tags + warnings: cowboy!highsexdrive!seungcheol x fem!reader, breeding kink, creampie, praise kink, riding, public sex (?), mdni 18+
synopsis: “save a horse, ride a cowboy”
a/n: we all NEED a man like cheol ughh, anywayss enjoy my first svt fic <3 love you mwahh
୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹
you weren't exactly sure how long you'd been riding. a horse? no. in fact, you were riding the hottest cowboy you’d just met in the west town. the man, who hastily introduced himself as "cheol," had offered you a ride when your poor Dodge Charger broke down, but it seemed the two of you interpreted "ride" in entirely different ways. so now, instead of heading to your appointment, there you were, straddling him in a deserted parking lot beside the western pub, his vintage car creaking beneath you.
the soaring heat of the day was long gone and mellowed into a dusky twilight, casting long shadows across the deserted lot, and yet,, cheol wasn’t finished. the foggy windows and the ring of white cum forming at the base of his shaft might have been a good indication of how long the both of you might have been doing the deed but nobody seemed to be paying attention anyways.
“hah….fuck…s’good” cheol was propped up on the backseat of the car, old-fashioned belt and jeans pooling around his knees, a sheen of sweat trickling down on both sides of his forehead, but amidst the sweltering heat in the car, his eyes never left yours. while you, on the other hand, were barely keeping up with the pounding. he had both of his huge hands wrapped around the sides of your waist, guiding you up and down his dick repeatedly, simultaneously bucking up his hips rhythmically to press sweet kisses on your cervix. of course, you were a moaning and whimpering mess, blabbering incoherently, tears forming at the brim of your eyes. “nnngh…cheol…can’t” you whine weakly. “slow down, please…hah..” yet despite your protest, cheol seemed to be driving you close to your umpteenth orgasm. but this time, he was finally close too.
“fuck, fuck, fuck, that’s it, attagirl, gonna fill you up to the brim, you’re all fuckin mine.” cheol pants, snapping his hip harder into yours, the squeaky sounds from the leather of the vintage car’s seats and your skin-to-skin slapping intensifying “hnng,,can’t!” you wail, high crashing down as you tremble in his grip, sobs wracking your body as your cunt clenches down on his cock, white ring of cum thickening around the base of his cock as he rams into your pussy, swears profusely escaping his lips.
“so… fuck… going to breed you” cheol groans, gripping your waist tightly and painfully as his high hits shortly after, slamming his cock deep as hot cum fills you to the brim, warmth spreading as you wail with the overstimulation, so full already of his release, but you felt euphoric. “s’full….feels s’good” you whimpered
cheol chuckled at your fucked out state, “next time you need a ride, ride me instead, because cowboys ride harder and stay on longer.”
pairings: cortis!ot5 x gn!readergenre: fluff, slice of life, comfort, friends to lovers, romance, comedy, slow burn warnings: teasing, clinginess, awkward flirting, emotional conversations, mentions of stress and exhaustion. wc: ~1k (?)
synopsis: headcannons of what it would be like dating the cortis members!
(this is a fanfic, none of this is based on how they would act in real life!!!)
james : 제임스
he remembers everything. not just the big things, but even the ting things.
the fact that you always pick the marshmallows out of the chocolate first.
the fact that you hate when your sleeves get in the way while washing your hands.
the fact that you once mentioned wanting to try a specific dessert from a café three months ago, that you'd completely forgotten you had mentioned.
then one random afternoon:
"close your eyes."
"what are you doing?"
"just trust me."
you'd open them to find the exact dessert sitting on the table.
"how did you even remember that?"
james shrugged like it wasn't that big of a deal.
"you said you wanted it."
as if remembering something from months ago was the most normal thing to do in the world.
his love language would make your life so much easier.
you mention your phone is about to die?
a portable charger appears.
you mention you're cold?
he gives you his hoodie.
you mention you're hungry?
he brings snacks.
it's like dating someone who has a permanent side quest called "make sure they're okay."
martin : 마틴
dating martin would feel like having a boyfriend and a best friend at the same time.
he absolutely makes everything fun.
going grocery shopping?
he makes it an adventure.
waiting in line?
adventure.
talking a walk?
he makes it a mission to find certain colors.
his everyday mission would be to make you laugh or just to see you smile.
that's it.
he'll do stupid impressions.
he'll make dramatic speeches about random topics.
he'll tell jokes that are very terrible.
sometimes he'll completely fail.
but just seeing him try somehow makes it even funnier.
he also would get very excited about your interests. you mention liking something, suddenly he's researching about it.
learning about it.
asking questions.
not because he has to.
but because he genuinely likes hearing you talk about things you love. nothing makes him happier than seeing your face light up when explaining something.
juhoon : 주훈
he's like a quiet caretaker. juhoon isn't really necessarily the type to constantly say "i love you."
instead, he shows you.
everyday. in little ways.
he notices everything.
when you walk into a room. nobody else notices anything, but juhoon does.
"you seem tired."
"what?"
"you rubbed your eyes about three times in twelve minutes."
"…"
"you should rest later."
it's almost scary how observant he is.
comfort just naturally comes to him. he doesn't always exactly know what to say.
but he always knows how to be there. sometimes that means talking. sometimes it means sitting beside you in comfortable silence. sometimes it means letting you lean against his shoulder while watching a movie.
no pressure, no expectations, just his presence.
keonho : 건호
he's literally a human sunshine.
being around him feels like opening the curtains after a gloomy day.
he has so much energy and affection to give. and most of it ends up directed at you.
his physical affection would him giving you a lot, and i mean a lot of hugs, random hugs, celebration hugs, comforting hugs, side hugs, back hugs, every type of hug imaginable.
he also loves taking photos of you.
not perfect photos.
not posed photos.
the candid ones, the moments where you're laughing your brains out.
warnings: rough sex, name calling, slut shaming, sex in exchange of money, kind of hate sex?, spit, anal play, choking, dom/sub, humiliation, degradation, slapping, spanking, creampie!!, squirting, unprotected sex, hair pulling, rough oral sex, reader barks a few times.
word count: 9.2k
summary: you’re in a desperate need for a job, and you go and ask for help to Park Seonghwa, one of the richest men in the country. the thing is: you broke his heart years ago, and now he wants payback.
Waiting has never been a problem for you. Not once, expect for now. See, you’re pretty prideful of your patience and of the way you can handle situations when experiencing stress. Now? You look like a damn fool.
You’re not even sure you can actually recognize yourself, if you were to be completely honest. Standing in front of that door, desperate and pathetic. Your arms are shaking, your hands feel cold and weak. If you were to grab a butterfly, the little thing would probably laugh at you and bite you. And we all know butterflies don’t actually bite.
Do they?
You have no idea.
Right now, your only thought is: will I be able to make it?Will I look like an idiot in front of him? Will he laugh at me? Will I like it?
“Miss? Miss…?”
What? What? You turn you head and you see the girl: confused eyes, hair tied up neatly and arms busy carrying so many papers.
“Oh- Hi… I booked an appointment a while ago? I think one of your colleagues let me in, I’m Y/N…”, you stutter, clearing your throat as you try to get out of your own head and focus on the situation that you inevitably have to deal with.
“Right! Yes, of course”, says the girl. She smiles, but it’s fake. A smile made out of obligation, out of compassion. It’s her job, nothing more. She doesn’t care about you: just like you don’t care about her.
She’s just a means to an end, and she knows it. “Please, follow me, dear. Mr Park is ready to meet you”, she adds, waving her hands towards the door, suggesting you to use those useless limbs of yours and start to move. You like this girl: she looks perfect in her role.
She doesn’t give a fuck about anything, and she makes you feel at ease, somehow. She has no idea why you’re here, but in her eyes, her bored eyes, you sense that she feels pity for the dumb girl standing in front of the door of one of the most powerful men in South Korea.
The door is closer.
You’re walking and you don’t even notice it until it’s too late not to. The door handle is shiny, glistening under the lights. You want to scream at it. To rip it off the door and run away: that thing probably would cover your rent cost for the whole month if you sold it.
“Mr Park, your appointment is here”, you hear.
You’re gonna faint.
You so are gonna faint.
You don’t. You don’t how you manage not to, but the only thing that matters is that you didn’t. There’s really no need for any other reasons for you to feel like an idiot right now. The ones you have are already more than enough.
“Let them in, thank you.”
Ok, now you’ll faint. No way you won’t.
It’s been a while since you last heard his voice, but it changed so much whilst remaining so… warm. So him.
You take a deep breath, because now the door isn’t just closer: it’s open. Fist thing you notice? The smell. Or, well, the richness of it. With all your senses you only are able to perceive one thing: power.
Power and money.
The door closes behind you. The girl is not by your side anymore. You’re alone now. But not really, because when you finally raise your head you’re finally able to see him.
Park Seonghwa.
The man everyone either wants, or wants to be.
The man you’ve had, if only for a few months, back when you both were stupid teens. The same man that is now looking at you, staring you down with that piercing gaze of his. It’s hard for you to open your mouth and speak up, but you know that you have to, and quickly. It’s hard, when you have Korea’s wet dream right in front of you.
“H-Hi”, you say.
Which is actually pretty pathetic, especially considering the way your voice shakes and the fact that you should be at least attempting some sort of professionalism given the circumstances.
Well, at least it makes him laugh. Which means that yes, he recognized you. And yes, you actually don’t mind being laughed at.
You don’t know if it’s a thing for you or just the fact that you don’t mind it if he’s the one laughing, which in your opinion would be fair.
“Hello, Y/N. To what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit?”
Well, fuck. First thing first, he said your name: and he made it sound like the nastiest thing in the world. Or maybe you’re just a slut, you can’t really decide. Whatever. And the sarcasm. He’s still mad at you, just like you expected. You did disappear from his life with no explanation and flew to another country whilst in a relationship with him, after all.
In your defence, you were a dumb kid: you were younger than he was and desperately in love with him. Saying goodbye would have killed you, so you made the most childish and selfish decision ever: you just went away.
One day you guys were holding hands and making plans, and the day after you were just… gone.
You had to leave everything behind cause your mom and dad divorced, and you mother couldn’t bare to keep on living in the same country as the man that ruined her life.
So you followed her, and you two moved on together.
You forgot all about perfect Park Seonghwa, or that’s what you like to tell yourself. Because if you really had forgotten all about the man, you wouldn’t be standing in his office ready to humiliate yourself.
“W-well… you see, I’m… I thought that maybe…”, words keep on falling from your lips, now all bitten from the nervousness you had to endure waiting for this moment.
Seonghwa isn’t impressed.
He takes his hands out of the pockets of his slacks, only to bring them to his chest. He crosses his arms and slightly tilts his head to the side, an eyebrow raised and a judgment mixed with a not so well hidden amusement written all over his face.
“Y-You t-thought what, exactly?”
Ok, you didn’t expect that. Mocking you already?
A sign, that’s what this is. A sign that you should turn your heels and fucking run as far as possible from this man.
He looks possessed. He looks so mean, despite his ethereal beauty.
Obviously, you don’t run. You wouldn’t be here in the first place if you had any self preservation or respect.
“M’sorry, Hwa, I really am. I know I’ve been”, you try to say, but he cuts you off.
He doesn’t let you finish.
“Who’s Hwa? It’s Mr Park to you”, he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like you’re a stupid fucking idiot just cause you thought you could refer to him like you used to.
“Sir, if I’m feeling kind and if you’ve earned it”, he adds, dropping himself on his pompous chair.
His legs are slightly spread: not enough to be vulgar, but just right. To show dominance, and to make you see that he really owns this place.
Not like you had any doubts, but whatever.
It’s not like you mind it anyways.
You wish you had any smart come-back for his tone, but you don’t. And, well, you’re in no position to be a jerk: you came here to beg, after all.
“M-Mr Park…” you start, and he chuckles.
“That’s more like it”, he comments, and you don’t miss the way his tongue goes to wet those sinful lips of his.
You follow every single one of his movements, as if you’re trying to study them, as if staring at him could help you achieve your goals. Only thing is helping you achieve is getting wet in front of your ex-boyfriend, but that’s not the point.
“I know I have no right to come here and ask you for help, but-“, you take a deep breath, “I- I lost my job and I’m alone and I have rent and bills and I’m behind with my payments… if I don’t hand the money to my landlord tonight they’re gonna kick me out and…”
He looks surprised, amused, confused and much more. You, well… you look humiliated, that’s for sure.
But you knew it was bound to happen, and you’d rather beg for mercy than sleep under a bridge or who knows where else.
“And you’re telling me this because…” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know the answer to that.
He’s enjoying this just like you expected.
“C-cause I thought t-that maybe you could help, l-like what’s some money to you, anyways? And you and I, we have a past, you’d be helping an old friend?”
You’re so shameless, it’s disgusting. But, desperate times call for desperate way, or something like that.
You just know that you need the money, and you need them now.
He laughs, out loud. Shaking his head and muttering about how absurd this whole situation is, as if you don’t know it already. But whatever.
“I’ll pay you back, of course. Just… give me some time and I promise, Hw- Mr Park, I promise I’ll pay you back.”
He gets up. He looks mean, and his face hides something. He looks huge, and you stand in place, frozen.
You’re breathing heavily, and you notice that your hands are shaking. Your legs, too.
Cold sweat is running down your spine, and you feel lost. He gets closer.
He’s so beautiful, and he gets more handsome with every step he takes towards your trembling figure.
“Money is nothing to me, you’re right. But you really think that, after everything you did to me, I’m just gonna pay your debts? After humiliating me like that, breaking my heart? Are you really that much of a shameless bitch, Y/N?”
His voice is sharp, and his words hit you like daggers. But, to be honest, you were waiting for them to come. You knew they were.
That doesn’t make them less hurtful.
Seonghwa is right in front of you, and to look at him in the eyes you have to slightly tilt your head, cause he’s so much taller than you now.
He smells rich, and warm. Different than he used to, more mature. He’s a man now, that much is very clear to you. His proximity makes you even more nervous, but at the same time the familiarity of it gives you some confidence.
“I-I’m sorry, I swear I am”, you murmur, and you notice that tears are starting to fill your eyes. He looks pleased at the sight of it, and your belly tightens at the implications of him being engaged in your suffering.
“Sorry? You’re sorry?” he repeats after you, chuckling as tears spill from your eyes, crossing your reddening cheeks. “You want my money, Y/N? You want a bed and a roof on your head?”, he asks, and one of his hands unexpectedly comes up to your face, gently caressing it.
His touch is light and delicate, but you still feel shivers run through your body.
You nod desperately, murmuring a “yes, please” that he barely hears.
“Then you‘ll have to earn it”, he says.
His face is unreadable, but you can’t believe that, despite everything, he’d be willing to help. You feel so happy you could die, and you’re ready to do anything in order to save yourself from the streets. “I will! I have my degree and I’ll be more than happy to-“, you try to say, yet he stops you, and you frown.
From his expression it seems like he’s ready to make fun of you.
“A degree?”, he asks, and you nod, ready to explain yourself, but he doesn’t allow you to. “You don’t need a degree to suck my dick, Y/n.”
The world is silent.
Your blood is too loud. You feel your heartbeat and his, you feel everything and nothing at the same time. You’re confused, but not a single word comes out your mouth.
After that, he doesn’t say a word. He just goes a few steps back and leans against his desk. His legs are open, and you see the bulge of his cock that’s clearly starting to get hard.
You don’t move, you just try to get your brain to function.
What does this mean? Is he serious? He must be joking, right?
But he isn’t, and you know it: this is payback.
It was going too well, to smoothly. And now, after all these years, he’s finally granted the chance to humiliate you and destroy you the way you did to him.
The thing is: you need the money. You really do, and you did say that you’d do anything to get it. But this? This means whoring yourself out. This means becoming a slut, and nothing more.
With this thought in mind, you move your first steps: not towards the door, to run as fast as possible away from him, but towards his imposing figure. He laughs, almost as if he doesn’t actually believe what’s happening in front of him.
“You have no shame, do you? Are you really this pathetic?”
As you fall on your knees in front of him, you can’t do anything but agree with his words. He mutters a few curses, and you take the deepest breath ever known to man.
Then, you look up, and are met with the bulge of his cock, tight inside his expensive slacks.
“What a fucking slut”, he says, before moving his arms and grabbing you by the hair. He forces your face against his crotch, and you almost fall: you find yourself grabbing his thighs in order not to.
He’s rough, and nothing like the gentle Seonghwa you knew and loved as a teenager: the one that would touch you as if you’d break, like you were a delicate flower.
You don’t really miss him.
“Wish I could call everyone from school to let them know that you’re sucking my dick for money, that you’re a worthless slut that would take dick for a few bucks”, he says, pushing his hips against your face, rubbing his clothed cock over it. The smell of it is intense, and the weight of it scares you: it’s huge, you can tell. So fucking big that it’s not fair.
Your mind is racing, your heart is pounding, and you can feel the tears streaming down your face as you realize the depth of your desperation. But you push those thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand. You’re ready to do whatever it takes to get the money you need.
As you lean forward, ready to fulfill his demands, a voice in your head screams at you to stop.
This isn't right. This isn't who you are. But the fear of being homeless, of losing everything, pushes you forward. That fear, and that humiliation, they also make you wetter than you’ve ever been before.
Shame burns into your chest, flames running through your veins.
“Bet you’d suck their cocks, too, wouldn’t you?” His words sting in the most delicious way, and you find yourself purring against the big cock in front of your face.
“Wouldn’t you?” he asks again, grabbing your hair and forcing your face slightly upwards, enough to have your gazes meet. It’s exhilarating to say the least, this feeling of shame and submission that is swimming through your shaking body.
“Y-yours, want- want your cock, not- only yours,” you mumble, your brain barely functioning at this point as you’re way too inebriated by the arousal building inside you. He seems pleased, very much so. His tongue rapidly escapes his mouth and you watch, enchanted, as it wets his juicy lips.
You find yourself staring and wishing that tongue could be inside your pussy, forcing it open as more fluid escapes from it, leaving your panties wet and humid.
“Then take it out and get to work. Time is money, isn’t it? Don’t you wanna earn more?” he chuckles, moving around his seat. You see him bend over a little and soon after that he takes his wallet, pulling out a shiny banknote.
You watch cautiously as he waves it in front of your face, and the image that appears before your eyes is one of the most humiliating and exciting you have ever seen.
You startle when, unexpectedly, he drops it against your helpless body. The banknote brushes against your face before falling on your thighs, and this only motivates you to do better, to show him how much you are worth.
“Thank you, sir,” you whisper, finally getting to work and working his pants. You unfasten his belt, the sound loud and steady as your breathing increases and gets heavier. It takes some effort, but you actually manage to take his pants down his thighs and have them reach the floor along with his boxer briefs.
They pool obscenely at his ankles, and he makes himself comfortable on his expensive chair, spreading his legs wider and wider.
You find the courage to look up at his cock, and the sight of it is enough to pull a moan from you, one that leaves you even more ashamed of yourself.
“So big,” you mutter out, pressing your own legs together from when you’re kneeling to find some release, to soothe the burning need to be filled up that’s been rushing through your body. Your pussy clenches around nothing and it’s pathetic, because he hasn’t even touched you once.
Guess you’re just that much of a slut, after all.
“Yeah? You like it, slut? You like this big cock?” he asks, pushing his hips upwards and making said cock move in front of your face. It’s thick, long, and so, so hard. The tip of it is the prettiest shade of red and pink, and it’s glistening with his arousal. Veins run through the length of it and you can see it pulse with the need to be shoved inside something.
That something is you.
Cause, after all, that’s your purpose here. To be a hole for him to fuck into. To be a thing, nothing else. Nothing more than an object.
“I love it, love your cock,” you whisper, reaching out to grab it at the base with your hands. Seonghwa stops you, grabbing harshly at your wrists and forcing your body closer to his as you stumble forwards.
“No hands,” he orders, smiling maliciously. “Lick it, start with my balls,” he orders, biting at his plump lower lip, his eyes shining with an intense darkness.
His words are, unsurprisingly, harsh and mean. And, well, just as unsurprisingly, you find yourself loving them and enjoying the rush that they provide to you.
The air around you starts to get heavy and dense, and it’s almost like you can feel the weight of it as it presses down against your flushed skin. Your blood is loud as it swims through your veins, and you hear beats fast, the sound of it reaching your ears.
His tone leaves out any possible refusal, so you just… obey. It’s empowering, exhilarating. It’s everything you’ve always craved without even knowing it.
Slowly, you lean over and breathe in, the powerful scent of his arousal hitting you and invading your senses, dominating your whole being. The only thing that’s in your mind right now is the irresistible need of pleasing him and showing him that you’re worth his money, nothing else.
With that thought in mind, you finally get into work.
Your mouth salivating and wetting itself, you stick your tongue out and fulfill his wishes, lapping at his balls and nuzzling against the sensitive skin. The groan he lets out vibrates through the room and sends shivers all the way down your spine.
“That’s it,” he grunts, as he pushes his hips forwards and works at his tie, untying it and proceeding then to open his nice dress shirt, button after button, showing inches of defined skin, muscles tensed with the way pleasure is circling around his body. He’s rather magnificent, sitting in front of you and holding so much power, so much energy that it feels like the room is going to implode with it.
“Good girl,” he moans, forcing his hips upwards as you take them inside your mouth, the weight of his sack filling you up as you lick at it, feeling the skin and its texture against your tongue, moaning as your nose presses against the base of his dick, making it harder to breathe normally.
His words force a moan out of your mouth, too, and he notices it, chuckling softly through his low moans. You feel something at your neck and notice soon enough that what’s now circling your throat isn’t is hand, no. It’s his tie, forcing you closer to his balls and basically working as a fucking leash.
“Look at you, such an obedient little bitch, aren’t you?”
The way your hips stutter and wave doesn’t help, and you feel like a puppy wiggling their tail when presented with a treat.
“Bark,” he orders, allowing you to breathe and leaving your mouth empty, a trail of spit connection his balls, now shining and wet, with your parted, and roughed up lips. You blush profoundly, your cheeks turning a crimson red as you consider his order.
Barking feels completely dehumanizing, and your hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed, not in the slightest. Seonghwa tilts his head to the side, one of his eyebrows lifting up as he eyes you curiously, as if posing a challenge to you, daring you to try and refuse to follow one of his orders.
“It’s embarrassing…” you whisper, breathing heavily and trying to avoid looking at him in the eyes, failing at it when he tugs at the tie resting against your neck, making you get closer to the cock standing proudly in front of your face.
“Do I look like I fucking care?”
And soon enough, a bark is escaping your mouth, faint and barely audible. It’s not enough, he says. You bark again, loudly this time, shaking from where you’re kneeling and feeling the wetness between your legs get more difficult to ignore.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it? I’d say you’re a natural,” he snarls, laughing at you as he looks down at your body.
Tears of utter humiliation fill your pleading eyes, and the sight of it makes Seonghwa groan deeply. He grabs his own dick at the base, giving it a few pumps, before hitting you in the face with the tip, smearing his precum all over your flushed face.
One of the tears you were fighting back betray you, escaping your lashed and running down your cheek.
Seonghwa licks his lips and rubs the tip of his dick against it, wetting his cock with your tears only to start rubbing it against your lips, making you taste your humiliation along with his arousal. It’s salty and sour and sweet altogether, and you already find yourself getting addicted to it, needing more and more and more.
So you get your tongue out, lapping at the shiny tip of his cock. You circle around the head, moaning at the feeling of warmth that spreads through your tongue.
“Tastes good,” you mutter out, licking fervently at his cock as he keeps on stroking himself, grunting from where he’s sitting.
You go even further than just staying there, licking at it, and you take his wrist into your hand and pull it off his own dick, surprising him with your determination. Seonghwa lets you have some fun with it, allowing you to reach out to grab the length of his cock.
You have it in your hands, finally.
You stroke it once, twice, before bending over a little bit to push the head inside your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and sucking gently at it to try and taste as much as possible of his delicious juice.
“Fuck,” he groans, using one of his hands to keep your hair out of your face, giving him space to look at your eyes as you get your mouth stuffed full of his thick cock.
You take your time, eager to savor every drop of his pleasure, to give yourself to him and make him satisfied like never before. His cock slides between your parted lips with extreme ease, filling your mouth completely, giving you a sensation of fullness never felt before and leaving you inevitably curious to know how it would feel if he filled you up elsewhere too.
The reddened tip of his cock meets the back of your throat and choking sounds escape from your mouth, and when he hears them he just moans even more, louder than before. He enjoys watching you struggle to take more in your mouth and it pushes you to relax your throat and let his big cock fill you completely, taking your breath away for a few seconds, and making spit fall from your lips and down your chin.
It’s so fucking messy and dirty and it makes your head spin with shame and arousal.
Your whole face is wet with a mixture of spit and tears and precum and you find yourself wanting and needing more of it. “You look so good with your mouth stuffed full of my cock, this is exactly what you were born for,” he groans, pushing his trembling hips upwards and forcing another choking sound out of you, at which he utters out a few curses.
“I’ll double the money I was gonna give you if you bend over the desk and let me fuck you raw in the pussy, what do you say? Want a new dress? Some fucking new shoes?” he asks, still rutting his hips against your face and forcing you to swallow his whole cock down your aching throat.
You should probably refuse. Sucking Seonghwa's cock is one thing, but this? This would mean going way beyond, and the thought sends your mind into complete turmoil.
He seems to have little patience, and that's why he roughly grabs you by the hair and pulls his hard cock out of your mouth, leaving you empty and gasping. "So? I don't have all day, Y/n," he asks, running his own hand along his cock, wet and slick thanks to your saliva that’s now coating it and slapping you in the face with the red tip, making you hiss at the impact.
“I want- I want three times the money for that,” you say, challenging him to deny your request, to say no and refuse.
He doesn’t.
“Let’s do four, since I also want to play with your asshole,” he smiles, bending over towards you and patting at your cheek like one would do with a puppy.
You gasp and try to find something to snarl back at him, but nothing comes out of your mouth, nothing but a little whimper that only serves to make him feel even more powerful. Seonghwa stands up, and you notice how he is more or less dressed: his pants fallen to his ankles along with his boxers, the jacket resting on the back of the chair, the expensive white shirt completely open, showing off his sculpted chest and the magnificence of his body, covered in a thin layer of sweat.
Now that he is standing, Seonghwa looms even more over you, making your breath catch and your poor heart beat even faster.
Seonghwa grabs you by the hair, and the sudden movement forces you to stand up and follow his will.
"You're too dressed, what kind of slut are you?" he asks, grabbing the fabric of your blouse and pulling it slightly. In response, you bite your lip and decide to make amends, quickly unbuttoning your shirt and letting it fall softly to the ground.
You're not wearing a bra, you never do. The air hitting your nipples only makes them more turgid, and your skin is crossed by countless shivers.
He gasps at the sight of your exposed skin, and it makes you feel so good, to be looked at with such want, with pure and utter hunger and desire.
Seeing Seonghwa burning with the desire to possess you gives you a courage that you probably wouldn't have otherwise, so you push yourself further, unbuttoning your skirt and letting it fall forgotten at your feet. Black lace panties adorn your body, and you feel the wet and soaked fabric rubbing against your most sensitive spot.
You are left only with the soft white knee-high socks and your shiny black loafers, standing in front of one of the richest and most powerful men in Korea.
“That’s more like it,” he chuckles, licking his lips and looking at you from head to toe, a mischievous look in his eyes. “You’re so hot, Y/n. You made the right choice, coming here. This little body of yours was made to be fucked, and what better way to earn money than spread your legs and let me do just that, huh?” he murmurs, as one of his hands goes down to his cock. He strokes himself as he watches you, and it makes your skin burn, to be looked at in such a dirty, naughty manner.
His tie is still around your neck, the only garment covering you along with your panties and knee-high socks. The black fabric is in perfect contrast with your skin, and even though the tie is very light, it feels immensely heavy where it rests.
"Fuck me," you whisper to Seonghwa, because you too are starting to feel extremely horny and in need of attention.
Seonghwa raises an eyebrow, and his hand collides with your cheek, making you turn your face to the side. The blow wasn't overly strong, but still impactful. Enough to make you catch your breath for a second and to remind you who is in control here.
"Rude. Where are your manners?" Seonghwa asks, dangerously approaching you and grabbing your chin, squeezing the skin and forcing you to look at him. "Please, I beg you, sir, fuck me," you whimper, now completely abandoned to him and totally under his control.
"Now, that's better," Seonghwa whispers, and shortly after he makes your lips collide in a quick and fierce kiss. He bites your lip, making you moan against his mouth, before pulling away from you.
"Good girl. You act all tough, but you just want someone to put you in your place, don't you? Want me to show you who’s in charge?"
His words are exactly what you were hoping for, and the wetness between your legs increasing only confirms that. So you nod. What would be the point in denying anything? Right. There’s no point, and you know it. He know is too, it’s pretty obvious. He’s always been able to read you, and this is the same. Years passed by, but deep down you guys still know each other.
Seonghwa, at your admission and your being so yielding, can only swell with pride and satisfaction. He approaches you, and the world spins wildly: he grabs you by the hair, pulls you towards the desk, and forces you to bend over it, pushing your head against the polished and intensely scented mahogany of his desk.
You have your ass up, covered only by your panties. You hear Seonghwa swear and soon one of his hands clashes with the sensitive skin of your butt, and he gives you a strong spank.
You flinch, gasp, and squirm, and he takes it as encouragement to hit you again: two, three, four times. Now the mark of his hand lies on your skin, and you feel completely possessed and owned by Seonghwa.
"You have no idea how many times I've thought about you over the years. How many times I've thought about hurting you, having you all to myself even just once," Seonghwa confesses, running his hands over your ass, caressing you heavily.
His words are intoxicating.
"I've thought about you too, I swear, Seonghwa. Sir. I shouldn't have, but I did. I-I never forgot about you," you whisper, instinctively moving your hips upwards, trying to keep his hands on you for as long as possible.
You're not lying, you really mean what you said. Seonghwa has always been a constant in your life, it's undeniable. Your biggest regret and remorse. Your biggest and burning desire. "Shut up, Y/n," Seonghwa commands, and you feel him grab the expensive fabric of your panties. A few seconds later, a loud noise fills the room.
He's torn them off, reduced them to shreds.
Pieces of fabric fall to your feet and your wet pussy is now completely exposed to him.
You feel drops of pleasure escaping from your trembling pussy and wetting your thighs, and you try to relieve the looming pressure by rubbing your legs together, but Seonghwa stops you. He first grabs your hips, then your ass.
Seonghwa spreads your cheeks open, and you hear the air move as he bends down and spits on you.
He fucking spits on you.
His saliva runs down from your ass and to your pussy, adding wetness and naughtiness to the mixture. He’s not satisfied, so he spits again, this time closer to your asshole. You feel his breath against your sensitive skin and you find yourself holding your breath.
“This little hole, fuck, I wish I could just fuck it,” he groans, knowing damn well that he can’t just do that.
“N-Next time…” you utter out, wiggling your hips to try and meet his touch.
“You plan on coming here to get fucked more? Are you that greedy, you little whore?” he asks, laughing a little as he leans over you to just go and bite the skin of your ass, still covered by his handprint.
“S-so greedy, sir. I’ll come back whenever you want, do whatever you want,” you confess with a shaking voice, making Seonghwa laugh at you for how pathetic you are.
“You really have no shame. What a fucking slut,” he adds, before actually going silent. What you feel next makes your eyes roll back and your hands reach out to the end of the desk to grab the wood and gain some support out of it. His wet tongue is sliding against your little hole, wetting it more and more and making it pulse with the need to be filled up.
It’s a foreign feeling, to have someone eat your ass out like this, but Seonghwa seems like a starved man as he holds your cheeks open and dives in, licking and kissing and spitting and making your whole world turn upside down. “Tastes good,” he groans, breath heavy and voice full of lust.
He pushes the tip of his tongue inside of your ass, and it makes you see stars.
Seonghwa fucks you with it, again and again, making slurping sounds. One of his hands slides down and you feel one of his long, slender fingers rub against your wet hole.
“Just a finger, what do you say?” he murmurs, asking you for permission. A permission you can’t help but grant him, nodding and murmuring a “please” that you’re not even sure was audible enough.
Seonghwa wastes no time, and soon his thumb makes its way into your tight and warm hole. The sensation is unparalleled: you feel completely filled. It doesn't matter that it's just a finger, you feel like you could explode at any moment.
Your legs tremble uncontrollably, and loud moans escape from your lips. Seonghwa also moans, as he fucks your asshole with his finger.
You are already lost in pleasure, and he has not even touched your pussy yet. It makes you feel really dirty, really perverse. You feel like an actual whore begging to be filled.
“So tight,” he comments, and you feel this cock being shoved against the back of your thighs, as he smears precum over your skin and rubs against your legs to get some relief to his aching dick. “Please, I want your cock, sir. Fuck my pussy, please, please, H-Hwa…” you beg, trying to get him to finally push his dick inside of you, and you feel already close to the verge of tears with how desperate you are.
“Here it comes,” he murmurs, finally giving the both of you what you crave the most. With his thumb still inside you, you feel Seonghwa moving behind you.
He grabs his cock at the base and brings the tip closer to you, rubbing it against the sensitive and wet skin of your pussy, against your lips, right between your juicy folds, and pushing against your swollen and red clitoris.
A moan escapes your lips, and you find yourself spreading your legs even wider and begging him to put his cock inside you once and for all. Finally, Seonghwa rubs the swollen tip of his cock against your wet hole, teasing you for just a few seconds before pushing it inside your pussy.
In one hard thrust, Seonghwa buries his thick cock inside you, making you scream in a mixture of pleasure and pain. You feel so full, with both of your holes filled by him, his cock pressing inside you and stretching you completely.
You don't even notice a drop of saliva escaping from your lips and running down your chin, and if you could see yourself, you too would think of yourself as a whore.
“Fuck, this pussy is so good,” groans Seonghwa, and you make the effort of turning your head to try and look at him as he fills you up.
His head is thrown back, his neck exposed and lucid with sweat, and he seems completely lost in pleasure as he starts to rut inside of your pussy, fucking you and making you his. For the first moments, Seonghwa's thrusts are not calculated, but dictated by his need to feel something warm enveloping his cock.
He enjoys the moment and ignores your helpless body, seeking only his pleasure. Seonghwa's cock slides easily into your body, your wet pussy emitting dirty and exciting sounds as it is filled by his cock. You tremble under his thrusts, and soon Seonghwa accelerates the movements of his hips, sinking into you with more force and precision.
He fucks you like he would fuck a whore, pushing all the way into your pussy and moving his finger into your ass.
He is not completely satisfied, though.
That's why you see him bend over you, pushing his cock even deeper into your pussy. Seonghwa brings two fingers of the hand that is free to your lips, and pushes them into your mouth, filling you even there.
"Christ," he gasps, starting to move the fingers he pushed into your mouth.
"Look at yourself, Y/n. You have all your holes filled by me, you're getting fucked in each of these tight little holes for money," Seonghwa grunts, and as you feel the saliva escaping from your lips, you see his eyes getting darker, more intense. He moans and gasps, fucking you with all the strength and passion he has in his body, moving his fingers inside you and fucking you without the slightest mercy.
“Make it worth it, clench this pussy on me, huh?” he moans, despite the fact that your pussy already is clenching and hugging his cock as tightly as humanly possible.
You feel every movement of his inside you. Your skin and his rubbing together, his cock caressing the most intimate and deepest parts of you, sending electric shocks to run through every inch of your body and his as well. Seonghwa's legs tremble as he sinks into you, fucking your mouth with his fingers and forcing you to choke on them, making you cough and then making your holes contract around him consequently. The rough and forceful way in which he is fucking you forces your body to move against the desk, and your wet and needy clitoris rubs against the cold and shiny wood of the desk.
Your nipples in contact with the mahogany stimulate you in the most delicious way possible, and you are completely intoxicated by the pleasure that grows rapidly inside you.
Your orgasm is getting closer and closer, and the feeling of being completely at the mercy of his desires only increases the strength of your pleasure. Seonghwa towers over you, filling you everywhere, and could do anything to you: you wouldn't object, you wouldn't refuse anything. You would do anything for him. Anything he asked for and more.
Everything.
Not for the money, for him.
You don't tell him, that's for sure. But you think it. Seonghwa is the only thing on your mind, not your rent to pay or your empty pockets. Only: Seonghwa. Seonghwa. Seonghwa.
“Yeah, say my name. Fucking scream it,” he groans after he notices how you’re chanting his name in pleasure.
He takes his fingers off your mouth, giving you all the freedom to moan his name. He forces you to scream, fucking you more harshly, a hand grabbing your hair and pulling at it enough for you to arise from the desk and for you spine to bend and for him to reach you and kiss your neck. The position you’re in isn’t the most comfortable, but it sure as hell is exiting.
Seonghwa kisses your neck and bites at it, sucking the sensitive skin long enough to leave a plethora of marks behind. Tomorrow you’ll be covered in his marks, you’ll look debouched and devastated and his.
His thumb leaves your ass empty and gaping, and now he’s completely focused on fucking your pretty aching pussy.
“Mine, Y/n. From now on you’re mine. You’ll get everything you want, but you have to be mine. My slut, my little cum dump,” he groans, licking all over your neck and sucking your ear lob in his mouth as he moans into your ear.
“Yes! Yes! M’yours, I-I’ll let you do anything, a-anything,” you moan, feeling floaty and lost, shaking and pushing your hips backwards to meet his trusts. “I’m close, so close,” you confess, hiccuping between your helpless moans.
Seonghwa growls, and he fucks into you one last time before taking his cock out of your pussy and taking a step back. You whine and complain, begging him to put it back in, to just do something.
“I want to see your face when you cum. I want to look into your eyes as I cream that pussy,” he explains, grabbing you by the hips and manhandling you in the position he prefers.
You’re sitting on the desk, you legs spread open and you pussy glistening with a mixture of your juices and his, all puffy and needy as your hole clenches around nothing.
“Ask me for it. Beg for my cock,” he says, voice mean as he touches his cock and teases his balls. You have no dignity left at this point, so you don’t hesitate and do just as he asked you to.
“Please, sir, I need it. My pussy needs it, please, please,” you cry out, tears actually falling from your pretty eyes as you decide to tease him and tempt him a little bit. One of your hands slides down your body, and you rub at one of your nipples, pinching it and feeling the most delicious pain ever.
With the other hand you go down to rub fervently at your needy little clit, circling around it and playing with the most sensitive part yourself. “Please? Pretty please? Give it to me, Hwa, I beg you, sir, fuck me,” you continue, hand trailing down your pussy as you spread your own folds for him, exposing yourself like never before. Wet juices fall from your pussy and are close to pool on his desk, and the sight of it is completely nasty.
“Don’t you dare fucking touch what’s mine,” he growls, getting closer to you and slapping your own hands away from your own body.
He directs his cock to your pleading pussy and pushes back in, spreading you open once again. The new angle touches the right spots, reaches exactly where you were craving his cock to hit, and your eyes roll back in pleasure.
One of his hands reaches your throat, and he just keeps it there. An heavy weight against your neck, the promise of the most beautiful threat. Seonghwa looks at you with something hidden in his eyes, and a wicked smile shows on your face.
“Choke me,” you dare him, biting at your lower lip as moans force themselves out of your mouth. “You fucking brat,” moans Seonghwa, and the hand around your throat tightens, and tightens, and tightens.
The sensation of air and oxygen being denied to you is exhilarating, it's wonderful. Seonghwa even controls this: he decides whether to let you breathe or not. The thought makes your head spin and only increases the pleasure that floods your body. Seonghwa's hand tightens again and again around your neck, choking you while looking into your eyes, dominating your body and soul.
“C-Close,” you whisper with the little air you have left, legs shaking around his waist as you sense pleasure building up inside your belly. “Cum. Cum on my cock, you pathetic little thing,” orders Seonghwa and finally, he decides to grant you some mercy: his thumb comes down between your spread legs, and he starts to rub at you clit with precise movements, making you cry out loud and sound.
“Fuck! More, more, harder!” You shout, and Seonghwa lets go of his hold around your neck to grab your hip and use it as leverage to fuck more harshly inside your cunt.
His cock slides inside you with extreme ease, and his movements are precise and determined, and the tip of his cock rubs against all the right spots, making you breathless from how much it makes you enjoy.
Your hands reach his shoulders, and you cling to him tightly, scratching them from under his shirt and pushing it away, uncovering his back and scratching his skin. Seonghwa doesn't seem to mind, on the contrary as your nails dig into his skin he only moans more, only rubs his fingers more decisively against your clitoris.
Seeing him so lost in pleasure and so deeply aroused is exactly the push you needed to finally succumb to your own orgasm.
The force with which you come is devastating: your legs tremble with strength, your breath breaks in your throat and the gasps and moans that escape from your lips are filled with desperation and pure pleasure. Your pussy contracts and tightens around Seonghwa's hard cock, as if wanting to keep it inside forever. Your clitoris pulses and sends electricity throughout your body. Your turgid nipples brush against Seonghwa's chest as you hold him close and tight to you.
But what surprises both of you even more is another thing: the explosive way in which your orgasm overwhelmed you, making you squirt hot and juicy liquid around his cock, along both of your thighs. It seems to never end, and you surrender to pleasure as you squirt again and again against him, squeezing his cock and massaging it with your pussy.
“Fuck, you’re a slut, you’re a fucking slut, you just squirted all over my cock,” he groans, fucking into you as he forces you to give him even more of your precious juices. His hand, the one that was rubbing at your clit, is covered in it, all moist and shiny and wet. He brings it to his lips, sucks his own fingers and tastes you, your eyes spread open as you watch him savor your squirt.
“So fucking good,” he moans, before reaching down to get more of it, rubbing his hand against your folds and making you cry in overstimulation. “Taste yourself,” he orders, before smearing your own juices against your lips, making you lick them clean as he watches.
“Want your cum. My pussy- it’s so empty, please, please, fill me up, cum in me,” you beg, tears falling from you eyes as your body begs for some mercy, begs to be filled, begs to be owned. You lose control of it, and just slump on the desk, back hitting the wood and legs spreading even further.
“Take it, fuck! Take my cum, take it all in you pussy, here it fucking comes, ‘s all yours,” he moans, starting to slur his words as he shoves his dick inside of your abused cunt without a care in the world, the slide made even easier thanks to your powerful orgasm.
You feel it clearly: Seonghwa's hands run up your body, grabbing your breasts and squeezing them tightly.
The thrusts into your pussy become more erratic, stronger, more unrestrained. Seonghwa's eyes become burning, shining with pleasure. His moans become lower, deeper, strong enough to make your heart race, and you feel him bury himself one last time in your wet pussy, all the way in.
You feel him fill you up with hot cum, squirting his thick and warm liquid inside you, flooding your wet and trembling pussy, abused to exhaustion.
You feel full to the brim, completely filled with his cum.
Seonghwa trembles, leans forward and kisses your breasts, while his hips make small instinctive movements, and he tries to push even deeper inside you, trying to bury his own cum deep in your pussy as far as humanly possible. You gently pet his hair, but he doesn’t seem to mind it.
He just lays there for a while, keeping his cock inside of you to plug his cum inside your cunt. “So full,” you whisper, clenching your pussy around him and enjoying the feeling of being so utterly used.
You both enjoy these moments of quietness, both still shaken and exhausted, taken by waves of pleasure and with labored breath. You never would have imagined that this day would have gone this way, but honestly you wouldn't change a thing, and you don't care if this truly makes you a whore.
The only thing you care about is having had Seonghwa in such a way, being possessed by him like this and getting exactly what you needed, what you wanted.
After a few endless minutes, Seonghwa leaves a gentle bite on your breast: this time it doesn't hurt at all. It's somehow delicate. You still flinch when he does it, and you hold back a smile. He pulls away from you, sits up. You don't dare to imagine what condition you're in, but the way he looks at you makes you understand that it must be quite a sight. Seonghwa pulls his cock out of your pussy, and you groan in dissent, feeling suddenly empty and sad, not wanting his cum to come out of your pussy. You want to keep it inside you as long as possible.
Seonghwa doesn't speak as he gets dressed. He puts on his boxers and pants, buttons up his shirt. Adjusts his cuffs, his collar. He does all this without ever taking his eyes off your body.
When you regain some strength, you decide to get off the desk, and you have to hold onto it to avoid falling. Your panties are torn, so you can't put them back on.
You just slip on your skirt and blouse, and feel a drop of Seonghwa's cum escape from your pussy and run down your flushed thighs. When you glance at him, you see him fumble with his wallet.
Realization of what’s going to happen sinks in, and you feel your cheeks turn a crimson red, and shame overtakes your body and overwhelms you completely.“This should be enough for today,” Seonghwa says, his eyes looking dark and somewhat empty. He hands you over a bunch of bills, and you spread your eyes as you take in the actual amount of money he just handed you.
That’s more than a month of your usual income.
You just made it in a couple of hours.
“I- T-thank you,” you mutter out, at a loss of words. Seonghwa snickers, and watches cautiously as you take the money from him with shaking hands, face full of disbelief. “Give your number to my secretary, Y/n. I’ll call you when your service will be needed. Be ready to come to work at any time, got it? Whenever I need a bucket to cum into, whenever I need to empty my balls, you drop everything and come to me to take my dick, no objections, no buts. We have a deal, right?”
Seonghwa's words are cruel, raw. But you didn't expect anything different, you knew well what you were getting into. And you accepted to offer yourself to him with that awareness.
So, even though you feel humiliated, mocked, used, you nod. Grabbing your purse from the floor and carefully putting the banknotes inside, you notice that Seonghwa doesn't fail to observe your legs in the meantime.
"I'll be the best whore you've ever had," you confirm, forcing yourself to abandon lucidity and pride, clutching your purse as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Seonghwa sits at the desk, arranging the papers that you moved with your body and bends slightly to smell the scent of your fluids that have soaked into the wood.
"You can go. Oh, and don't clean your thighs. You have to go home with my cum dripping from your pussy, because if you still have a place to sleep at it's thanks to that cum, and I want anyone who looks at you enough to see it: do you understand?"
You swallow loudly, but you dare not argue.
You blink and try to maintain at least a hint of control, moving your legs slightly as you feel liquid coming out of your body. "Yes, sir," you reply, bowing slightly in farewell. Seonghwa seems to have returned to what he was when you first entered the room, but that doesn't surprise you at all.
However, you notice him grabbing the torn edges of your panties from the floor and tucking them into the pocket of his expensive pants. He dismisses you immediately with a wave of his hand, and you gather your strength and leave the room: destroyed, exposed, without panties and with the purse full of money.
When you leave the room, there is only his secretary, the girl who escorted you to the door. You have no doubt that she heard everything, but she smiles just as she did when you entered a few hours earlier.
You leave her your phone number, she writes it down in her agenda with precise professionalism. You don't miss the quick glance she gives to your legs. You don't cover yourself, you do as Seonghwa ordered you to.
You obey.
You smile, say goodbye to the secretary. You enter the elevator, the doors close, and for the first time you look at yourself in the mirror. You are not the same person as you were this morning. You fix your makeup as quickly as possible and smile.
You leave. It takes no more than two days for your phone to ring, and for it to be an unknown number.
first actual ..... x reader fic but idk if it went well.. ✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊
sorry for making it so short!₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊
english is not my first language so I apologize for any spelling/grammar mistakes!
idk what happened but i was sure someone requested this !₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊
thank you for the idea!
The sound of keyboard clicks fills your apartment while you lay sprawled half asleep on his bed, the room is dark and the only source of light came from Vernon's monitor and RGB keyboard. His voice echoes in the room as he speaks to his chat.
"Yo chat, should I go to bed?" Vernon mumbled lazily, leaning back in his chair, making it creak beneath his weight.
"My girl is sleepy and I think I should log off before she gets mad at me for staying up this late"
He glanced back at you before looking at his chat again, the comments already exploding with people begging him to play one more game
"Okay then, one more game" he hummed quietly into the mic, adjusting his posture to sit straight as he started yet another round of the game he'd been playing all night.
You let out a tired groan from his bed, burying your face deeper into his pillow, the fabric had a faint scent of his cologne.
Vernon glanced back for a second, his headset almost slipping off as he smiled softly at your sleepy form
"See? she's already mad"
the chat flooded with messages telling him to go sleep
"Relax chat, I'll survive" he mumbled, running a hand through his hair as he continued playing
Not even ten minutes later you felt the mattress dip slightly beside you
"You lost already?" you mumbled sleepily
"Nah" Vernon replied, pulling you into a warm hug from behind "I just like you more than ranked."
synopsis: in which case Y/N, a camera-toting girl with more confidence in her lens than her words, skips class and stumbles into an abandoned ice rink—only to find sunghoon, a boy who skates like silence and sees more than he lets on. between shared secrets, photographs never meant for the world, and messages left unsaid, something begins to bloom—soft, quiet, and entirely theirs.
Look, in my defense, I wasn’t trying to uncover any dark, mysterious, emotionally tortured secrets today.
I was just skipping math.
Again.
And I don’t even hate math, okay? I just hate it when numbers start pretending they’re letters and suddenly I’m expected to know what “cos(θ)” is. The unit circle is hard to look at, and suddenly even harder to understand. No thanks. Not when I could be doing something far more important. Like napping. Or dramatically sighing by a window somewhere.
So there I was, speed-walking behind the gym like a very cute fugitive, when I heard the sound.
Scrrrchhh. Swish. Tap. Swish.
My brain said: squirrel.
My heart said: ghost.
My very dramatic imagination said: figure skater haunted by the ghost of the Olympics.
And because I have absolutely no impulse control, I tiptoed toward the abandoned rink—the one Coach Min swore was “out of order” but really just looks like a Pinterest board had a mental breakdown in there.
And then... I saw him.
Black hoodie. Skates. Alone.
Moving like he wasn’t even touching the ice. Like the laws of gravity took one look at him and said, “We’ll allow it.”
I think my jaw might’ve dropped. Which was rude, honestly. I don’t usually let boys make me gasp unless they’re fictional or handing me free food.
But he didn’t see me. He was busy doing a spin so smooth I almost clapped. I stopped myself. Barely.
Anyway, my fingers reached for my phone like they had a mind of their own. Not to record—I'm not that creepy (yet). I just needed to remember this moment. Mysterious ice boy. Secret skater. Vibe of a tragic K-drama lead with a soundtrack playing somewhere in the snow.
Before I could even unlock my screen, he skated right up to the edge of the rink and—
Paused.
Like paused, paused.
I froze too. Not because I’m shy (I’m literally allergic to silence), but because this felt sacred. Like if I moved too fast, he might vanish into a cloud of mist and unresolved trauma.
He wasn’t looking at me. Not really. He was facing the boards, one gloved hand resting on the edge, the other reaching up to pull his hood down.
And that’s when I saw his face.
I know beauty is subjective, but this boy? This boy looked like the human version of a plot twist. Sharp jawline, calm eyes, and the kind of expression that says, “Yes, I’ve seen pain. And yes, I drink iced lattes in the winter.”
It was rude. Honestly. People shouldn't be allowed to look like that on school property. Especially not while doing fancy little turns in complete silence like a poem in motion.
He still hadn’t seen me. So naturally, I panicked.
And by panicked, I mean: I cleared my throat dramatically, like a Victorian ghost trying to get attention during a séance.
“Nice pirouette,” I said, stepping into the doorway like I definitely hadn’t been standing there for five full minutes narrating his life in my head. “Or is it called a triple lutz? Or... toe loop? Skatey swirl? I don’t know. I failed P.E.”
He turned.
His eyes met mine.
For a second, I expected him to glare, or shout, or skate away in cold, broody silence.
Instead, he blinked slowly and said, “You’re not supposed to be here.”
Which was fair. But also rich, considering he clearly wasn’t supposed to be here either.
“Says the mystery boy on secret ice,” I replied, folding my arms and leaning against the doorway with my best I’m-totally-chill-and-not-spiraling smile. “I could report you, you know.”
He didn’t laugh.
Of course he didn’t laugh.
Instead, he just stared at me with that terrifying combination of calm and judgment that only people with perfect posture and trauma can pull off.
“I mean, obviously,” I added quickly, throwing in some frantic jazz hands because I’d lost control of the situation somewhere between “I could report you” and “this hot guy is scary, oh man.” “I’m not gonna snitch. I’m barely passing algebra. Do I look like someone who follows rules?”
Still nothing.
Okay, cool. He was either a robot or one of those beautiful loner types who only speaks in plot-relevant sentences. Tragic.
“You’re… skating?” I offered, because apparently my brain had given up on intelligent conversation and was now just narrating the obvious.
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a question?”
“No,” I said. “Yes. No. I—okay, yes, I was just wondering if this is like… your thing? Skating alone in secret rinks behind abandoned gym doors while looking like a moody Vogue ad?”
He finally exhaled. Not quite a sigh. Not quite a laugh. Somewhere in the middle. And then, just as I was about to pass away from sheer embarrassment—
He smirked.
A tiny one. Barely there. But it was real.
“Do you always talk this much?” he asked.
“Only when I’m nervous,” I replied automatically. “Or bored. Or awake.”
Another pause. He looked down, did a little pivot on his skates, and then—like it was the most casual thing in the world—he said, “Don’t tell anyone.”
And then he pushed off, gliding backwards again like he was being pulled by the music of my crushed soul.
“Wait, that’s it?” I called. “You’re just gonna emotionally mic drop and skate away?”
But he was already mid-turn, hoodie flaring slightly with the movement, back to being all broody and cinematic.
“I don’t even know your name!” I shouted, taking one dramatic step onto the bleachers like I was in a telenovela.
He didn’t stop.
But just before he reached the far end of the rink, I heard him say—soft, but definitely on purpose—
“Exactly.”
By lunchtime, I’d nearly convinced myself I imagined the whole thing.
Maybe he was a mirage. A highly attractive hallucination born from skipping math and not drinking enough water (hydrate or dydrate everyone!) Stranger things had happened—like that one time I sleepwalked into the kitchen and started giving my toaster a pre-volleyball game pep talk. (I don't even play volleyball?!)
But then I found myself aggressively stirring my carrot and lentil soup, staring into it like it might give me answers.
“You’re just soup,” I muttered to the bowl. “You can’t help me.”
“Talking to your food again?” Yizhuo’s voice was smooth and amused, like it always was. She slid into the seat next to me looking like the human version of a sparkly Instagram filter. Effortlessly perfect. Not even fair.
“I’m reflecting,” I said, very maturely. “Deep introspection. Respect the process.”
Except I wasn’t reflecting.
I was daydreaming. Hard.
I leaned over my soup dramatically, letting the steam hit my face like it was some kind of cleansing ritual.
And then—
His face appeared.
In the soup.
I screamed. Like, externally. Out loud. In the middle of the cafeteria.
Not full-volume scream, okay, I’m not a menace. But definitely a loud, startled yelp that made at least four people at the next table look over, mid-chicken-nugget bite.
“Are you okay?” Yizhuo asked through laughter, already tapping my arm because she knew. She knew.
She always knew when my brain decided to malfunction mid-lunch.
I blinked down at my bowl.
No face. No mysterious boy. Just soup.
Mildly orange. Steaming. Innocent.
Mocking me.
“Yup!” I said brightly, like I hadn’t just imagined a boy materializing in root vegetables. “Totally fine. Just—hot soup. Caught me off guard. Happens.”
Minjeong, across the table, gave me the squint.
“Soup attacked you?”
“Violently,” I nodded. “Unprovoked.”
Jimin shook her head and offered me a napkin like I’d done this before (I had). Aeri snorted into her carton of chocolate milk.
“You sure you’re okay?” Yizhuo asked again, still smiling like she already knew the real answer. Which was rude, because I didn’t even tell her about mystery skater boy.
“Yes,” I said, stirring my soup again with suspicious eyes. “I’m just… existential today.”
“Soup men,” I repeated, flatly. “Thanks for that.”
Minjeong raised a brow. “Are you having one of your main character episodes again?”
“I don’t have main character episodes,” I scoffed. “I am the main character.”
“Yeah, of a high school rom-com where you fall in love with a cafeteria worker and dramatically sing about it,” Jimin chimed in.
“Honestly,” I said, dipping a piece of bread into my soup, “I’d watch that.”
They all laughed, and I smiled too, trying very hard not to visibly stare into the middle distance like a Jane Austen heroine haunted by an anonymous boy in skates.
I would not be weird about this.
I would definitely not Google “how to casually run into someone at an abandoned ice rink without seeming like a stalker.”
I would just eat my soup. Be normal. Be chill. Be—
“Wait,” I said suddenly, voice sharp.
Everyone paused.
“Do we know,” I continued carefully, “if anyone at this school… like… ice skates?”
Jimin blinked. “What?”
“Like… professionally,” I added. “Or secretly. Or—I don’t know—dramatically?”
“Why would we know that?” Aeri asked, squinting at me like I’d just asked if any of them moonlight as circus acrobats.
“I just think it’s a cool sport,” I said quickly. “The jumps! The glitter! I’m a fan of artistic twirls!”
Yizhuo narrowed her eyes. “Why do you sound like you're trying to sell us Olympic propaganda?”
“Do you have a crush on someone?” Minjeong asked, because she always went straight for the jugular.
“No,” I lied, face entirely too warm. “I just believe in… skating rights.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then: “You’re so weird,” Jimin muttered fondly, stealing my bread.
But nobody answered my question.
Because apparently, no one at this school skates.
Which either meant:
A) He wasn’t from here.
B) He was a ghost.
C) He was a figment of my imagination sent to teach me the value of patience and edge control.
Or D) …He was hiding something.
And I?
I was very good at finding things people were trying to hide.
Okay yeah, I rescind that statement.
It started innocently enough. I got home, opened my laptop, and totally meant to finish my bio homework. Like, I even clicked on the Google Doc and everything. But then my cursor wandered. And my brain whispered:
"What if he’s famous?"
And honestly? My brain makes a lot of terrible suggestions. Like bangs. Or hot yoga. But this one? This one had potential.
So naturally, I opened Naver.
Search: “high school figure skater black hoodie Seoul boy”
Zero results.
Rude.
Next attempt: “teenage male ice skater Seoul private school mysterious”
Still nothing, except an article about some 9-year-old prodigy who once skated blindfolded and a BuzzFeed-style quiz titled “Which K-pop Skater Boy Is Your Soulmate?”
Tempting. But not helpful.
I tried every combo I could think of:
“broody boy ice rink Korea”
“skating competition quiet student Seoul”
“hot guy looks like he hates everyone but skates like a dream”
“black hoodie jawline Seoul ice ghost??”
At one point I just typed “boy” and glared at the screen like I expected the algorithm to hand him to me on a silver platter.
It didn’t.
But then… salvation.
I remembered something: Instagram location tags.
God’s gift to nosy people everywhere.
I tapped the one for Mapo Ice Arena, the old rink tucked behind our school that everyone pretended was off-limits because the ceiling was leaky and the lights hummed like they were possessed.
After ten minutes of scrolling through selfies, smudgy ice pics, and one cursed video of someone doing a belly flop in skates (still not sure if it was a joke or a cry for help), I found it.
A blurry vertical clip posted by some hockey account called @rinkratskr.
Caption: “Who even is this kid?? That spin was insane?? #skatinglegend #openrinknight”
And there he was.
My hoodie boy.
Same gait. Same calm control. Same "I don’t know I’m being filmed but I still look like a cinematic dream" aura.
I paused. Zoomed in.
And there—tagged at the bottom—was the username:
@/sunghoon.pk
Click.
Public account.
Minimalist. Very him.
Seven posts. No bio. Profile pic: a backlit skyline, probably the Han River.
He posted like someone who wanted to be found just enough. Like a trail of breadcrumbs but make it moody and artsy.
Mostly photos of scenery. A cracked skate blade. A black-and-white coffee cup. A picture of someone’s cat with no context. And one post that stopped me cold:
A shot of the rink. Empty. Blue-tinged. He was in the corner of the frame, barely visible.
Caption: “It’s quieter now.”
I exhaled slowly.
Because of course.
Of course he posted like that.
He was a poetic enigma wrapped in a triple axel. And I’d made awkward soup eye contact with him.
I leaned back in bed, stared at the ceiling, and muttered to no one:
The ceiling said nothing. Judgy.
The time? 1:06 a.m.
My chemistry reading? Still unopened.
My brain? Hijacked by a boy who spins like silence and smirks like it’s a secret.
I closed my laptop with the kind of dramatic flair normally reserved for season finales and rolled over, shoving my face into my pillow.
“Get a grip,” I whispered into the cotton. “He’s just a guy. A random guy. A guy who ice-skates like he’s in a perfume commercial, sure, but still—just. A. Guy.”
My pillow offered no comfort.
It took me approximately forty minutes, three unnecessary scenarios of us bumping into each other at a convenience store, and one fake argument in my head that ended in a confession (??) before I finally fell asleep.
Only to wake up the next morning with a crick in my neck, exactly one minute before my alarm went off.
Which is a special kind of betrayal.
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I woke up to the sound of my alarm and the sinking realization that I’d hit snooze three times without remembering.
Fantastic start.
The sky outside was that too-blue winter kind of bright, and the cold coming in from the window crack felt unnecessarily personal. I dragged myself out of bed like I was being summoned to war, tripped over my backpack, and muttered something in the general direction of gravity.
In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection for a long time.
My hair was passable. A little pillow-flattened, but it gave off that “I woke up like this but didn’t mean to” vibe. But my eyeliner?
A crime scene.
Attempt one: crooked wing.
Attempt two: thicker crooked wing.
Attempt three: somehow got eyeliner in my eyebrow.
Attempt four: panic.
I finally gave up, grabbed my mascara like it was a magic wand, and aggressively swiped it on until my lashes could pass for intentional.
I called it “smoky desperation.” It was fine.
I was five minutes late to class.
Not dramatic enough to make an entrance, but enough that everyone looked up when I walked in. My teacher paused mid-sentence, gave me a long look, then kept going.
I sank into my seat and took out my notebook like I had any intention of using it.
I didn’t.
Chemistry was—no offense to science—slowly sucking the will to live out of me. Something about molecular bonding or ion pairs or maybe it was how the fluorescent lights made everything look like a bad hospital dream. I don’t know.
I just knew that at 23 minutes in, my brain started playing static.
So I raised my hand.
“Bathroom,” I said.
My teacher didn’t even look up. Just waved me out like I was a regular escapee.
I took my bag. Casual.
Walked down the hallway. Normal.
Turned the corner and passed the bathroom.
Kept walking.
Turned again.
The moment I stepped into the rink, the cold slipped over me like a second skin. It was sharp, almost biting, but not unwelcome. My shoes echoed softly against the concrete as I crossed the threshold, keeping to the side, hoping not to disturb anything—or anyone. But it didn’t matter. He saw me almost immediately.
He was mid-stride, arms loose, gliding through a curve with perfect balance, when his eyes flicked toward the entrance. He slowed, not abruptly, but gradually, coasting until he reached the edge of the rink where I stood. There was no surprise on his face, no confusion, like he’d expected me somehow. The silence stretched for a second before he came closer, the dull scrape of his blades the only sound in the room.
“You’re back,” he said, calm as ever, voice low and even.
I blinked at him, caught off guard by how unbothered he looked. “Yeah,” I replied, a little breathless, trying to will my heart rate back to normal. “You… skate like you’re not touching the ground. You deserved to be photographed, it's truly amazing.”
His gaze didn’t shift. If anything, he studied me more closely. “Then you should photograph me.”
I froze, blinked. “What?”
He shrugged slightly. “I heard you do photography.”
That made my stomach dip. I looked down, almost instinctively, at the strap of my camera—my beat-up FujiFilm that never left my side, hanging from my shoulder like it belonged there more than I did. I hadn’t even realized I’d brought it today. I always did, without thinking.
“How—how did you know?”
He tilted his head like the question didn’t make much sense. “It’s hard not to notice when you carry it everywhere. I saw it last time. And I’ve seen you around school.”
That last part sat heavier than the rest. I wasn’t sure if it was the way he said it—casual but deliberate—or the fact that I hadn’t noticed him noticing me. I was usually the observer, the one watching moments unfold from behind the lens. To be seen like that, so plainly, knocked something loose in my chest.
“Oh,” I said, like a genius. “Right.”
There was a pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. He was still watching me, but not in a way that asked anything. It felt like he was just waiting to see what I’d do next.
I adjusted the strap of my camera, suddenly hyper-aware of its weight against my side. “If you’re offering,” I said carefully, “I’d love to.”
His mouth curved—not quite a smile, but something near it. “Good. Because I think better when I’m moving.”
And just like that, he turned, pushed off, and skated back onto the ice, his figure slicing through the cold air like it welcomed him back.
I sat down slowly on the cold bleachers, fingers instinctively wrapping around my camera like they always did when I didn’t know what to say. It was my FujiFilm X100V—silver with black leather grip, a little scuffed at the corners from too many school trips and spontaneous weekend walks, but I liked it better that way. The metal body felt familiar in my hands, like something that had always belonged to me, even before I knew how to use it properly.
I flipped the switch, felt the soft click vibrate under my thumb. The lens extended with its smooth little hum, and I thumbed off the lens cap, tucking it into my coat pocket like I’d done a hundred times before. But this time felt different. My hands weren’t clumsy, but they were careful, like I was afraid of making the wrong move.
I lifted the viewfinder to my eye and let the world shift.
He was moving again—arms loose, posture relaxed, that same quiet confidence in every motion. The camera softened everything around him, framed him in the square like a subject I hadn’t realized I’d been waiting to find. Through the viewfinder, the rink lost its rusted edges, the cracks in the boards blurred away, and all that was left was him gliding through the middle like he was made for it.
I tapped the shutter. Once. Twice.
The sound was quiet, almost shy, like it didn’t want to disturb him. I adjusted the aperture—f/2.0, to catch the soft winter light filtering through the high windows—and widened the shot. He dipped into a turn, one foot crossing over the other, hoodie fluttering slightly with the motion. His jaw was set, brows just a little furrowed in concentration. I captured that too.
Every few seconds, I’d lower the camera just enough to see him with my own eyes. I don’t know why. Maybe to make sure it was still real. Maybe to remind myself that I was here—not behind a screen, not watching a video online, but here, in the cold, watching him carve his thoughts into the ice like it was paper.
The camera strap shifted against my neck as I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees for balance. My thumb hovered near the focus ring, adjusting just slightly as he moved closer, faster, a flash of motion that almost slipped out of frame. I caught it. I caught him. Not just the spin, but the moment right before—the gathering of energy, the breath he took as he prepared to push off. I liked that part the most.
I bit my lip and smiled a little to myself, heart warm despite the cold settling into my fingertips. The world always felt quieter when I had my camera up, like there was only the subject, the space between us, and whatever I chose to keep.
And him?
He didn’t perform. He didn’t look into the lens or try to impress me. He just kept skating like he forgot I was there—or maybe like he didn’t mind that I was.
I kept shooting, frame after frame, until I stopped worrying about whether they were perfect and just started chasing the feeling. The light. The way his hair moved under the edge of his hood. The way his skates sounded against the ice, steady and sure. The way I didn’t want to miss any of it.
Eventually, he slowed again, gliding into a soft stop near the edge of the rink. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked up at me, his chest rising and falling as his breath formed clouds in the air.
“Do I need to pose?” he asked, voice calm, teasing just barely.
I lowered the camera, smiled. “No. I like it better like this.”
He nodded, almost to himself, and turned away. He skated again, and I raised the viewfinder once more—this time, not just to watch him, but to remember what it felt like to see something beautiful in motion and be lucky enough to catch it.
He came back slower this time, his skates whispering across the ice until they drew him back to the edge of the rink where I was sitting. I had just lowered my camera, the screen still lit with the last photo I’d taken—him caught mid-turn, arms slightly out, eyes focused on some invisible line ahead of him. The moment looked like a dream. Not something staged, not something posed. Just real. Honest.
I watched as he glided to a stop, eyes on me, expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything right away, and I wasn’t sure if I should. The silence settled between us, not quite heavy, but full of everything unsaid. So, naturally, I filled it with words I didn’t think all the way through.
"We need to post these," I blurted, lifting my camera like it explained anything. "Seriously, you don’t even know how good you look out there. You’re like—skating poetry. It’s illegal to be this photogenic and not let the world know."
The change in him was immediate, like a light switching off somewhere behind his eyes. He didn’t smile. If anything, he looked away for a second, and the quiet stretched thinner. There was a subtle shift in his expression, a darkness—not quite sadness, but something older, heavier. His jaw tensed slightly, and he looked back up at me with a gaze that pinned me in place.
I hesitated, my hand tightening on the grip of the camera. "Or not," I added quickly, softer now. "It was just an idea. No pressure."
He looked down at the ice before meeting my eyes again. "Don’t post them," he said, his voice even but firmer than before.
I nodded, feeling like I’d overstepped some invisible line I hadn’t known was there. "Yeah, of course. Just for… me, then. I mean—not me, me. Like, us. Just for us. I guess."
He studied me for a moment longer before replying, voice quieter this time. "They’re for our eyes only."
Something about the way he said it lodged itself deep in my chest. The words weren’t romantic, not exactly. But they held weight. Like a promise. Like he had handed me something fragile and trusted me to hold it. My stomach flipped, and I hated how fast the words took root in my mind.
For our eyes only.
There was something about it—something unspoken and just barely intimate. A shared secret I hadn’t realized we were creating. My heart fluttered before I could stop it, and I had to look down at my camera to stop myself from staring at him like a total idiot.
I pretended to check my photos again, though I didn’t see any of them clearly. I was too aware of the stillness around us, of him still standing there, too aware of my own heartbeat thudding far too loudly in my ears.
When I finally looked back up, he was still watching me, calm and unreadable as ever.
"Yeah," I said aloud, trying to steady myself. "Just for us. Got it."
He nodded like it settled something between us. And maybe it did. Maybe that was the thing—these pictures weren’t for an audience. They were just for this moment. For him. For me.
After a pause, I blinked and realized something that made me sit up straighter. "Wait. How am I supposed to get them to you?"
He stepped a little closer to the railing, eyes steady on mine. "Give me your phone."
I opened my mouth to ask why, but before I could even finish the breath, he reached out, fingers brushing softly against mine as he took the phone from my lap. His hands were cold but sure, and there was something ridiculously confident in the way he unlocked it without asking and swiped straight into my contacts.
He typed quickly, efficiently, then passed it back like it was nothing.
There it was.
Park Sunghoon
Saved in my phone like it had always belonged there.
"Now you can send them," he said, glancing down at the camera that still hung from my neck.
I stared at the name on the screen, brain momentarily short-circuiting. "Oh. Okay. Cool," I managed, and then immediately wanted to faceplant into the bleachers.
Cool? That was the best I could do? He just casually slid into my contact list and I was out here saying cool like I was a malfunctioning robot.
He nodded once, like that settled it, and then turned back to the ice. His blades whispered across the surface as he pushed off again, not looking back. I sat there a little stunned, still gripping my phone, watching him disappear back into motion.
I watched for what felt like forever, my camera resting against my chest, heartbeat loud in my ears. I didn’t raise it to shoot again. Not yet. The moment didn’t ask to be captured. It asked to be remembered.
Eventually, he circled back toward the far end of the rink, movements slower now, more thoughtful. I watched him pause for a second, look toward the ceiling like he was thinking through something no one else could hear, and then spin again, this time looser, like he was skating to let go of something.
I stayed there, seated and quiet, camera in my lap, hands warm from where he'd brushed them. I kept staring at his name in my phone, the plain, unstyled contact card glowing against the screen like it meant more than it should.
I should’ve stood up. Should’ve gone back to class. But I didn’t. Not right away.
"Hey," I called out suddenly, not even realizing I was going to speak until the word left my mouth.
He slowed, turned in place, skating a half-circle before gliding back to the edge again.
"Why me?" I asked. "Why let me take the photos?"
He tilted his head slightly. "You didn’t ask me to pose."
That was it. That’s all he said.
And yet, I felt it. The trust in it. The quiet weight of someone who didn’t want to perform anymore.
He turned again, without waiting for a response, and disappeared back into the curve of the rink. And I sat back, phone still in hand, heart still catching up.
I didn’t know what this was. But I knew what it wasn’t.
It wasn’t just about skating. It wasn’t just about photographs. It wasn’t just a fluke.
It was something that belonged to both of us now.
Just for our eyes.
I checked the time on my phone—I'd been there nearly twenty minutes, maybe more. Class had definitely moved on without me, and if I didn’t get back soon, someone was going to notice. Probably my chemistry teacher, who kept track of bathroom breaks like a hawk with a stopwatch.
I shifted, standing up slowly, letting my bag slip back over my shoulder, camera still hanging at my side. Sunghoon had slowed again, watching me from a short distance away. I hesitated, unsure whether to say goodbye or just slip out the same way I came.
But then he spoke.
"Find me at lunch," he said simply.
I blinked, halfway to turning. "Huh?"
He didn’t elaborate, just offered a faint shrug. "You’ll find me."
My brows knit together, caught somewhere between confused and amused. "That’s totally not weird at all," I muttered under my breath, but I knew he heard me because the corner of his mouth lifted—just a fraction, barely there.
Before I could ask what that even meant, he was already skating away again, like that was all he intended to say. I stood there for another second, still slightly stunned, before finally forcing myself to move, slipping back out of the rink and into the hallway.
The warmth hit me like a wave, and I walked toward class with my thoughts racing ahead of me. I didn’t know where I’d find him at lunch. I didn’t even know what I was expecting. But I knew one thing for sure.
I would look.
And I had a feeling—some quiet, ridiculous feeling—that he would be there waiting.
And maybe, just maybe, that was the beginning of something neither of us had a name for yet.
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author's note: trying something new by writing out an enha fic, lemme know what you think and if you want more parts (or more enha fics in general) comment if you want to be added to the taglist!
The first thing Ricky did on his day off was sleep until noon.
The second thing he did was walk into the kitchen with his hair sticking up everywhere and say,
“I want cookies.”
You looked up from your phone. “That’s the first thing you say to me today?”
“Yes.”
“Not good morning?”
“Cookies are more urgent. I had a dream of cookies, I'm craving 'em like a pregnant lady.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
Ricky ignored you completely and opened random cabinets like he’d lived there his entire life instead of spending twenty minutes yesterday asking where the spoons were.
“Do we even have flour?”
“We do if you stop touching everything dramatically.”
“I’m helping.”
“You just opened the fridge and closed it again.”
“I was checking the vibe.”
You stared at him.
He stared back.
Then both of you started laughing.
The apartment felt weirdly peaceful today. Quiet in a nice way. No alarms going off. No staff messages popping up every five seconds. Just cold winter light spilling through the windows and Ricky wandering around in socks like a sleepy cat.
Eventually, you tied his hoodie strings together after he annoyed you for the sixth time.
“Hey—”
“That’s what you get.” You smile at him
“You’re evil.”
“You love me.”
Ricky paused.
Then he smiled slowly. “Yeah. I do.”
The answer came so naturally that it caught you off guard for half a second.
He noticed immediately too.
You could tell by the way his ears turned a little pink before he looked away and reached for the mixing bowl.
“Okay,” he muttered. “Chef mode now.”
“Chef mode?”
“Yes. Don’t distract me.”
“You literally cannot bake.”
“That sounds negative.”
“It sounds accurate.”
The next thirty minutes turned into complete disaster.
Ricky cracked an egg one-handed and got shell into the batter. You laughed at him so hard you accidentally spilled sugar everywhere. He tried fixing it and somehow made it worse.
At one point, flour exploded across the counter because he mixed too aggressively.
“You look insane,” you said through laughter.
“You’re supposed to support me.”
“I’m trying but this is embarrassing.”
“You’re embarrassing.”
“You have dough in your hair.”
He immediately reached up. “Where?”
“There.”
When he leaned closer, you brushed your fingers through the soft strands near his forehead to pull the tiny piece out.
Ricky went still and looked straight into your eyes
Not fully. Just enough that you noticed.
Your hand slowed too.
For one tiny second, the kitchen suddenly felt quieter than before.
His eyes stayed on yours.
Close.
Way too close.
Then—
“You got distracted,” you mumbled.
“You touched my hair.”
“So?”
“You know I like that.”
His voice came out softer this time.
You swallowed.
“Ricky—”
“Hmm?”
“You’re staring.”
“I know.”
He didn’t stop either.
That was the problem.
The tension started small after that.
Little things.
His hand resting on your lower back while you reached into the cabinet.
Your knees touching under the table while waiting for the cookies to bake.
The way he kept looking at you like he had something to say but never actually said it.
And Ricky was naturally clingy on normal days already.
Today was worse.
At some point while cleaning up, he walked behind you in the narrow kitchen and stayed there instead of moving away.
“You’re blocking me,” you said.
“You smell nice.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I don’t care.”
You tried stepping sideways.
His hands landed on the counter beside you immediately.
Your breath caught a little.
Ricky leaned forward just enough that his chin almost brushed your shoulder.
“You know,” he said quietly, “this is the longest I’ve gotten to spend with you in weeks.”
You looked at him over your shoulder. “You’re acting like we’re in a romance movie.”
“We are.”
“You’re so cheesy.”
“And you like it.”
Unfortunately, he was right.
The oven hummed softly behind you both.
Neither of you moved.
Ricky’s eyes dropped to your lips for the briefest second before lifting again.
Your heart started acting stupid instantly.
“Say something,” he murmured.
“You first.”
He smiled a little at that.
Then he leaned closer.
Slow enough to make you fully aware of it.
One hand slid lightly against your waist, pulling you back just slightly until your shoulder pressed against his chest. Just as his lips touched your neck—
DING.
The oven timer went off.
Ricky blinked once.
Then he dropped his head dramatically against your shoulder.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
You burst out laughing immediately.
“No because actually,” he complained, still holding your waist, “that was the worst timing ever.”
“The cookies saved us.”
“I didn’t ask to be saved.”
“You’re insane.”
He sighed deeply like life had personally betrayed him before finally letting go to grab the oven mitts.
The cookies came out slightly uneven because both of you forgot about the second tray entirely.
Still, Ricky proudly called them “masterpieces.”
An hour later, the kitchen was messy again.
Cookie crumbs everywhere.
One half-finished movie playing on the TV.
And Ricky stretched across the couch beside you under a blanket, warm from the heater and smelling faintly like vanilla.
“You know,” he mumbled sleepily, “I think baking together healed me emotionally.”
“You dropped an entire egg earlier.”
“That was part of the experience.”
You laughed quietly.
Ricky turned his head toward you then, eyes softer now than before.
Without saying anything, he reached over and laced his fingers through yours beneath the blanket.
Simple.
Easy.
The movie kept playing while snow fell outside.
At some point, Ricky fell asleep halfway against your shoulder, still holding your hand loosely like he forgot to let go.
txt hc x gn!reader; friends to lovers; fluff with slight angst; wc: ~180 each
when awkward silence fills the room after txt confesses their love to you, they grow worried that they messed up the friendship.
requested
choi yeonjun
his hands were shaking, swallowing thickly when you just stood there. everything that he thought would go wrong wasn’t necessarily happening, but neither was the good outcome he dreamed about— it was nerve wracking for him, to say the least.
“i-it’s okay.. if you know,” he blushes, cheeks tinted red as he nervously tries to save the friendship. “it’s okay if you don’t like me back. we c-can still stay friends.”
it was that sentence that has you coming back to reality, blinking quickly out of the small trance you were in. but instead of replying with words, you laughed softly at his, unable to handle the fact that he thought you wouldn’t like him back.
“why are you.. why.. are you laughing at me?”
“no, yeonjun!” you laugh softly and pull him into a soft embrace. “i thought you’d never confess.”
the moment ended in a hug that lasted more than the two of you would like to admit. a soft blush forming on his cheeks and a smile on your lips at the fact that you finally have each other in the way you've always wanted.
choi soobin
"...and i know it's almost impossible of you liking me back, but i thought it would be possible because of the other day when you laid your head on my lap and looked at me..."
soobin's rambles continued on for more than a couple minutes. perhaps it was due to your silence after he confessed, but you truly didn't understand why. all you knew was that he was nervous, and so were you.
"soobin," you call out to him softly.
it was an attempt to help him focus on you, but the only thing that could stop him from talking was a soft kiss to his cheek. Almost instantly, his skin turns a bright red, complimenting his soft lips perfectly. if he didn't know better, this would be your way of not rejecting him, which made him bloom with happiness on the inside.
"yn..," he whispers and looks at you with such big eyes that made you feel like his adoration for you was much more than what you previously believed.
"i like you, too. i like you a lot, bin."
choi beomgyu
“yn..?” beomgyu quietly asks, voice slightly wavering at how you stood there.
the sun was setting and it made your skin glow with radiance. the trees wavered around you because of the slight breeze. the weather nice and cool in the park, it was almost the perfect confession– all that was left was you returning his feelings.
“yn.. please say some-something.”
no matter how hard beomgyu tried, he overthought everything up to that point. had he been a bad friend? was he too forward? maybe you only viewed him as a friend and all that flirting meant as a bit to you. his hands begin to shake with worry and he chews on the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from tumbling over in tears.
finally, after what felt like hours, you give him a smile. but he couldn’t decipher it still, so he apologizes with no hesitation.
“yn, i am so s-so sorry..”
“shut up and kiss me already,” you whisper, pressing your lips on his with much love. a burning passion replaces the anxiety in his body while he wraps his arms around you.
kang taehyun
throughout your whole friendship, taehyun wasn’t much of a person to showcase his feelings so easily. of course, the longer your friendship lasted, the more vulnerable he became with you, but it didn’t make it any less harder for him to open up. so as he stands in front of you after confessing how much you truly meant to him, he scratches his neck awkwardly from the silence.
“i’m really sorry if this means our friendship is over,” he tells you, trying to break the ice that the conversation somehow turned into. “i really care about you, and i thought it was better for you to know.. for your sake.”
you tear up, though. of course he would confess to you because he thought of your position in this situation. as someone who wouldn’t like him back, it would make you uncomfortable for him to continuously cling to you. but that wasn’t you.
“don’t worry, tyun,” you hug him close with a soft smile to ease his worries. “i really care about you, too. maybe a little too much, if i’m going to be honest with you.”
huening kai
the silence was deafening. so deafening that the only thing kai mustered up the courage to do was laugh.
“you don’t like me back,” kai says after his fit of laughter. his voice is filled with sadness and longing, but still hope because you truly hadn’t answered just yet. you look at him with slightly glossy eyes, the way he confessed to you was so beautiful it left you speechless. of course you wanted to say yes, but your long time crush just admitted to him loving you since forever ago.
“it’s not like that..,” you whisper and look at him with a smile. “i like you so much, kai. so much that my heart beats quicker just hearing your name, and i..”
you pause and the boy in front of you stays quiet to let you finish, “i’ve loved you since then, too.”
his arms snake their way around you and pulls you into a big embrace. he knew why you were slightly upset, and quite honestly, hearing that you’ve loved him for a while makes him feel the same.
