drops, something sharp and cold settling inside you as you piece it together. The way his chest is rising and falling, not just in anger, but in something else. The way his fingers tremble, barely perceptible, but there if you look close enough. The way his whole body feels like it’s working too hard, like it’s teetering on the edge of something dangerous. His heart. HCM. Your pulse spikes, throat tightening as you realize what’s happening. He hasn’t told anyone about his condition. He hasn’t let anyone in. You only found out by accident, and when you confronted him, he brushed it off like it wasn’t a big deal, like it wasn’t something to worry about. But looking at him now, at the way he’s barely keeping himself upright under the weight of his own anger, the way his body is straining, trying to keep up with the emotions he’s forcing through it—you know. You know.
This isn’t just about you. This isn’t just about Sunghoon. This is about him. Your stomach twists, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, suffocating in a way that has nothing to do with the argument, nothing to do with the tattoo, nothing to do with Sunghoon. Because this is the real problem. This is what he’s trying to avoid, what he’s been avoiding all along. He doesn’t want to acknowledge that something is wrong, doesn’t want to let it have power over him. So instead, he’s redirecting it, channeling it into this, into you, into a fight that has nothing to do with what’s really happening. Jake leaves without another word. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t try to fix what’s broken between you, doesn’t give you any indication of what he’s thinking or feeling—just walks away, unresolved and conflicted, leaving you standing in the middle of a party that suddenly feels suffocating. Maybe you’ll talk things out when he’s calmer, when he’s not drunk, when everything isn’t weighing down on him like a crushing force. But not now. Right now, he just needs space, and you’ll give it to him. You wander through the party, your mind tangled with thoughts you don’t have the energy to sort through. You think about leaving, and you probably will soon. But then, in the middle of your aimless path, your eyes lock with Nahyun’s as she makes her way toward you. She looks at you slowly—too slowly—her gaze trailing down your body before flicking back up. There’s something odd about it, something you can’t quite place. When she speaks, her voice is weirdly light, deliberate in a way that makes your stomach shift. "Hey, Y/N."
You blink, your mind still sluggish from everything with Jake. “Hi,” you mumble back, barely putting any effort into it. “I didn’t think I’d see you here tonight.” She tilts her head slightly, still looking at you in that same way, like she’s holding something back. Her tone is smooth, unreadable, but there’s something beneath the surface, something that makes you pause for just a second. You shift on your feet. “Well, I am here,” you reply, brushing past her before she can say anything else, not waiting for whatever her next words might be. If you weren’t still replaying Jake’s words in your head, if you weren’t so stuck in the weight of everything he said, everything he didn’t say, maybe you would have looked deeper into Nahyun’s words. Maybe you would have noticed the flicker of something in her eyes, the way she said I didn’t think I’d see you instead of I didn’t expect you to come. Maybe you would have picked up on what you were about to miss.
But you don’t. Not yet. You make your way toward the bar instead, about to leave, but then you hear Saeryeong calling your name. She’s sitting at the counter, a glass in her hand, her fingers tapping against the rim like she’s deep in thought, her expression slightly dazed. She’s drinking, but it’s different—something tight in her shoulders, something wound up in the way she exhales between sips. She looks stressed. You hesitate for a second. You were going to leave. But then you exhale and come over, sitting beside her without thinking too hard about it. Maybe you just need a drink. Maybe you just need something to quiet your mind, to drown out the lingering frustration and unease still coiling in your chest. “You look like you need this more than I do,” Saeryeong murmurs, sliding a second drink toward you. Her voice is lighter than her expression, her nails clicking against the glass as she spins it in slow, idle circles. There’s something restless in her movements, something wound up tight beneath the surface.
You hesitate, fingers brushing the condensation on the rim before finally wrapping around it. “Yeah,” you mutter, swallowing hard. “I probably do.” She snorts, taking a sip of her own drink. “Rough night?” You exhale, tipping your glass back, the liquor burning its way down your throat before settling warm in your stomach. “Something like that.” Saeryeong hums, watching you over the rim of her glass. “Jake?”
Your fingers tighten slightly, your gaze flicking to her before you look away. “He needed space,” you say simply, leaving it at that. She nods slowly, as if she understands something you don’t. “And you? Do you need space?” You pause, fingers tracing the rim of your glass. You don’t know what you need. All you know is that everything feels too heavy, that the weight of Jake’s words is still pressing down on you, that your chest is tight with something you can’t shake.n“I just need a drink,” you mutter, finishing what’s left in your glass.
Saeryeong studies you for a long moment before nodding. “Well,” she says, pouring another, “you’re in the right place for that.” You don’t know how long you sit there, lost in thought, the alcohol dulling the edges of your mind, making everything feel slightly more distant, slightly less pressing. Saeryeong talks, and you respond when necessary, but most of it washes over you, your focus drifting. Then something shifts. Your gaze sweeps over the crowd, taking in the familiar blur of faces, the warm haze of the party, the ebb and flow of people moving in and out of rooms. And then—you freeze. There, across the room, you see him. Jake. He moves toward one of the bathrooms, his hand grazing against Areum’s waist as she slips inside ahead of him. They’re not discreet. They’re not even trying to be.
Your breath catches slightly, but before you can even fully process it, you catch movement from the corner of your eye. Sunghoon. He’s staring in the same direction, his body going rigid the second he sees what you see. And then, to your complete surprise, he moves toward you. You don’t expect it. He’s kept his distance from you all night, maintaining the careful space you both agreed upon, keeping your connection hidden from prying eyes, only touching you behind closed doors. But now, he walks straight toward you, his gaze flicking between you and Saeryeong, his expression unreadable. He stops in front of you, his presence a force all on its own. “Did you see that?” His voice is sharp, his eyes locked on yours.
Your fingers tighten around your glass. “See what?” you murmur, feigning oblivion.’“Jake and Areum,” he says, his voice lower now, edged with something dark, something simmering just beneath the surface. You hesitate, instinctively wanting to redirect him, to take his mind off of whatever he’s thinking. You’re still looking out for Jake—even now, even after everything. But before you can say anything, Saeryeong beats you to it. And unlike you, she’s not looking out for Jake or Areum.
Her words come before she can stop them, loose and careless, the alcohol fogging her thoughts. She exhales, shaking her head. “If Jake and Areum want to sneak around like it’s not obvious, like they’re not fucking behind your back, then—” She stops, but it’s already too late. Sunghoon’s entire body goes still. His fists tighten at his sides, the strain turning his knuckles bone-white. The air around him shifts, something violent simmering just beneath the surface. “What?” he barks out, the word snapping through the air like a whip. His voice is louder than he intends, the sheer force of it rattling him to his core. His throat constricts as he swallows hard, his nostrils flaring with each heavy breath, and the veins in his temples pulse visibly. The shock of betrayal carves harsh lines across his face, Jakeing the precise moment his reality irrevocably shifts.
Saeryeong freezes. The realization of what she just let slip crashes over her face, her regret immediate, her hands gripping her phone like she can somehow take it back. But there’s no taking it back. No undoing what’s already been done. You react before the situation can spiral, before Sunghoon can snap, before everything explodes beyond repair. You don’t care who’s watching. You don’t care what it looks like. You reach for him—instinctively, without hesitation—your fingers wrapping around his wrist, firm but careful, grounding him, tethering him to you before his emotions take full control. His body burns under your touch. His pulse is fast, hammering against your fingertips, his skin warm, tense, alive with the storm raging inside him. His entire body is coiled with anger, vibrating with it, his breaths sharp and uneven, barely holding himself back. But when his eyes snap to yours, something flickers. Something softens. “Sunghoon,” you murmur, voice lower now, quieter, meant only for him. You step closer, pressing against his side, your grip sliding from his wrist to his forearm, then up to his bicep, your fingers curling there, your touch deliberate. His breathing is still rough, his jaw locked tight, his fists clenched at his sides, but you don’t let go. You don’t let him slip away into the chaos brewing beneath his skin.
“Not here,” you whisper, your voice steady, threading through the tension between you. Your fingers smooth over his skin, slow, deliberate. “Not now.” You step in even closer, your chest almost brushing his arm, his body burning with heat, and this—this is what pulls him back. Your touch, your voice, the sheer force of you standing between him and the edge.n“Calm down, baby” you murmur, your voice softer now, coaxing, threading through the sharp edges of his fury, dissolving them before they can cut too deep. If Sunghoon loses control, he’ll make a scene, and that scene will be a mess neither of you can clean up. It won’t just be about Jake and Areum anymore—it’ll be about him, about you. And more than that, it will ruin you tonight. You still have to perform at the bar later, and if Sunghoon walks into that place a mess, if he’s seething, reckless, unpredictable, it will throw you off for your entire performance. You can’t afford that.
Beside you, Saeryeong is frantically typing, sending a message to Areum, and you don’t know what she’s saying, but you can tell she’s trying to fix her mistake. And sure enough, not long after, Areum emerges from the bathroom—alone. Sunghoon watches her carefully, his jaw clenched, his body rigid. And then, without a word, he slips his hand from yours and moves toward her. You watch from a distance, reading their body language, picking up on the subtle shifts in their postures. Areum is talking fast, her hands gesturing, her expression composed, too composed for someone caught in a lie. Sunghoon listens, his body still tense, but he’s calm—too calm. She must have controlled the situation somehow, must have lied, must have buried the truth beneath another layer of deception. But it’s fragile, a temporary fix, like putting a cap on a boiling pot of water. It won’t last. Sunghoon returns to you after she leaves, his expression guarded. “She’s saying that all her and Jake are doing is fucking,” he mutters, his voice edged with skepticism. “Apparently, it’s nothing serious.”
That’s a lie. But you don’t tell him that. You just exhale, expression indifferent, letting the words sit between you. And then, just an hour later, the night ruptures like a fault line splitting open, the pressure that had been simmering beneath the surface finally breaking free in a violent, uncontrollable quake. Tension combusts, words become weapons, and the air thickens with something electric, something irreversible. It happens too fast and yet in slow motion, like a match striking gasoline, like a storm swallowing the sky before anyone can run for cover. Chaos doesn’t creep in—it erupts, swallowing the room whole, leaving nothing untouched in its wake. The party spirals out of control faster than you expect, unraveling like a carefully constructed experiment gone wrong. Variables shift unpredictably, the balance tips, and suddenly, everything is combusting at once. You hear it before you see it—the shift in atmosphere, the murmurs bubbling into gasps, the collective energy in the room morphing into something charged, dangerous. The equation has changed. The chemicals have mixed, the reaction irreversible. “Shit, they’re fighting,” someone gasps, the urgency in their voice making your stomach drop.
“Jake and Sunghoon are going at it,” another voice hisses, laced with anticipation and dread. “It’s bad.”
“Jake’s been seeing Areum behind Sunghoon’s back. Sunghoon just found out,” a girl whispers, her voice nearly swallowed by the electric energy in the room.
The words ripple through the crowd like a chain reaction, setting off a current of whispers and speculation, electrifying the air with a palpable thrill. You close your eyes for a brief second, exhaling slow, controlled. You knew it would come to this. It was only a matter of time. Pushing through the sea of bodies, you move toward the source of the chaos, following the pull of inevitability. The commotion is centered around one of the many bathrooms in Sunghoon’s apartment, the door slightly ajar, figures standing tense in the dim lighting. You can’t see what’s happening yet, but you can hear it—the sharp edge of voices clashing against each other, the sound thick with anger and betrayal. “You’re joking,” Sunghoon breathes, but there is no humor in it. His voice is laced with something raw, something on the edge of breaking apart. Your stomach twists. You push forward, squeezing past clusters of people, each murmur feeding into the anticipation building around you. When you step closer, your chest seizes at the sight before you.
Sunghoon stands rigid, his shoulders locked, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His entire body is wound impossibly tight, every muscle in his frame coiled with barely restrained fury. Jake is standing beside Areum, his jaw set, his eyes unreadable, but his stance betrays him. He is bracing. Waiting for impact. Areum’s voice is quiet but steady. “I wanted to tell you. I just—” Sunghoon cuts her off, his voice slicing through the air like a blade. “When?” His breath is ragged, chest rising and falling too quickly. “How long?” The room shrinks. Everything sharpens. The space between them is a chasm, the weight of unspoken truths pressing in from all sides. Sunghoon exhales harshly, a bitter laugh escaping him, humorless, sharp. “Fucking perfect,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I should’ve known.”
“Sunghoon—” Areum starts, but he doesn’t let her finish.
“Don’t,” he snaps, his voice razor-sharp, cutting straight through her.
Areum shifts, swallowing, attempting again, “Sunghoon, just—please let me explain.”
His voice drops, quiet but deadly. “You don’t need to explain. It’s all pretty fucking clear.”
You see it then. The moment it fully sinks in for him. The moment he realizes just how deeply he’s been lied to. The weight of every deception, every half-truth, every secret that was never meant to come to light. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Sunghoon,” Areum says, voice smaller now. “I was just trying to avoid—this. This exact situation.” Sunghoon’s laugh is sharp, cutting. “This exact situation?” He tilts his head, eyes flicking to Jake, then to you, and it’s like the realization crashes into him a second time, harder, knocking the air from his lungs. “You mean me finding out you’re fucking my brother behind my back?” A beat. A shift. The crowd inches closer, the tension at its breaking point. Sunghoon inhales sharply, his gaze locking on Jake now, burning with something dark, something unraveling at the seams. “You had every chance to be honest with me. I trusted you. I defended you to my dad—do you even get that?” His voice catches, but he swallows it down, his grip on control slipping. “He told me this was happening, and I said he was lying. That you wouldn’t do this to me.”.
Jake and Sunghoon both take a step toward each other, the air between them crackling. “And I fucking felt guilty about fucking Y/N behind your back,” Sunghoon spits out, his voice like a gunshot through the room, “while all this time you’ve been fucking my ex behind my back, keeping it a fucking secret.” The crowd reacts instantly. A wave of gasps, murmurs, exchanged glances. Excitement spreads like wildfire, feeding the storm of chaos, making it bigger, louder, impossible to contain. But you don’t care. You don’t even flinch. You had already shattered the illusion of secrecy an hour ago when you stood in this same room, holding onto Sunghoon in full view of everyone, gripping his bicep, threading your fingers through his, steadying him like he was something fragile. People had seen then. People had looked. And you hadn’t cared. Because at the end of the day, you’ve never lived your life by the weight of whispers. The truth was bound to come out, whether through Sunghoon’s anger or something else entirely. The revelation isn’t what shakes you—it’s how easily Sunghoon lets it slip. The word fuck lingers for a moment, sharp, unfiltered, and you catch on it, not because of what it reveals but because of what it means about him. He wasn’t thinking. He was just angry. Nonetheless, the word sticks to your ribs, heavy with something more than anger. You barely have time to process it before you see Jake’s face shift.
His brow furrows first, confusion knitting his features together before it smooths out into something harder. His jaw clenches, veins in his neck more pronounced, his entire body stiffening under the weight of Sunghoon’s words. His chest rises sharply, his lips part like he wants to say something, but for a terrifying moment, he stays silent. The silence is suffocating, a moment stretched impossibly thin, and then— Sunghoon moves first. There’s no warning, no hesitation—just pure, undiluted force. His fist cuts through the air like a bullet, colliding with Jake’s jaw in a brutal, bone-rattling impact. The sound is sickening, sharp, the kind of impact that reverberates through a space and rearranges the energy of a room. Jake stumbles back, but it’s slight, controlled—his body absorbs the force, his feet recalibrating within seconds, his instincts firing before his thoughts can catch up. And then, like a perfectly synchronized counter-strike, he retaliates.
His fist meets Sunghoon’s face, snapping his head to the side with enough force to send him stumbling. The momentum shifts, the equilibrium disrupted. The crowd recoils, then surges forward all at once, voices breaking into a chaotic symphony of gasps, shouts, laughter, and frantic murmurs. Someone yells, “Holy shit—!” Someone else laughs, wild and unhinged, the kind of laugh that doesn’t know whether it belongs to amusement or terror. Phones are already out, cameras capturing the violence, immortalizing it in shaky frames and adrenaline-fueled hands. But neither of them care. Sunghoon recovers, doesn’t think, doesn’t pause—just moves. His entire body coils with raw aggression, and then he’s lunging, tackling Jake like a predator taking down its prey. They crash to the floor in a mess of limbs and violence, fists flying, elbows cracking against ribs, knuckles tearing into skin, all restraint shattered in an instant. They’re not fighting—they’re destroying. Years of tension, of unspoken resentment, of half-buried rage detonating in real time. A bomb that had been ticking for far too long. You inhale sharply, forcing your breath to remain steady, your mind dissecting the scene like a forensic scientist examining a crime scene. The data is overwhelming, the input flooding too fast, but you process it anyway, Sunghoon’s stance, Jake’s breathing, the way the fight shifts with every punch thrown, every missed hit, every brutal connection. You calculate the damage in real-time, assess the risks, measure the fallout before it even happens.
You can’t step in. Not yet. The second you move, the second you intervene, the dynamic changes. Right now, this is something they need to tear through. A force of nature that cannot be stopped—only endured. Because this is what happens when an experiment spirals past its breaking point. When the formula was flawed from the start, when the catalyst is introduced too abruptly, when the pressure builds and builds until containment is no longer an option. This is what happens when control is lost. When fire meets oxygen, when unchecked reactions combust in a chain of destruction that no one can reverse. And so you stand there, watching as it all burns.
After the fight, Jake and Areum left together without sparing you or Sunghoon a glance. You saw the way Sunghoon’s jaw tensed at that, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides, but you didn’t give him time to linger in it. You simply reached for his hand and pulled him out of the room, away from the crowd, away from the mess. Away from everything but you. Being able to touch him in public, to take his hand without thinking, was everything. You hadn’t realized how deprived you were of it—how unbearable it had been—until you finally did it. The solid warmth of his palm against yours, the way his fingers tightened instinctively around you, was something you’d been aching for, something that had been kept from you. And now that you had it, you didn’t want to let go.
Sunghoon’s breath was still uneven, his body wound tight with the remnants of the fight, the anger, the betrayal, all of it pressing into his muscles like a second skin. You hummed softly as you glanced at him, already knowing exactly what you needed to do—calm him down, ease him, just be with him. The bedroom is steeped in warmth, the soft glow of the bedside lamp flickering against the walls, casting everything in gold. Outside, the echoes of the fight still hum faintly beneath the surface, remnants of tension still knotted in Sunghoon’s body, in the bruises blooming along his knuckles, his jaw, his ribs where Jake had landed a solid hit. But here, in the quiet, away from the eyes and the whispers and the weight of everything outside, it’s just the two of you.
You guide him to sit on the edge of the bed, stepping between his parted legs. His breathing is still heavy, shallow, like he’s trying to hold something in, but when you place your hands on his shoulders, pressing gently, his body gives. Not all the way—but enough. Enough for you to slip your hands under his shirt, fingertips gliding along the rigid lines of his back, his skin burning beneath your touch. You don’t rush him, don’t speak yet—just let your fingers map out the tension, let your touch work its way through the residual adrenaline still thrumming in his veins. He doesn’t resist when you press the ice pack to his knuckles, just exhales sharply through his nose, his fingers twitching beneath your touch. He’s still carrying the weight of it all—anger, betrayal, frustration wound tight in his muscles—but when his gaze lifts to you, something shifts. The sharp edges dull, the storm behind his eyes settles. His breath still comes a little uneven, but there’s something softer now, something that grounds him.
“You being here means everything,” he murmurs suddenly, his voice rough from the night, from everything. His eyes track the movements of your hands, the way you’re handling him so gently, so carefully, like you see him in a way no one else does. Like you know him. Your fingers trace the bruises forming along his knuckles, your thumb smoothing over them with barely-there pressure. “I know,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his temple, against the cut along his cheekbone, gentle, careful. Sunghoon tilts his head into your touch, exhales shakily. And then, after a beat, he mutters, “I don’t know how you’re so calm.” Your fingers still against his hand, and you tilt your head, watching him. “What do you mean?” He swallows, his gaze flickering away for a second before settling back on you. “Jake’s obviously mad at you too. I don’t know how you’re just… so calm about it.”
Your fingers still against his hand, and you tilt your head, watching him. “What do you mean?”He swallows, his gaze flickering away for a second before settling back on you. “Jake’s obviously mad at you too. I don’t know how you’re just… so calm about it.” You let out a slow breath, the truth is, you’re not calm. Not really. It’s just not something you can afford to feel right now. Emotions aren’t something you drown in; they’re something you hold at arm’s length until you need to face them. They settle inside you like a delayed reaction, a chemical equation that hasn’t yet reached its inevitable result And right now? Jake isn’t your problem. Not yet.
You feel the weight of it, the way his anger should hit you harder, should sink its teeth in and refuse to let go. But it hasn’t. Not fully. Not yet. You’re the kind of person who deals with things when the time is right, when emotions have settled, when logic can filter through the noise. Right now, Jake’s emotions are raw, untamed, and throwing yourself into them would be like trying to fight a wildfire with nothing but your bare hands. You’ll deal with him when you have to. Jake has never stayed mad at you for long—never more than a day or two, at most. But there’s something different about this, something that lingers in your chest, a weight you can’t shake. You know this won’t resolve itself the way it always has before. You feel it, but it hasn’t fully sunk in. Not when this is more important. You inhale, slow and steady, before murmuring, “Honestly, I can’t control what Jake is feeling, so there’s no point getting worked up about it. I’ll figure it out when emotions are stable, when things have settled. Right now, it’s not the time for that.”
Your fingers trail down Sunghoon’s arm, his skin warm beneath your touch, his muscles still tense. Your gaze lifts back to his, soft but unwavering. “But it is time for you and me.” You smile, small but certain, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “It’s always time for you.” Something shifts in him at that. His expression tightens for just a second before he exhales, a slow, quiet release of tension. The grip he has on your waist eases—not letting go, just softer. He hums, voice rough. “That’s wise. Good decision.” You tilt your head, smirking slightly. “When do I not make good decisions?” It’s a throwaway comment, something teasing, but it plants a seed, one you don’t realize will come back to haunt you. Sunghoon just scoffs, shaking his head, but his lips twitch at the edges like he’s tempted to smile. The moment could settle here. It could fade into something lighter, something untouched by everything still left unsaid. But that’s not who you are. You’ve never been one to leave things buried, not when they matter, not when they sit between you like a loaded gun waiting to go off. So you take a breath and say, “Jake knew about us before the fight.”
Sunghoon stills. His entire body goes taut, his gaze sharpening as it locks onto yours. You hold it, steady. “He knew before you outed us at the party. He didn’t have confirmation, not really—not until you said it out loud. I never fully admitted anything to him, but he knew. He’s known for a while.” You exhale. “I think he was so pissed at you because of the way you were talking to Areum and because of how you outed us. Jake’s always been protective, even when he’s mad at me. Even when he shouldn’t care, he does. And you—” You pause, watching his expression, searching for the shift. “You made it worse.” Sunghoon’s jaw clenches. You feel it, the tension rolling through him, coiling in his shoulders. “It’s annoying that you couldn’t bite your tongue,” you continue, voice even. “That you let it slip like that and that you didn’t even think before you spoke.” His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something, wants to defend himself, but you don’t let him.“But,” you say, softer now, “I get why you did it. I don’t necessarily agree with it. I wish you’d kept your mouth shut, but I know you. I know the words just slipped out. I know you don’t always think before you speak, and I know that when you’re pissed, you say things you can’t take back.” Your fingers trace slow, absentminded patterns against his skin, keeping him tethered, keeping him from slipping too far into his own frustration. “But this? This worked in my favor.”
You tilt your chin up, lips curling at the edges. “I’m so fucking sick of secrets.” The words leave you like a release, a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. And the moment you say it, you mean it. You’re done hiding, done pretending, done picking up the pieces of something that was always bound to break apart. “I knew it was going to come out eventually,” you murmur, your voice calmer now, like it’s already settled into something certain. “It was only a matter of time.” Your fingers curl against his jaw, tilting his face down toward yours. “And I’m glad it did because now,” you murmur, brushing your lips against his, “I can touch you without caring who’s looking.” He opens his mouth to speak, frustration tightening the lines of his face, but you’re not done. You inhale deeply, steadying yourself, knowing exactly how this will land, knowing Sunghoon’s temper, the way he reacts first and thinks later. But this needs to be said. No more miscommunication, no more holding things back. “I also knew about Jake and Areum this whole time.”
Sunghoon’s head snaps up. His brows knit together, his jaw clenching with barely restrained irritation.
“What?” The frustration is immediate, sparking in his expression, tightening his muscles. You knew it would be. You knew this would bother him, knew he would hate the fact that you had that information and never told him. Before the tension can rise into something sharp, something that spirals out of his control, you reach out, fingers slipping beneath his chin, tilting his face toward yours. “I couldn’t tell you,” you murmur, your voice even, steady. “I promised both Jake and Areum I wouldn’t tell anyone, I couldn’t betray them like that, especially Areum because she knew about us too. She could have told Jake, but she didn’t. So I couldn’t do that to her.” And Sunghoon—hot-tempered, reckless, impulsive Sunghoon—hates it. But he also gets it. You see it in the way his lips press together, the way his shoulders drop just slightly, the way his grip tightens at your waist, grounding himself the way you’re grounding him. A slow, measured breath leaves him, tension rolling off in increments, not fully but enough.
You pull back slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes, and what you see there makes something stir deep inside you. “You always have me,” you murmur, soft but firm, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You know that, right?” And maybe it’s random, maybe it doesn’t belong in a moment like this, but your heart swells in your chest, sudden and sharp, because it’s him. Because no matter how fucked-up everything has been, no matter how much he gets under your skin, you still choose him. Again and again and again. Sunghoon doesn’t kiss you right away. He just looks at you, forehead pressing against yours, his hands settling on your hips. His grip is steady, grounding, like he’s making sure you’re real. And then he tilts his chin up, his lips parting against yours, slow, deep. There’s no rush, no desperation—just the steady, unshakable pull of him. The way he kisses you is different tonight, heavy in a way that has nothing to do with lust and everything to do with need. His hands slip under your shirt, pressing warm and firm against your spine, holding you close. You sigh into his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair, letting him melt into you, letting him take whatever he needs from you in this moment. When you pull back, he makes a soft noise in protest, his lips chasing yours, unwilling to let the moment end.
“I know you’ve had a long night,” you murmur, brushing your fingers over the nape of his neck, feeling the tension there. “A rough night. If you don’t want to come, I get it but is there still a chance that you’ll be there for me at the bar?” Sunghoon nods his head immediately, his hands tightening around you. His voice is sure when he speaks. “Yes. I have to be there. Have to support my girl.” Your stomach flips. Heat blooms in your chest, creeping up your throat. You’ve never been someone who flusters easily, never been one to let words get under your skin. But this? The way he says it—so natural, so certain—it gets to you. You swallow, tilting your head slightly, trying to keep your voice steady. "You always call me that," you murmur, teasing, trailing your fingers down his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath your touch. "But you've never made an effort to make me anything more than that." Your words are direct, cutting through the space between you, but they’re true. And if you were being completely honest, you’d admit you’ve thought about it more times than you can count, wanted it in ways you could never quite articulate. It’s all coming out now, spilling into the air, into the weight of this moment.
Sunghoon is silent for a moment, and for the first time in a long time, it scares you. But then, slowly, his lips twitch into the most beautiful, boyish smile you've ever seen, something soft, something disarming. It’s as if the fight before never happened, as if the tension and bruises and betrayal don’t exist. Right now, it’s just you and him, your own world folding in around you. His eyes flicker over your face, something thoughtful, something deep settling in his gaze. And then, softly, honestly, he says, "You know, I’ve been thinking about making you my girlfriend for a while now." Your stomach flips violently. The words hit harder than they should, shaking you in a way you don’t expect, and you feel warmth bloom in your chest, up your throat. You let out a breathy giggle, barely able to contain yourself, shying away, pressing your face into his shoulder as if that could hide the way your body betrays you.
Sunghoon chuckles, his hand slipping to your jaw, tilting your face back up to him, his touch gentle but firm. "No, don’t do that," he murmurs, his voice dipping, teasing. "Look at me." You meet his gaze, the air thick, charged, your breath catching as his thumb brushes against your cheek. "Really?" you whisper.
He nods without hesitation, without thinking. "Yeah." Silence lingers between you, the weight of the confession settling deep in your bones. And then, your lips curve slightly, something playful curling at the edge of your voice. "Well, do it then." Sunghoon blinks, caught off guard by the bluntness of your words, and then he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. The both of you break into chuckles, the tension shifting, morphing into something lighter, something sweeter.
"Not now," he says, voice dipping into something softer, something sincere. "I wanna make it special, you know? Need to make it worth your while." His hands trace slow, reverent patterns down your spine, his fingers pressing into your skin like he’s committing the moment to memory. "This is gonna be my first real relationship. I wanna treasure you. Make it something precious." Your chest tightens. He keeps going, his lips brushing over your jaw, voice warm and close. "Might even take you away somewhere. Do it right."
You bite down on your lip, unable to fight the way your stomach clenches at the thought. Instead, you hum, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, whispering against them, "Don’t ruin the surprise." Sunghoon’s hands tighten on your waist, guiding you over him, his belt slipping open with ease, and yours following suit. It’s all unspoken instinct, a rhythm you’ve fallen into, a craving neither of you can hold back. "Since when have you been thinking about making me your girlfriend?" you murmur, your lips brushing against his between kisses, slow and deliberate. Sunghoon groans softly, his fingers ghosting over the waistband of your jeans, loosening them further, his touch deliberate, reverent. He does the same to his own without thinking, unfastening the button, pushing the fabric down with an ease that speaks of muscle memory, of something instinctual between you now. Neither of you react—it’s second nature, the way your hands move, the way your bodies shift in tandem, attuned, unthinking.
“A while.” His fingers flex against your hips, pressing in slightly, grounding himself in you. And then he moves you—guides you, rolling your hips against his, dragging you over the hard press of him beneath the thin fabric, setting a slow, unrelenting rhythm. The friction pulls a breathy moan from your lips, your nails digging into his shoulders, but Sunghoon isn’t done. His voice dips lower, gravelly and strained as he grinds you down again, harder this time. “I’ve felt it for a while now.” His jaw clenches, like he’s trying to find the right words, something true, something raw. His eyes are molten when they flick up to yours, dark and consumed. “It’s not just the way you look at me, the way you touch me, the way you fuck me—it’s everything. The way you are, the way you think, the way you make me crazy without even trying. You don’t even see it, do you?” His voice dips lower, lips brushing your jaw, his hands gripping your hips, pressing you closer.
“The way you take care of me,” he murmurs, his fingers trailing up your back, pressing into the muscles he knows are sore, kneading them instinctively. “How you rub my shoulders after practice, working through the knots like you know my body better than I do. How you make me stretch when I forget, rolling your eyes but still guiding my arms, pressing into my back, making sure I don’t fuck myself up.” His lips ghost over your jaw as his hands move lower, gripping your waist. “The way you run your fingers through my hair when I’m exhausted, how you ice my wrist when it swells, how you press your hands over my chest after a game, feeling my heartbeat, like you need to make sure I’m still standing.” His breath hitches, his grip tightening. “When you fall asleep in my arms.”
He exhales sharply, voice breaking, his hips bucking beneath you as his fingers slide beneath the hem of your shirt, curling around your ribs, thumbs grazing the swell of your breasts. “The way you bounce on my cock, so fucking pretty, so perfect, the way you hold my face after, kiss me so soft like I’m something precious.” His mouth moves lower, trailing heat down your throat, his words pressing into your skin. “How you pull me in, even when you’re mad, how you touch me like you can’t help it, like you always need me close. You wreck me, baby. And I—” He exhales sharply, like he’s swallowing something heavier, something bigger. “I think I’ve always wanted this.”
“You’re gonna love my performance at the bar later,” you whisper, something fragile slipping into your voice, something unguarded. A confession wrapped in silk, in the tremor of your breath, in the way your fingers tighten in his hair like you need to hold onto him or else you’ll float away. It’s not just a song. It’s you. A piece of you, carved out and laid bare, something you’ve never given to anyone before. A feeling you’ve never let yourself say, but it’s there, lingering between you, pressing against your ribs, too big to ignore. Love. Sunghoon’s breath hitches against your skin, like he feels it too. Like he knows that what you’re saying isn’t just about the performance, isn’t just about the music. His fingers flex against your hips, an anchor, as if he’s trying to keep you here, with him, trying to ground you before you slip away. Your fingers tighten in his hair instinctively, like you need to hold onto him or else you’ll float away completely, lost in the weight of everything you’re feeling, everything you can’t say. You should be afraid of this—of how much you want him to understand. But somehow, with Sunghoon looking at you like this, his dark eyes locked onto yours, steady and unreadable, it doesn’t feel like something you need to run from. It feels inevitable. And maybe that’s what love is—not something spoken, not something demanded, but something that just exists, something that lingers in the spaces between words, pressing against your ribs, swelling in the quiet moments that used to be empty. It’s the way his gaze softens, the way his fingers trace absentminded circles into your waist, the way his lips part like he wants to say something but doesn’t—because he already knows.
Because love has already filled the silence. His voice is low, soft, quiet in a way that’s uncharacteristically him. Like something about this moment has settled into his bones, weighed him down, left no room for the usual arrogance, the teasing reJakes. “I always love your performances at the bar.” It’s not just a compliment—it’s a certainty, a truth that has existed long before this moment, one that doesn’t need embellishment. He says it like it’s obvious, like it’s something he’s always known, like it was never a question to begin with. You swallow, fingers still tangled in his hair, the weight of his words pressing into your skin, warming the places that have long been cold. Your voice is barely above a murmur when you respond, something fragile slipping through the cracks. “It’s a different type of one.” “It’s for you.” You run your hands through his hair, fingers threading through the strands, tugging slightly. You moan, breath hitching, the sound spilling from your lips without restraint, unfiltered, raw. It’s the way he says it, the way his voice dips lower, thick with something dark and wanting, the way his grip tightens on your waist like he needs you closer, like he can’t stand the space between you. His hips shift beneath you, hard and waiting, heat rolling off him in waves, and something inside you snaps.
You don’t wait. You don’t need to. No one has to tell you where you belong. You know. Your hands press against his chest as you sink down onto him, gasping at the stretch, at the way he fills you—deep and perfect, like he was made to fit inside you. Sunghoon groans, head tipping back, jaw slack, hands sliding up your spine before gripping your hips, holding you there, buried in the heat of you. His fingers dig into your skin, not guiding, not demanding—just feeling, just taking you in like he’s memorizing every inch of you, every roll of your hips, every shiver that racks through your body as you start to move. "Fuck," he breathes, and it’s wrecked, desperate. "That’s it, baby, take me—just like that." There’s nothing slow about it. It’s fast, desperate, obsessed. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, your nails biting into the muscle as you grind down onto him, your hips moving in an unrelenting rhythm that makes him gasp, makes his grip on you tighten, bruising and possessive. His fingers dig into your flesh, pulling you down harder, deeper, making you take all of him, and it’s dizzying, the way he fills you, the way he stretches you open like he was made to be inside you. Every thrust sends sparks through your body, pressure coiling tight in your stomach, threatening to snap, and you chase it, fucking chase it, your pace quickening, body shaking as you use him, as you take him.
"Sunghoon," you whimper, voice breaking around his name, breathless and wrecked, and he groans, low and deep, his jaw clenched so tight you can see the strain in his neck. His eyes are locked on you, watching the way you tremble, the way you fall apart in his hands, in his lap, the way you need him like this, like nothing else in the world could satisfy you. His cock is buried so deep inside you it’s maddening, and every roll of your hips makes him shudder, makes his head tip back, makes his grip tighten like he’s seconds away from losing it. You’re giddy, drunk on him, body flush against his, skin fevered and slick with sweat, lips parted as you pant against the side of his neck, desperate and breathless. Your fingers trace over the ink on your skin—his number, his Jake, the 23 standing bold and dark against your back, a permanent claim, a reminder that you are his, have always been his. Sunghoon catches the movement, and his hands follow, tracing over your tattoo, then over the tiny charms decorating your bracelet, his touch reverent, almost worshipping. It makes you shudder, makes your rhythm falter, and he takes advantage of it immediately, gripping your hips and thrusting up into you, hard, deep, making you cry out. His lips crash against yours, swallowing every moan, every gasp, deepening the kiss until it’s nothing but heat, nothing but need, nothing but him.
"Make me your girlfriend now," you whisper against his lips, voice so breathless and wrecked it doesn’t sound like your own. You don’t care how desperate you sound, how ruined you are, how utterly consumed you’ve become by him. "I need to be your girlfriend now. Need you to be my boyfriend." Sunghoon chuckles, but it’s rough, strained, his own breath coming hard and heavy, his body tensing beneath you like he’s barely holding on. His voice is laced with something unbearably fond, unbearably warm. He presses his forehead to yours, his lips trailing over your jaw, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. "Soon," he murmurs, his voice dipping lower, raspier. "Soon." You tut, narrowing your eyes at him, rolling your hips down just to tease him, just to hear him groan again. His head tips back slightly, his hands gripping your waist tighter, fingers digging into your skin like he can’t take it, like you’re driving him insane. But before you can say anything, before you can push him further, he smirks, his fingers flexing against your thighs, his grip shifting as he drags you even closer. His voice is all heat, all fire, all Sunghoon when he murmurs, "Or should I just get down on one knee right now?"
Your breath catches, your stomach flipping violently, and for a second, you swear your heart stops. But you manage to scoff, shaking your head, rolling your hips just to torture him, just to feel him shudder beneath you, just to hear the way his breath stutters. He groans, a deep, guttural sound that makes something inside you tighten, makes the heat in your stomach coil even sharper. "Shut up," you whisper against his lips, kissing him deep, swallowing his next words whole, letting your body do the talking instead. But in your head, you’re screaming yes.
The backstage room hums with anticipation, the dim lighting flickering overhead, casting long shadows against the walls. The air is thick with the scent of old leather, warm wood, and a faint trace of lingering perfume. Your reflection in the mirror stares back at you, eyes lined dark, lips painted in a deep shade that feels bold but necessary. The black dress clings to you like a second skin, sleek and deliberate, the slit riding high against your thigh, teasing with every shift of movement. The leather jacket draped over your shoulders is a final barrier, something solid between you and the weight of tonight. Sunghoon is behind you, his presence felt before he even touches you. He doesn’t speak at first, just watches through the mirror, his gaze heavy, something unreadable simmering beneath the surface. Then, finally, he moves—closer, his fingers grazing your back, barely there. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, the words slipping out like a confession.
A shiver rolls down your spine, but it’s not from the cold. It’s from him. From the warmth of his breath against your neck, the way his hands move with slow intent, dragging the zipper of your dress up, his knuckles brushing against your bare skin. He seals you in, but there’s nothing confining about it. If anything, it feels like possession. Like something only he gets to do. His hands grip your waist as he tugs you flush against him, his lips finding yours in a slow, teasing kiss. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push—just kisses you like he has all the time in the world, coaxing you into it, until you’re melting into him, letting him take over. His thigh slots between yours, pressing up just enough to make you gasp into his mouth, and he groans at the sound, his fingers flexing where they hold you.
“Nervous?” he murmurs against your lips. You nod, swallowing hard, your breath coming in short, uneven puffs. He watches you for a moment, eyes dark, searching. Then his hands move, turning you around, pressing you forward until your palms brace against the vanity. His grip is sure, steady, and when he leans in, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear, his voice is warm, steady, grounding. “I got you,” he says, low and certain. He bunches your dress up around your waist, his fingers ghosting over your skin before he hooks a finger into your lace thong, dragging it to the side. The cool air kisses your exposed skin, a contrast to the heat pooling low in your stomach, and then—his hands spread you wider, and his mouth is on you. The first flick of his tongue is slow, languid, like he’s savoring it. He licks into you, teasing at first, just enough to make your breath hitch, to make your fingers curl against the wood. Then his grip tightens, pulling you back onto his mouth, his tongue dragging in long, deliberate strokes that have your legs shaking. He hums against you, like he already knows how good you taste, how much he loves it, and the vibration sends a shudder through you.
You whimper, pushing back against him, chasing the friction, and he groans in response, his hands gripping your hips harder, holding you steady. His tongue works you open, slow and deliberate, fucking into you in a way that makes your knees weak. His lips seal around your clit, sucking just enough to make you cry out, and then he does it again, and again, until the pleasure is unbearable. You’re a mess against the vanity now, panting, grinding onto his face, and he lets you—lets you use him, lets you take what you need. His tongue is relentless, flicking and curling, drawing sharp, helpless sounds from your lips. Your thighs tremble, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto, anything to anchor yourself as he takes you apart. He knows exactly how to push you there, how to build it up and pull you back until you’re teetering on the edge, begging for it. And then he gives it to you. His tongue flicks, his lips seal around your clit, and the pressure tips you over the edge, your release crashing over you like a wave. Your body tenses, then shudders, pleasure searing through you in a way that leaves you breathless, undone. He groans as you come, his mouth working you through it, drawing it out until your legs nearly give out beneath you. When he finally pulls back, his chin is wet, his lips kiss-swollen, and the look he gives you—dark, satisfied, hungry—makes your stomach tighten all over again. Sunghoon rises to his feet behind you, his hands trailing up your back, soothing over your trembling body. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then your neck, his lips dragging up to your ear as he whispers, “You ready, baby?”
You exhale shakily, nodding, but there’s one thing you need first. Turning in his grip, you drop to your knees before him, your fingers already reaching for his belt. His breath stutters as you undo the buckle, then the button, then slowly drag his trousers down. The moment you pull him free, thick and heavy in your hand, your mouth waters. “For good luck,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes, and his jaw tightens, his hands flexing at his sides. His cock is hot against your palm, the weight of it familiar and yet still so overwhelming. You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the flushed tip, then another, teasing, before you finally part your lips and take him in. His groan is guttural, his head tipping back as you sink lower, your tongue flattening against the underside, dragging along the thick vein there. Your mouth works him slow at first, savoring, hollowing your cheeks as you bob your head, your tongue swirling over him with every stroke. Sunghoon watches you, his breathing ragged, his fingers twitching at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to grab your hair. You hum around him, letting the vibration travel down his spine, and he curses, his hips jerking involuntarily.
Encouraged, you take him deeper, letting him hit the back of your throat before pulling back with a slick pop, your lips dragging over the sensitive head. He shudders, his hands finally coming to cradle your face, his thumbs stroking your jaw, his grip tightening just slightly as you suck him back in. “Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice rough. “You feel so good.” You moan around him, loving the way he reacts, how his body tenses, how his thighs tremble under your hands. You work him faster now, your tongue gliding, your lips sealing tight, your fingers curling around the base as you stroke him in time with every bob of your head. His hips start to move, small, controlled thrusts that make your eyes water, but you take it, let him push deeper, let him chase it. He’s close now, his grip tightening, his breath coming in sharp, uneven pants. You can feel the way his thighs tense, the way he fights to hold himself back, but you don’t want him to. You hollow your cheeks, suck harder, and when he curses, a deep, broken sound, you know you’ve got him.
Sunghoon groans your name, voice wrecked, as he spills into your mouth, his fingers trembling where they cup your face. You swallow it all, licking him clean, and when you finally pull back, his eyes are heavy-lidded, dazed, full of something unreadable. He reaches for you, hauling you up into his arms, his mouth crashing onto yours, swallowing the soft, satisfied sound you make. And then, with a low chuckle, he murmurs against your lips, “Now that’s good luck.” Tbe taste of him lingers as you step onto the stage. The bar is steeped in midnight ambience, dim neon signs casting fractured glows against the polished wood, reflecting off low-hanging smoke and half-empty glasses. The air is dense with the smell of whiskey, cigarettes, and the murmur of a hundred conversations blending into something hazy, something familiar. The regulars are in their usual spots—Jihyo by the back, giving you a nod, the bartender wiping down glasses with the same practiced ease.
Your fingers tighten around the guitar. The mic stand is cool beneath your touch, the weight of the moment settling in your chest. Your jacket stays on, an added layer of armor, grounding you. And Sunghoon— Sunghoon is front and center, the kind of presence that commands attention without trying. He’s leaning forward, elbows braced against the table, the muscles in his forearms taut beneath the fabric of his sleeves. His fingers curl loosely around his drink, the condensation slick against his skin, but he isn’t paying it any mind. His focus is locked on you—dark eyes tracing your every movement, drinking you in like he can’t get enough. That look—molten, unreadable, something deeper than admiration pooling in his gaze. It simmers, slow and deliberate, like he knows something you don’t. Like he’s savoring a secret meant just for him. His lips curve, not quite a smirk, not quite a smile—something softer, something wrecked with unshakable pride. The kind of expression that makes heat curl low in your stomach, that makes you hyperaware of the weight of his attention pressing against your skin. His phone is out, the screen glinting under the dim lights, recording you without shame. Not just to capture the moment, but to keep it, to carve it into permanence. The way he watches you—eyes hooded, jaw tight, fingers flexing against the table—tells you everything. He wants to remember you exactly like this. The way your lips part, the way your shoulders shift with every breath, the way you shine under his gaze.
Like he wants to keep you frozen in time. Like he wants to devour you whole. The song isn’t a ballad, but it isn’t light either. It moves through the room with a steady pulse, a pop-rock confession—raw, aching, but resolute. There’s no pleading in the melody, no desperate grasp for something slipping away. It doesn’t beg for love; it claims it. The chords crash like waves, the lyrics spill from your lips like something inevitable, something that’s lived inside you long before it ever found sound. It reverberates through your chest, settling deep in the spaces between your ribs, refusing to be anything less than felt. And you do feel it. In the way your grip tightens around the mic, in the heat of the stage lights catching on your skin, in the burn of every note you let loose into the air. But more than anything, you feel it in him. Sunghoon watches like he’s carving the sight of you into memory, eyes dark and hooded, following every movement, every shift of your expression. He’s leaning forward, elbows braced against the table, fingers curling, flexing, like he’s fighting the impulse to reach for you, to touch, to claim. His gaze is heavy, searing, a quiet possession in the way he drinks you in—not just listening, but absorbing, consuming.
And then there’s that smile—just barely there, but weighted with something that makes your stomach drop. Not cocky, not playful, but knowing. Like he’s always understood something about you that you haven’t figured out yourself. Like he’s already seeing the way this night ends. The way your body will curve into his. The way you’ll let him have you, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left untouched.nYou’re sinking. Obsessed. Falling without resistance. You feel it in your gut, in the charged air between you, in the way your voice trembles at the edges of each verse. The song is still playing, but all you can hear now is the rush of your own heartbeat, the certainty that before this night is over, you’ll be his. The song carries you forward, your fingers moving on instinct now, your voice dipping lower, softer, right before the crescendo. The moment stretches, thick with anticipation, the music swelling around you, drowning out everything else. And then— The door opens. At first, it barely registers. A shift in the air, a creak of hinges swallowed by the bass. A couple of voices weaving into the music, indistinct, blending into the background. But then— Another. And another. More footsteps. More murmurs. A ripple of movement at the edge of the crowd, slow but spreading, unsettling the atmosphere in a way that twists something deep in your gut. It’s subtle at first, just a feeling, the slightest disturbance, like the first pull of the tide before a wave crashes.
And then you see them—people from campus, faces that don’t belong here, slipping between bodies, threading themselves into a crowd that isn’t theirs. They stand out in ways that have nothing to do with appearance and everything to do with presence, disrupting the low hum of familiarity that exists among the regulars, the ones who understand—who know that this place isn’t meant for them. But now they’re here, pushing into a space they were never supposed to find, their arrival fracturing the careful separation you’ve spent years maintaining. You recognize them instantly, their features sharp against the dim lighting, their expressions shifting as realization dawns. You’ve passed them in hallways, sat beside them in lecture rooms, exchanged words over group projects, all within the neat, contained world of campus—the world that was never meant to bleed into this one. Yet here they are, watching, whispering, and suddenly, the air feels heavier, the walls closer, the stage too exposed beneath their gaze.
A slow, suffocating pressure builds in your chest, coiling tight as the atmosphere shifts. The stage—once familiar, once yours—now feels vast and vulnerable, the sense of safety stripped away in an instant. The walls seem to close in, the air thickening, pressing against you with an invisible weight. Their eyes find you, latch onto you, dragging over your skin like a presence you can’t shake. It isn’t admiration, isn’t curiosity—it’s something colder, heavier. Judgment. A quiet, suffocating scrutiny that settles in your bones, turning the once-electric thrill of performance into something sharp-edged and unbearable. They recognize you. You see it happen in real time—the widening of eyes, the flicker of realization passing between them like a silent current. Someone whispers something to someone else, and then another, and then another. It spreads, unraveling through the room like a slow-moving tide, reaching deeper, further, until it feels like everyone knows. The weight of it crushes against your chest, pressing down, squeezing tight. Your fingers falter—just slightly, just enough to throw the rhythm off for a half-second—but you force yourself to keep playing, to push through the sickening unease crawling up your spine. It’s fine. It’s nothing.
But then the whispers grow. Soft at first, barely a murmur beneath the music. But they don’t stop. They multiply, curling into the spaces between lyrics, threading through the melody like something invasive, foreign, something that doesn’t belong here but has forced its way in anyway. It slithers through the crowd, low and insidious, gaining momentum, feeding off itself. You don’t have to hear the words to know what they’re saying. You know. It’s in the way their heads turn, the way bodies shift, the way their faces flicker between amusement and intrigue, between disbelief and something uglier. And the smiles. Small, curling at the edges of mouths, poorly concealed, barely hidden beneath feigned interest. It’s worse than if they had been outright laughing. This—this knowing, this gathering of a secret that was never meant to be theirs—is something else entirely. A new kind of exposure, one you weren’t prepared for. They aren’t just watching you now. They’re assessing you, dissecting you, peeling back layers you weren’t ready to shed. The stage, once a shield, now feels like a platform for your own humiliation, like a spotlight is shining down on every single inch of you, leaving nowhere to hide.
And then it hits. Someone told them. You had been losing this place for a while, the way a heart loses its rhythm before it fails—slow at first, barely noticeable, an offbeat here, a skipped pulse there. A fracture too small to see but widening with every second, every breath, until suddenly it isn’t a heartbeat at all, just the hollow echo of something that used to be alive. You had felt it slipping, unraveling in increments, but now—now, it crashes all at once. A final, brutal arrest. The moment the heart seizes and stops. The realization strikes like a blow to the ribs, knocking the air from your lungs. The song continues, your voice doesn’t break, your hands keep moving—but your mind spirals, racing too fast, tripping over itself, scrambling for an answer that isn’t there. Who? Your brain sorts through the possibilities with ruthless efficiency, sifting through names, conversations, fleeting moments where something could have slipped. But the list is short—too short. You’ve been careful. So fucking careful. No one was supposed to know. No one was supposed to find this place, to drag the outside world into it, to strip it of its sanctuary and turn it into this.
Your stomach clenches, a violent, twisting thing that coils itself into knots, tighter and tighter until the nausea crawls up your throat. The answer is right there, clear as day, obvious in a way that makes your pulse trip over itself. You sifted through every possibility, every name, every slip of the tongue, but nothing else fits. Nothing else even comes close. There is only one explanation left, one truth staring you in the face, and it sends a sickening, ice-cold realization slamming into your chest like a bullet. Sunghoon. His name isn’t just a thought. It’s a collision, a head-on impact that hits too fast, too hard, leaving your breath trapped somewhere between your ribs. Your pulse slams in your ears, drowning out the crowd, the whispers, even the music that still hums beneath your fingers. Your head snaps up before you can stop it, your gaze finding him instinctively, searching for something—an answer, a denial, anything to tell you that this isn’t real, that you’re spiraling, that you’re wrong.
But he’s there, sitting exactly as he was before, completely unchanged. Still leaning forward, elbows braced against the table, fingers flexing against the wood, but his focus remains unshaken. Still watching you. Still recording. Still grinning like nothing has shifted, like the walls haven’t closed in around you, like the ground hasn’t cracked open beneath your feet. The warmth in his expression hasn’t faltered, that quiet, devastating pride still etched into the corners of his mouth, like he’s proud of you. Like he’s pleased. He hasn’t even looked at the others. hasn’t so much as spared them a glance. He should have noticed them. Should have seen the shift in the atmosphere, the murmurs threading through the music like a slow-working poison. Should have picked up on the way your body has tensed, on the way your voice has become just slightly too careful, too controlled, like you’re holding back something jagged, something breaking. But he hasn’t. Or—
Or maybe he has. Maybe he’s already seen this moment before. Maybe he was waiting for it. The thought wraps around you like a noose, tightening with every second, every beat of your pulse hammering against your skull. You try to shake it off, try to shove it down, but it clings to you, persistent, insidious. It fits too well. The timing, the ease, the way he looks so completely unaffected, like he already knew this was coming. The way he hasn’t stopped recording. Because who else could have done this? Who else would have wanted to? Your fingers tighten around the guitar, too stiff, too strained, the tension bleeding into the chords. The pressure builds, rising like a storm in your chest, twisting into something suffocating, something wrong. Your voice holds, but it’s slipping, a tremor barely concealed in the final crescendo, in the way your breath catches just a second too late. The stage feels too open, the lights too harsh, the weight of every stare pressing in from all sides. Your world is shrinking, collapsing in on itself, and Sunghoon is still sitting there, watching, smiling, untouched by the wreckage.
Sunghoon did this.
And he wants you to know.
taglist — @yenienha @enhamysunshines @yuristhend @fancypeacepersona @drewstarkeyoficialgf @engeneheree @honey4hoonie @sunghoonceo @yunhoswrldddd @enhastolemyheart @mahungexe @moonlitmyg @denleave1088 @bluetoska @v1-xo (comment to be added to the taglist, this fic is a series, there will be more parts!)
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — hi loves! if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! it truly means the world to me. i poured so much effort into this, so if you could take just a moment to send an ask or leave a message sharing your thoughts, it would mean everything. your interactions, whether it’s sending an ask, your feedback, a comment, or just saying hi, give me so much motivation to keep writing. i’m always so happy to respond to messages, asks and comments so don’t be shy! thank you from the bottom of my heart! <3
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — ‘back to you’ is actually a completed series i’ve already published here, it’s originally a lee jeno (nct dream) series, and i’m now adapting it into a new universe for enhypen, with sunghoon as the lead. i wanted to open the door for new readers, especially all the sunghoon and enhypen lovers who might not be as deep in the nct world. to experience a story that means the world to me. this version will bring its own chemistry, dynamics, and deliciously fresh tension; you can expect new twists, emotional beats, and character moments tailored to this group, while still keeping all the ache, obsession, and heat that made bty iconic.
you don’t need to have read the jeno version to jump right in with sunghoon, this is a stand-alone journey built just for you. but if you’re interested in it then it’s tagged twice. keep in mind it will contain heavily spoilers for how the rest of this series will pan out. the earlier chapters will be closely identical (the jeno and sunghoon ver) but the later chapters is when i’ll be introducing some distinct changes from the jeno ver. 🫶🏻.
A Gentle Reminder About What Jungwon Has Been Going Through This Year (please reblog)
(For anyone who hasn’t been keeping up or didn’t know the full picture)
I think it’s important—especially now—to talk honestly about what Yang Jungwon has been dealing with behind the scenes. Not in a dramatic way. Not in a “cancel the company” way. Just facts, because a lot of people genuinely don’t know how heavy this year was for him. (press keep reading)
1. The Rumors From Last December Were Never Addressed
Last December, Jungwon was targeted with completely baseless rumors that spread everywhere.
Even though the claims were proven false, the company never took legal action.
No official protection.
No follow-up.
No reassurance.
He was left to deal with the damage alone.
2. He Admitted This Was the Year He Cried the Most
During multiple fan interactions, Jungwon shared that 2024–2025 has been the hardest year of his life and that he’s cried more this year than any other.
He said it quietly.
Honestly.
Almost like he hoped no one would make a big deal out of it.
But it is a big deal.
3. He Has Been Performing Injured
Throughout the tour, fans noticed:
• a wrist band on his right hand
• knee patches hidden under outfits
• visible swelling in some dance practice videos
And despite that…
he still performs at 100%.
No complaints.
No excuses.
No missed shows.
Just him pushing through everything with a smile.
4. Jungwon Sells Out Everything He Touches (With 0 Solo Deals)
This part genuinely hurts:
Jungwon is one of the strongest sellers in ENHYPEN:
• His photocards sell out first.
• His fansigns sell out instantly.
• His merch consistently ranks highest.
And yet—
he is the only member with zero solo brand deals this entire year.
Not because he lacks impact.
Not because he lacks popularity.
But because he is not given opportunities.
5. “Just the Leader” — A Narrative That’s Hurt Him
There’s been a slow shift in the fandom where people reduce him to:
“Just the leader.”
“The responsible one.”
“The organizer.”
“The guy who speaks during speeches.”
And completely ignore the fact that he is:
• one of the best dancers of 4th gen
• one of the most stable live vocalists
• a performer with natural center presence
• an idol who balances leadership + talent + emotional labor
This narrative has been incredibly unfair to him.
6. He Keeps Getting Pushed to the Back of Choreo
Despite being the strongest dancer, Jungwon:
• gets fewer center parts
• gets noticeably reduced lines each comeback
• is often placed in the back during formations
• rarely gets the camera angles he deserves
Fans see it.
He sees it.
And you can tell it eats at him, even when he doesn’t say anything.
⸻
Jungwon never complains.
He never calls anyone out.
He never asks for anything.
He cries in private, tapes his own injuries, and shows up every day trying to be strong.
The least we can do is stay aware.
Speak up respectfully.
Support him consistently.
And make sure his hard work doesn’t go unnoticed.
This isn’t fanwar bait.
This isn’t “hate the company.”
This is just acknowledging what he’s endured, so people don’t forget.
He deserves softness.
He deserves protection.
He deserves support without being reduced to a role.
( 𝖓 )。 eeee hehe thank you @prkhaven for this thought!! i think i may have gotten a little carried away with it (and i know if i truly was able to fully unleash myself it would’ve been muchhh longer lmao)… need jay with a tongue piercing so bad like this awakened something in me. i hope that you enjoy hehe!!~~ ♡♡
“You’ve never had it done to you before—never felt it?” Jay asks you, and you shake your head as a flustered smile creeps across your face.
Absentmindedly, Jay played with his tongue piercing. Occasionally, you would see flashes off the metal reflecting off the dim lighting in his basement. You licked your own lips in response as your eyes zeroed in on the motion. Jay quirked a brow, the corner of his mouth raising, before his eyes flicked back to you—halting the show his piercing was giving you.
“Do you want to?” he playfully asked.
You chuckled a bit, thinking that Jay was just joking, but he raised his brows more as he waited for your answer. Slowly, your smile faltered. “Are you being serious right now, Jay?” you asked him incredulously.
Jay just shrugged before leaning back on his leather couch that was way too uncomfortable for a stuffy basement. He started to play with his tongue piercing again. “Well, do you?” Jay asked more seriously this time. Immediately, heat rose to your cheeks and up your neck and you couldn’t think of what to say to respond to him.
In the middle of scrambling for words, Jay leaned forward, his lips barely an inch away from yours. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes falling down to your lips. “You don’t have to be shy about it,” Jay says in a low voice, the smirk coming back until he was full-blown cockily smiling. “I mean, it’s what best friends are for, right? Besides, you act like we haven’t done something like this before.”
He pressed his lips against yours feather-light, barely ghosting them along your lips before pulling away again, chuckling low. Your chin raised to unconsciously follow him as he smiled more at your body’s reaction. “Don’t you remember that one time… Your mouth felt so good then. I still think of it every time I need to get myself off, your mouth is wicked, you know. It’s a gift. And god, the way you wrapped around m—”
You quickly shut him up by slamming your mouth against his. Jay talked too much, and everything he said was crude. You pulled back from his lips and pressed a finger against them. “I thought we promised we would never talk about that night?” you asked him.
Jay smiled again, and in the dim light you could see the hunger in his eyes and the way they focused on you. You could tell he was thinking back to that night—the night when the two of you blurred the lines in your friendship and crossed the point of no return. Jay opened his mouth and his tongue darted out to your finger before taking it in his mouth completely. You felt the way his tongue piercing shifted along your skin and how the cold metal sent a shiver down your spine. He then grabbed your hand as he slowly pulled your finger from out of his mouth, chuckling as his saliva coated it.
“We promised we wouldn’t talk about a lot of things, yet we did.”
Jay rested his hand on your thigh and hummed at you in question. You thought about it for a moment, really thought about it. Your best friend of too many years to count now is asking you if you want him to eat you out right now—and you’re not opposed to the idea. It’s not like the lines between the two of you haven’t been blurred and smudged before. You have already slept together—something that the two of you weren’t supposed to talk about… And Jay is the person who you’ve kissed the most. You knew that this wouldn’t change anything that hasn’t already been changed between the two of you, so why were you still hesitating?
It’s like Jay said: It’s what best friends are for. Right? Besides, he kind of owes you for the life-changing head that you gave him. Something that he just admitted to constantly thinking about. You put a mental pin in that to ask about later.
You finally met Jay’s gaze, a witty smile pulling at your lips. The entire time you thought, Jay once again played with his tongue piercing—rolling it between his teeth—while his fingers traced a pattern along the plush skin of your thigh. “How good are you with your tongue?” you finally asked him.
A wicked smirk immediately found its way onto Jay’s face and he flicked the metal piercing back into his mouth.
Jay stood from the leather couch and got onto his knees in front of you. He pulled your legs apart from the twisted position they were in and in turn made you face forward towards him. His hands slowly traveled up your bare thighs, and you were thankful that the two of you were so comfortable with each other that you could be in just about nothing but your lacy panties around him. Jay looked up at you through his dark lashes and your breath nearly hitched.
Keeping eye contact with you, he hooked his fingers under the hem of your panties and slowly pulled them down. You lifted your hips to help him and ignored the effort it took for your panties to not stick to you and the slight embarrassment that came with it. You could tell Jay noticed it, though, because his wicked smirk grew and once your panties were around your ankles he looked away from you to examine them himself.
He chuckled a little, shaking his head at you as he tossed it somewhere to the side, before his attention was brought back to you taking off your top. Braless, of course. Your chest rose and fell heavily and Jay’s hands continued to roam further up your thighs. He purposefully trailed them away from where you needed them to be the most, instead moving them to your hips.
“Come here,” Jay said in a low voice.
You scooted further towards the edge of the couch as Jay spread your legs apart more and settled between them. You watched as he inhaled sharply as his eyes focused on the way you opened up to him. “Fuck…” Jay drawled out under his breath, licking his lips. You saw the flash of metal again and shifted in your spot.
You wondered that with his tongue piercing, would things be different? Would you feel the metal?
Jay pushed your thighs up to your chest and further apart. He then pressed a hand flat up your stomach to motion you to lay back, his eyes flicking back up to you before immediately drifting back down to look at the way your pussy glistened for him. He looked like a man starved and you were the first full-course meal he’s ever had in his life. You opened your mouth to speak, but you were immediately cut off by Jay pressing kisses along your inner thighs and crawling his way up.
You unintentionally held your breath and you were sure that Jay was holding himself back from diving in completely. Before you could tell him to get on with it, his desire took over and his lips quickly attached to your core. You let out a gasp, shifting more in your spot on the couch, and Jay wrapped his arms around your thighs to keep you open for him.
He didn’t waste any time at all. Jay’s tongue swirled around your clit and you jumped a little at the cold metal from his tongue piercing. You weren’t expecting it to be cold since it was in his mouth, but you also hadn’t realized just how hot your body has gotten in temperature simply from Jay’s hands roaming over you.
Jay sucked his lips together around your clit, in between his tongue swirling around it, and your back arched off the couch as a soft moan pushed through you. Jay barely backed away, pressing light kisses to your pussy, as he chuckled. You inhaled sharply, ready to tell him off for teasing you, before his lips moved further down and he continued to eat you out with vigor.
“Oh my god!” you moaned, your hand finding its way into Jay’s hair to keep him where he was. Your eyes squeezed shut and your hips began to buck slightly on their own. “Slow down, Jay… Y-Your piercing… Cold.”
You could feel Jay’s smile against you as his tongue swirled around your clit and he began to suck on it again. He pressed the metal right up against it, and you grabbed at his hair. Jay let out a loud moan that sent vibrations up through you. “You taste so fucking good. Why have you been keeping this from me?” he moaned again, before dipping his tongue into your dripping entrance.
You bit your lip hard as he worked you up, making sure that his piercing explored each and every inch of your pussy with his tongue. You could feel that familiar pressure building within your lower stomach, and the walls of your entrance started to flutter around Jay’s tongue. That just encouraged him more, and he buried himself even deeper into your pussy that you started to worry if he could breathe or not. But, you couldn’t express that worry from his nose bumping up against your clit and sending shock waves through your body.
Between moans and whimpers, your hips moved wildly against the restraints of Jay’s strong arms and you could barely catch your breath. Your fingers didn’t even bring you to the finish line this quickly, but Jay breezed over it like it was absolutely nothing.
“Fuck… Fuck, Jay. I’m gonna cum!” You pulled at his hair again to get him to move, but he just let out something between a growl and a moan as he hooked himself around you tighter, his tongue and his cold metal piercing still sending you waves of pleasure.
You placed your hands flat on the leather couch that you were practically fused with now. Your moans and the slurping sound coming from Jay and just how wet you were bounced off the walls of the basement. Your head fell back onto the leather couch cushion as you rocked your hips towards Jay’s face, the motion making his nose hit your clit harder and making your eyes roll back from his tongue inside of you.
Legs trembling, you let out another loud moan before cumming all over Jay’s face. It didn’t even have time to hit the couch before he lapped it all up, moaning again at how sweet you tasted. You laid limp across the couch, occasional soft whimpers leaving your parted lips as Jay ate you out though your orgasm. Your breathing picked up more as the overstimulation swiftly hit you and you pushed away Jay’s head from your pussy.
“What…” you took a second to catch your breath a detach your sweaty skin from the leather, “the fuck?”
Jay rested his hands on your thighs that were still pressed to your chest. He licked his lips, his tongue piercing peeking through. There was a gleam in his eyes in the dim lighting. “Never try to keep me from that again,” he said lowly, a hunger in his voice.
Jay rose to his feet, unbuckling his belt as he stared down at you like prey. “Want to promise not to talk about another thing?” he asked, the corner of his mouth raising in a feral grin as he pulled his pants down and climbed on top of you.
✉️ ⦂ rubi rose, i can’t wait to have your feet facing my ceiling (i’m sorry LMAOOO).. anyway just know he fucked the shit out of her after that teehee (⌒ω⌒)♡ #needthatDESPERATELY
⋮ synopsis- you HATED football, but you wanted to support your friend no matter what. However, one person on the team particularly pissed you off due to his perfect status.
➜ warnings!! :: MDNI ⭑ PWP (?), subby hoon, oral (m recieve), mutual masturbation, petnames: baby, jungwon being a wingman in a way, hoon and reader are dicks to each other, semi-public sex (lmk if I missed any!!)
The only thing more tedious than watching football practice was waiting for it to end. You’d been camped on these cold metal bleachers for what felt like a decade, your heel tapping out a bored rhythm against the hollow frame.
The speaker of your phone hummed softly, your last defence against the monotony. Down on the pitch, a swarm of guys in identical jerseys ran themselves ragged.
Your best friend, Yang Jungwon, was in the thick of it, covered in grass stains and giving 110%. You loved him, but you didn't love his commitment to extracurriculars that involved this much yelling. You watched him shout for a pass, his face a mask of determined effort.
And then there was Park Sunghoon.
Watching him was what made you irk. While Jungwon and the others fought and heaved, Sunghoon looked like he’d just stepped out of a sportswear commercial. He wasn't even trying. That was the most infuriating part.
A light sheen of sweat on his brow only made him look more polished, not less. He controlled the ball with effortless, almost bored precision, weaving through defenders who were actually trying. He didn't look like he was fighting for a spot; he looked like he was doing everyone a favour by just being there—a natural, high-performance machine on a field of hard-working cars.
He scored without even breaking a sweat, offering a cool, casual high-five to a teammate as if it were nothing. He was flying through the motions, but he was never really here. Not like Jungwon was. Not like the others who cared.
The final whistle blew, a sharp, shrill sound that cut through the evening air. Like a spell breaking, the intense focus on the field dissolved into relieved slumps and loud, happy chatter. You shoved your phone and speaker into your bag, standing up to leave before the crowd could get too thick.
Jungwon was laughing, clapping a friend on the back as he started jogging toward the bleachers. "Y/N! You waited!"
As you begin to walk towards Jungwon to meet him in the middle, your path to him is blocked by the very source of your irritation.
Park Sunghoon blocked you as he took a long drink from a water bottle, his head tilted back. He lowered it, and his eyes, dark and frustratingly clear, landed on you. A faint, unreadable flicker passed through them before the corner of his lips pulled up into a smirk.
“L/N,” he acknowledged, his voice even, not winded. “Didn’t know you were a fan of football.”
The comment was neutral, but you heard the subtle tease in it.
You practically scoff at his words with rolling eyes. Crossing your arms as you glare up at him, physically tilting your head to actually look at him. "I'm a fan of people who actually try."
His hand stills, the bottle pausing halfway to his lips. One of his thick brows arched upwards. "Oh? What does that mean?"
"It means that while everyone else is out there giving their all, working as a team, you're just... breezing through it," you shot back, your voice tight with a frustration that surprised even you. You gestured vaguely toward the field, where players were still panting, hands on their knees. "You don't look like you're playing. You look like you're bored at a photoshoot. It's like you're not even really here."
The smirk on his face didn't falter; if anything, it grew a fraction wider, more challenging. He took a slow, deliberate sip of water, making you wait for his response. It was a power move, and it made your jaw clench.
He practically laughed at your words. “Aw, thanks, L/N. You saying I'm a model?” He mocked.
“That's not what I mean–” your face was flushed at the way you realised you really did compliment him while trying to insult him.
"And you deduced all that from your VIP seat in the bleachers?" he asked, his tone laced with a condescending amusement that made your skin prickle. "Tell me, L/N, what does 'trying' look like to you? Running around like a headless chicken? Getting red in the face and shouting?"
He shook his head, a lock of his damp hair falling across his forehead. "Efficiency isn't a lack of effort. It's just a smarter effort."
"Efficiency?" you echoed, the word tasting bitter. "Is that what you call it? It looks like arrogance."
For the first time, a flicker of something genuine, annoyance? Passed through his dark eyes. He took a half-step closer, and you were suddenly acutely aware of the height difference, the faint scent of grass and clean sweat. "Maybe you should worry less about how I play and more about why it bothers you so much."
Your mouth fell open slightly, but no sound came out. He had effectively turned the spotlight back on you, and you hated it.
You hated the way he slowly straightened back up, his smirk never wavering, as if he’d already won a game you didn’t even know you were playing. But most of all, you hated the traitorous flutter that beat against your ribs when he’d bent down to meet your eyes. It was a single, rebellious heartbeat that echoed far too loudly in the space between you.
And of course, he noticed. His dark eyes, sharp and perceptive, tracked the subtle heat you felt rising in your cheeks. The sight only widened his smirk into something more triumphant, more knowing. It was a look that got you.
"Y/N! Sunghoon-hyung!"
Jungwon's voice sliced through the thick tension, a welcome lifeline. He skidded to a halt beside you, his cheerful grin dissolving into concern as his eyes darted between your flushed face and Sunghoon’s infuriatingly composed one. "Uh, everything okay here?"
Sunghoon’s eyes held yours for a heartbeat longer, a silent promise that this isn’t over. Before he turned the full force of his effortless charm on your best friend. The shift was so seamless it was dizzying, leaving you emotionally whiplashed.
"Everything's fine, Jungwon," Sunghoon said, his voice now all easy-going lightness. He clapped a hand on Jungwon's shoulder, the picture of casual camaraderie. "L/N was just sharing her... unique perspective on team dynamics." His gaze flickered back to you, and the knowing glint returned. "See you around."
But you didn't miss it. As he turned to leave, he dropped the wink, a quick, deliberate, and utterly maddening gesture meant for you and you alone. A secret shared in a crowd.
And with that, he walked away, leaving you standing there, a confusing mess of fury and fluster, with Jungwon staring at you as if you’d just grown a second head.
"What was that about?" Jungwon asked, his eyes wide with bewildered curiosity.
You watched Sunghoon's retreating back, his posture still perfectly composed as if the entire confrontation had been nothing more than a mild diversion. "Nothing," you muttered, finally tearing your gaze away, your heart still doing that stupid, uneven rhythm against your will. "He's just... insufferable."
But even as you said it, his final question echoed in your mind, a taunt that burrowed deep under your skin, unsettling you more than any arrogant retort ever could:
"Why does it bother you so much?"
Jungwon let out a low whistle, slinging his gym bag over his shoulder. "Wow. I've never seen him engage like that before. He usually just ignores people he doesn't like." He bumped his shoulder gently against yours, a teasing grin spreading across his face. "Did you just become the exception to the Park Sunghoon rule? What did you even say to him?"
"I just told him the truth," you grumbled, finally turning to walk away from the field, desperate to put distance between you and the memory of that wink. Jungwon fell into step beside you. "That he doesn't even try out there. That he just coasts on talent and expects everyone to be impressed."
"Ah," Jungwon said, understanding dawning. "You questioned his perfection. That's a cardinal sin in Sunghoon's world." He laughed, nudging your shoulder lightly with a laugh.
"It's not perfection, it's arrogance!" you insisted, the frustration bubbling up again.
"Tomato, tomahto," Jungwon sang, clearly enjoying your flustered state. "But for what it's worth, you're wrong. He does try. He's just so good it looks easy. The coaches have to design whole new drills just to challenge him."
He glanced at you, his expression turning more serious. "And the pressure on him is insane. His whole family is basically a dynasty of overachievers.” He hummed softly.
“Maybe the whole 'emotionless' thing is just how he deals with it."
You frowned, letting Jungwon's words sink in. It was a perspective you hadn't considered, and it irritated you almost as much as Sunghoon himself did.
"Whatever," you sighed, wanting to change the subject. "I'm just glad I don't have to see him again until... well, hopefully never."
—
It seemed the universe had a personal vendetta against your dreams.
The following week had been a blur of all-nighters and frantic typing. Any hope of attending Jungwon's practices had been obliterated the moment your film professor had dropped a twin nightmare: a 5000-word essay on the history of film and an accompanying 7-minute short film. Both were due today.
Now, with the digital clock in the corner of your screen glaring a merciless 11:47 PM, you were only 1000 words into the essay. Panic was a live wire under your skin, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you typed furiously, the keys clacking a desperate SOS into the silent, dim room.
And then, as if summoned by your stress, your phone buzzed on the desk—a violent, jarring vibration that skittered right through your bones.
You flinched, your train of thought derailing completely. With a frustrated groan, you grabbed the offending device. The screen burned with a notification you did not have the mental capacity to deal with.
SUBJECT: CREATE A BRAND - PROJECT PAIRING CONFIRMATION
As your eyes widen at the message. An email from your business professor about another project, you hadn't checked the pairings yet. You'd been too busy panicking rather than starting your work.
Jungwon sat on the floor of your living room, his own hands typing furiously at his computer, trying to deadline fight like you were.
"What is it?" Jungwon asked, noticing your sudden stillness.
With a trembling thumb, you tapped the notification. The document loaded slowly, each second stretching into an eternity. It was a list of names. You scrolled, your eyes frantically scanning for yours.
And then you found it.
Your worst nightmare.
TEAM 5:
Y/N L/N
PARK SUNGHOON
The world tilted. Your breath hitched. The phone nearly slipped from your suddenly numb fingers.
"No," you whispered, the word a choked plea. "No, no, no. This has to be a mistake." You were in shock, a gasp.
Was this a cruel sign?
"What?" Jungwon grabbed your phone, his eyes widening as he read the screen. A slow, incredulous grin spread across his face.
"No way. You have got to be kidding me. You and Sunghoon-hyung?!" He started to laugh, a full-bodied sound that drew a groan from your lips.
"The universe has a seriously wicked sense of humour!"
You snatched your phone back, staring at the two names side-by-side as if they were a life sentence. Sunghoon's final words echoed in your mind, now laced with a terrifying new meaning.
Sunghoon knew. He must have already seen the pairings. That smirk, that wink... it wasn't just about the argument on the field. It was a promise of battles to come.
“Fuck you, man!” you groaned, dropping your head onto your keyboard with a dull thud, the keys imprinting themselves on your forehead. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not with him
Jungwon’s laughter finally subsided into wheezing chuckles. “Oh, this is priceless. I need to text him.” He immediately reached for his own phone with a wicked smirk.
Your head snapped up. “Don’t you dare, Yang Jungwon! If you text him ‘congratulations’ or something stupid, I will expose every single one of your secrets to the campus. Remember when you said you tested the waters with Jay, getting drunk at a party and jerking–”
He gasped quickly, throwing the pillow he was hugging at your face. “Shut up!” he yelled, though his eyes still sparkled with mischief. “But you know you have to email him, right? Like, now. You’ve got a brand to create. Partners gotta partner.”
The reminder was a bucket of ice water. The business project. The film essay. The short film. It was all crashing down at once. The panic that drowned your head, now forgotten in fear of Sunghoon.
“I can’t,” you whispered, staring at the two names on the screen.
“I can’t email Park Sunghoon at midnight to talk about a business project while I’m still in my cheetah pyjamas and losing a fight with a history essay on George Méliès!”
“Sure you can,” Jungwon said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Just be professional. ‘Hi Sunghoon, looks like we’re partners. When are you available to meet?’ Easy.”
You rolled your eyes. It was easy for a normal person. But you and Sunghoon had already crossed the line from professional to painfully personal on the football field. Every word would be loaded.
But Jungwon was right. Delaying would only make it worse.
With a sigh that felt like it came from the depths of your soul, you opened your email, your fingers hovering over the keys like they were made of lead.
The cursor blinked in the empty body of the email, mocking you. What could you say? Your mind was blank as you tried your best to figure out what to write.
‘Hey, it’s the girl you love to annoy. Let’s build a brand.’
‘Apparently, fate hates us both. My schedule is attached.’
‘I promise to try reaaaally hard, just for you.’
You deleted each attempt with a frustrated grunt. The click of your finger against the keyboard is loud and aggressive, making Jungwon watch you with arched eyebrows.
After taking a deep breath, you finally settled on something brutally neutral, channelling every ounce of your remaining energy into sounding like you didn’t care.
Per the attached pairing list, we have been assigned as partners for the "Create a Brand" project. Please advise your availability for an initial meeting this week.
Regards,
Y/N L/N
You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, a fresh wave of anxiety washing over you. It was done. The first move was made. You were almost proud of yourself for being the bigger person.
“See? Not so bad,” Jungwon said, trying to be encouraging with a smile; however, a hint of teasing was still behind his eyes.
“He’s probably asleep. I won’t hear back for—”
Your inbox chimed instantly. 1 New Email.
“What the fuck?”
Your blood ran cold. No. It wasn’t possible.
How efficient of you. I’m available tomorrow at 8 PM. Library study room 4B.
Don’t be late.
P.S. I trust you’ll be giving your… all to this project.
Park Sunghoon.
You let out a strangled sound, part gasp, part scream. He’d not only been awake, he’d been waiting, almost like he was anticipating the moment to come. And he’d used your own words against you, turning them into a weapon with terrifying precision.
Jungwon peeked over your shoulder, reading the email. He let out another low whistle. “Wow. He really doesn’t let anything go, does he?”
You shoved your phone away, your heart pounding for an entirely different reason than your essay deadline. The battle lines had been drawn, not on a football field, but in a library study room.
And the first revenge was tomorrow at 8 PM.
—
An hour before the meeting, you found yourself doing something utterly pathetic: staring into your closet as if it held the answers to the universe, rather than just fabric and thread.
Why?
This was Park Sunghoon we’re talking about.
The human equivalent of a beautifully, emotionally vacant sports car. He probably only recognised five shades of black and the logo of designer brands you couldn’t afford. The idea that you were mentally vetoing your most comfortable clothes for him was absurd.
You could, and should, just throw on some sweatpants and call it a day. But your fingers didn’t reach for the sweatpants. They lingered on a pair of dark jeans. It’s not for him, you told yourself, your cheeks heating with ‘annoyance’. It’s armour, or that's at least what you say to yourself.
Armour.
Right.
But who said armour couldn't be stylish? The best armour was the kind that felt like a second skin. Your fingers bypassed the formal options and landed on the one: an oversized black tee, soft from a hundred washes. It wasn't fancy. It was a perfect, hanging off the shoulders to reveal your deep collar bones, its dark wash a mirror of the jeans you’d already chosen.
You held it up, and a wry, defiant smile touched your lips.
I ♥️ EMO BOYS
The phrase was splashed across the chest in faded, cracked white letters. Perfect. With a few strategic knots tied at the small of your back, the shapeless shirt became something else entirely, hugging your frame, transforming a piece of ironic nostalgia into a statement.
With a final nod to your reflection, you did the rest: a swipe of mascara that turned into two, a dash of lip tint that became a careful application. It was more makeup than you’d usually bother with for a library meeting, and the knowledge sent a fresh wave of self-consciousness through you.
This isn’t for him, you insisted to the girl in the mirror, who looked back with a knowing glint in her eye. This is for you. So you walk in there feeling like you.
The fact that your chosen version of "you" was also a direct, silent rejection of everything Park Sunghoon probably stood for, polished, pristine, emotionless perfection, was just a delicious, convenient bonus.
You grabbed your bag, the soft fabric of your shirt a comforting touch against your skin. You took a steadying breath, your hand on the doorknob.
Showtime.
—
The walk to room 4B felt like the longest of your life. You willed your breath to even out, your posture to scream a confidence you absolutely did not feel.
Armour, you reminded yourself, the knot of your I ♥️ EMO BOYS shirt suddenly feeling tight against your back.
You rounded the final corner, and there it was. The door was slightly ajar. And he was already looking.
Park Sunghoon’s eyes were on you the second you came into view, as if he’d sensed your approach. He was leaning back in his chair, but there was nothing relaxed about it. It was a pose of cool assessment.
His gaze didn’t dart or flicker; it swept over you in one slow, deliberate motion, from your chosen shoes, up the knotted tee, to the makeup you’d applied, and you saw the exact moment his brain processed the words on your shirt.
One dark eyebrow arched. Not in anger, but in pure, unadulterated amusement. The corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re late,” he said, his voice a low murmur that still managed to cut through the quiet room.
You dropped your bag onto the table with a heavy thud, refusing to be intimidated by his curated perfection. “The clock on my phone said 7:59,” you retorted, sliding into the seat opposite him. “I’m right on time.”
A slow, infuriating smirk spread across his face. “My watch says 8:01. I suppose it depends on whose time you value more.”
“It’s only by a minute, in your standards.” You hum softly, grabbing your MacBook out of the tote bag you brought.
His eyes flickered down to your shirt, and the smirk widened. “Interesting… declaration.”
Your eyes roll at his words, fingers delicately moving against the keyboard of your laptop, index finger holding down on the on button.
“I ♥️ EMO BOYS,” he read aloud, his voice a low, amused murmur that seemed to vibrate in the silent room. When his eyes finally found yours, the look in them was anything but pure, smouldering provocation. “Is that meant to be a warning, L/N? Or a confession?”
You refused to let him see you squirm, even when his low voice sent a shock down your spine.
Especially the intense eye contact he was making.
You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms over the very words he was mocking, which only made his smirk deepen.
“It’s a statement of fact,” you said, your voice impressively steady. “I appreciate a man who isn’t afraid to feel things. Clearly, it’s a concept you’re unfamiliar with.”
It was a direct hit, referencing your entire argument on the field. You saw the flicker in his eyes, the minute tightening of his jaw. The amusement didn’t vanish, but it sharpened, honing into something more challenging.
“Feeling things,” he repeated, as if tasting the words. He leaned forward, folding his arms on the table, invading your space without moving an inch. “You mean like… angst? Dramatic eyeliner? Someone who listens to Pierce the Veil and Three Days Grace? A profound connection to a bass guitar?”
“I mean emotion, Sunghoon. Something that isn’t calculated, polished, or practised. Something real.”
He held your gaze for a long, charged moment. The air between you crackled.
“Real,” he echoed, his voice dropping so only you could hear it. His eyes flicked down to your ‘shirt’ one more time, and this time, the look in them was unreadable; he was oogling at your chest. “And you think that’s real? A mass-produced shirt from a mall?”
He leaned back again, the moment broken, his expression shifting back to one of casual superiority. “It’s not armour, L/N. It’s a target.” He gestured dismissively at his own impeccable, simple black sweater. “Now, are we going to discuss the project, or your questionable taste of men?”
He had turned your own weapon against you. Again. And the worst part was the traitorous thought that whispered he might be right.
—
The silence that followed was thick and heavy, charged with everything that had been said and everything that hadn't. You refused to break it first, stubbornly focusing on booting up your laptop as if it required your complete and utter concentration.
Sunghoon watched you for a moment longer, that infuriating, knowing smirk still playing on his lips.
Then, with a sigh that sounded more performative than tired, he opened his own pristine notebook. The sound of the page turning was unnaturally loud.
"So," he began, his voice shifting back into that cool, business-like tone you were starting to recognise. It was the voice he used with Jungwon.
The one that said the fun was over and it was time to be efficient. "The project. 'Create a Brand.' Do you have any… feelings… on where we should start?"
He didn't look up as he said it, but you heard the subtle emphasis, the deliberate poke. He was weaving your own words back into the conversation, ensuring you couldn't escape the personal even within the professional.
Your finger tapped lightly against the keys, not pressing them entirely. A soft hum as you were thinking about a safe option.
"Market research," you stated, your voice clipped and professional. "Identifying a demographic gap. The usual process."
"How… textbook of you, L/N," he mused, tapping his expensive pen against the paper. "I suppose that's one approach. A safe one."
And in Sunghoon's words, the implication was clear: boring.
"Do you have a better one?" you challenged with a heavy sigh, unable to stop yourself.
Finally, he looked up, his dark eyes meeting yours. The amusement was back, but it was focused now, sharpened to a point.
"I always have a better one. Instead of looking for a gap, we create demand. We don't follow trends; we set them. We make something so undeniable, so…" he paused, his gaze flicking to your shirt again for a fraction of a second, his eyes hiding something behind them, "...vibrantly real, that the market has no choice but to want it."
He was doing it again. Talking about the project in a way that felt like it was about the two of you. It was maddening. And the worst part? It was a brilliant idea.
"That's… riskier yet better idea," you admitted, hating that you had to give him credit.
The best things usually are," he said, his voice dropping a fraction. He held your gaze, and for a moment, the only sound was the hum of the library lights.
Silence filled the room once again, the cool air hitting your single bare shoulder. The tension, a terrifying, exhilarating spark of a genuinely good idea born from pure hostility.
—
The cold night air hit your face like a slap, a welcome shock after the suffocating, tension-filled atmosphere of the study room. You could still feel the ghost of Sunghoon’s challenging gaze on you, the echo of his low voice in your ears.
You found Jungwon exactly in the same position last night, sprawled on your living room floor, surrounded by a fortress of empty energy drink cans and snack wrappers, but now he was watching a variety show on his phone, his essay seemingly forgotten.
He paused the video the second you walked in. His eyes, sharp and knowing, scanned your face.
“Well?” he asked, dragging the word out. “How did the ‘revenge’ go? Do I need to help you hide a body?”
You dropped your bag onto the floor with a heavy sigh and collapsed onto the couch, throwing an arm over your eyes. “Worse. We actually… worked.”
Jungwon sat up straight, intrigued, eyebrows raised once again for the nth time this week. “Shut up. Seriously? How?”
“I don’t know,” you groaned, the memory feeling surreal. “One second we were arguing about my shirt, which he called a ‘target,’ by the way, the arrogant ass… and the next we were brainstorming. And his ideas were annoyingly brilliant.”
“No way,” Jungwon whispered, looking genuinely shocked. “Sunghoon-hyung actually shared his ideas with you? He usually just tells people what to do.”
“He didn’t tell me what to do. He argued with me. It was like intellectual fencing. Every time I proposed something safe, he’d counter with something insane and… kind of amazing.”
You moved your arm to look at your best friend. “He infuriates me, Won. But he’s not… he’s not what I thought he was.”
Jungwon’s teasing smile softened into something more thoughtful, you'd like to think. “Told you. There’s a brain behind that pretty face. A scary one. So… what’s the brand?”
You stared at the ceiling, a reluctant smile touching your lips. “It’s called ‘Reverie.’ A boutique brand selling curated experiences, not just products. His concept.”
“I know,” you mumbled, the admission tasting like defeat and something else, something suspiciously like excitement.
As you continued to talk to Jungwon about random things, people who slid into his dm’s, what Sunghoon specifically said to you and how his football practice was going.
As you were in the middle of talking about how much Sunghoon infuriated you, your phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Speak of the devil.
Your heart did a stupid, hopeful little leap; maybe it was a spam message, you told yourself.
You picked it up.
The message preview glowed in the dark:
PARK SUNGHOON: One more thing I thought of. Check your email.
It was so curt. So professional. So utterly him.
But he was texting you. After 10 PM. After you’d just spent two hours together.
You opened the message, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard.
What do you even reply?
A simple ‘K’?
A ‘Will do’?
Before you could decide, another message popped up, this one even more unexpected.
PARK SUNGHOON: And for the record, L/N… your “questionable taste” makes you… unique?
PARK SUNGHOON: I can be ‘emo’ for you.
You blinked at the message. Mouth hanging open, you rubbed your eyes before looking back at the text.
You stared at the words, your mind racing. Was that… a compliment? A backhanded one, wrapped in a tease and delivered with his signature smirk, but still. It felt like a white flag tossed onto the battlefield. Or perhaps, a new challenge entirely.
“Jungwon– look at this.” You practically shove your phone into his face.
He takes it, his eyes scanning the messages quickly. For a second, he’s silent. Then, his jaw goes slack.
“No. Way.” he breathes, his voice hushed with awe. He looks from the phone to you, his eyes wide as dinner plates. “He texted that? Sunghoon-hyung said he could be ‘emo’ for you?!”
A slow, gigantic grin spreads across his face, transforming his shock into pure, unadulterated delight. He lets out a low, gleeful cackle.
“Oh my god. He’s so gone. He is absolutely done for!” Jungwon practically vibrates with excitement, shaking your phone in the air for emphasis.
“This isn’t a white flag, this is him waving a whole entire surrender banner with your name on it! ‘I can be emo for you’? That’s the cringiest, most obvious thing I’ve ever seen him do! And he deleted it because he knew it was cringe!” He turned the phone around to show you the now-deleted message.
PARK SUNGHOON: And for the record, L/N… your “questionable taste” makes you… unique?
PARK SUNGHOON: You deleted this message.
He collapses back against the couch, laughing uncontrollably, clutching his stomach. “He was probably so cool and collected sending the first text, then he panicked! He was like, ‘No, that’s too much, abort mission!’ TOO LATE, HYUNG! WE SAW IT!”
Catching his breath, he sits up again, pointing a dramatic finger at you, his expression turning seriously amused. “You. You have broken the great Park Sunghoon. I’ve never seen him try this hard. Ever. He’s usually the one receiving these desperate texts, not sending them.”
He hands your phone back, his grin still impossibly wide. “You have to reply. You HAVE to. You can’t leave him on read after a performance that pathetic and adorable.”
“What do I even say?” you ask, feeling utterly flustered and out of your depth, cheeks burning a soft pink.
Jungwon’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “Just hit him with a simple: ‘Prove it.’”
PARK SUNGHOON: And for the record, L/N… your “questionable taste” makes you… unique?
PARK SUNGHOON: You deleted this message.
YOU: Prove it.
—
Jungwon was still cackling on the floor, rolling around as you paced around the living room in now worry and regret. Your phone is vibrating once again on the couch.
PARK SUNGHOON: That wasn’t for you.
A three-dot bubble appears, then disappears, then appears again.
PARK SUNGHOON: My phone was in my pocket.
A longer pause.
PARK SUNGHOON: Forget you saw that.
This is a terrible, transparent lie.
The fact that the usually flawless Park Sunghoon is resorting to the "my phone was in my pocket" excuse is hilarious and shows he's genuinely flustered.
As soon as Jungwon saw the message, he absolutely lost it.
He’d stop rolling and just lie flat on his back, staring at the ceiling while wheezing, completely out of breath. “MY PHONE WAS IN MY POCKET?” he would shriek, his voice cracking with disbelief and delight. “HE– HE REALLY WENT WITH THAT? THE PARK SUNGHOON?!”
Before you could reply, the three dots appeared once again.
PARK SUNGHOON: Y’know what? Careful, L/N. You might not like the methods I use to prove a point.
PARK SUNGHOON: Careful, L/N. You might not like the methods I use to prove a point.
Your eyes widen at his sudden boldness. Your hand was tapping the leg of Jungwon, who was rolling in laughter.
PARK SUNGHOON: Our next meeting is at 8PM, same place. Don’t be late.
When the second, bolder text comes through, he’d shoot up into a sitting position, his laughter cutting off into a stunned, open-mouthed grin. “Oh–oh my god!” he said, scrambling to his knees like a kid who just found the best present ever. “Now he’s trying to be cool again! He panicked, sent the worst lie in history, and now he’s trying to cover it up by being all mysterious and threatening! This is the best night of my life!”
He grabbed your shoulders, eyes wide and sparkling. “Y/N, you have him wrapped around your finger. He’s actually unravelling. I’ve never seen him try so hard to be smooth and fail so spectacularly. He’s so embarrassed right now, he’s probably staring at his ceiling, wondering where his game went.”
“He’s not unravelling– h-he’s weaponising his embarrassment!” you stammered, your mind racing.
Your imagination supplied a dozen worse, more thrilling possibilities, each making your face heat another degree.
Jungwon’s grin softened into a more sympathetic, but still wildly amused, expression. “Hey, hey. Breathe.” He guided you to sit on the couch, snatching your phone and placing it face down on the coffee table. “Look. This is good. This is amazing. You’ve seen behind the curtain. The great and powerful Park Sunghoon is just a guy who sends cringe texts and then tries to play it off like a villain from a drama.”
He plopped down next to you, crossing his legs. “So, here’s what you do. You don’t reply. You let him stew in it. Let him stare at his ceiling all night, wondering why you’re not responding to his super cool, super ‘threatening’ message.” He sent a sinister smile your way. “Honestly, I think he was just trying to flirt– he’s clearly horrible at it.”
“I don’t reply?” you asked, the idea feeling iffy in your bones. Your eyebrows furrow in worry and confusion.
“No. You let the anticipation build. You walk into that next meeting looking utterly unbothered. You let him make the next move. The ball is in his court, and you, my friend, are not playing fetch.” Jungwon’s eyes gleamed with strategic genius.
“Watch him. He’ll either be extra cold to overcompensate, or he’ll be so intrigued by your silence he won’t know what to do. Either way, you win.”
You looked from Jungwon’s confident face to your dark, silent phone. The panic began to recede, replaced by a slow-burning sense of control. Jungwon was right. Silence was its own kind of power.
Was it a power you liked? You had no idea.
But you couldn’t wait to see how Sunghoon would react to it.
—
The morning light felt accusing. You’d followed Jungwon’s advice and hadn’t replied, but a night of restless sleep had been filled with dreams of three dots and cryptic warnings.
You scrolled through your phone over breakfast, and there it was. The entire, bizarre conversation thread. In the cold light of day, it was even more surreal.
“Still alive?” a text from Jungwon popped up.
YOU: Barely. I think I hallucinated it.
Wonnie!!: Nope. It was real. Hyung’s ego is probably still in critical condition. What’s the plan for today, soldier?
You sighed, spoon pushing cereal around in the bowl. The plan was to try to focus on your film essay, a task that now felt monumentally unimportant. Every time you tried to think about Georges Méliès, your brain supplied Sunghoon’s voice saying, “Careful, L/N.”
He’d infiltrated your brain. That was his method. Annoyance was no longer a strong enough word. This was preoccupied. You were preoccupied with Park Sunghoon.
And the worst part? A tiny, secret part of you was already counting down the hours until 8 PM.
—
8:00 PM.
The library was quiet.
Too quiet for your liking.
It was like a cathedral of knowledge that seemed to hold its breath. Each click of your sneakers on the polished floor echoed like a gunshot in the silent hallways, a stark contrast to the frantic beat of your heart.
You’d followed Jungwon’s advice word for word.
You hadn’t replied.
You’d let him stew. But now, with every step closer to Study Room 4B, the power you’d felt from your silent phone was evaporating, replaced by a dizzying blend of anticipation and pure, unadulterated nerves.
Our next meeting. Don’t be late.
His words had played on a loop in your head all day, a threat that had rendered you completely useless for anything else.
You’d tried to work on your film essay at home, but the words blurred together, morphing into “methods to prove a point.”
You rounded the final corner. The door to 4B was shut, the blinds on the interior window open just enough to reveal a sliver of the room inside.
You stood in front of the door, breath shaky, and your outfit more casual than the first. A tight-fitted tank top and baggy sweat pants.
He was already there.
Of course he was.
Sunghoon wasn't scrolling on his phone or tapping that expensive pen of his against his lips. He was just… staring, more specifically at the door. He was waiting for you. Watching every movement, hoping it was you.
His expression was unreadable, a carefully reconstructed mask of cool indifference. But his eyes… god his eyes made your knees buckle under the pressure.
His eyes held a new intensity. A focused, simmering energy that hadn’t been there before.
He looked like a predator who had patiently waited all day for his prey.
Your hand hesitated on the cool metal of the doorknob. This was it. The moment of truth. Would he be the flustered boy from the texts, the arrogant god from the football field, or something else entirely?
Taking a steadying breath that did nothing to calm the storm inside you, you pushed the door open.
The air in the tiny room shifted instantly. It was charged, thick with everything that had been texted and everything that had been left unsaid.
Sunghoon’s eyes tracked your every movement as you walked in, a slow, appraising sweep that felt more intimate than any wink. He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak.
He just watched you, waiting for you to break the silence first, the ghost of his deleted message hanging between you like a challenge.
You stepped further into the room, the door clicking shut behind you like a final decision. The silence wasn’t empty; it was electric, humming with anticipation and the weight of everything unsaid.
Sunghoon didn’t move. But his gaze was relentless, like he was trying to memorise the way your breath hitched or how your fingers curled slightly at your sides. The air between you felt tight, like it might snap if either of you spoke too loudly.
You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. “You said I wouldn’t like your methods.”
His plump lips parted slightly, but he still didn’t smile. “I did.”
You took another step. He mirrored it as he slowly stood up. Not a word. Just movement, slow, deliberate, magnetic.
“You’re not usually this quiet,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your voice betrayed you. It trembled, just enough for him to notice.
“I’m not usually this… distracted.”
That did it. The tension cracked, not with words, but with the proximity between the two of you. He was close now, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that your breath mingled in the narrow space between you.
“I didn’t mean for you to see that message,” he murmured, voice low and rough. Needy.
“I’m glad I did.”
His eyes darkened, and for a moment, it felt like the room tilted, like gravity had shifted, and the only thing anchoring him was you.
His gaze dropped to your lips, lingered, then flicked back up to meet your eyes. There was no mistaking it now; he wasn’t trying to be smooth. He wasn’t trying at all. He was just feeling.
Your breath caught as his fingers brushed your jaw, featherlight, like he was testing the moment before committing to it. Then, with a quiet inhale, he leaned in.
The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was slow, intentional. His lips met yours like a question, one he already knew the answer to. You responded without hesitation, your hand finding the edge of his shirt, anchoring yourself as the world narrowed to just this.
As soon as he felt you return the kiss, he practically whined into your mouth. Finally snapping. His hand gripped your waist with haste, almost as if his touch bruised you. Your own hands now tangling in his hair as he allowed your tongue to explore his mouth.
This kiss wasn't just for fun, no, It was the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission. You both knew it was wanted. The kind that made you forget every sarcastic text, every teasing remark, and remember only the way he tasted like something you’d been craving without realising it.
You both break away from the kiss to catch your breath, Sunghoon’s lips chasing yours with heavy eyelids. Chest heaving as your hands grip his strong-jawed face.
His forehead rested against yours, breath warm and uneven, the space between you pulsing with everything that hadn’t been said but had just been felt. His hands didn’t leave your waist; if anything, they tightened, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.
“You drive me insane,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked, like the kiss had stripped him of every ounce of composure. “I can’t think straight when you’re this close.”
Your thumb brushed along his cheekbone, and he leaned into the touch like it grounded him. But his eyes—his eyes were anything but calm. They flicked down to your lips again, then lower, lingering with a hunger that made your skin burn.
“You’re not exactly helping,” you whispered, lips brushing his as you spoke, your fingers tracing the two prominent moles on his face.
That was all it took.
He kissed you again, harder this time, like he needed to make up for every second he hadn’t. His hands slid up your back, fingers splaying wide, pulling you flush against him. The heat between you was no longer subtle; it was consuming.
His mouth moved with purpose, with desperation, like he was trying to memorise the taste of you, the sound you made when his teeth grazed your bottom lip. You gasped into him, and he swallowed it like a secret. This wasn’t playful. This was unravelling.
And neither of you wanted to stop.
Your hand glided down the curve of his torso, slow and deliberate, until your fingers brushed the edge of his waistband. You lingered there, teasing the boundary with featherlight touches that made his breath hitch and a low, needy sound escape his throat, half groan, half whimper, swallowed by the kiss.
His hands were restless, roaming your body with a maddening mix of reverence and impatience. One moment, they traced your spine like he was memorising it, the next, they gripped your hips with a possessive urgency that made your pulse stutter.
Every movement was a question, every touch a dare. And neither of you was backing down.
Your fingers paused at the edge of his waistband, a silent question lingering in the space between you. You didn’t move further, just let your touch rest there, waiting. His breath hitched, and a low, muffled groan escaped against your lips, raw and involuntary. That was your answer.
With deliberate slowness, your hand slipped beneath the fabric, the heat of his skin meeting your palm. He tensed, a shudder rolling through him as your touch deepened. Even through the thin barrier of his boxers, you could feel the undeniable evidence of his desire, solid, overwhelming, and impossible to ignore.
His head dropped to your shoulder, lips brushing your neck as he exhaled shakily. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he murmured, voice wrecked and barely audible.
But you did. You knew exactly.
Your hand began to move along the length of him, slow and deliberate through the fabric, each pass adding just a little more pressure. The tension in his body was immediate, his breath caught, lips parting in a soft, broken gasp as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.
“Fuck–” he whispered, voice strained and low, like the word had been dragged out of him against his will.
You could feel the way he trembled beneath your touch, his grip tightening at your waist, fingers digging in like he needed something to hold onto. The heat between you was no longer subtle; it pulsed, alive, demanding.
And still, you moved with purpose. Teasing. Testing. Letting him unravel one breath at a time.
Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his pants and boxers, tugging them down in one slow, deliberate motion. The fabric slid past his hips, pooling just above his thighs, and the sudden exposure to the cool air drew a sharp hiss from his lips. A sound that sent a thrill down your spine.
He clenched his jaw, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he tried to steady himself, but the way his body responded told you everything. You followed the motion downward, sinking to your knees in front of him, your breath warm against his skin, your gaze locked on his face as he looked down at you. Eyes dark, lips parted, chest rising and falling with quiet urgency.
”Please.”
The tension between you was no longer subtle. It pulsed in the air, thick and undeniable, as your hands settled on his thighs, grounding yourself in the moment. He reached out, fingers brushing your cheek, a silent plea wrapped in the gentlest touch
You leaned in, letting the anticipation stretch, letting him feel every second of your presence before anything else. And when your lips finally ghosted over his skin, he let out a sound that was half relief, half desperation, like he’d been waiting for this far longer than either of you had admitted.
Your lips hovered just above him, breath warm and deliberate, letting the anticipation stretch until it was almost unbearable. Then, with a slow, intentional motion, you pressed a soft kiss to the tip, gentle, reverent, like you were testing the edges of something sacred.
He exhaled sharply, a quiet moan slipping past his lips as his hand slid into your hair. Not to guide you, not to control—just to feel you. His fingers threaded through your locks, resting there with a kind of quiet desperation, grounding himself in the moment.
You continued, placing delicate kisses along the sensitive skin, each one earning a new sound from him—soft gasps, low whimpers, the kind that told you he was unravelling inch by inch. His hips shifted slightly, instinctive and restrained, as if he didn’t want to rush you, didn’t want to break the spell you were weaving.
The intimacy of it all was overwhelming. Not just the touch, but the way he looked at you, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. You could feel the tension in his thighs beneath your hands, the way his body responded to every movement, every pause.
It wasn’t about speed. It wasn’t about control. It was about connection, about the quiet, burning need that had been building between you for far too long.
And in that moment, with his hand in your hair and your lips tracing slow, deliberate patterns, it felt like the world had narrowed to just this: the heat, the breath, the unspoken desire that neither of you could hide anymore.
You moved with deliberate slowness, letting the tension stretch between you like a thread pulled taut. Every descent was measured, every retreat leaving behind a glimmering trail that made him shudder beneath your touch. His breath came in short, uneven bursts, each one punctuated by a soft, involuntary whine that betrayed just how undone he was becoming.
“Fuck– baby.”
His hand slid deeper into your hair, not forceful, but firm. Like he needed the connection, needed to feel you anchored to him. His fingers curled slightly, a silent plea for you not to stop, not to pull away. And you didn’t. You stayed, letting the rhythm build, letting the moment swell with heat and anticipation.
His head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted in a soundless gasp. You could feel the tension in his thighs, the way his body strained to stay still, to let you lead. But the way his hand pressed gently, insistently, told you he was losing that battle.
It wasn’t just physical. It was emotional, raw, vulnerable, and electric. Every movement, every sound, every glance between you was a confession neither of you had spoken aloud.
And in that moment, you knew: he wasn’t just responding to your touch. He was responding to you.
”Just like that.”
And by the way, you were sucking him, worshipping him like a Porsche 911 GT3; you could tell he was close. The way his hips bucked ever so often, the small grunts turning an octave higher.
You hollow out your cheeks softly, making him shiver, tugging your hair even more to the point he was slowly fucking your mouth. Grunts and whines escaped his lips. And you just… let him.
The way he gripped your hair, whispering sweet praises, made your stomach pool as well. A hand sneaking down between your legs as you snuck a hand under your waistband.
“Fuck– Y/N. Your mouth feels so good–!” He whined out as his slow thrusts slowly became more. Your own finger circling your clit through your panties, a soft moan escaping your own lips with every brush, sending vibrations down his cock.
Your hands now match the pace of his thrusts, which were practically lightning speed as you both chase your orgasms together. Moaning and whining towards each other. “Fuck– Hoon!” You muffledly moaned around his cock.
“Shit– Y/N I cant last..!” He cried out, eyes watering along with yours as tears stream down. Your reflexes slowly coming to life as you gag around his cock with every deep and shallow thrust.
“You feel… so– fuck–!” it was his tipping point. And apparently it was yours as well, Sunghoon practically exploding in your mouth while you yourself orgasm in your panties. Which clearly left a wet patch, but you couldn't bother to care this late at night.
You both sat in the thick silence, breathless and undone. Your head rested against Sunghoon’s thigh, lips sticky, the warmth of his skin grounding you as your chest rose and fell in time with his. He gripped the edge of the study table like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
The air was heavy, not with tension, but with something quieter. Something real.
Eventually, you tilted your head up, eyes still hazy, searching his face. He was already looking down at you, lips parted in a soft, crooked smile. Not smug. Not teasing. Just… human.
And for the first time, you saw him not as the untouchable boy from the football field or the chaotic flirt from your texts but as someone real. Someone warm. Someone who, somehow, had just let you in.
And damn it, you weren’t sure what that meant.
But you knew it meant something.
You knew this kind of tension; of course, you did. But this kind of air surrounds you both only when you're alone, when those labels of "lifeless nerd boy" and "popular cheerleader" are thrown out the window.
Your relationship with Park Sunghoon has been a complete secret since day one, at his request, and honestly, you didn't mind at all. He knew that if the whole university found out, he'd have to deal with fake friendships, continued abuse, and six months of being the talk of the whole place, just like what happened with one of his classmates. Sunghoon is a pretty focused person when it comes to his studies, but that facade fades away when both of you are in the comfort of one of your houses, revealing his shy, tender, romantic, and loving side.
You found yourself lucky to see this side of him; it felt like a privilege that he acknowledges, and he's expressed the same sentiment to you, albeit in reverse.
No one knows that you've been together for almost a year; no one knows that your lips meet with his when no one is around, brimming with love with each kiss. And no one knows that the other is the missing piece in each other's lives.
You steal a glance at Sunghoon, a small smile tugging at your lips, even though your thoughts are betraying your concentration. You won't deny that watching Sunghoon studying was attractive. His straight jet black hair falls over his forehead, his brow slightly furrowed as his eyes remain fixed on the book in his lap, and his glasses perched a bit lower than usual.
The rolled-up sleeves of his hoodie reveal his toned forearms, and his fingers play with the orange highlighter in a distracting manner (although what was really distracting you was the soft veins of his hands popping slightly when he held the highlighter a little too strongly).
You envy the way he absentmindedly bites his bottom lip, your attention momentarily captivated by the movement before he releases his lip from his teeth, allowing it to regain its softness, a very light shade of red painting it.
"Okay. The next topic is quite common. The vagina," you're jolted back to reality by the unexpected word. Your cheeks warm up a little, and Sunghoon chuckles softly at your reaction, his cheeks a little more red than yours. The objects he had were set aside, and one of his hands traveled to your exposed thigh beneath the short cheerleader skirt. "If you'd rather study this topic alone, I understand."
"No, not at all. I just got lost in thought for a moment. Sorry." You respond, grateful that Sunghoon doesn't pry further. You adjust yourself to be more comfortable and mentally remind yourself to rein in your wandering thoughts. Shifting slightly, you prop yourself against the headboard of his bed, ready to pay attention.
"I'll try to explain it in simple terms, using the keywords the teacher used in the last test." He looked at you once again, and you nodded.
"When we talk about the internal part of the vagina, it extends from your cervix, which connects the vagina to the uterus. Your vagina terminates as an opening outside your body, known as the vaginal opening. It's located between your bladder and rectum. And don't forget about the G-spot, which is also situated there and can be stimulated with fingers or a penis." He finishes the explanation, clearing his throat, and once again, your thoughts take a wild turn.
Despite being in a relationship now, your interactions have mostly consisted of innocent touches: his hand on your waist, you sitting on his lap while he studies. You both respect each other's boundaries. But now, as you listen to Sunghoon, your head spins with a desire to throw the book away and explore a realm that has remained untouched.
In a few words, Sunghoon is a virgin, and you are not. As a matter of fact, you were his very first girlfriend.
You've been patient, waiting for him to take that step when he's ready. And you can feel that moment approaching. It's not just the impure thoughts that excite you; it's also the small changes in his actions. The unexpected kisses, the slight lip bites he has currently been doing in your brief make-out sessions, the gentle yet possessive touch on your back—it made you crazy in a good way.
"I’m so sorry, can you remind me of the names of each part?" you ask, your genuine need for understanding evident after you lost track of what he was explaining. You've spent nights studying, yet during tests, you sometimes mix up the names and end up with lower scores. That's why you rely on Sunghoon to help you understand quickly and effectively, even more as a med student.
About half an hour passes, and your mind is struggling to absorb the influx of information. You're tired of the overload of scientific terms and concepts that you could now write a thesis on. But your learning style leads you to forget quickly due to your lack of focus.
Sunghoon notices and decides to set the books aside, focusing on you instead. He doesn't bombard you with questions or textbook sentences. Instead, he reaches out to you, and his departure from studying surprises you. His actions earn him a puzzled but bright look from you, and a small smile forms on his lips.
"Hey, Hoon, aren't we going to continue?" You inquire, caught off guard, as his lips press gently against yours. You respond a few minutes later, his fingers tilting your chin as he draws away from the delicate, soft kiss.
The kissing session commences, and both your hands and his find their rightful places. Your fingers play with the back of his neck, and his firm hands rest on your waist. Now, Sunghoon is no longer thinking coherently; all he wants is to kiss you until you're both breathless. He revels in the soft dance of your lips and the playful clash of tongues, where he's determined to be the victor. Your sparkling eyes and your lovely cherry-toned lips, combined with the aftermath of the wet kiss, make his heart flutter before his very eyes.
“How come?”
“Seeing you stress out is not my favorite thing in the world.” And there's also a certain physical reaction he's experiencing that he can't ignore.
A wild idea takes root in his mind, and he can't help but bite your lower lip when he gives you another kiss, earning a groan from you—the first one of the day. Your excitement matches his, and he can sense the building tension between you. Irregular breathing becomes part of the routine after heated kissing sessions. But what Sunghoon says next catches you off guard.
"Can you lie on your back?" Confusion floods your senses, but you follow his request. Your eyes remain on him as he removes his tie and glasses; a sense of nervousness is evident in his actions.
"Hoon, what are you planning?" The tie is now in his hands, and he swallows as he looks at it with contemplation in his eyes.
"Can I use this as a blindfold for you?" You nod almost automatically; the idea might be crazy, but your trust in him is unwavering, and vice versa. Soon enough, darkness envelops your vision as the tie is securely fastened and you exhale.
"What can you tell me about the vagina?"
"Well, there's an inner and outer part, both highly sensitive to touch."
"Especially…"
"Especially the clitoris and the G-spot." A barely-there touch brushes your face as his fingers graze your skin, and you can't help but let out a soft sigh in response. With your eyes covered, you don't notice the change in Sunghoon's expression—and your senses sharpened,
"Where's the clitoris?" Shyness rushes over you like a tide, momentarily freezing your actions. “You can describe it, it’s okay.”
You decided not to do that, you open your legs slowly, and your index finger points at it, mentally noting its position. Sunghoon hums his approval at your correct answer. "And where's the G-spot?"
"You know I can't touch that; it's inside." After a small break, Sunghoon's lips touched yours in a slightly harsh kiss, leaving you speechless for a mere second before responding with the same force.
His fingers went from your waist and stayed right below your breast, so you took his hand and gently made it stay on your left chest. He put a small amount of pressure on you, a little scared in case your reaction wasn't a positive one. Thankfully, when he heard your soft moan because of the sudden action, he couldn't help but smile, relieved.
A rush of confidence drowned him, and while he attacked your lips with his, his hand went down from the valley of your clothed chest to your belly.
“It’s okay if I touch you?” You simply nodded before the pad of his middle and ring fingers touched your clit on top of your clothes. He started doing small circular movements, the friction with your clothes feeling a little too good to be true. You were waiting for this, but didn't know it could be this soon; you won't even complain. A small whine left your mouth when he decided to break the kiss, silence surrounding both of you.
"Can I try to make you feel good?" You couldn't help but laugh a little because there was no way that Sunghoon would ever make you feel bad in any sense. Pros of dating a gentleman like him.
"Only if you can take that off me." Sunghoon's hand ended in his tie, and you stopped it right away. "I didn't mean the tie, Hoon."
Sunghoon was surprised; he would have never imagined you would be one of the people who were into that type of… kink, if that’s the word. He wouldn't even mind saying something because, deep inside him, he also liked that idea.
His fingers touched the waistband of both your skort, and underwear, all in one, revealing how wet you started to get because of your thoughts (that he didn't know about) and the heat of the moment. Sunghoon was fascinated by the amount of arousal dripping from your core. His tongue licked his lips quickly, and he took a look at you.
Chest moving up and down in a way to calm yourself down, one of your hands ready to grip the mattress of the bed, while the other is around your next to your head, gripping the pillow below you. He looked again and could feel himself grow in excitement as his dick also did the same thing. You were surprised when you felt your boyfriend breathe near your chest; his fingers were stuck to your tights.
"Do you have any tips?"
"Play with my clit first like before, and if you want, you can finger me after you see me if I'm wet enough." You heard your boyfriend exhaling, and later on, the grip in your throat started to get loose. His dumb passed your slit in a very superficial way, but that sent sparks to your spine. He then collected some of the wetness that was created before and spread it on your sensitive bud. Shy circles were drawn in for the second time, and shaking breaths simply escaped your mouth.
Sunghoon didn't want to miss any reactions, a sense of pride showing in the cocky smile that started forming on his face. With your positive reactions in his head, he put more pressure and speed in his work, seeing how you were squirming a little, and your hips started to move up and down. Again, an idea pops out of his head.
"I'm going to ask you some questions, and if you answer them correctly, I will increase the speed or continue at this pace, whatever you feel comfortable with. If you don't, then I will stop. Are you okay with it?" Of course, you were not, but you nodded in pleasure when you felt the last circle in your clit.
"Before we started talking about the vagina, there were seven erogenous zones on a woman. Can you tell me all of them, princess?" Your mind starts the engine, remembering the text and the lectures in class, but still in doubt.
"Bottom of the feet… it has pressure points that enhance arousal and increase blood flow."
"It does, princess; we can tell the pressure points by doing some massage in the area, just like I do when you're stressed." You nodded again as you cleared your throat, feeling his finger again on your clit, making painfully slow circles in it. "Keep going."
"Ears are also one of them.” He added a little pressure that made you lose focus for a second, you cleared your throat to continue, “Uhm, the nerves and sensory receptors on the inside and outside are the ones that make it sensitive. Any movement like light stroking or touching is bound to give you a pleasing sensation."
"Really? Are there any common movements that give that sensation?"
"Yes…"
"Tell me, princess."
"Kisses." His movements never stopped, but you could feel his body moving to your position, his lips giving a small peck to yours, and then his head going to your left side. His lips started giving feathery kisses behind your ear; you hummed in pleasure, and your left hand stopped right up to the back of his head.
"Are there others, or is it the only one?" His whisper made you shiver; this was a whole new side of him that you were happy to be part of.
"Lightly licks and nibbles are the others. Blowing and whispering into it are also ones, but those are not frequently used, or that's what the book said."
"Is that so?" Your head was probably tired of nodding, but you just couldn't talk. Words cannot describe what Sunghoon was making you feel. An unexpected soft bite made you moan, and from your boyfriend's mouth, a grunt escaped because of your fingers making a mess in the back of his head.
"You have said two parts; you're missing five. Continue; you can do it, princess."
"Hands, especially the fingertips and palms, slight touches, and other things can make her feel the intimacy. That's why it came in fifth place."
"What are the other ones?" You started to feel shy, and so did Sunghoon, but he couldn't care less about the slight pain he felt in his thumb and how his lips began to get progressively numb due to his continued kisses. He saw how you gulped.
"Sucking fingers." Sunghoon shyly hummed in response, stating that the answer was correct. Sunghoon left his position and finally stopped his movements, gaining low whimpers from his girlfriend.
"You're doing great. Now there are four more, and to my surprise, two of them are from the last topic that we studied. Give me the other two."
"Inner thighs and the nipples," the confidence in your voice was as clear as the day, a proud, non-teeth smile on your face when you said those.
"The inner thighs? Why is that?"
"It's due to their closeness to the genitals. Light strokes and touches can stimulate your loins. Also kisses."
"Like this?" You could feel the hands of your boyfriend on top of your naked thighs; a light presence in them made you grab the mattress; you could only sense the fact that Sunghoon was having you on the verge without even fingering (if he wanted to); he was gentle yet sensual; every movement he made was just a moment of pure bliss.
You started to hold your breath when you felt his head going down, but the breath you let go of when he delivered shy kisses and hickeys in the place. He left your body alone, wanting more and more as every interaction passed.
"Can you explain why the nipples are part of that category?"
"When nipples are stimulated, the nerves surrounding them send signals to the genital... sensory cortex?" There was doubt in your voice, but you kept going. "The same brain region is aroused due to clitoral or vaginal stimulation. And kissing and licking are common ways to stimulate them."
You couldn't see Sunghoon's satisfied smile; you had said everything correctly at that point; you just missed two more. He decided that it was time to set you free from the tie, and your eyes welcomed him after blinking a few times. The sun was setting, but that couldn't make Sunghoon more mesmerizing in your eyes.
His lips were pretty red, his cheeks were almost as red, his hair was way messier than before, and his hoodie was off his body, revealing the black tank shirt he had, making you take a look at his beautiful milky skin.
"I think you know how my… dynamic is going, but I need your full consent. Would you let me touch you?" He was nervous, but his decision was firm. You place your palms on his cheeks and lean forward for a deep kiss, bringing him closer.
Sunghoon, being the smart person he is, knew the answer. You two were in the zone, and the passion was visible from a mile away. Both of you are losing it.
"Now, tell me what we talked about the vagina. It can be in your own words."
"It starts with the cervix connecting it to the uterus, and ends with an opening outside the body called the vaginal opening, located between the bladder and rectum. Additionally, it mentions the presence of the G-spot in this area, which can be stimulated manually or during intercourse."
"And what are the other two that you are missing?"
"Clitoris and A-Spot"
"Since I know where the clitoris is, can you tell where the A-Spot is located? Don't forget the function." Now it was your time when an idea popped into your mind. You sat on the bed, your vagina creating contact with the sheets because of the pose you were in, and you took away the last two pieces of clothing on you. Sunghoon leaned back with his palms on the bed to support his weight, his eyes eyeing you up and down.
Sunghoon just can't believe that he was your boyfriend. What did he do in his past life to have someone as mesmerizing and beautiful as you next to him? He didn't even feel worthy to look at you, but the way you crawled back in his direction and made him look at you, the daughter of Aphrodite herself, gave him the confidence he needed. You had your legs to his sides, and your dripping core was on top of his clothed erection; it was obvious that Sunghoon was really trying to focus on self-control.
"You know about the clitoris, but let me tell you about it, mh?" When you took his hand and placed his thumb in her bud, it was over for both of you. "It's located at the top of the vulva, above the vaginal opening. The nerves there are what ultimately make it the powerhouse of pleasure. Licks, touches, and slight pinches are what mostly stimulate it."
"And last but not least?"
"The A-spot is believed by some to have a role in sexual pleasure and arousal in women. It's located deep within the vagina near the cervix; its function is still not fully understood, and more research is needed to elucidate its role in."
"Good job, princess." Sunghoon's lips meet yours after those words. The sudden kiss made you move on top of him, which led to him lightly biting your lower lip and moaning into each other's mouths.
Just like royalty, with a hand on your lower back and behind your knee, he fully lay you down on his bed. Your head touched the pillow, and one last kiss was given to you.
"Is it my turn to teach you, Park?" You smiled at each other while both of your foreheads touched intimately. "If I'm wet enough, lubricate your middle and ring finger." Small pecks were given as he was going along, following your instructions precisely, making you moan at the sensation of your whole area being filled with your natural lubricant.
"I think I can take it from here after all we learned."
"Are you sure? Because I don't think… Oh God." You ate your words when Sunghoon's mouth touched your clit, circling your swollen bud, his middle finger introducing inside you as a test. All the wait was worth it, one hundred percent, and you were thanking all the gods above for those three days of sexual classes that the school made everybody take.
His ring finger was now inside you once you begged him to do it. Sunghoon was being messy since he was inexperienced, but he placed himself above all your "experienced" exes.
Sunghoon’s finger curled slightly, testing your walls, and the sudden jolt of your hips made his breath hitch. His lips hover right above your dripping core.
“You’re so tight and wet,” he breathes. He gives attention to your inner thigh with love kisses for a brief moment before he closes the distance again. His tongue brushed your folds; the soft contact felt intense for both of you.
His moan vibrates right through to your core, and you feel his free hand tremble on your hip, fingers tensing.
Sunghoon’s tongue flicked over you again, slower, his finger curling again, dragging along that sensitive front wall until your thighs suffocated his head. He let out a needy groan, the sound completely muffled by your heat. His free hand slid from your hip to your lower belly, pressing you down gently as if to feel every shiver he caused you.
His nose brushed against your mound, and his breath came out ragged against your skin. “You twitch every time I do that…” he murmured between licks, his voice hoarse but laced with curiosity that was also hunger. “Is this what gets you soaked this fast?”
His fingers moved again—curl, drag, curl, drag—each time his precision and confidence skyrocketed. Sunghoon was multitasking as he mentally recorded each sound you made to keep it in his mind, saving the higher ones. Slick and beyond obscene sounds came from where his fingers moved in and out, and his tongue pressed flat against your clit, sucking briefly before dragging the tip in lazy, wet circles.
Your thighs had a life of their own as they decided not to let your boyfriend go, each word completely muffled and their vibrations landing on your core. "I think I could stay here forever.” Your hips bucked involuntarily, and his free hand tightened on your belly, pinning you down just enough to keep your already trembling steady.
“That’s it… grind on my face,” he rasped, licking you from base to bud. You could see his chin slick and his cheeks flushed. “Use me—yeah, just like that, princess.”
Your fingers found their way to his hair, pulling him closer (although he was beyond close), and instead of shying away, Sunghoon moaned like he was starved. His fingers sped up, curling deeper with desperation, smiling when he found that spongy-like spot again, and his mouth sealed over your clit once again, sucking enough to leave your stomach coiling.
Sunghoon’s jaw was slick now, his lips swollen, and the muscles in his forearm flexed due to the thrust of his fingers. The wet sounds grew shameless—his middle and ring fingers working you out, like he’s already mapped your body in minutes. His mouth continued to suck on your bud, each time was harder and messier, chasing every twitch you gave him like a man possessed.
“Fuck, I can feel how close you are.”
His hips shifted against the mattress, the fabric of his pants straining. You could feel how he pressed his clothed erection against the bed, a wet patch forming where precum soaked through.
“Fuck—Sunghoon, let me help you.” He groaned into your heart, the vibration making your thighs clamp tighter around his head. He had to force himself to look up at you; his pupils were dilated, his fucked out expression the same as yours.
“No, I want to stay here,” he said, giving a kiss on the top part of your thigh. “Can’t help it… You taste too good, princess.” He murmured, before diving again, tongue flattening on your clit for the nth time, no pattern whatsoever—just pure need. His free hand gripped your thigh, thumb digging in as if anchoring himself from completely losing control, not knowing he already did.
You gave up as your back arched violently when his fingers curled up and stayed, stroking that wall in perfect rhythm with his tongue. You were out of it, moaning nonstop, getting higher every time. “That’s it… scream for me. Let the neighbor know how I’m making you feel.”
The coil inside you snapped, a raw cry tearing from your throat as your entire body trembled—hips jerking, thighs caging his head, and you feared your nails were raking his scalp. Even after that, Sunghoon didn’t stop.
He moaned into your climax, drinking it in like he’d been waiting his whole life for this, tongue still working you through the aftershocks, fingers moving just enough to prolong it long enough to have your legs quivering uncontrollably.
He left your cunt alone for a few seconds to take a look at you, skin glistening because of the small layer of sweat, lips red due to constantly biting them, eye hooded in pleasure, and hair messy. A masterpiece he did himself without notice.
Sunghoon found himself motivated by the view, diving for a second time, not giving you a chance to come down from that high. Your body was still sensitive, so when you felt his tongue slowly going up your folds again with greed and pretty unbothered by the mess he’d already made, you gasp audibly.
“Hoon—ah! W-wait—” your voice completely broke into a moan. Despite your whole body being tired, your hand still instinctively pushes at his head. He wrapped an arm under your thigh to lock you against his mouth. “How do you learn—shit—so fast?”
He chuckled a little, taking that as a “you’re smart enough to learn how to eat me good” type of compliment. “Too sensitive?” he rasped, tone teasing as his tongue focused on flicking your click quickly.
You nodded, feeling your high building up again. “Good, then you’ll remember this.”
“Sunghoon, oh God—please, it’s too much—ahh! Fuck, yes—there, right there!” you cried, your voice echoing against the walls of his room. He memorized everything about your body; finding that spot was easy now, and also telling how you were about to hit your orgasm.
“You want to come again, don’t you? Say it, baby.”
“I’m gonna—Hoon, please don’t stop!” That plea alone turned him feral. His arms firmly grabbed the back of your thighs and started slurping you, sucking hard and messily. His breath was hot and erratic as if your pleasure was the only air he could breathe. “Make a mess on my face, princess. Please.”
This time, your back arched so hard it lifted off the bed, a loud broken scream ripping from your throat as a second orgasm crashed over you, stronger and meaner than the first. You tried to move away to make him feel good now, but he was stronger than you and held your legs open, devouring every bit of your cum with the hunger of a man drunk on you.
“Hoon—oh my God—Hoon! I can’t—” you lied
“Yes, you can,” he said, still lapping your juices. “One more, princess. Fuck, should have done this sooner.”
Your legs trembled violently, your core clenching around nothing for the past round, the overstimulation turning into a delirious high that made tears prick your eyes. He finally pulled with a wet pop.
He sat on the bed close to you, his left hand pulled you, and the only thing you could do was look up because of the height difference. He never took his eyes off your face. The second his fingers went back to you, both of you didn’t care about the pace he was going for, too lost in each other's pleasure. It got sloppy and desperate, to the point where you felt your own high was different than the last two; you reached for his lips to initiate a kiss that was as dirty as the situation itself.
"In case you need to know, princess, this is the A-spot." His mouth attacked one of your naked nipples with eagerness, and his fingers got deeper, moving up and down at a delicious speed.
Your hand went to his covered dick, the wet patch making direct contact with your hand, his own hips started to grind as if your muffled moans alone got him off.
“You’re dripping—fuck, it’s everywhere—” He took off his fingers to get to his previous position, tongue playing with your aching clit and his finger going right back in.
Your G-spot was so stimulated that you started to feel the shakes and white dots appearing in your vision, and that familiar knot in your stomach started after a couple of minutes of touching heaven. You felt this sensation of wanting to pee, and if your memory didn’t betray you right now, you were about to have your first squirt.
“Sunghoon—fuck!—step away,” you wailed, now using your hands to push him out of your cunt, but it was impossible. That knot snapped again violently, your choked sob loud enough for him to fill his ego. Warmth gushed out of you, coating his hand, wrist, and mouth as he kept his tongue there for a moment, pulling his head up with his eyes wide open.
“Fuck—yes,—look at that, princess. You’re so fucking beautiful,” he panted, fingers still moving inside you, but slowly. He was coaxing every drop until you were gasping.
Your body went limp as you fell back to the bed, chest heaving, and your pussy was worn out. Sunghoon finally pulled back completely, part of his uniform wet because of your squirt, chin dripping with your cum, he let out a dazed grin show in his face, a proud one even. His hard-on was painfully obvious now, begging to be free from his soaked pants, and the wet patch grew more.
A tired laugh left your lips when you saw Sunghoon's eyes waiting for a comment from you like a puppy. You gave him a tender kiss with your other hand, fixing his front hair.
"You were perfect, Hoon." his fangs showed up with his relieved smile, and he buried himself in the curvature of your neck.
“I think I went a little overboard,” you let out a gasp of air.
“You think?” Your voice came out tired, but you let out a small smile on your face as you were still feeling on cloud nine. “How the fuck did you learn how to eat pussy like that?”
It was his turn to laugh as he made his way to his bathroom. You heard the water running down the faucet, and soon enough, he came back. His lips start to give soft kisses all over your face, his usual shyness showing.
“Do you feel confident that you will pass the test?”
“Will finish in record time, no worries,” he smiled at your quick answer
"Come on, princess, the bathtub is ready for you to clean yourself up, and I'm taking care of the bed."
"Wait!" he stopped at the tone of your voice, and you took him by surprise, placing your hands on his thighs, your eyes still hooded and briefly looking down at his dick. "Can I help you with that before?"
─── UNI NERDY MED STUDENT HOON IS SO 🤤! If you saw this way back on enhablr, it's because it was my very first smut fic, plus I decided to make it better (imo, it's okay if you disagree) and bring it back since I haven't really updated anything.
ꕥ SWEET TOOTH ⸝⸝⸝ six different scenarios in which the enhypen members just can't resist the urge to eat you up !
⚠︎ smut. mdni. oral (f!rec). they love eating it!! that's it that's the post. more specific warnings listed for each member. total wc 3.4k. ⸻ rules ⋆ m.list
NIA ⸻ heyyy... how y'all doin... first post after a month whohoo!! just something quick and easy to get me in the writing mood again :3
ꕥ LEE HEESEUNG
hee being subby for the first time, face sitting
When you brought up the possibility of being in charge for a change—"just to try something new," you'd said, sparkly eyes looking up at Heeseung in a silent plea—he'd agreed to it, much like he does for everything you ask of him… ever, really.
What he didn't expect, was that he'd end up enjoying as much as you, if not more.
Hands roaming all over your thighs and hips, fingers digging into your plush skin and dragging you down on his tongue like his life depends on it, Heeseung cannot stop the whimpers and moans from spilling against your wet core no matter how hard he tries.
He's not usually like this–desperate and hungry, starved—but with your sweetness on his taste buds and harsh grip on his hair, he cannot find it within himself to maintain even the last shred of dignity he has left. All he can think about is you, and your perfect pussy, and how he needs you to drench his face in your juices.
His tongue runs up and down your slit, gathering all the slick he can and mixing it with his own spit, not sparing a single second to worry about the mess dripping down his chin. His hands find your ass, moving you across his face as if he's your personal doormat, even when you're already riding him with all your might.
"You want it this bad, huh?" you ask, pulling the strands of hair tighter between your knuckles, like you're trying to rein in a wild animal.
Heeseung moans against your clit, wrapping his lips around it and suckling on it while your slick keeps glistening on his skin.
"Then lay back and let me use you, or I'll get off of you and leave you hanging."
The way he instantly lets go of you, almost like the words made him realize his hands were burning on your skin just as they would on a stove, gives you a boost of confidence so big, you struggle to keep in the laugh threatening to leave you. Your sweet boyfriend, always in charge, always looking at you with that lazy smirk and a glint in his eyes one would reserve for preys only, reduced to a mess underneath you.
"Fuck, you're really so pathetic. Is this all it takes?"
"Please, baby," Heeseung says, muffled by your pussy. Even when he gathers the strength to talk, he needs you in his mouth, the thought of detaching himself from you for even a second unbearable. "Wanna make you feel good, wanna make you cum, please give it to—"
"Then shut the fuck up and put that mouth to good use." Your movements on his face falter when his eyes roll back in pleasure at the venomous tone you use, but his tongue never does. He keeps lapping away at your core even when he looks as gone as he does, all of this getting him off like nothing ever has. You look back for a split moment, and your stomach twists in all kinds of tricky knots when you notice the pearly essence covering his stomach.
The ever-so-composed Lee Heeseung coming untouched?
Oh. you think, mouth hanging open in a silent moan as your attentions turns back to the warm mouth working nonstop underneath you—
"S'Good. So fucking good," Heeseung pants, gasping for air with every syllable yet chasing after your pussy with each little move you make.
You're never gonna let him live this down.
ꕥ PARK JONGSEONG
jay relieves stress by eating you out, overstim mention
"That's it, baby. Just lay back for me," Jay whispers against your lips as his weight pushes you further down on the mattress, leaving your body no room for complaints. It's easy for him to bend you at his will, just as it's easy for you to let him have his way with you. Ever since Jay got that promotion he tirelessly worked towards for months, he's made an habit of coming back home to immediately seek the only thing that seems to take his mind off whatever is troubling him and peel the tiredness that cages his being right off—the sweet wetness trapped between your thighs.
Jay's palms are warm and rough as he spreads you open for him to examine, the simple shirt of his you're wearing with no underwear underneath giving him all he wants without even needing to work for it. The groan stuck in his throat leaves as soon as he gets a sight of the sticky mess, "Look at you. You were expecting this, mhh? For me to walk in after my little distraction of a job and get to work for real?" His mouth drops down to your core, every breath and every gush of air between words tickles you, but the iron grip of his hands holds you open even when your legs beg for the chance to close.
The first taste is always Jay's favorite, you can tell because of how his tense shoulders relax the second your wetness coats his tongue, how his lashes flutter and his eyelids twitch as his eyes roll into the back of his skull. He runs his tongue between your folds at first, gathering all he can in his mouth like it's the only meal he's had the entire day. It's messy, saliva gathering on the tip of his tongue and spreading all over your core, he alternates between giving you kitten licks and stiffening his muscle so he can flick your clit around. He slurps loudly, kisses and bites your inner thighs whenever he can feel you get too close too soon for his liking, just to suck on the sensitive bundle of nerves when he knows you won't cum right away from it.
You claw at his shoulders, grab him by his hair and yank, moan his name so loud there's no way he doesn't hear it, but it all seems to fall on deaf ears because Jay is so engrossed in making out with your pussy he seems to forget about you're in the same room for a bit.
He keeps going until later in the night, even after you've gushed on his mouth a few times by mistake, only slowing down when his jaw feels bruised and his tongue raw, your clit so puffy and overstimulated the lightest touch has your hips flying up as high as his hold allows them to. Jay gets off of you with the widest grin spread on his beautiful face, the bottom half of it glistening, like there isn't anything that could ruin his mood anymore. "Thank you, baby. I really needed that."
ꕥ SIM JAEYUN
brat tamer jake, edging, punishment, bondage, use of vibrator, mention of wetting oneself but No it doesn't happen
"After the little stunt you pulled, be grateful I didn't just bend you in front of everyone and spanked your ass raw," Jake seethes, so uncharacteristic of him, but you suppose you played with fire a little to recklessly for… the past week, if you're being honest.
You knew something darker and stricter was hiding beneath the surface, and as a loving girlfriend, it's your duty to peel off all layers that make up your dear boyfriend and cherish every single one.
Or that's what you told yourself after every instance of brattiness you put Jake through, but current you holds a very different idea. As much as your edged beyond critical thought self can think, for that matter.
The last thing you expected was for Jake to tie your wrists to the bed post and place a vibrator right on your clit, picking a setting high enough so you could not tune it out even if you tried to, but low enough to make it extra hard for you to cum, then just left the room and you alone in it.
"You made a fucking mess." Jake kisses his teeth with his tongue, faux annoyance coating every word. "Fuck." He laughs, shaking his head as one of his knees makes a dent on the soft mattress. "It looks like you wet yourself, that's so embarrassing."
Truly, it does look like that. Your wetness soaked the fabric around you, and it doesn't help that when the little vibrator inevitably moved, you trashed around to try to reposition it again, the continued buzzing somehow even worse when not sending pleasurable waves right on your clit. You don't know how long Jake was gone, but at one point, the little gadget stopped working altogether, so you guess it must've been a while.
And still, the adrenaline rush you get from talking back has not left you. "Maybe I did. You were gone for a while." Your voice is raw, so raw it sounds foreign to you.
Jake's jaw twitches as he glares at you, tongue poking his cheek and a strand of hair falling between his eyes. "I guess I'll find out myself then."
You don't get time to process, and he's on you immediately, bending your legs so far apart it physically burns, but you pay it no mind because the feeling of his warm, wet tongue colliding with your pussy numbs everything else. He's unforgiving in his movements, way too harsh given how sensitive you are, but you cannot find it within yourself to complain after all the time you waited.
Your slick coats his tongue quickly, the taste of you flooding his taste buds like a tidal wave. "Like I thought, just a horny fucking mess." His voice is bitter, demeaning, but his action say otherwise, mouth hanging open to take every last drop. His tongue dips down to your hole, circling it and slipping the tip in it like you could possibly handle any more teasing, while his nose nudges your clit in the best way possible. You and him both know you're not gonna last for long, not after all you've had to endure, but he's not still satisfied, and at the moment your job is to make him as happy as possible if you want to even just entertain the thought of coming soon.
"Jake, please. I'm—" the words die in your throat, replaced by a yelp when Jake's large palm makes harsh contact with your inner thigh, leaving a throbbing sting behind. "You cum when I allow it. That's how we're gonna do things until you learn your place and behave."
ꕥ PARK SUNGHOON
overstim king hoon. he dgaf just let him eat it
"Could stay here all day," Sunghoon moans against you, and the tickle from his words sends electricity crawling up your spine and into your head, adding to the absolute mess going on up there.
You have, Sunghoon. You already have.
Is what you'd say if saying anything was even an option on the table at all. Fortunately for the man between your thighs—not as much for you—the gift of forming a comprehensible sentence left you around the fourth time you came all over his face, and with that, any half hearted attempt of getting him off of you so you could get dressed for work.
Because who needs a job when Park Sunghoon is eating your pussy so good you might have to call in sick for a few days.
It started slow and almost innocent, fleeting touches to your thighs and a sweet forehead kiss, but after having been away from you for a few weeks, you should've seen it coming. The grip on your skin got harsher and harsher, while his mouth drew a trail down your body like exploring a map with all his favorite spots in the entire world (and you are.)
You'd parted your legs for him without thinking twice about it, just like you did late at night for you and early in the mornings for him when the distance between you was physical but never spiritual, and you needed him to see just how wet you got from the thought of his hands on you.
You're now past the point of being close, every second feels like you're continuously coming, every high Sunghoon subjects you to crashing through you so short after the other they start to blend in together in a singular state of ecstasy you didn't even know was possible to achieve.
The light stubble on Sunghoon's face faintly scratches your thighs when he moves to pepper kisses on the inner parts, and his large hand holds your hip still when your lower half lurches upwards in search of more stimulation, your body betraying your mind and begging him for more.
"Look at you," his other hand pulls back the hood of your clit just so he can press a sweet kiss on it, the side of his mouth cockily twitching up when you react to his slightest touch exactly like he knew you would. "You think you know what you want, you think you can tell me when you can't take anymore." His tongue dips out to tease the bundle of nerves even more, the slick from all your releases still dripping from his chin and onto your wet skin. "But you don't, baby. No one knows what this pussy needs more than I do."
ꕥ KIM SUNOO
mean dom sunoo, edging, dacryphilia, marking, face sitting that eventually becomes 69, cock worship and praise, he calls you pup once
"Sunoo, please—"
"Mhmh, pup." Sunoo pulls off of your clit with a loud popping noise to talk to you, his tone sweet as honey but the edge in his voice sending shivers down your spine. He talks to you like you're too dumb to understand what he's telling you. You must be, considering he has given you very simple instructions to follow and yet here you are, doing anything but that. "I told you. If you want my cock, you have to tell me why."
One of his hands softly kneads the flesh on your tummy, almost comforting and encouraging, but the way his mouth works on your pussy that's gushing all over his face is anything but sweet.
You're sitting on his face, facing his hard cock and wishing that's what you were riding instead, after weeks of him denying you for no reason other than to prove a point. Seeing you so desperate, teary eyed at just the sight of his member, brings him almost the same amount of pleasure that fucking you does. He wants you to beg, wants you to worship him like he knows he deserves. He wants to see you cry for it.
His teeth sink into your clit just enough to make you jump up, but his hold prevents you from actually running away from his mouth. He has edged you for what feel like hours, but whenever he gets his hands on you time seems to pass differently. It could be minutes, it could be days. The only thing you're sure of is that at this point, you'll do just about anything to come undone on his cock.
"Love… love your cock s'much," you start, your throat raw from all the pleading that already occurred. "I need it inside me."
You sound like you're gonna start crying any second, and Sunoo's cock twitches at the mere thought of your pretty, gorgeous eyes, red and swollen. At the thought of your wet lashes sticking together. But it's not enough yet. "Why?" he asks, his voice dipping an octave lower, and his nails digging into your skin so hard you know he's drawing blood.
"I need it to cum!" you yelp in pain, and you hate the way you seem to get wetter when he's mean to you like this.
"You need it? You're always so fucking needy." Sunoo stops giving you any type of stimulation, your legs instantly shaking around his head as you try your best to hold any complaint in. "If you need it so bad, praise it."
You gulp, taking shallow breaths to get rid of the tears aligning your lashes. Your voice trembles, cracks with every few words as you speak, "Your cock is so perfect, so big. I love it so much. I would do anything to please it." Your voice trembles as you speak, but you keep going. "You fuck me so good with it, I think about it all the time."
"Is that it?" He hums. "Does it make your little horny pussy wet?"
You nod. "So wet. It's all I can think about. How deep it reaches, how—how good it fills me up."
"Prove it." The warm breath from his words right on your soaking cunt makes you wiggle your hips in search of more stimulation, but one of the hands previously holding you moves to grab a fistful of your hair and push you down towards his red cock. Your back arches, giving Sunoo the best view of your puffy folds he's ever had, and he licks his lips coated in your essence at the sight. "Make me cum with your mouth, and maybe I'll reward you."
ꕥ YANG JUNGWON
creampie mention, and he eats it! a true connoisseur. strength show off. he calls you bun and bunny bc this is an intromortal fic and i make the rules
The thing about Yang Jungwon is that he really, really enjoys the taste of your release mixed with his. Eating you out isn't something he does to get you nice and wet enough for him to sink his cock into you. He does if before, as a stand alone act and a lot of the time even after. It's an art form, and he's the Picasso of it, if you will.
So when he pulls out of you, your legs so shaky the only thing keeping you upright and your front pushed against the cold wall is his grip, just to kneel down on the hard tile floor and lap away at your pussy from behind, you're not exactly surprised.
"Won—" you start, worried the unsteadiness of your limbs and lightheadedness you still feel from the orgasm you just had are gonna have you fall ass first right on him.
"I got you, bun," he says, because of course he does. His grip on your hips tightens, and his sheer strength keeps you propped up so he can continue eating the cream out of you like you're some fucking gourmet dessert. "Just let yourself go fully."
And despite your reservations and fears you'll have to call an ambulance in the next five minutes, you do. You let all your weight drop on Jungwon, because your legs would've given out not too long after anyway.
"There we go, such a good little bunny." If he's fatigued, he doesn't show it. Instead, the only sounds coming from him are moans as he goes back to lick at your used hole.
The pet name, the noises he makes, the display of strength. All of it feels like a calculated move to have you turned on out of your mind, and the worst part is that you know Jungwon really is just like that without even trying.
As good as his tongue feels on you, you start getting restless the longer your clit is ignored, so you muster up all the strength left in your body—and probably shave off a few years of your lifespan because fuck, you're really tired—to angle your hips in an attempt to get his wet muscle on your bud.
It fails miserably. And he laughs at you.
"I'm cleaning you up, be patient," Jungwon says, the faint ghost of a giggle brightening up his tone.
Who needs wet rags or towels, right?
He gives you a few more kitten licks before suckling on your pussy one last time, and finally pulls away from you with a sharp yet playful spank to your ass, the other hand still holding you steady.
"You're such a show off," you say, but can't hide the smile from forming on your face at the sight of his when you finally turn towards him.
"Gotta make good use of all that strength training somehow."
You barely manage to roll your eyes at his rebuttal, because he drags your form down on the floor with him, folding you so your legs are on his shoulders, and he's face to face with your puffy cunt.
"Sorrryy, bun," he slurs his words a bit, dipping down to playfully bite on your inner thigh. "I'm still hungry."
"Won, the floor's too cold, I—"
"Too bad." His arms push your legs further into you. His dimple is on full display, and you'd say he looks angelic if not for the absolutely devious position he has you in. "I like my desserts served cold."
synopsis: they said never mix business with pleasure—but no one warned what happens when the pleasure runs out. she's the firm’s lead counsel. he's the ceo. married, barely speaking, and still signing documents side by side. between frosty boardroom meetings and a penthouse that echoes, two overachievers silently sabotaging their own love story, one cold glance at a time. It’s not a breakup… yet. But it sure feels like paperwork is involved.
pairings & contents: CEO!husband!hoon x lawyer!reader, angst, slowburn, workplac, marriage conflicts
warnings: hoon being a bitch ngl..., arguments, work place conflict, sunwoo from tbz cameo ( v random), cold distant hoon, you get the drill. no smut in this part :) oh and a little self-indulgent luv for tarts.
KING OF TEARS by @enhaflixer
word count: 20K
genre: angst | slow burn | second chance romance | marriage in crisis | Queen of Tears AU | SMUT ANGST FLUFF (in that order)
summary: When CEO Park Sunghoon needs a date for his friend’s wedding, he unexpectedly asks you—his dedicated secretary—to accompany him on a three-day trip. What starts as a professional arrangement quickly shifts into something more as unforeseen circumstances bring you closer together.
ONE CUP, ONE CHANCE by @hottestvirgin
summary: never accidentally spill a cup of coffee on a ceo's suit.. it may change your life forever.
warnings. smut, fluff, age gap (sunghoon!30s & reader!20s), swearing, dirty talk, pet names (ex. princess), unprotected sex, big dick p.sh, praising, light degrading, sweet talking
CONTENT WARNING: smut, angst, porn with plot, more to be added in the final fic, the fic will contain 18+ content, minors dni.
TEASER WC: 1338 words! (est. 11k words)
SYNOPSIs: As an antique collector, you had encountered many oddities; splintered relics, cursed heirlooms, objects that whispered in the dark, but never a life sized doll so breathtakingly beautiful, so humane. There was only one rule, to not open its coffin before the onset of New Year, however, temptation is quite a decadent exquisite poison. And now? Something stirs beneath the glass—something that waits for you, dearly so.
A/N: hihi loves <3 js leaving this here as i work on the fic, hope you guys enjoy it <3
taglist is open! comment/send an ask to be added <3 (make sure to have your age visible on your blog!)
A doll. That’s what the third and the last tarot card said, the image on it striking something primal in you; especially when you laid your eyes on the white porcelain doll, way too delicate for this world, carved into perfection of some sort, clad in a dark suit. He was perfect. Cheekbones high and blushed, lips blood red, glowing, and eyes? Closed in peace, in wait. You tore your eyes from the card the second you felt something burning on your wrist.
A red thread, something you hadn’t worn before entering the stall, something that resembled exactly the threat around the doll’s wrist. It wasn’t silk, or cotton, it was something old, almost like a crimson fibre.
The women didn’t blink, didn’t show any hint of emotions this time, “you’ve been chosen.”
You breathed out, waiting for her to elaborate.
“He’s been waiting, he didn’t summon you, he chose you. It was when you were ten, he fell in innocent love all over again, the same place, the carnival.”
Her eyes weren’t moving, goosebumps rose up your skin at the mention of the carnival, the same carival which you visited with your parents, the same, which taught you abandonment years ago, the place you were at right now.
“Who’s he?” You croaked out.
“He saw you entering, the innocence long gone, now he craves, he desires your love.”
Your heart thumped out of your chest at the mere mention, the slight possibility of someone wanting you.
“Where’s he?” You asked before you could control yourself, the words, the mannerism almost foreign to you.
The women’s lip twitched up for the first time, the darkness highlighting the curve, before she snapped her fingers, making everything go dark as you stood up, stumbling back with a gasp, and right out of the tent.
It was snowing again, the bustle of the crowd, the cheers of the children. The world was bright again, even in the darkness, but you were hollow, the thread burning around your wrist every passing second, as if in a rush to convey a message.
You weaved through the crowd, past fire breathers and jugglers, past children squealing over marionettes—you yourself felt like one as past a the thread pulled eastward, toward the quieter edge of the carnival. You didn’t ask questions anymore. You just followed.
It didn’t feel real, just a dream with no end. And then, you saw it—tucked between two towering, crumbling buildings was a narrow, glassed storefront you hadn’t noticed before. You would have missed it entirely if not for the thread tightening against your skin, humming now with warmth. A wooden sign hung above the door, painted in fading gold.
The Chiller House: Antiques and souvenirs.
The windows were clouded, frosted even from the inside, yet you could faintly make out the silhouettes of laces, dolls, relics you couldn’t identify. The floral vines covered the sign which sat atop the door.
Binded with love, caged with obsession.
You stared at the sign, heart knocking against your ribs. You had a soft spot for antiques—always had. Things that had lived lives before you. The scent of old paper and polished wood. The way broken toys still smiled, even your room back home looked more like a museum than a bedroom. The past always felt warmer than the present, safer, even when it wasn’t.
A brass bell chimed in peace as you stepped inside, it was like a time capsule bound together. Display cases brimmed with forgotten artifacts—cracked porcelain faces, jewelled gloves, pressed flower letters that looked like they’d crumble at the slightest touch. The scent of cedarwood and dried rose petals filled the air, however, the room wasn’t musty, it was preserved.
You twirled around the empty store, feeling alive for the first time in months, staring at your reflection in an ornate vanity mirror, before stepping behind the curtain, into a room which was dim, but not enough to hide him.
A single glass coffin in the corner of the room, as if meant to be hidden from the world. Lit from below by a single, flickering bulb, the coffin glowed like an altar. And within it—he looked too perfect to be real. A life sized porcelain doll, mouth barely parted as if sighing in sleep. His skin was smooth, pale with a bloom of warmth on the cheeks, and his lips painted a colour of warm red.
Blonde curls falling over his forehead, his suit was tailored in black, lapels stitched with gentle thorns, the collar closed neatly with a thin crimson ribbon. A matching red thread circled his porcelain wrist—identical to the one still burning on your own.
He was so delicate, exquisite personified, crafted so meticulously, it almost felt like a sin to be staring at him. You didn’t realize you were moving till your palm rested on the fogged glass.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” a voice called out, jolting you out of your trance.
You turned around quickly to see the shopkeeper—a woman older than time itself, dressed in a black shawl with hazel eyes that gleamed like a summer storm. She didn’t sound angry, but tired. Like she’d been here before, like she’d seen this play out before.
“I—why? Isn’t he for sale?” You asked.
“He’s not for sale.”
“But why? This is a shop and he’s a doll,” you asked again, desperate to understand.
Her gaze didn’t falter, “he’s not just a doll, and this isn’t just a shop.”
Today has been confusing, but this? It was way par your usual understanding. Not a doll? Not just a shop? It was as if you were bleeding into the thin crack between dream and reality.
“I want him,” you repeated like a broken record.
Her eyes flickered down to your wrist in a scowl, before she gasped, demeanor doing a one eighty, “I see, so it’s happened.”
“What has?”
She didn’t answer, walking past you to the coffin, brushing the gold plated oval, depriving it of the dust that had settled there over the time.
Jungwon—the engraved text read out, a name as pretty as the face.
“I’ll pay anything,” you declared, as if he would cease to exist if you don’t get him, if you don’t keep him preserved with you.
“Anything,” she echoed, “everything,” she confirmed.
You stared at her, wondering if this was yet another tactic used to get a higher price for a certain possession, to quantify the amount of desperation one can behold.
Still, she didn’t answer you directly. Instead, she moved around the coffin, unlatching locks you hadn’t even noticed until now—iron clasps, rusted, something that creaked with each movement. Not the lid, never the lid, just the base. Preparing it for transport.
“You’ll take the whole thing,” she started, as if telling you the rules. “Don’t try to lift the glass. Don’t remove the thread. And no matter how much you want to—don’t open the coffin before the onset of new year.”
“How much?” you asked, breath catching in your throat with newfound warmth blooming up your chest.
She paused her slow movements, scribbling a figure on a torn piece of parchment and handed it to you. Her fingers were cold and dry, like paper itself.
The number was beyond the point of absurdity, a cost that screamed sacrifice, not currency. More than what a doll should be worth, if it was just a doll that is.
You got your card out without a second thought. It was all you had, a price you got for having the ever so absent parents. She nodded, as if she expected you to say yes regardless of the circumstances.
“Handle with care, he’s—he’s more fragile than he appears to be,” she murmured, “alas, don’t forget the rules.”
You nodded, fingertips quick to call, informing your driver to pick up the coffin, the brass bell chiming as you stepped out of the Chiller House. Your eyes followed him, throughout the journey.
All while not knowing that your red thread had disappeared.
You just stand by the bed in nothing but a black lace panty set, sheer thigh-high stockings clipped into garters, a delicate little ribbon resting at the waistband, drawing attention to exactly where you know he’ll look first.
And he stops in the doorway — dead silent, jaw tight, gaze raking over your body like you’ve just knocked the air out of him
“You,” he breathes out. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
You blink. “You don’t like it?”
Sunghoon laughs — but it’s not amused. It’s breathless. Shaky. Dangerous.
“Don’t do that.” His eyes lock to yours, heavy and unreadable. “Don’t stand there looking like that and ask me if I like it. I can’t even fucking think straight.”
You take a step back onto the bed and sit, knees parting slightly. “So do something about it.”.
In two strides, he’s in front of you, kneeling between your spread thighs, large palms sliding up from your ankles to your thighs in one slow, reverent stroke. His touch is gentle, but his eyes are starved.
“You wore this for me?” he asks, voice low and frayed.
You nod.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
He kisses your inner thigh, presses his cheek there, like he’s trying to anchor himself — and then he moves you back onto the bed, legs falling open around his hips. He undoes his sweats, pulls his cock out — flushed, leaking, so heavy it hangs before he even touches it.
“You’re already wet,” he mutters, rubbing the head of his cock against your lace-covered folds. “Look at this. I haven’t even touched you, and you’re soaked.”
You whimper. The friction is maddening — the heat of him sliding between your thighs, trapped against that lacy bow. The wet sounds already echo in the room, and he hasn't even really started yet.
“Shit..,” he groans. “I should fuck you right now. But I can’t. Not yet. Not when you’re wearing this. I want to ruin it first.”
And as if his hips and cock had a mind of their own, he thrusts — not inside, but between your thighs, dragging his cock slowly through the tight warmth of your skin, the slippery heat of your panties, the sticky mess already forming as he glides along you again and again.
“God—baby,” he moans. “Your thighs… your panties… this fucking bow—”
The tip of his cock smears precum directly onto the ribbon.
He freezes.
And then slowly, deeply – he grinds again.
“I’m gonna cum all over it,” he whispers, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes shut like he’s ashamed of how hard he’s rutting into you. “This little bow. You made yourself so pretty and I’m gonna stain it.”
“Please,” you breathe. “Please do.”
That snaps something in him.
His grip tightens on your hips, fucking harder now between your thighs, panting ragged against your mouth.
“You’re mine,” he growls. “You know that, right? These thighs, this pussy, this perfect little lace—mine. All of it.”
His cock drags faster, sloppier, smearing precum across your panties, down your thighs, heat building between both your bodies like a coil about to snap.
“Say it,” he pants. “Say you’re mine while I fucking cum on this lace.”
“I’m yours, Sunghoon. I’m yours—yours—”
He groans — broken — and cums hard, cock twitching violently as he spills between your thighs, thick and hot and messy. It drips onto your lace, your skin, your garter strap, and you watch him twitch through it, his eyes rolling back, head falling to your shoulder as his hips stutter.
But he doesn’t stop.
Even with his cock softening, even with your thighs messy and soaked, he keeps kissing your body like it’s sacred. Keeps stroking your skin, whispering filth against your neck.
“I’m not done,” he murmurs, pulling your panties to the side with trembling fingers. “That was just for me.”
He lowers his head — and licks the mess he made off your thighs first before burying his face between them.
"You’re not changing,” he mutters, lifting his head to take the sight of you in, his lips pink and glossy with his and your release and mixed juices. “I’m gonna eat you out through these cum-drenched panties next. Maybe I’ll fuck your throat with them in your mouth.”
you have a boyfriend gifted with a pornstar cock, but he refuses to use it on you, too scared he'll end up hurting you. so your best shot is to devise a plan to get him to crumble, and even if things don't unfold quite as expected, what matters is the result anyway... right?
starring ⋆ f!reader x park sunghoon, besties!jaykewon
this work contains ⋆ smut ⋆ minors so not interact ⋆ barely any plot, way too much smut, sunghoon being diabolically hung, my extremely poor attempts at humor, established relationship, nasty nasty shit... brat tamer sunghoon, alcohol consumption, implied driving under the influence, jealousy, slut shaming (not from hoon), a tiny bit of violence, blood, size & bulge kink, fingering, dry humping, slight degradation, partially clothed sex, a freaky voice message, edging & overstim, oral (f!red), mutual masturbation, lube, squirting, unprotected sex ⸻ rules m.list
length ⋆ one shot ⸻ 23.6k words
⭑ NIA ⸻ i'm in pain and my period is abt to start ANDD antibiotics fucked my stomach up so if you see typos no you don't. anyways. big fat cock. who agrees!! shoutout to my homies vivi and stella for putting up with my ass and deactivation threats anytime i write anything ever!!! and for having read this before anyone else
Having a dick so big multiple people suggest you make a career out of it isn't half as nice as it sounds, Sunghoon would know that better than anyone.
Even before getting any experience, he'd been aware of just how comically large his dick was. He'd known ever since he had to go out of his way to search for porn with ‘massive cock!’ in the title for it to look anything like his, and even then he often found himself thinking they had to be exaggerating a bit for the sake of clicks.
Turns out, the comparison with real life average sizes is even more ridiculous.
He knows it sounds silly, there are hordes of men out there that would pay good money to swap places with him—his dear friend Jake being the first in line.
Sunghoon still cringes when he remembers the first time he'd oh so innocently asked Jake for his opinion on the matter. Truthfully, all he wanted to hear from his bleached blonde friend was some reassurance, maybe how it was all in his head, or how at the end of the day the right person would love and appreciate every part of him no matter what, or whatever you tell people in situations like these. His first mistake was believing Jake out of all his friends would do the most tactful thing.
“That thing’s like—fucking huge!” Jake shrieked, grabbing Sunghoon’s phone out of his hands, every protest falling on deaf ears. “There’s no fucking way, man.”
“It’s not that b—” Sunghoon tries to speak, but Jake stops him before he even gets a sentence in, calling Jay’s name at the top of his lungs.
“What are you—”
“WHAT,” Jay yells back from the kitchen, over the deafening sound of the food processor in use, annoyed by Jake’s continuous interruptions that day. Of which at least four were to show him some nasty looking recipe he found on tiktok.
“You gotta come take a look at this!”
At the time, Sunghoon was still vaguely uncomfortable around Jay. He was nice enough, and he was a great roommate, so there was that at least. It was a good trade off because the other option was staying at the way too crowded shitty dorms, and he liked the privacy that this deal got him. He wasn't always on board with it, Jake had to talk him into it when high school ended, but he swore him and Jay would be the bestest of friends if only he could let his reservations behind for a little, at least give him a chance.
Sunghoon moved away halfway through the second year of high school, and for a while it felt like Jay had swapped places with him and taken the life he was supposed to live for himself. First his best friend, Jake. Then the girl of his dreams, the one he never found the courage to confess to, you.
Thing is, while Sunghoon could recognize Jay had done absolutely nothing wrong to him per se, he still felt betrayed by him in a way. Truly it was just envy.
The food processor comes to an abrupt halt, and all that can be heard from the other room is a deep sigh, followed by the sound of dragged footsteps as their tall friend walks into the messy—in the way only college boys living spaces can be—living room with resignation. “Fine. But this better have nothing to do with Cheetos or tacos.”
“Much better.” Jake winks at him, nudging Sunghoon’s hands away with his elbow, the younger hissing in pain. “Behold,” he turns the phone towards an unassuming Jay, aware of the fact he's about to change the older's view of Sunghoon forever.“Sunghoon’s monster of a cock.”
Jay’s hands stop on his apron, (the ridiculous one with a bodybuilder torso and cheetah boxers Jungwon got him for a secret Santa) and his mouth hangs open for a second too long, before he comes back to his senses and notices how Sunghoon slumps back on the couch, cheeks burning red. Jay swats the phone out of Jake’s hand. “What the fuck is your problem, dude.”
“What? I’m just saying it’s way larger than average!”
“He’s uncomfortable.” Jay says, going back to drying his hands on the apron. “Leave him be.”
This only makes Sunghoon’s cheeks redder, his ears a bright pink too. Jake scoffs, eyeing him suspiciously. “Sure. I’m sure having a porn star cock must be so mortifying. Who even complains about stuff like this?” he snickers before making his voice a pitch higher. “‘Poor me! My dick’s too heavy! What will I do!”
“Oh my god,” Sunghoon runs a hand through his hair, pulling the ends a bit. “It is not that big.” He looks at Jay for support, expecting him to disagree with Jake.
Jay’s gaze falters to his pants for a split second. His mouth twists but he remains silent.
“Not you too.” Sunghoon's hands now hold his face as he sinks into the cushions further, legs spreading. “Just say what you wanna say.”
“I mean…” Jay gestures towards Sunghoon's crotch. “I suspected you were big but… that’s crazy, man.”
“It’s not that cra—”
“Yes it is! You’ve got a fucking gas storage tank in your pants and you wanna sit here and tell us it’s not crazy?” Jake says, exasperated by that point. “And stop playing dumb. It’s big. That’s good. I’m sure the ladies go crazy over it. Or the gentlemen. Or whoever it is you fuck.” He kisses his teeth, muttering under his breath. “Lucky bastard.”
“Jake’s right, Hoon. I don’t know why you're so… negative about it. It's a good thing."
“I wouldn’t know,” Sunghoon mutters under breath, more to himself than to the guys, but it’s still loud enough for them to catch it.
“Oh? Then whenever the time comes, you’ll see how much they’ll love it,” Jay says.
"I'm just worried." Sunghoon tries his best to avoid both sets of eyes staring intently at him. "What… what if I end up hurting someone?"
Jake coos, then moves closer to Sunghoon on the couch, his breath fanning over his ear as he whispers, “Always so concerned about other people. Aren't you such a cutie pie?”
The boys weren't exactly wrong, but with big dick come great responsibilities—as Jake said. Yup, roll your eyes at him, not Sunghoon. He's innocent—like having to finger and eat out your partners for what feels like an eternity before even trying to push the tip in, which is not exactly the best situation to be in as a virgin. Current Sunghoon thinks that's the best part, but it took a while to get here.
Sunghoon has always been a very patient man though, a gentle giant in every sense of the phrase. The last thing he would ever want to do is inflict pain accidentally on another human being.
When he got his first actual girlfriend, he'd been so nervous and honestly quite scared to have sex with her. So he got on Google whenever he had free time to study ways to make it as comfortable as possible, watching all kinds of video explanations or reading through feminine pleasure blogs written by women for women specifically, because that's where Jay told him the good stuff was at.
By the time he got to actually have sex with her, his mind was so overwhelmed by all this information that he essentially forgot how to even think. It was anything but romantic, so deeply embarrassing Sunghoon still cringes even after all this time when his mind betrays him and reminds him of it while trying to fall asleep at night.
And then, to add insult to injury, his girlfriend cheated on him and left him for this guy she'd only just met, because 'it might not be as big, but at least he knows how to use it'.
Heartbroken and with an hurt ego, Sunghoon did that thing all boys do when their first relationship doesn't work out: hit the gym and promise themselves they're never gonna fall in love ever again.
That second part ended up failing, because from the moment you showed up at his doorstep to visit (your now ex boyfriend, but a beloved friend nonetheless) Jay and Jake, five different bags around you, with eyes as big as saucers and staring at him like he had invaded his own apartment, all the feelings younger Sunghoon had for you hit him like a brick to his nape all over again.
You two dating came as a shock to everyone around you, mostly because while you were aware of Park Sunghoon's existence and vice versa, you'd never given it too much thought. You remembered him as the scrawny kid with the cute moles from math that you used to always catch staring. He was often around Jungwon because they were neighbors, but was way too shy to even say hi to you. That, and he was also always around Jake—who you were not exactly fond of, given his reputation—so you steered clear of him when you could manage to.
Then, when the third year of high school started, you stopped seeing him around, and Jungwon told you he had moved away to follow his dad's business. You wouldn't admit it at the time but the hallways seemed duller than usual for a few days, but that probably was also due to Jake not being as loud and energetic with his best friend gone.
Last year of high school, you went on a few dates with Jay from history class, and while he was the closest you have ever thought a man to be perfect, you both agreed you worked better as friends than anything more. Usually that means 'you're cool but I'm gonna try my best to not have to say hi to you if I see you around', but Jay is so wonderful, you actually kept in touch and became quite close, even if platonically.
By the time the year ended, you had a very tight group of friends consisting of yourself, Jungwon, Jay, and even Jake—who, for the record, isn't nearly as bad as all the crazy rumors make him out to be. It saddened you that it took so long to find your group, but you were grateful you had one nonetheless, a lot of people never get that luxury, so you weren't about to let a little graduation get in between you all. You spent a good five days consoling Jake that no, no one was going anywhere and yes, you will all be best friends for life.
But then college started, and it became difficult to stay in touch because Jay and Jake had to move. Jake reassured you that you and Jungwon would be more than welcome to visit and stay over at their apartment—which you found funny because that is technically not Jake's apartment at all, at least not until Hoon moved in too and the three of them started sharing the costs, but he has a way of making every place he steps foot in his, like he's meant to be there, so Jay let it slide.
So the first thing you did when you finally had some free time was getting on the cheapest flight available to go visit your friends. Heavy luggage in hand and stained sweatpants on, you were dumbfounded when the one who opened the door for you was none other than Park Sunghoon, and not Jay like you expected.
He was no longer the shy kid you remembered him to be, and he had grown nicely into his features, his hair now a jet back instead of the brown you were accustomed to see. Over those two weeks you realized that while you have know Sunghoon all your life, you had never really seen him, and it made you want to go back in time and hand a little paper note to the shy boy always staring at you during class.
Your head sinks further into your pillow with a whine, the case enveloping it sporting gray spots of wetness, where your tears and drool had accumulated over the last torturous half an hour Sunghoon spent fucking you open with his fingers. You don't know what he means, because you feel like you could take his entire fist by now, that's how wet you are. If your pillowcase is such a mess, you don't even wanna think about what your bed sheets look like.
"I can– take you," you protest, breath hitching mid sentence at a particularly deep curl of his fingers inside you.
"Yeah?" Sunghoon quirks an eyebrow at you, moving his thumb to suddenly hover over your clit. It's not a full touch, nor does he really move it from there, but just the expectation of it has your walls involuntary flutter around his digits. A wicked grin overtakes his face, in a way you think it would clash with his prince-like features. But it looks right at home on him, the canines poking out only adding to his devilish charm.
"Then what's this? Gripping me even tighter," he says against your lips again, like he can't pick between kissing you or speaking, like anything he does he needs to do it with your taste on his mouth. He shakes his head, pouting at you before you get the chance to retort. "Squeeze me this tight when I'm inside you, and I'll believe you're trying to push me out, baby."
The press of his length against your thigh doesn't help, and when your eyes roll to the back of your head, half the reason is the new spot he's now reaching making you see stars, the other is your frustration with him. You know he's huge, and you know he cares about your comfort above all, but a little sting as he bottoms out inside you would be a hundred times better than the 'prep' he's subjecting you to. It took so long to even get here, and now he plans on making you wait even more? You have half the idea to push him off of you and get on top of him, take what's yours. If he's not gonna believe you can take him, you might as well just show him.
Of course, that wouldn't work, because Sunghoon is infinitely stronger than you are and the only thing you would accomplish is looking stupid thrashing under him as he keeps you pinned down. Probably with one arm only too, to really get his point across.
"Add another finger then." There's a certain bark in your tone that makes him chuckle. That's all it is: bark and no bite. You can do nothing but demand, and demand, and demand again, but if he's not willing to give it to you, there is close to nothing you can do about it. And it makes Sunghoon's cock twitch against the slick skin of your thighs. He loves knowing he has you at his mercy.
"Woah!" he gasps, and the fake surprise only irritates you further. Or at least that's what you tell yourself, because Sunghoon doesn't miss the way you clench around his fingers whenever he talks to you like this. "Missy, you're so bratty today… where are your manners?"
The retort is ready on your tongue, but the words mold into a surprised hiss when he actually prods your hole with a third digit, feeling around for a way to slowly ease it into you. You fear it won't be as easy as you hoped, but you also don't want to back down now that he's giving in.
"Just put it in." You angle your hips to give Sunghoon easier access.
"Easy there." He leans back on his knees, and you hate how you're so needy. Even when he's still so close, fingers pumping in and out of you at a torturous pace, you crave for every inch of your body to be touched by his, for your breaths to mingle for as long as possible. You wonder how it's possible to miss someone who's right in front of you, but your heart yearns to hear the rhythmic beat of his own against your chest all the same.
You don't get to dwell on it too long, because the sensation of something wet dribbling right where Sunghoon's fingers meet you rips you out of your thoughts.
It takes a few seconds for you to realize what's happening, but when it sinks in, your mouth slowly hangs open in a moan, eyes closed to relish the feeling.
"You like that?" Sunghoon asks, and for once you can't bring yourself to care about the cockiness in his tone. In fact, it's the last thing you could care about—not when his digits are working to spread his spit all over you, and his third finger is slowly making its way inside you right next to the others. It's a tight fit, and Sunghoon can't really move his fingers like he wishes to, but it'll do for now. He can always do it over and over again until you're ready, as long as you keep making those faces for him. "Look at you," he continues. "You were so demanding earlier, now you're falling apart and I'm barely just getting started."
You clench around him hard, body all tensed up as you accommodate the sudden change in thickness.
Sunghoon bends down again when he notices you're not easing up, trailing his way back up your body with pecks, giving you a few on your lips once he reaches your face. "Does it burn, baby?" he asks, the playful edge in his tone from earlier completely gone, smoothed down to the usual soft timbre you love so much. "Do you want me to take it out? I'll make you cum with two fingers, it's okay."
You shake your head. The stretch does burn, but you also want to prove to him that you can take him.
"You sure?" The murmur vibrates against your ear, the sound of his voice close enough to have you arching your back, pushing your stomach against his harder figure. If you had any sort of reservation about continuing, it's totally gone now. His insistence to make you comfortable always ignites pure want in you.
You nod, but your eyes are still screwed shut because of the burn, so it's not enough for Sunghoon to let go yet.
He slows down his movements, trying to help you out, but the whine you let out is enough to let him know you actually want what he's giving you and more. Still, he needs to hear it. "Use your big girl words, I know you can."
"Wanna keep going."
"Aaand?"
"Please, Hoon." You know you're far gone when you don't even care about how whiny you sound, you would get onto your knees and beg if he asked you to right then. You would want to forget about it right after, but still, you would do it in a heartbeat.
Thankfully, your boyfriend is very nice to you, so 'please and thank you's are enough to keep him satiated, at least for now.
"Good girl."
The praise goes straight to your cunt, further tightening the grip you have on his fingers. Sunghoon is flattered, but that's not what you need in that moment. So he reminds you.
"Take deep breaths, baby. It's only gonna hurt more if you don't ease up."
"Hoon, want more."
"I know baby, I know. But it'll feel better if you stop tensing up. Here, follow my breaths and let go." He kisses both of your shut eyelids. "Eyes on me, pretty. Okay?"
You obey him like it's second nature, but when you open your eyes and you're met with the downright angelic sight of your boyfriend, black strands of hair framing his face and his chain dangling slightly from his neck, you don't understand how you're supposed to calm down. He starts taking deep breaths, ones you try your best to mirror. And despite what you thought, the focus on your chest rising and falling and the warmth in Sunghoon's eyes does make the stretch a lot better. You were enjoying yourself before too, all things considered. Now it's different, you're struggling to keep your sounds in, and any other time you would be mortified by how much wetness is seeping out of your cunt, but Sunghoon's presence is relaxing in a way no one else's has ever been for you.
The more you explore each other's bodies, the more you start to think that maybe, just maybe, there is not a single thing you could do with Sunghoon that you would ever regret. The safety of a judgment free zone with someone who obviously cares deeply for you makes the experience so much better than you could have ever imagined. What other people did to you, no matter how pleasurable, just didn't measure up to what Sunghoon does with you. And you haven't even gone all the way in.
"Theeere we go, see how much better it feels when you're not being a brat?"
Sunghoon is careful with you, watching your every reaction and studying your expressions so he can learn exactly what makes crumble and what brings you closer to the edge, what makes you forget you have to breathe and when to pause so he can drag your pleasure out for as long as he wants, for as long as you can handle. His cock is rock hard, casually rutting against you from time to time. You have half a mind to reach into his boxers and help him out, but you're not sure you could do a good enough job at it, not when he's starting to bend the tips of his fingers to reach right where you need him.
You can feel yourself getting closer, so you grab his wrists—whether to stop him or push him further, you don't know yourself. What you do know, is that just fingers have never felt this good before, and if you had the choice to feel like this forever, you would take it.
The sudden grip doesn't deter Sunghoon, it encourages him instead. His movements are faster, deeper, but still just as precise. It's like he already knows the ins and outs of what brings you pleasure. "Gonna come all over my hand, baby? I know you're close."
You nod desperately, throat too raw and dry to produce sounds more complex than little whines—which Sunghoon finds adorable, he can't wait to find out what sounds you make when he's splitting you open on his cock. He coos, and that alone almost makes you cum. Almost, because what really does you in is his thumb moving to finally circle your clit, really touch it.
Your body tenses up again when your vision goes a searing white, but Sunghoon's other hand finds your thighs right away to prevent you from caging his hands between your legs. He worked hard to make you cum, so you're not gonna take the sight of your fluttering pussy away from him, not when he has rightfully earned it.
"You did so well," he says, his hand caressing the skin of your inner thigh as a reminder to relax your muscles, his thumb slowing down its movement on your clit as your walls flutter around his digits at longer intervals each time.
You eventually even out your breathing, your vision still a little fuzzy, but you feel lighter and content. Once Sunghoon is sure you're okay, he pulls you in for a sweet kiss, like he wasn't just rearranging your guts with his fingers alone moments ago.
"Perfect, you're so perfect," he whispers between kisses, landing a wet smack on your nose when you scrunch it in response. "You're always gorgeous but this—fuck, you're beautiful." He keeps kissing you, each kiss waking up a different butterfly in your stomach. You feel giddy like you haven't ever since you were a kid running through the meadow on a spring evening. You giggle when he reaches the valley of your breasts, and run your fingertips through his hair, his head resting on your chest.
"I love you," Sunghoon whispers, and for the first time in your life you know those words to be true, no hidden intention behind them, no cruel joke waiting for you at the end of the line. It feels right when they're coming out of Sunghoon's mouth.
"I know, I love you t—what are you doing." It's much more of an accusation rather than a question, because you see the little wicked glint in his eyes as he resumes kissing his way down your body—first down your navel, then between your thighs.
"Showing you how much I love you, duh." He spreads your legs as open as he can get them before you start protesting again. "Besides, I haven't gotten a taste yet."
You should stop him, because suddenly you're reminded of how he still hasn't come yet, and you would feel bad to neglect him. The look in his eyes though—needy, almost feral— keeps you pinned right in your spot. "What… about you?"
Sunghoon looks at you, genuinely confused. "What about me?"
"Yeah, I should be… helping you out." You glance down at him, and the wet patch on his boxers makes you clench around nothing. Had you not witnessed first hand how messy Sunghoon can get, you would assume he cummed already. Knowing that's only pre though, makes saliva flood into your mouth at the mere thought of your boyfriend's cock pumping load after load down your throat. Screw 'not hurting' you, you would be happy gagging and choking endlessly around him if it meant you got a tiny little taste.
"Oh baby, but you are helping me out. Just lay back and let me." Sunghoon pops two of his fingers in his mouth, tasting the residues of you high still lingering on his skin, rich and divine on his tongue. "So good, now let me get a real taste."
He trails his wet fingers up your body, relishing in the way you shiver under his touch when he brushes over your nipples. He grabs your face once he reaches it, and forces you to look at him. "Wanting to please me… aren’t you such a generous girl? So, so good for me. So eager to please, you’re so cute.” He doesn't miss how your lip twitches in response to his words, and how your hand slides between your thighs and how they close around it. “But, I'm still not done.”
“But—”
“Shhh,” he silences you right away. He parts your lips with his thumb, and your response to it is immediate, sucking on it without needing to be told what to do. You swirl your tongue around his finger eagerly, as if trying to show him what he is missing by not letting you take his cock out his pants. “See? So perfect for me. Such a pretty and obedient girl, am I right?”
You nod subconsciously, like he has you under a spell, ready to comply with anything he asks out of you. Maybe he does.
“I know that’s right.” Sunghoon takes the thumb out of your mouth, coating your lips with your own spit as he caresses them with it. “Then do what you’re told and lay back. I can fuck you another time. Now spread those legs for me mkay? Yeah, just like that. So much we can do in the meantime."
"I just don't get why he won't stick it in me."
"You have such a way with words."
You throw a fry at your best friend, only to get more irritated when he catches it midair with his mouth. Jungwon chews it loudly with his mouth open—because he knows it annoys you to death—then washes it down with his coconut milkshake that he won't let you get a sip of because 'using the same straw as me counts as cheating now that you're dating Sunghoon'.
"Okay but why? You're a man. What's the thought process behind this? Tell me."
"Girl, it's your boyfriend. You tell me."
"What if he doesn't fine me att—" A fry hits you right on your forehead, and it's like the impact activates your brain cells, because of course Sunghoon finds you attractive, that is not the problem.
"Now, let's be honest with ourselves please. None of that shit."
Your back hits the bed with a soft thud, arms spread out as you stare at the very familiar ceiling of your room. A sight you've been taking in quite often recently, while trying to come up with a plan to get Sunghoon to dick you down good.
Jungwon shoves a fist of fries in his mouth, barely chewing before speaking again. "I don't get why it's such a big deal."
You roll onto your side, facing the blonde little gremlin occupying the space next to you. "It's a big deal because— why is your ass on my pillow. Jungwon get—"
He silences you by feeding you a handful of fries from the container on his lap. "You were saying?"
You gulp them down quickly before replying, because you're civilized enough to do so, unlike someone else. "We've done it all, and I know he's scared of hurting me, but I can also tell he's holding back. I'm ready– I've been ready. It's just… whenever I think it's gonna happen he pulls back so suddenly, like he's restraining himself."
"Mhh… you've talked to him about this, right?" Jungwon looks at you in a way that feels entirely too judgmental, like skipping the communication part is something you do often enough for it to be a pattern. Something he needs to check off of a list before he gives you more advice.
He's not completely wrong. As in, at one point in your life you had made an habit out of assuming people's thoughts and intentions, but that is in the past. And those people are not your Park Sunghoon.
The polaroids messily scattered on the wall above your desk, like someone had dropped them and they'd defied gravity to stay there, glimmer as the sun starts its golden descent into the horizon. Old, more ruined around the edges ones you took right after Jungwon got you a polaroid camera with his very first salary from working at an ice cream shop over the summer. Pictures of sunsets and dumb words carved into sandy beaches, of thumbs digging into teenager Jungwon's dimples. Newer, glossier ones that you took when Sunghoon gifted you a new camera, after the one Jungwon got you finally broke down after years. You'd cried so hard that day, because it had felt like growing up.
The charger is still hidden under all the mess of receipts in your comforter's drawer, you still hope one day the pink sticker covered camera will turn on if you charge it long enough.
But some things are meant to stay in the past, and better ones are always hiding behind the corner, ready to come your way.
You aren't the young girl with the pink polaroid camera anymore, just like you're not the girl that is scared to voice her thoughts and troubles any longer.
"Of course I have."
"And?"
"Won, he just tells me I need more prep. I've had plenty of that, trust me. Like, he's spent the last month using this toy on—"
"Okay, okay I get it. I trust you, spare me the details."
"—Point is, I'm more than ready. I know it's gonna be uncomfortable and a bit painful at first, he's like… so huge it's—"
"I get it."
"—but that's a given with how big he is. I think it's just… him being nervous, really."
"Have you… tried to, uhm. Take charge? Maybe you calling the shots would make it easier for him to let loose." Jungwon looks down on his lap as he plays with the rings adorning his fingers. You wouldn't say he has ever been particularly shy per se, not when it comes to discussing your sexual life, even in heavy detail. He was the boy your mother made you take a bath with after a whole day of rolling around in dirt as a kid, because his wasn't around a lot of the time. The same boy who has seen you toothless and with horrible haircuts, who has seen all your embarrassing phases. Talking to Jungwon was much more akin to talking to yourself rather than venting to a diary, because he stored secrets in his heart that you would never be comfortable writing down on paper. Except he also calls you a dumbass when he needs to.
It's been a little different ever since you started dating Sunghoon freshly out of college, but you imagine it can't be helped since Jungwon is also very close to him.
You take a deep breath, shoulders slumping with the motion. Yeah, like that would ever work. "He doesn't give up dominance ever, really. I have tried a few times but…" you trail off, thoughts suddenly plagued with images of Sunghoon putting you back in your place instantly whenever you tried to take charge. You have already given it some thought, a lot of thought, actually. What wouldn't you do to have Sunghoon under you and at your mercy, so responsive to every touch, perhaps even tied down. Yeah, you're gonna have to bring it up more seriously to him, maybe then he would let you—
"Are you seriously fantasizing about dominating your boyfriend right in front of my cheddar fries?"
But you're gonna continue that thought another time.
"Let's see then…" Jungwon continues, evidently determined to find a solution to your problem. "Maybe act out? Would that work? Mhhh… I don't know, you're already very annoying day to day and he puts up with that…so."
Jungwon genuinely looks like he is putting so much thought into it, somehow it makes it more offensive.
"Yeah. And who grew up next to him? You. Exactly. You trained his patience, if anything," you retort, but Jungwon doesn't even give you the satisfaction of acknowledging it, because you both know that you do love to be a nuisance to your boyfriend whenever you get the chance.
"Wait." Jungwon perks up after a seconds of deep thought, making the plushies on your bed fall on the floor, but the situation is so dire that you don't scold him. Instead, you cast a hopeful glance in his direction. Please let his brain cells work for once in his life.
"Isn't Hoon like, terribly jealous every time someone brings up that time you and Jay dated in high school?"
The cogs in your brain turn, and if someone was to walk into the room at that moment they would be able to smell the fumes coming out of your and Jungwon's head.
Jungwon continues, though he doesn't need to, because you have caught what he is hinting to already. "You need him to snap? What better reason to if not some good ol' jealousy. Am I right?"
But of course he is, that little gremlin genius.
"And, it just happens that a few high school acquaintances are organizing a get together soon. You know people will bring up you and Jay, just drag Hoon along. It's fate."
"Have I ever told you that you're my bestest friend ever and that I owe you my life, Won?"
Your plan is not working out as expected.
Getting everyone on board took you and Jungwon some time, but they all eventually agreed to come along. Sunghoon himself was the one with the most reservations, since he moved away halfway through high school and he missed a good chunk of it. Most importantly, he missed how you and the others became friends in the first place, so he's always been a little bitter about it.
Calling it a plan was an overstatement. You wore a skimpy little outfit, black miniskirt and sheer thighs, and bet on someone bringing up how you and Jay used to date in front of Sunghoon. You hoped that would make him jealous enough to grab you and drag you home, maybe teach you a lesson that you would inevitably learn nothing from.
Instead, you get sulky Sunghoon with a beer in his hand, looking at you like a kicked puppy as you and Jay make conversation with your old acquaintances. It doesn't help that Jungwon refuses to pick up his phone so you two can come up with something quick to stir the night towards your desired outcome.
The call goes into voicemail again, and you sigh for the hundredth time that night as you end it and open up his chat to type in another text.
"No answer yet?" Jay asks, smoothing his pink dress shirt. He's always the classier looking guy in the room, no matter where he goes, but the hue of pink he chose for the night makes him stand out further in the sea of swarming bodies.
You shake your head. You're in a quieter corner, away from the thumping speakers, but your throat is sore after all the screaming you did over the deafening music. You thought you would get used to the volume when a few of the people at the reunion suggested moving to a club across the street to end the night with a bang, just like the old times, but it somehow got progressively worse instead.
From your side, Jake puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles to catch someone's attention, and when it doesn't work, Jay laughs at him.
"Sunghoon looks bored, I think we should call it a night," Jay says.
"Bored? He looks like he's gonna murder the next poor soul that steps too close to Y\N," Jake takes a swing of the drink he's holding, something that looks like aged whiskey. Very much unlike anything Jake would order. He hisses after the liquid burns his throat, even when diluted by the melted ice. "Jay, my man, your taste is so ass."
You give the interaction a half hearted laugh. Despite your original plan, you hate seeing Sunghoon so uncomfortable, especially when you know he only came along to make you happy. He insists he doesn't belong surrounded by people who pretend to remember who he is and keep bringing up stuff that happened in the past expecting a glint of recognition from him. You tell him there are multiple people with a similar experience to his even when they attended all years, you tell him he belongs anywhere as long as you and the other guys are there. He tells you those are the people that don't get invited to these sort of events.
"It's getting late anyway, maybe we should just go," you say, checking your notification bar for any sign of life from Jungwon. Still nothing.
"I'll go get Won." Jake throws back the remaining drink, scrunching his eyes and hissing at the bitter taste he still isn't accustomed to.
You take a second to scan your surroundings, and the swaying mass of sweaty bodies makes you nauseous. You used to love getting rocked back and forth by the music, uncaring for a single thing in the world if not the overwhelming love you felt for everyone and everything around you when alcohol buzzed through your system. When you were younger, it felt like ibuprofen for your soul. Now, it only amplifies the hurt in your chest when you think about how heavy this night must have been for your boyfriend.
Before you can make your way to him, someone grabs your attention.
"Jay! And you over there, it's been a while."
You instinctively turn towards the loud voice, finding a vaguely familiar face cockily grinning in your direction.
"She has a name." Jay takes a deep breath and gives you a look, his jaw tense, and that alone is enough to let you know right away the guy in front of you is nothing but trouble.
The guy continues as if you weren't even there to listen to the conversation. A ghost. "Doesn't matter, being your girlfriend is all she was known for back then." He takes a swing of his beer, taste as bitter as his voice. He's very obviously drunk out of his mind, words slurring and step unsteady, but his words annoy you anyway.
"Excuse m—" you try to interject, but he speaks right over you.
"You two back together?"
Jay looks like he's seconds away from punching him, but you simply shake your head no. "Oh! No, and I'm not single actually. My boyfriend's here—" you turn around to look for Sunghoon where you last saw him, and beam when you find him right as he walks up to you. His shoulders relax just the tiniest bit when he notices how relieved you look when you meet his gaze, the way you reserve that look to him only, the way you light up as soon as you spot him. "There he is! Perfect timing, baby."
Sunghoon slides a hand around your waist possessively, placing a soft kiss to your temple to really get the point across. "I was looking for you."
Truth is, he wasn't. He had his eyes on you the entire time, but you were playing with your rings and kept readjusting your clothes as the conversation was unfolding, and Jay looked uneasy too, so he figured nothing good was being said.
"Yeah, sorry! Just catching up with friends from back in the day. Y'know, reminiscing and stuff. Have you seen Won around?" You want to diffuse the situation before the idiot in front of you says anything he might regret. You want Hoon to be a little jealous, not for him to get you all kicked out of a party because someone decided to run their mouth a little too much. Your hand finds his exposed biceps, and it looks like he made the right choice by stepping in, because now that he is all up in your space, you're visibly more comfortable.
Sunghoon shakes his head. Last time he caught a sight of Jungwon in the crowded space was when the night had barely started, and he wore a cowboy hat as he shoved his tongue down some girl's throat. Good for him. "He's probably… catching up with acquaintances too."
You look like you are about to say something, but the nameless guy interrupts you before you get a single word out. It gives Sunghoon all the more reason to dislike him, even before he listens to what he has to says. "And you are? I don't recall seeing you around."
"Oh! Hoon just moved to a different school halfway through high school, but we're all friends," Jay replies instead, familiar with his best friend's feelings about his high school years.
"Then why is he here?"
Sunghoon's jaw clenches. You squeeze his arm as if to remind him you are next to him, and he melts instantly into your touch.
"I'm here because my girl and my friends are. Now if you'd be so kind, we are trying to have a nice night, and you're interfering with that." Sunghoon turns around, holding you against his chest as he starts to make his way to the bar to grab another beer.
"Yeah? You know your friend and your girl used to fuck? Maybe they still do."
Sunghoon was raised to be a patient man. One that counts to ten before reacting, a man who wouldn't even hurt a fly. So it must be the alcohol fueling his actions, because before he realizes what he is doing, he grabs the guy by his shirt, knuckles white as a ghost making the material wrinkle in his hold. "What the fuck did you just say?"
Sunghoon knows he is being provoked, but not even Jay trying to step between them can do anything to calm his anger, not when the poor bastard spits on his shirt, then says something that he really shouldn't have.
"I mean look at her." The man laughs, and it's bitter, filled with something more sinister than mere disgust. It's envy. "Are you surprised? She's dressed like a whore."
Sunghoon moves before you have the time to grab him, right fist colliding with so much force against the man's face, his lip breaks on contact. He wobbles a bit, hit taking him by surprise, but he just gathers the blood dripping inside his mouth and spits it by Sunghoon's feet.
"Hey! Hey." Jay grabs the guy's arm, roughly yanking him back as a crowd of people starts to notice the commotion, heading to take a look at what's happening, a few bodyguards included.
"So tough," the man starts a laughs interrupted by winching when his broken lip curls too much. "Take that out on your so called friend—"
Your voice drowns out the rest of the sentence. "Baby, please."
Sunghoon looks at you, and for a second you doubt he sees you. There's so much anger in his eyes, like he wants nothing more than to rip the little bitch in front of him to pieces. They're almost unfamiliar in a way that send shivers down your spine. You hate the fact that you can't tell if it's fear or lust. But the storm behind his gaze clears out for a second when he sees the alarm on your pretty face, just the one you need. "I wanna go home."
No matter the anger coursing through Sunghoon's bloodstream like venom, thick black poison inciting him to turn back and finish the job, his conscience always prioritizes your well being and what you want. So when you take his hand a make a beeline for the exit, he follows without a single complaint.
The car ride back home is uncomfortably silent.
Sunghoon doesn't hum the random tune playing on the radio like he usually does, he doesn't hold your thigh nor does he even spare you a glance, and you start worrying he might be mad at you.
The words said about you earlier sting, but they don't hold a candle next to Sunghoon's silence. You want to speak up, fill the void that is so uncharacteristically awkward, but the words die in your throat the second you try to push them out.
A ding! followed by your phone screen lighting up signals a new notification, and you swipe through your phone to find out if Jungwon has finally made his existence known.
It's a text from Jay. You notice how Sunghoon's eyes dart to your phone for a split second before going back to focusing on the road ahead, his jaw twitching under the street lights.
00:27 AM. Jongie <3: You guys made it home yet?
00:28 AM. you: not yet, you? did you find the others?
Last thing you heard as you dragged Sunghoon out of the club was Jay arguing with both the still nameless guy and two bodyguards who had been notified of commotion next to the bar. Your main goal was to get your boyfriend the hell out of there before he broke someone's face in, but now that you're away from the mess and the dizziness from the alcohol has started to die down, leaving your muscles and bones tired, you worry for your friends too.
00:29 AM. Jongie <3: Heading back now, Jake texted me he found Won.
00:29 AM. Jongie <3: Wasted, ofc. But apparently Jake's taking care of him now.
00:31 AM. you: don't know if i like the sound of that. will they ever let us back in there?
00:33 AM. Jongie <3: Yeah no chance, Won won't be happy when he finds out.
00:35 AM. you: how did him and jake even get home?
You lock your phone for good after Jay confirms Jake mumbled something about a really nice girl with a great rack driving them home, deciding you'll deal with their bullshit another day, when you're completely sober and not worried about what your unusually silent boyfriend might be thinking.
Just in time for Sunghoon to pull into his driveway. He doesn't remind you to take your bag with you as he always does, he doesn't wait for you to be out of the car before heading straight towards his front door. Truth be told, you're more shocked he didn't just drop you off at your own apartment because now you're really sure he must be upset with you.
It's dumb, really. What that guy said is anything but your fault. But your panicked mind makes up scenarios in which Sunghoon knows you wanted to make him jealous, wanted to get a reaction out of him for something as silly as getting him to properly fuck you. It convinces you he has every right to be upset.
His hand twitches in pain for a second while unlocking the door, dried blood—both his and not—staining his pristine knuckles, and it only aids in making you feel worse. You follow him through the entrance, and he waits for you to walk inside before locking the door for the night. It's now or never.
It takes all the courage you can find within yourself to speak, and still your voice comes out uneven, shaky, things your voice has never been when talking to Park Sunghoon. "I'm really, really sorry."
He turns back to you like you just said the most shocking sentence he's ever heard in his life, and he quickly grabs you by your hips when he notices just how scared you look. He quickly realizes you must've mistaken his silent attempt at calming down his anger at the situation for coldness towards you for some reason, and his heart breaks a little at the thought of having made you doubt yourself. When he answers, it's the softest you've ever heard him. "What for, pretty girl?"
Tears well in your eyes when you fail to find the words. You're sorry for so many things, you don't even know where to start. You're sorry for dragging him somewhere he didn't even wanna be in the first place, sorry for taking advantage of his kindness for your own benefit, you're sorry his knuckles are raw and bloodied just because he had to defend you. Above all, you're sorry for being so damn selfish.
Sunghoon carefully caresses your face with his clean hand, so none of that bastard's blood goes anywhere near your pretty features. His thumb swipes across your bottom lip like it's second nature, silently waiting for you to say what's on your mind. He searches your gaze, but you're too busy trying to not burst into tears right there in front of him, so he lowers his hand to your jaw and gently angles your head upwards.
His eyes are kind and warm, no hint of the searing coldness they held mere minutes ago. "None of what happened today is your fault," he speaks slowly, sincerely. He makes sure every single word leaving his lips is loud and clear, no room for misunderstanding or doubt. Sunghoon is smart, he knows you like no one ever has put in the effort to. "I'm sorry if I made you doubt yourself back there, I should've said something. I'm sorry." He sounds secure and confident in what he's saying, but the little unsteady breath and the sharp swallow that come right after betray him. His hand slightly trembles on your skin, and it makes your heart sink even more.
Something else to add to the list. You're also sorry for making Sunghoon feel guilty over your emotions when he never did anything wrong to begin with.
You still struggle to speak, especially when Sunghoon is looking into your eyes as one would towards the light shining through the water surface after holding their breath in far too long, like it means being able to breathe again. There's a devotion in him you've never seen, something actors on a stage cannot replicate, something you don't think words to describe it have been spoken out yet. Something purely unique to you and him.
When your words fail you, you show him your own devotion in a different way.
There's a medication kit Sunghoon got forever ago solely to patch up Jake and Won whenever their Jake and Won antics get them hurt (very often, comically often). Never in your life would you have imagined Sunghoon to be on the receiving end of the care, but here you are.
Sunghoon follows you wordlessly to the couch, giving no protest when you point to sit down while you take your spot next to him.
The saline stings as you carefully clean the wound, but Sunghoon makes no show of it. You finally have a reason to look at somethings else other than his eyes as you gather your thoughts, but he doesn't lose sight of the frown deepening on your face.
Sunghoon watches you intently through his now messy bangs as you hold his bigger hand in yours as if it were made out of the most precious, frail glass. His fingers are way thicker than yours are, but you brush against his knuckles with the cotton just as softly as he kisses your forehead seconds before you let yourself be taken by slumber in his arms every night. He sees all the expressions fluttering on your face, he gives you the time he knows you need. He knows there's something you need to get off your chest.
When the blood stains the cotton instead of his skin, you speak up, "Does it hurt?"
Sunghoon hums in disagreement, the sound dry in his throat. You press into the raw skin a little harder, earning a low hiss from him. "Don't lie to me. We don't lie to each other."
"We don't, but you're hiding something from me." He stops before continuing, his voice a mere whisper, "what's wrong?"
"You got hurt because of me."
"That's not—"
"Yes you did." And once the river of words tumbling out of your mouth starts, it can't be stopped any longer. "I know how you feel about high school and—"
"It's not that—"
"But it is. I don't care if it was five years ago or ten or fifteen, I know you feel a certain way about it and don't lie to me to spare my feelings because it makes me only feel worse. You feel a way about it and I still went out of my way to take advantage of it for such a stupid reason and now I feel like a fucking idiot. And it also got you hurt."
"Baby," Sunghoon says after a moment of quiet, only filled by your heavy breathing. "Hey."
You busy yourself by grabbing the gauze in the little med kit next to you, but you make the mistake of glancing at him for a second, and the little smile dancing on his lips keeps your eyes glued to the sight.
"It's only a few scratches. What's all this really about?"
"I just… fuck, I'm never living this down." You stretch the white bandage over Sunghoon's wound, wrapping it a few times to fully secure it. You take a deep breath, buying yourself more time by inspecting your boyfriend's fingers like they're the most interesting thing you've ever seen in your life. He playfully taps his index against your palm. It makes you smile despite your best efforts not to. "I just wanted to make you jealous."
You say it so quietly even Sunghoon, barely inches away from you, almost misses it. Almost, because you hear the teasing in his tone loud and clear. "Jealous?"
Cat's out of the bag anyway, so you might as well explain yourself. "Before you say anything, Won gave me the idea."
"Of course."
"I just, y'know. Best friend stuff," you say, as if it's the answer to everything.
"Best friend stuff… as in?" Sunghoon keeps prodding, and the faint smile you hear as he speaks without having to take a look at him simultaneously makes you want to grin and roll your eyes at him. You bite your inner cheek instead.
"As in… complaining about my boyfriend…"
"Oh, you must have so much to complain about."
"Well, for starters, my boyfriend doesn't want to fuck me—"
Sunghoon erupts in a fits of boyish giggles when he finally figures out what's going on, delighted to see how embarrassed you are by this whole ordeal. He grabs you by your hips and sits you right on top of his lap so suddenly you let out a little shriek of surprise. "Trust me, your boyfriend would love nothing more than to fuck you through the mattress."
Your hands rest on his shoulders, and you lower your chest against his, noses brushing each other. "Then what's stopping him?"
Sunghoon's warm breath tickles your lips when he whispers, "Maybe he thinks your pretty little pussy can't take it yet."
A warm feeling travels through your body, settling into your lower abdomen, and just when you think he's gonna kiss you, he pulls back and rests his back on the cushion behind him, sinking further into the soft couch and pulling you down with him.
"Hoon—"
"Mh-mh. You haven't told me what Won's idea was yet."
"You know it." You raise your hand to playfully hit his chest, but he's faster than you are and catches your wrist midway with his injured hand.
"I don't know a damn thing," Sunghoon says as he brings his lips to the back of your hand, letting them brush gently against your soft skin before placing a small peck. "Go on, enlighten me."
You pout, but Sunghoon's set on making you talk, and even though you're stubborn and embarrassed, you know he won't let it go until he's satisfied with your response.
And, the slowly growing hardness under your exposed panties, combined with the residuals of alcohol still buzzing through your system are making it hard for you to stand your ground. Not when Sunghoon looks as good as he does with his bangs messily covering his eyes, and fitted short sleeve highlighting his hard chest underneath the cotton. Unfortunately for you.
You move on his lap, adjusting your position so you can feel more of him through the thin material covering you. You crave the harsh coarseness of his jeans on you, for the heat seeping out of him to envelope you fully. You're on top of him, thighs straddling his, yet you feel the invisible push to be even closer. As close as you physically can be.
Sunghoon sees the hunger in your eyes, he has all this time. He too is barely hanging on by a thread, and the self restraint he's miraculously managed to keep until now is dwindling by the second. All the times you've begged for him, all the times he's fucked your pretty pussy open with different toys, bigger and thicker each time. All the times he's had to take cold showers after seeing the raw need for him to claim you fully reflected in your eyes, even after coaxing orgasm after of orgasm out of you. You're so insatiable, but he might be even worse. Once he gives in, he doesn't think he'll be able to let you go ever.
Sunghoon knows you've felt ready for a long time, and even if he thinks you could use more getting used to bigger sizes before he allows himself to finally sink into you, the temptation gnaws at him all the same.
He just needs a little confirmation.
"Tell me, what was this master plan of yours?" he speaks with his mouth pressed to your palm, softly running his nose down to your wrist, allowing himself to bask in the warmness of the scent you chose for the night.
"Won's, not mine."
"That you willingly agreed to."
"I just… wanted to make you jealous." You finally admit, avoiding Sunghoon's gaze at all costs.
"How so? Wearing this tiny little dress?" His voice is lower, more dangerous. He slides his free hand to grab a handful of your barely covered ass, the skirt having ridden up to your waist almost completely. "You know I like it when the attention's on you. They can look all they want, you're mine." The movement causes you to jerk up against his crotch, earning a low grunt from the man beneath you.
"Tell me, baby," Sunghoon rocks you slowly against his hard bulge, caging his bottom lip between his teeth as he takes in your needy and embarrassed form. "How did you plan to make me jealous? Why?"
Your hand slides down his chest and dips under the thin shirt before caressing just over the waistband of his underwear peeking out of the dark jeans. "I thought it would be a smart idea to drag you along to the get together, and I guess I hoped someone would bring me and Jay up. I know how you feel about it and I wanted to use it to my advantage, but I also didn't consider how you'd feel surrounded by strangers reminding you of all the time you and the guys lost. All the time we lost. You came to make me happy and I was being selfish the entire time. You even got hurt because of me—"
"Not because of you. He should be thankful you were there to stop me or I would've broken his ugly face in."
"Still. I'm so sorry. It was childish."
A beat passes without either of you saying anything, and you twitch uncomfortably in his lap.
"Why?"
Your lip trembles, and your heart sinks at the thought of having angered your angel of a boyfriend. Tears well up in your eyes before you even attempt to explain yourself, but Sunghoon gently angles your chin toward him until you're met with his gaze. It's intense, darker than you've ever seen in all your time knowing him. He searches your face for something, and you realize it's not anger casting shadows behind his eyes. It's pure, unfiltered lust.
"Why did you want me jealous?" His voice is raw, like it pains him to produce a single sound, like whatever you answer him with is the honey that will soothe it.
You twitch again, and this time you're not scared, but your insides twist all the same. He rest heavy and hot under you, and you don't know how you'll handle another rejection if that's what this is leading to.
"I wanted you to fuck me, really fuck me. I hoped it would be enough to push you to the breaking point, Sunghoon.“ You swallow hard, and the saliva in your mouth feels thicker than usual. Maybe it is, maybe you're just more aware of all the sensations within your body. "I need you to break."
It's all Sunghoon needs to hear.
He lurches forward to capture your lips with his, harsh and messy, like an animal that has finally broken out of the restraint keeping it chained. His hands roam all over your body, eager to explore every single inch as if it's the first time he ever does.
You reciprocate him with just as much hunger behind every movement, hands slipping from his body to his hair to pull his head back. You grind your hips against his, moves deliberately slow compared to the feverish kiss. "I need you. I don't wanna wait anymore."
Sunghoon moans into your mouth when you release his hair, and he doubles his efforts, sliding his fingers through the wide gaps of the fishnets covering your thighs, big palms fully working you on top of his bulge.
"You want it so bad, baby?" He says between open mouthed kisses, full lips raw and red from the fight with yours. "I'm gonna give it all to you."
Uncaring for the mess of knocked over stuff you two leave in your wake, from Sunghoon's keys loudly hitting the ground to your heels abandoned somewhere on the carpet, you make your way to his room without ever letting go of each other. All around you is just background noise and things you'll think of later, the only thing that seems to matter is to get in bed and get rid of all the pent up frustration clouding your minds.
The door shuts closed and soon your back hits the bed with a soft thud, Sunghoon's hands heavy on your hips and mouth hot on your neck as he carves a wet path on your sensitive skin, caging you between his hard chest and the mattress. He wraps your leg around his middle, and when your cores touch again, you both sigh in relief.
You've spent all this time on the cusp of finally getting something more, waiting—albeit not so patiently on your part—for the right moment, and now that you both know you're just moments away from it, seconds seem to stretch out into hours and even the slightest teasing feels unbearable.
That's what you think, at least. Because Sunghoon is nothing but a tease at heart, and he has very different plans in store for you.
You take advantage of the little moment of pause to undress yourself, but Sunghoon stops you as soon as he notices what you're trying to do.
"Keep it on," he murmurs along your neck, feeling your pulse quicken right under his full lips. He kisses along your collarbones, to your shoulder, exactly where the strap of your dress rests. His teeth graze the material, and he draws back slightly before letting it snap back into place, the slight sting making you jump just the tiniest bit in his hold. "You wanted to make me jealous in this? Then I'll fuck you in it." He mouths his way back up, until he reaches your ear, teeth gently biting right where he knows it makes shivers spread all over your body. "Next time you wear it, my cock is all you'll be able to think about."
You can't hide the way your body reacts to his words, thighs pressing together from the sheer excitement.
Sunghoon toys with the strings of your fishnets, and for a moment you think you should take them off, but he just rips a hole through them, allowing his hand to finally slide underneath them and grab your ass as harshly as he wants. "These were getting on my nerves."
"I can take them—"
Sunghoon silences you with a kiss, slower than the previous one, calculated and meticulous but every bit as passionate. His teeth sink into your bottom lip until you gasp against his mouth, his tongue gently licking away at your lip to soothe the sting. He pulls your core closer to his, unabashedly moaning into your mouth as he ruts his hips into yours.
The tights start to frustrate you the more he works himself against your panties. You want to be closer, you need to feel him push against you completely, and they're in the way. So once again, you try to rid yourself of them.
Sunghoon keeps you still. "These stay on until I tell you to take them off." His tone is commanding, but not abrasive, muffled by your skin. "Understood?"
You barely nod when suddenly he's bending you at his will like you're his to drag around as he pleases, and while usually you would've fought back just for the sake of it, you play nice this time, doing anything to not have him changes his mind and leave you hanging once again.
He sets you on your knees, facing the headboard of his king sized bed, a sturdy and thick thing, wood carved with elegant loops and twirls all around the edges. They gleam and cast shadows alike when Sunghoon reaches over you to turn on the bedside lamp.
The same hand steadies your hip as he lowers himself onto you, pressing his chest to your back and littering kisses from your temple to your neck. "Aren't you such a cute little thing?" he whispers into your ear, chucking when he feels you shudder under his weight. "So needy and desperate, making up plans just to have my cock in your tight pussy." He's so big, so warm. So strong. It makes your knees weak, and you would crumble on the soft mattress if not for his large hand keeping you still. "Should've just come to me right away, should've begged for my cock like the good girl I know you can be." His other hand starts to travel down your body, and your thighs instinctively spread open to accommodate him.
Pride blooms in Sunghoon's heart. You're so pliant for him, sweetly allowing him to touch you all over, your body responding so well to his slightest touch, to his softest word. The trust you have in him makes his cock harder in his pants, but he's always been a patient man. A man that enjoys taking his time playing with his meal before sinking his teeth into it.
That, and you still have a lesson to learn. "But you've been bad, so bad." He bites your earlobe as his fingers hook onto one of the little holes in your tights, right over your throbbing core, so needy and ready to be claimed by him. You hear a loud rip before you realize what's going on.
His fingers immediately find your panties, slick and stuck to your drooling lips, and he starts touching you over them like all the teasing he's subjected you to until then isn't enough to satisfy him. "You'll make it up to me, yeah? You'll make me proud and happy." He licks along the shell of your ear, and your thighs shake, spreading open once more to coax him into touching you better. "I'll only fuck you when I'm satisfied with how sorry you are."
"Hoon—"
"Don't worry, baby." His fingers dip under the fabric, finally really touching you for the first time that night. He slides two fingers between your lips to coat them in your juices as he keeps talking to you in a tone that almost seems belittling, the pout in his voice too heavy and pronounced for it to be honest. "I'll make it worth it. All the time we waited will be worth it. I just have to get you nice and ready, dripping for me."
You have half a mind to turn around and fight him, because you don't understand how you could physically get wetter even if you wanted to be patient and take it. "I'm already wet," you say, and it comes out a little harsher than you intend for it to.
"Look at you," Sunghoon mocks you, the bite in your response only making him chuckle lowly in your ear, the vibrations from the sound make wetness pool on his digits, much to his amusement. "Can't keep the brattiness in check even when you should feel sorry. How can I take your apologies seriously?"
You open your mouth to answer, but his fingers pinch your clit before you get a single word out, replaced by a shriek that sounds something right in between pleasure and pain.
"Less talking." Sunghoon doesn't stop or lessen his touch on your poor sensitive bundle of nerves. Instead, he rolls it between his fingers, coaxing loud moans out of you with every single movement. "More of this."
The bed creaks under Sunghoon's knees as he detaches from your already quivering form and gets up to grab something. You complain with a little whine at the sudden loss, but just a quick glance in his direction tells you to stay still and be patient.
"Where's your phone?" Sunghoon asks. It sounds a lot more like an order.
"My… huh? My phone?"
"Your phone. Where is it?"
You gawk at him for a second, still in the same position despite the dull ache in your knees slowly but surely setting in, your mouth agape as you try to rack your brain for an explanation as to why the fuck Sunghoon needs your phone since he doesn't seem to be planning on offering you one. "In my bag. On the couch, I think."
It's only a few seconds before your boyfriend returns with your phone in his hand, and throws it carelessly on the bed next to you. He returns to his previous position, the warmth radiating from his body soothing you even when you don't know what to expect next.
You'd be lying if you said you don't enjoy this stricter version of your ever so loving and doting boyfriend, thighs clenching at the thought of the danger lurking behind his sweet demeanor.
"Unlock your phone and open Jay's chat." Sunghoon's calm facade is completely gone, replaced by pure fire.
"What?"
"You heard me." His grip on your thighs tightens, possessive and angry. "You're gonna open Jay's chat and record while I fuck your pussy with my fingers, and you'll have him hear how good I make you feel."
You're breathless, adrenaline pumping through your system and ears ringing at the thought of doing something so obscene, with one of your best friends on the other end of it no less. "Hoon, Jay didn't have anything to do with this… we shouldn't—"
"I don't care." Sunghoon bites your neck, sharp canines poking you just enough to elicit a gasp out of you. "You'll do as I say and tell him you won't ever go back."
He sounds so possessive, so unlike any version of him you have experienced, and just this little taste has you obsessed. You love the soft spoken, big sweetheart he always is, and you love the sleeping beast hidden just beneath the surface too. You love the anticipation of what's to come, not knowing which side of Sunghoon you're gonna get.
Your hand trembles as you reach for the phone, his is sure and steady as it makes its descent down to your wet pussy again. Sunghoon takes his time, letting his fingers ghost on your thighs for a little before sliding the panties off of you. You hear him moan behind you, and you're glad you don't get to see what you suspect is him licking off the wetness off the fabric he just rid you of. That would be way too much for you in the moment, you think.
The Jongie <3 contact in your favorites section seems so silly now that you're mere seconds away from letting him hear how your boyfriend fucks you, so you take a few deep breaths in preparation. As if sensing your hesitation, Sunghoon quickly places a gentle kiss to your temple, and just like that, he's back to his caring self. "You said you're sorry, baby. You should show me, but you don't have to."
You press the voice message recording button moments later, heart thrumming loudly in your ears as you slide your finger up so it keeps recording hands free.
"Such a brave girl. So, so good for me." Sunghoon praises you, and it soothes some of the anxiety you feel, his tone thick and sweet as honey, you barely recognize it as the same one that was giving you harsh commands earlier.
The downright filthy sound of Sunghoon's digits spreading your pussy lips open has you cowering in embarrassment, but your boyfriend doesn't care. He needs Jay to hear how absolutely soaked you are. He wastes no time, pushing in three fingers inside you.
Your mouth is hung open in a silent moan, eyebrows knit together and eyes closed, taking a moment to adjust to the sudden sensation. It stings, even when you're so wet it's dripping down your thighs by now, but his fingers are so long and thick the initial stretch is always uncomfortable, despite all the training.
Sunghoon doesn't like that, so he gives you no time, no warning, and just starts pumping in and out of you, curling the tips just like he does when you're about to cum and need the tiniest push. He's unfair, so unfair, because how are you supposed to keep your sounds down like you planned to when he's finger fucking you like it's his life mission to have you come undone in record time?
You don't know if it's an ego thing, or he just wants to make your punishment that much harder. It must be both, because within seconds you're moaning and gasping out in pleasure for him and Jay so beautifully, really putting on a show for the both of them. But it's so hard to focus and remember what you're supposed to say, and the longer the voice message is, the more mortified you'll be in the morning.
For now, satisfying Sunghoon's thirst for punishment and placating the jealousy you yourself caused is your top priority. You'll think about the consequences another time.
"Aren't you gonna say hi? Where are your manners?" Sunghoon's mouth drops to your ear, the movement of his fingers inside of your cunt relentless and not giving you a single second to breathe properly. It doesn't matter to him, how much harder he's making for you to accomplish your task. He basks in it, even. He's proud of how just his fingers are enough to turn you dumb with pleasure.
"I—mh," you try your best to muffle the moans cascading from your lips, to no avail. Even if you managed to do so, the incredibly loud squelching noises in the background would betray you.
"Need a hand?" he laughs dryly, and you feel the faint presence of a fourth finger next to the other three, waiting to slide in and stretch you open further.
"Hoon!" you gasp in surprise.
"That's right, baby. That's who you belong to. Tell Jay."
"I—I belong to—Hoon! I can't!"
His fourth digit keeps prodding around to find a possible entrance, but you're already so full you think any more would actually break you. "How do you plan to let me fuck you, then?"
He's teasing you. You both know you can and you will. It's just a matter of taking it slowly. His finger is suddenly not trying to inch inside you anymore, despite how lost you both are in the moment, your comfort comes first always. It just means Sunghoon will find another way.
He speaks lowly against your ear, but it's enough for your phone to pick it up clearly, "Once I'll split you open on my cock like you've been begging for, nothing else will ever satisfy you. No one else will. Once I claim your little hole, it's mine. Jay's seen how big I am. He knows it too. Tell him whose pussy I'm about to split open."
"Mine." You gasp at a particularly harsh thrust.
"No. Mine." The sheer command in his voice makes you clench even more around his fingers, as if the fit isn't already tight enough. "Try again."
"Yours! It's yours."
"Good fucking girl." He moans against you, his hot breath rising goose bumps all over your skin. "Tell him you'll never go back to him," he adds after a moment, quieter.
The pace he is fingering you at slows down just enough so you can actually get a coherent sentence out, and you're silently grateful for this little show of mercifulness on Sunghoon's part. If not for this, the voice mail would probably end up being an hour long.
"I'll never—mh. Go back to you."
"Good. So good. Now tell him how happy you are with me, happier than you ever were with him. Tell him you love me," he rasps, high on the reassurance you're providing him. High on how obedient you are for him.
"Love Hoon so much, I love him. I love him so so much. Hoon, please." You're a mess, dripping down onto the bedsheets and clamping around his fingers so hard any more would probably cut Sunghoon's blood flow. The more you grip him, the wider you spread your thighs to accommodate him, like you're silently begging for him to be harsher. He has half a mind to fulfill your body's wordless plea.
"Look at you, spreading your pretty legs for me. You like it when I talk to you like this? Does it make your little pussy wetter?"
You're so tight, so wet, and Sunghoon is so impossibly hard. He could cum right there just thinking about how good you'll feel wrapped around him, walls convulsing and milking him for all he's worth with every orgasm he gives you. For every orgasm you bless him with.
A sight for sore eyes, one Jay will never see nor hear. Because as soon as he can sense you climbing up your high, getting so close, your walls fluttering against his curled up digits in preparation and juices plentifully seeping out of you, he grabs your phone and ends the recording himself.
Sunghoon moves, and suddenly you miss the weight of his chest pressing into your back, but the pace of his fingers inside you slows down again. You wail as you feel the climax you were so close to dissipate, and suddenly you feel like invisible ropes are keeping your front tied to the bed. Your back gives in under the pressure, arching in ways that should be uncomfortable but it's the only outlet other than the plentiful sounds being pushed out of you your body has to ground itself in the midst of all the pleasure.
The loneliness your heart feels whenever he deprives you of his body heat for as much as a few seconds has tiny broken sobs and whines lurch out of your throat, but like every single time, Sunghoon is there to soothe you. "I know, baby, I know. Just let me help you feel good. Yeah?"
Even when you're supposedly being punished, he can't help but go a little easy on you, his gorgeous angel. His spoiled baby. But it's okay, because you did such a good job, listened and obeyed to his every command.
Sunghoon's warm breath tickles the skin of your bottom, and his nose brushes up from your mid thigh to your ass, giving you a playful yet gentle bite on the plushy skin. Air gets stuck in your throat in anticipation, but like every single thing he does, he takes his time in savoring all the moments leading up to finally get your sweet taste to coat his tongue like he's craved for this entire time.
You're twitchy and so responsive in his hold, and Sunghoon is enamored with the sight of your fluttering walls trying their best to suck his thick digits in even more. Greedy little cunt for a spoiled little girl. A perfect match.
He watches intently how you react to every single thrust of his fingers inside you, how your knees shake and body flops forward when he bends the tips in just the right direction when you least expect it. He pushes in deeper, and deeper, until you're gushing on his palm, your essence dripping down his wrist and a few droplets down to his elbow too. He registers your every moan, every beg for more, imprints all your sounds in his memory like they're the dearest ones he's ever made.
Sunghoon remembers all your reactions from times you'd consider unimportant, from the little moan when you first bite into anything he's cooked—whether you really like it not—to the way your leg bounces when following the rhythm of a song you said you despised because they played it on the radio too often, to the way your eyebrow twitches when he mentions a name you haven't heard before.
When you catch him with that sweet look in his eyes, staring at you with a toothy grin and canines peeking out, it's because he's watching you and storing everything in his mind, no matter how mundane, no matter how dumb, no matter how silly. It's a no brainer he'd do this in times like these too, even when he's witnessed you come undone under his gaze plenty of times, he doesn't want to miss a single one.
It's not really about learning what brings you pleasure faster and what prolongs it, he's familiar with all of that already, Sunghoon just happens to really enjoy watching you, even if you think it's the most embarrassing thing in the world.
So he does exactly that, inspects you carefully as he keeps fucking you open with his fingers, taking guesses about how hard or deep he should make his pumps, pride blooming in his chest—and cock throbbing in his pants—when you react exactly like he expects. While usually he watches you with a lovesick smile, the grin on his face and fiery glint behind his eyes are different now, hungrier and needier, but every bit as obsessed.
Because that's exactly what Sunghoon is, deeply and unashamedly obsessed with you.
He builds your orgasm up again, brick by brick, flick of his wrist by flick of his wrist, until you're quivering and shaking and begging him to not take it away this time.
"Please," you moan, hand clenching onto the bedsheets beside you so hard you'll be shocked if by the end there won't be a hole ripped in them. "I'm so close."
Sunghoon notices how you hold onto your orgasm, waiting for his approval. It makes his hips twitch forward involuntary, eager to please and eager to give you anything you want. "I got you baby, let go. Let me hear the pretty sounds you make when you cum for me."
It's all it takes for the coil in your stomach to completely snap, and the second your warm walls flutter around Sunghoon's fingers for the first time, you feel a sense of emptiness that lasts only a moment, before you're full again. It's not as thick, shorter but so much wetter, and through the thick fog clouding your mind as your body is overtaken by uncontrollable shivers spreading from your core to every extremity of your body, you realize he just replaced his fingers with his tongue.
Another lightning strike shoots right through you, head to feet, as Sunghoon keeps fucking you through your orgasm with his tongue. You're still fluttering around it and releasing all of your juices right into his awaiting mouth when the ringing in your ears slowly fades, replaced by the downright obscene sounds of Sunghoon slurping up all he can get out of you. It's messy and nasty, the lower half of his face completely coated in your essence but he doesn't care. He wants more.
He moans into your pussy like he's the one being pleasured, and once that single second of bliss between fully coming down from an orgasm and overstimulation setting in goes by, he pulls you in closer when you start moving too much. You're still too sensitive, but if Sunghoon thinks you're greedy, you have to realize he's even worse. Feeling the dull throbbing of your walls as you come around his tongue one time just isn't enough. If it were up to him, he'd have you wet his mouth again and again until you physically can't withstand any more. Until you're barely coherent and slipping into a peaceful sleep, completely tired out.
Sunghoon grabs a handful of your ass with his still dripping hand as he licks a stripe down from your hole into your lips, spreading them open with his tongue to find your clit, throbbing and raw from your previous orgasm. He rolls it between his lips, toys with it with his tongue, uncaring for the way your body pushes away from his mouth. After all the begging you did, you have no business running from it, if you ask him.
"Stay still," he growls into you, both of his hands tied together on your lower back as he fully pushes you down on the mattress with his strength, leaving you nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. He nuzzles his face into you, enveloping all he can get with his warm mouth, sighing and groaning contently with every bit of wetness you gush right on his tongue.
He explores every inch of you, every nook and cranny he can get into, cleaning you up with each lick and wetting you even more with every other. "So fucking good," he moans into you, dragging you back against him when you think you can't physically be closer, when the tip of his nose pushes into your hole and when the only way he has to breathe is through his mouth which is full of you. He pants and gasps against your cunt so much you fear he might suffocate himself just to not come up for air a single time.
Your own face is pushed against the bed, mouth biting down on the cotton fabric beneath you to ground yourself in the immense cloud of pleasure Sunghoon is giving you. He's so lost in your taste he doesn't even remind you to not muffle your sounds, the only thing in his mind is to have you come undone on his mouth once more.
Sunghoon knows he's close to his goal when your little pained whines start turning into longer, more drawn out moans, when you stop running away from his tongue and instead start thrusting yourself back into his hold, back into his mouth. All your senses are ablaze, nerve endings lit and confused but so pleased at the same time. You yourself don't know when the it stopped hurting and became that dull, impending feeling of almost there to something more that both maddens you and keeps you hooked, but you roll your hips anyway in search of just the little nudge in the right direction your body violently craves.
Like always, Sunghoon knows exactly what you need.
"Go on, baby. Touch your little clit for me." His voice is full and rich of that low gravel you barely get to hear, but that has tingles run down your body when you do. "Help me make you cum." Sunghoon lets his tongue run back up from your clit to your slit again, inching closer to your throbbing hole as you let a hand sneak under your body to your pussy, immediately finding your sensitive bundle of nerves.
You're so drenched by now you don't need to wet your hand before drawing circles all over it, dragging it in all the directions you know have your toes curl. Sunghoon likes it messy though, so he gathers a glob of spit and loudly releases it on your cunt, the position making it dribble down right where your hand is working to bring you closer to your peak.
The onslaught of wetness pooling down only adds to the already embarrassingly loud noises coming from your cunt, and you're so wet, your own fingers slip a few times. It doesn't help that your arm shakes under you even when pinned down by your entire body weight when Sunghoon shoves his entire tongue down your hole again, using both of his hands on your lower back to move you so you're fucking his muscle as if it were a toy. His nose drags on your perineum with every movement of your bottom half against his face, and under any other circumstance you'd be mortified, but Sunghoon has a way of soothing you in the most embarrassing situations without really having to do anything but be there with you, like nothing matters in the grand scheme of things when his body is heating yours.
You speed your movements up to match the pace he sets, and with every thrust of his tongue combined with every flick of your wrist, you feel the band in your lower tummy stretch and warm up, until your sight turns searing white and warmth envelops your body from your core to all your limbs in rhythmic waves, first every other second, and then gradually slowing down.
You release on Sunghoon's tongue, and he wastes no time, gulping down all he can manage to, moaning into your heat like he's tasting the most divine nectar. You can't see it as you're busy catching your breath and slowing down your heartbeat as the rush of pleasure dissipates into a calmer buzzing felt all over your body, but Sunghoon's eyebrows crease in the middle, his eyes closed as he commits the taste of your cum to his memory, right beside all the indecent bits of you he treasures in his mind.
Sunghoon pulls his tongue out of you, already missing the way you flutter against it when you come undone, and leaves a trail of pecks all over your bottom, first on the plush of your ass still kept up by his strong hold despite you having completely given up on keeping yourself upright long ago, then all over your thighs, switching from one to the other as he runs a reassuring hand all over your skin, wordlessly soothing you. His palms are big and thick on your thighs as he moves to wrap his hands to the front, steadying you one last time to capture your clit in a gentle suckle, just enough to have your body convulse in overstimulation, but too tired and spent to fight back.
He pulls off of you with a pop after hollowing his cheeks around it one last time. "Did so good for me, baby. You're so perfect."
Without Sunghoon's hands keeping you up, you slump on the bed, completely this time, groaning when the burn in your lower body fully sets in now that you can move it again. It's dull and persistent, and especially fiery right where Sunghoon's hands stayed locked for most of it.
"You okay, pretty? Was I too rough?" He sounds concerned when you take longer than usual to regain your strength, his hands immediately roaming all over your body to massage any sore spot. His touch is light like a breeze but welcome like the sun on a spring day, warming up all the knots in your muscles. The dangerous edge seems to have completely evaporated, only leaving your sweet boyfriend behind. In the moment, it's exactly what you need.
You give him a vague sound of approval in response, but you know it's not enough for him when he gently maneuvers your body around to face him, holding you so carefully one would think him scared of damaging you.
The warm light shining from the night stand casts shadows on his face, but the slight concern etched on his features is bright as day. It's an intimate moment, and you'd giggle because of the sheer difference in his behavior if you had the energy to do so. Instead, you reach for his hand. The same hand that held a bruising grip on you just moments before, the same hand that hit the man who disrespected you.
Sunghoon returns you touch right away, locking your fingers with his as if second nature. You place a featherlight kiss on them, allowing your lips to linger on his salty skin as you speak. "I'm great. Perfect even." It comes out a little raspy, like you haven't fully caught your breath yet, but it's a start.
"Yeah. You are."
"And you? You doing okay?"
Sunghoon gifts you one of his cannot-possibly-contain-it smiles, the ones where he looks down for a split second as his eyes crinkle and somehow smile wider than his lips do. Your favorite kind of Sunghoon Smiles you'd say in the moment, though if you were to compile a list they would all be in the number one spot.
"Perfect, even."
"Hey, that's my line—" you start, but Sunghoon finishes your sentence for you.
"—Don't steal it."
You hum, the taste of skin still on your lips as you bask in the moment for a little, neither of you daring to break the peaceful quiet that wraps like a fuzzy blanket around you. Sunghoon flinches just the tiniest bit when your fingers graze the bandaged scratches, making you ease up your hold on his hand. He immediately squeezes yours to tell you it's okay.
"You know," you say after you let the silence linger for a few more seconds, only your heartbeats and shallow breaths filling the air in the dimly lit room. "You look really hot when you're mad."
Fits of giggles pour in the almost nonexistent space between you—first Sunghoon's, yours following suit.
"I must look super hot when I'm jealous then," he says with that teasing edge in his tone you're all too familiar with. He dips down to catch your lips in a slow kiss, suckling on your bottom lip gently, the corners of his mouth still raised. He hasn't stopped smiling once.
"Absolutely," you say before Sunghoon pecks you again, and then keeps doing it as you try to continue. "And when you're happy—" another peck. "And when you're bored." Another peck. "And when you're—sorry if I say this but you look like a cute kicked puppy—sad.
"So you're gonna keep finding ways to make me jealous, I assume."
It's not meant to be a jab, you know he's being playful. But it stings you just in the right way, and suddenly you're in the passenger seat of Sunghoon's black Bentley again, worrying about having hurt his feelings past redemption.
Like all things you, Sunghoon catches it right away.
"Hey there, it's okay. I'm not upset, baby." Sunghoon's hands are secure around your hips, his thumb running soothing circles on your skin while your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer because it's simply never enough.
"You should be. You're too nice."
Sunghoon presses his lips on your fluttering lashes. "You being a little brat is nothing new. I think I know how to handle you pretty well, don't I?" His breath, minty but also vaguely bitter from the beer still, warms your cheekbone. Sunghoon's proximity to you is intoxicating in ways no amount of alcohol could ever be, and you hate beer, but god, what wouldn't you do to taste it off of his lips for the rest of your life.
Whoever is up there must be gracious because your prayers are answered the very next second, with Sunghoon ghosting his lips on yours, looking at you with tenfold the intensity and fire from earlier, like someone drenched the space behind his eyes with gasoline and lit it up without you noticing it. The switch is so sudden, and by now you should be used to this, but you don't think you ever will. Not when your boyfriend is looking at you like he might devour you whole any moment, and you'd let him. You'd love to let him.
"Act out all you want," Sunghoon says, voice dripping in possessiveness, right against your awaiting mouth. You want to swallow every last bit of it. "Go out there in short little skirts barely covering your ass. Make up all the silly plans you want, even ones where Jay's involved. Let everyone get a good look at you because that's all they'll ever fucking get." His hand reaches for your inner thigh, then folds it to give himself better access. His bulge is heavy and hard against your bare core, the weight of it enough to have you shiver and mewl, but when Sunghoon starts grinding his hips into yours, the noises spill out of you like you have no control over them. "At the end of the night, after you've had your fun, you'll always come back to me. In my bed, soaking my pants with your little pussy because you only get wet like this for me."
It's embarrassing how fast you feel like you could come again, but Sunghoon's hard thickness slides so perfectly over your folds even through the fabric, and the harshness of his jeans catches your clit every so often in such a delicious way. His pants are soaked through in your essence, both of you moaning and panting in each other's mouths so messily you don't even know if it could be classifies as a kiss or a mere exchange of spit.
"You're mine," Sunghoon rasps, like his life depends on it. He fumbles with his pants, depriving you of the mouth watering friction. You make a few noises of complaints, but his teeth are quick to sink into your bottom lip to silence them. "A spoiled little brat. But mine."
The heaviness of him finds your dripping core again, this time so much warmer, only his underwear separating your most sensitive parts from touching. It's the closest you've ever been to feeling his cock on you, and it's overwhelming. Electricity shocks run through your body when he starts moving his pelvis against you, completely coating the already damp material with the mix of your arousal and release. He's not unaffected—his own precum shows up right where the little slit in his tip is, the fabric of the boxers a darker shade of gray there.
"Mine to love, mine to discipline, mine to train. Mine." You don't know wether the hoarseness coming from his throat is due to the anything but proper activity you two are partaking in or simply the raw need for you to really let his words sink in, but the effect it has on you is clear. The proof is right where your cores meet.
You tentatively roll your hips into his, movements emboldening when you earn a few low grunts from him.
"This pussy is gonna be mine too now. Mine to worship and please. Mine to fuck open like she never has been before. I'm gonna ruin you for everyone else. You want that, right?"
You nod frantically, your hips running after Sunghoon's in a relentless chase, like they have a mind of their own.
"Say it. Say you want me to ruin your little hole."
"Ruin it—Hoon, please."
His hips falter when he hears just how desperate you sound, his eyebrows scrunched up in the middle and you can tell he's biting down on his tongue to ground himself. It only encourages you.
You reach for his boxers, wrapping your hand around the outline of his bulge and trying to contain your facial expressions at the reminder of just how ridiculously large he is. You squeeze it with your palm, his eyelids fluttering closed and his chest heaving from your touch alone. You try not to think too much about how outrageously wet the fabric is, all thanks to you. "Please, I need to feel you inside," you beg, arms pushing your tits—now basically spilling out of your dress—together and looking up at him with the most innocent doe eyed expression you can muster up.
Sunghoon's jaw leaps, and you feel like under a microscope as he watches you. "Little minx you are." He reaches for the first drawer of his night stand, rummaging though it quickly before pulling a tiny bottle out of it. It's lube.
"I don't need—"
Sunghoon silences you by spitting right on your pussy, your complaint turning into a whimper at the contact. "You do, baby. You need all the help you can get." Complaining more will get you nowhere but tucked into bed, still needy, horny and with a wet pussy, so you decide to play your cards cleverly and let him do his thing.
You paw at his boxers, fingers dipping into the waistband and trying to tug them down to get to the prize hidden behind. You spread your legs open even more as Sunghoon rips a larger hole into your tights, the veins running down his arms slightly bulging from the effort.
The sudden coldness of the lube dripping down on your puffy folds surprises you enough to rip a little yelp out of you, and Sunghoon's wide palms find their rightful place on your thighs, pushing them against your hips and lower stomach. He takes a good look at your cunt, spreading you open to his liking and leaving no inch of your skin hidden from his sight. "Such a pretty pussy." Your joints still ache and burn from all the exertion they already endured, but Sunghoon's words are like a soothing balm for your body and mind. "Prettiest cunt in the whole fucking world, all wet and ready for me to fuck."
You finally manage to free his cock fully, despite his filthy words sending waves of weakness through your body, and immediately wrap your palm around the middle, mouth watering when your thumb doesn't reach your other fingers. Not only is it way longer than average, it's also thick beyond comprehension, perfectly curved to hit all the right spots in you and so fucking veiny you can feel more slick pour out of you in anticipation. You quite literally cannot stop gawking at it, trying to move your hand up to his tip, just as thick if not thicker than the base, and you gulp as you watch beads of semi transparent liquid pour out of it.
"What is it, baby?" Sunghoon asks, Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he tries to not buck his hips into your hand. "We can stop if you want."
"No!" Your grip around him tightens, earning a gasp and a shallow thrust from him. Your thumb swipes over the head to spread his need all over, making it easier for you to slowly jerk him off. "Please," you add, quieter, afraid he might take the opportunity away from you.
The sight of you laying down so prettily with your much smaller hand enveloping his length, has all the blood in Sunghoon's body rush straight to his groin. He could cum at any moment, just from having you right in front of him like this, but he's set on making it worth the wait.
"You're so fucking hot like this." His hand finds your cunt again, fingers spreading your folds open so he can take a good look at the sensitive bud he loves so much, finding it so swollen he wishes to just bend down and suck on it again.
Once the lube fully coats his digits, he brings them down to your hole again, prodding it just enough to make sure it's slick with the cold essence. He squirts more of it right onto his cock while you keep fisting him as best as you can, spreading the lube all over it until all that can be heard in the room is the loud squelching noises and both of your heavy pants and low groans. His fingers keep rubbing your folds, coaxing more of your own arousal out of you, the feeling so distracting the pace you set on his cock falters a bit. To compensate, you add your other hand too, milking him with both at the same time.
"Fuck yeah, just like that," Sunghoon moans, and he looks divine above you with his lip caught between his teeth, gaze flickering from where his hips have started fucking into your fists, to where his fingers are playing with your pussy, like he cannot decide which view is best.
His cock throbs in your hands every time your hold tightens or your movements get faster, and you're stuck watching every reaction. His chest heaves, sometimes he looks like he forgets to breathe and then he has to make up for it. His cheeks are flushed, and when you notice how his bangs are sticking to his forehead because of the sweat accumulating on his hairline, you suspect he might be close.
"Gonna come?" you ask, battling your lashes at him, hoping he'll do just that from your hands alone. That's enough to wake him from his daze, and you almost regret asking when he breaks free from your hold and stops playing with your pussy.
The disappointment is short lived, because without wasting any time, Sunghoon brings your legs close together around his cock and sets both of your feet on one of his shoulders. He fucks your thighs just like that, with slow thrusts, making sure to slide his cock between your folds and let you feel every single vein running down his length. "You'd love that wouldn't you? Me coming all over your pussy. You're so fucking messy."
The shirt still covering his torso leaves close to nothing to the imagination now, clinging to every ridge of his abs and chest because of the sweat, and you're basically drooling at the sight. The feeling of Sunghoon's cock between your thighs and on your cunt is too much for you already, clit throbbing with need every time his tip catches on it, balls pushing against your hole every now and then, but you make the mistake of looking down when his thrusts get faster, and the view you're met with has you absolutely obsessed.
The head of Sunghoon's cock peeks out from your thighs every time his hips move forward, red and leaking so fucking much on your lower tummy it looks like he's cumming all over you already. But then it just keeps going, reaching close to your belly button, and when his head rests right on it, your mouth goes slack. It's one thing to see how big he is normally, but to have it compared directly against you, it makes the room spin in circles and your body feel even weaker. You need him inside you now.
"You like the view, baby? That's how deep I'm gonna be inside you, how deep I'll be fucking you," Sunghoon laughs, a little manically, and you hate how much it turns you on, like you need to be any more than you already are. "You'll feel me riiight here." He stops his thrusts to tap his cock on your stomach, the sounds of the tiny slaps reverberating through the room. "All up in your guts."
You gasp out his name when his hips go back to working his cock between your thighs, in an attempt to get his attention, but he already knows what you want.
"I know, baby. I know. Just a little more I promise." His gaze flicks up to meet yours, watching you intently for any sign of discomfort, any indication that you might want to stop. He knows it's unlikely—Hell, he's sure you were about to beg him to fuck you for the nth time that night just now—but he needs you to be absolutely sure. The weight on his chest, the slightest hint of uneasiness looming over him despite all the excitement fades in the background when all he finds on your face is pure lust, unfiltered need for him.
The pace slows down a little, and Sunghoon keeps eye contact with you as he speaks with his full lips brushing the skin of your ankle, giving you a few kisses there to ease up any anxiety you might feel. "Are you sure, pretty? We can wait a bit more. We don't have to—"
"Hoon. For the love of God just put it in or i might actually die within the next two minutes."
An amused wheeze tickles your skin, followed by a gentle nibble right where his lips kissed you. He rests your legs back down while he still kneels on the bed "Alright, alright."
He's spent all this time preparing you, telling you to take it slow for your own well being, but as you watch the way his eyes hesitantly shift focus around your body, you think maybe he's not the one ready yet. "Hoon?" you catch his attention, voice meek but it's like music to his ears, always.
Sunghoon hums in acknowledgement, but he looks deep in thought. His thumb follows the ridge of your jaw to your chin, then swipes over it a few times as if to encourage you to continue.
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Had a change of heart? Weren't you just about to die a few seconds ago?"
"I'm asking you."
He exhales, then bends down to place a soft kiss right on your parted lips. "Of course I'm sure. I'm just…" He trails off, but you already know what he's thinking.
"You won't hurt me," you say, keeping eye contact to really get the point across. "Besides, even if you did. I'd enjoy it a bit."
The corner of his lips lift up, and you know you've finally cracked through him. "I suppose you would."
His elbow rests by your head, while his other hand grabs his cock and gives it a few pumps in preparation—not that he needs it, Sunghoon doesn't think he's ever been this goddamn hard in his entire life. "Give me a few taps anywhere if you want me to stop, if it helps you can bite me when it hurts." He positions himself, hand still guiding his tip to your leaking entrance, but doesn't push in just yet. "Where should I cum?"
You're about to lose your mind, hips slowly rolling against his tip to try to coax it inside of you and he's still talking instead of doing something about it. "Huh?"
"Where do you want my cum baby? You won't be able to talk when I'm fucking you."
The sheer seriousness in his tone has shivers run down your spine, but you don't dwell on it too long. "Inside. Anywhere you want just please—Oh my god."
The sting of his tip slowly pushing in stops you from finishing your sentence. It's a mild discomfort for now, but the feeling of it stretching you open is better than any of the toys you and Sunghoon experimented with could've ever provided. He's just getting started, but your mouth is already ajar, and more wetness seeps out of you when your boyfriend rewards you with the most beautiful moan you've ever heard.
"God, it's like she's begging me to slam all the way in." His thumb swipes over your clit in circular motions to help you ease up so the first few inches aren't too harsh on your poor drooling pussy, and even though the tip isn't even the entire way in, the sight of his cock slowly disappearing inside your heat quickly shoots up to his favorite spot. "Deep breaths baby, remember what I taught you—No, don't tense up, it's okay. You've got this."
Your eyes roll all the way to the back of your head, pleasure and discomfort blending into one slowly as he waits for you to adjust. How are you supposed to not clench around him when he's encouraging you like this? It's beyond you.
Your hand shoots to grab Sunghoon's muscular biceps when he starts moving again, and he stills right away, waiting with bated breath for the taps to come.
They don't.
"Is it all in yet?" you ask, because truly, you feel so fucking full already, fuller than you have ever been. But the amused look on Sunghoon's face tells you exactly what you need to know.
"I mean." He moves a little more, and the burning—even if eased up a bit by all the juices and lube coating both of you—resumes. "A little more than the tip is."
"The tip?"
"The tip." Sunghoon thrusts out gently before pushing in again, both of you moaning at the same time. "I can fuck you with just that, it's enough to make you come harder than you ever have." He doesn't wait for you to tell him what to do, opting to give you shallow thrusts to test the waters, his thumb never parting from your clit.
The way you shudder and the little sweet sounds you make because of his tip alone has his stomach knot in all kinds of ways and his cock leap and throb so much it fucking hurts. Sunghoon would want nothing more than to shove it in and claim you fully, mold your pussy around his girth so perfectly no one else would ever be able to give you a cock half as good as his—like he would let that happen in the first place.
You're writhing under him, legs kicking a little when he feels the slide in and out slowly get more comfortable and slippier. That doesn't mean you're not clenching around him so hard he could cum at any given moment, but for your own pleasure—and his, really. He wants to shoot his load as deep as he possibly can—he tries to hold off to the best of his capabilities.
But fuck if it's not the hardest thing he's ever tried to do.
He almost breaks when your own hand reaches down for the one working on your pussy, smaller palm attempting to cover the back of his and to coax it into moving faster. There's a bit of drool on the corner of your lips, and you look so wrecked already, Sunghoon hates how a shiver runs down his spine at the mere thought of how you'll look like when he's balls deep inside you. "Hoon—fuck. I want more."
He coos at you, pretending he's not a wreck himself, pretending the thread thin sliver of sanity he has left isn't the only thing preventing him to fold your legs all the way up to your chest and fuck you into oblivion, but the arm next to your head shakes with restraint, and the knuckles on his fist are ghostly white by now, even if you're too blissed out to pay attention. His voice is shaky, uneven, but his words are careful and patient, even when you'd rather them not be. "We gotta get your pretty parts used to it first baby, come like this just once, it's only the last stretch."
Your whines turn into moans when his movements on your clit fasten and his tip nudges inside you a little deeper, just enough to momentarily satisfy your craving for more.
"Aren't you a greedy little thing," Sunghoon rasps, holding back his own impending orgasm with all his strength, beads of sweat now rolling down his neck deliciously, and you kinda wish you could bend forward and lick them off of him. "Asking for more, and more, and more after the stunt you pulled today. My pretty baby," his thumb pushes more forcefully on your bud, making it hurt so good for a second as you adjust to the pressure, then giving you harsher drags, meant to have you come undone and quivering under him in no time. "So desperate for cock you just had to go ahead and try to make me jealous. You like it when I'm jealous?"
You gasp, nodding frantically as you feel the familiar knot in your stomach tighten more and more, an embarrassing amount of slick pouring out of you and running downwards.
"You're so fucking lucky this is the first time we do this," his voice is rough, an octave lower than usual. "Or I would've bent you over and fucked you so silly the second we got home without stretching your pretty pussy open. But I'm so kind. Thank me for it."
You clench hard around him at his words, toes bending because you don't know what else to do with all the pleasure coursing through you, and he gives a gorgeous deep groan in response. "I'm gonna—"
"Then thank me for it."
You come around him hard, harder than you ever have, thank you's pouring out of your lips like a broken prayer, entire body shaking head to toe from the intense orgasm. The buzz in your ears persists for a while as you try to come down from it, and you can see but it feels like you can't, like your brain isn't registering any of the images your eyes capture. Bright, static, dark spots, so many things at once. It feels like you blacked out for a second even if you didn't, all your senses dulled to make space for all the other sensations your climax provides.
When you slowly start to regain power over them, you're met with the sight of Sunghoon panting like a dog, eyes closed and fist wrapped around his cock, the head poking out and redder than you've ever seen it, looking like he just ran a fucking marathon. Somehow, he managed not to cum. He was so close though, so close he had to pull out the second your walls started to involuntary flutter around him or he would've been done for.
The tight black shirt is still clinging to him like a second skin, and the first coherent thought of yours after the fog around brain clears is to get him out of it as soon as you can. You tug at the hem, still panting and blood buzzing from the release. "Off."
Sunghoon doesn't answer you with words, but he rips the shirt off his torso, throwing it somewhere on the floor behind him. His hands are shaky as they travel from your waist to your hips, then reaching your thighs, spreading you open further in front of him and allowing him to take a look at the big mess you—both of you, really—made. Sunghoon's cock is rock hard, tip oozing enough precum to make all the prep you've endured so far pointless. (Not really, you know better than that.)
Sunghoon goes back to nudging his tip on your hole, just holding it there without pushing in quite yet, casting a last questioning glance your way because he needs the reassurance that you're okay with this one last time before he fully commits.
When you nod, he slowly eases himself back into you with a low moan accompanying the motion, this time his gaze holding yours. The face you make as his tip stretches you open makes it a hundred times harder for him to keep his chill, wanting nothing more than to say fuck it and pound you stupid like you've been begging him to do ever since things first got handsy between you two.
The burn isn't nearly as bad as it was the first time, leaving space for so much more pleasure to course right through you, and you can't help the relieved sigh that leaves you when his tip is fully back inside you again, like it's a need for you to be filled by it. And Sunghoon sees that. He sees the fire in your eyes, the greediness slowly pooling behind those pupils he loves so much, how your hips look for his even if taking any more in hurts.
His hips jerk forward more than he intends them to, but he can't help it, not when you're looking at him like he's the prey. More of your wetness coats him, and both of you loudly moan into the night.
"You feel so fucking good, baby," Sunghoon whines, actual tears filling his waterline because he can't believe how much you're gripping him, pussy fluttering around his girth with every little bit he pushes forward, welcoming him like no one has ever done. "Tightest little pussy ever."
The hold on your thighs is bruising, but it helps you stay at least a little grounded so you wouldn't have it any other way. Whenever you think you're too full and cannot possibly take anymore, you feel a little more of Sunghoon's cock slide in you, so you get on your elbows with what little strength you have left and take a look for yourself. He's barely halfway in, and the burning sensation is starting to set in again. It hurts, but it hurts so good, you need more and you need less at the same time.
"Yeah, that's right, angel. Watch how your greedy needy cunt swallows me." Sunghoon's eyebrows are creased, sweat now not only dripping from his scalp, but little droplets constellating his broad chest, following the paths preset by his sculpted physique, all the way down to his vline. A mouthwatering sight.
"So full," you sigh, eyes never leaving from where you're connected, clit throbbing the more he fucks his cock into you, begging for a lick of attention.
"You'll be so much fuller. Can you behave and handle that for me, mhh?"
You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding along to his words and sneaking down your hand to play with your clit when you come to the conclusion that Sunghoon's hands are way too busy gripping your plushy skin like his sanity depends on it.
"Smart girl," he praises.
The wetter you become, the easier and more pleasurable the slide is. Sunghoon watches you for any sign of unbearable discomfort, slowing down when you bite your tongue or picking his speed back up when you bless him with those precious needy whines of yours. "You're doing so well, my gorgeous girl. So fucking amazing, making me feel so good already, God, you're perfect."
His words of encouragement play a big part in easing the pain for you, soothing you enough to make it easier for you to not tense up when his cock nudges a particularly sensitive spot inside of you. Your hand flies to your lower belly and you swear you feel him right there, so much deeper than you've ever had anyone—or anything—be.
"There we go," Sunghoon puffs out like he's been holding himself back from breathing this entire time, his pelvis grinding against your folds deliberately. And you finally realize he's all the way in for the first time ever. "Squeezin' me so tight, are you scared I'll run away?" He pulls back a bit before fully thrusting inside again, the curve of his cock aiding in making him hit all the right spots you could've never reached yourself. "No fucking chance. Not after I've got a taste of this. Gonna fuck your pretty pussy open every fucking night, until I've trained her to take me in without any complaints."
He sets a slow pace, not wanting to overwhelm you just yet, then adds, in a softer tone, "Does it hurt too bad, baby?"
If he keeps the back and forth up for much longer, you're gonna end up getting whiplash. But between groans and higher pitches sounds, you manage to answer him. "Any more and you would've popped me like a balloon."
Sunghoon giggles as he bends down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, hands finally loosening his grip on your legs and traveling all over your body. "You begged, and begged and—"
"I'm not complaining, am I?" you ask, breaking the kiss and resting your forehead on his, the saliva string connecting you two shining under the warm light of the lamp. "Harder."
Sunghoon complies instantly, speeding up his movements and giving you actual thrusts instead of the messy mix of grinding and nudges he'd taken a liking to. His hot, wet mouth finds your neck, too greedy and selfish, in desperate need of hearing the beautiful sounds you make instead of swallowing them down. His tongue skates over your pulse point, a shiver traveling down your entire body when he gives you the lightest nibble right there before licking it up again in apology.
"I can still taste you in my mouth." His breath tickles the wet skin of your neck, your front arching into his when goosebumps appear all over your exposed arms. "Always want to—mh, taste it. You'll let me eat your pretty pussy again after you gush on my cock?"
Even if you want to reply, you really can't, not when the pace he's drilling into you at is knocking the air out of your lungs, and the bolder his movements get, the more you understand why he asked where he should cum before even staring. You want to look at him, take in every expression on his beautiful face, but the pleasure is too much to handle and the only thing that seems to help is closing your eyes and letting them roll back into your skull.
Your lips are raw from all the biting, and you're so incredibly thankful when Sunghoon's hand swats yours away from your clit to replace it, allowing you to sink your fingers into his broad shoulders, clawing at them with every languid thrust he gives you. He feels so perfect, filling you up to the brim and then some more, stretching you out so fucking good you suspect you won't ever be able to scratch the itch if not with his cock.
"I'm in love with this fucking pussy, baby," he moans, loud and unapologetic, making his way with open mouthed kisses down your neck, then following the line of your clavicle, only to dip down between the valley of your breasts. Your tits have spilled out of the tiny little dress due to bouncing around with every precise thrust Sunghoon gave you, and your nipples are perky and hard, begging for his attention right in his face.
"And your tits, fuck. So pretty, I'm gonna eat you right up." He licks a stripe on one of your hardened buds before enveloping it fully between his lips and sucking on it lightly, sighing contently into it when you push your tits on his face further, loud whines spilling out of you.
The very familiar band in your tummy starts to tighten again the more he works on your nipples and clit at the same time, thrusts never once faltering. All of your senses are heightened to such a degree you don't even know what to do with yourself anymore if not lay under Sunghoon and let him absolutely ravage you, not a single thought but 'feels so good' crossing your mind. But it's fast, too fast, and you want it to last for longer, want Sunghoon to keep fucking you for hours until the only word you remember is his name.
You try to push his hand away from your clit, only earning a reprimanding yet gentle bite on your nipple, a warning. "I c-can't."
"Can't what, pretty girl?" He rolls your nipple between his lips, lapping away the tingling sensation the nibble left on it that has you jolt in his hold. "Use your words."
You throw your head back in frustration, feeling the impending climax approach you once again, the nth that night. "Don't want it to end," you gasp, using up all the strength left in you form a coherent sentence.
Sunghoon coos at you. Fucking coos at you only to deepen the strokes of his cock inside you, angling his hips to reach even deeper. "Cum for me baby, I'll just keep fucking you."
Your thighs shake as they wrap around his waist to pull him closer, his hips switching to grinding his cock into you instead of thrusting it, the fat tip poking the most delicious sensitive parts of your heat. You gasp and wheeze, claw and scratch and draw blood from his skin but it never hinders or stops his strokes. You clench around him time and time again, wrapping around his cock so nicely Sunghoon can feel his own orgasm build up in the pit of his stomach.
You come around him with a silent scream, every single part of your body twitching under him as he keeps fucking into you, now chasing his own high. He still takes a moment to watch you and how beautiful you look at the highest of your peak, eyes glazed over and mouth hung open, sweaty skin glistening so beautifully he wishes to be a painter and capture it forever. It's a sight he's never gonna grow accustomed to, and it has his stomach twist in knots. "That's it baby, so fucking gorgeous, keep cumming for me like that, milking my cock so well."
Even in the aftershocks of your orgasm, your body looks for his, hips rolling into his as if to silently ask for him to cum inside you, now that your voice has completely failed you.
"Just a bit more. We're almost there, my perfect little baby, so good for me," Sunghoon is babbling too by now, so damn enamored with the sight of you trying to keep your twitching under control even though you're still cumming around him and teetering on overstimulation so he can fully savor his own high. "The most perfect angel girl ever. I love you so fucking much."
Your head is light and Sunghoon's words reach you as if in slow motion, muffled by your own blood buzzing in your ears. You're completely drenched, and the bedding underneath you is too, but neither of you can bring yourselves to care. The slide is not painful anymore, and everything feels so warm and slippery, you never want it to end.
The image of Sunghoon still grinding and fucking his cock into you, his pace now reduced to a desperate mess and nowhere near as precise as it was, clears up slowly as your ears stop ringing, but your pleasure never does. You don't know if you're still cumming or if Sunghoon fucking you just feels this good you can't tell the difference, but you feel like you're on cloud nine and lighter than you've ever been.
Sunghoon's torso is completely glistening, and you feel some of that slick coat your skin too when he bends your legs into you, folding you against the bed and hitting even deeper inside you.
You're a moaning mess as he pistons his dick inside your heat, dragging perfectly against your gummy walls. You look down and see a bulge poke your lower tummy with each deep stroke of his. The sight alone is enough to have you on the edge again, but it feels different this time, like you cannot possibly contain what's about to happen.
"Hoon—"
"Shh," he silences you, hair a sweaty mess and dripping all over your figure. The squelching sounds of his skin slapping against yours, connected by white strips of slick on both of your thighs get even louder when his pace gets faster, the hand that played with your clit suddenly pushing down on the bulging of your stomach. "Give it all to me, soak my fucking dick—fuck, I'm gonna cum baby, gonna cum so deep inside you."
You cannot stop the dam from breaking, juices shooting out of you so suddenly you're taken aback too, coating his entire lower abdomen in it. Your cunt throbs around him so hard, almost like it's trying to push his cock out of you. You can't think of anything, cannot fathom anything that's not Sunghoon, and his perfect cock, and how good you feel, going completely limp on the bed.
He moans louder than you at the sight of your wetness drenching the bed and his cock. "Fuck, take it all baby. I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm—"
His hips stutter one final time against you, burying his cock deep inside you and shooting his seed in multiple thick spurts as deep as he possibly can, filling you up perfectly. He dips down to catch your mouth in a messy kiss, panting into your mouth even as you two are still both trying to catch your breath from your orgasms, but your lips on his are all the oxygen he needs.
"I love you," you whisper into the kiss, your words finally having found the way out of your throat again.
Sunghoon hums, his body weakened and tired but still hovering above you instead of slumping on you. "I love you more." He gives you a sweet peck like he wasn't just putting you through the matters moments ago. "You were perfect, baby. Did so amazing." He lets his body go beside you on the bed, dragging you between his arms and grimacing when the wet mess you made on the covers touches the back of his body. "A rag won't be enough."
You smile, weak but content. "And who's fault is that?"
Sunghoon pretends to think about it, but from the look on his face you can tell the answer is ready on his tongue. "I think it might be yours for being too hot I couldn't help myself."
You swat your hand on his chest, but there's no force behind the gesture.
"Aaand for making me jealous."
A groan leaves your lips, your arms coming up to cover your face. "How am i gonna ever face Jay again after this."
Sunghoon's chest vibrates against your skin. "You'll think about that after I clean you up."
You make a low noise of complaint, rolling over to push yourself on top of your boyfriend's body, hands resting on his toned chest as you reach for his huge cock and slowly sink yourself onto it, head thrown back in pleasure even if it's not fully hard anymore. Sunghoon's breath catches in his throat as he watches you lower yourself against him again, your head finding refuge on his shoulder. "Later."
You stay like that for a while, breaths slowly synchronizing in the peaceful quiet, Sunghoon's cock comfortably nested in your heat while his fingers lazily ghost over the entire expanse of your back. You could fall asleep at any moment, but you raise your head one more time to look at your boyfriend, his half lidded eyes meeting yours instantly. "You did not strike me as the type of guy to edge himself that much."
"Just go to sleep."
BONUS
You roll over to tentatively search Sunghoon's bedside table, ignoring the sound of the lube bottle hitting the floor, until the cold screen of your phone meets your spread hand.
Sunghoon is snoring lightly behind you, his nose nuzzled against your nape, and you hope to not wake him up as you unlock your phone. You recoil when the light that feels like a million suns momentarily blinds you, but even that is not enough to discourage you from completing the life-or-death task ahead of you.
You open up messages—promptly ignoring Jay's "never do this shit again. you two are nasty."— and click on Jungwon's chat, not wasting time to watch the several unloaded video files sitting in it (you can easily recognize the blonde silhouette of Jake's hair in half of them, so you're free to assume it's nothing of particular importance anyway) to type a quick text.
05:34 AM. You: mission accomplished ;p (cancel the hiking thing we planned for next week unless you carry me yourself. your girl can't walk)
Shockingly enough, he replies within the minute.
05:35 AM. twin: you shameless being (a whole week is crazy)
05:37 AM. twin: whatever, but I'm dragging you out for brunch so you figure out your means of transportation yourself. we need to catch up
05:38 AM. You: crazy night for both of us i assume
( minji says ) : 6 months since i've posted. i'm back ! i'll post fluff next week! who missed me ㅠㅠ
you don’t really remember what your birthday cake looked like this year. only that your ex broke up with you before it was even lit.
said some bullshit about “timing,” and “pressure,” and how “maybe we’re just not meant to be.”
but a few weeks after that, sunghoon came along like a delayed punchline — except he was a better joke than your ex ever was.
park sunghoon. rival team’s golden boy, captain, heartthrob, five penalties this season for fighting — most of them against your ex’s teammates.
you hadn’t meant to kiss him after the game. you really hadn’t.
but maybe the way he’d looked at you that night — smudged eyeliner under his eyes from the team paint, a bloody lip, sweat glistening on his neck — maybe that had meant something.
you kissed him anyway.
and then you kept kissing him.
after practices.
after away games.
after your classes.
in the backseat of his car.
in the stairwell of your dorm.
once — recklessly — with his jersey still on.
you don’t know what to call it. not dating. not just fucking either.
but it’s been three months.
and he’s in your bed again tonight.
"you locked the door, right?" he mumbles against your neck, lips dragging warm and unhurried, tongue flicking at your pulse just to hear your breath stutter.
you roll your eyes, fingers threading through his hair, tugging. "why? scared someone’s gonna see you with me?"
he huffs a soft laugh against your skin, something equal parts amused and fond. "if anyone sees me with you, they'll think i won the fucking lottery."
“you are the captain. shouldn’t you act a little less pathetic?”
“you want me to stop calling you my girl when i’m fucking you?” he murmurs, low against your collarbone. “say the word.”
you don’t say it.
you never do.
he climbs over you slowly, his bare chest warm against yours as you sink deeper into the sheets.
you’re wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts, and sunghoon’s hand sneaks under the hem with zero shame, gripping your hip like he owns it.
"why do you always do that?" you whisper, breath hitching when his thumb brushes low over your waistband.
"what?"
“act like i belong to you."
his eyes flick up. his hair’s messy from your hands, his lips slightly pink from where you've been kissing them. he looks so annoyingly good it makes you want to scream. or kiss him again. or both.
"because you do," he says simply, shrugging like it’s not a confession.
you narrow your eyes. “don’t.”
“don’t what?” he says lazily, but his hand’s moving again, dragging up your thigh. “don’t say things that make your pretty thighs clamp shut like that?”
“sunghoon.”
he smirks. "what. you want me to lie? pretend this isn’t the best thing i’ve ever had? pretend i don’t want to fuck you stupid every time i see your face?"
you bite your lip, and he notices, of course. his hand slips between your legs then, fingers warm and firm through your underwear.
“you’re soaked,” he mutters, like it’s your fault. “what’d i say that did it, hm? calling you mine? or saying i want to fuck you dumb?”
you gasp when he presses harder, fingers circling gently, but not nearly enough. your hips twitch against his touch, but he pulls back just enough to make you whimper.
“too busy dripping all over my fuckin’ hand, aren’t you?” he mutters, brushing his fingers over your folds, middle and ring finger spreading you open just enough.
“shut up,” you whisper, eyes fluttering.
“make me.”
you don’t. you can’t. not when his fingers finally slip inside, slow and deep, curling instantly like he already knows what makes your toes curl.
you arch off the bed with a gasp, grabbing at his shoulder, nails sinking in.
“fuck—sunghoon,”
"that’s it,” he grins, biting gently at your jaw as his fingers start thrusting, unhurried. “say my name like that again."
you do. you say it more than once, breathless and broken and desperate, hips chasing his hand, thighs trembling already.
his thumb finds your clit with unfair ease, circling slow as his fingers keep pumping into you, tight and warm and slick.
you hear yourself whining. actually whining.
“shit, baby,” he groans, voice dipping into something lower. “your pussy’s so tight—keep clenching like that and i’ll cum before i’m even inside you.”
“then get inside me,” you choke out, gasping, eyes glassy.
“fuck,” he groans. “you’re gonna kill me.”
he strips the rest of his clothes quickly, tossing them to the side like it doesn’t matter. and when he kneels between your legs, cock heavy in his hand, tip glistening — you swallow hard.
he leans down, kisses your mouth slow.
“you’re so pretty,” he whispers against your lips. “like this. legs spread. eyes glossy. waiting for me.”
he sinks in slow. painfully slow. your breath leaves in a gasp.
“shh,” he murmurs, voice strained. “i got you.”
you whimper under him, fingers clawing at his back, the burn between your legs making your thighs shake.
he groans against your shoulder.
“tightest fuckin’ pussy,” he hisses, starting to move. “so wet—fuck, baby, made for me.”
you can’t speak. your mouth falls open, a moan stuck in your throat as he starts to fuck into you harder, hips snapping, cock dragging against your sweet spot again and again until your legs are wrapped around his waist.
his hand cups your cheek, fingers brushing your jaw. he groans low, hips stuttering just slightly.
"you’re mine,” he growls, fucking into you deeper. “doesn’t matter if you say it or not. you’ve always been mine.”
“sunghoon—” your voice cracks, and his thumb finds your clit again, pressing harsh circles as you tighten around him.
"cum for me, baby," he pants. "cum on my cock, fuck—let me feel it."
you do — crashing over the edge with a strangled cry, body spasming, legs shaking as you clamp down around him.
he curses loud, fucking you through it, pace turning rough and desperate.
and then he’s pulling you closer, hips jerking, and you feel the warmth flood inside you as he spills deep, groaning your name like a prayer.
the room’s quiet after that.
your chest rises and falls fast.
his arm wraps around your waist.
“…still mad at me for calling you mine?” he whispers against your ear.
you snort, burying your face in his shoulder.
“no,” you mumble.
“good,” he breathes. “’cause i’m not letting you go.”
and he doesn’t.
not that night.
not ever.
even if you never say it out loud.
you’re his.
and he’s yours.
even when you’re both too stubborn to admit it.
