GOSH I AGREE, and im so sorry u had to wait so long BUT I STILL DELIVER!!!!!! i love this pic smm agh i stand by younger bf!taehyun because he would date an older women AGHASUHDUIUFHDJIJ
MDNI // nsfw audio
mmmmmm that one clip when he said "use your words now" AHH deepthroating whiny tyun.. mmmm im soaking !!!!
ALSO i might be a bit behind on my audios reqs but i think im gonna focus on my writing asks !!!! sorry im an inbox hoarder :((((
and you know how much he likes to get on top of whoever he's against....
pin me
taehyun x fem!reader
synopsis: play fighting with your boyfriend turns into more.
warnings: 🔞!!! choking (f!rec), no protection, slight fingering, prob forgot some sorry
wc: 1.5k
an: mae, my love forgive me for this not being proofread and repetitive ily let me give you anything you want in return for this being not the best. but the banner is so cute I love taehyun in navy blue omfg.
[m.list] [1kevent m.list]
It was a gradual change that came out of nowhere. One second, your boyfriend was casually invited to the gym with his friends and the next, he was corded with muscle, beating his friends at arm wrestling without much thought. But he always lets you win.
You didn't even realize how strong he’d gotten, so easily fooled by his playful pretend. He will kiss your knuckles, giggle over your serious face, and only give you half the pressure he would his friends. Sometimes he even dragged it out, letting you think he was a second away from winning, the back of your hand so close to the table without touching it before letting his wrist go limp. He always smiles so big right after his fake pout and that's all you really care about, not the factthat he's let you win.
It was the fact that he never tried to play fair when it came to you that warped your perception, so much so that when asked if he could show you some new moves he'd learned you agreed. Laying in bed, already dressed down, the two of you rolled against each other, your playful laughs echoing in the room. He was so gentle, locking your wrists in his hands as you tried to break free, twisting your hips to try and get out from under his legs, trapping you down. He even let you get far enough to push him onto the mattress, his hair a mess on the pillows as you pressed your hands on his shoulders to keep him down. He reached up to grab your hips, not to push you off but to slip his hands under your shirt to feel your warm skin on his palms.
“You look so pretty like this, on top of me,” he muttered, eyes following the shape on your face, down to the oversized shirt you had on. He lifted his hands higher, pushing the fabric off your body to leave you in only your panties for me. You sat back to let him do it, thinking the wrestling was over, you could feel that he was semi-hard against your ass, and when he pushed his hips up you tried to grind down before he took you by surprise. He had pushed his hips up only for leverage to flip the two of you over, your breath knocked out from the surprise of finding yourself pressed into the spot he was just at himself. “But I think you look even prettier under me,”
He was right in the cradle of your hips, knees still raised on either side of him, you thought you could just twist again and knock him off balance, but it wasn't that simple. Taehyun sunk his knees into the bed, his hands grabbing yours as you tried to flip him over, he wasn't even straddling you and he was still keeping you down. He pressed his wights into his hips putting all the pressure on your crotch, pinning you in place. “Not fair,” you tried to pout thinking it would be the key to him loosening up his hold because it usually was. But taehyun wasn't taking it.
“I win, I pinned you,” he leans down to kiss you, nose bumping yours as you turn your head, not letting go of the play fighting so easily.
“I didn't tap out,” you say when he kisses your cheek.
“Oh okay so now we have rules,” he quirked an eyebrow at you, “cause I'll get you to tap out if I need to I'm not letting you win this time,”
“No, you can't, I'm not that weak,” but they are your famous last words because he doesn't hold back. He's slowly dragging his hips, pressing his bulge against your clit, already feeling your warmth through the fabric of his sweatpants.
“Tap out,” he demands so softly at first, still willing to let you off easy if you give in early but you're stubborn, shaking your head no. You try to get out from under his hold now confronted with the fact that your boyfriend is so much stronger than you. Of course, you knew this and could feel the power he held back, especially during sex but now he's leaning into it, showing you even with one hand he can keep both your wrists pinned above your head.
His free hand snakes down between the two of you, wedging itself right against your covered cunt, wet spot already soiling the fabric and showing him how much you want him. Your hips jerk at the contact, his fingers pushing your panties aside as he traces lines through your wetness, “tap out,”
“No,” and you still sound so strong, even when he shoves two fingers into you, your thighs trembling when he starts to pump them in and out of you.
You squirm, lips tightening to not let out the little moans threatening to give way. The heel of his palm rubs at your clit enough so that you grind right back onto his hand. But he's not playing nicely anymore, he takes his hand away, and you whine loudly, “Tap out,” so casually as if he hasn't just had his fingers inside you.
“Taehyun-”
“No, I only want to hear you speak if you're tapping out,” he uses his free hand not holding you to push down his pants, thick veiny cock slapping his stomach. “Otherwise I'll just take it as you saying you lose,”
Your knees instinctively fall open wider for him, your feet digging into the mattress to line the two of you up. But when he pushes in, the tip of his cock is only just breaching your entrance you want to give in, let him win and fuck you without the game anymore, but your pride is too strong. He's built you up to thinking he will just always give in to you, now you're paying the price of not realizing who's always had the upper hand.
Taehyun loves the way your eyes go hazy when he pushes fully into you, your warm pulsing walls pulling him as he presses his pelvis against yours. But he doesn't move, not even when you start to writhe on his cock, his tip pressed so deep you're seeing spots even with him so still. “Tap out and I'll move,”
You shake your head, hips doing all the work for you as you push yourself onto his dick, wiggling to find some kind ofrhythm. He chuckles, “My little cock whore can't even stay still, I'll let you win if you can get yourself off like this,”
Both of you know it's unlikely, not with your hands above your head, you can even last longer than five minutes when riding him without him taking over, this will be no different but you don't want to give in. You start to move, hips rising and falling while he laughs so sweetly. “Baby just give up, ill fuck you so good, you won't even have to think about it,”
“N-no,” you stutter, finding it hard to form words when every movement makes his tip bump against your cervix, the painful pleasure pushing you on.
Taehyun wraps his free hand around your neck, lightly squeezing as your eyes roll back, “I said no talking unless you're tapping out, are you tapping out?” he asks and you shake your head no, the vibrations of your moans are felt along his palm.
You're doing little to actually try and get off, the feeling of being so full and not used is maddening, you want him to bully your cunt, take no remorse in how he treats you, and yet you're just a whining mess, clenching around him trying to hold out. He wants you to give in, his jaw tightening with every flutter of your gummy walls around his cock, he bites back his need but you look so desperate to get off. And it doesn't help the way he has you pinned is so perfect to just let himself go, grab your hips, and use you like his little cocksleeve.
It's all too much for either of you. But you're not the one to concede because just like arm wrestling he's giving it to you without question. But he can't blame himself, not when you look so fuckable, begging and clenching on him like you can’t help yourself any longer. He lets go of your neck and wrists before grabbing your hips in a bruising hold, pulling you back and forth on his cock with an unrelenting force.
Your back arches, his deep throaty moans sound like he's been released from the hold he's put on himself. Your hands twist in the sheets, taking every thrust, your tits bouncing from the force drawing Taehyun's attention. He's so close without even realizing it until the last second, tip hitting your gspot while he cums, twitching cock triggering your own orgasm. The both of you collapse into each other, his weight pressing you back down into the pillows as he buries his head into your neck.
“I won,” you mutter, brushing his sweaty hair behind his ear, both of you still trying to catch your breath.
“Shut up, round two in fifteen minutes, best out of three,”
taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask!
who knew that soobin had a big brain and an even bigger surprise?
❛ content 3.8k words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, power bottom! male reader, big dick virgin! soobin, nerdy dirty talk, pathetic nerd! soobin, unprotected sex (p in a), praise kink, size kink, soobin talks a looot during it, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, riding, creampie, aftercare, requested here!
you didn’t expect the campus library’s most reclusive, awkward math genius to have a voice that soft.
“i brought the notes,” he mumbled, holding up a neat binder like a peace offering. his long fingers gripped it too tightly, knuckles pale. “sorry i’m late. i—i was recalculating the sample sizes in the… ah, anyway. hi.”
choi soobin.
the guy who never made eye contact with anyone unless forced. always sitting in the back row, muttering answers under his breath that were always annoyingly right. you’d caught him staring at you in lectures a few times — like full on, wide eyed, glasses slipping down his nose, inhaling your soul kind of staring — but he always looked away like he’d been caught watching porn in public.
and now, here he was. standing in the doorway of your dorm room, two textbooks under one arm, a thick bulge in his jeans he clearly didn’t know how to hide, and that same look on his face.
like his body couldn’t decide if it was devotion or panic making his stomach flip.
you stepped aside to let him in.
“make yourself comfortable.”
soobin hesitated.
his eyes did a full scan of your room — bookshelf, unmade bed, pair of briefs on the floor — and his ears immediately flushed pink. still, he nodded, set his things on your desk, and sat in the desk chair like it was a job interview. posture rigid. shoulders hunched to make himself smaller. legs spread too wide because… well. because he was too tall to sit normally in anything.
you couldn’t help it — you smiled.
“you ever been in someone else’s dorm before?” you teased lightly.
he blinked behind his glasses. “no.”
“no?”
he shook his head. “never got invited.”
you leaned against the edge of the desk, close enough that your thigh nearly brushed his knee.
“so i’m your first?”
soobin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.
“in… in a way, yes.”
that look was back again — staring up at you like you were made of fire. like he couldn’t decide whether to run or reach out and touch.
god, he was so awkward. and sweet. and kind of unbelievably hot in that tall, twitchy, no social skills kind of way. you let the silence stretch for a moment. watched how his eyes kept flicking to your mouth, then down, then back up like he was doing mental calculations.
you decided to cut the tension. “you really been staring at me all semester just to help me pass stats?”
soobin looked mortified.
“i—what?! i wasn’t—i mean, i was, but not like—it’s not just that, i just—”
you raised a brow, smirking. “relax, genius. i’m flattered.”
“…you are?”
“mmh,” you leaned in, voice dropping just a little. “you’re cute when you’re nervous.”
his breath hitched. visibly. like his brain short-circuited.
“i—you’re extremely—i mean statistically—wait no, i meant subjectively—” he stopped himself, cheeks going pink. “sorry. i talk too much when i’m… you know.”
“turned on?”
soobin looked like his bones had given up and the chair was the only thing keeping him upright.
“i think i like when you talk too much.”
he didn’t move. just watched, pupils dilated, chest rising and falling shallowly beneath his sweater vest. he had no idea what to do with his hands, which made you grin as you stepped between his knees.
he froze when your hand touched his thigh.
“wait—” he breathed.
“you okay?” you asked, instantly softening. “i can stop. i want you to tell me if anything feels off.”
“no! i mean—no, don’t stop,” soobin said quickly, voice high and cracking. “i’ve just… i’ve never… i haven’t—ever done anything.”
you nodded. “i figured.”
“is that—bad?”
you tilted your head, brushing your fingers along the edge of his jaw. “why would that be bad?”
“i don’t know,” he said quietly. “you’re… you seem like you know what you’re doing. and i—i don’t. not even a little bit. i’m probably gonna be terrible and come in like thirty seconds and say something stupid about newton’s laws of motion and ruin the whole thing.”
you huffed a laugh. “well, now i kind of want you to say something about newton’s laws of motion while you’re inside me.”
soobin’s whole soul left his body.
you stepped closer, gently guiding his hand to your waist. “you’re not going to ruin anything. you’re adorable. you’re hot. and i want you.”
he blinked up at you like he couldn’t believe this was real. like any moment, he was going to wake up alone in his bed with a hard-on and the smell of his own hand lotion.
but it was real. you were straddling his lap now, and you could feel it — so thick, so hot, so big under his jeans, pressing between your legs like a damn secret weapon. you gasped a little as it shifted under you.
“…god,” you whispered.
“i’m—sorry?”
you leaned in close, lips just at his ear. “why didn’t you tell me you were big?”
“i—what?” he squeaked.
you rolled your hips slowly against it. “that’s not normal big. that’s fuck-me-up big.”
soobin whimpered. whimpered.
“i read online that size doesn’t correlate with pleasure,” he blurted, voice desperate. “but i—i can do angles! i’ve read about—about pressure points! i know about the anterior wall, and—and—”
you kissed him.
not just to shut him up. though that was part of it.
you kissed him because his lips were full and trembling and begging for it. because he deserved to feel something other than nerves buzzing through him. because no one had ever kissed him like he was worth losing control over, and fuck, he was.
soobin gasped against your mouth like it shorted his circuits. like he’d only ever imagined this behind closed doors, in the quiet dark, with his hand on his cock and your name on his tongue.
his hands finally settled on your hips. gentle. awkward. like he was afraid of squeezing too hard, like you’d shatter. you deepened the kiss, rocking into him a little more, grinding deliberately on that massive bulge straining against his jeans.
he groaned into your mouth.
“i—” soobin gasped, breaking the kiss, his lips already flushed and wet. “i need to—oh my god—i think i’m gonna come—”
you smiled, panting softly against his mouth. “not yet. you’re gonna come inside me.”
his head dropped back against the chair like he’d been electrocuted. just that. just the promise of being inside you. his hips twitched involuntarily and the moan that left him was so guttural it made your stomach clench.
you leaned in close, whispering right against his throat.
“i’m gonna ride you until your brain falls out of your ears, soobin.”
he whimpered again. actually whimpered. arms limp at his sides like he couldn’t figure out how to move his own body. you kissed his jaw, then the corner of his mouth, slow and sweet.
“but you need to give me a second. gotta get myself ready for this.”
“r-ready?”
you moved off his lap, grabbing your lube from the drawer like it was just another night. but it wasn’t.
soobin was still panting, hard as fuck in his jeans, eyes locked to you like you were pulling the sun out of the sky. you climbed up onto your bed, knees spread as you pushed down your sweats and underwear in one single movement, letting your bare skin meet the cold sheets.
you met his gaze as you slicked your fingers.
he made a broken sound in his chest.
you smirked. “watch.”
and fuck, he did.
he watched like he’d never seen anything before. wide eyes, mouth open, fists clenched on his thighs.
you brought your fingers to your entrance, slow, teasing the rim with gentle pressure. a soft sigh slipped from you as you eased in the first knuckle. the burn was familiar, the stretch routine — but the way soobin was staring like you’d just parted the gates of heaven?
that was new.
“s-should i be helping?” he whispered, breathless.
“just sit there,” you breathed, adding more lube. “and think about how lucky you are.”
soobin made a sound like a gasped prayer. “i’m the luckiest man alive.”
you snorted, pressing the second finger in.
“holy—fuck, that’s so—beautiful,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “you’re stretching yourself open for me—me—”
you moaned, rolling your hips just slightly against your fingers, and his breath hitched like he’d been punched.
“i don’t—i don’t think i can—” soobin choked, grabbing at himself over his jeans with an urgency that was almost painful. “i’m gonna—oh god, fuck, i’m gonna come—”
you looked over just in time to see him jerk violently in the chair, hips snapping once, jaw going slack as he came untouched in his pants — loud, like something sacred had been ripped out of him. he moaned your name like he needed it to stay alive, biting down on his fist to muffle it, his thighs trembling under him.
you couldn’t stop the slow smirk that curled on your lips.
“wow.”
“i—” he gasped, face flushed, hair a mess, glasses skewed on his nose. “i’m—i’m so sorry—i didn’t mean to, i just—”
“you came just from watching me prep?” you tilted your head, biting your lip. “that’s hot.”
he looked like he was suffering. “but i—i wanted to—inside—i didn’t mean to—”
“relax, baby,” you murmured, reaching for him again. “you’ve got more in you. right?”
soobin moaned just from the nickname. moaned. and when you knelt between his knees again and started undoing his jeans, he looked like he was about to cry from gratitude.
you tugged them down, and your breath caught.
“…holy shit.”
soobin’s cock flopped free, half-soft and already twitching to get hard again.
it was big. way too big. heavy and flushed and thick even while soft. thick enough that you weren’t sure how the hell you were going to take all of it, even after prepping.
“no way you were walking around campus with this monster between your legs,” you muttered, almost reverently. “no wonder you’re so awkward. you’ve been hiding a weapon.”
soobin flushed all the way down to his collarbones. “i—it’s not— is it bad?”
“bad? soobin, it’s a miracle i’m not on my knees worshipping it right now.”
“i—i wouldn’t mind— i mean—”
you shot him a look, and he let out a tiny squeak, abruptly silencing himself.
“lay down,” you said, voice low, eyes never leaving his cock. “on the bed. i need to ride this thing before i lose my mind.”
he moved like his limbs didn’t belong to him, clambering up onto your bed with shaky hands and eyes wide, like he didn’t believe any of this was real.
his cock bobbed up fully hard again, heavy against his stomach. your mouth actually watered.
you climbed over him, settling with your knees on either side of his hips, and reached between you to guide the tip to your entrance. just resting it there was enough to make you gasp. soobin was shaking.
“w-wait,” he stammered. “what if i hurt you?”
you leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to his lips. “you won’t. i want this. i want you.”
he moaned into the kiss, hands already grasping your hips like he couldn’t stop himself. you braced yourself, breathed deep, and started to sink down.
the stretch was unreal.
your mouth fell open, a strangled sound coming out as the blunt head of his cock pushed past your rim. the burn was immediate, intense. your body strained, trembling, trying to take him.
soobin was already gasping under you. “oh—fuck—you’re—you’re so—tight—are you okay?”
you nodded through gritted teeth. “y-yeah—just give me—fuck, soobin, you’re huge—”
“i’m sorry!”
“no—don’t you dare apologize.”
you forced yourself to breathe through it, relaxing bit by bit as you slid down inch by inch. his cock felt like it was punching up into your guts, thick and hot and impossible. you swore you could feel every vein, every twitch of his nerves through your walls.
soobin was losing his mind.
“y-you’re—taking me so well—how are you—god, you’re so perfect—you’re squeezing me so tight—i can’t—i can’t think—”
“you’re in so deep already—fuck, you’re ruining me—” you gasped, dropping lower with each word. “no one’s ever filled me like this—”
that set something off in him.
his grip on your hips tightened as he moaned, desperate and overwhelmed. “no one? no one’s ever—been this deep? you—you’re mine—mine—i’m the first to touch you like this?”
you were fully seated now, chest heaving, your walls fluttering around him, clenching hard as your body adjusted to the pressure. you leaned forward, palms flat on his chest, eyes fluttering.
“you’re fucking perfect,” you whispered. “so big, soobin, you’re stretching me open, you’re in my stomach—”
soobin let out a raw, high-pitched sound.
“i’m gonna die,” he whimpered. “i’m gonna die, and this is how i want to go—inside you—buried in you—”
you laughed breathlessly, rolling your hips experimentally. he arched off the bed, cock hitting something inside you that made your whole body spasm.
“oh—fuck—do that again,” you gasped.
“i—what did i do?—i need to do it again—i want to make you feel good—so good—”
you started to move, grinding slow and deep, dragging yourself up his length and then dropping down again, watching his jaw fall open, watching his whole face twist in pleasure.
“f-fuck—you’re so sensitive,” you moaned, bouncing slowly. “every little squeeze makes you whimper like a fucking virgin—”
“i am—” he gasped. “you’re my first—only— i never wanted anyone else—only you—”
god. his voice. the way he talked during sex — fast and nerdy and desperate, like he was rattling off theorems while losing his mind.
“i’m gonna make you feel so good,” he panted. “i know the angles—oh my god— i studied. watched videos—i read so many—so many forums. i wanted to be good for you—just for you—”
you moaned out loud, hips snapping faster, your cock bobbing untouched between you. the rhythm was too perfect. every time you came down, he bottomed out inside you, hitting so deep it felt like you were going to see stars.
“soobin,” you gasped. “you’re—fucking me so good—this is insane—you’re a goddamn natural—”
soobin whimpered so loud, like he’d just been told he won a nobel prize.
“i—i am?” he breathed.
“you’re splitting me open with this monster cock—fucking me so deep—you’re so good, soobin, fuck, you’re so good at this—”
“i love you,” he blurted.
you froze, breath caught in your throat, your thighs trembling around his hips, still so full of his cock you could feel it in your chest.
soobin’s face went pale like he’d just told a calculus joke in the wrong room. “i—i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to say it—i mean i did—but i wasn’t trying to pressure you or ruin this or make it weird, it just—came out—”
you grabbed his jaw with both hands, kissed him hard, and whispered against his lips :
“say it again while i come on your cock.”
he gasped like he couldn’t breathe. “i love you.”
you started to ride him again — so hard, so fast, now reckless — and the noise he made was somewhere between a sob and a scream.
“i love you,” he choked. “i love you, you’re so perfect, you’re—god, you feel so good—i wanna live in you—”
you moaned, grinding deep, his cock hitting your prostate so perfectly that your vision blurred.
“i’ve never—fuck—never felt this before,” you whimpered, bracing your hands on his chest. “you’re fucking ruining me, soobin—your cock is splitting me open—i can’t—”
soobin looked like he was about to cry. “y-you’re gonna make me cum again—please—please let me cum inside, i need to, i need to—”
you slammed down hard, clenching tight around him.
“do it—fill me up, soobin—wanna feel you spill inside me—wanna feel your cum drip out while you keep me full—”
he lost it.
with a sound like his entire soul ripped free of his body, soobin thrust up into you — so hard — hands locking around your waist, finally taking the rhythm for himself. and just like that, he was fucking you.
messy. desperate. and so, so deep.
“oh my god—” you cried out, body jolting with every sharp thrust. “soobin—fuck—what are you—”
“i’m sorry—i have to—i have to—” he gasped, voice breaking. “you feel so good—i can’t hold back—you’re letting me inside—i can’t stop—”
the dorm room filled with the sound of your bodies meeting — slick, obscene, overwhelming — the wet slap of skin on skin as he drove into you with trembling strength. he wasn’t graceful, wasn’t practiced either, but somehow it didn’t matter. he hit every spot. every time. like he’d mapped your body in his dreams.
his eyes were locked on your face, glasses still somehow halfway on, slipping down his nose with every thrust. you couldn’t look away. he looked like something primal had taken over — lips parted, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide with need.
and the things he was saying—
“you’re so tight, i can feel you everywhere, every inch—i want to memorize this—i want to study you—i want to write theses about how perfect your body feels—”
you were shaking. open and gone.
your legs were jelly around him now, your arms shaking too much to hold you up. soobin noticed, and with a sudden strength you didn’t expect, he grabbed you around the waist and flipped you, pressing you down to the mattress and staying buried inside you with one deep, dizzying thrust.
you gasped, arching under him.
“soobin—!”
“i’m sorry,” he whispered, hovering above you, looking destroyed. “i—i need to stay inside. just for a little—just a little longer—i can’t let go yet—”
“then don’t,” you begged. “stay inside. fuck me, soobin—fuck me harder—”
and damn, he did.
he snapped his hips into you, relentless now, cock stretching you to the limit, his voice unraveling right in your ear as he chased the edge.
“i love you—i love you so much—i’ve loved you since the first lecture—i used to touch myself thinking about this—you—i didn’t even know what to do with my hands, i just knew i wanted you—”
your hand slid between your legs, desperate, stroking your own cock as he pounded you, your body singing from the inside out.
“don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—soobin, i’m gonna—fuck, i’m gonna—”
“come,” he gasped. “please, please come—want you to cum on my cock, want you to milk it—make me fill you—make me stay inside forever—”
and you did.
your whole body convulsed, cock pulsing in your hand, white-hot release spilling across your stomach and chest as your walls clenched down tight around him. you sobbed his name, legs shaking violently as you came harder than you had in years.
that was all it took.
soobin’s hands gripped your hips so tight you knew you’d bruise later. he slammed in once, twice, and then he was spilling inside you with a loud scream, cock throbbing so deep, filling you with so much cum you could feel it leaking already.
“i’m cumming—i’m cumming—i’m inside you—fuck, i love you—i love you i love you—”
soobin didn’t pull out.
he didn’t even move. he collapsed on top of you, trembling, still buried to the hilt, still moaning under his breath like he didn’t want it to end.
you lay there together — shaking, sweaty, breathless — and felt him press one soft, desperate kiss to your throat.
“can we…” he mumbled, voice small. “can we stay like this? just for a little while?”
you smiled, completely fucked out, one hand sliding into his damp hair.
“baby,” you whispered. “you can stay inside me as long as you want.”
soobin made a small, crushed noise against your throat. something between a whimper and a sigh of absolute, stupid bliss.
you could feel his cock twitch one last time inside you, still half-hard, still locked so deep it made your legs twitch again just from the memory. he didn’t move — he wouldn’t move. you’d melted into the mattress beneath him, boneless, body sticky with sweat and cum and love.
“…you okay?” you asked softly, fingers brushing through the damp hair at the back of his neck.
he nodded against your skin, barely moving. then a soft, muffled : “i can’t believe that happened.”
you laughed, shaky and hoarse. “you mean the part where you absolutely destroyed me?”
soobin groaned in embarrassment, shifting just slightly. his cock moved inside you and both of you gasped at the hypersensitivity. he stopped immediately, whimpering.
“i’m sorry—i don’t want to hurt you, i just— i don’t know what to do now. i—uh—do we need to clean up? should i get you water? or—wait, should i get a towel? are you cramping? oh my god, i think i’m still hard—”
“soobin,” you whispered, smile tugging at your lips until it almost hurt. “breathe.”
he paused, blinking down at you like a deer caught in your bedroom lamp.
you cupped his flushed cheek. “you did so good. i’m not dying. i’m just… full. of you. in every way.”
soobin’s eyes got glassy again.
“i made you feel good?”
“baby,” you whispered, pulling him down so your foreheads touched. “that was the best fuck of my life.”
he made a broken, overwhelmed sound and kissed you. messy, still desperate, but sweet. the kind of kiss that tasted like someone who couldn’t believe they were allowed to love you like this.
eventually, he softened inside you with a small whine and pulled out carefully. you hissed from the sensitivity, but he was so gentle — like you were glass.
he tried to get up to clean you, but you yanked him back by the wrist.
“later. just lie down with me.”
he slid in beside you, glasses crooked and slipping down his nose, wrapping those long arms around you like he didn’t ever want to let go. you curled against his chest, still sticky and sweaty, and neither of you cared.
soobin was quiet for a while. then :
“i didn’t even know it could feel like that,” he whispered. “i thought—i was scared i wouldn’t be good at it. that i’d mess it up. but you just…”
you kissed the center of his chest.
“i felt safe. and wanted. and i wanted you,” he said, voice cracking at the edges. “i’ve wanted you since forever. i just never thought i’d get to have this. to have you.”
you pressed your face into his collarbone, eyes fluttering closed.
“you have me now,” you murmured. “all of me, soobin.”
he held you tighter.
“…are you okay? like, physically?” he added in a panicked whisper after a beat. “i came a lot. like, a lot—”
you laughed so hard you wheezed. “soobin.”
“sorry! i just—i don’t want to give you, like, some weird cum-induced stomach cramp—”
“i am gloriously ruined,” you said, shifting closer. “and if you apologize for doing too good of a job one more time, i’m gonna make you fuck me again.”
pretty puppy boy is so down bad for you. the feeling is mutual.
pairing: puppybf!jake x afab!reader
fluff, jake falls in love at first sight, mentions of kisses, smut, oral (fem receiving ), sub!jake and sub!reader yum, mutual masturbation hell yea, they're both brats, messy sex, pussy obsessed puppy jake, not proofread as always
puppy!jake who literally felt time slow when he was first introduced to you. sunghoon side eyed him when he noticed how jake visibly straightened, ears perked, eyes blown wide open. it took about three to four dude's from his friend to make him enter reality again.
puppy!jake who simply just stared at you when you told him about yourself. he drank up every word, replaying the facts in his head, careful to not miss a single details.
puppy!jake who had to force himself to look you into the eye and stop his eyes from darting down to your lips. but how couldn't he? the gloss on your lips reflects so prettily in the sunlight, how can you expect him not to stare at you :c
puppy!jake constantly wanted to be around you when your friend group was hanging out. he didn't necessarily even need to talk to you, he just wanted to sit close. with time he stared hovering, never leaving your orbit, shooting sharp glances at once who looked in you in ways that friends don't.
puppy!jake who had sunghoon give him peptalks to talk to you more :c sweet boy just got so shy and stuttery when he was around you, which was silly since you were the exact same and HE DIDNT EVEN NOTICE !!
puppybf!jake who thought you might be more dominant in the bedroom, judging by your composed nature but he was oh so wrong. to be fair, there have been signs that you didn't have a single dominant bone in your body. the way you nuzzled, basically completely melted into him when you were cuddling, hugging him so tightly as if he were to disappear into thin air any second. the way you practically turned into mush whenever an single ounce of praise left his lips. mans was just too whipped to see it.
puppybf!jake giggles inbetween kisses :((( well it's more like he full on giggles into your mouth because mans refuses to remove his lips from yours but if he DOES then the giggles get even more intense and he gets so giddy and u can barely catch your breath before he's on you again.
puppybf!jake has never been touched by anyone before and gets soooo desperate and whiny when you slowly move your hands up and down his body. the slightest movement towards his dick has him twitching, throaty whines escaping him without pause. and the worst part? the way you look at him, eyes wide with fascination, in disbelief that it's you who gets him like this. like him, you haven't been touched by anyone either and one before you realised what happened his hands were in your panties and yours around his dick :c both of you just staring at each other, jaws slack and breathing heavily.
puppybf!jake always has his hand on you. always. hand holding, intertwined pinkies, hand around your waist, playing with a strand of hair it doesn't matter if he's around you he must touch you or he withers away.
puppybf!jake who loves laying on top of you. his cheek is pressed against yours, eyelashes tickling you when he blinks. out of nowhere, quick kisses attack your cheeks while you watch something on your phone (he sees it as a challenge to get your attention, sweet sweet boy). every now and then he repositions himself, making sure his arms dont't leave you tho dont get it twisted. once he found a new comfy position he flops down again with a sigh, nuzzling into your neck :c
puppybf!jake who humps the mattress while eating you out . he just loves the sounds you make, it makes him absolutely feral. whether that is the sweet moans and gasps leaving your lips or your messy pussy causing obscene sounds to echo from the walls. whenever he goes down on you he always ends up legit making out with your pussy, nose nudging against your clit and he looooves smelling you. doesnt mind when you move around, he just moves after you, lips never leaving your pussy. he's utterly obsessed with you and your pussy, hes on you like a magnet.
puppybf!jake who once nutted before you even touched him properly. in his defence, you were literally licking your way down his v line, it was evil of you. poor pup got so whine and embarrassed afterwards and wanted to tease you back but he couldn't go through with it and just ended up eating you out for two hours straight. that boy has an insane oral fixation lucky you.
puppybf!jake goes brat to brat with you. you both just rile each other up in perfect harmony, knowing exactly what pushes the other over the edge. of course you and up fucking on the ground because neither of you were able to resits the other for a second loner lol
puppybf!jake who almost came instantly when you started babbling incoherently the second he was inside you. " feel so good jakey you make me feel so so good, fuck, please don't stop." he was a goner, brain turned to mush. all he could focus on was the way your face twisted in pleasure, brows furrowed and mouth agape. "so pretty for me, can't believe you're letting me have you im so lucky." the praise bubbled out of him without him even noticing, but what he does notice is the way you clench around him. "jesus," he manages to hiss out, having to lean backwards a little to snap out of his haze. you whine, clawing at his bicep "come back here." all it takes is a roll of your hips and he falls back down on you, teeth digging into the soft flesh of your chest, giving it a slight suck.
puppybf!jake ties his hair up because he wants you to pull on it so badly but he's too shy to tell you and when you do on a whim he gets extra vocal yum.
puppybf!jake does the puppy head tilt at random times, no thoughts behind those eyes, scratch that the only thought on his mind is u, that boy loves u so much and he get's the saddies sometimes when he realises how much he loves you and then he goes extra extreme puppy mode and the head tilt and puppy eyes come out sobs.
puppybf!jake who loves messy sex more than anything. your first time had been sweet and slow, all shy giggles and soft gasps. but now? now we're at the slippery slope olympics. if your cum isn't running down your legs he hasn't eaten you out properly (he also wants his face to be drenched in it, don't get it twisted). there's just no better feeling than pushing his thick cock into the warm deliciousness that is your pussy :c he cannot help but stare down at your mixed fluids, thick strings of cum connecting you. it drives him NUTS.
puppybf!jake loves to pretend he's all tough when the two of you are out. he puffs out his chest a little when he sees others look at you, arm protectively circling even closer around your waist. but the second you look at him with your sweet eyes he gets all giggle because who are we fooling he's such a softie for you.
puppybf!jake who tries so hard to listen to your yapping intently, but after not even a minute he'll randomly blur out a "totally" or "mhm, yea" and then just kisses you mid sentence. he's whipped what can i say.
puppybf!jake is also lowkey a nerd who can't see well so he reaches over to the nightstand one day while he's balls deep inside you because "it wouldn't be fair if i can't see you look so pretty for me." his glasses get all fogged up and he clumsily tries to wipe them clean which ends up getting them dirty so he just carelessly throws them aside. as much as he loves seeing you, hearing and feeling you is enough for now.
puppybf!jake loves skin to skin contact even in a no sexual way. just simply having you flush against him, no layers, it's his absolute favourite thing. he traces little patterns on your skin, admiring your moles, veins, scars and curves. he wants to memorise it all :c
puppybf!jake who promises he entered another realm when you touched his ears while riding him for the first time. your body on top of him was enough stimulating as is, poor boy couldn't stop groping all plush parts of your body but touching his ears?? my boy froze up for a solid 5 seconds. "wait, shit did i do something wrong?? are you okay??" your panicked voice was the only noise heard as jake seemed to have stopped breathing, eyes closed shut. next thing you know he crunched forwards with a groan and warm liquid spilled out your pussy and all over his thighs<33
lins notes: everybody thank miss @puppybelles for making me lock the fuck in for this (im making out with her as we speak)
taglist: @saeivra (comment or send me an ask if u wanna be added to my taglist <33)
Being married to Park Sunghoon was simply defined by polite distance and a perfectly curated public image. Who would’ve thought all it would take to fracture that was a single overhead conversation?
nsfw warnings ── he’s so pathetic i want him, angst if you’re..? unprotected sex, virginity loss, oral (f rec), messy eater hoon, squirting, big dick hoon, he gets a little mean, creampie, fingering, slight breeding/pregancy kink, praise, mild verbal degradation, size difference, power exchange, overstimulation, sexual frustration, slow burn (kinda), let me know if i missed any.
word count ── 7.3k
Your arranged marriage with the Park Sunghoon had always been a work of art in his opinion, when he married you about twenty six months ago, it was with the detached logic of a merger. He provided you the legacy and the financial fortress while you provided the grace a woman married to him needed to have—you were flawless and the maternal warmth for the child you had brought into the world via surrogacy was indeed the cherry on top of your beautiful marriage on paper.
For the first year and a half, he really was content. You were like roommates who shared a last name and a common goal. He worked at his family firm and you managed the house and the social calendar.
Then, Sunghoon began working from his home office more frequently and the distance he had carefully maintained started to collapse. It was like suddenly, you weren't just a figure at the other end of the dining table. You were now a constant and vibrant presence in his periphery. He'd be mid call with clients in another country and see you through the glass doors, sitting in the sun drenched morning room with a cup of tea, looking so serene it made his own chest ache with a sudden envy for your peace.
He’d see you with the baby, your hair pulled back as you laugh at something the child did, it was a side of you he never saw under the harsh lights of a ballroom. He’d see you headed to the home gym in those form fitting yoga sets that highlighted exactly how much he had been missing by staying at the office until midnight.
The professionalism he prided himself on was starting to fray.
One afternoon, you tapped on his office door dressed to go out with an elegant tailored coat draped over your shoulders, looking every bit the sophisticated wife of a high ranking man.
"Sunghoon? I'm headed out to Mrs Yang’s ladies brunch we discussed. I've made sure the nurse has everything for the evening," you said softly, standing in the doorway. "I'll likely be back after you've had dinner."
He looked up from his monitors, his eyes narrowing slightly behind his glasses. For a split second, the urge to tell you not to go and to stay here, the urge to tell you to sit in the chair opposite him and to just be was so overwhelming he almost spoke it. He wanted to ask you what you did when you weren't being his wife, he wanted to know what you thought about when you were alone in this massive house.
"I see," he managed with a low voice. He cleared his throat and adjusted his collar as if it were suddenly too tight. "Enjoy yourself. Don't feel rushed."
"Thank you, Sunghoon," you replied with that same cordial smile you'd given him for a year and a half.
As you turned to leave, the scent of your perfume lingered in the room, and Sunghoon felt a wave of genuine panic. He was falling in love with his own wife—a woman he had treated like a business partner for over six hundred days, yet he didn't know how to bridge the gap without breaking the perfect arrangement you had built together. He was a man who handled billions of dollars with ease and yet he found himself completely paralyzed by the idea of asking you to stay for dinner just because he liked the way you breathed.
Days later, he walked out of his office, originally intending to simply check on the baby in the nursery, but the sight of the hallway bathroom your preferred door ajar and the sound of your voice drifting from inside stopped him in his tracks. He stood in the hallway, the thick carpet muffling his presence as he heard the unmistakable splashing of water and the clear sound of a voice on speakerphone.
"I still can't wrap my head around it, girl. I’ll tell you that for free," your friend's voice echoed through the bathroom. "You’re like the blueprint of the perfect society wife...and you're a married virgin…with a kid. How does it feel, honestly?"
Sunghoon swore his heart skipped a few beats, his hand grabbing the wall for balance. A virgin? The logic of his world shifted until he felt dizzy. He had assumed, given your poise and the ease with which you navigated adulthood, that your past was just as lived in as his own.
He heard you giggle and it was a light sound he rarely heard in his presence. "You can't miss something you've never had," you replied and he could almost picture the shrug of your shoulders. Then, your voice dropped into a conspiratorial, slightly dirty tone that sent lightening straight to his gut. "Besides, it's not like I'm exactly suffering. I just rub my clit a little when I'm feeling particularly aroused and that usually does it for me. It's efficient."
The mental image of you alone in your bed a few doors from his, touching yourself because of a need he hadn't even considered you had, was almost too much to process. He felt a sudden, sharp spike of arousal but he also wanted to throw up.
"I just don't know how you two do it," your friend laughed. "Living in that house together, looking like that."
"It's easy, really," you said and the nonchalance in your voice hit him like a punch to the gut. "I'm pretty sure Sunghoon has a mistress. Some girl in a penthouse that he pays for to keep him satisfied. It makes sense, really. He's a man with needs and he's certainly not getting it here."
You sounded...relieved, you sounded like the idea of him being with someone else was somehow a weight off your shoulders, like it was a logical solution to a problem you didn't want to solve.
He felt a surge of rage even down to his fingertips, he didn't have a mistress. What he did have was a mountain of work and a growing obsession with the woman currently dismissing him as some predictable cliché. The fact that you thought so little of his character or perhaps so little of your own appeal, made him want to barge into the room and show you exactly how satisfied he wasn't.
But he stood there instead, letting his knuckles turn white as he fought the urge to kick the door open and confront you. He wanted to tell you that there was no penthouse, no other girl and that the only person he wanted to satisfy him was the one currently applying toner and joking about her virginity. He stayed rooted to the spot cause he couldn’t bring himself to move an inch, the cordial roommate facade had finally shattered beyond repair. He wasn't just a husband in name anymore, he was now a man who had been challenged and he was finally ready to break the rules of your arrangement.
"I mean, look at him," you continued, your voice taking on a wistful quality that Sunghoon had never been privy to. "I'm not blind. I've definitely fantasized about it. He's incredibly attractive and if he ever actually tried...well, I wouldn't exactly say no. But that's never going to happen, so whatever. It's better this way."
"I don't know," your friend hummed in a more suggestive tone. "With those shoulders and the way he carries himself? He looks like he could probably fuck you mid air without breaking a sweat. I've seen him lift your baby's heavy ass stroller like it was a feather."
You let out a genuine laugh that echoed through the bathroom. "Stop! You're going to make it weird the next time I have to see him at dinner."
The sound of your footsteps approaching the door snapped him out of his trance, the adrenaline spike was instantaneous, it made him bolt down the hallway with his heart hammering against his ribs in a way that no board meeting had ever achieved. He stopped a few doors down, quickly smoothing his shirt and taking a deep breath just as you stepped out into the corridor in a silk robe.
He turned back toward you, timing it perfectly so it looked like he was just making his way from the nursery toward the stairs. You nearly bumped into him, your eyes widening in mild surprise. You looked fresh, your skin glowing from your skincare routine and for the first time, Sunghoon didn't bother to stop his eyes from dropping to your lips.
"Oh! Hello, Sunghoon," you said and he couldn't help but notice how your voice returned to that perfectly modulated tone. There wasn't a hint of the dirty girl he'd just heard on the phone.
"I didn't realize you were still upstairs. Have you had lunch yet? I can have the kitchen prepare something for you if you're planning on staying in the office for the afternoon."
You looked at him with such sweet, domestic concern, asking if he'd eaten as if you hadn't just spent the last ten minutes psychoanalyzing his sex life and debating his physical strength with your little friend.
He stared at you, eyes dark and searching. He knew the united front was still there but now he also knew what was hiding behind it. He knew you wanted him, he knew you were just waiting for him to move. And most importantly, he knew you were his—completely untouched and entirely misinformed about where he spent his nights.
"I haven't," he finally said before he took a half step closer, encroaching on your personal space just enough to see your smile shake. "Perhaps you'll join me? I think it's time we had a conversation that isn't about some stupid society event."
"Oh. Uh—What do you mean, Sunghoon?"
"What do I mean?" he repeated, the discipline that had defined his entire life for nearly thirty years finally snapping. He had never been good at keeping secrets—his integrity was too rigid and his conscience too loud. The words didn't just tumble out, they literally erupted. "I mean I don't have a mistress, Y/n. I haven't even looked at another woman, let alone touched one, since the day our families sat us down in that boardroom to discuss this arrangement."
You stood frozen, the blood draining from your face as the weight of his words hit you. The realization that he had been standing right there and had heard every shameful, intimate detail of your phone call made your ears ring.
"The idea of a woman in a penthouse somewhere is...it's preposterous. I've spent every night in this house, working myself to exhaustion just so I wouldn't have to face the fact that I'm sharing a roof with a woman I'm fucking terrified to touch."
"Sunghoon, I—" You let out a hysterical burst of laughter, your hands coming up to cover your mouth. It was clearly a nervous reflex, an attempt to bridge the sudden, terrifying gap of vulnerability between you. "It was a joke! It was just…just girl talk! I was just...my friend was being silly and I was just playing along. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to imply—"
"I don't care about your apology," he interrupted, his voice thick with a desperate honesty. He stepped further into your space, forcing you to look up at him. "I heard it all. I heard that you think I'm off with some mistress while I'm actually in my office, three doors down from you, trying to figure out how to be half a decent husband to a woman I do not want to lose."
He paced a small circle, his hand raking through his perfectly styled hair until it was a mess. "I failed you. I've lived in this house for so long thinking I was being good man and instead, I've left my wife wondering if she's enough. I didn't know you were a virgin. I didn't know you were waiting."
He stopped and looked at you, his eyes now burning with a mix of shame and agonizing heat. "You want to talk about efficiency? You want to talk about rubbing your clit to get it over with?" He let out a cold self deprecating sound. "I spent twenty minutes in the shower this morning jerking off like a goddamn teenager because I saw you in that green yoga set and I couldn't breathe. I do it every single day, sometimes twice a day. I do it because I'm so goddamn in love with you that I don't know how to function and I thought—I thought if I touched you, I'd break the only peace you had in this marriage."
"You drive me fucking insane, Y/n."
The silence that followed was charged with the sudden collapse of two years months of pretension. Your heart was hammering so hard you could feel it in your whole body.
"And as for your friend's little comment..." his gaze dropped in a way that made your knees go weak. He closed the remaining distance, his large hands coming up to grip your waist, his thumbs hooking into the belt of your robe. "Yes. I am more than strong enough to fuck you mid air. I am strong enough to do anything you want, for as long as you want it. Just...please. Don't think so lowly of me. Don't think I'd ever seek out a substitute for the only woman I've ever truly wanted."
He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your lips and now there was only him, trembling with two years worth of suppressed worship, waiting for you to tell him that the fantasies weren't just talk.
You didn't have the words to bridge the gap he'd just torn open, so you did the only thing that felt right, standing up on your tiptoes and looping your arms around his neck to press your lips to his.
It was a clumsy, hesitant kiss, the only other time you'd felt his mouth on yours was that brief peck at the altar when you got married. You didn't know how to move your lips against his or where to put your tongue but the moment you made contact, he let out a deep groan like a man who had been starving and was finally offered a feast.
He didn't wait, sliding his large hands from your waist to your thighs and hiking you up, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist and you felt the sheer, solid strength your friend had just joked about. He carried you blindly toward your suite, his mouth never leaving yours, tongue growing hungrier and more authoritative as he realized you were leaning into him.
You shrugged the silk robe off your shoulders, letting it pool on the tile like discarded skin. When your back finally hit the mattress, the sheets were cool compared to the heat radiating of Sunghoon’s body as he loomed over you. He had his weight propped on his forearms with his whole body trembling.
He looked down at you with untamed lust. He reached out with his thumb to trace the line of your lower lip, which was now swollen and red from his kiss.
"I have wanted this every single second since I met you," he confessed in a trembling voice, he was shaking with the effort of holding himself back. He was a man of logic and even now, at the edge of his control, he still needed to be sure. "I am going to be as gentle or as rough as you want but I need you to understand...once I start, I'm not going to want to stop. If you have any doubts—if you want me to wait another year, another hour—you have to say it right now."
He lowered himself just an inch, his nose brushing against yours, the scent of his expensive cologne and masculine heat overwhelming your senses.
"Tell me," he commanded softly, his hand shifting down to rest flat against your stomach, right above the lace of your panties. "Do you want your husband, Y/n? Because I am yours. Every part of me."
He took your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours, and began a slow tour of his body. He guided your palm over the hard line of his jaw, down the column of his throat where his pulse was thrashing and across the broad expanse of his chest. "Look at me," he pleaded desperately. "Every inch of this, every thought in my head...belongs to you. I've been holding it all for you."
He slid your hand further down, past the ridges of his stomach, until your palm was pressed firmly against the straining length of his cock trapped behind his trousers. You gasped cause the size and heat of him stole the air from your lungs but as you instinctively curled your fingers around him, Sunghoon shook his head. "Not yet," he murmured with a hungry smirk on his lips. "I haven’t even started worshipping you yet. I just want to taste you first."
He moved so gracefully, sliding down the length of your body until he was laid between your knees and with a decisive tug, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and dragged them down your legs.
The sudden rush of cool air against your heated skin made you shiver, you’d spent so long hiding yourself, playing the role of the composed and dutiful wife, that the reality of Sunghoon staring directly at your most intimate parts made you feel shameful. You immediately tried to clamp your thighs shut with a whimper of shyness escaping you.
"No," Sunghoon rumbled, his large hands clamping onto your knees and forcing them wide. "Don't hide from me. I've spent all this time imagining exactly what you looked like right here."
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your inner thighs, making the fine hairs on your skin stand up. He didn’t just look, though, he reached out and used his thumbs to gently spread your pussy lips apart. The sight of your center so slick and swollen made his pupils dilate until his eyes were almost entirely black. He watched in a trance as a fresh wave of wetness gushed out, a clear testament to how much his words had affected you.
"Look how much you want me," he whispered with triumph, not waiting one more minute before swiping his tongue upward in a long stroke that gathered every drop of your sweetness. The sensation was so intense and so direct that your hips jerked off the bed in a violent twitch. You let out a high pitched cry, immediately tangling your fingers in his dark hair as he settled in, his tongue moving with devastating pressure that told you he wasn't going anywhere until he'd tasted every bit of the pleasure he'd been denied.
Sunghoon was entirely too methodical, he was treating your body with the same terrifyingly focused certainty he brought to everything else in his life. He buried his face between your thighs, his nose pressing into your clit as his tongue focused on your leaking hole, he ate you out with a hunger that was almost feral, his tongue flat and firm as it licked long strokes from your opening all the way to your clit.
The sounds filling the room were the wet slapping of his mouth against you mixed with the broken whines you were letting out. He already had you babbling nonsense, your hands gripping his shoulders, then his hair, then the sheets, your head thrashing as he drank you in. You were so sensitive that every flick of his tongue felt like a bolt of electricity, making your thighs tremble uncontrollably and he didn’t seem to care that the mixture of his saliva and your overflowing wetness was now drooling down his chin to his skin, he was being so messy in a way you’d never expected.
He paused for a split second to look up at you through his dark lashes with his face glistening with your slickness. "You're so tight my tongue can’t even go in a little," he rasped. "Can I put a finger in? Just one?"
"Yes—yes, please, Sunghoon," you wailed, suddenly desperate for any kind of fullness.
He still didn't rush it, he took his long middle finger and slowly probed at your entrance with it. You were so wet that he slid in with a soft squelch, the intrusion feeling entirely too massive against your unused walls. You gasped, your eyes rolling back as you felt him stretching you from the inside, he pushed deeper until his knuckles brushed against your folds.
Then, he hooked his finger upward and moment he found that one textured spot on your anterior wall, your entire body stiffened. You bucked against his hand, your hips lifting off the mattress in a frantic search for more pressure. "Mm. It’s there, right?" You couldn’t stop the way you pulsed around his single finger. "Fuck, you’re so responsive."
He started a come hither motion with his finger, while simultaneously lowering his mouth back down to your clit. He was multi tasking with a lethal expertise—his finger hitting that internal spot with every curl while his lips created a vacuum around your sensitive nub.
The combination was too much and before you could help it, you were screaming into the quiet of the mansion, your toes curling as you felt the first tidal wave of an orgasm building in your gut. He sucked harder, his tongue swirling in circles around your clit while his finger stayed hammering and massaging into you until you were nothing but a shaking mess of pleasure. You felt your walls start to contract, milking his finger as you experienced a climax so intense you actually saw spots, your body completely surrendered to the man who had spent your entire marriage so far pretending he didn't want to ruin you just like this.
"Sunghoon, please—don't stop, don't stop!" You were nearly hyperventilating, your voice cracking as you begged him to keep up the relentless pace. The internal pressure from his finger and the tension of his mouth were weaving together into a rush so fervent it was almost painful. "I've never...I've never felt like this, I'm going to—"
You were choking out the words, shocked by how quickly your body had reached its limit. After over two years of nothing but your own careful touch, Sunghoon's extreme competence was hitting you like a freight train. You were on the precipice with your muscles vibrating from the exertion of holding on, when suddenly, a new and terrifying sensation washed over you.
It felt like a build up in your bladder, it was a sudden and very heavy fullness that made you panic. "Sunghoon, wait! Stop, stop!" you gasped, your hands flying to his head to try and pull him away. "I think...I think I'm going to pee. Oh my god, Sunghoon, let go!"
You were absolutely mortified, the woman who prided herself on her perfect composure was about to humiliate herself in front of the man who had just confessed his love for her. You tried to clamp your legs shut, to scramble away from him on the sheets but Sunghoon was an immovable force.
He didn't budge. Instead, he shifted his grip and his large hands locked onto your thighs like iron shackles, pinning you wide open for him. He looked up at you with his face wet and a knowing smirk on his lips. "Don't hold back, baby. Give it to me. Give it all to me."
He didn't give you a choice, diving back down and tracing his tongue over your clit with a more violent speed while his finger hooked deep and hard into that spongy spot.
The dam snapped and you let out a strangled sob as you completely lost control of your body. You weren’t just cumming like you did alone in your bed, your pussy erupted like a geyser. A hot gush of fluid sprayed out of you, drenching his face, his lips and even the hands that were holding you open. It felt amazing, like a release so profound it felt like every nerve in your body was being cleansed but the moment the initial wave subsides, horror quickly took over.
You collapsed back against the pillows, sobbing and shaking from how hard he had just made you cum and pure embarrassment, your face buried in your hands. "I'm so sorry!" You wailed, the humiliation ruining the afterglow. "I'm so sorry, Sunghoon, I didn't mean to...I ruined it."
Sunghoon didn't look upset or angry, he gently sat back on his heels, wiping a stray drop of your sweetness from his cheek with his thumb before licking it off with a swipe of his tongue. He looked like a feral thing that had just been given exactly what it wanted.
"It’s okay, my love," he cooed, his eyes burning with such a beautiful passion. He crawled back up the bed, pressing over you once more, his scent now unmistakably mixed with yours. "That was you cumming for your husband. And if you think I'm disgusted, you clearly haven't been paying attention to a word I said. I want every single drop of you."
Sunghoon's focus softened, though the heat behind his eyes didn’t faded. He drew closer and you could see his face still shimmering with the evidence of your release. "Do you want to taste yourself?" he whispered against your lips.
You could only nod, your voice lost to the haze of the afterglow and he crashed his mouth against yours, a possessive kiss that tasted of salt and you. It was a physical claim, a bridge between your bodies that shattered the last of your shyness. When he pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours, he sounded breathless. "I love you. God, I love you so much. I've been dying in this house for twenty six months."
"I—I love you too, Sunghoon."
He kissed you again, a little more tenderly this time but the friction of his body against yours was a reminder of the unfinished business straining against his clothes.
Boldness, fueled by the euphoria of your climax took over and your hands trembled the moment you reached down, your fingers reaching blindly to the button of his linen pants. You pried it open and when the fabric gave way, you slid your hand beneath the waistband to cup him over his boxers.
Sunghoon let out a hoarse groan, his head snapping back. He suddenly grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away with a look of excruciating containment. "Don't," he forced out, his jaw ticking. "Don't start something you can't finish, my love. If you…If you touch me like that, I'm not going to be able to be gentle."
You looked up at him with your pupils blown wide. "Please fuck me," you whispered, the words feeling heavy and electric on your tongue. "I want my husband to fuck me. Now."
Sunghoon froze a little, a startled laugh breaking from his chest. "I had no idea my little wife was so vulgar," he jested, his eyes dancing with a delighted light. "I like it. I like it a lot."
He moved with a heightened energy, kicking off his pants and discarding his shirt in a matter of seconds. You sat up, your hands reaching for the hem of your silk slip that had been pushed up and pulled it over your head.
As the fabric fell away, leaving you completely bare in the soft light of the bedroom, Sunghoon stopped. He looked at your chest, his stare tracing the swell of your breasts.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word sounding like a raw exhaled prayer. He looked like a man seeing a miracle for the first time. "I truly don’t know how I lasted this long. I must be stronger than I thought. You really are perfect...my beautiful wife."
He crawled back over you, finally pressing the weight of his bare chest into yours. The immense, solid mass of him was consuming in the best way possible. He pinned your wrists above your head, feeling his cock heavy and hot against your thigh. "I really hope I can live up to your fantasies."
Sunghoon's breath was dragging in a way that betrayed his own desperation as soon as he settled between your thighs. He didn't just shove himself in—he was carefully obsessive, even now. He took the blunt head of his weeping cock and dragged it upward, tracing the line of your slit until he was circling your clit with the hardened tip of his length.
He was massive and now that he was pressed against your entrance, you realized he was easily twice as thick as the finger that had just had you screaming, if not thrice. The reality of what was about to happen made your breath come in short bursts and your thighs trembled against his hips.
"You're shaking," he whispered, his voice thick with a mix of concern and uncontrollable hunger. He stopped the teasing friction, resting his weight on his forearms as he looked down at you. "Look at me. It...it might hurt a little at first. I'm trying to be careful but you're so damn small."
"I know," you whimpered, nodding as you reached up to grip his biceps. "I know, just...please."
He nodded once, his jaw tightening as he lined himself up with your sopping hole and pushed forward slowly. You felt the initial stretch, the instant sting of your body being forced to accommodate him. It was more painful than you'd imagined, like a searing ache that made you gasp and arch your back off the bed, unintentionally digging your nails into the skin of his shoulders as you clung to him like a lifeline.
"Hmpf, Sunghoon—wait, wait," you cried into his neck, your body instinctively tensing up against the massive intrusion.
"I know, I know. I'm sorry, my love." He was so sweet, immediately slowing down his movement and staying right there with his forehead pressed against yours as he rained soft kisses over your eyelids and cheeks. "Just breathe. You have to relax for me. Please let me in, baby."
He waited patiently, even though his own body was shaking with the thought of not just taking what he wanted. He spoke to you in a low, soothing hum, words of praise and love that started to dull the sharp edges of the pain. "You're so tight, baby," he groaned in a pained sound that escaped him cause you couldn’t stop the way your muscles clenched around him. "It's like you're trying to snap my—shit—my cock off. I can barely move, you're squeezing me so hard."
Slowly but surely, the sting faded into something dull. You took a deep breath, consciously trying to sink into the mattress and open up for him. As you relaxed, he felt the shift and inched forward again—just a fraction of an inch at a time. It was a slow conquest and finally with one last, deep thrust of his hips, he bottomed out.
You let out a shaky exhale, feeling the weight of him kissing your cervix, filling every possible corner of your body. The ache was gone, overtaken by a staggering sense of fullness that made you feel connected to him in a way that went beyond the physical.
"There," he sounded completely taken apart. He stayed buried deep inside you, his chest panting against yours as he watched your face. "I'm all the way in. How does it feel? Tell me you're okay."
"It's...so big," you trembled, your legs locking around his waist to keep him right where he was. "I feel so full with you."
He let out a sigh of a laugh, his eyes dilating as he realized the hardest part was finally over.
Sunghoon was a man of absolute control but having you pinned beneath him and hearing your body finally accept him was pushing him to his limits. He started with a little grind of his hips, rotating against your sensitive core with a push that forced you to feel every ridged inch of his girth. He was so unhurried, watching the pain melt into a foggy and heavy lidded pleasure.
Once your pained whimpers dissolved into needy moans, the last of his restraint snapped just a little and he reached down to grab your ankle and hook your leg over his broad shoulder, opening you up even further. The new angle allowed him to drive in deeper, his hips snapping forward a little faster than before.
"Sunghoon...oh god, Sunghoon," you moaned, thrashing your head against the sheets, the perfect wife persona you wore stripped away until there was nothing left but your raw honesty. "It's so deep inside me...I love it! I love you—I love your cock so much, it feels so big inside me...please, don't stop."
The utter vulgarity of your praise for him, coming from the woman he thought was untouchable made his pace shatter into something more erratic. He let out a hurt groan, while hitting all the right spots with every wet thrust, the sound of your skin slapping together echoing in the silent room.
"Shut up." The words escaped him in dangerous growl before he leaned down to bite at the junction of your neck and shoulder. He didn't actually want you to stop but the way you were talking, the way you were worshipping him as he took your innocence was making his vision go dark. "If you keep talking like that, I'm going to lose it. I'm going to finish in ten seconds if you don't shut your mouth."
But he didn't slow down. If anything, your words made him meaner and his thrusts turned into deep pounds that had him bottoming out inside you. He was obsessed with the way you were stretching for him, the way your walls were milking him with every sob that fell from your lips. He was no longer the polite or distant husband, he became a man possessed and determined to make sure that the first time you ever felt a man would be a sensation that burned his name into your very soul.
Sunghoon grabbed your other leg and threw it over his shoulder until you were folded practically in half, your hips tilted high and vulnerable. He leaned his full weight down, pinning you into the mattress with his broad chest. In this position, he was able to fuck you even deeper with each thud so wet that it left you struggling to breathe.
He paused for a second, his face inches from yours to kiss you with a messy hunger before pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. "Tell me," he commanded in a way that settled deep in your bones. "Who owns this pussy? Who owns every inch of you?"
"You!" you screamed immediately, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back as he gave you fast and punishing thrusts. "You...my husband! Only you, Sunghoon!"
He let out a groan and his pace turned a little depraved. He was slamming into you faster now, his large hands reaching down to squeeze at your breast and pinch your nipples before sliding down to your waist and digging his thumbs into your hips to keep you from moving away.
"And whose cock?" he growled, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear as he snapped his hips forward again and again until all you could hear was the wetness of your pussy as the fucked into you. "Whose big cock is fucking you right now? Whose length is stretching you out and making you feel this good?"
"Yours!" you sobbed hard, your whole body shaking against the sheets cause another wave of overstimulation crashed over you. "It's yours...Sunghoon's cock! My husband's cock is fucking me so good...please, Sunghoon, more! Fuck me harder! I think I’ll cum like this!"
The sound of your voice, so broken and begging for him was driving him insane but he didn't say another word, he just buried his face in the crook of your neck and fucked his cock imto you with everything he had, intent on leaving his mark on the wife who finally and truly belonged to him.
Sunghoon's breathing had devolved into a series of pointed stutters, his entire body was wound tight with a tension so profound it was as if his muscles might snap. He felt the quivering of your walls, so tight, hot and slick, squeezing around him in a yearning drive that milked him for everything he had, it told him exactly how close you were to cumming again while the wet slide of his girth pushed him closer to a total loss of control.
He pulled your legs even tighter against his shoulders, manhandling you until his chest was crushing yours and his heartbeat thundered against your ribs like a war drum. He looked down at you, his eyes nearly black with a visceral purpose, watching your face crumble into an expression of ecstasy.
"Sunghoon, I'm—I'm gonna—" you almost screamed, dragging your nails down his back and leaving scratches that he doesn't even feel.
"I can feel it, my love," he growled so deep it was practically a snarl. He slowed his pace for a fraction of a second but only so he could drive in with a force that made the entire bed frame groan under his weight. "You're so tight for me. You're perfect."
As the first ripples of your orgasm began to seize your muscles, Sunghoon leaned in until his lips were pressed hard against yours. "Let's have another baby," he nearly pleaded, the thought seemingly ripping out of his soul in the heat of the moment. The man of logic was dead and gone and in his place was a husband so obsessed with the idea of his own legacy growing inside the woman he loved. "Not like last time. No surrogates. I—oh fuck—I want it to be us. I want to see your belly grow because of me...I want to see you pregnant so bad it's driving me mad."
The aching honesty in his voice, combined with the way he was brushing your cervix with every word, sent you over the cliff before you could even realize it was happening. You let out a shattered cry, cumming so hard it was almost violent, your body gripping down on him like a vice with a strength that nearly brought him to his knees.
"Fuck, please," he whined, his control clearly dissolving into a thousand pieces. He didn't pull back or even think about it. He gave one last soul shaking thrust and buried himself to the absolute hilt, letting out a long whine, releasing months of repressed longing and love deep inside you.
He stayed inside you, his heaviness pinning you to the mattress while his forehead rested against yours cause his body wouldn’t stop shuddering with the strength of his orgasm. The room was silent except for the sound of your shared breathing and the thudding of his heart as he waited for the tremors in his thighs to subside.
"Mine," he whispered against your swollen lips. "You're finally, finally mine."
When he finally began to move, it was with a gentle slowness—a deliberate retreat that made you whimper at the loss of his incredible size. He moved with a reverence that bordered on worship, careful not to chafe your sensitive walls as he slid out, the dripping sliding sound of his departure echoed in the quiet suite.
When he pulled himself out completely, the physical evidence of his devotion began to overflow. You felt the warm spurt of his cum escaping your pussy, Sunghoon didn't look away, he couldn’t. All he could do was watch satisfied, then he reached out his large hand trembling slightly and used his fingers to sweep the excess cum back toward your opening, his touch alternating between firm pressure and a light, teasing graze that made your nerve endings sizzle.
"Look at what I did to you," he sounded pleased, "Look at how much of me you're holding."
He didn't stop there, now driven by a need that seemed to have only been stirred by the act itself, he shifted lower once more. He knelt between your quivering thighs, dark eyes fixed on your swollen center and without a word of warning, he dived back in, his tongue sweeping over your folds in possessive strokes that gathered every bit of the messy cocktail of your combined fluids.
After the blunt force of his cock, the focus of his tongue again felt like a live wire against your skin. "Hoon, please...I can't," you cried helplessly, your hands tugged on his damp hair as you tried to push him away even as your hips bucked upward to meet him. "I'm too sensitive, I can't take any more—"
"Yes, you can," he growled against your skin, voice muffled by your thighs. He looked up at you, his beautiful face now mask of lust and adoration, totally drenched in the proof of your shared pleasure. "I want to feel it again. Cum on my face again, my love. Come on."
He ignored your half hearted protests and lapped and slurped at your pussy. He used his thumbs to stretch you wide to see more his cum slide out of your pussy, only to lap it up again. He sucked and ate you in with a burning need, his movements so strong it felt like he was trying to pull your very soul through your skin.
The build up was instantaneous and just as violent and it made your vision blur, made the world narrow down to the throb of just your husband’s mouth and the eager command in his voice. You felt that familiar wave climbing in your gut again, the dam of your composure finally and permanently shattered.
"Sunghoon!" you screamed, your fingers digging into his scalp as your body stiffened into a bow for the third time. You sobbed his name in a broken voice as you spiraled into another climax that felt like it would never end. Sunghoon stayed right there, taking in your juices, his eyes closed while he savored the taste of you cumming for him again.
When he was finally satisfied and you lay limp and slightly sobbing against the pillows, Sunghoon crawled back up the bed and pulled you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin and wrapping his limbs around you, anchoring you to him. The dutiful wife and the composed husband were gone—there was only the two of you now, tangled together in the wreckage of years of silence, finally whole.
Sunghoon's hold on you tightened, his arms were like a protective weight that seemed resolved to never let an inch of space come between your bodies again. He pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head, breathing in the scent of your shampoo mixed with the musk of your joint exertion.
The silence of the mansion, which once felt cold and even cavernous, now felt like a sanctuary—a little private world where the rigid expectations of your families and the careful choreography of your social lives couldn't reach you. "We have a lot of time to make up for," he said to you, pulling back just enough to look at you, rubbing his thumb over your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart ache. The golden light of the bedroom caught the sharp line of his jaw and the softened, now vulnerable expression in his eyes—a look he had never shown to anyone but you.
nene’s note ── i’ve alwaysssss wanted to try the arranged marriage trope and recently two of my friends got together because of an overheard phone call! could you imagine! y’all know i love feedback! enjoy!💕
Kim Sunoo has always been one of the girls: soft-spoken, pretty, utterly devoted to the allure of men, men and more men. Women were never his thing, not really—especially not you. You, with your cigarette-drenched, red fucking lips, that wicked mouth always spitting nonsense. He loathed your strut, your cruel tongue, those perfect, infuriating tits that made his cock twitch no matter how hard he tried to look away. And he hated the thought that maybe — he’s starting to think that he swings both ways after all.
content tags/warnings: queer!sunoo x queer! reader, slowburn, one sided enemies to fubu to lovers, misandry comments, gentle angst, reader is a heavy smoker and have a lots of piercings and tattoos. jealousy, mentions of cheating (past rs). light emotional manipulation, toxic behaviors, second chances, queer coded relationship dynamics. sunoo is a nursing student and reader is a fashion design major. two years age gap, reader is shorter than sunoo. explicit content (smut): plot with porn. four different smut scenes. blowjob, some content might be dubious, pussy eating, fingering, protected and unprotected sex: public sex, rainbow (period) sex, multiple sex positions and places lmao, sunoo have a big dick, also dom! sn <3 WC: 45.4K (long ass ride)
note! this is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend anyone in the lgbt community or to fetishize any identities. the themes and characters are purely imaginative and should not be taken as a reflection of real people or experiences. and if you don't like it? don't read it. :)
KIM SUNOO has never truly identified as a man, not in the way society tries to define it.
He was born with what people like to label as "male," but the label never felt like it belonged to him. He's always been one of the girls. Not because he was trying to be anything other than himself, but because that's where he belonged, where he felt seen, understood, and safe. There's no pride in masculinity for him, no comfort in aligning with a category that has done nothing but let him down. Whatever was hanging between his legs didn't mean he owed anything to the idea of manhood, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start pretending it did.
And yet, for all his clarity, all his softness, all his truth—Sunoo, no matter how sharp his wit or clever his comebacks, keeps getting cheated on. It used to be just the straight boys he rolled his eyes at, but the betrayal has evolved. Gays aren't safe anymore either. There's no longer a clean line between "they'd never" and "they did." Gay, straight, bi, whatever — the problem is not orientation, it's the universal mediocrity of modern manhood. There's a plague of emotional negligence infecting them all. He trusted boys who called him beautiful, who knew how to flirt over text, who said "I'm not like the others" — and then turned out to be exactly like the others, but with worse excuses!
And still, the question haunts him: Why? Why does it keep happening? Why do they always cheat? What is it about commitment that scares them so much? He's been good. He's been better than good! He listens, he nurtures, he gives. He doesn't ask for much. Is that really too much? Because it feels like no matter how much effort he puts in, no matter how present he is, no matter how he softens himself to make space for someone else, it never ends with someone choosing him back. The worst part is how often he wonders if it's his fault—if maybe he's just not enough. Not hot enough, not loud enough, not strong enough, not whatever version of "desirable" men have invented that week. It eats at him.
"Good thing you broke up with him. He's not better for you, anyways." Sunoo rolled his eyes, brushing his hair back as he stared blankly at the colorful crochet pieces arranged neatly in front of him. They were at the National Art Celebration, wandering through the Art Museum's marketplace.
He didn't respond to his friend's comment. What was there to say?
His fingers hovered over a small adorable crochet strawberry keychain, the kind of thing he'd usually buy without hesitation but he didn't pick it up, because his mood didn't match the softness in front of him. It hadn't even been a full week since everything crashed. His ex had been sleeping with more than just one person behind his back. Sunoo had confronted him head-on, shaking with anger, and left. The next day, he was at a clinic, filling out forms with numb fingers, waiting for results that thankfully came back clean. Still, the damage wasn't something that a negative result could fix.
"I hope he chokes on his small dick and dies," Sunoo muttered under his breath, not even trying to sound playful about it. He turned from the crochet booth and walked a few steps over to the next one, where rows of stickers were arranged neatly across a dark velvet cloth.
His lips twitched slightly as he noticed a sticker of a cat holding a cigarette in its mouth. The drawing was a little messy nothing like the soft pastel style he usually liked. The rest of the stickers shared the same energy—guitars, ghost-like figures, strange shapes in heavy red and black tones. The entire table had a darker, rougher feel to it, but instead of pushing him away, it pulled him in. Something about the way the lines were drawn, the way the art didn't try to be friendly, and it felt honest, that honesty intrigued him. He picked up the cat sticker, turning it slightly under the light. "This is so cute. Are you the artist?" he asked, glancing up at the boy behind the table.
The boy shook his head with a small grin. "Thank you, but no. I'm just her cousin. She went to grab some food. I'm babysitting her table for now."
Sunoo nodded, eyes still scanning the stickers laid out in front of him. He wasn't even sure where he'd put them if he bought any—his laptop was already full, his tumbler too—but something about them felt worth having. Maybe he just wanted to support someone who clearly put effort into making something different. Without thinking too much, he picked out five more, dropped a bill in the little payment box, and gave a quick thank you before stepping back into the flow of the crowd.
"I'm gonna get the car. Just wait here. The parking lot's, like, so far and it's insanely hot," his friend said, already fanning her face with a brochure as she walked away. Sunoo just gave her a lazy nod and stayed in the shade, sipping his strawberry soda and lightly tapping the tip of his shows against the concrete to keep himself distracted.
It was Saturday, supposed to be relaxing day, but Sunoo's mind didn't know how to slow down. The breakup still clung to him, but even beyond that, the stress of his return demo for nursing school kept replaying in his head. It was getting close, and he still didn't feel ready. His eyebags were starting to sink into his face again, darkening with every late night he spent crying or spiraling in bed, wondering how things managed to fall apart this fast. He'd thought about going out again, just to dance, to pretend, to flirt with someone but he already knew it wouldn't help.
Just as he was about to take another sip from his drink, he froze. His nose twitched — Was that... cigarette smoke? Sunoo immediately grimaced, pressing his fingers over his nose and mouth. What the hell? Who the fuck smokes around here? The whole place was filled with kids and art booths, and there was a giant NO SMOKING sign that was printed in bold red letters, stuck on a wall not even ten steps away. His eyes scanned the shaded rest area until they landed on the source.
There you were—sitting alone on the bench with one leg drawn up, smoke curling lazily from your lips, completely unbothered.
"The fuck?" he muttered, eyes narrowing as another wave of smoke drifted toward him, already starting to irritate his throat. He wasn't trying to start anything, but the longer he stood there, the more it felt like the smoke was reaching out, wrapping around his skin, sneaking into his lungs, clinging to his clothes. He was already dealing with a bad day, and now this?!
You exhaled again, your gaze flicked toward him, catching the look he gave you but you didn't react. If anything, you just blinked, relaxed, fingers still holding the cigarette loosely between them.
Sunoo stood there, clearly expecting you to look guilty or maybe at least pretend to care, but when you didn't, he clicked his tongue in frustration and glanced at the sign again, like pointing it out. "Do you not see the sign?" he said, irritation in every word. "This is a public area, kids are here, and secondhand smoke—do you even know it's worse than smoking yourself? God, the sign is literally right there. It's huge."
You looked at him again, blinking like you didn't quite catch what he was saying. Your hand, holding the cigarette near your mouth, paused midair. Then, slowly, you turned your head to glance over your shoulder, as if making sure he was actually talking to you and not someone else behind the bench.
When your eyes met his again, they stayed on him a second longer. He stood there with a roughness that didn't match the soft features on his face. You let your gaze move over him without shame, noting the little details—the way his hair was clipped back by a cute pink clip, the pale tone of his skin that looked untouched by the sun, smooth, almost too perfect. His lips had a natural flush, a little swollen like he'd been biting them out of stress, and even with that annoyed look carved into his face, there was nothing harsh about him.
What a beautiful man, you thought, not even trying to hide it. You let the moment hang for a bit longer, then flicked the ash off the end of your cigarette with a small movement. Your voice was unbothered when you finally spoke. "You always pick fights with strangers, or am I just lucky today?"
He blinked, caught off guard by how casually you responded. "Start fights?" he repeated, eyes narrowing further. "You're the one breaking the rules. 'No smoking' doesn't mean smoke quietly. It means don't fucking smoke."
You took another drag without rush, then exhaled away from his direction, watching him. "Right. And you yelling about it in public—real mature. Definitely better than me just sitting here minding my own business."
Sunoo stepped forward slightly, jaw tightening. "You're not minding your business. That's the problem."
You shrugged, leaning back just a little on the bench, clearly not moved. "Then move somewhere else. No one's forcing you to breathe next to me. I don't fucking care."
You saw the way the color started creeping into the tips of his ears, how his hands curled into tight fists at his sides like he was holding himself back from saying something worse. He was clearly seething, barely keeping it together. You smiled to yourself then turned your head away to take another drag from your cigarette, the smoke curling softly from your lips.
"Bitch," you heard him muttered under his breath.
You turned your head back toward him, one brow lifting as you exhaled the smoke without rushing. "Excuse me?"
You started to shift, one foot planting on the ground like you were about to stand, but before anything else could happen, a small car pulled up right in front of you. Sunoo didn't waste a second. He walked straight toward it, yanked the passenger door open, and slipped inside as if the vehicle were his escape hatch. He slammed the door, and through the window, you could see the tension still sitting in his shoulders. But what caught your attention was how he didn't look away. Even as the engine came to life, even as the car rolled slowly forward, Sunoo kept his eyes locked on you. His glare was sharp and it's lingering.
You pressed your tongue into your cheek as you took another slow hit from the cigarette, still watching. When the car passed, you caught his reflection in the side mirror, and there he was—still glaring.
You flicked the smoke away from your face, the faintest smirk on your lips as the car disappeared down the road. Hah. He's such a pretty guy. You liked him already.
"Who's that guy?"
Sunoo didn't even try to hide his curiosity as he pointed across the room, eyes fixed on the one person who'd completely pulled his attention. The music was loud, bass thumping through the floor, and bodies moved around the house party in various stages of drunken celebration. It was supposed to be a simple gathering, just something to celebrate surviving midterms and their return demonstrations. He wasn't expecting anything wild tonight. Honestly, he'd shown up mostly out of pressure and to avoid looking like a killjoy. As someone in healthcare, he was all too aware of the risks, especially when it came to hookups. The rise of HIV cases was something that always lingered in the back of his mind, and the weight of what his ex put him through was still fresh. He wasn't exactly in the mood to relive that. But even so... looking didn't hurt, right?
"That's Park Sunghoon," someone answered beside him, casually sipping from their red cup. "Physical Therapy."
Sunoo's eyes narrowed slightly, studying the guy. He was leaning against the wall, laughing, drink in hand, head tilted just enough to show off a clean jawline and that effortless hair. "Does he have a girlfriend?" Sunoo asked, still watching. His friend shrugged. "I don't know? Maybe? You interested? Go talk to him!"
Sunoo rolled his eyes and sipped from his drink. "I don't even know if he's into men." His friend leaned in, grinning. "Ngeh, I don't know either, but he looks like he's giving off some BL energy. Just try!"
Sunoo didn't respond right away, but his gaze drifted back to Sunghoon, eyes half-lidded from the buzz. There was something about him, the kind of guy who knew he looked good but didn't make a show of it. And okay, maybe there was something about the way he stood that didn't exactly scream masculine authority. There was a softness to it, or maybe just an openness that made Sunoo curious.
He tapped his fingers against his cup, considering. He wasn't looking for anything serious but after everything he'd been through, a little fun wouldn't hurt. And if Park Sunghoon happened to be fun and hot? Well... why the hell not?
With one final sip, Sunoo set his cup down and gave his friend a sly look. "Fine. I'll try."
He took a breath, adjusted his shirt, and began walking through the crowd, weaving past groups of loud classmates and half-finished games of beer pong until he finally reached the corner where Park Sunghoon stood. The table beside them was lined with vodka, soda, and mixers. Sunoo casually took his place beside him, pretending to look through the drink options while stealing a glance at the boy he'd just been staring at across the room.
Sunghoon turned his head slightly, noticed him, and smiled. He raised his cup. "Cheers?" he offered.
Sunoo smiled back, trying not to let it show how fast his heart had just jumped. He reached for a drink off the table, tapping his cup gently against Sunghoon's. "Physical Therapy?" Sunoo asked, trying to keep his tone light, confident and a little sweet.
"Yeah. Nursing?" Sunghoon replied smoothly, and when Sunoo nodded, something about the way Sunghoon smiled deepened, more focused now. That voice—fuck. Sunoo could already feel the heat crawling up his neck. His body wasn't even trying to be subtle about how attracted he was. And God, those hands—Sunghoon reached for the bottle of rum to refill his cup, and Sunoo caught a flash of the veins along his forearm, the easy flex of his wrist, the way his fingers moved with control. For a second, Sunoo lost the ability to form a proper thought. Break my bones. Please. I beg.
They were already halfway through the conversation, and Sunoo could feel himself falling a little too deep for comfort. Sunghoon wasn't just attractive—he was engaging in a way that didn't feel forced. He spoke with confidence in his voice, and Sunoo found himself drawn in with every word. It surprised him how someone could make something as dry as tendons sound this interesting, especially when he usually avoided any talk of lectures once he stepped out of school. But with Sunghoon, it felt different. His voice was soothing, and the way he explained things had a rhythm that made Sunoo want to listen, even if he already knew the topic.
"And you know the tendons that connect from the—" Sunghoon started, his fingers gesturing as he spoke.
Sunoo nodded along, genuinely interested, eyes fixed on him, but then, right in the middle of the sentence, Sunghoon stopped. His posture shifted, back straightening, and his eyes flicked past Sunoo's shoulder like something—or someone—had just pulled his attention. Sunoo frowned, eyebrows drawing together, expecting him to finish the sentence, but instead, he watched as Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, his expression softening in recognition, lips curving upward.
Sunoo glanced behind him, confusion setting in. Then Sunghoon cleared his throat, gave him a polite smile, and said, "Uhh, sorry. If you'll excuse me. Nice meeting you, Sunoo," before lightly tapping his shoulder and walking off.
Sunoo's mouth fell open, completely caught off guard. He barely had time to react before his eyes followed Sunghoon's retreating figure—and then he saw exactly where he was heading. Fuck?!
You were leaning casually against the wall near the hallway entrance, drink in hand, watching the whole interaction. You didn't look surprised to see Sunghoon making his way over. In fact, you barely blinked. The moment he reached you, your body turned just slightly to make space for him. Sunghoon leaned in, said something only you could hear, and your quiet laugh in response said everything else Sunoo didn't want to believe.
Sunoo blinked, chest tight. He could almost feel something short-circuiting inside his brain, like a wire snapping clean. His thoughts were a blur, but one thing was clear—you. His pulse quickened as his body processed the shift, his amygdala practically lighting up with one conclusion: you are a threat.
A threat to his night, his mood, his already bruised ego. God, how was it even possible for someone he'd only met twice to piss him off this much? The universe really had the audacity to let you show up again, and not just exist, but actively ruin his chances at getting laid. Because let's be real—he wasn't looking for love, just something to distract him, and now even that had been snatched by the same cigarette-smoking bitch who couldn't be bothered to respect a no-smoking sign?!
His friend appeared beside him, holding a fresh cup and scanning the room. "Hey, where'd Sunghoon go? You two looked like you were hitting it off."
Sunoo didn't turn to look at her. He just brought the rim of his cup to his lips, finished what was left in a single gulp, and slammed it back on the table. "He went to hell," he muttered. "With someone who clearly lives there." His friend blinked, confused. "Wait—what?"
Sunoo turned to her, face tight with a forced smile. "Don't worry about it. Just remind me next time I say I'm open to meeting new people—slap me."
He exhaled sharply as his eyes drifted back to where the two of you had returned from the hallway. And when he really looked—when he took in your outfit, the way you were dressed like you didn't give a single shit what anyone thought—he almost laughed out loud.
A strawberry shirt? Jorts? Those shoes? That's what Sunghoon left him for? Sunoo scoffed under his breath, shaking his head slowly, barely believing it. He looked down at himself—his carefully styled hair, his clean lines, and then back at you. "Seriously," he muttered, eyes still locked on you. "That's the one?"
He couldn't decide if he was more offended for himself or embarrassed for Sunghoon. Whether you were just a friend, a fling, or something in between, one thing was clear to him now: Park Sunghoon had no taste. And if he did, it was broken.
Anyway, there were plenty of fish in the sea. Sunoo wasn't going to waste his energy sulking over one guy, especially not if you were somehow involved. If Sunghoon had any sort of connection to you then Sunoo would rather tap out early and save himself the trouble. He had enough baggage without adding someone who came with your name attached.
At least, that's what he told himself.
But then again, Sunoo had also said there were so many fish in the sea—yet somehow, it felt like every damn fish was just swimming in circles around you. It was getting ridiculous. He wasn't being dramatic, either. There was always something—some random detail, some little coincidence, and suddenly, boom. You. Right there again.
Date number one: a gym instructor. Hot, yes, a little edgy, had that calm, slow-talking voice Sunoo secretly liked. Things were going okay, until the guy pulled out his phone to show pictures of his niece's birthday party and proudly pointed to a group photo. Sunoo was nodding politely, until his eyes caught on one specific person in the background, holding the cake and grinning. He blinked. Zoomed in. Yup. You. Holding a cake with your horrible strawberry tank top. Niece, cousin, whatever—you were related. Add to that the guy reeked of cigarettes the whole time, and Sunoo was done before dessert.
Date number two: a Med Tech student. Good on paper, clean cut, same healthcare background, probably understood his schedule and stress levels. Sunoo was really trying with this one. But on their second date, as they were walking to a café near the guy's family's shop, Sunoo noticed someone standing out front during a break—leaning against the wall, cigarette between your lips, looking bored out of your mind. You. Again. You even smirk at him! Sunoo didn't even finish the coffee. He went home and ghosted the guy the next morning.
Okay, maybe he was being petty. Maybe, in a community as tight as theirs, having overlap wasn't that deep. But could anyone really blame him? Sunoo could admit it—he was petty, fine. He could own that. His feelings were valid. He was the one showing up, putting in effort, trying to start something new while somehow tripping over you every single time.
And if anyone dared to question why he was so quick to shut people down the moment your name and face got involved, well—he'd like to point them toward basic psychology. According to research, the brain forms first impressions within seconds. These impressions are shaped by appearance, voice, body language, even scent—and they trigger implicit biases, unconscious reactions that color how we feel about someone before they even say a word. And what had his brain learned to associate with you? Cigarettes, interruptions, stolen men, smug grins, and the color strawberry.
So, yes. Sunoo was triggered. And he was allowed to be.
"Damn, my neck is killing me from all these hospital duties. I'm seriously craving mint ice cream right now," Sunoo groaned, letting himself collapse face-first into the couch at Jungwon's dorm. He had no energy left and zero motivation to head back to his own apartment. Everything hurt—his back, his neck, even his brain.
"I'm begging for a break," Jungwon said from his desk, not looking up from his laptop. "God, give me a date."
Sunoo's voice came out muffled, his face still buried in the cushion. "I'm fine with God not giving me a date as long as I get a decent eight hours of sleep."
"What happened with all those dates you went on?" Jungwon finally asked, turning slightly in his chair. "None of them worked out?"
"I'd rather not talk about it," Sunoo muttered, one hand waving in the air like he could physically dismiss the topic. He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Forget it. I'm going to grab ice cream before I start crying about my life again. Want anything?"
Jungwon leaned back and grinned. "Can you buy me some lube?"
Sunoo rolled his eyes so hard. "Get your own, freak."
He stood up, grabbing his wallet off the coffee table and brushing off invisible lint from his pants. He didn't even know if he actually wanted ice cream anymore or if he just needed an excuse to be alone for a bit. Either way, he needed air. And distance. And ideally, a world where you didn't exist in every corner of his social life.
But of course, fate had other plans—because who else would be behind the counter of the convenience store at 10:42 PM but you, punching in his order with that same lazy grin plastered on your face as your eyes dropped directly to the bottle of lube and box of condoms on the counter.
Seriously. How many fucking jobs did you have? Sunoo stared at you, disbelief turning to horror, then to full-blown irritation. "Can you not grin like that?" he snapped, arms crossed. "What happened to discrete and nonjudgmental service? I need to speak to your manager."
You tilted your head slightly and blinked at him with exaggerated innocence, hand pausing over the touchscreen like you were truly offended. The expression only made his eye twitch harder. "That's discrimination," he added, glaring. "I should be allowed to buy whatever I want without being mentally harassed by your face."
Your lips twitched. You tried to play it cool, but the smirk slipped out before you could stop it. There it was again—that look of yours, amused and smug. So ugly!
Honestly, you hadn't expected to see him again so soon. It was the third time now, and at this point, his dramatic reactions were starting to feel like a reward. The moment he walked through the door and made eye contact with you, something in you shifted—your lips curled up instinctively, and the weight of the day suddenly didn't feel so heavy. "Huh?" you said innocently, your voice small as you tilted your head slightly, letting your bottom lip pout just enough to be annoying.
Sunoo looked like he was one breath away from combusting, especially when his eyes flicked to your mouth and you knew he caught the glint of the piercing on your lower lip, because his gaze lingered just a second too long before his face twisted in irritation.
"Huh?" he mocked, eyebrows raised and lips pushed out as he mimicked your expression, only to immediately roll his eyes so hard. Without another word, he reached across the counter and snatched the bag from your hands, the plastic crinkling loudly in the quiet. He slapped a $50 bill on the counter, pointedly avoiding your eyes.
"Keep the change and never show your face again," he snapped, already turning on his heel. "God, bye," he added with a dramatic flick of his head, tossing his hair back.
You barely held in the laugh bubbling up your throat. Cute! you thought, bracing your hands on the counter as your smile widened. "Enjoy your night, sir!" you called after him, loud and obnoxiously cheerful.
You caught the twitch of his shoulders as he froze for half a second at the door. Then, without turning fully around, he glanced at you over his shoulder, hand lifting to flash you a very clear middle finger before pushing the door open and disappearing.
You leaned back, shaking your head with a quiet chuckle. Yup. Definitely your favorite regular now.
With Sunoo buried in nonstop clinical duties, he was starting to believe that God had decided to personally test his patience. Every day was a cycle of waking up too early, surviving rounds with barely any caffeine, and crashing into bed with a brain too tired to think but still too anxious to sleep. If this was divine character development, he wanted a refund. But fine, he'd give credit where it was due. At least he wasn't in a relationship. He couldn't imagine juggling a partner on top of exams, hospital reports, and constant reminders of his nonexistent social life. That would've been a mental breakdown waiting to happen.
Sunoo still hated men or so he said. But hatred, as he often reminded himself bitterly, was a slippery slope. The more you hated, the more they crawled under your skin. And men, those confusing, beautiful disasters, were impossible to avoid. The way they smiled, the stupid flex of their arms when they weren't even trying, those veiny hands that somehow haunted his imagination late at night—ugh. It was criminal, really. He wasn't desperate, but he wasn't made of stone either. If he said he didn't miss at least a little action, he'd be lying.
So when Jake asked him to tag along to the university gym because he was meeting a friend there for a commission, Sunoo agreed—reluctantly at first. But the moment they stepped into the gym and his eyes landed on the group of basketball players practicing on the court, all thoughts of regret evaporated.
"I was waiting for my friend. Sorry to drag you into it. I have a commission with her, she told me to meet her here. Is that okay?" Jake asked, casually.
Sunoo could barely hear him over the internal scream in his head. Of course it's okay. It's so okay he might cry. His gaze was locked on one specific figure—Lee Heeseung, the captain of the university's basketball team, currently making shots. Sunoo's mouth may not have been literally on the floor, but it was dangerously close. His eyes followed every movement of how Heeseung's shirt clung to his back, how his arms flexed with every jump, how sweat dripped down his neck—
Jake nudged him. "You good?"
"Peachy," Sunoo replied, voice an octave too high as he cleared his throat. "Just... appreciating," his eyes scanned the gym, trailing slowly over the players until, inevitably, they landed on the captain, Lee Heeseung. Sunoo raised his hands vaguely, motioning toward the court as if trying to justify the way he was staring. "...physical education."
But of course, like in some movies he never signed up for, the metaphorical glass shattered the moment you appeared. Just walked right into his field of vision. The air shifted, his stomach dropped, and his brows furrowed. His expression twisted into something between disgust and disbelief as his arms dropped in surrender. What the hell were you doing here?! Oh God?! You and him are in the same university?!
And then, just as Sunoo thought the scene couldn't get worse, Jake stood up, grinning wide. "There you are!" he said before pulling you into a hug and pressing a kiss on your cheek.
Sunoo's entire soul left his body. What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Jake was gay—openly and proudly gay—and Sunoo, as judgmental as he sometimes got, couldn't help but squint suspiciously. Are you seriously friends with his friends? Because if anyone was giving homophobic vibes, it was definitely you. Sunoo blinked hard. The math wasn't mathing. Did Jake not feel the same tension he did? Oh no. Jake needed help. Jake needed saving. God, someone had to sit him down and explain a few things before it was too late.
"Oh! Meet Sunoo! He's my best friend from nursing."
And there it was—the inevitable moment where Sunoo had no choice but to lock eyes with you. The second your gaze met his, you smiled so sweetly it made his entire body crawl. You even added a little wave, like this was the friendliest encounter on earth, and not the fourth time you'd popped up in his life. Sunoo felt the twitch in his eye before he could stop it, jaw clenching as he forced the most plastic smile onto his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled with pure performance. He stood up, cheeks already aching from pretending, leaned in for a polite cheek-to-cheek like he wasn't imagining pulling your hair back in pure rage, and was immediately hit with a mix of cigarette smoke and YSL Libre perfume. Ugh.
Jake, completely oblivious to the silent war unfolding, beamed as he gestured between the two of you. "She's a fashion design major! Does commissions too—drawings, paintings, cakes, you name it."
Sunoo nodded stiffly, barely reacting. Inside, he was sighing so loud he could practically hear himself. As Jake went on, clearly proud to know someone like you, Sunoo watched you nod and smile with just the right amount of humility, your tone gentle, polite, soft—like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. This is fake. You're fake. This whole performance is fake. God, Jake deserves better friends. He forced another smile, barely hanging onto his sanity. Because the way you were looking at him right now and you knew he was crumbling inside was enough to make his blood boil.
And worst of all, you looked delighted about it. Bitch. You're a bitch. Sunoo didn't even try to be polite about it in his head anymore. He had fully accepted the fact that you existed in his life for the sole purpose of testing his patience.
But of course, it didn't stop there. Since Jake thought you and Sunoo were getting along just fine, he began inviting you everywhere. Lunch, coffee breaks, study sessions—any time he had a free hour, he'd text both of you like this was some little trio. Fuck him!
And every time you showed up, Sunoo could feel that familiar twitch start behind his eye, the one that pulsed when he was one annoyance away from losing it. Your voice would float into the conversation like you had no idea you were driving him slowly insane.
But the worst part? The absolutely most humiliating part? He was starting to notice things. Little details that stuck with him even though he never asked for them. You smoked Marlboro Reds, but you always kept a strawberry-flavored vape in your bag. You wore outfits like you just rolled out of a punk indie concert, all black with layered chains and boots that could kill a man, but he'd bet money your favorite color was red—based on the red phone case, the red liner under your eyes, the strawberry pins you sometimes wore on your bag. You had a piercing on your tongue—he found that out when you bit into a donut one afternoon and casually stuck your tongue out in surprise because of the powdered sugar.
He didn't mean to remember all of this. He didn't even talk to you. Not directly, at least. Every time Jake tried to bridge conversation between you two, it felt like some weird form of punishment. Sunoo would answer, you'd smile knowingly, and Jake would keep chatting like this three-way exchange wasn't slowly draining Sunoo's soul.
"Jake has a fear of needles, so maybe stop trying to convince him to get a piercing or a tattoo," Sunoo said, not even glancing up from his drink.
He hadn't meant to speak, but with Jake in the restroom and the silence between you two stretching, the words slipped out. His tone was calm but the way his fingers tightened slightly around his cup betrayed the irritation simmering under his skin.
You turned your head, raising a brow slowly as if deciding whether to entertain this or not. "Hmm? I didn't know we were handing out unsolicited advice now," you said, tilting your glass to make the ice clink. "Is that your subtle way of joining the conversation, Ddeuno?"
His jaw flexed the moment the nickname left your lips. He finally looked at you, eyes sharp. "It's not joining if I'm already in it. Jake was talking to both of us. And it's Sunoo. Not that hard."
You smiled, amused by the twitch in his expression. "Sure, Sunoo. But don't you think Jake's capable of making his own choices?"
"He is," he said, voice a touch tighter as he leaned forward and crossed one leg over the other. "Which is exactly why I know he wouldn't have asked if you didn't plant the idea in his head."
You rested your elbow on the table and glanced at him with casual ease. "I didn't plant anything. He saw my piercing and asked. Maybe you're just not used to people being curious about something you can't control."
He scoffed, shaking his head as he stirred his drink, the metal spoon tapping against ceramic. "Right, because nothing screams freedom of choice like peer pressure with a side of aesthetic superiority."
"I never pressured him," you said, eyes locked on his. "But if he wanted to try something new, I wouldn't stop him. You, on the other hand, sound like you'd tackle him to the ground before he could book an appointment."
Okay, fuck this. Sunoo's patience was thinning by the second, and he could feel the irritation rising and rising and rising! He hadn't come here to argue, but the way you kept smiling, like you knew how to push every single one of his buttons, made it impossible to let it slide.
He wasn't trying to control Jake. He was just looking out for him because someone had to. Sunoo had this belief, stubborn as it was, that people who covered themselves in piercings and tattoos didn't exactly value their skin the way they should. It wasn't about being judgmental, it was about keeping things clean, presentable, safe. Sure, he wouldn't tell strangers how to live their lives, but when it came to the people around him? The people he cared about? He preferred them untouched.
He turned to you again, eyes hard. "There's nothing wrong with wanting the people I care about to take care of themselves properly."
You didn't flinch, just tilted your head slightly, like you were waiting for more. "Tattoos and piercings aren't unhygienic if done right," you replied. "But sure, let's pretend this is about safety and not just your obsession with control."
Sunoo laughed under his breath, the sound hollow. "Yeah? And let me guess—you're the expert now because you sat through a couple needle sessions and watched some tattoo TikToks?"
You leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, gaze unshaken. "No. But I'm someone who understands that self-expression doesn't need your permission."
The tension in the air crackled. And just when it felt like one more word would tip things over the edge, Jake returned to the table, smiling. "Miss anything?" he asked, completely unaware.
You leaned back smoothly, picking up your drink like nothing happened. "Not a thing."
That was it. He couldn't keep letting this slide. As much as he tried to convince himself he was just being overprotective, he knew deep down he was past the line of tolerating your presence. You were a bad influence on Jake—he was sure of it—and sooner or later, someone had to say it. That someone was going to be him.
Later that day, when you'd left first and it was just the two of them walking toward the station, Sunoo finally spoke. "Do you... ever feel a certain vibe from her?"
Jake blinked, looking over at him with an innocent confusion that made Sunoo want to scream. "Huh? Vibes? What kind of vibes?"
Bitch vibes, Sunoo almost blurted out. He had to stop himself from saying it out loud. He cleared his throat, trying to sound more composed. "Just... like, the way she talks. She always has something to say, and it's never just casual. It's like everything's meant to get a reaction."
Jake tilted his head slightly, clearly trying to follow. "You mean, like, she's too witty?"
Sunoo narrowed his eyes. "No, like... she's too comfortable? It's weird. And I don't trust it."
Jake just laughed, brushing it off too easily. "She's just chill. That's how she is with everyone. She's a good person, Sunoo. You just haven't gotten used to her yet."
Sunoo sighed, irritated. "That's the problem. I don't want to get used to her. And maybe you shouldn't either." He let the word slipped on his mouth.
Jake glanced at him, and for the first time, his smile faded a little. "She's my friend. You're my friend. Just... try not to be mean, okay?"
Maybe he had sounded a little too harsh, a little too pointed—but it wasn't like he was being mean for the sake of it. Sunoo knew what it looked like, but deep down, it wasn't about jealousy or drama. He was just trying to protect something that mattered to him before it got tangled up in whatever messy situation. He didn't trust easily, and the way you walked into their lives set off every internal alarm. But Jake... Jake wasn't the type to see danger. Not like Sunoo did.
"Sorry," he said quietly, reaching out to gently hold Jake's hand with a small smile. Jake just nodded and gave his hand a soft squeeze in return, the silence between them filled with a quiet understanding even if they didn't see eye to eye on everything.
Meanwhile, from your side of things, things were quite different.
The more time you spent around Kim Sunoo, the more curious you became. You weren't really interested in men. They were too predictable, too performative, too eager to please and too quick to disappoint. They were fun, sometimes, but they didn't hold your attention. But Sunoo was something else. You didn't even notice when it started. Maybe it was the way he carried himself. Maybe it was the way he bit back when provoked, or how he tried so hard to hide that he cared too much about the people around him.
You'd seen beautiful people before. You'd had flings, hookups, distractions. But Sunoo... he stuck. You were clearly interested. and there were moments that he annoyed you, sure. Challenged you. Threw shade but he made your brain work. He made your skin itch in that specific way only people you couldn't quite figure out ever did. And fine, maybe it was because he looked a little like a girl. Soft skin, pouty lips, those lashes that curled perfectly for no reason. You couldn't stop looking at him.
Well, too bad for you, he didn't seem the least bit pleased with your presence. And honestly? The feeling was mutual. He had that almost condescending way of speaking that made everything sound like a warning label. Foul controlling mouth, always ready with a "don't do this," or a "you shouldn't do that." He was a walking killjoy wrapped in pretty skin, constantly policing the air around him like joy was something to be monitored.
It didn't make sense. How could someone so tightly wound be friends with someone like Jake, who floated through life like a balloon one gust away from flying into the sun? What were they even talking about when you weren't around? Did Sunoo lecture Jake on posture and caffeine intake? Did Jake actually listen?
"Are you getting along with Sunoo well?" Jake asked.
You paused mid-hit with your vape, the familiar strawberry taste lingering on your tongue as you raised your leg up onto the bench, shoulders lifting in a shrug. You exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift upward as you looked off to the side. "Define 'well,'" you murmured.
Of course, Jake would ask. And of course, Sunoo had probably said something. It was expected. That boy had a hard time keeping anything off his chest, especially when it came to people he clearly couldn't stand. Jake sighed, slumping back against the bench like your answer had physically disappointed him. "Aww, come on. I really want you two to get along," he muttered, pouting.
You glanced at him, the corner of your mouth pulling into a faint smirk. "Jake, I don't not get along with him. We just don't operate on the same wavelength." You watched as Jake's shoulders dropped a little, disappointment settling in. There was a pause, not long, but long enough for you to notice the way he kept looking at you like he was hoping for a better answer. So you gave him one, even if it came reluctantly. "He's interesting, though."
That made Jake perk up, turning to face you more fully, hope flickering back into his expression. "You think so?"
And with that soft look on his face, that typical sunshine that you could never seem to say no to, you found yourself giving in. Fine. The next time you saw Sunoo, you wouldn't provoke him. You'd leave his nerves alone for once, maybe even make an effort not to smell like smoke. You already knew that Sunoo probably hated the smell of cigarettes. The way he wrinkled his nose when you were near, how he subtly shifted his body away like he didn't want to breathe the same air, said more than enough.
He was the type who liked rules. Cleanliness. Probably thought smoking was a character flaw rather than a habit. So controlling. But if it meant keeping peace with Jake, you could give it a shot. And you really want to get along with him, though. Not just a friend.
If men were animals, Sunoo would absolutely agree they were monkeys but honestly, even that felt unfair to monkeys. At least monkeys had a sense of community. They groomed each other, protected their own, had an instinct to care. Men? Men could barely carry a conversation without twisting it to revolve around themselves, like everything was orbiting their fragile egos. And what did it even say about him that he'd still actually tried to be patient with that last one? The man had poor communication skills, grammar that made Sunoo want to cry, a sense of humor so dry it could choke a cactus, and hygiene that was clearly not taught with enough urgency in his household. Sunoo had still shown up, been kind, understanding, even offered grace where he really shouldn't have.
And he got ghosted. After all that effort, after tolerating body spray that didn't cover the scent of unwashed laundry, and laugh emojis used in places where no jokes existed—Sunoo was the one who got left on read.
And as if the universe hadn't done enough damage, this morning, their Clinical Instructor decided to nitpick his grooming. Said his hair was too long and should be "cleaned up to maintain a professional image." Too long? It was barely brushing his ears!
Sunoo slammed his locker shut, lips pressed into a thin line as he yanked his lanyard off and stuffed it into his pocket. "I need a mango shake," he muttered under his breath, storming out of the building. "Or I need a drink. Or I need to get laid. Honestly, at this point, any of the three will do. Fuck this life."
And as if the day hadn't already tried to ruin him, it just kept going. Sunoo tripped over one of the uneven bricks in the university garden—in front of three freshmen and a couple from Dentistry—and his whole body hit the ground like it had something to prove. The worst part? He was wearing his white clinical uniform, freshly ironed this morning, and now it had mud on the knee, a grass stain on the sleeve, and his shoe was ruined. The sole peeled at the side like it was giving up on life, just like him.
He stood there for a moment, fists clenched, eyes locked on the sky like he was daring it to rain. His pride was already dented, his clothes dirty, his patience snapped and now, of course, not a single damn taxi in sight was stopping. He raised his arm again, waved it with enough energy to summon a ghost, but every car either sped past or pretended not to see him. People were staring. He could hear the soft chuckles, see the sideways glances. He was half a second from screaming into the void or kicking a bush, whichever came first.
And then came the low sound of motorbike. He turned his head, expecting just another person speeding past him like the rest of the universe, but the bike slowed down instead. The helmeted rider stopped in front of him, casually lifting the visor.
His eye twitched instantly. Of course it was you. Like the universe had specially selected you to appear right when he had the least energy to deal with anything, especially you. His grip on his bag strap tightened out of habit, maybe even to stop himself from doing something regrettable. The strap strained against his palm as he imagined how satisfying it would be to swing it straight at your little helmet.
You didn't speak but the amused curve of your lips said everything. Your eyes scanned his state—mud on his uniform, one shoe visibly damaged, face flushed with humiliation and frustration—and that damn smile only grew. "Rough day, pretty boy?"
Sunoo closed his eyes, shoulders rising with a deep inhale of your voice. He hadn't seen you in weeks, maybe months, and yet here you were, showing up when his life was at its absolute worst. He opened his eyes slowly, and instead of giving you the satisfaction of a scowl, he gave you a sweet, polite smile. "Fuck off."
You tilted your head slightly, helmet still on, visor up, as if you were genuinely trying to decide whether his attitude deserved a response. "Hmm," you murmured, nonchalant. "Need a ride, or are you into being publicly humiliated? Because you're doing a great job."
"I'd rather crawl," he muttered under his breath, shifting his weight, and instantly regretting it when his soaked shoe made a gross squish. Disgusting. This day was disgusting.
"Great," you replied, gripping the throttle. "Let me know how far that gets you. Good luck."
The engine growled once beneath you as you rolled the bike forward a little, just enough to make it clear you were ready to leave him standing there. And that should've been fine. He didn't need you. He didn't want your help.
Except he did. Because his legs were aching, his socks were wet, and none of the taxis had stopped for the last fifteen minutes, and to make things worse, he had class at two o'clock sharp. There was no way he could show up looking like this, not with the nursing department's obsession with cleanliness and grooming. One look at his uniform and they'd send him straight home. He didn't have the time or energy to risk that.
So, against every ounce of pride in his body, he swallowed hard and called out, "W-Wait."
The second it left his mouth, regret settled in. You didn't even bother to turn off the engine. You just tilted your head again, that damn helmet catching the light, your eyes already locking on his with that same irritating amusement you always wore around him.
Sunoo's eye twitched. His fingers curled tighter around the strap of his bag. Every part of him wanted to kick your stupid motorbike over and walk away barefoot, but his common sense—the part that knew wet shoes, strict instructors, and a late clinical check-in didn't mix—kept him rooted in place.
You raised your brows. "Changed your mind?"
"No," he snapped. "The universe is just clearly mocking me and you're the cherry on top."
You let out a short laugh. "That's not a no."
He clenched his jaw and looked away for a second, like maybe if he didn't see your face, he could pretend this wasn't happening. Then finally, after a long pause, he muttered, "I need a ride. That's it. Don't talk. Just drive."
You patted the back of the seat, without another word, the engine rumbled beneath you as you steadied the bike, shifting slightly to pull your helmet off and offer it to him. Sunoo blinked, hesitating. "You're not wearing one?"
You tilted your head, brushing your hair out of your face as you balanced the bike with one leg. "You're in a clinical uniform. If we get stopped, guess who they'll blame for not following safety rules? Just take it, Nurse."
He didn't reply, just snatched the helmet from your hand and mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, I hate you, though it came out too tired to carry any real hatred. He shoved it on, adjusting the strap a little too aggressively before climbing on behind you.
"Jake said your place is near the Avenue, right?" you asked, eyes already ahead. "I'm going the long way. No checkpoints."
Sunoo gripped the back handle awkwardly at first before giving in and placing his hands lightly on your waist for balance, trying not to think too hard about the contact. "Whatever," he muttered. "Just drive."
The wind wrapped around both of you, warm against his face, tugging at his hair and slipping into the space between his collar and neck. He hated how natural it felt to sit there with you, hated how the scent of your perfume still clung to the inside of the helmet. He hates the smell of the strawberry yet he don't know why it was giving him comfort right now.
"Drop me off at that corner," he said, leaning closer to make sure you heard him, pointing toward the shaded part of the sidewalk ahead.
You didn't say anything—just pulled over smoothly and tapped the brakes until the bike came to a steady stop. The second it did, he got off like the seat had turned hot, quickly removing the helmet and smoothing down his messy hair. He held the helmet out toward you stiffly.
You took it, setting it on the handlebars, and exhaled a breath. "You know," you started, giving him a once-over, "for someone who acts so obsessed with respect and rules, you're really bad at saying thank you."
Sunoo let out a breath that was halfway between a scoff and a sigh. "I didn't ask for your help."
You shrugged, hands settling easily on the handles. "Yeah. But you still climbed on."
He looked at you for a moment, lips twitching like he wanted to say something else but couldn't find the energy. Instead, he turned his gaze away, cheeks flushed from heat.
"Fine," he said, barely above a mutter. "Thanks. For the ride."
Your smile widened, "anytime, pretty boy."
He rolled his eyes, turned around, and walked off before you could enjoy the look on his face any longer. But you were already watching his back as he stormed away, your fingers brushing against the helmet. Cute. So damn cute!
"What do you mean you're not going?" Sunoo asked, frowning as he walked alongside Jake through the hallway.
"I'm busy," Jake replied, reaching for his locker and spinning the lock. "Jungwon's coming anyway, right? Just vibe with him for now. You'll survive a night without me."
Sunoo let out a dramatic sigh and stomped his foot, clearly not in the mood to be reasonable. "But I want you there! It's not fun without you."
Jake pulled out a thick review binder and glanced at him over his shoulder. "I've got a summative test on Monday, remember? It's kind of important. We could just crash at my place after, maybe do a sleepover?"
"Ihhh," Sunoo whined, dragging out the sound. "I don't want to sleep, I want to drink."
Jake raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was headed. "Don't tell me this is about that guy from the other school ghosting you. Again."
Sunoo rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand. "It's not about that. I just... feel like drinking. That's all."
Jake stared at him for a moment, closing his locker slowly, trying to read beneath the surface. "Right. Totally not about him." He slung his bag over one shoulder and sighed. "Look, let me get through these notes first. If I finish early, I'll come join you. But until then, just go with Jungwon, okay?"
Sunoo pouted but didn't argue further. He hated going without Jake, but sulking alone wouldn't change the plan. He was going out tonight, one way or another and with Jake or not, he was going to forget every bit of bullshit the week had piled on him. Even if it meant dragging Jungwon into whatever he was about to step into.
He swore it was going to be just one drink—maybe two, while waiting for Jake but the moment they arrived, it turned out the party was practically a shrine to drinking games. The music was loud, the lights were low, and every corner had someone yelling "bottoms up!"
Jungwon, despite his initial confidence, was barely holding it together after three rounds of some game that involved slapping the table and chanting nonsense. He stood up abruptly, wobbling slightly as he pressed a hand to his stomach. "Oh my God, I feel like I'm going to vomit. Why am I such a loser?" he groaned, and without waiting for a response, excused himself, muttering something about needing air—or a toilet.
Sunoo, meanwhile, wasn't faring much better. His head was spinning, cheeks flushed, and his limbs felt like they were being operated by someone else. He didn't even realize when the giggles turned into sniffles, and the sniffles turned into full-blown tears. He ended up kneeling by the edge of the marble platform near the open balcony, smacking his fist weakly against the cool surface as the alcohol dragged his emotions right out of him.
"Ehhhhhh," he cried, voice cracking pitifully. "I want a boyfriennnnddd!"
Jay, who had been casually sipping beer on the couch nearby, looked up in alarm as Sunoo stumbled toward him with watery eyes. He stopped in front of him, wiping at his cheeks like it would hide the mess.
"Pleaseee," Sunoo sniffled, leaning close. "Find me a boyfriend. I want to be loved. I'm so soft. I'm so kind. Why am I suffering?! Ugh."
Jay blinked, glanced around the party like someone might swoop in and handle the situation for him, and when no one came, he slowly set his beer down. "...Do you want water?"
Sunoo gasped, "I want love, not hydration!" he wailed, continue to sob.
Before Jay could figure out what to do with that level of emotional spiral, someone approached from behind.
"Jay, the owner's already handing us the money—what the fuck?"
Sunoo blinked through his tears and looked up, vision blurry as your voice rang out. You stood just inside the balcony doorway. Red halter sando clinging to your shoulders, he noticed a tattoo. Ink, in a soft pinkish-red tone, winding delicately along your shoulder and upper arm. The design was detailed floral vines and swirls that traced across your collarbone and around your bicep. It was so beautifully done, it almost looked like it was growing from your skin, and that pissed him off even more. Your baggy jeans low on your hips, your hair twisted into a messy bun. A guitar strap slung diagonally over your body, cigarette hanging loose between your fingers. Your eyeshadow was smudged black and glittery, clashing violently with your red lipstick, but somehow you made it work—though Sunoo would never admit that out loud. Not even if he were dying.
There was no smirk this time, no teasing glint in your eyes. Just a quiet kind of concern as you stared down at him. And he hated it. Absolutely hated it!
So, naturally, he raised his middle finger at you with zero hesitation. Jay glanced between the two of you and awkwardly took a step back. "You know him? Can you, like... deal with that? I need to talk to someone real quick." And just like that, he vanished quickly into the crowd, getting the guitar off on your shoulder to avoid any responsibilities.
Sunoo only sobbed harder. You sighed, dragging your foot across the cigarette to put it out before crouching in front of him. "What the hell happened to you?" you asked, eyeing his flushed cheeks, watery eyes, and hands tugging uselessly at the front of his shirt. "Where's Jake? Did he leave you here like this?"
Sunoo sniffled, bottom lip trembling. "I want to get laaaaaiiiid," he wailed, grabbing your shoulder. "Why can't people stay? What's wrong with me?!"
You blinked slowly, barely reacting to him shaking your shoulder with every word. "Maybe... because you're controlling?"
Sunoo froze, then glared at you, eyes wide and offended. "Fuck you! You can't even give me basic emotional support? What kind of monster are you?"
You let out a breath and sat down fully in front of him. "You want emotional support? Fine. You're hot. You're smart. You've got flawless skin and cheekbones people would sell their soul for. Now stop crying like the world ended. You're embarrassing both of us."
Sunoo sniffled again, staring at you with eyes too round and glassy for his own good. "Do you mean it?"
"Yes, I mean it," you muttered, already unlocking your phone to text Jake. "Now let's get out of here before you sob all over someone else's balcony—"
"No!" he snapped, suddenly snatching your phone and stepping back.
Your eyes widened in disbelief, your fingers twitching in the air where your phone had just been. Sunoo stood tall now, swaying only slightly, the alcohol clearly still sitting heavy in his limbs, but his grip on your phone was surprisingly solid. "Sunoo—" you warned, reaching for it, only for him to lift it higher. Damn his height.
He looked down at you, still flushed, lips pulling into a mischievous little smile that was way too proud for someone who had been sobbing on the floor five minutes ago. "It's my turn to be annoying," he said, tilting his head. "Am I actually hot?"
"Sunoo—" you sighed through your teeth, rising onto the balls of your feet. "Yes, you're hot. Now give me my phone back."
He raised it even higher. "So I'm not ugly?"
"You're pretty, Sunoo. Very pretty," you said, swallowing a dry knot in your throat as you felt your face heat up. His body was too close again, and this was definitely not where you thought the night would go.
Before you could collect yourself, he slumped forward, head landing against your neck with the weight of all his sadness. "Then why the hell does everyone cheat on me?" he wailed, and the force of him nearly knocked you backward until your spine hit the metal railing.
You stood there, half-pinned under a very clingy Kim Sunoo, awkwardly patting his back as you tried to retrieve your phone. But his grip only tightened.
He pulled away slightly, just enough to look at you, eyes still red, but his lashes clumped and wet and his lips trembling. "L-let's drink?" he mumbled. "You're annoying. I still hate you a little but I'll forget it. J-just... just don't smoke, okay? I don't like it when people smoke, okayyy?"
"Sunoo," you exhaled slowly, adjusting your balance as he kept his weight partially slumped on you, "I'm not drinking. I only came here for a gig. And I'm driving my bike. I have work tomorrow—"
"Owww-kayyy?" he cut you off with a lopsided pout.
You stared at him, unblinking. "I'm going to call Jake now."
"Owww-kayyy?" he repeated, holding your phone.
You sighed and pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose. "Okay," you muttered.
That was all he needed. Sunoo let out a soft cheer, grabbing your hand with enthusiasm as he pulled you back into the party. You thought you were just going to drink with him, maybe a shot or two to shut him up, but Sunoo clearly had other plans.
His version of "let's drink" turned out to mean filling an entire cup with whatever was on the table and practically forcing it into your hands. You barely had time to brace yourself before he was tipping the rim toward your lips, eyes wide and sparkling.
You coughed through the first one, gagged through the second, and by the time the third hit your throat, you were wincing with every swallow. It burned all the way down and you already knew you wouldn't survive the night. For someone who smokes like it's your job, your alcohol tolerance was embarrassingly low and hangovers always hit like a truck. But then again, Sunoo was too pretty to say no to when he smiled like that, even with that annoying bratty glint in his eye.
"Party, partehhh! Yeahh!" he shouted, twirling you into the crowd like you were suddenly best friends.
Somehow, you ended up in the middle of the dance floor. Lights spinning, bass vibrating through your chest, and before you could stop yourself, your body had already leaned back against him. His hands found your waist automatically, and you didn't know if it was the alcohol or something else entirely, but your hips were moving, grinding gently against him in time with the beat.
You tilted your head slightly, cheek brushing his jaw as you muttered, "Maybe... men aren't for you, Sunoo."
He blinked down at you, clearly dazed, but still gripping your waist. "What?" he said, almost laughing.
"Swing for girls this time," you slurred with a half-smile, your fingers lightly tracing his cheek, your eyes struggling to focus. "Girls won't cheat on you."
He snorted. "Women were never my thing, bitch."
Your smile faltered just a little, and you pouted up at him, thumb brushing over the edge of his cheekbone. "In a relationship... or in sex?" You tilted your head and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Because girls? They'll treat you right. They'll adore you. They'll give you the kind of head that makes you forget your own name."
Sunoo's breath caught for a second, but he didn't move away. "I know that," he muttered. "I'm one of the girls."
You hummed, dragging your gaze along his features, watching the way he blinked slower now, how his lips parted slightly as your words pressed deeper. "Mmm. But have you ever been treated like that by a girl?" you asked again, your hips shifted, rolling back just enough to press against the heat of him.
Sunoo bit his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark. He wanted to shove you away, curse you out, remind you just how much you irritated him—but something burned hotter in his veins than the alcohol and it was how intoxicating you looked.
He shouldn't be doing this. You were the last person on earth he should be doing this with, but then again, nothing about tonight was going according to plan. And before he could stop himself, his hands gripped your waist tighter, dragging you closer as his lips crashed into yours.
The next thing he knew, the two of you were stumbling into the restroom at the end of the hallway, the door slamming behind you. His fingers tangled into your hair, pulling tight as your back hit the sink. He hated the taste of your cigarette on your tongue, but he kissed you harder anyway. Your hands were already under his shirt, nails scraping lightly down his spine, pulling a sharp breath from his throat.
You feel his tongue exploring your mouth, moving slow, tasting you with a hunger that makes your body respond without thinking. A moan slips from your lips as heat builds between your thighs, your panties dampening at the way he kisses you.
When you finally break the kiss, your lips trail down to his neck, licking and sucking lightly until you reach his collarbone. He presses closer, breathing heavily into your hair, hips grinding into you with shaky rhythm. Both of you moan at the friction, your bodies feeding off each other's heat.
Your hand finds his waistband, fingers tracing the bulge that's been growing harder against you. The shocking huge shape beneath makes you sigh, anticipation curling low in your belly. "Fuckkk," you moan, dropping to your knees without hesitation.
Sunoo's body fell back against the sink, one hand gripping the edge, the other running through his hair like he didn't know what to do with himself. His hands were trembling as he tried to undo his belt, and he almost laughed at how clumsy he felt. But the moment was too charged, his head was light, his blood too loud. The part of him that used to think only about what it felt like to be touched was now spinning with curiosity. This—this was different. He never imagined being on the receiving end like this would feel so... unreal.
He glanced down, and the sight of you kneeling for him, eyes locked on his, lips slightly parted and ready—his mind just blanked. The way your tongue pierced glinted under the light, the tip teasing out like you were offering it, patient and inviting, made his stomach tighten painfully. "Shit," he whispered, voice cracking slightly, pulling his pants and briefs down. You stared up at his cock, your lashes fluttering at the sight. Your mouth watered at the sheer size of him, and without hesitation, you leaned closer, resting your hands on your knees like you were waiting for a command.
He couldn't believe this was what guys saw. No wonder they were obsessed with it. The view of you like that, lips ready, eyes dark with need, tongue out with that cold little metal ball waiting to touch his skin, it was pure insanity. No fantasy ever looked like this. "Fuck," he groaned again, gripping the back of your head gently as he pushed his tip toward your tongue. The second the metal touched him, he hissed, his thighs twitching from the shock of cold piercing against the heat of his cock.
And as you looked up, never breaking eye contact while slowly letting him in—he knew. He knew exactly what he'd been missing.
Sunoo had always been the one with his knees pressed down, the one getting grabbed and pulled and used, and he loved every second of it. But this was different. The way your mouth wrapped around him, how you looked so eager, how your tongue pressed and moved with purpose—his stomach was already tightening with every wet glide and suck.
"Ahh, fuck, fuck..." he whined out, head falling back as his fingers tangled in your hair, pushing you down farther. He heard the sound of your throat struggling to keep him in, your soft choking only making his hips twitch with more urgency. It was too wet, too warm, too fucking perfect.
You stayed steady, letting your throat open the best you could as you followed the rhythm of his grip. Your tongue dragged along the underside of his length, right at the base where you knew it would hit different. His moan echoed across the small room, shameless and wrecked, not caring who could hear him anymore. All he cared about was the heat wrapping around his cock and how your mouth didn't stop. You glanced up again, needing to see him, and the view made you moan around him. His skin was flushed, red climbing up to his neck, his lashes low and trembling, mouth open as he gasped through each thrust. He looked completely undone—eyes barely staying open, hands gripping you like he needed you to stay exactly there.
Your throat tightened as he gave you no space to breathe, and still, you didn't pull away. Your hands stayed planted on your knees, nails pressing into the denim as tears blurred your eyes, your breath hitching through your nose. But the way your pussy clenched from it—the helpless feeling, the rawness of it—made it all the more addictive.
Especially when both his hands now gripped your head tighter and pushed until your nose pressed flush against his navel. "I-I'm close... oh fuck, I'm close, I—I'm—" Sunoo cried out, his voice cracking with how intense it felt. His hips were moving faster now. The sound of your mouth choking around him only pushed him over the edge harder. He didn't think it could feel this good, he didn't even know he could feel this way at all.
And you didn't either. You didn't know why it felt so right, so filthy, so addicting. You'd never had anyone this desperate for you before. And Sunoo had never had anyone take him like this.
His moan was loud, body trembling as his legs struggled to keep him upright. His hips kept moving on instinct, grinding into your mouth until he finally came, thick and hot down your throat. You felt it hit the back of your tongue, swallowing quickly as he groaned above you, the pleasure written all over his flushed face.
"God, fuck... it feels so good," he breathed out, chest heaving while his hands held you there, not even realizing how hard you were trying to breathe through it. Your eyes fluttered shut as you swallowed the last of him, head light and lungs burning.
You tapped his thigh with a shaky hand, and after a moment, he loosened his grip, letting you fall back slightly. You coughed a bit, trying to catch your breath, throat sore but mind still hazy from the alcohol and heat. Everything felt like it was spinning a little when you stood up, your body swaying slightly as the room tilted around you.
Sunoo reached out, catching your shoulder to steady you, and turned on the sink. He cupped a bit of water in his palm, guiding it to your lips. You leaned in, letting the cold water cool your mouth, then wiped your lips with the back of your hand. You coughed again, softer this time, and both of you stood there in silence for a beat—still too drunk to make sense of anything, too tired to care.
"I want to sleep," Sunoo mumbled, voice groggy as his arms hung by his sides. You helped him pull his pants back up, your fingers clumsy, and when you looked up, he was already leaning into you. His lips brushed against your neck, then your jaw, then a small kiss landed on your lips softly, a quiet thank-you or maybe just a mistake.
Neither of you said anything as you stumbled out of the bathroom together. Your feet dragged, his weight slumped against you. When you pushed open one of the nearby rooms, the two of you collapsed onto the bed without thinking. His body pressed into yours, your hand resting on the curve of his thin waist, and with a final exhale, his breathing evened out into soft snores.
You stared at the ceiling for a moment, the night still buzzing in your head, and quietly hoped that come morning, Sunoo wouldn't look at you like it was all just a drunken blur he wanted to forget.
Well. You woke up to a loud squeal beside you, the sound shooting straight through your skull. Your head was pounding, every throb pulsing deep at your temples. This was exactly why you preferred smoking over drinking, at least cigarettes didn't make the world spin like this.
"Oh my God! W–why are we cuddling?! Why are you here in the first place?! D–did something happen to us?!" Sunoo's voice cracked in pure panic, his hands clutching the blanket to his chest. Even though he was fully clothed, he looked scandalized beyond belief.
You groaned and squinted against the light, trying to sit up despite the dull ache in your body. Your fingers pressed to your temples, trying to remember what the hell even happened. The room was unfamiliar, the sheets smelled like detergent, and your mouth tasted like cotton.
Before you could even collect a full thought, Sunoo slapped your back hard. You let out a sharp whine and turned to glare at him. "Aww, fuck! What the hell was that for?"
"Did something happen between us?!" he repeated, eyes wide and clearly on the verge of spiraling.
You stared at him for a second, still processing. "How would I know?" you mumbled, rubbing your face. "I drank more than I should have, and my memory's a blur. You're fully clothed, I'm fully clothed. Relax."
But he didn't calm down. In fact, he froze completely, the color draining from his face as something clearly hit him. You watched as his hands slowly moved to grip his hair, fingers tangling at the roots while his expression twisted into disbelief.
"No. No. No no no—" he whispered, and then gasped. "Oh my God. Oh my fucking God."
He wasn't even looking at you anymore. His eyes were somewhere far away as flashes from last night started to crash into him. Your lips on his, your hands tugging on his belt, your mouth sinking down while he leaned back against the sink. The heat. The noise. The way he came so hard he couldn't feel his legs. His whole body went stiff.
"You... you gave me head," he said in a whisper, voice dead with disbelief. "Oh my God. You gave me fucking blowjob."
You blinked, trying to place it. You remembered the bathroom. The taste. The sound of his moaning echoing off the walls. Shit. "Something did happen to us, you fucking bitch!" he suddenly screamed, face flushed red with shock and rage. "I'm reporting you—I'm serious, I swear—"
You screamed when he lunged and grabbed a fistful of your hair, the shock of it making you yell right back. "Fuck! Let go of me, psycho!" you snapped, swatting at his hand, your own hangover making it feel ten times worse.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he screeched, shaking your head like he could shake the memory out with it. "Why would you—?!"
"Why would I?!" you shouted, finally pulling away, hair a mess and heart racing. "You literally moaned like it was the best thing that ever happened to you!"
"Because I didn't know what was happening! I thought it was a dream! I was drunk!"
"So was I, dumbass! You kissed me first!"
Sunoo froze again, mouth open, his chest rising and falling. You watched him in silence, heart sinking a little at the way he looked at you—like he was scrambling to make sense of something that never should've happened.
Your mouth felt dry again. There was this strange weight in your chest, like disappointment settling in even though you couldn't quite figure out why. You were both drunk. He was gay. Of course it didn't mean anything. And, if you weren't drunk, you wouldn't have done it either. You lowered your gaze, biting the inside of your cheek as that silence started to stretch between you.
"L-let's just pretend this never happened," Sunoo finally said, breaking the quiet as he stood up. His voice was shaky, not angry anymore, just desperate to erase it all. He dragged his palm down his face, then pressed it against his mouth like the words were spilling out faster than he could stop them. "I'm gay... and you're... whatever. Uhh... Let's not tell this to Jake, okay?"
You rolled your eyes as you got to your feet, fingers brushing through your hair while ignoring the lump tightening in your throat. "Whatever you want," you muttered, focusing instead on searching for your socks and bag, anything to avoid the way your chest ached for reasons.
"This will never happen again. God. I feel like I just betrayed my own kind," Sunoo muttered, slapping both cheeks with enough force to make you wince. "I need to go. I need to wash everything. This is disgusting. I'm disgusting."
You didn't say anything. Just watched him from the corner of your eye while pulling your socks on, keeping your back straight and blank face.
Sunoo glanced over, eyes catching on the side of your face. Something about the way you sat there so still, lips pressed together, skin marked faintly made his chest tighten. The memory crept in again—your hands, your mouth, the sound of your moan swallowed around him—and it made his stomach twist in the worst way. He shook his head. He was sober now. He shouldn't be feeling this again.
"Let's never see each other again," he said before leaving without waiting for a response.
You stared at the floor for a long second, blinking slowly. Never see each other again, huh? You almost laughed. As if you'd let him go that easily.
Sunoo didn't even understand why the memory was still stuck in his head, looping in the background of every moment like some curse he couldn't shake. It had already been a seven full days and yet the image of your lips, the sound of your moan, the warmth of your mouth still haunted him like it just happened yesterday. Worse, every time he thought about it, his dick twitched like it had a mind of its own, getting hard embarrassingly fast without warning.
He tried to brush it off as stress. He was tired, overloaded with work, and his hormones were probably all over the place. It made sense, right? Wet dreams weren't exactly rare. They were involuntary, normal even, just a sign of the body releasing tension during sleep. But the part that bothered him the most wasn't the act itself. It was who was in them. Why you? Out of everyone, why was it you? He would've understood if it were someone like Byeon Woo Seok. But no. It was your voice in his ear, your mouth on him, your name falling from his lips as he woke up in cold sweat with a sticky cum in his pajama pants. It was fucking humiliating.
He had just started to zone out again when a voice broke through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.
"Erection is normal," Jungwon said clearly, standing at the front of the room with a microphone in hand. The school's seminar hall was full of restless teenagers, and he was doing his best to keep the attention. "It's a biological response to arousal or stimulation, often caused by elevated testosterone levels, especially during adolescence. That's why morning wood or even spontaneous erections can happen—it's not always sexual. Sometimes, it's just hormonal regulation or increased blood flow."
Sunoo swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Great. As if he needed that lecture right now.
"It's also common to have sexual dreams," Jungwon continued. "It's the brain's way of releasing suppressed feelings or stress. It doesn't always mean you're in love with the person in your dream—it could just be your mind reacting to unresolved tension."
Sunoo sat motionless, trying not to roll his eyes. He knew Jungwon probably didn't believe half the words he was saying and was just parroting the textbook to get the presentation over with. Unresolved tension? Please. That had to be the most bullshit, overused explanation. Sexual dreams were normal, just a biological function. A reflex. Wet dreams, erections, the occasional stray thought—they were all just part of how the body worked.
It was only men who liked turning every little reaction into some psychological crisis. Like it wasn't enough that your dick got hard at the wrong time, you now had to wonder why. No. He refused to play into that.
Still, he felt hot under the collar. He shifted in his seat as Jungwon kept talking, his voice fading into background noise while Sunoo's thoughts crawled back where they weren't supposed to go. Your mouth. The pressure of his hands on your head. That one sharp breath he let out when your tongue pressed against him just right. The way he swore he could still feel the metal ball of your piercing even when he was lying awake, sweating in bed, trying not to think about it —
"Sunoo!" His whole body jolted forward when someone suddenly slammed into him from behind. He turned sharply, only to see Jake grinning as he wrapped him in a tight hug.
"Long time no see! How've you been?" Jake beamed, eyes crinkling at the corners.
Sunoo blinked, his heart still racing from being startled. He squirmed out of Jake's grip, pulling his arm away from around his waist with a small scowl. "You fake bitch," he muttered, brushing off his uniform. "You said you'd go to the party last week!"
Jake tilted his head and gave him a sheepish grin. "I did! I just didn't come up to you because you were already with someone," he said, voice light but teasing, his smile carrying that knowing edge that made Sunoo freeze on the spot.
The words hit him like a cold splash of water, cutting straight through the fog of his thoughts. Shit! Sunoo's back straightened as his chest squeezed uncomfortably tight. "I-It's not what it looked like, Jake," he said quickly, voice pitching higher than he meant. "I can explain. N-Nothing happened, I swear—"
Jake raised an eyebrow in confusion, his playful smile returning as he slung an arm over Sunoo's shoulder again. "What are you talking about?" he laughed. "I'm just happy you're getting along with her! You know how much I wanted the two of you to be friends. So when I saw you drinking with her, I thought, finally! I didn't want to bother you two."
Sunoo's jaw went slack for a second. He blinked slowly as Jake's words settled in and then his face flushed with heat, the panic collapsing. You two. Drinking. Laughing. And Jake saw it. He saw it and just... assumed it was some innocent bonding moment. Sunoo nodded stiffly, forcing a laugh that came out more like a wheeze. "Y-Yeah... totally. Just... friends."
Jake didn't notice his discomfort, he just kept smiling, talking about the seminar and how awkward Jungwon looked trying to talk about erections with a straight face, but Sunoo could barely listen. If only he knew that every time Sunoo closed his eyes, it wasn't friendship playing behind his eyelids.
All your life, you've gotten things on your own terms. It wasn't about being selfish—it was about knowing what you wanted, and not being afraid to take the steps to get there, even if it meant breaking a few unspoken rules. You never apologized for it. Why should you? The world had never handed you anything easily, so you carved out space with your own hands, shaping your wants into reality.
You liked pretty things. You liked strawberries. You liked painting girls with soft collarbones and delicate fingers. You liked drawing in sharp eyeliner and wearing red lipstick even when it didn't match your outfit. You liked the way women looked in moonlight, skin glowing and bare emotion written on their faces. Women were softness and power and aching beauty, and for a long time, that's all you thought you'd ever want.
Boys were always just background noise. You flirted with them when you were bored, when you needed a distraction or when you were too tired of explaining to everyone why you leaned toward women. It was easier to let boys talk, to let them orbit around you. Most of the time, they never lasted long. They'd get close enough to realize they couldn't figure you out, and then drift away. It never bothered you. You liked being the one who stayed in control anyway.
But Sunoo was too pretty to be background noise. Too loud in your mind, even in his silence. He was sharp and delicate all at once. Sunoo is not boring. He was vibrant. Infuriating. Complicated. Unlike everyone else, Sunoo wasn't supposed to want you. And you weren't supposed to want him. You didn't chase boys. You didn't even like most of them. But with Sunoo, it wasn't about gender—it was about him. His contradictions. His moral high ground that cracked when his lips were on yours.
Now that you got a taste, you wanted to keep him. You wanted to grab him by that pretty throat and tie a little ribbon around it, mark him, stake your claim. All that fire in him, all that sharp defiance, the self-righteous storm he carried — it would be such a waste to let someone else come along and break him in the wrong way. Someone who wouldn't know how to cherish it like you would.
The wanting was dangerous. But so was he. And it was so much fun to want something you weren't supposed to have. And lucky you—Jake, in all his well-meaning sunshine, handed him right into your lap.
"I'm really glad now that you're friends," Jake grinned, arms flinging around both of you as he squeezed you close. "I can finally call us a trio now!"
You blinked in mild surprise. You hadn't even known this was a sleepover. From the way Jake had worded it earlier, you assumed it was just the two of you catching up over snacks and maybe a few drinks. But now here you were, wedged on the couch with Sunoo stiff on your other side, Jake's warmth pressed between you both. How thoughtful of him. You smiled. Jake was far too kind for his own good and far too generous with forcing proximity, but you didn't mind this time.
Sunoo, on the other hand, looked like someone had physically unplugged him. He was hugging his pillow so tightly it, eyes unfocused as he stared at nothing in particular. His face was blank, but you could read the confliction in every inch of him. Like he was holding himself together by a thread.
What you couldn't see was how hard he was trying to think of anything else besides the fact that he could smell your perfume again and it triggered something in his body. He clenched his thighs together subtly, trying to shift his hips so the growing problem in his pants wouldn't become visible. But the effort was a losing game. God, what the hell was wrong with him? He was still angry, still confused, still mortified that it happened in the first place and yet, his body clearly had no loyalty to his conscience.
What made it worse was Jake who had somehow tricked him into showing up for a supposed movie night and now had them sandwiched together like nothing ever happened between you and him. Jake didn't know, of course. And he couldn't know! Sunoo would rather choke on his own tongue than have to explain why his best friend's not-so-favorite person was suddenly invading his dreams at night and, worse, making him wake up soaked and panting like a hormonal teenager.
"What movies should we watch?!" Jake practically bounced on the couch, his grin wide as he looked back and forth.
You leaned closer, sliding your arm around Jake's. Your gaze flicked to Sunoo, who sat stiff on the other end of the couch, his posture awkward, eyes avoiding yours. "What about horror?" you said as you tilted your head, pretending not to notice how Sunoo seemed to sink deeper into the couch cushions. "Sunoo?"
Sunoo blinked, eyes snapping toward you. "Huh?" His voice cracked, his hand subtly dragged the throw pillow over his lap, fingers clutching the edges.
"Horror is gonna be fun! Imagine the thrill!" Jake turned toward you with shining eyes, already fired up. "Remember Sunoo during Evil Dead Rise? He was screeching like someone dipped him in cold water!" He burst out laughing.
You joined in, not because it was that funny but because you liked the way Sunoo glared at you when you did. His eye twitched, lips tightening in a way that made you want to press your thumb against the corner of his mouth just to see if it would twitch again.
"I didn't scream," Sunoo muttered under his breath. "It was a reflex."
Jake leaned forward to grab the remote, still chuckling. "A reflex that shook the entire floor. I had to check if we were having an earthquake."
Sunoo gave a tight, silent laugh that didn't reach his eyes. You stretched slightly, draping one leg over the other, your foot brushing lightly against Sunoo's knee. "So horror it is," you said.
Sunoo immediately jerked his leg away. "I'm not scared," he snapped, voice thin with defensiveness, eyes flicking toward you but never staying long.
"Who said you were?" you asked sweetly, lips twitching. "But maybe I can hold your hand if you get too nervous."
"I'd rather hold hands with a corpse," he muttered.
Jake, oblivious to the growing tension between you, scrolled through the options. "Let's start with Hereditary. That one's a classic."
You leaned back, settling comfortably against the couch cushion, your arm still loosely around Jake's. But your gaze stayed fixed on Sunoo, watching how he tried to keep his composure. The way he looked everywhere but at you made it all the more tempting to push again.
"Oh my God!" Jake screamed, flinging himself off the couch just as the possessed girl on the screen leapt out from the shadows.
Sunoo jumped, too, not because of the film but because Jake's yell had blasted straight into his ear. "Fuck you!" he gasped, swatting at Jake's shoulder. "You're louder than the demon, you idiot!"
Jake laughed breathlessly, holding a hand over his chest. "I told you it was gonna be scary! I warned you!"
"You didn't say you were gonna be the jump scare," Sunoo muttered, rubbing his ear.
You couldn't help laughing from your corner of the couch. It was warm in the living room, the ambient light from the TV casting deep shadows across everyone's faces. The horror movie had wound itself tight with dread, and now, near the end, the tension in the room had shifted.
Jake reached for the remote to pause it. "Okay, okay, let's all take a break. My heart can't take it. I'm gonna set up the bed and grab more snacks before we finish the last part." He stood up with a stretch, already walking toward the shared room.
You watched Jake disappear down the hallway, the sound of his slippers dragging against the floor fading behind him as he excitedly prepped the bedroom with pillows and snacks, then turned your eyes to Sunoo, who had sunk deeper into the couch, hand rubbing his temple.
Your gaze drifted past him, toward the hallway where the bathroom light glowed faintly at the end. And just like that, the tiniest smirk curled at the corner of your lips. Bingo.
You grabbed the water bottle from the table and tipped it back, pretending to take a long drink—only for the opening to "accidentally" spill, the cold splash soaking the neckline of your shirt and running straight down your chest.
"Shit!" you hissed, jumping slightly as you stood up, swiping at your top with both hands in panic. The fabric clung to your skin, the damp cotton tracing the curve of your collarbone and neckline.
From the corner of your eye, you caught Sunoo's head snap toward you. His eyes widened for a moment before narrowing again, his signature glare sliding back into place. "Are you an idiot who can't drink water like a normal person?" he snapped. His eyes flicked from your face to your soaked shirt and back again before he shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the pillow over his lap again.
You scowled. "It was an accident," you muttered, pinching the hem of your shirt and pulling it slightly away from your body to keep the wet fabric from clinging too much. "I'm going to the bathroom." You turned your back, already halfway to the hall, but then paused just before you rounded the corner. You peeked back over your shoulder with a faux-hesitant voice. "Sunoo," you said sweetly, "can you... come with me?"
He straightened in his seat, eyes narrowed immediately. "What are you, five? You can walk to the bathroom on your own."
You turned around fully and gave your best pout. "But I'm scared," you said, dropping your voice. "What if something jumps out of the mirror and eats me?"
His lips parted slightly in disbelief. "It's literally a bathroom, not a haunted house. Get a grip."
You blinked at him with wide, innocent eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching. "I'm telling Jake—"
That was all it took. Sunoo moved fast. His hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist before you could finish the sentence, his grip is tight, more panicked than forceful. "We agreed to forget that already!" he whispered harshly, dragging you toward the hallway with quick steps. His face was already flushed as he pushed the bathroom door open and practically shoved you inside.
He followed, slamming the door shut behind him and twisting the lock.
You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching with suppressed laughter. "I meant I was gonna tell Jake you were being mean to me. What exactly were you thinking, Sunoo?"
The color that spread across his face deepened from pink to a furious red, blooming up his neck and across his cheeks. His eyes darted away from yours, jaw clenched so tight you could see the tension ripple along the muscle there. He didn't answer immediately—his thoughts were clearly a mess, the memory of that night dragging up feelings he didn't want to admit were still there.
God, you were such a bitch. A beautiful, infuriating, unreadable bitch. "Fuck you," he muttered through clenched teeth, pressing his back to the door. His arms crossed over his chest, defensive, but it was already too late for that. "What the hell do you even want?"
You smiled, taking a small step forward, head tilting like you were weighing your options. You let your gaze drop slowly—first to his parted lips, then to his hands clenched into fists at his sides—and then back to his eyes.
"Hmmm," you hummed, fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the sink behind you as you leaned back, unbothered by how tense he was. "You."
Sunoo's pulse jumped so hard he felt it in his ears, and it really annoyed him.
"I think we're past the point of shyly pretending we're not attracted to each other, don't you think?" you asked casually, your foot tapping against the floor. "I mean, unless you're really going to pretend you don't think about it."
Sunoo swallowed hard, jaw tightening as he forced his expression into a cold and distant. His voice came out with a bite. "I was drunk. Whatever happened, it wasn't real. I'm sober now, and clearly, you're forgetting something—I'm gay." He stepped forward, huffing, defensive, like he needed to say it aloud to remind himself. "Even if I wasn't, even if I magically woke up straight, do you really think I'd be into someone like you? I wouldn't even hold your hand."
You smiled, unshaken. Your gaze dropped to the tile floor for a moment, nodding slowly like you were mulling it over, like you could almost believe him. "Hmmm. Really?" you said again, softly. Then you looked up and held his stare. "That's interesting."
"What happened was a mistake," he pressed. "Stop getting it twisted. You're not going to change anything. I like men—I've always liked men—and if I ever did like women, it sure as hell wouldn't be someone like you."
His words were sharp and cruel, but his voice cracked slightly on the last sentence. Your eyes flicked down to his hands again. Still clenched and shaking, you almost laughed, he was angry because he didn't know where to put this feeling, and his body was betraying him in every way.
"Okay," you said. "Sorry."
You didn't look sorry. You didn't even sound sorry. Then, without warning, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head. Sunoo nearly yelped. "What the fuck?!" he squealed, spinning around so fast. His hands flew up to cover his face. "Are you insane?! Put that back on! Jesus Christ, are you trying to traumatize me?!"
You didn't say anything at first. Just laughed softly, "you said you weren't interested, right? So what are you panicking for?" You rolled your eyes slowly and watched his stiff posture as he stayed plastered to the door. "Relax," you muttered, fingers reaching behind your back, unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the floor. "I'm wet, Sunoo. I'm not trying to seduce you—I already got my answer. Now, move."
His spine straightened at your words like you'd just smacked him. "What the fuck? Move where?!" His voice rose in panic, still facing away from you.
"I didn't bring an extra shirt. My bag's in the living room," you said flatly, stepping closer. "Now move."
He hesitated, like if he turned around something irreversible would happen. But his curiosity, or maybe his stupidity, got the better of him. Slowly, cautiously, he peeked over his shoulder—and then froze completely.
You were naked from the waist up. Completely bare, with a confidence. Your arms were crossed beneath your chest, body leaning against the sink like you were just waiting for him to get over himself. And God, he should've been used to this. He'd seen breasts before—he had female friends who changed clothes in front of him all the time. It never bothered him. It wasn't a big deal.
He tried to look away and he really, really did, but his eyes kept coming back to you like they were on a leash. Your skin glowed under the light, smooth and warm-toned, shadows carving down your ribs and hips. He noticed the tattoos. The delicate ink on your shoulder had already left an imprint in his brain from that day, but now he saw more. A fine, detailed floral design wrapped along the side of your torso, just above your hip and curling slightly toward your waist. A single lily bloomed in black and soft pink, with gentle shading that made it look almost alive. Watercolor-like strokes trailed from the petals, fading like smoke. The lines followed your curves perfectly.
Sunoo was breathless. He never cared for tattoos, they weren't pretty, but on you, they looked dressed as an art. And fuck, he couldn't stop staring. His gaze flicked to your chest, and a fresh wave of heat rolled through him. Your nipples were tight from the air, drawn and pointed, resting against full, natural curves that made his stomach knot. Why was he getting hard? This didn't make sense. Fuck. You were so hot it pissed him off.
You were staring at him, head slightly tilted, waiting for him to move. "Sunoo?"
Sunoo's fists clenched. He could feel saliva collecting in his mouth, and he swallowed hard like that would put out the fire already crawling down his spine. He blinked quickly, shaking his head. "You—fuck, you need to put something on," he said.
"My shirt's in the living room—"
"I don't care. Put something on," he cut in sharply, brows furrowed and his gaze turned firmly to the wall.
You didn't budge. "Jake already saw my tits, Sunoo. It's not a big deal—"
He didn't even know why it made his stomach flip and his chest burn, but it did. The thought of Jake seeing you like this, made a feeling claw up the back of his throat.
Sunoo was a nursing student. He studied hormonal response, human behavior, and the mind's reactions to stress and desire. But this wasn't in his textbooks. This wasn't just dopamine or misplaced frustration. Human emotions were more complicated than any clinical definition. No scientific framework could fully explain the way you made him feel.
"You're hard."
Sunoo felt his entire body go still. He could feel it too. The tight pressure in his pants, the unbearable way his cock had hardened while his mind scrambled to deny everything. He turned toward the mirror above the sink, refusing to meet your eyes as he muttered, "I-It's normal biological reaction."
The excuse felt paper-thin, almost pathetic in his mouth, but it was the only thing he could reach for. He was clinging to whatever logic he had left, because logic was safer than whatever the hell this was. Logic didn't leave him aching in places he shouldn't be aching. Logic didn't twist his insides just from looking at you.
You were still standing there, unfazed, topless and confident, your arms crossed under your chest like you were waiting for him to catch up. "Sunoo," you said his name softly.
He finally looked at you, eyes glaring. "I told you I'm gay," he said, and he hated how shaky his voice sounded. "This—this shouldn't be happening."
You took a slow step closer, and he didn't move. "You said that," you nodded, voice calm. "But I didn't ask what you are. I just told you what I want."
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to read between your words, searching for an angle, a trick. "So what is this to you? A joke? Some kind of game?"
"No. You're the one making it complicated."
His chest rose and fell unevenly. His mind kept trying to name what he was feeling—confusion, tension, desire, maybe all of it at once—but it was all bleeding together in a way that felt like drowning. "I've never—" he started, then stopped himself.
You waited. "Never what?"
"I've never felt this confused before," he said, eyes searching yours like he was hoping you'd give him a reason to pull away, something to ground him. "I don't even like women. I'm not supposed to want this."
"Then don't want it," you said simply, shrugging your shoulders. "But don't lie about it. Do you want me, Sunoo?"
He hated that. Hated how sure you sounded, how unapologetically honest you were while he was still tangled in his own fear and guilt, still gripping the edge of what he thought was certainty. You made everything seem so simple, so easy to name—want, touch, feel—while he was still trying to unlearn the rules he had been clinging to for so long. He wanted to push you away, wanted to hate you for making him feel like he was coming apart in his own skin. But even as that thought surfaced, his eyes dropped again to your lips, and lingered there too long. He hated how much he wanted you to close the space between you, how much he needed you to.
His breathing grew shallow, his chest rising in uneven waves, and when you leaned forward, he didn't retreat. Instead, his eyes fluttered closed. The second your mouth brushed against his, something inside him cracked open. He kissed you with a kind of desperation that made it clear he'd stopped pretending.
There was no hesitation when he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The warmth of your body beneath his hands made his head spin. He held you tightly, anchoring himself to the moment, to the gravity of your touch. His lips moved against yours, his hands trembled as they explored the lines of your back, fingertips pressing into your skin. You knew he was falling, and you welcomed it. You let him cling to you, let him kiss you and when your lips finally parted, you didn't say a word. You just let your hands trail down his chest, eyes locked on his flushed face as you sank down onto your knees before him.
Sunoo's breath hitched audibly. His hands flew to the edge of the sink behind him, trying to steady himself. You looked up at him, gaze dark and patient, and he looked down at you. His cock strained against his pajama, and when you undid the strings, your fingers brushing against him through the fabric, he nearly buckled.
The moment you freed him, he hissed through his teeth. You didn't tease him this time, you took him into your mouth. His hand instinctively reached for your head, gripping your hair too tightly as you slid your tongue over him, slow at first, deepening only when he let out a choked moan that vibrated from somewhere deep in his chest.
"F-fuck..." he whispered, eyes fluttering open, and the sight of you on your knees—bare, hungry, focused only on him. This time, there was no alcohol to blame. No drunken impulse to hide behind. Both of you were entirely sober, breathing the same heavy air. And you were right. You were far past the point of pretending you're not attracted to each other. Because, fuck...
He bit down on his bottom lip, struggling to hold back the sound threatening to crawl out of his throat when you pulled your mouth off him. The cold air brushed his wet skin for only a second before your hand wrapped firmly around his cock. You were looking up at him with such dark, focused eyes, and the glint of your tongue piercing when you stuck your tongue out made his stomach twist in ways.
His moan trembled out of him, a low, broken thing he tried and failed to swallow. His eyes fluttered shut as you began to stroke him, slow and tight, your fingers knowing exactly where to squeeze, where to drag your thumb. His hips jerked forward against your fist without thought. He was trembling, his thighs already straining, and when his hand moved to your head again, he didn't even register that he was holding you there, like he needed you in that position, grounded and close, while everything else slipped away.
With a choked sound, his release surged forward, hips stuttering as thick, hot ropes of cum spurted from him—painting your face, your tongue, and even your lips. You closed your eyes, but kept your mouth open, breathing heavy, letting it drip and settle across your flushed skin. The sight of you on your knees, panting, tongue out, face stained with the proof of what he'd given you—was too much. He'd never seen anything that fucking beautiful.
Sunoo's breath came out in short, ragged gasps. He couldn't look away. You were absolutely wrecked, eyes half-lidded, mouth still parted, tongue twitching slightly as the last of him spilled from the tip. His knees nearly buckled. And even as shame flickered somewhere in the distance, it didn't touch the way his chest clenched with need.
You were far past the point of pretending you're not attracted to each other. Because, fuck... in Sunoo's mind— You're really, really, really, attractive. You tilted your head, eyes still soft despite the mess on your face. "It's okay, Sunoo."
And that simple assurance hit harder than anything else had tonight, he had never felt so completely defeated and relieved at the same time.
Sunoo always joked that he was betraying his "gay motherhood," whatever the fuck that meant, but deep down, he was unraveling more than a label. His whole sense of self was spiraling, not because he didn't like men anymore, but because he couldn't stop liking what you did to him.
He was raised sure—sure he liked men, sure of who he was, sure of how the world saw him. But your mouth? Your hands? Your eyes on his body? That changed something. And maybe it wasn't even about gender or attraction or breaking rules, maybe it was just about how good it felt. Because, it did. Every time your tongue slid down his length or your lips curled into a smirk right before you swallowed him whole, he would grip your hair like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.
And he still hated it. Hated you. Hated how easily you pulled those sounds from him, how willingly he spread his legs, how badly he wanted to feel your throat tighten around him when he was too stressed to think straight. But hate was a weak word when it came to you because what he really felt was full of hunger and questions he couldn't answer, of relief he couldn't explain, and of moments when he forgot who he was supposed to be.
Somehow, this arrangement—whatever fucked-up kind of companionship it was—had become routine. He was stressed? You showed up, dragged him onto the bed, and made him forget the weight in his chest. You were tired of people? You'd drop to your knees and pull his pants down, muttering snarky words before your tongue did all the talking. When Jake invited you both for café dates, you'd suck Sunoo off in the bathroom beforehand, as if taking the edge off made you more tolerable in public.
And in between all that, without either of you saying it, you started learning each other. You knew the way his breath caught when you traced the tip of your tongue along the underside of his cock, the way he liked his thighs rubbed when he was overwhelmed, the way he pretended to hate your voice but kept asking you to hum while he was inside your mouth. He knew the difference between your smirk and your real smile, he noticed the way you always fixed his collar before he left for class, the way you paused before walking away like you wanted him to stop you, just once.
"Did you see my guitar pick? I was really sure I left it here." You asked, already half on the floor as you looked beneath his bed, your voice muffled against the floorboards. "My pen? Where did you put my pen?"
Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just scratched the back of his head, eyes skimming over his textbook. "Also, I think I left my hoodie here last week," you continued, lifting his blanket and peeking underneath. You spoke like it was nothing, like this wasn't the fourth time you'd been here this week, like you hadn't sucked him off on this very bed two nights ago while the rain beat against his window. "The red one? Oversized. The one you said was ugly."
"Stop leaving your things here and expecting me to be your lost and found," Sunoo muttered with a sigh, rolling his eyes as he stood from his desk. His hands moved to the drawer beside his bed, fingers quickly rifling through the clutter until he pulled out the small pile of things you'd been searching for.
Your guitar pick. A pen with a chewed-up cap. The scrunchie you claimed you didn't care about but had asked about three times. "Yay!" you chirped, voice bright as you threw your arms around his neck without hesitation. Your enthusiasm was full of sunshine and zero awareness of boundaries—not that he'd set any for you lately. Your body leaned into his, so warm, and for a moment, he didn't pull away. He didn't even stiffen. If anything, he just stood there with his jaw tight and eyes soft, letting you hang onto him.
Sunoo had learned a lot of unexpected things from you, but the first was this: you were clingy. Not in the way people usually mean it. You were clingy in the way a storm was clingy, so loud and unpredictable, but always returning, always right on time. You'd barge into his room to ruffle his hair without asking, leave lipstick stains on the rim of his mugs, and curse while crocheting in his living room.
Despite your sharp tongue, your smug smirks, and that bitchy little smile you wore whenever you knew you had the upper hand, there was something about you that kept curling into the edges of his life. The softness you tried to bury always slipped through—like now, as your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, your breath warm on his collarbone.
You hadn't even fucked, not really. Whatever this was between the two of you, it never crossed that final line. Sure, you'd given him head more times than he could count now, slipping between his knees, sometimes right after class or before dinner. Sometimes with a joke still on your tongue, your fingers working his zipper like it was just part of your daily routine. You'd even played with yourself while looking him dead in the eyes, teasing him, daring him, and yet still somehow managing not to strip yourself bare.
Pleasure was always good. You knew exactly what to do to unravel him. But it confused him on the way you stayed after. The way you talked to him about your professors and complained about your classmates, how you crocheted lopsided sweaters and left your yarn all over his room, like you expected to come back and finish them.
It was how you kissed his cheek when he looked stressed, how you'd fall asleep next to him fully clothed while he studied and pretend not to notice when he pulled the blanket over you.
"You need to stop acting like this is your place," he muttered, trying to keep his voice flat.
You didn't take the bait, instead, you leaned in and kissed his cheek loudly. Sunoo's entire face twitched in immediate response. His hand shot up, rubbing his cheek with the heel of his palm. "Eww," he muttered under his breath.
"Sorry!" you giggled, clearly not sorry at all with that look you always wore when you knew you were testing his patience, and then your hands were on his face again, squeezing his cheeks with affection. "You're just so adorable when you're cranky. I can't help it."
He groaned loudly, swatting at your wrists, trying to pry your hands off. "Stop calling me that."
You didn't flinch. In fact, you leaned closer, squishing his cheeks harder, and making a cooing sound that only made him more irritated. He slapped your arm but when you laughed again, that same light, reckless laugh that always made his ears feel too warm, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged.
"Ow, ow, ow!" you yelped, wriggling in place with a pout. You batted his hand away, fingers tangled in your strands, while your eyes stayed locked on his with a mixture of amusement and challenge.
"Leave me alone. I'm trying to review for my exams," Sunoo muttered, barely glancing at you as he rolled his eyes and turned back toward his desk. His hand reached for the highlighter beside his textbook, the yellow ink already bleeding into the edge of a paragraph he'd probably read four times without actually absorbing anything.
You walked over anyway, you squeezed into the tiny space beside him on a chair meant for one, and Sunoo groaned out loud, shifting his body to the side. The chair creaked beneath your combined weight, and your thigh was pressed flush against his. "I just need a favor from you," you said, casually brushing your hand across his table.
Sunoo let out another sigh. He looked over at you, unimpressed. "Favor? Only friends do favors," he replied flatly.
You turned to him with a gasp, placing a hand to your chest in mock offense. "Wow," you said, eyes wide and sarcastic. "Damn, after all the blowjobs I gave you? After the way we've made out on your bed, your floor, and that one time in your fucking kitchen? After all the hours I spent here telling you about my day while you pretended not to listen? You're telling me we're not even friends?"
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his hand frozen halfway through underlining another sentence. You weren't wrong. You'd been coming around so often that your scent had started to cling to his sheets, your hair ties and red lipstick had begun appearing in random corners of his room, and your laugh had started to echo in his head long after you'd gone home.
You leaned in a little, close enough that he could feel your breath fan across his neck. "If this isn't a friendship," you added softly, "then what is your definition of friendship, Sunoo?"
He made a show of thinking, lifting his eyes like he was searching the ceiling for inspiration, but there was a glint in his expression that gave away how amused he actually was. "I don't know, girl. We haven't even properly introduced ourselves because you were too busy sucking my dick off," he replied, words nonchalant but his ears tinted red. He tried to keep his voice flat, sarcastic even, like that would mask the heat crawling up his neck.
You laughed, unbothered, and leaned your head against his shoulder with a casualness that shouldn't have felt so intimate, but somehow, it did. Sunoo shifted under the contact, scoffing, rolling his eyes, acting like he didn't care but you could feel it in the way he didn't move away.
"Okay, let's do this properly then," you said as you let your hand play with the edge of his sleeve. "I'm twenty. Fashion design major. I work part-time at two different cafés. I play gigs when I can, lead guitarist and vocalist of Jay's band. I crochet, bake, draw, paint—basically anything that can bring in money for tuition. I have three ex-girlfriends, all toxic in very different ways. And I like—"
"Wait," Sunoo cut in, body suddenly stiffening as he pulled back just enough to stare at you. His eyes were wide, lips parted slightly like he couldn't believe what he just heard. "You're gay?!"
Your mouth dropped open, blinking at him as your brain scrambled to rewind what you'd said. "I—I mean, isn't it obvious?" you managed, slightly flustered, though a part of you also found his surprise endearing in a frustrating way.
Sunoo didn't say anything right away. He kept looking at you, brows furrowed, lips parted in a stunned kind of silence like he was trying to piece you together again with this new piece of information you just casually dropped. You watched the flickers of confusion, surprise, maybe even a bit of disbelief in his face, and though you didn't fully understand why it mattered so much to him. "I like girls," you clarified again.
There was a beat of silence. Then Sunoo blinked hard, like he'd just snapped out of it, and his reaction was nothing short of dramatic. "I—I thought you were straight, girl!" he cried out with a squeaky kind of disbelief, and before you could defend yourself, his hand flew out and smacked your arm. Hard. The kind of smack that made your whole upper body jerk slightly from the force. You almost flew off the chair.
"Shit, Sunoo!" you yelped, rubbing your arm and glaring at him with a twisted expression of both pain and outrage.
But Sunoo wasn't listening. He was laughing—loudly, eyes crinkled, hand over his mouth like he couldn't believe what he was hearing and also couldn't stop himself from reacting. "I really didn't like you at first," he gasped between giggles. "Like, genuinely. I thought you were giving homophobic vibes! You were too confident, too flirty, and you stared at me like you were ready to fight or fuck, and I swear to god I thought you were trying to make me your weird little experiment!"
You blinked again, thrown off by the way he said it all so fast. "What the fuck, Sunoo," you muttered, half-offended but also kind of shocked that he thought all that while still letting you suck him off on the regular.
He slapped your shoulder again and kept cackling, his entire body tilted forward as he wheezed through it, completely losing himself in his own joke. "I mean, it makes sense now," he managed between laughter, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "That's why you're such a bitch—because you're gay!"
You didn't hesitate. Your hand landed right on his arm, a loud smack echoing through the room. "Are you forgetting that you're gay too, idiot?" you shot back, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hold back your grin.
Sunoo hissed dramatically, rubbing the spot, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. The teasing should've stopped there—should've stayed in that usual back-and-forth where you both knew the lines and how far to push. But something in his expression shifted. "I still don't get it," he murmured, the laughter dying down to a softer tone, his hand now gently pressing the spot you'd hit. "If you're into girls, then what does that make... this?"
For a moment, you didn't know how to answer. So many things about you didn't fit into the easy explanations people seemed to expect, and honestly, you never cared to try and fit them. "I don't know," you said at last, "I've hooked up with guys before, and it was never really a big deal. I always knew I liked girls more, but that never stopped me from doing stuff with boys when I felt like it." You shrugged, then leaned back a little, giving him space to process what you were about to say. "Sexuality is just a word people use to make sense of themselves. I might call myself bisexual—or gay—but honestly, it never fully explains what I want or how I feel. Labels don't always fit."
He looked at you then, and there was something quiet different in his eyes. It wasn't annoyance or mockery for once. You continued anyway, because you needed him to understand. "All I know is that I like doing things with you. Whether it's talking, teasing, sitting around doing nothing, or yeah... getting on my knees for you. It sounds messy, but it's the only thing I'm sure of."
That made his throat bob. His heartbeat, already unruly from earlier, thudded faster at your words, and he could feel the heat creeping into his face before he could stop it. He wanted to brush it off, wanted to say something sharp or stupid to deflect, but nothing came out.
He forced himself to roll his eyes and gave your shoulder another slap, more gentle this time. "Ewwww," he groaned with an exaggerated squeal, scrunching his nose. "It might be our routine, but could you not say that in my ear? It's still weird hearing you talk so casually about sucking me off!"
You only grinned wider, catching the flush starting to bloom across his cheeks. "What? Are you blushing?" you teased as you reached up and pinched his cheeks between your fingers, delighting in how quickly he tried to jerk away.
He groaned, then reached up to grab a fistful of your hair in retaliation. "You're so annoying," he muttered, tugging hard enough to make you yelp and try to push him off.
"Fuck!" you shrieked through laughter, smacking his arm and trying to wriggle away. But the tangled mess of limbs ended with both of you tipping sideways and falling back into the chair. He hit the floor and let out a long-suffering groan as you collapsed on top of him in a heap.
"Great," he muttered, pressing a hand to his lower back. "Now I'm going to fail my exam with spinal damage." You were still laughing, unbothered as you rested your chin on his chest. Even now, with your weight on top of him and your hair tickling his face, Sunoo couldn't bring himself to shove you off.
Instead, his eyes wandered to the ceiling, mind replaying the words you said earlier. Maybe you were right. Sexuality was just a word. A way to make sense of something that couldn't always be explained. And maybe the way he felt this complicated, frustrating, strangely comforting pull toward you wasn't something that needed a label at all.
"Get off. You're so fucking heavy," Sunoo hissed, snapping himself out of it as he tugged at your hair again, a little rougher this time. But deep down, buried under every eye roll and complaint, he enjoyed doing things with you, whether they were sexual or not. That part, at least, he could admit to himself. Maybe not out loud. Definitely not to you. He'd rather drop dead than say it out loud.
The favor you had asked was to practice your creative makeup on him, get his measurements, and use him as some sort of living mannequin for the designs you'd been working on. It sounded harmless enough when you first mentioned it, though the way you said it—bright-eyed, insistent, and practically buzzing with ideas—made it sound like you were dragging him into something bigger than he could imagine. He hadn't thought much of it back then, especially since hospital duties had swallowed him whole. The weeks stretched on, filled with endless shifts, late nights, and exhaustion so deep he barely had the energy to eat before collapsing into bed.
But still, in the middle of those long nights, he'd catch himself thinking of you. Of how irritating you could be, how you texted him nonsense memes at ungodly hours, how you spammed his phone like you had nothing better to do. He never admitted it, but the absence of your loud presence gnawed at him. The quiet felt heavier without you around to annoy him into feeling alive. That was what made him finally agree to see you again, even if it meant dragging his tired body to your apartment after his shift.
At the bus stop, Sunoo sat slumped beside Jungwon, eyelids heavy as the night air pressed around them. Jungwon let out a long groan, stretching his arms above his head. "Do you want to sleep over at my place instead? Later, I'll order Jollibee. Kinda been craving their spaghetti."
The offer was tempting—comfort food and a soft bed—but Sunoo only shook his head, his lips curving faintly as he pulled out his phone. "Maybe next time. Thanks for the offer, though. I've got some business to attend to."
"Business?" Jungwon repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. "At this hour?"
Sunoo didn't answer right away. His thumb scrolled down the flood of messages on his screen—your name glowing at the top of the chat. Rows of texts, some with too many exclamation marks, others filled with random pictures, all ridiculous enough to make his scrunched-up expression betray him with a small, undeniable smile. Jungwon noticed. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. "That's new," he muttered, side-eyeing. "So... where exactly are you going?"
"Just there," Sunoo replied vaguely, sliding his phone back into his bag before Jungwon could ask too much. And then, Sunoo leaned over and kissed Jungwon on the cheek, accompanied by a rare, boyish grin. "I'll get going now. Bye-bye!"
Jungwon froze, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief as he watched Sunoo walk away, his figure retreating down the street with a kind of restless energy. Jungwon's mouth fell open, his thoughts spinning in circles. He looked off to the side, considering whether to press or not, but in the end he only sighed and rolled his shoulders in resignation. "Huh. Weird," he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "But whatever."
When Sunoo finally stepped into your apartment, you didn't hold back. You practically launched yourself at him, arms flinging around his shoulders as though you had been waiting for this moment for weeks—which, in truth, you had. The sound of your laughter filled the air immediately, loud and full of the joy that spilled out of you so naturally.
Sunoo, on the other hand, reacted exactly the way he always did when you overwhelmed him with affection. His face scrunched into that familiar look of feigned annoyance as he huffed, one hand coming up to shove your face away. "Geez," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile, "it's already ten in the evening and you're still bouncing around? Spare me, please." With a heavy sigh, he slipped his bag off his shoulder and tossed it onto the nearest chair. "I'm just going to change my clothes."
Your eyes widened immediately, and you froze mid-step. "Wait—does that mean you're going to sleep here?"
Sunoo rolled his eyes dramatically, as if the answer should have been obvious. "What? You really think I'd go home after letting you disturb me at this hour?" he said, his voice dry. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around your apartment for the first time.
It was nothing like his own space. The moment his gaze swept over the room, he felt an odd tug in his chest. Guitars lined one wall, their strings gleaming faintly under the shifting glow of LED lights taped along the corners. The posters that filled your walls, mostly of metal bands he actually recognized—thanks to one of his friends who was just as obsessed with that scene as you seemed to be. There were canvases, too, half-finished and scattered against the sofa. The whole place felt alive, buzzing with your energy even when you weren't moving.
"Missed me?" you teased, leaning closer with a grin.
Sunoo didn't even spare you a proper glance. He rolled his eyes and shoved you lightly away, muttering under his breath as he dug into his bag. "As if. The only reason I even bothered coming here is because your annoying ass wouldn't leave me alone."
You watched him unzip his bag, pulling out a neatly folded set of clothes, and despite his flat expression you noticed the way his shoulders sagged, how exhaustion clung to every movement. He had been working himself to the bone, yet here he was, standing in your apartment at ten in the evening. That alone made your chest warm.
"God, I need to shower," he muttered, already moving toward the hallway without waiting for directions. He pushed open a random door, somehow guessing correctly that it was the bathroom, and slipped inside. The door shut firmly, leaving you behind in the living room with your laughter spilling out in echoes.
You padded after him without hesitation, knocking against the bathroom door with force. "Let me join!" you shouted through the wood.
From inside, there was a short pause, followed by the sound of the shower starting, and then his indignant yell. "Fuck you!"
You laughed so hard you had to lean against the wall for support, the sound echoing through your apartment. There was something deeply satisfying in knowing you could still pull that reaction from him even when he was drained from his long shift.
Sunoo ended up on your bed, sitting stiffly. His eyes moved slowly over your room, taking in the mess sprawl of your belongings. Clothes half-folded, books stacked unevenly, random brushes and palettes scattered across your desk. He bent down with a sigh, picking up a stray eyeliner pencil and a crumpled sheet of paper from the floor before dropping them on the bedside table. "Unbelievable," he muttered, glancing at you. "How do you even live like this?"
You ignored his complaint, too caught up in your own excitement. With the measuring tape in hand, you motioned for him to sit still. He shifted reluctantly, rolling his eyes but letting you circle around him, brushing against his shoulders and arms as you worked. You could feel the weight of his gaze following your movements even though he tried to pretend he wasn't paying attention.
"Our theme is under the sea," you began, your tone lively, words spilling out in a rush. "The makeup I have in mind isn't too heavy—it's soft, glowy, more like a douyin-inspired style, but with hints of shimmer, like reflections on water."
Sunoo raised a brow but said nothing, still trying to sit as if he wasn't secretly curious. "Wait, hold on." You darted to your desk, shoving aside piles of papers and empty cups, searching frantically until you found your sketchpad. The mess you made in the process only made him sigh louder, and when you finally returned, your arms were full of sheets, pencils, and smudged notes. You plopped beside him on the bed without an ounce of care, your hair brushing against his shoulder as you flipped the sketchpad open to the right page.
"Here, look!" you said eagerly, turning the pad so he could see. The drawing wasn't perfect, but it was vibrant, full of details—flowing lines like waves, soft glitter patterns around the eyes, hints of pearlescent tones. You leaned close enough that your knees brushed his, smiling up at him as if waiting for approval.
He glanced at the sketch, then at you, then back again. His face was blank, though his lips twitched as if fighting back a reaction. "You did all this just for practice?" he asked finally.
"Of course," you said without hesitation, tilting your head at him. "You're my muse tonight. Who else would I trust to pull this off?"
That word—muse—hung in the air between you. Sunoo blinked, looking away quickly, pretending to study the messy corner of your room instead. He scoffed under his breath, though his ears betrayed him with the faintest hint of red.
"Whatever, just do your job so I can sleep," he said, voice carrying that familiar sharpness. Still, he didn't shift away when you leaned in, didn't flinch when your hand brushed against his wrist as you measured, nor when you adjusted the tilt of his chin so you could see him better. He stayed still, letting you come closer.
If someone asked you at that moment how you felt, you would have answered easily—you were happy. Happy in a way that was simple yet overwhelming. Happy because lately, it felt like things were turning in your favor, even the little things. Happy because just yesterday you'd gotten a new tattoo for free. Happy because sitting here, in your messy room that never seemed good enough for guests, you had a boy in front of you who was almost too pretty to be real. A boy who had an attitude sharp enough to cut, but whose presence made you feel full.
You weren't known for being soft. People said you were rough around the edges, cunning, always quick with words that made others falter. But with him, it was different. You couldn't help yourself from speaking, from filling the silence with random stories, thoughts, jokes—anything. To most, your voice could be overwhelming, but Sunoo had already grown used to it.
"And Jake was also planning his first date to a hotpot—" you rambled on, your hand steady as you blended shimmer onto his eyelid.
Sunoo let out a heavy sigh, his lips parting slightly as he resisted the urge to open his eyes. He had been sitting there with his lids closed for what felt like an eternity, and still you weren't finished. "Do you ever shut up?" he muttered.
You grinned, your brush tracing along the curve of his brow bone as if you didn't hear the complaint. "Why would I? My voice keeps you awake."
"More like gives me a headache," he countered. You tilted his face to the side, carefully catching the light so you could see your work better. These were just trial runs, after all, and even though you hadn't used foundation or concealer—because his skin was already annoyingly perfect—you still wanted everything to look right. The green-brown lenses had shifted the color of his eyes into softer glow, and with the eyeshadow fanned out at the corners, it gave him a kind of effortless charm that made you pause. There was something about working on his face that always made you fall quiet for a second, like you were afraid any sudden movement might break the moment. His features, up close, were unfairly beautiful—the curve of his cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw, the small, barely-there freckles you'd playfully added to give him a more sun-kissed look. Everything about him was pretty in a way that didn't feel delicate, but confident. His lips especially—plump, soft, and just slightly parted while he sat there with his eyes closed.
You turned, rummaging through your pile of lip tints and glosses until you found the shade that instantly reminded you of him. It was a sheer pink with a little bit of shimmer, and you already knew how good it would look. Without warning, you swung your leg over and settled onto his lap, grinning as you balanced your weight. The reaction was immediate—Sunoo's eyes snapped open, brows pulling together.
"Seriously?" he sighed, exasperated, but his hands came to your hips anyway, holding you steady so you wouldn't slip off the edge of the bed. "Are we done now?"
You tilted your head and gave a sheepish smile, not answering as you leaned in to carefully dab the gloss over his lips. The shape of his mouth, the way it gave the tiniest twitch when your finger brushed the edge—it made your pulse jump. You were so close now that his breath brushed against your cheek, and you had to focus hard not to let your hand shake. You wanted to kiss him. The urge sat so close to the surface that it made your chest feel tight, but you didn't. You just pulled back and admired the finished look with a soft exhale.
"Perfect," you whispered to yourself, more than him. You reached behind you and grabbed the mirror without moving from his lap. Sunoo rolled his eyes but took the mirror from your hand. You stayed right where you were, watching with quiet excitement as he looked at his reflection. There was silence at first. He tilted the mirror slightly, studying one angle, then another. He reached up to touch his hair, fixing a stray strand, then let his gaze drift toward his lips. His expression shifted slowly, quiet surprise then the corner of his mouth curled upward.
"Hmm, it doesn't look bad," he murmured.
Still straddling his lap, you leaned in closer until your face hovered just near the side of his neck, taking in the soft scent of his body wash still lingering from his shower. Your voice dropped as you murmured, "You look so much prettier than me."
Without missing a beat, Sunoo gave a soft scoff, his eyes still on his reflection. "Of course. I should be."
That earned a laugh from you. Typical Sunoo. You didn't stop yourself when you leaned forward and pressed your teeth lightly against his neck, a teasing little bite that made him flinch. Sunoo immediately pinched your waist, just hard enough to make you jolt. "Don't leave marks, I swear I'll kill you," he hissed, finally putting the mirror aside and turning to glare at you.
You only grinned wider, pressing closer until your hands slid up to frame his jaw and your nose brushed against his. "What if I want to leave marks?" you whispered. "What if I want people to know you've been thoroughly used?"
He stared at you, deadpan, though the faintest flush started to bloom across his cheeks. "Used?" he echoed, blinking slowly.
You nodded, the tip of your tongue peeking out as you teased, "Yeah. Like a good little stress toy. I could sit on your face"
His jaw clenched in restraint. "You're disgusting," he muttered, but his hands never left your hips. In fact, they gripped a little tighter now.
"That's not a no," you said sweetly, letting your thumb trail along the curve of his throat. "You're holding me so well. Kinda makes me think you like this. You want me to keep going, Sunoo?"
He inhaled sharply and leaned back just slightly, giving himself space to think. The dim light of the room cast a soft glow across his cheekbones. The red LED strip near the ceiling bled into shadows, blending into the yellow hue of your little desk lamp, illuminating parts of your skin in warm patches. Your hair messily pinned up, strands falling out of your bun, wearing that worn-out Hello Kitty sando and those barely-there shorts. He swallowed hard.
And for a moment, he just stared. The edge of lust in his expression softened. The corner of his lip twitched like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. He was thinking, really thinking. and the thoughts weren't just about your lips or your thighs or the heat pooling between you. He was imagining your face twisted in pleasure, not because you were teasing or in control, but because he was the one making you fall apart. He wanted to see that. Wanted to own it.
His body betrayed him first. You both felt how hard he was getting beneath you, the tension radiating off him as you shifted on his lap and rolled your hips in a slow circle against his clothed cock. Your breath hitched as your core dragged over the growing bulge beneath his sweats, and you felt his fingers dig in harder.
Sunoo bit down on his bottom lip and didn't break eye contact. His voice came controlled, but his expression betrayed how much restraint it took. "Sit on my face, then."
Your entire body tensed. The shift was immediate. The teasing smirk that once played on your lips faltered. Your hips stopped moving, stilling right on top of him. You blinked, staring down at him, wide-eyed and visibly caught off guard. "H-huh?" you stammered, breath shallow.
His hand slid up beneath your sando, fingertips grazing over the soft skin of your waist, then higher toward your ribs, slow and unhurried as his gaze didn't flicker. "Sit on my face," he whispered again. "What's the matter? You seemed so eager earlier."
You could barely form a thought. Your pulse thundered in your ears, your breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a plea. "I was just joking," you mumbled, already shifting as if to climb off his lap, trying to dismiss the thought. "You don't have to. I mean—vaginal fluid doesn't even taste good..." You avoided his eyes, flustered and scrambling for your scattered makeup products, needing something to shift the atmosphere. But before your fingers could wrap around the nearest compact, Sunoo moved. He caught you by the wrist and pushed you back onto the bed in one quick motion. You let out a small, surprised squeal as your back hit the mattress.
His body hovered over yours, his knees pinning either side of your hips, eyes fixed on you. "I've let you get me off with your mouth more times than I can count," he said in annoyance. "And now you're acting like I don't get to touch you back?"
Your heart kicked harder in your chest, thudding against your ribs as you stared up at him. "I—" you started, but your voice came out small. "Sunoo, I didn't even shave..."
He didn't blink. He sat back just slightly, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts. "And?" he muttered, raising a brow as if that wasn't even a detail worth considering. When you moved to stop him, hands fluttering at his wrists, he caught one and pressed it into the mattress. His other hand cupped you through your panties, his palm fitting against the damp heat between your thighs.
Your breath hitched. Your back arched into his touch instinctively, and you saw the way his eyes darkened, how his lips parted ever so slightly. "You're soaked," he said, thumb pressing a little firmer.
You tried to deflect, though your voice wavered. "Do you even know what to do with it?" Your tone was teasing, but your body betrayed you—already trembling under his touch, heat pooling low in your stomach, breath quickening. You weren't expecting his answer.
"No," he said simply, like he wasn't embarrassed by it. Then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, dragging the fabric down your thighs in one slow motion before tossing it somewhere across the room. "So teach me."
He slid a hand under your thigh, lifting and spreading your legs. Then he leaned down, his lips brushing soft kisses along your inner thigh slowly, all while keeping his eyes on you. The contact made your pussy flutter, a pulse of need tightening in your abdomen. Your breath hitched again, your hips twitching with anticipation. The sight of him makeup still intact from earlier, your lip gloss still lingering faintly on his mouth—made your body anticipate.
He dipped his head between your legs and dragged his tongue along your folds, one long, unhurried stroke from your entrance to your clit. The sensation made you jolt, the sudden wave of pleasure catching you off guard. "Fuck," you gasped, one hand flying to his hair, fingers curling in his soft strands.
Sunoo's tongue was slow at first, careful in a way that almost betrayed how new this was to him but he was quick to find what made you tremble. He closed his eyes, letting the taste of you settle on his tongue as he circled your clit with careful strokes before dragging his mouth lower to collect everything your body was offering. For a second, he could barely breathe.
So this is what pussy tastes like. That thought rang in his head, the warmth, the wetness, the way your whole body jerked when he hit the right spot—it was more than he imagined. He'd spent years scoffing at the way straight guys romanticized it, mocked their obsession, swore he'd never enjoy it. But fuck, now he understood why they bragged about it. Now he understood the hype.
His hands gripped your thighs as he dragged his tongue through your folds again, slower this time, savoring it. He moaned into you when he heard you whine his name, your voice shaky and breathless. The vibration of his voice against your pussy made your whole body twitch, and Sunoo's cock throbbed from the sound alone. If he wasn't already half-hard before, he was fully aching now, painfully so.
"S-Sunoo," you whimpered, hips lifting off the bed in a desperate rhythm that told him just how good he was doing. His mouth moved instinctively—less cautious now, more eager, more confident—as he pushed his tongue deeper, tasting you from your entrance all the way up, mouth hot and greedy. You were clenching around nothing, so tight and needy, and he wanted to bury his face even deeper, get drunk off you.
When your thighs began to tremble and squeeze around his ears, he didn't stop—instead, he pressed your legs apart with both hands, holding you open like a meal he wasn't finished with yet. Your slick coated his lips and chin, dripping down, and he didn't care. If anything, it made him hungrier. He licked through it all, mess and all, letting it smear over his tongue and down his throat as he sucked your clit hard, then softened his strokes just enough to tease again.
"Ahhh!" Your body writhed underneath him, moans louder, messier, fingers clawing at his hair. His nose bumped into your clit as he worked his tongue into you again, his face wet with your slick, breathing through his mouth as he chased the way you tasted.
His mind was spinning—nothing existed in that moment except your moans, the heat of your pussy, and the steady throb in his pants that begged for release. And when you cried out his name again, legs shaking harder, nails digging into his scalp as your hips rocked into his face, Sunoo moaned so loud it vibrated against your cunt, eyes rolling back as he thought—fuck, he could come from just this.
Sunoo's hips were already grinding against the mattress, his clothed cock rutting helplessly into the sheets as he kept his mouth buried between your legs, tongue swirling slow, then fast, then slow again as he tested how you reacted to every flick and drag. But it was your clit that made him obsessed, the way it throbbed, the way you twitched whenever he sucked it, the way you squealed when he circled it just right. He focused there now, licking harder, more deliberate, tasting every ounce of you like he was making up for all the time he'd dismissed ever wanting this.
This wasn't just payback for all the times you teased him, for every shameless comment or cocky flirt that came from your mouth. No, this was Sunoo owning you. Silencing you. Making you feel exactly what you put him through—restless, aching, desperate.
Your moans started to rise uncontrollably, your voice shaky, your fingers now tangled tightly in his hair as your hips rolled in sync with the rhythm of his tongue. "Wait! Fuck!" you gasped, thighs twitching as your climax built hard and fast, threatening to snap. But Sunoo didn't let up, if anything, he gripped your legs tighter, keeping them wide open, anchoring you in place so you couldn't run from it.
He looked up at you, flushed and wrecked, your eyes squeezed shut in overwhelmed pleasure, lips parted as your body trembled. His cock throbbed painfully from just the sight, and his tongue moved faster, dragging flat and then curling upward to suck your clit hard before flicking again.
When you came, it hit like a wave crashing through your entire body, your back arched off the mattress, mouth open in a cry you barely recognized, legs shaking hard in his hold. Your breathing turned ragged, stuttering as the orgasm took over, intense and blinding.
But Sunoo didn't stop. He lapped through it, almost like he was trying to drag more out of you, milking the high as long as he could. His mouth was soaked, face buried so deep you had to push at his head with trembling hands, voice breaking as you choked out, "Too much—fuck, I can't—"
He let you go, finally, pulling back with a smile. His lips glistened with your cum, cheeks flushed, and his hair was a mess from your grip but those green contacts made his eyes look almost unreal in the soft red light. And god, the makeup you'd done earlier was perfect. Smudged only a little at the corner of his lids, giving him an edgier look that made your cunt clench again.
Sunoo was pretty. Too pretty. Pretty enough to ruin you without even trying. What made it worse—or better, depending how fucked up your brain was—was the way his tongue slowly dragged along his bottom lip, catching the last traces of you. "How was it?" he asked, tilting his head to seek of your approval.
You couldn't even answer at first. Your legs were still trembling, thighs sticky and wet, your heartbeat thudding too loud in your ears to think straight. You swallowed, chest rising and falling fast as you tried to catch your breath. Then you looked at him again—at the shine on his mouth, the hunger still flickering behind those pretty green eyes, the way he sat back slightly.
"Not that bad," you breathed out, voice shaky as your trembling legs bent down and your fingers slowly pressed against the hard outline of his cock through the soft fabric of his sweats. You didn't even try to hide how your hand lingered, almost testing him—your palm flat, applying a bit of pressure. Sunoo raised his brow at your answer but you didn't meet it. You were too busy fighting off the embarrassment clawing at your chest from the way you moved so eagerly, so unlike how you usually carry yourself.
"Down to fuck?" you asked, forcing a playful smirk as you tilted your head, though your voice cracked slightly at the end and your legs still hadn't stopped trembling. The moment you saw the way he blinked at you, you almost backtracked, your lips parting, about to laugh it off like you were only playing.
But then Sunoo was already pulling down his sweats. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed and angry-looking, the head pink and glistening, practically pulsing with tension. You stared. Your mouth went dry. Then wet. You swallowed thickly, clenching your thighs, heat crawling under your skin and settling low in your stomach. There was no hesitation in him now, no teasing smile, just hunger written across his face as he sat back on his heels. His hand wrapped around himself, stroking slowly as he watched the way your breath caught. You didn't even try to hide your stare.
Your mouth went dry, your legs pressing together out of reflex, and you could feel your whole body heat at the sight of him. He looked desperate, flushed, needy, barely holding himself back. "W-Wait," you blurted, hand reaching out like you meant to stop him, even though your body clearly didn't agree. Your pulse was racing, and your thoughts were already spiraling, too many emotions crashing into each other all at once—desire, fear, anticipation.
Sunoo let out a rough sigh, dragging his eyes up to your face. His brows furrowed and his lips parted like he was going to say something else, but then his jaw clenched tight. You could see the frustration in his eyes. "What more do you need?" he asked, voice low and strained. "Do you want me or not?"
You swallowed hard, because the truth was yes, more than you'd ever expected to. But something about how exposed both of you were now made it suddenly harder to breathe. "I just..." you began, "I don't want to ruin this. You've never done this before and I—what if it's too much?" It was fear—real and sudden fear. The weight of what you were about to do had finally caught up, hitting somewhere deep in your chest. This wasn't just another messy hookup. Not with him.
Sunoo stared at you in silence. You could see the flicker in his eyes, between disbelief and restrained annoyance. He almost looked like he was about to roll his eyes and shove you back down onto the mattress with that sharp tongue of his, throwing some cutting comment about how ridiculous this was when you were both already naked, your legs trembling and his cock painfully hard between them. But he didn't. Instead, he took a breath, he reached out, fingers brushing gently against the inside of your knee. You felt the warmth of his palm slide up your thigh until it rested there. "It's already too much," he said. "It's been too much since the first time you kissed me."
You swallowed hard as you sat still beneath his touch. Then his hand slid a little higher, his thumb brushing softly against the crease where your thigh met your hip. "So..." he tilted his head, the corners of his lips twitching into a slight smirk that couldn't hide the heat still simmering in his eyes. "Are we gonna fuck or not?"
You let out a shaky breath, laughing despite yourself. You leaned in, pressing your mouth to his jaw, feeling the slight tremble in his skin. Your hand slid down between you, curling around the base of his cock, hot and twitching in your grip. His breath stuttered, hips jerking slightly. You looked up at him, lips brushing his cheekbone as you whispered, "Lay back for me. Let me take care of you first."
Sunoo obeyed without a word, his body moving almost too quickly. He leaned back against the headboard, chest rising fast, lips parted as he tried to steady his breath. You saw the way his cock twitched in anticipation, pre-cum glistening at the tip, practically begging for friction.
You pulled your sando off, discarding it somewhere off the bed. The bra came next, your bare form revealed under the room's dim lighting. You weren't shy—at least you tried not to be—but you were aware of the way Sunoo's eyes darkened the moment he saw you fully.
Sunoo stopped breathing altogether. His lips parted slightly, stunned, staring at the shape of you, the ink on your skin, the curve of your breasts, and the subtle shimmer of sweat from earlier. Everything about you was too much. Too fucking beautiful.
You straddled him slowly, settling over his thighs as you reached toward your drawer and took out a condom. Sunoo's eyes didn't leave yours, not even when you tore the packet open and rolled it down the length of his cock with deliberate care. His head fell back against the pillows as he let out a groan, hips twitching up into your hand.
"Fuck," he groaned, hips bucking just slightly into your hand. His cock throbbed under your touch, hard and leaking. He couldn't believe how sensitive he was. How badly he wanted this.
You smirked at the sound, giving him a slow stroke just to see him twitch again. "First time?" you teased. "You better tell me later what's better—dick or pussy."
He let out a breathless laugh, but didn't answer. Not when you were already lifting your hips and guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance. That wiped the grin from both your faces.
As he breached you slowly, you gritted your teeth, trying to hide the way your body resisted the stretch. Your hands pressed against his chest for support, and you felt his hands move instinctively to your hips, holding you steady but not forcing anything. His grip was trembling. So were your thighs. You widened your legs as best as you could, adjusting inch by inch, trying to take him fully without showing how much it burned on the way in. You tried to play it off—tried to look confident even when your face couldn't hide the pinch of discomfort.
The truth was, you didn't have a lot of experience with men. Maybe just one, and that didn't really count. It was fast, fumbling, and forgettable. You'd never ridden anyone before. You knew how to move your hips with girls—scissoring, grinding, finding the angles—but this was different. This was slower, deeper, stretching you in ways you hadn't prepared for. You didn't want to look clueless. You didn't want to ruin the moment.
Still, you refused to back down. You braced yourself, breathing through your nose, trying to remember every move you'd given and received, every grind and swivel you'd learned with women—just enough to give yourself rhythm. You focused on how wet you were and how turned on he clearly was, Sunoo gasped beneath you, both hands tightening on your waist like he was afraid he'd lose himself the second you sank further.
"Fuck—" he choked, voice cracking. "You're so—tight. Oh my god—don't move yet—just—fuck—"
His head tilted back, lips parted in a perfect 'O' as he moaned, eyes squeezed shut. His reaction made something clench in your chest and between your legs, but you held still, letting yourself adjust, letting him calm down before either of you pushed too far too fast.
You looked down at him, sweat already starting to gather at his temples, and leaned over just enough to press your forehead to his.
You finally managed to sink down all the way, and the stretch was so intense it knocked the air out of your lungs. Your mouth fell open in a breathless moan, your walls clenching tight around him, struggling to adjust. The pain hadn't completely faded, but it was being overtaken by a creeping pleasure that curled low in your belly. Still, your legs were shaking violently beneath you, the burn in your thighs making it impossible to lift yourself.
Sunoo blinked up at you, concern slipping into his dazed expression as his hands rubbed your waist slowly, gently. His fingers were trying to soothe you, but he could feel the tremble beneath your skin, could see the panic flicker in your eyes. "You okay?" he asked quietly.
You couldn't answer right away. You pressed your face into the curve of his neck, hiding the stutter in your breath as your hands gripped his shoulders. You nodded, though it was shaky. "I'm fine," you said but it came out weak, and the moment you tried to lift yourself, your legs gave out again. You choked out a sound, "just... g-give me a minute."
Sunoo stiffened underneath you when he felt the hot tear that rolled down onto his skin. His brows furrowed as he turned his head slightly, lips brushing your temple. He almost felt bad, guilty to be exact. He knew what that stretch felt like, that burn of being too full, and for a second, he almost paused. Almost. But then you clenched around him again, and it told him everything he needed to know.
"You're such a liar," he breathed out, a soft laugh slipping past his lips. "All that talk... and look at you now."
You didn't respond—just let out another breathy moan, face still tucked into his neck, skin hot with embarrassment. He could feel how tight you were, feel how you clenched around him every time he moved even the slightest. Without warning, he planted both feet flat on the mattress and thrust upward, driving himself deeper inside you. Your entire body jolted, and the moan that tore out of your throat was loud and desperate. He clenched his jaw at the sound of it, biting back his own curse.
You tightened around him, body clenching in response, and his hips bucked again, this time slower, more deliberate. His mouth moved to your ear, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there as you trembled in his hold. "Let me take over," he whispered. His arms wrapped around your waist, locking you in place, and his hips moved again—shallow but deep, fucking into you from below.
You both moaned out loud. It was past one in the morning and the silence outside made it worse, like every sound would carry past the walls, but Sunoo didn't seem to care. His rhythm picked up, hips snapping against yours with rising urgency, chasing the high he'd only ever imagined.
His thrust hit that perfect spot inside you and your whole body arched, a sharp cry ripping from your throat. Your hands fumbled to hold onto something—his arms, the sheets, your own sanity—but it was already slipping.
Sunoo didn't pause, didn't even look apologetic as he murmured, "Fuck, that's it," like he'd just discovered your weakness. Your pussy was gripping him so tight he could barely move, but that only drove him further. The struggle made it more satisfying.
And then, he pulled out. You barely had time to protest when he shifted your position, guiding you back onto the bed with your legs spread wide. He stared, breathing hard, hands trailing down your thighs before his fingers spread your folds gently. He took a second just to look at you, to admire how wet and swollen you were for him, how much you wanted it. Then, with two fingers, he circled your clit—light, teasing touches that made your hips jerk and your legs try to close on instinct.
So this is why tops get cocky, he thought, watching the way your eyes fluttered, the way your lips fell open in a silent moan. This is why they hold someone down, grip their legs, call them pretty, beg them to take more. He could feel the power of every thrust, feel the way your body reacted. He never understood it before. He always thought tops just liked being in charge, that they were addicted to control—but it wasn't just about that.
"You always run your mouth," he muttered, watching your body twitch with every motion. "But where's all that attitude now?"
He caught your leg, draping one over his shoulder as he lined himself up again. The stretch was immediate, deeper now in this new position, and he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, dragging his cock along your walls until the tip pressed against the spot that made your back arch on reflex.
"You always talk too much," he muttered, groaning at the way you clenched again. "Guess my dick's the one to shut you up."
You sobbed harder, face turning to the side as your hands gripped the sheets. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, tears streaking your cheeks as you moaned his name. "P-please, Sunoo."
Sunoo's stomach tightened at the sound. He threw his head back, letting out a moan that was nearly a growl. His grip tightened on your thighs before he grabbed both, pushing your knees up beside your head as he leaned in close. His arms braced on either side of you, the shift pressing you into the mattress, trapping you with his weight.
Then, he pulled almost all the way out, letting you feel every inch slip from your body before slamming back in with a force that made your eyes roll back. The bed creaked beneath you, the room filled with the slick, wet sound of skin on skin.
"Fuck!" you screamed, arching harder beneath him, your voice cracking on the edge of a sob. Without a second thought, he dropped his hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, precise circles. "G-gonna cum, wait! Wait, wait, wait—" your voice dissolving into a high-pitched wail, so loud and unfiltered that Sunoo instinctively leaned down to kiss you, swallowing the sound against your lips.
The moment his mouth covered yours, your walls spasmed around him, tight and wet and so hot that he couldn't think. Your climax hit, your hips jerking uncontrollably as your pussy clenched around him over and over, fluttering in a rhythm that made his own control snap completely.
Sunoo moaned against your mouth, almost choking on it, his own breath ragged as he held still for a heartbeat but your body pulled it out of him. He couldn't stop moving, not when it felt like this. He gripped your waist tight and kept thrusting, shallow and fast, keeping the head of his cock angled against the soft, spongy spot inside you. He wanted to feel all of it, ride it out, draw it out until you were crying again.
Your legs shook violently as you clung to him, your mouth parting beneath his kiss in gasping, sobbing breaths. You didn't even care that you were a mess now, sweat-slicked, trembling, lips swollen from kissing and crying. You couldn't stop clenching around him, couldn't stop shaking from how intense it was.
And Sunoo, he'd never felt anything like it. That pressure, the way you pulsed around him, the wet squeeze of your walls, the heat, the smell of sweat and sex, the muffled sobs against his mouth—it was too much. He buried his face in your neck as his hips stuttered once, then twice more, before he groaned loud, biting down on a moan that still escaped him in a rush.
"Shit! Ah! Fuck, fuck fuck." He came hard, harder than he ever remembered. His body curled over yours as the orgasm crashed through him, his muscles locking up, breath ragged as his cock twitched deep inside the condom. The sound he made was almost a sob of his own because the moment you clenched around him like that, it was over. He had no chance.
He stayed inside you, breathing hard against your collarbone, trying to get control of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped tighter around your waist, holding you close. You blinked up at the ceiling, dazed, chest rising and falling in erratic waves. Sunoo pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing hair out of your face with one trembling hand.
"One more?" you asked, voice still breathy as you gave him a weak smile, your lashes still wet with the remnants of your tears. There was a glow in your face from that dazed, post-orgasmic haze.
Sunoo let out a scoff, tossing his head to the side. "My legs feel like noodles. Leave me alone." He covered his eyes with one arm.
You let out a small laugh, too drained to do more than let your body sink deeper into the sheets. You didn't push back with another tease. Sunoo sighed as he finally peeled himself off the bed. He removed the condom carefully, tying it off and tossing it into the trash. His limbs felt too light, a little shaky, and for a second he just stood there, catching his breath with a hand braced against the edge of the drawer.
Most of his exes never really gave a shit after sex. They'd turn their backs, light a cigarette, or scroll through their phones. And Sunoo hated that—hated how cold it used to make him feel, even if he pretended it didn't. He wasn't about to become that kind of person, no matter what this thing was between you two. No matter how casual you both claimed it was. So he pulled on his briefs and then his sweatpants, still trying to recover as he looked at your spent body lying there, eyes fluttering closed, chest flushed and rising slowly. You weren't asleep yet, but you looked like you could drift off at any second.
"Don't pass out on me," he muttered under his breath as he leaned down, arms sliding under your knees and back. His muscles protested immediately. "Shit—what are you eating?" he groaned as he lifted you, stumbling a little. "Why are you so heavy? Fuck, my back hurts."
Your laugh came out as a soft wheeze, your head dropping onto his shoulder. "You're so sweet," you mumbled, not even bothering to open your eyes.
Sunoo let out a sharp, incredulous sound as he adjusted his grip on you. "Sweet?" he scoffed. "Bitch, I'm carrying you to the bathroom so you don't get a UTI. That's not sweet, that's basic sexual hygiene."
You didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed, just groaned and buried your face deeper into the crook of his neck as he trudged down the hall. "Still sweet," you mumbled against his skin, barely audible.
After that night, you truly believed something had shifted between the two of you. And if anyone asked how you felt, you'd say the same thing every time: you were happy. Deeply, undeniably happy.
4 Months Later.
"Ah! Harder!F-fuck, Sunoo!"
Your voice cracked as Sunoo pressed a firm hand against the small of your back, forcing your hips higher while his other hand anchored tight around your waist. He dug his nails into your skin without realizing, the sting only mixing into the heat already flooding your body. His pace grew rougher, steady and merciless, and when your moans pitched too high, he slid his palm up to the back of your neck, pinning your face into the mattress to muffle the sounds.
Sunoo's eyes dropped, gaze fixed on the red lilies etched into your lower back. The ink bloomed outward in delicate, mirrored curves, the lines dark against your sweat-slick skin. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he had become addicted to this view. From behind, with your ass high and that tattoo staring back at him, he always came harder than he thought possible. He'd never say it aloud, of course—he'd just brush it off with some offhand jab about your face being annoying. But deep down, he knew the truth: doggy had become his favorite position because it gave him this sight, this control, and it drove him insane.
His thrusts grew uneven, his groans breaking apart as his orgasm built and finally tore through him. A strangled moan left his lips as he spilled into the condom, his hips stuttering before he slowed to a stop. Breathing harshly, he carefully pulled out, muscles trembling.
He tied off the condom and tossed it into the trash, staring at the small pile already gathering there. "Fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand through his damp hair. "We should've stopped after the third round. My head feels groggy every time and I still have duty tomorrow."
You collapsed forward onto the bed. "You're the one who kept asking for more," you teased, voice hoarse but playful as you reached for the drawer by your side. You pulled it open and slid your fingers around the familiar box of cigarettes, only to flinch when Sunoo's hand smacked yours away with no hesitation.
"No cigarettes while I'm here," he snapped, eyes narrowing as he shoved the box back into the drawer and slammed it shut.
You turned your head lazily to glare at him, lips jutting into a pout. "Come on, I always smoke outside. Just one, it won't kill me."
Sunoo rolled his eyes and flopped down beside you, his arm heavy as it landed across your waist. "Yeah, and you'll say the same thing tomorrow, and the next day, and then you'll be coughing your lungs out when you're thirty. No thanks, I'm not kissing an ashtray." He buried his face briefly against your shoulder, breathing in your scent, before pulling back with a huff.
You stared at Sunoo for a moment, your palm brushing over his damp hair as you gently pushed it back from his forehead, fingertips catching against the fine strands still slick with sweat. His skin was flushed, chest rising and falling in steady breaths, the aftermath of exhaustion softening his features in a way you rarely got to see. He let out a low sigh at the touch, his eyes fluttering closed just for a second before he opened them again, blinking up at you like he didn't want to move. "Come on," he murmured, "let's take a shower and sleep already. I'm leaving at six-thirty."
You nodded, smiling as you leaned down to nuzzle your nose against his cheek. Your legs slipped around his waist without needing to be asked, body folding into him easily. Without a word, Sunoo shifted and lifted you up, muttering something under his breath about how clingy you were.
It wasn't often he had time like this. With his final year piling up and hospital internships consuming his days, Sunoo was constantly in motion, constantly drained. But when he made space for you, it was always in small, quiet ways—sitting still long enough for you to do his makeup, letting you slip him into the clothes you had designed, experimenting with textures and colors against his skin. He'd roll his eyes, complain about the shimmer on his cheeks or how ridiculous he looked, but he never told you to stop. And more often than not, those moments ended the same way—clothes discarded, skin pressed together, his sharp tongue replaced by soft moans. Always sex.
By morning, you usually woke up first. You'd reach for him half-asleep, sometimes without even meaning to, and he'd let it happen—sleepy eyes cracking open as he let you ride him or even give him a morning blowjob.
He told you to keep things quiet, especially when it came to Jake. Around other people, you played your part, but your restraint never lasted long. When the three of you were together, you couldn't help but lean too close to Sunoo, let your fingers graze over his hand or your palm rest lightly on his thigh. He'd shoot you that withering look, roll his eyes and he'd always yank your hair or slap your hand away.
You yawned as you bent over to pour cat food into Luna's bowl, the dry sound of the kibble clinking against ceramic echoing through the quiet. Your cat was rarely ever home, she rubbed against your ankle before settling to eat, her sleek black fur rising and falling with every breath.
Behind you, Sunoo stepped out from the bathroom, towel draped around his neck, still drying his hair. He passed by silently, stooping to give Luna a little scratch behind the ear before wandering around your room to gather his things. "I ironed your scrubs already," you said, yawning mid-sentence, arms stretching overhead as you turned to face him. "Your bag's on the table."
He paused mid-motion, glancing at you. You weren't the type to hover or fuss over anyone, but with him, it was different. You'd stopped staying at his place, mostly because you knew how little sleep he got. You didn't want to disrupt the hours of rest he did manage to find. So instead, you made sure that whenever he came over, everything he'd need by morning was already in place. Scrubs clean and folded. Bag packed. Sometimes even the lunch you'd made slipped quietly into his bag.
"I bought an energy drink yesterday," you mumbled, already at the fridge, grabbing out a pack of three. "Bring one for your friend. Sungwon, right?"
Sunoo scoffed, eyes narrowing in exaggerated offense. "His name is Jungwon. You've met him—don't act fake now."
You grinned as you handed him the cans, laughing softly as he leaned in and kissed your temple. "Thanks, girl," he muttered against your skin, then he pulled back slightly, still toweling off his damp hair, and gave you a small smirk. "Can you dry my hair and slick it back for me?"
You blinked, a little taken aback. Usually, Sunoo did things on his own, and even when he didn't, he rarely asked for help like this. You nodded without thinking, already reaching for your comb. "Yeah. Sit down," you said gently. "I'll make you look hot so Jungwon doesn't think you crawled out of bed with someone."
"I did crawl out of bed with someone," he quipped back, dropping onto the edge of your bed as you moved behind him, towel still around his shoulders.
You smiled to yourself as you began combing through the strands, towel-drying with care. "Yeah, but no one needs to know she's me."
Sunoo didn't say anything back. His eyes were on his phone, scrolling through whatever filled his morning—probably messages from classmates, schedules, maybe even memes. You didn't ask. You just stood behind him, carefully guiding his hair into a clean, slicked-back style that you knew he preferred when he was headed out for his hospital duty.
The peace felt normal, but something about it pressed against your chest. Still, you stayed silent as he finally set his phone down on the table with a soft clatter and picked up his makeup pouch, moving with ease as he dabbed on light concealer and patted a cushion over his skin. When you finished, you lingered for a moment. Then, without thinking, you leaned forward, wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He groaned in that exaggerated, irritated way he always did when you got too clingy but he didn't push you away.
"I'm just happy," you murmured against his skin in a smile as your cheek rested against his. He didn't respond. Just rolled his eyes and reached for his lip balm, uncapping it with one hand. And even though he didn't say anything, you still held on for a second longer, memorizing how he felt beneath your arms.
Another week passed, and the days slipped by faster than you expected. Between classes, looming project deadlines, and juggling your part-time job, your schedule blurred but you never forgot to check in with Sunoo. You messaged him like always, updates about your day, stupid memes, or little notes like "Don't skip meals." His replies were dry, short, sometimes just an emoji or a thumbs up. But you clung to them anyway.
You were in your living room when Jay flopped down onto your couch, letting out a breath. Your electric guitar rested on your lap, fingers absentmindedly plucking at the strings, trying to memorize the fretwork. "Sunghoon's been asking about you again," Jay said, casually scrolling through his phone. "So, what do you wanna play for the university event this week? You're singing, so it's your call."
You adjusted the tuning pegs, focused on the strings. "Tell Sunghoon I'm not interested," you muttered without looking up. "What about Supermassive Black Hole?"
Jay raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's a hard pick. You really think you can handle both vocals and electric?"
You shrugged, chin tilted slightly as your fingers slid back into place on the neck of the guitar. "I've done harder."
Practice didn't go as smoothly as you wanted. Your mind wandered more than it should have, eyes flicking to your phone every other minute. Jay tried to stay patient, but the third time you missed your cue, he slammed his palm lightly against the back of the couch.
"Can you focus, please? You're the one who wanted this song," he said. "We barely even see you these days."
Kai, sitting behind the drum kit, tossed his sticks onto the floor with a sigh. "You keep zoning out. It's starting to get annoying."
You didn't even defend yourself. Because in that moment, your phone vibrated and your heart jumped. Sunoo was calling! You nearly knocked your guitar off your lap as you scrambled to answer, pressing the phone to your ear before the first ring ended. "Hello!" you said, voice too eager and too bright. It was the first time Sunoo had ever called you.
Kai made a face, motioning to Jay to take over. You turned away, trying to keep your voice low, your heart pounding.
On the other end, Sunoo didn't even greet you. His tone was flat, a little rushed. "I left my record book at your place. Can you get it for me?"
You blinked, straightening a little. "Oh—yeah, okay. Where are you now?"
"I'm on duty," he said, barely giving you time to respond. "At the hospital. Can you make it quick?"
There was no softness in his voice, no hint that he missed you or even cared that you answered. He just sounded tired, and you understand it since being in a healthcare is not a joke. You looked over your shoulder at your bandmates. Jay met your eyes but didn't say anything, just waved you off. "Yeah, okay. I'll head over now," you said quietly, gripping the phone tighter.
"Thanks," was all he said before the line went dead. You didn't waste time. Back in your room, you found his record book tucked between his internship folders and some folded clothes he had left the last time he stayed over. The edges were a little bent from being stuffed into your shelf, and you smoothed them gently with your palm before grabbing your helmet.
Jay's voice followed you from the couch as he sat up, confused. "Where the hell are you going?"
"Something important," you answered quickly, pulling your jacket on. "I'll be back later. Just need to drop this off."
Kai muttered something under his breath, likely a curse about your priorities, but you didn't stop to listen. You slipped out the door and rode your motorbike across town like muscle memory guided your body, even if your mind was still stuck on the way Sunoo sounded.
When you pulled in on the parking lot, the first thing you saw was him. He was leaning against a pale concrete wall near the entrance, half in shadow. Even from a distance, he looked worn down to the bone. His scrubs hung slightly loose on his frame, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were stark against the paleness of his skin. He wasn't even looking at his phone, just staring off, hands limp at his sides.
Your steps were careful as you approached, "Sunoo..." His head turned, eyes sluggish to find you. You stopped in front of him and took a breath, holding the record book out with one hand, the other brushing lightly against his forearm. "Are you okay, baby?" The nickname slipped out unconsciously, concern laced around the softness in your voice.
"I'm fine." He reached out and took the record book from your hand without looking you in the eye. "Just... duty being toxic."
You nodded, swallowing down the worry bubbling up your throat. "Have you eaten yet? You look—Sunoo, you look really out of it." You stepped closer, trying to meet his gaze. "Can I bring you something? Coffee? Bread? I'll wait for you until you're off."
His lips tightened, jaw locking like he was holding something back, but you continued. "What about we go to the—"
"God, can you just stop?" he snapped suddenly, voice louder than it should have been. You flinched. He immediately looked away, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. "I don't want any of that shit. I just needed the damn book."
You blinked, stunned for a second. Not because it hurt—though it did—but because it was the first time he'd ever raised his voice at you like that. Your fingers curled tightly around the edge of your jacket as you tried to steady your breathing. "I know," you said quietly, forcing your voice to stay even, "but you sounded upset. And I was worried."
Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just stood there, shoulders rising and falling as he breathed through whatever storm he was holding inside. "Look," he said, voice lower but still strained. "I just need to get through today. I don't have time for anything else right now."
You nodded slowly, though your chest tightened at the way he phrased it. Anything else. That included you. You took a small step back, out of understanding, even if it stung.
"I'll go," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just... take care of yourself, okay?"
He didn't respond. Just turned and walked back toward the sliding doors of the hospital, the record book clutched in his hand.
You've been meaning to apologize to Sunoo ever since that day, but every time you thought of dialing his number or dropping a message, you paused. He was under so much pressure already, barely sleeping between hospital shifts and classes, and you didn't want to be another thing that made his chest feel heavy.
You sat alone at the campus cafeteria, your fingers working over the delicate rows of yarn as you crocheted slowly, the hook moving again and again. A small collection of handmade tulips lay across the table in a neat cluster—pinks, reds, a few white ones that hadn't taken shape yet. Your brows were furrowed, not from the difficulty of the pattern, but from the thoughts you couldn't seem to untangle from your mind.
"You've been zoning out a lot," Sunghoon's voice cut through the silence. He slid into the seat across from you, his tray untouched. "Jay said he's one tantrum away from kicking you out of the band."
"I'm not zoning out," you answered without looking up, looping the yarn again. "I've just been doing something more important."
Sunghoon leaned in, resting his elbows on the table as his eyes scanned the colorful flowers in front of you. "These commissions? I thought you stopped doing them."
You didn't respond, the sound of yarn slipping through your fingers filling the silence instead. He watched you for another moment before asking, "Are you seeing someone?"
Your hands faltered slightly, just for a second, then picked up again as if nothing had happened. "No," you said quietly, eyes fixed on the work. "It's for a friend."
Sunghoon gave a soft hum, like he didn't believe you but wasn't going to press. "You know I've liked you for a while, right? Since high school."
You finally looked up, just enough to meet his gaze for a brief second before dropping your eyes again. "Sunghoon, I don't have the energy for one of your talks right now."
"I'm not here to make a scene," he said, more gently this time. "I just... I know how you are when you start liking someone. You act like you're fine, like everything's under control, but you start giving too much of yourself without realizing it."
Your jaw tensed, fingers tightening slightly around the hook. "You let your guard down," he continued. "And you start doing all these little things—waiting around, making things for them, dropping everything just to show up. Even when they stop treating you the same way, you keep giving."
"Sunghoon, stop," you muttered.
"I'm not judging you," he said, watching the way your hands moved a little slower. "I just don't want to see you get hurt again."
You didn't bother to look at him. The words weren't new. You shoved the last tulip into the paper bag and stood from your seat, brushing your hands on your jeans as if to shake the weight off. "It's none of your business," you said. "I do what I want to do." You left before he could answer.
Lately, everything felt like a blur. The hospital was suffocating, patients piling up, charts demanding constant attention, the head nurse always finding something to criticize. Sunoo hadn't slept in two days, and even when he did manage to collapse onto his mattress, his chest stayed tight. There wasn't room for anything else. Not for laughter, not for texting back, not even for eating. And eventually, not even for you. He didn't realize how much time had passed since he last answered your messages. He hadn't even opened them. He kept telling himself he would later, when his head wasn't pounding, when he could at least form a sentence that didn't sound like a sigh. But later kept moving farther away.
So when he opened his apartment door and saw you standing there at 9 PM, hands clutching a paper bag with that small, nervous look on your face—he froze. "S-sorry," you muttered, voice soft. "I will not disturb you, just rest. I-I just need to drop this, and wish it make you feel better."
He blinked. Then looked at the bag. Then at you again. He didn't think. He stepped forward and pulled you into his arms before you could even take a step back. The paper crinkled between you, but he didn't care. The second he buried his face into your neck, something in him cracked. A quiet sob escaped before he could hold it in, his hands shaking slightly against your back.
He couldn't remember the last time someone had brought him anything without asking for something in return. "I've never received any flowers," he mumbled. "No one's ever given me anything like this."
You didn't say anything, but your hand was there. The warmth of your touch made his chest ache in a different way. "I'm sorry for being an asshole," he whispered, breathing in your scent, a small comfort in the chaos of his days. "I didn't mean to push you away. I just—everything's been too much."
"I know," you murmured, your chin resting on his shoulder. "It's okay. You don't have to explain."
But he wanted to. You didn't deserve silence. You didn't deserve to be left hanging, wondering if he even cared. He just couldn't bring himself to say it all, but not now, not while his throat was tight and his eyes were stinging and your arms were the first place he felt human all week. "I should've answered. I just... didn't have the energy."
You didn't move away. You didn't scold him. You didn't ask for anything. You just stayed. He pulled back slightly, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, trying to look somewhat composed. "Do you want to stay? Just for a bit?"
You nodded without hesitation, and the two of you ended up in his room, laughing your ass out.
He let out another burst of laugh as he leaned over to look at your tablet. "What even is that supposed to be?"
"Wait, I drew you!" you blurted out, your finger swiping across the screen excitedly. You tapped on a picture and turned it to show him—the chibi version of him with devil horns, an exaggerated pout, and glitter under the eyes.
Sunoo squinted, then narrowed his eyes dramatically. "You little shit," he muttered, before slapping your shoulder.
You shifted without thinking, climbing into his lap, your back settling against his chest as you held the tablet up between you. His arms wrapped around your waist loosely, his chin resting over your shoulder
"Wait, you drew this one too?" Sunoo's voice pulled you from the moment. He pointed at a little sticker design on your tablet—a black cat holding a cigarette between its tiny fingers. "I bought this! From the Art Museum's student booth a few months ago. I stuck it on my old clipboard."
You turned your head slightly to meet his stare. "Are you serious? That was my booth. That's literally my design!"
Sunoo's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "What the hell? Why weren't you guarding your own booth?! You're such a bad artist!"
You scoffed, turning to half-face him, "Excuse me, I had a nicotine addiction to maintain. I took a break."
He groaned. "Turns out it was you sneaking off to light up under a 'No Smoking' sign."
"You bought my sticker and called me a bitch. How dare you insult me and support me at the same time?"
"I didn't know it was you!" he defended, laughing again. "But honestly, you deserved it. I hate people who smoke where they're not supposed to."
You twisted slightly in his lap, now facing him more directly. "So do you still hate me?" you asked, teasing, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as your fingers played with the hem of his hoodie.
Sunoo didn't look away. He rolled his eyes like he always did. His voice was soft, almost playful. "Yes. Obviously. You're still annoying."
You pouted at his answer, dragging out a whine. His smile lingered, and even though his words were stubborn, his hands had tightened just slightly around your waist. "I'm not joking," he added, resting his forehead against yours. "You're so, so, sooo annoying."
The night ended up your thighs trembling around his head, your hands tangled in his hair, your voice broken from the way his mouth worked between your legs. He made you come three times with his tongue alone, not stopping until you pushed at his shoulders with tear-brimmed eyes and slurred, begging words. Then he let you ride him, your back turned to him, your head lolled to the side as his hands gripped your hips.
The next morning, the weight in your chest had lifted. You didn't feel guilty for smiling. Even when Jay clapped his hands together loudly the moment you walked into the studio and said, "You're in a good mood, thank God," you just grinned wider and grabbed his electric guitar, pretending to tune it like nothing had happened.
"You want a hit?" Kai asked, waving his vape your way.
You shook your head without even thinking. "I already quit smoking," you said casually, even though that choice had been harder than you liked to admit.
You and Sunoo didn't put labels on what was happening—not yet—but things fell into place anyway. There was a rhythm to it. You spent weekends at his apartment, usually coming over late Friday, falling asleep on his couch after watching movies and ordering junk food. Saturday mornings meant waking up tangled together, cooking breakfast with your hair a mess and his arms still lazy around your waist, and Sunday nights usually ended with you riding him slowly before passing out from exhaustion. Mondays, he walked you to your motorbike before his duty started again.
One Sunday afternoon, sprawled on his bed while you were half-scrolling through TikTok and half-dozing on his lap, he suddenly shoved his phone in your face. "I think this type of style suits you more," he said, showing you some random Pinterest board filled with soft, layered outfits—more structured, a little feminine, clean silhouettes with warm tones. "You need to upgrade your wardrobe."
You squinted at the screen, unimpressed. "Hmm. I think you're just projecting your type in girls on me," you teased, nudging his thigh with your elbow.
Sunoo rolled his eyes, clearly expecting that answer. "No. I just think it looks presentable. And it would look good on you."
You looked down at yourself—baggy ripped jeans, an oversized acubi-style shirt, sneakers worn down from all your bike rides. Not exactly the most polished look, but it was comfortable. You shrugged with a small grin. "Okay, I'll try," you said. "Anyway, can we visit that new café that opened last week? I saw it on Instagram and they have a bunch of Bon Jovi albums on display."
Sunoo blinked. "Bon Jovi?"
"Yeah, like actual vinyls. The post said there's a listening booth too." You leaned closer, eyes brightening. "And the interior looks so nice. Real vintage vibe. I figured you'd like it."
He tilted his head, pretending to think. "Hmm... okay, maybe next week?"
You nodded, trying to keep it casual, but the smile that broke out on your face gave you away. Excitement bloomed in your chest like it was something new. It wasn't just another plan. It wasn't just a random meet-up. This one felt different. You kept thinking about it all week. Every small moment your mind wandered, it wandered to that café. To how you'd sit across from him, to the lighting, to the smell of the place, maybe to the way he'd laugh when you'd try to act cool about your favorite album being on display. You weren't even sure if it counted as a real date, but you were choosing to believe it did. That belief made your stomach flutter.
By Saturday, you had cleaned your room twice, even reorganized your crochet materials—something you only did when you were nervous. Your playlist was full of Bon Jovi songs now, looping endlessly while you stared at your closet.
That morning, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror, staring at your reflection longer than usual. Your piercings were gone—well, mostly. You'd taken out the ones on your face, letting the skin breathe, letting yourself look softer. The change made you feel exposed, a little too bare, but also like you were trying.
"Do you think I look presentable now without the piercings?" you asked, turning slightly in front of the mirror. The floral dress you wore was one of the few pieces in your closet that wasn't oversized, black or red. You smoothed the fabric down nervously, then glanced at Jay who was lounging nearby.
Jay lifted his eyes from his phone, a cigarette loosely held between his fingers. His face twisted slightly like he couldn't decide whether to laugh or roll his eyes. "What's with all this performative energy? You still look like an emo girl who got dragged into church."
You shot him a glare. "I'm being serious."
"So am I." He took a drag, blowing the smoke toward the window. "You look like yourself, just with fewer metal parts. That's not a bad thing, by the way. It's still you."
"You don't get it," you said quietly, adjusting the straps of the dress again. "I need to look like I have my shit together. I'm going somewhere... and I want to be seen a certain way."
Jay rolled his eyes, walked over, and stood behind you, he stubbed out his cigarette on the ceramic ashtray near the window and reached toward you, pushing your hair behind your shoulders without asking. He squinted as he examined your face. "You'll look better if you tie your hair up," he mumbled, the filter of his half-lit cigarette still stuck between his lips. "Ponytail or something. The dress opens your collarbone. It works."
You blinked at him, surprised by how serious he sounded, then reached up instinctively to gather your hair into your hand. You tilted your head, testing the look in the mirror. Something about it clicked. You could see it now—the way your eyes opened up more, how your features looked cleaner without the strands framing your face. A bit bare, sure. A little too soft maybe. "I think you're right," you said with a small smile, already grabbing a scrunchie from your pocket. "That actually helps."
Jay shrugged. "Whatever. You asked."
You turned to face him, grateful even if he looked bored out of his mind. "Thanks, Jay. Really."
"Wow, you look really good, girl."
The compliment came with a spark in Sunoo's eyes the moment you stepped inside the café, and it sent a flush creeping up your neck. His gaze lingered, tracing your figure with genuine awe that he didn't even try to hide. You hadn't brought your motorbike today—not in a dress like this—and walking into the café with heels clicking and your hair tied back suddenly felt worth it.
"Only good?" you teased, pouting as you twirled the hem of your floral dress playfully in front of him. With a soft push of your fingers, you tucked your hair behind your ear and tilted your head, smiling shyly as you searched his face for a better reaction. You wanted him to say beautiful, maybe even breathtaking, but even without the words, the look in his eyes told you everything.
Your heart had been thumping ever since you saw him seated by the window, casually checking his phone. Now, up close, it was worse. The sunlight streaming into the café highlighted the soft brown fall of his hair, the gentle curve of his cheekbones, the way his denim shirt hung open over a simple white tank top. He looked effortless—too effortless for someone who always drove you to such nervousness. And yet, despite that nervousness, you found yourself loosening.
The longer you stayed in his presence, the easier it was to talk, to laugh, to let go of the performance. There was something so calming about talking to him about things you loved, sharing songs you liked, memories from art class, favorite old movies, dumb fashion trends—simple things, but they became important because you were sharing them with him. Talking about your likes with someone you liked—it felt too rare to take for granted.
That's when it hit you. Maybe it was finally time to talk about what was happening between the two of you. The affection, the growing intimacy, the weekends together, the sleepovers that blurred the line between casual and committed—it had all been there. But neither of you had dared to define it. He had always been honest with you. In the four months you'd been tangled into each other's lives, he never lied about what he felt or where he stood. So maybe, it was time for you to take the risk again and ask.
As the two of you wandered near the wooden display cabinet filled with vintage Bon Jovi and Queen albums, your fingers reached for his and laced through gently. He let you. Your hands stayed linked, a quiet statement hanging between you, even while your mouth continued to talk about vinyl sleeves and weird 80s cover art. That peace only lasted seconds before a familiar voice cut through the space.
"Sunoo?"
Sunoo's body tensed before he turned around, his eyes wide in surprise. You perked up too, smiling with recognition, you gasped as you waved at the approaching figure. Jake, lively as ever, grinned brightly as he made his way to you.
But just as you were about to speak, Sunoo let go of your hand. The action was subtle, but it was sharp. His fingers pulled away quickly, and his body leaned ever so slightly to the side, creating distance between the two of you. You tried to ignore the way your smile faltered, tried to hold it together as Jake reached you both
"What are you doing here? Are you two bonding?" Jake asked with his usual exaggerated pout before leaning in to kiss your cheeks in greeting, then doing the same to Sunoo. "Without me?"
Your mouth opened, ready to answer, to explain but Sunoo spoke first. "No, we just ran into each other," he said too quickly, a small nervous laugh escaping his lips. "And we couldn't help but talk for a bit. It's been so long since we last saw each other, you know?"
He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. And your heart sank. Jake, ever the extrovert, nodded along cheerfully, completely unaware. "Ahhh! That's so cute! I'm just glad you two are hanging out again. We seriously need to set up another sleepover, right?"
You forced a small chuckle, brushing your hand along the side of your skirt. "T-that's a great idea," you said, trying to match his enthusiasm. But your eyes flicked back to Sunoo. He was tapping his foot against the floor, fast and impatient, not meeting your gaze.
It was like something had shifted in an instant. And now you were standing in that silence again, not sure if the version of Sunoo who held your hand minutes ago was still there... or if he had just vanished with Jake's arrival.
Even after Jake finally waved goodbye and disappeared down the street, your mood stayed where it dropped. Sunoo stood next to you like nothing happened, releasing a sigh and forcing a new topic as if the tension wasn't heavy in the air. He spoke casually, talking about a song he'd heard recently, about trying a different drink next time, anything to ignore the silence growing between you. But you couldn't pretend like him. You couldn't look him in the eye or laugh at something meaningless when your chest felt like it was being squeezed in slow, deliberate pulses. You kept your gaze down, watching your feet move with every step, barely hearing a thing he was saying.
Sunoo started to notice. His tone shifted—less patient, more irritated. The lightness in his voice faded and was replaced with annoyance. He didn't like when you shut down, and now it was clear he was blaming you for the sudden weight between you.
By the time you reached the door of his apartment, you knew the conversation was inevitable. He stepped in first, then turned, and before you could even take your shoes off, his voice came tight and harsh.
"Are you seriously getting all moody just because I let go of your hand when Jake showed up?" His eyes narrowed, his words clipped. "We agreed to keep this between us, not to say anything to Jake. You knew that. Why are you acting like this now?"
You stayed by the doorway, not moving. "It's not just about that," you murmured, your voice already thin. You didn't want to argue. You didn't want to cry either, but your body was already betraying you, tightening up.
He scoffed. "Then what is it? Because I didn't hold your hand in front of him? That's it?"
"It's just..." you took a breath, and even that was hard to push out. You felt like the words were caught in your throat, slicing through. "You looked—ashamed."
Sunoo didn't pause. He didn't soften. "Of course I'm ashamed," he blurted, not even giving the sentence time to sit. "How the hell are we supposed to explain that we're what—fucking each other? What do you want me to say to him?"
You flinched at his word, you looked up slowly, heart pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears. "It's not that hard to admit, is it?" you said, your voice shaking as you took a step forward, eyes stinging. "People do that all the time. Fuck buddies aren't a secret anymore. It's normal. You think Jake would've been shocked?"
"That's not the point—"
"It is the point, Sunoo!" You cut him off, your voice rising despite the tremble in it. "We've been doing this for months. We spend every weekend together. We sleep in the same bed. We talk like we mean something to each other, so why is it so hard to tell him that we're — something?"
You didn't expect him to shout back, but he did. "Because I'm supposed to be gay! Do you get that? I'm not supposed to feel like this about you!" The words came out angry. "And you keep pushing it like it's that simple."
You stared at him, your face falling, your fists curling. "Who fucking cares if you're gay? I never made you not be." You took a step back, voice cracking. "Just say it. Just say you're ashamed to be seen with me."
Sunoo's face twisted, but he didn't back down. His chest was heaving now, like something in him had snapped too. "You're projecting your insecurity on me! You act like I owe you something just because you decided to catch feelings! I never promised you more than what this was. That was you. That was always you!"
Your breath caught in your throat, and you stumbled back, blinking fast as the first tear broke past your lashes. "You're the one who came back after that night," he went on, voice rising with frustration, like he couldn't stop himself anymore. "You kept showing up, acting like this was something serious, like this was going to turn into something. I just—" he stopped, looking away like he couldn't even look at you when he said it, "I just gave in. You were tempting, okay? You made it hard to say no."
All the blood in your body seemed to rush to your ears, and still, you couldn't hear anything but the sound of your heart breaking. Another tear slipped down your cheek, and your lips parted like you were going to respond—but nothing came out. Sunoo blinked, realizing too late what he had just said. The way he looked at you shifted instantly, as if he wanted to take it back, but the damage was already there. "...Wait," he whispered, reaching for you instinctively. "I didn't mean—"
But you just nodded, slowly, painfully, like someone waking up from a dream they didn't want to end. "I- I get it," you said quietly, stepping past him and walking out his door like your legs weren't shaking. You didn't even turn to look at him. "I'm sorry," you added, trying to keep your voice steady, though the sound cracked anyway. You wiped under your eyes, but the tears kept falling, soft and warm against your skin. "You were right. I was annoying. I was pushy. I caught feelings, I shouldn't have. I thought maybe... I don't know what I thought."
You paused to breathe, your throat tightening as you tried to keep the sob from escaping. "What could I even expect, right? You're still a man. Of course this meant n-nothing."
Sunoo's chest tightened so hard he couldn't breathe for a second. He wanted to stop you, to wrap his arms around you, to tell you it wasn't true—none of what you were saying. That he did care. That this wasn't nothing to him. That he didn't think you were annoying, or a mistake, or something to be ashamed of. But he couldn't get the words out. The fear clenched too tightly around his ribs.
"I'm sorry," you said again, a whisper this time. Another tear slipped free and this time you laughed, short and broken. "God, I sound pathetic. S-sorry, Sunoo. I'll go. I'll leave you alone. You won't have to worry about me again."
You turned, fast, footsteps uneven as you tried to get away before he could see the full collapse happening inside you.
Sunoo didn't stop you. And you broke. You didn't wait to cry. The tears came fast and violent, your chest aching as you stumbled down the street, wiping your face on the back of your hand like it would help. At the bus stop, you sat hunched on the bench, arms wrapped around yourself as if holding your own body could keep you from falling apart. On the bus, you curled near the window, staring out at the dark streets, your reflection barely visible through the glass. You didn't care who saw you. The ache inside you was louder than embarrassment.
By the time you made it to your apartment, your hands were trembling. You didn't even bother turning on the lights. You made your way straight to your room, tugging the dress zipper with shaking fingers. When it wouldn't budge, frustration bubbled up, too hot to contain. You gritted your teeth and yanked, but it wouldn't move, so you grabbed the fabric near your shoulder and ripped it down your back with a cry of frustration. The fabric tore, seams giving way under your rage.
You tossed it to the floor like it burned you. Chest heaving, you stormed over to your nightstand and grabbed the crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds. Your fingers trembled as you pulled one out, jamming it between your lips, and fumbled with the lighter until the flame caught. You inhaled sharply, letting the smoke burn down your throat as you collapsed into the chair near the window.
"Stupid," you muttered under your breath, blinking away more tears that wouldn't stop coming. "So fucking stupid."
You thought you were strong enough not to let this happen again. You thought you could handle it. But what did you expect? You were so obsessed with ruining him when you first met, so fixated on getting under his skin, that you didn't notice he was already getting under yours. You didn't even get the chance to ruined him—he got to you first.
• ───────────────── •
Sunoo had never experienced a heartbreak that ached like this. He had felt sad before—moments of longing, fleeting attachments—but those had always passed with time, fading within days, maybe a week at most. They never lingered, never left anything permanent behind. So why the hell had he been sulking for nearly a month now, barely able to focus, barely able to sleep, staring blankly at the tulip bouquet on his desk like it could somehow explain what went wrong?
He told himself he should be relieved. There were no more complications in his way, no emotional distractions to deal with. He was finally free to focus on his demanding internship, on his future, on everything he had planned for years. And yet every late-night shift, every quiet weekend, every exhausted morning waking up to silence felt impossibly hollow without you. You used to send him silly selfies while he studied, comfort him through voice notes when he ranted about how hard nursing was, remind him to eat when he was too tired to remember. Now, all he had was the buzzing of lights, the clinking of stainless steel, the silence of the hospital—and that goddamn tulip bouquet collecting dust in the corner.
His eyebags were darker, heavier, like they carried the weight of everything he never said to you. His thoughts were loud, looping over what he should've done differently, what he should've said the moment he saw your face fall.
Fuck. He missed you so much it made his whole body ache. Every fucking night he lay in bed, biting his fist to muffle the cries. Were you okay? Were you eating? Were you still crying? Were you still thinking about him? God, he hoped not. He didn't deserve your thoughts, your sadness, your softness—but deep inside, he still wished he lived rent-free in your head the way you haunted his.
He wanted to hold you again, to collapse into your arms after a hard shift, to hear your voice teasing him when he whined about school. He wanted to kiss your neck like he used to, trace the little freckles on your collarbone, let you thread his hair through your fingers while he laid on your lap. He wanted to watch you feed your cat, complain about his bad taste in coffee, laugh when you purposely messed up his eyeliner just to annoy him. He wanted the boring things with you. The quiet, gentle things he once brushed off like they were nothing. He regretted every time he took you for granted.
"Sunoo!" Jungwon's voice jolted him out of his thoughts. His friend clapped him on the back, grinning. "Congrats! Why do you look like someone just died? We're graduating! Where's the joy, girl?"
Sunoo forced a weak smile, shrugging his shoulders as he kept his gaze locked on the soccer field in front of them, watching the high schoolers running laps, laughing with no clue how cruel it was to grow up. "You've been M.I.A. lately," Jungwon continued, nudging him. "Not cool. You ghosted everyone. No more parties? No more hangouts? We should celebrate. It's not fun without you."
Sunoo exhaled quietly, shoulders sinking. "Jungwon," he said under his breath. "I think I got infected by men's emotional negligence," Sunoo muttered bitterly, eyes still locked on the field, watching a soccer ball bounce and roll across the grass
Jungwon blinked at him. Then snorted. Then burst out laughing so hard he doubled over, hitting Sunoo's back again. "What? What are you saying? You're not even dating anyone! You've been so secretive about your love life lately, I thought maybe you were going through a dry spell or something." He leaned back, grinning. "But don't worry—men are assholes. It's honestly safer to hurt them first before they get the chance to hurt you—"
"It's not a man," he said quietly.
And Jungwon stopped laughing. He stiffened beside him, eyes blinking wide. "Wait. What?"
Sunoo didn't look at him. He just kept watching the field, the blurry shape of a boy chasing a ball, the sun dipping lower behind the school buildings. "It's not a man," he repeated. "I wish it was. It would've been easier."
His lips curled bitterly as he looked down at his white sneakers, scuffed and dirtied from weeks of walking to class in silence. "I miss her. No shit. I miss her so fucking bad."
There was a small and self-deprecating laugh, tugging at the edge of his voice, but it cracked halfway through. "It's stupid, isn't it? It hurts more when you know it's your fault. I keep thinking about all the things I told myself I'd never become. I always talked about how men treat people like shit—how they use and walk away, how they never apologize for the damage they leave behind. How they shrink from softness because they're scared of what it says about them."
He rubbed at his chest with the heel of his palm like it might ease the tightness building there, but the pressure only grew heavier. "I always swore I'd never be like that. And then I went ahead and did it anyway. I made her feel that way, Jungwon. Like she was something to be ashamed of. Like she was just a mistake I wanted to keep hidden. Like the feelings she gave me were inconvenient." He let out a shaky breath, shoulders caving in slightly. "And the worst part? I never even told her how much I liked her. How much she meant to me."
Jungwon's mouth opened slightly, stunned into silence by the sight of Sunoo—the usually sharp-tongued, composed Sunoo—sitting beside him with tears slipping quietly down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," Sunoo whispered. "You can laugh at me now. Tease me. Say I got soft. Say I turned my back on my sexuality. Or that I lost my mind over a girl when I always said I wouldn't—"
"Girl," Jungwon interrupted, his tone softer than as he scooted closer and draped an arm across Sunoo's back. "Relax. Why the hell would I laugh at you for this? You're clearly hurting. I'd have to be heartless to find that funny."
Sunoo sniffled, wiping his face. Jungwon sighed, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "You know, I think sometimes we get so wrapped up in the idea of who we're supposed to be, or what we're supposed to feel, that we forget we're just... human. You always said you didn't want to be like the guys who hurt others, right? Well, maybe you fucked up. Maybe you acted like one of them. But you realized it. You're sitting here crying because of it. That already makes you different from most."
Sunoo didn't speak, but his jaw trembled, and the tears didn't stop. Jungwon tilted his head, speaking more gently now. "Men can be assholes. A lot of them are. But being born with a dick doesn't mean you're destined to be one. What makes someone a real man is taking responsibility. Owning up to your shit. Making it right when you can."
He paused, then smiled faintly. "We might be one of the girls, sure. We squeal, we wear blush, we cry over small things, and we talk too much when we drink—but we also carry the weight of things like this. Of hurting people we care about."
Sunoo's breath hitched again, and this time when he wiped at his face, he was a little slower, a little calmer. "You know what you need to do," Jungwon said, nudging him gently. "If she meant something to you... you owe her more than silence. And you owe yourself more than sitting here pretending you're okay."
"Do you think it's too late?" he asked finally.
"I don't know," Jungwon admitted. "But people forgive stupid things when they see you're actually sorry. And you are. I see it. Maybe she will too."
"You're definitely insane," Jay said. "Because why the hell would you decide to do your nails when you know you have to play electric guitar tomorrow?"
You didn't even look up. Your fingers were too focused on the torn fabric in your lap, guiding the needle carefully through the jagged tear. You tugged gently at the thread, the tension sliding through the cloth as you murmured, "It's just minor chords."
Jay groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Minor chords and you're still skipping practice like you've got this down. God, you're making my head hurt."
"I said I'll show up," you replied flatly.
Jay scoffed in the background, but you ignored it. Let him roll his eyes. Let him sigh and throw another fit about perfection. It wasn't like he'd understand anyway. The nails weren't the problem. Jay and his perfectionist self always had something to complain about when people didn't bend to his rhythm. But you liked your nails. You liked how they shimmered when the light hit them. They made you feel decent—like maybe, just maybe, you were still capable of taking care of yourself.
Except you were too stupid to realize you'd chosen that exact shade of mint green. That soft, sweet color he once said reminded him of summer. The one he jokingly suggested would look cute on your nails if you ever ditched the blacks and reds you usually wore. The color had haunted you since then, just like everything else tied to him.
You stared down at your fingers, freshly painted and curled slightly as you guided the needle through the torn seam of the dress. You had sworn to never touch it again, but here you were, piecing it back together with trembling hands.
Heard from someone that Sunoo made it into the Latin honors list. Top of his class, just as you expected. And good for him. Really. You hoped he was sleeping well, smiling like he always did, charming everyone with that beautiful, soft voice and those ridiculously perfect eyes.
You hoped he forgot you — Because it wasn't fair that you were still waking up thinking about him.
"Fuck," you hissed, jerking your hand back as the needle pricked the pad of your finger. Blood welled up, a small drop blooming at the surface. It smeared faintly against the fabric—right over the seam you'd been trying to fix. "Ugh, shit," you muttered, staring at the new stain forming on the pale material.
Perfect! Just perfect. You sucked on your finger for a second, breathing hard through your nose, trying to hold everything back. "You could've just bought a new dress, you know." Jay said, looking at your face.
"I didn't want a new one," you said quietly, still looking at the ruined thread. "I wanted to fix it."
If someone asked you what exactly you were feeling right now, you wouldn't know how to answer. There wasn't a word that fit—nothing specific. You were functioning just fine. You got out of bed. You drank your coffee. You worked. You smiled when people talked to you, even laughed when the joke was decent enough. So, you were fine, right?
But then why did everything feel so dull? Why did the silence in your room stretch too long, and why did the nights feel colder, even when the fan wasn't turned on?
Maybe it was because you quit your part-time job. Maybe it was because you'd thrown yourself into freelance commissions, desperate to stay busy, desperate to drown out the thoughts by making yourself useful. Drawing until your eyes hurt, until your hand cramped. It worked for a while—until even the deadlines stopped scaring you.
The truth was, you had too much space now. And all that extra room made it harder to ignore the feeling gnawing at the edges of your chest.
Jay had once said, "That's why it's hard for me to watch you fall in love. You're the kind of person who gives everything without realizing it. You show up without fail, but somehow still feel so far away."
You didn't understand what he meant back then. Thought he was being dramatic, maybe too sentimental. But now you did. You were always present, always dependable. But your heart? You'd locked it away for years, guarded and watchful, convinced no one would be careful enough to hold it.
And when you let your walls down. You gave in completely, all at once, as if you'd been waiting your whole life for a reason to. And he didn't stay... Now you sat alone again, trying to rebuild the barricade you'd once worn. You tried patching yourself up with work and distractions, thinking if you filled your days enough, the ache would fade. But some nights, it came back stronger. A ghost knocking on your ribs, reminding you of the softness you once allowed.
You regret letting him see you that clearly. Regret peeling yourself open, showing the tender parts you swore no one would ever get close to. You used to be so good at keeping people at a distance, but you ruined yourself when you made an exception.
"Putting my defenses up, 'cause I don't wanna fall in love."
Your voice rang out, echoing through the crowded room. You stood at the front of the stage, clutching the mic, and the lights hit your face just enough to make everything outside the spotlight blur into nothing.
"Never put my love out on the line..." The lyrics spilled from your lips. Your eyes drifted to the floor where your foot tapped in rhythm, then to the strings of your guitar as your fingers pressed down the chords. "Never said yes to the right guy. Never had trouble getting what I want..."
A faint smile tugged at your lips. "But when it comes to you, I'm never good enough..."
You looked up then, stealing a glance toward your bandmates. They were all focused on their instruments, lost in the music like they always were, eyes down or closed, rocking slightly with the beat. None of them looked at you. You were glad for it. You didn't want them to see the way your hands were trembling on the fretboard, or how your throat threatened to close the moment his face flickered in your mind. "When I don't care, I can play 'em like a Ken doll..."
You swallowed thickly and tried to stay in rhythm, tried to keep your tone playful like the song intended—but your mind was far from the lyrics now. It drifted elsewhere. To him.
"Won't wash my hair, then make 'em bounce like a basketball..." Your breath hitched, but you kept going. "But you make me wanna act like a girl..."
You closed your eyes then. "Paint my nails and wear high heels..." Your fingers slid along the guitar strings automatically. And then, without warning, his face appeared—soft eyes, dimpled smile, that maddeningly gentle voice. Sunoo.
"Yes, you—" You faltered. "—make me so nervous that I just can't hold your hand."
You pushed through the chorus, the words twisting in your throat. The beat thundered in your ears, drowning out the sound of your own thoughts. You didn't miss a note, but you felt every crack forming inside you. And when the song finally ended, the stage lights dimmed and the crowd's cheers erupted like static in your chest, you barely smiled.
You brushed your hair back, exhaling hard as you stepped off the stage. The adrenaline was already wearing off, leaving only the sweat sticking to your skin and the tightness in your throat. You grabbed the water bottle waiting for you and took a few long gulps, letting the cool liquid settle your nerves.
"I thought you hated pop songs."
You turned your head slightly, recognizing Sunghoon's voice before you saw his face. He was already beside you, grinning. You sighed, long and loud, then handed him the water without looking, forcing him to take it. "You're annoying," you muttered, adjusting your loose sando, tugging the strap back up your shoulder and trying to fix your tangled hair with one hand. "You know I didn't pick the setlist."
"But you sang the hell out of it."
"Don't push it," you warned.
Then his voice dropped again, quieter but curious. "You got a new tattoo?"
You stilled for a moment. Your hand went to your nape instinctively, brushing over the still-healing skin just below the red ink etched across your upper spine. You didn't answer, just gave a hum of acknowledgment before slipping your hand down your back. Without shame, you reached beneath your shirt and unhooked your bra, letting your chest finally breathe after hours under the stage lights.
Sunghoon didn't say anything for a moment, but you felt his gaze linger. "Are you free tonight?" he asked. "Thought maybe we could hang out. Talk or something. Just us?"
Another sigh escaped you, this one heavier than the last. You didn't try to hide the exhaustion in your voice this time. "Sunghoon..." you started, turning to finally face him properly. "You're a good friend. You've been sticking around for longer than most people would, and I get it. You think there's something here, maybe because I let you hang around or because I'm too tired to fight your flirting half the time."
He opened his mouth to say something, but you raised your hand. "But I'm not interested," you said, carefully but clearly.
He blinked. The corners of his mouth twitched, like he didn't know whether to frown or fake a laugh, but then his lips settled into a small, almost understanding smile. "You're not interested in boys," he said, a little too quickly, trying to soften the blow for himself.
"No," you cut in, sharper this time. "I'm not interested in you."
Sunghoon looked down, then up, that crooked smile still hanging on his lips. "You know I won't stop, right?" he said, brushing off rejection with a joke.
You raised an eyebrow. "That's your choice," you replied plainly. "But don't expect me to change my mind."
"Okay," He nodded, his gaze dropped before you even finished your sentence, trailing down lazily across your chest.
Your fingers snapped in front of his face. "Seriously?" you said with irritation.
Sunghoon blinked, caught, his mouth twitching up. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled quickly. His eyes flicked back up to your face. "Is that a new piercing?"
You didn't respond right away. You crossed your arms instead, trying to hold onto your patience and bite back the exhaustion blooming across your shoulders. The days had been long, your emotions threadbare. "Ni-ki did it," you said finally, eyes narrowing as your annoyance deepened.
When your gig finally ended, you let out a long breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. You made your way toward the bar where the owner usually handed out the cut for the night, hoping it wouldn't take long because all you wanted was to go home and lie down. But before you could even reach the counter, you were nearly knocked off balance by someone throwing their arms around you.
"Oh my God! I haven't seen you in forever!" You tensed instinctively, blinking as you looked up—Jake. He pulled back slightly, still gripping your shoulders, eyes shining.
You forced a small smile. "Hi. How are you?" you asked politely, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. "I've been... busy. Really busy. You know how it gets."
Jake nodded eagerly, releasing you as he leaned against the edge of the bar. "Yeah, I get it. It's fine. Just figured I'd bump into you sooner or later. Hey—are you attending Sunoo's graduation this week?"
You froze. Your fingers twitched slightly as you curled them into the hem of your shirt, the smile on your face faltering before you managed to hold it steady again. "I—" you started, stumbling over your words. "You know we're not... that close anymore. So..." You trailed off with a shrug, trying not to look too affected even though your heart had suddenly picked up its pace.
Jake tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he was about to laugh. Not in a cruel way, but in that clueless, teasing way. You didn't give him the chance. You pushed the conversation forward before he could press further. "But how was he?" you asked quickly, pretending not to care too much even though the question burned on your tongue.
Jake leaned back and sighed dramatically. "I don't know! That bitch is ghosting everyone—just like you!" He chuckled, nudging your arm. "The only time I ever saw him was when he was at the university doing paperwork for his graduation. He's been MIA otherwise. You? Any dating updates?"
You gave another tired smile. "Not really my priorities lately," you replied, brushing your fingers over your wrist, suddenly aware of how cold your skin felt. "I'm glad he's graduating though. That's good for him."
There was a pause. Jake didn't seem to notice, already moving on with a laugh.
"What about you?" you asked before he could dig any deeper. "When's your graduation? I pity you guys. I still have two years."
Jake groaned, rubbing his face. "Ugh, don't remind me. I'm stressing because my coat won't fit."
You laughed softly as Jake rambled beside you, jumping from topic to topic like someone trying to make up for lost time. He was always like this—talkative, friendly, too eager. You tried your best to follow along, nodding when appropriate, giving short answers even though your energy was already hanging by a thread. Every bone in your body felt heavy after the performance, your shoulders stiff from standing so long, your throat dry even after the water.
He launched into another round of questions, asking about your gigs, your commissions, and whether or not you'd finally taken time off. Then, inevitably, he brought up Park Sunghoon.
"People still think we're together? Fuck that shit." You let out a grunt.
"They just like to talk," Jake offered with a shrug, as if that made it any less irritating. "You know how it is."
You rolled your eyes and tucked the bills into your bag, already thinking about what cheap meal you could get on the way home. "Then they should talk about how I'm not interested in anyone right now. Spread that."
"Not even Shin Ryujin?" he said, clearly enjoying how far he could push the conversation. "I swear you used to have the biggest, fattest crush on her. I mean—she agreed to model for you! That's a move, right?"
You tilted your head slightly. "Or maybe she just liked my art."
Jake paused for a beat, as if waiting for you to say more, but you didn't. He smirked, already forming a thought to your answer. You just shrugged, like you didn't care anymore, you wish it did. None of them ever made you feel the way he did.
Let Jake think what he wanted to think. Let people gossip and spread whatever they wanted. You were too tired to keep defending your disinterest, too tired to explain that the only person you'd really wanted was Kim Sunoo. Fucking Kim Sunoo.
And ironically, the universe had its own cruel sense of humor.
Jake didn't expect to see Sunoo the very next day—standing in front of a flower shop. Without warning, Jake squealed and slapped him on the back so hard that Sunoo's entire frame jolted forward. His eyes flew wide, mouth parting in surprise as he turned to glare.
"Fuck you," Jake laughed, hitting him again before he could dodge. "Who's the lucky person, huh? Don't tell me you're finally confessing to someone?"
Sunoo winced, rubbing his stinging shoulder and trying not to groan. "Can you not hit so hard? Shit."
It had taken him three whole days just to muster up the courage. Three days of Jungwon talking sense into him, helping him run through scenarios and worst-case outcomes, of typing and deleting countless drafts of what he wanted to say. Three days of checking your schedule like a lovesick stalker, memorizing the time and place of your fashion show just to make sure he'd catch you when you weren't buried in fabrics or fixing last-minute outfits.
He didn't really know what he was doing. The idea of bringing flowers felt old-fashioned, maybe even stupid, but he clung to it because it gave him something to hold—something to fill his trembling hands with when he finally stood in front of you. Because if he admitted it to himself, he really fucking missed you.
Jake, as usual, wouldn't shut up. He rambled about school, his thesis, some fight in a group chat he got dragged into, asking random questions in between like Sunoo was giving him the attention he wanted. Sunoo tapped his foot impatiently, nodding absently, eyes flicking to his wristwatch. He knew your show was scheduled to start soon. Jungwon had confirmed it just last night. If he moved now, he could probably sneak into the venue and find you. He wasn't sure how it would go, but he knew he didn't want to delay it any longer.
But then, Jake said your name.
"She looked so good last night, by the way. I talked to her after her gig," he said, chewing on his gum, unaware of the way Sunoo's shoulders tensed. "And I think she's dating that model of hers."
Sunoo stopped tapping his foot. Slowly turned to face him. Jake kept going. "You know Park Sunghoon? He really, really likes her! But she's totally into this girl—Shin Ryujin. If Sunghoon finds out he got rejected again for a girl, he's gonna be pissed."
The bouquet almost slipped out of Sunoo's hands. "Wait, what?" he asked.
Jake blinked, startled by the shift in tone. "Well, I mean—not confirmed or anything. But it looked like it, right? I mean, come on! If you know Ryujin, she's hot! They had crazy chemistry onstage."
But Sunoo didn't hear the rest. His pulse pounded so loudly in his ears it drowned everything else. The bouquet in his hands felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, the crinkling paper suddenly unbearable beneath his tightening grip. He could feel that familiar burn in his chest. The weight pressing down on his lungs, stealing the air from him. It wasn't just surprise, or confusion. It was anger.
No. That can't be true. Jake said it wasn't confirmed. He said maybe. But even maybe was too much for Sunoo.
Because that wasn't just anyone. That was you. His you. Even if he hadn't been able to say it properly before, even if he spent weeks keeping his distance, fumbling over his feelings, even if he was too much of a coward to tell you when he should've—he never once stopped wanting you.
And the idea of someone else having you, touching you, making you smile the way he used to, hurt more than he thought it would. His stomach twisted with jealousy. His mind raced with every memory he had of you—your laugh, your stubbornness, the way you always acted like nothing touched you until he looked close enough to see it did. He hated the thought of anyone else getting that close. It didn't matter if it was a guy or a girl. No one else could understand you like he did. No one else deserved to.
"I need to go," Sunoo muttered, already turning on his heel.
Jake blinked again, stepping forward. "Wait, go where? Sunoo—hey!"
But Sunoo didn't answer. He didn't look back. He walked faster, feet moving, bouquet still clenched tightly in his hand.
All he could think about was the image of you standing beside someone else. Laughing for someone else. Looking at them with the kind of softness you used to show only to him. The thought alone made his blood boil. He wasn't just jealous. He was angry. How dare someone else think they could have you like that?
No. That's not how this ends. He wouldn't let it. Even if it was his fault for waiting this long, even if he messed everything up from the beginning—he wasn't going to let someone else win. He wasn't going to stand on the sidelines any longer. Not when he still had something to fight for.
You were his. You've always been his. And he was going to prove it.
Sunoo made his way toward the university, his stomach twisting with every step. Most of the Fashion Design majors were still holed up on campus despite the start of summer break, preparing for the big event. He didn't know fashion shows involved this many people, this much movement, or noise. Navigating through all of it felt like trying to breathe underwater. He should've asked Jungwon for more specifics.
The halls were lined with racks of clothes, students rushing in and out of rooms, arms full of fabrics, makeup brushes, clipboards, and coffee. Sunoo tried to ask where the waiting room was, but everyone was too preoccupied to answer. He turned corner after corner, scanning every face with increasing frustration—until his eyes landed on someone painfully familiar.
Standing outside the theater room, arms crossed and relaxed was Park Sunghoon. Just seeing him made Sunoo's eye twitch. His jaw clenched so tightly he thought it might crack.
"Sunoo, right?" Sunghoon greeted him, smiling as if they were old friends. Sunoo glanced down at the flowers in his hands. Suddenly, they looked ugly. The colors didn't look as soft anymore. The petals looked dull. He couldn't believe he ever fell for a face like that.
He forced a polite sweet smile, his lips twitching with the effort. "Sunghoon," he returned. "Where do fashion majors usually stay? I need to deliver this to someone." His tone stayed casual, but he had to bite down the irritation growing inside his chest.
Sunghoon beamed. "Oh! I was just heading to the backstage area too. Come with me."
Sunoo's jaw ached with how hard he was grinding his teeth behind another fake smile. Every muscle in his body screamed to walk the other way, but he needed to get to you. If that meant dealing with this guy, so be it. Still, it took everything in him not to roll his eyes or punch the smirk off Sunghoon's face. How dare he stand there so casually, acting like he belonged beside you?
"Is the eyelash glue irritating your eyes?" you asked Ryujin, checking the final touches of her makeup. Your fingers hovered near her temples, adjusting the corner of her lashes even though they looked fine. "And your heels? Are they stable?"
"They're fine, I promise. You don't have to worry," she said gently, offering a small smile.
You turned to Beomgyu, voice tighter this time. "The fabric on the lining—is it itchy? Are you uncomfortable at all?"
Beomgyu tilted his head at you like he was trying not to laugh. "You need to stop freaking out. I already told you I feel great in this."
Your chest was heavy with nerves, and your stomach churned, not just with anxiety but with the familiar, dull pain of your first-day period cramps that made everything ten times worse. The weight of responsibility was pressing on your shoulders. What if the seams tore? What if the models tripped? What if the fabric wrinkled wrong under the lights?
And before you could spiral further, a voice cut through your thoughts. One you recognized instantly.
"Sunghoon," you said wearily, not even trying to hide the exhaustion in your voice.
He stood there with a smile too bright for the atmosphere, holding out a bouquet of flowers to you. "Good luck later! I know you're going to get so many compliments for this."
You took the flowers without much thought, fingers curling around the stems as you exhaled through your nose, trying to keep yourself from snapping. You closed your eyes, drawing in a deeper breath. "Why are you here?" you muttered, already rubbing your temple. "This is our waiting room. You shouldn't be—"
"I came with Sunoo!" Sunghoon interrupted brightly. "Didn't know he was your friend too!"
And that stopped you. Your body tensed instantly. The flowers in your hand suddenly felt like they were cutting into your skin. You looked up, already feeling your throat tighten. And there he was.
Sunoo approached you slowly. Without saying a word, he reached out and gently took the flowers from your hand—the ones Sunghoon had just given—and replaced them with the bouquet he brought. Then, with a calm that felt almost too controlled, he handed the previous bouquet back to Sunghoon, whose brows furrowed in confusion.
Your fingers stayed frozen around the fresh flowers now in your hands. Sunoo stepped closer, voice dropping low as he met your eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Can we talk?"
Something in your chest pulled tight. You forced yourself to swallow the lump rising in your throat, jaw tensing as you tried to stay composed. You could already feel Ryujin and Beomgyu watching silently, even as Sunghoon stood there, confused and observant, his brows lifted like he could sense there was something here. "I'll be back," you muttered under your breath, barely glancing at them. Then, turning to Sunoo, you gestured with a subtle wave of your hand for him to follow.
You walked fast, ignoring how your heart was pounding too hard in your chest. The backstage halls were tight and filled with noise, but the moment you stepped into the music room and closed the door behind you, everything else faded out. The silence between you was loud. "What are you doing here, Sunoo?" you asked, turning to face him. You hated how soft your voice sounded. You hated that he still had that effect on you.
Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just looked at you, his lips parted, trying to decide how to speak, what words wouldn't end in a disaster. Then he said, carefully, "Is it true? That you're dating your model?"
You blinked. That's what this was about? You let out a harsh breath and rolled your eyes, pressing the heels of your palms into your forehead. "Seriously? That's why you're here?"
He flinched at the tone. "Is it true?" he repeated, almost like he was afraid to hear the answer. "You and your model. Are you—"
"Where the fuck did you even hear that?" you snapped, your patience finally cracking. "You think I'd seriously let rumors decide who I'm sleeping with now?"
Sunoo opened his mouth to speak, but you didn't let him. "Why are you even here, Sunoo?" you pushed. "To say sorry? To wave some flowers around and pretend like that's enough?"
He didn't answer. He just stood there, looking at you, his silence impossibly loud. You exhaled, your shoulders sinking with the weight you'd been carrying alone since he left. Your voice dropped out of emotional exhaustion. "I'm tired," you whispered, almost like admitting defeat. "I have a show to finish. I have deadlines. People are counting on me. And if all you came here for was a half-hearted apology, then don't bother—because I've stopped thinking about that night."
But your voice cracked on the last word, and you hated that he might've heard it. "I still think about that night." He said and that made your heart clench.
"You were right," he said quietly. "I came here to say sorry." He looked at you fully now. "And to tell you that I want to make you mine."
You blinked, stunned. "What?"
Sunoo stepped forward, his voice trembling even though he tried to sound certain. "I hurt you. I pushed you away. I made you cry and I said things I'll never stop regretting. I ran because I was scared, and I was selfish enough to believe I could come back when it was convenient for me."
And then, to your absolute disbelief, he lowered himself to the floor, dropping to his knees. His hands found yours, gently curling around your fingers, then pressing your palm to his face. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into your touch. "Every time I close my eyes, it's you," he murmured. "Every time I wake up, I hope it's a day I get to see you again. It's always you. "
Even though his voices cracked, Sunoo pushed through it. "I hated seeing that Sunghoon guy give you flowers. I hated thinking about you with your model even if it's not true. Because I want to be the one. I want to be the person you choose, over and over again, even when I don't deserve it. Even when it's hard, and messy, and complicated."
"I didn't come here just to be forgiven," he continued, voice cracking now as his forehead nearly pressed against your hand. "I came because I want you. Because I love you. And because if there's even a part of you—any small part—that still wants me, then I'll do whatever it takes to prove that I'm worth that second chance." He looked up at you, eyes glistening, his knees still on the ground.
You didn't realize you were crying until you felt the tear slide down your cheek. The warmth of it startled you. No matter how much you tried to build walls around yourself, he had always been able to slip through. Even now.
He looked up at you from where he knelt, eyes glassy, red-rimmed. Your fingers trembled in his hands, but you didn't pull away. "You hurt me, Sunoo."
His expression broke completely, a quiet whimper escaping from his lips as he held your hands tighter, desperate. "I know," he choked out. "And I hate myself for that. I'd take it all back if I could. But I can't... so all I can do now is ask you to let me fix what I ruined."
The silence stretched again, before he whispered, almost breathlessly, "...Please?"
That single word cracked something inside you. You sniffled, blinking fast as more tears welled in your eyes, and without thinking, you slowly lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. You leaned in, heart pounding wildly, and kissed him. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't desperate. It was tender—heartbreaking in its softness, and yet full of everything you'd been holding back. The pain, the longing, the anger, the love—it was all there, pressed into the seal of your lips against his.
When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, both of your eyes closed, breath mingling in the small space between you. "I never stopped wanting you," you whispered, your voice hoarse from the tears. "Even when I tried. Even when I told myself I should."
He shuddered at your words, his breath catching, fingers lifting to cup your cheeks. "I swear I'll spend every day proving I can be someone you deserve," he murmured.
You nodded faintly, your forehead still resting against his. Then, slowly, you leaned in again, brushing your lips against his—soft at first, searching, before you kissed him fully. This time, you didn't hold back. Your lips moved against his with purpose, and he responded just as eagerly, his head tilting to meet you, to match your rhythm.
When you deepened the kiss and your tongue slipped into his mouth, his breath hitched. He moaned softly, the sound catching in his throat as he melted further into you, hands tightening at your sides. "I missed you," he whispered breathlessly between kisses.
You smiled into his mouth, sniffling as your hands cupped his damp cheeks, wiping at the tears that kept trailing down. "Missed you too," you whispered, your voice breaking as you kissed him again, even longer this time. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
He kissed you like he was making up for lost time, like every second he spent away from you had left him starving. His hands slid gently under your arms before he lifted you and your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. You could feel the way his breathing picked up as he moved, sitting down on the old couch in the corner of the room, never letting his lips stray too far from yours.
You settled on his lap, knees bracketing his hips, your mouths still moving together in sync. You could feel the way his body was reacting—how tightly he held you, how his hands gripped your back. "I love you," he whispered against your lips.
Your breath caught, your heart thudding as he pressed a trail of kisses down your neck, slow and open-mouthed. His hands, once tentative, slid to your chest, cupping you through your clothes before he gently kneaded one breast in his palm. The sensation made you shiver, your back arching into his touch instinctively as you sucked in a breath.
"Say it again," you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut.
He leaned back just enough to look up at you, both hands still resting on your waist. "I love you. I'm not letting you go again."
You leaned forward to kiss him again, your lips brushing over his. His fingers slipped under your shirt, tugging it up carefully, revealing the curve of your breast and the soft lace of your bra. His breath hitched when he saw your nipple, the silver glint of the heart-shaped piercing catching the light. He paused, stunned, swallowing hard, the outline of his arousal now pressing clearly against his pants.
"W-wait," you breathed, your hands clutching at his shoulders as his face dipped lower. "It's not fully healed yet..."
Sunoo froze, his lips just grazing the swell of your breast. He pressed the gentlest kiss on your areola, lips lingering as his thumb toyed with the other nipple through your bra, tracing slow circles that made your hips twitch above him. Your body reacted, grinding slightly against the solid pressure beneath you. His breath grew ragged against your skin, hands sliding up your back, holding you tighter.
You rocked your hips against him with slow pressure, letting the friction build until the heat between your bodies felt like it might burn right through your skin. His hands moved restlessly, tugging at your waistband, already working to unbutton your pants.
But your hand caught his wrist, halting him. "N-No... we can't," you murmured, your voice ragged from panting. You glanced down at him beneath you—his brows were drawn together in frustration and confusion, his face flushed with heat, sweat starting to gather along his hairline, and his lips—red and kiss-swollen—were parted.
"I... I have my period."
He blinked, then tilted his head slightly like he couldn't understand why that would matter. His hand slid back down, cupping you through the fabric of your underwear, right over your pad. You gasped, the heat of his touch making your body tense with shame and anticipation. Your cheeks flared hot with embarrassment.
"I-It's not clean," you whispered, voice wavering. "It's messy..."
"And?" he muttered, his gaze never left your face. Without waiting for your approval, his hand dipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, carefully maneuvering around the pad as his fingers brushed against your pussy.
His finger slipped in, and your jaw dropped open, a soft cry catching in your throat. The feeling was slow, filling, a deliberate push deeper until he bottomed out and curled his finger inside you, testing your sensitivity. "You know," he began, "orgasms help relieve cramps. The body releases endorphins that ease pain. It's not gross... it's your body asking for what it needs."
You whimpered, unable to argue. Especially not when his finger began to move—slow at first, then building pace, retreating and sinking back in until your hips were grinding helplessly against his palm. Each stroke hit something deeper than just your body, pulling breathy moans from your throat.
"S-Sunoo—" you choked, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance. His other hand slid up your shirt again, pushing the fabric away so he could lean in and press his mouth to your chest. His lips wrapped around the soft swell of your breast, and the sharp contrast of your piercing against his tongue made him groan. "I-It's gross."
"No, it's not." He whisper, biting your neck, tongue swirling at it, he mumbled against your skin before adding another finger, spreading you wider. "It's hot. You're hot."
Your only answer was a louder moan, your thighs trembling as you rode his fingers, your body clenching around him. The pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter, until everything snapped all at once. You came hard, body clenching around him as your head tilted back, breath stuttering and vision swimming.
Sunoo shifted you easily, guiding your body until you were bent over the couch, his grip firm and sure as he moved you exactly how he wanted. But then he stilled, breath catching when his eyes landed on your back. His palm slid over your spine, tracing the ink.
"Fuck," he hissed. You felt the way his fingers trembled slightly, how he cupped your hips and coaxed you into an arch, dragging his touch down the trail of black lines and crimson lilies that ran from your shoulder blades to the curve of your lower back. "You always know how to drive me crazy... and now you go and get this?"
You tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked sound as he pulled your pants lower, exposing the heat between your legs. He groaned behind you, dragging the tip of himself along your entrance, already soaked and messy, your blood mixing with everything else. It should've made you feel embarrassed but instead, it only made the tension between you burn hotter.
"Please," you breathed, turning your head just enough to look at him over your shoulder.
Sunoo didn't need to be told twice. He eased into you slowly, his body pressing close, chest flush against your back as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, anchoring you to him. His breath stuttered against your skin, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he moved deeper, his other hand gripping your waist so tightly.
Your eyes caught sight of his hand, streaked with red from earlier, and instead of disgust, all you felt was a strange kind of thrill that twisted low in your belly. You clenched around him involuntarily, another moan slipping from your lips.
He kissed your jaw, then your cheek, then finally your mouth again, hungrily this time, tongue sliding against yours as his hips found a faster rhythm. His hands trembled where they held you, but his movements were certain, desperate. "Ah—fuck—I love you," he gasped, his voice cracking open as the pace quickened. "I love you so much. So fucking much."
Your breath caught, heart slamming in your chest. "Sunoo—wait—" your voice was barely audible between moans, "you're not wearing—ah—no condom—!"
He stilled for a second, his breath rough in your ear. But instead of pulling away, he leaned in closer, murmuring, "I know."
Your pussy clenched around him on instinct, as if reacting to the rawness of it all, to the fact that he was really inside you like this. The feeling of his bare cock dragging against your soaked walls was overwhelming, hotter, slicker. Your eyes rolled back as a loud moan escaped your throat, your fingers tightening on whatever they could grab.
"F-fuck," he whimpered, as your walls fluttered around him. Sunoo sounded like he was unraveling in real time. His hands gripped your waist harder, his breath shaking as he slowly pushed back in, deeper this time. He whined against your skin, overwhelmed, almost breathless at how good it felt. "I missed you. Missed this—missed you so fucking much."
His voice cracked, raw emotion bleeding into every word. "Don't leave again, hmm? Please. I'll treat you better this time. I swear—I love you. Fuck, I love you. I'm so fucking in love with you."
He didn't give you time to answer. His fingers slid down between your thighs, finding your clit without hesitation, rubbing slow, dizzying circles that made your knees buckle. His cock hit your g-spot mercilessly and your voice broke into a scream, loud and unfiltered, but you didn't care—the music room was soundproof, and even if it wasn't, you wouldn't have stopped him.
"S-Sunoo—I'm gonna cum," you choked out, your voice hoarse, hips jerking uncontrollably from the way his fingers pressed harder into your clit. Your pussy clenched down around him, and the orgasm crashed into you so fast it nearly knocked you off your feet. Your whole body shook and your thighs quivered, but Sunoo held you tight through it, one hand gripping your waist as the other kept you grounded, kept fucking into you with more force, chasing his own high.
"God, I love you, my baby," he whined. His hips started stuttering, the sound of skin slapping echoing faintly against the padded walls, getting messier, needier. "C-can I cum inside you? Please—let me?"
You couldn't speak at first, just nodded frantically, your fingers digging into his arm where it hugged around your waist. "Yes," you breathed, still panting, "Yes, yes—Sunoo, please—cum in me. I love you."
He let out the loudest, rawest moan of the night, something close to a sob, his whole body tensing as he came hard. You could feel it flood inside you, the warmth of it thick and hot as he kept fucking you through it, like he couldn't stop, like he needed to push it deeper, make sure it stayed.
Even after he was spent, his hips kept rocking slowly into you. His cum leaked around his cock, dripping down your thighs, and still he stayed buried inside, forehead resting against your shoulder, breath warm on your skin.
Neither of you spoke for a long moment, just the sound of ragged breathing filling the space between kisses—gentle ones now. He kissed your neck, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. "I love you," he murmured, then kissed your temple, eyes shut, holding you.
You turned in his arms, legs shaky, body still pulsing from the aftershocks, and cupped his face with both hands, pulling him into a messy, open-mouthed kiss. "I love you too," you whispered.
EPILOGUE
Sunoo made his way to the stage with a confidence he hadn't felt in a long time, holding up his medal and certificate for the photographer with a proud grin. Applause echoed through the auditorium, and for a moment, all the weight he had carried over the years—every sleepless night, every self-doubt, every quiet breakdown—seemed worth it. Sitting down on the chair at the side of the stage, his heart swelled with something deeper than relief. He wasn't just happy—he felt fulfilled. Things were finally going his way, and more than that, he had done it on his own terms.
"You look so good—God, I love your makeup!" Giselle said beside him, nudging him with her shoulder. He turned to her with that signature Sunoo smile, wide and sweet. "Your blush is perfect. It suits you so well," she added.
He smiled softly, cheeks glowing with more than just the highlighter dusted on them. "Thanks. My girlfriend did my makeup."
Giselle blinked, then gasped. "Wait—did I hear that right?"
Sunoo didn't respond, just chuckled to himself. When the program ended and the crowd was released into the open hall, he barely waited before slipping into the crowd, eyes scanning eagerly for one person. He weaved through clusters of families and graduates, ignoring the flashes of cameras, until his eyes finally landed on you. His whole face lit up instantly.
Without a second thought, he squealed and ran straight into your arms, wrapping you in a tight, all-consuming hug. You squealed too, and the sound made a few people turn their heads, curious. But Sunoo didn't care. You were in his arms, and that was all that mattered.
"Congratulations, my love!" you beamed, pinching both his cheeks before kissing his forehead.
He immediately slapped your hands away with a playful pout. "Stop! You're gonna mess up my makeup."
You laughed and leaned in. "I could always retouch it, dummy. I was the one who did it, remember?"
Sunoo squinted, finally taking a proper look at you now that he wasn't rushed or nervous. You had left before him earlier, after helping with his look, and now he was seeing you fully—your hair tied neatly in a bun, soft clean makeup that felt too tame for you, and a bright, modest outfit that covered every inch of your skin.
His gaze lingered. "You... took off your piercing?"
You nodded and gave a small shrug, your smile faltering. "Yeah. I figured... maybe you'd want me to look presentable today. Like, for your big day. It felt like the right thing to do."
He tilted his head slowly, eyes narrowing as he looked you over again. "Presentable?" he repeated. "I love the way you look with your piercings on, your tattoos showing, your red lipstick. That's you."
Your chest tightened, emotion catching in your throat so fast you couldn't even respond with words. Instead, you stepped forward and hugged him again, burying your face into his neck as your arms wound around his waist. "I love you," you whispered against his skin.
Sunoo's eyes widened slightly. Then slowly, he melted into your hug, wrapping his arms around you just as tightly. He rested his chin on your shoulder, and for a moment. "I love you more," he murmured softly. Then, pulling back a little to meet your eyes, his brows furrowed. "Wait—did I make you feel like I didn't want you to be yourself? Like I was forcing you to be someone else? I'm sorry."
You shook your head, tears beginning to pool despite the smile on your lips. "No... It wasn't you. I just... I didn't want to mess anything up today. I thought maybe if I toned myself down, it'd be easier."
Sunoo's eyes shone with emotion as he wiped your tears with his thumbs. "You could never mess anything up just by being yourself," he whispered. "Especially not with me. I want you loud, and messy, and bright. I want you with the piercings, with the tattoos, with whatever the hell makes you feel like you. That's the person I want beside me, every day. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like I was changing you. Forgive me, hmm?"
You leaned into his touch, forehead resting against his. "Then I'll never tone myself down again."
"Good," he smiled, brushing a kiss to your nose. "Because we've got a lot more milestones coming. And I want all of them with the real you."
You laughed lightly, the tension in your chest finally melting as you cradled his face. "Our only problem now is how to tell Jake without him fainting."
That made Sunoo snort before leaning in again to kiss you properly, his smile still pressed to your lips. You could hear a few surprised gasps from the crowd nearby, but you didn't care—and clearly, neither did he.
"It's fine," he whispered playfully, nuzzling close again. "We'll just plan a sleepover. That way, when he faints, we'll already be somewhere private... and have all the time in the world to celebrate without interruptions."
You smirked, squeezing his hand as it found yours. "I have a gift for you later when we get home."
His eyes sparkled with mischief as he raised a brow. "Hmm... A blowjob?"
You gave his shoulder a soft shove, rolling your eyes with a laugh. "No, not that, idiot."
He broke into a laugh too, the sound warm and carefree, then reached for your waist and pulled you in close again. His hand rested securely there, thumb drawing small circles, grounding you both in that moment. "Thank you for loving me as I am," he whispered against your ear. "Even on the days I forget how to love myself."
You leaned in, letting your head fall against his shoulder, smiling as his lips pressed a kiss to your temple. "I love you in every version of you, Sunoo," you whispered, and you meant every word.
The two of you continued walking hand in hand through the crowd. And if someone had asked you what you were feeling at that exact moment you would've said that you were in love. You were content, completely at peace with who you were and who you were becoming. And more than anything, you were happy, so much more happier than ever. Because Sunoo was beside you.
pairing ˚୨୧⋆｡ ₊° park sunghoon x f!reader ── .✦ smut (mdni!), fluff, rom-com, angst, slowburn kinda, college!au, friends to lovers ft. yn's roommate!jake & sunghoon's roomate!jay wc ꩜⊹✎ᝰ.ᐟ 24k
synopsis ୭ ⁺₊✧ the universe has a funny way of working. some people find their fate in poetry, in the stars, or in the grand, sweeping moments of life. you? you find yours in the form of park sunghoon—a boy you keep running into in the most unfortunate ways possible. like how he threw a football straight into your face and broke your nose. or when he got way too drunk at a party and threw up all over your shoes. or that time he somehow managed to blow up an entire science experiment all over you. in other words—the few accidental times the universe tries to tell you that park sunghoon is your fate…and the one time you finally listened (and maybe fate had less to do with a broken nose and more to do with the way he looks at you like you’re his favorite accident).
warnings ꩜｡⊹ ࣪ ˖ sunghoon is DOWNBAD, clumsy & awkward as hell // he YEARNS & LONGS, a drama queen // alcohol consumption // mild cursing // hoon is also a self sabotager // jayhoon bromance is real // sunghoon has one sided mental beef against jake for sum reason LOL ˗ˏˋ nsfw tags ᝰ.ᐟ virgin!sunghoon x experienced!reader, lowkey sub/switch!sunghoon, unprotected sex (dont do it pls!!!), oral sex (f receiving), riding, fingering, squirting, dry humping, hoon has a praise kink for sure, breast play, handjob, hair pulling, dirty talk, masturbation (he does it while he munches whoops), roughish sex, creampie
°˖➴ .ᐟ addie ── OK so i'd like to start off with saying last i checked this fic had 15k words...and then suddenly it has 24k... idk what happened honestly . but i ended up LOVING writing this sunghoon bc in my eyes he's a hot, clumsy dork <3 this is my first time ever writing smut so i am so so sorry if it sucks absolute booty hole bc it truly had me spinning in circles...i have so much respect for smut authors bc damn . anyways i hope u guys like, pls let me know what u think & also ty ronnie per usual for beta reading & encouraging me to explore out of my comfort zone heh. HOPE U ALL ENJOY :')
they say you never forget your first.
your first kiss. your first failing grade. your first crush. your first pet’s name.
for park sunghoon? he’ll never forget the first time he met you.
and honestly? he kind of wishes he could.
scratch that—he desperately wishes he could. then he wishes he could self-implode. then, he wishes he could rewind time and never agree to play catch with jay in the first place.
not to be dramatic or anything. but if you had been responsible for sending a football flying at full speed straight into someone’s face, you’d probably want to self-implode too.
and that’s exactly what happens.
it’s a quiet day. a peaceful one, almost. the kind of the day that feels soft around the edges, where nothing’s too bright, too loud, or too complicated. the one that almost makes sunghoon feel like simply a background character in the movie of his own life, which he doesn’t entirely mind either.
sunghoon’s morning starts like most of his mornings do—half productive, half running on pure autopilot. he wakes up to his alarm on time (a small miracle), beats jay to their shared bathroom before he can claim it for his thirty minute long skincare routine (a big miracle), and grabs a granola bar from the kitchen cabinet. said cabinet, by the way, is home to an endlessly growing collection of half-eaten snacks—chips that have gone soft, instant ramen cups with weird flavors no one remembers buying, and a mystery jar of peanut butter that’s been there since move in day.
sunghoon pays half attention in his 9AM statistics lecture (which is about as much as anyone can ask from him on a monday morning), and manages to grab his favorite sandwich from the café before they run out for the day. the café lady even remembers his name this time (although she calls him ‘sungoon’, which he lets slide because she gives him extra pickles).
it’s all wonderfully, boringly normal.
and for sunghoon, that’s saying something.
because his life isn’t exactly filled with chaos—he’s not that guy. but he does have a habit of stumbling into moments that feel like they were written by a sitcom writer and he’s the character created solely for the purpose of comedic relief.
like the time he ran into and tripped over the campus mascot in front of an entire basketball game. or the time he waved back at someone who wasn’t waving at him and then had to commit to pretending he actually did know them. or the time he tried to flirt with a girl at a bookstore and accidentally knocked over an entire table of self-help books on himself.
you get the idea.
still, today feels normal. stable, predictable.
until jay shows up.
jay appears in sunghoon’s peripheral vision exactly how sunghoon predicted he would—hair sticking up in three different directions, wearing an oversized hoodie that may or may not be his sleep shirt, a cup of iced coffee in one hand even though it’s four in the afternoon and, for some reason, a football in the other.
sunghoon blinks up at him from his table in the campus courtyard. there’s an empty sandwich container on one side of him, a half-finished math sheet on the other, and that quiet kind of peace that only comes when you’re okay with the world not doing anything particularly interesting.
jay park ruins that peace immediately.
“what’s that for?” sunghoon asks, nodding at the football in jay’s right hand.
jay shrugs, sipping his coffee before putting it down next to sunghoon’s empty sandwich container. “found it on my way here. thought it’d be fun.”
fun.
sunghoon raises an eyebrow. that’s a bold word coming from jay—jay park, a business major who considers waking up before noon an accomplishment and whose idea of cardio is sprinting into lecture late.
still, sunghoon doesn’t judge. he’s learned his lesson about athletic optimism. the summer he was nine, he tried out for the neighborhood little league baseball team with nothing but poor hand-eye coordination and a dream. one swing, one very unlucky coach, and one black eye later, and sunghoon retired early from all things sports related.
which should’ve been foreshadowing in itself.
sunghoon’s first mistake is catching the football when jay tosses it at him. his second is not immediately throwing it back and walking away.
because somehow, between the caffeine in jay’s bloodstream and sunghoon’s chronic inability to say no to stupid ideas—five minutes later they’re standing on opposite sides of the courtyard, tossing the football lazily back and forth.
and it becomes easy, repetitive. jay’s talking about something mid-throw, probably the new band he’s into or some conspiracy theory about the campus squirrels. but sunghoon’s not really listening, not really. he’s too focused on the rhythm. catch, step, throw. catch, step, throw. it’s almost meditative.
until it isn’t.
because somewhere across the courtyard that smells like grass and cheap coffee, laughter suddenly carries through the air—a bright, unfamiliar kind of laugh that feels like home anyways and that makes sunghoon’s head instinctively turn.
and in that same half-second, jay’s voice calls out.
“yo, heads up!”
sunghoon turns back just in time to see the football not in his own hands anymore.
and it’s definitely not heading towards jay either.
it’s heading towards you.
and before he could do anything about it—the ball collides with your face with an impact so loud that the entire school might as well have witnessed it.
“oh my god,” jay whispers.
“oh my god,” sunghoon repeats under his breath.
“oh my god,” you’re gasping, clutching your nose and stumbling back before you can catch yourself, your butt hitting the grass.
sunghoon’s stunned for a second, arms halfway raised, eyes flickering between you and jay and the football. he runs through a mental list of things that could maybe, possibly, reverse the entire past twenty minutes of the disaster that is his life (spoiler: there aren’t any).
and then he’s moving before he even realizes it, jogging over with wide eyes and a growing pit of dread in his stomach.
“oh my god—are you okay? did i—shit—is your nose broken?” the words fall out of his mouth in one frantic breath as he crouches beside you.
you hand is still pressed against your face as you blink up at the figure above you, your vision disorientated.
and when your eyes finally focus—the face that greets you is devastatingly pretty.
which would be fine under any other circumstance. except for the fact that this is the face of a man who literally just assaulted you via sports equipment.
and unfortunately for sunghoon, the face that greets him is just as devastatingly pretty.
which would also be fine…under any other circumstance.
because sunghoon’s luck with girls isn’t terrible…technically. he’s had his fair share of crushes that lasted two weeks but ended in radio silence. he knows how to flirt when he needs to, knows how to make a girl laugh, knows what kind of compliment lands without sounding weird. he’s even good at the little things—opening doors, letting the girl have the booth side of the table, texting back on time but not too soon, pretending to like matcha even though it tastes like grass to him.
the problem is never getting their attention. he’s grown up around enough of his mom’s friends cooing at him during dinner parties—‘your son is so handsome!’ ‘what did you eat during your pregnancy to get a face like that?’— that he’s well aware he’s got at least one thing working in his favor. so no, getting attention isn’t the issue.
it’s keeping it.
because sunghoon is the kind of guy who accidentally ghosts first. not on purpose, he just forgets. he gets too caught up in assignments, or chores, or reorganizing his t-shirt collection by color again (even though it’s really only three colors: black, white, and a slightly lighter black). he’s terrible at balancing the whole dating thing and college thing and not knocking over self-help book displays in public thing.
and now, apparently, not breaking someone’s nose.
but right now, looking at you—bloodied nose, wide eyes, planted in wet grass and probably mildly concussed—sunghoon can’t think about any of that.
because, somehow, even like this, maybe even especially like this, he thinks you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen.
which is horrifying.
sunghoon wants to dig a hole right then and there and crawl inside. maybe build a small underground home, maybe live out the rest of his days as a mole person.
“i—i’m so sorry. i swear, it was an accident—he—jay was supposed to catch it—”
that’s when jay conveniently shows up right behind him, a hand lifting up in betrayal, “bro, you looked away—”
“i was distracted—”
“by what?”
sunghoon freezes. his brain short-circuits, because the answer is, unfortunately, you.
he opens his mouth. freezes. clears his throat. tries again. “by…a…bird?”
you finally speak up from your spot on the ground, your head going back and forth at the two bickering guys through your watery eyes, “…a bird.”
“yeah,” sunghoon says, shrugging like this is an everyday conversation. “it was…really big.”
there’s a slight beat of silence where even jay looks like he feels pity for his best friend. then, you squint at him, tilting your head slightly.
“wait—” you start, voice still a little nasally. “you look familiar. have we met before?”
sunghoon stiffens. his entire life flashes before his eyes.
have you met before? god, please not the self-help book incident. or worse—not the person he accidentally waved to thinking it was someone he knew.
he feels his stomach drop. maybe it’s neither. maybe it’s both.
and maybe he should just crawl into the earth now and never come back up.
“that would be park sunghoon,” a new voice cuts in.
you turn your head towards the sound, relief instantly washing over your face when you see the tall boy approaching—baseball cap on backwards, plastic cup of boba in one hand, and a very mild look of concern on his face.
“jake.”
“y/n.” jake’s eyes flick to the scene in front of him: you, still clutching your nose; sunghoon, crouched nearby with a look only a guilty perpetrator could possess; and jay, standing behind him and sipping his coffee like he’s getting free entertainment (and he is).
“…i leave you alone for two minutes,” jake starts flatly, “and you’ve already managed to get injured by my friends.”
“accidentally injured,” jay corrects pointedly and very much unhelpfully.
jake ignores him. “he lives in our building, that’s probably where you’ve seen him.” he then gestures vaguely to both sunghoon and jay with the drink in his hand. “they both do. down the hall from us.”
he reaches down and helps you to your feet in one smooth pull, steadying you by the elbow before turning to the boys. “y/n, meet sunghoon and jay—two of my closest friends since high school, unfortunately. and also unfortunately, our neighbors.”
then he glances back at the pair, who now stand side by side in an awkward pose of guilt and discomfort. “and sunghoon and jay, meet y/n—my new roommate. remember? i told you guys she transferred here a few days ago. i was coming over to introduce you guys but…looks like you beat me to it.”
sunghoon makes a noise. not a normal human noise. a noise that lands somewhere between a startled choke, squeak, and what he thinks a goose being lightly stepped on would sound like.
because no—he absolutely does not remember jake telling him this. because jake definitely mentioned it, but probably in the middle of a league match when sunghoon was functioning at ten percent brain capacity, half-listening while trying not to die in-game for the fifteenth time:
“new roommate, got it,” he had probably replied at the time, while actually registering none of it.
and now here you are. in front of him. because of course the universe would make you one of his closest friend’s roommate. of course the prettiest girl he’s ever accidentally assaulted with a football now lives ten doors down.
he hovers, like he wants to say something else—maybe something smooth so you think he’s charming, maybe an actual apology so you think he’s not an asshole with awful coordination. but his brain offers him nothing but static.
he opens his mouth. closes it. opens it again. nothing.
he’s spiraling. he wants to evaporate. he wants to scream. but instead of doing any of these things, sunghoon does what any rational, socially competent person would do.
he sticks out his hand. straight. stiff. right in front of you. doesn’t say a word.
you blink. you glance down at it. then back up at him. you squint your eyes past the vision of your other hand still clutching your face, looking at him as if trying to puzzle something together.
still, with your free hand, you eventually reach forward and give his a small, polite shake. his palm is warm, a little clammy, and you’re pretty sure you can feel him holding his breath the entire time.
“nice to meet you, park sunghoon,” your voice small but with something else.
the way his full name rolls off your tongue is smooth, deliberate. just on the edge of playful, but there’s something else beneath it. he can’t tell if it’s sarcasm or sincerity. maybe both. maybe you’re the kind of person who could ruin him with a smile and then apologize while doing it.
either way, it sticks. because it shouldn’t sound like that. like a challenge. like a secret he’s suddenly desperate to learn. and the worst part of it all? he likes it.
and for a second, everything else is tuned out—the sound of the commotion around campus, the breeze rustling the leaves around him, even jay’s straw scraping against the remaining ice in his cup—all sunghoon can focus on is the faint curve of your lips when you say his name. it hits him somewhere low in his gut. strange and foreign and sweet. sweet in a way that could be addicting if sunghoon isn’t careful.
and honestly, he’s not good with things that make him feel like this. because, sunghoon? sunghoon is far from careful. he’s clumsy in life—can’t keep his balance, can’t hold his composure, can’t even throw a football without committing mild assault.
and now he can’t think straight either.
“—and jay,” you nod towards jay, who lifts his now empty coffee cup in a small wave, “but i think i should probably go to the clinic or something.”
jake nudges you gently, which snaps sunghoon out of whatever trance he was sinking into, “yeah. let’s get you checked out before you lose your nose.”
and because sunghoon is sunghoon and definitely not a rational, socially competent person—the best he could manage is a crooked, lopsided smile and a stiff little wave as you turn to go.
you start walking, jake talking quietly beside you, but before you’re too far away, you glance back over your shoulder. and it’s quick, half a second at most—but sunghoons catches it.
a faint smile. the faintest. and he can’t tell if it’s teasing, curious, or dangerous. maybe all three.
either way, it stays with him and he freezes, watching you disappear around the corner, his heartbeat now annoyingly loud in his chest. and he doesn’t know what to think of it. because, again, sunghoon’s luck with girls isn’t terrible…technically. he just doesn’t think he’s ever felt this before. but, to be fair, it’s not everyday you accidentally potentially break the nose of the prettiest-girl-you’ve-seen-turned-neighbor before.
“that…was amazing.” jay breaks sunghoon out of his mental spiral, nudging sunghoon’s arm with his own elbow, smirking.
sunghoon doesn’t answer. he’s too busy replaying every second in his head—the way your hand felt, the way you said his name, the way you threw that half-smile over your shoulder.
and somehow, some way, sunghoon’s wonderfully boring day had accidentally become something else entirely.
and that was the first time park sunghoon sees you.
the second time he sees you, he almost forgets about the entire football fiasco, honestly.
not because it’s anything personal against you. god, no.
but because he remembers something his therapist once said. something about how, apparently, if a memory is painful enough, sometimes the best thing to do is just…repress it. file it away. pretend it never happened altogether.
which, in hindsight, is probably, most definitely, not the best way to handle one’s crippling emotions. especially not crippling emotions involving a girl who looks like the kind of person that keeps you up at night after only exchanging a solid ten (10) words.
but to be fair, sunghoon’s therapist is also a twenty-something year old business major who listens to ‘character development’ podcasts every morning and calls it experience.
so yeah. his therapist is jay park.
which explains why the memory of meeting you now lives in the deepest and darkest corners of sunghoon’s mind—right between the mascot-tripping incident and the little league baseball trauma.
but again—sunghoon has the chronic inability to say no. especially to jay. and you’d think, after years of friendship, he’d know better.
he does not.
which is how he ends up here—standing in the middle of a frat house that’s definitely seen better days, clutching a red solo cup filled with what jay insists is just ginger ale, and silently wondering how to sneak out without anyone noticing.
because parties were never really sunghoon’s thing.
not only because he’s a self-proclaimed introvert. but because they usually involve three things: 1) loud music that usually consists of mediocre 2000s pop songs all mashed up together by a frat brother whose side gig is dj-ing, 2) sticky floors from mysterious substances that he refuses to think about, and 3) some guy named ni-ki who, for reasons unknown to science, keeps losing his left shoe at every function and makes it everyone else’s problem.
or all of the above. usually all of the above.
but now sunghoon’s too many sips deep into his maybe-not-ginger-ale mystery drink, with the floorboards vibrating underneath him, and the crowd of bodies around him moving in an off-beat rhythm to some one direction song.
he also thinks the room might be spinning, but he’s not sure if that’s from the strobing lights flickering across the ceiling or because he accidentally downed half of whatever this drink actually is. he should probably stop. he should definitely stop.
but before he can even gather his thoughts to make any semi-rational decision a semi-drunk person could make, jay shows up and slaps him on the shoulder with the force of a man who’s had one too many more than sunghoon has.
“dude,” jay shouts over the music, leaning in and nodding his head toward the other end of the room. “don’t look now, but—”
which is precisely the kind of sentence that makes sunghoon immediately look now.
and there you are.
you’re across the room, leaning casually against the wall, laughing at whatever jake just said beside you. your head’s tilted back, cup in hand, a strand of hair falling over your face, and sunghoon nearly forgets to breathe.
and you’re wearing exactly what’s going to keep him up tonight. and so, of course, he doesn’t know what to do about it.
sunghoon’s pretty sure the air conditioning in this place stopped working about an hour ago, but the room suddenly feels suffocating, sweat prickling at the back of his neck and the crowd blurs into a backdrop, the music fading to a distance. all he can see is the curve of your mouth when you laugh—fully, invitingly, the kind that pulls a low heat to his gut—and the way your fingers twist a loose strand of hair absentmindedly, completely unaware of how it draws him in.
it’s not fair. you’re supposed to be a one-time occurrence. the one-time girl he accidentally maimed with a football and might awkwardly bump into while checking mail or when he comes over to visit jake—not someone who looks like she belongs in every dream he’s going to have for the next six months.
and sunghoon hasn’t even had a real first kiss, technically—unless you count that tragedy of spin-the-bottle in the tenth grade where he accidentally bit a girl’s lip and left her mortified and bloody—but all of the sudden, his mind floods with foreign, forbidden thoughts he really shouldn’t entertain. thoughts of closing the distance, backing you against that wall, his hands on your waist, how your lips would part under his, the faint taste of whatever you’re drinking mixing with his, your laughter turning into something heavier, needier. the way your body might arch into him, the soft gasps you’d make if his mouth trailed lower—god, it’s wrong, it’s too much, and sunghoon tries his hardest to veer his thoughts elsewhere.
but because sunghoon is everything except subtle, jay follows his line of sight and smirks immediately.
“oh god,” jay warns, but the intrigued look on his face says otherwise. “you’re thinking about going over there, aren’t you?”
sunghoon freezes before subtly rolling his eyes, running a hand through his hair, “i just—i should apologize. right? like, properly. you know, be mature about it.”
jay gives a look despite the a playful tone in his slurred voice, “i’m just saying. she might walk away with a new broken bone if you do.”
sunghoon exhales, straightens up, takes a gulp of his drink and coughs from the burn—yeah, definitely not ginger ale. “statistically, lightning can’t strike twice.”
jay blinks. “how the hell are you quoting statistics while drunk?”
“because i’m not,” sunghoon says pointedly, slapping his own cheek once as if that’ll magically sober him up. and he thinks he’s at least…fifty percent sober. hopefully. “see? totally fine.”
he doesn’t stick around to hear whatever jay’s response is—because the second he notices jake disappearing into the kitchen, he’s already weaving through the crowd, heart pounding, brain screaming at him to turn around, and feet doing exactly the opposite.
you notice him before he even reaches you. there’s a flicker of surprise on your face, but it fades just as quickly—shifting into something that looks like amusement. like you were expecting this. like you’d been waiting for him to show up eventually.
“the park sunghoon,” you say once he’s close enough to hear you over the music. and when he is, the space between you feels heavy—maybe it’s from the heat of the room, maybe from the scent of alcohol and sweat. maybe from something else entirely. “i didn’t take you as a party person.”
sunghoon freezes mid-step.
because he thought he knew what he was going to say to you once he got here. maybe something clever, maybe something smooth. but your tone—the teasing ease of it, the way his name sounds in your mouth—it throws him off completely.
his fingers tighten around his cup and he takes another sip, pretending to look casual and not because he suddenly has no idea what to do with his hands. then he lets out a laugh—nervous, stupid, a little too loud.
“i’m usually not,” he manages, trying to sound smooth as he leans a shoulder against the wall beside you. “but jay can be persuasive.”
a small smirk plays at the corner of your lips. “mmm. and the drink?”
sunghoon follows your gaze down to the red solo cup in his hand.
“jay told me it was ginger ale.”
you don’t say anything for a second. then, you let out another hum, reaching out before he can react and taking the cup straight from his hands.
you take a slow sip, your eyes trained on his own over the rim of his cup. it’s deliberate. it’s long. it’s dangerous. and he feels every. second. of it.
you lower the cup, swallow, then make a face. “yeah. definitely not ginger ale.”
sunghoon laughs, sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, figures.”
a teasing smile tugs at your lips, “do you do everything jay tells you to?”
his eyes widen immediately. “what? no! no—no, definitely not.”
“uh huh,” you glance past him to where jay’s pretending not to watch the two of you from across the room. very badly. “did he tell you to come over here?”
sunghoon turns, spots jay’s unsubtle wave, and groans. “no, actually. i came over all on my own, i’ll have you know.”
“oh yeah?” you tilt your head, stepping just a little closer—close enough for him to catch the faint citrus of your perfume. “and why’s that, sunghoon?”
he opens his mouth, ready with something about apologizing again, but the words stall.
because here you are. up close. and you’re a little overwhelming—eyes steady, posture loose, smile daring. he thinks he can feel his pulse in his ears.
“because…uh—” sunghoon stops, clears his throat, then smirks, trying to look steadier than his heart feels. “i figured if i’m gonna cause another accident tonight, i should probably make sure it’s worth it.”
you laugh, and he swears it’s louder than the music, “smooth recovery.”
“i’m a fast learner.”
“from jay?”
he grins. “definitely not.”
and the way you smile at that—the slow, curious curve of it—makes him realize he’s in trouble. the kind of trouble he doesn’t exactly want to walk away from.
there’s a beat where neither of you say anything. the music continues to thump all around him, the lights flash across your face in a dizzy rhythm that makes sunghoon’s stomach flip, and you’re standing close enough now that he can smell the faint scent of your citrus perfume and feel the heat from your arm whenever you shift slightly closer to hear him over the music.
and god, it’s suddenly very, very hard to think straight again.
he clears his throat. “anyway. i, uh—i wanted to apologize too. properly, you know. for your nose. for ruining your face—i mean, not that your face is ruined! it’s a great face. a perfect face. or, maybe not perfect-perfect, but y’know, structurally sound—”
sunghoon stops. he thinks he’s never hated himself, alcohol, and maybe a little bit of jay more than he does in this moment.
you stare at him for a long second, lips pressed together like you’re biting back a laugh. then, slowly, the teasing smirk on your face softens into something warmer, something he doesn’t quite know what to do with.
“sunghoon,” you say, his name coming out softer this time. “how about we just start over?”
the noise of the party tunes out again. it’s like the world narrowed down to just you, him, and the faint sound of ‘has anyone seen my left shoe?’ somewhere in the background.
“yeah,” sunghoon nods a little, nervous and hopeful all at once, his mouth twitching into an awkward smile. “yeah, i’d really like that.”
and then the conversation lulls into something easy after that. something comfortable. he manages to land a joke that makes you laugh, he learns your major, how you ended up as jake’s roommate—which spirals into a story about being cousins with his last roommate, lee heeseung, who graduated last semester and now moved onto bigger and better things in the adult world. and by bigger and better, we mean he graduated with a biology degree but now works for a music label and spends all his time obsessing over his co-worker-turned-girlfriend.
and everything feels good. it’s casual. it’s normal.
sunghoon feels like he’s floating—like he’s actually managing to exist around you without saying anything stupid about bones or noses or facial structures.
everything is just fine.
until it suddenly isn’t.
because when you turn away to refill your cup, sunghoon straightens up from the wall and blinks. once, twice. the lights all smear together in red and gold and blue. the floor tilts, or maybe he does. either way, his vision sways, just a little, and he can feel his pulse pounding in his head.
and that’s when it hits him.
oh. oh no.
sunghoon is drunk.
the realization hits him at the same moment you turn back towards him.
your hair catches the light as you move, and your lips part—he can see you saying something, your mouth forming the beginning of a smile—but all sunghoon can focus on is trying his very best to look composed. his fingers dig into the side of the table next to him, the room ripples, the floor hums under his feet.
he blinks hard. again. and again, like that’s somehow going to stop the slow spin that’s started in his vision. it doesn’t. his heartbeat trips over itself. there’s too much heat in the room, too much sound pressing at the back of his skull, too much you in front of him.
“would you want to—i don’t know, maybe one day—”
sunghoon doesn’t hear the rest of your sentence. because suddenly his entire body stiffens. the nausea rises sharp and fast, his breath catches, and his face drops. and you barely have a second to register his expression before he’s leaning forward when—
it happens.
the end to park sunghoon’s dignity.
the music doesn’t stop. the lights don’t even flicker. but for sunghoon, the world falls completely silent as he realizes, in a slow motion way that only seem to exist in horror movies, that he’s just thrown up all over your shoes.
you stare down at your shoes, blinking.
sunghoon stares down at your shoes, horrified.
the silence between you stretches, thick and terrible. somewhere in the background, one direction is still playing, jay is shaking his head in a kind of not-surprised disappointment, and someone trips over a single, abandoned left shoe.
“oh my god,” sunghoon whispers, voice small and hoarse as he stares at the pile of him now covering your shoes. “oh my god.”
he then looks up at you, all glassy-eyed and pale, half-drunk but one hundred percent mortified, “i am so sorry—i swear, i didn’t—your shoes—”
you look down at your shoes again, then back at him, and then close your eyes slowly, not saying anything.
“—i promise i’m not like this normally,” he blurts out, words slurring together. “i—oh my god, i’m so sorry—”
sunghoon sways slightly where he stands, still holding the table for balance, his face stuck in the kind of panic that belongs to someone who’s guilty.
jake appears just in time, two cups in hand, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees the scene in front of him.
“…what the hell,” jake says flatly, eyes darting between you, your shoes, and the man responsible.
and sunghoon can’t even look up. his hand is still clamped over his mouth, palm slightly damp, stomach twisting, throat burning, and mind praying that everyone else around them is drunk enough to ignore the situation.
he risks a glance. immediate regret.
your shoes, the mess, the smell, the whole awful, lingering reality of what he’s done. the sight alone is enough to make sunghoon sway again. his brain, fuzzy and slow, still tries to find the words to form an apology that’s at least fifty percent not pathetic.
you then inhale. “yeah,” you say finally, your voice weirdly calm for someone whose shoes had just been absolutely ruined. “i…i think i’m just gonna go home.”
your voice is quiet, barely above the music, but somehow, it cuts through everything. the pounding bass. the off key singing of the crowd. the ringing in sunghoon’s ears. it’s all he can hear.
jake sighs, glancing between the two of you. “yeah. yeah, that’s probably smart. let’s go.”
he gives sunghoon a pitying look—the kind you give a guy when you’re stuck in between both sides of a battle—before turning to guide you toward the door.
sunghoon still doesn’t move. he just stands there, stuck, heartbeat hammering behind his ribs, in his head, everywhere. his mouth opens like he might say something—apologize again, call out your name, beg the floor to swallow him whole. but nothing comes out.
so he just watches. watches the back of your head disappear into the crowd. watches jake’s hand settle lightly on your shoulder. watches the door close behind you.
he exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face when jay appears beside him. he’s holding a now half-empty cup, the look on his face somewhere between pity and amusement.
“…i told you you were drunk.”
sunghoon pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing shut, “jay.”
“yeah?”
“shut up.”
jay doesn’t. instead, he hums, “and i told you not to come over.”
sunghoon thunks his head against the wall behind him, “jay.”
“yeah?”
“please stop talking.”
and that was the second time park sunghoon sees you.
the next and third time sunghoon sees you, he knows it’s coming.
sunghoon knew he was going to see you because he’s an observant guy. yes, he sits in the back of class and only speaks when spoken to, but he notices the little things.
like how the guy two seats to his left keeps a family-sized bag of hot cheetos inside his backpack and thinks no one notices. or how the girl in the third row plays papa’s freezeria on her laptop every single lecture, unbothered by the fact that the professor is talking about reaction mechanisms right in front of her.
and how the new girl—the pretty one who showed up one random day with the shiny hair and the voice that always knows the right answers—always gets there five minutes early and sits in the first row. aka, you.
sunghoon has always noticed you.
so yeah, he knew he was going to see you today. chemistry lab is predictable like that. but he didn’t think it was going to be like this—you coming in late, hair slightly frazzled but still somehow shiny, breath just a little uneven from probably speed walking across campus, cheeks warm with the rush of someone running late, eyes scanning the room for an open seat.
because you are never late. but the universe has a weird sense of humor sometimes. and today, it decided to silence your morning alarm all on its own (you smacked it in your sleep and gave yourself twenty-too-many-minutes of snooze time), cut off your shower halfway through rinsing out your conditioner, and let the vending machine eat your last dollar without giving you your granola bar.
so the sight of you hesitating in the doorway makes the entire energy of the room shift just a little for sunghoon. he watches you mumble a quiet apology to your professor before your eyes quickly scan the room for an empty seat. and then his heart stalls for one horrifying second.
because he swears he can hear the universe laughing. laughing at the fact that the only seat available in the entire room…just so happens to be the one next to park sunghoon.
sunghoon, who immediately pretends to be incredibly invested in the periodic table projected on the side wall.
sunghoon, who is currently praying that someone will miraculously volunteer as tribute and take the empty chair beside him out of nowhere. no one does.
sunghoon, who tries his very best to quietly will himself invisible (he has never succeeded at this before. he does not succeed now).
your eyes land on the seat. then on him. and your expression does this tiny thing—something between oh! and oh…and something else that sunghoon cannot, and probably should not, interpret for the sake of his emotional stability.
then, with a small flash of hesitation and what seems like acceptance, you make your way over.
“hey…sunghoon,” you say, voice soft but steady as you pull out the chair.
sunghoon turns his head just slightly, offering you a nervous half smile that feels about three seconds away from collapsing into a full panic.
“hey,” he manages, voice a little too quiet, a little too soft. you slide into the seat, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and the faint citrus scent of you hits him like déjà vu and disaster rolled into one. and because it completely throws him off, he doesn’t even realize what he says next until the words are already out, “so how was your weekend?”
and then he freezes.
so do you. you are mid-bag-unzip. there is a soft still in the air as his words hang in between you two. how was your weekend.
the weekend where he vomited all over you.
sunghoon looks away and mentally slams his head into the table. maybe you didn’t hear him. or maybe he’s hallucinating and didn’t actually say that. or maybe he did actually say that and you’ll pretend it didn’t happen out of pity for him.
none of that happens.
because, eventually, you turn to him fully, a small smile on your face as you casually shrug, “oh, it was good!”
sunghoon stops for a second. he stares. okay. okay, good. maybe we’re safe. maybe this is forgiveness, maybe this is grace.
“—until i had to throw away my favorite pair of shoes.”
and there. it. is.
sunghoon thinks he dies. just a little. or a lot, internally. his eyes shut, his fingers gripping the pen in his hand so hard he swears the plastic actually creaks.
“yeah, um. that’s…fair,” he says back, but it comes out more like a croak. “listen, i’m really—”
“it’s really okay, sunghoon,” your voice interrupts as you tap your pen on the notebook, the tone light and casual and teasing—not at all the sound of someone who recently got assaulted by the same guy twice in the past week. “i mean, i think you just really owe me now, though.”
sunghoon’s eyes snap open. he glances over to look you and—
you don’t look mad. you don’t sound mad. if anything, you look…amused, really. and the tilt in your voice just now sounded almost fond, even. which is objectively worse for sunghoon’s emotional well-being.
sunghoon tries to speak. tries to be cool, collected, charming, normal. tries to ignore the fact that the pretty new girl with shiny hair that usually sits five rows ahead of him is currently still talking to him after he messed up with her twice.
“i—yeah—yes. absolutely. i will. i promise—”
and sunghoon literally does not know what he’s promising, nor does his mind give him the chance to find the words before the professor’s voice cuts through the room, “alright everyone. today’s experiment will be done in pairs. your partner will be the person you’re currently sharing a lab bench with.”
there’s a beat of silence.
because, again, the universe has a very weird sense of humor.
then, a soft inhale. and sunghoon isn’t even entirely sure if it came from him or from you. could be both.
“…so,” you start, turning slightly toward him just enough that your shoulder brushes his, “lab partners?”
and approximately within the next two seconds, park sunghoon goes through all five stages of grief:
denial — no. surely not. she means across the lab bench. diagonally. someone else. fate would never be this cruel to me.
anger — this is jay’s fault. it’s always jay’s fault. why did he convince me to go to that party. why does alcohol exist. this is all jay’s fault.
bargaining — if the universe lets me get through this without causing any physical harm, i will donate to charity. i will recycle properly. i will stop ignoring mom’s text messages.
depression — i am going to die. right here. in a room that smells faintly of citrus (you), acetone (lab), and sweat (me).
acceptance — okay. okay. we got this. we persevere.
sunghoon swallows. clears his throat, once, then twice. but his voice still cracks like a thirteen year old boy when he turns to you, “lab partners.”
you give a small smile. it’s not mocking, it’s not pitying. just…warm. like you know exactly how nervous he is. like you know how sorry he is. like you aren’t holding the past two disasters against him at all. and sunghoon will take it. he’ll take whatever he can get.
you both stand and begin gathering equipment from the front bench—beakers, pipettes, safety goggles that look like they were designed by someone who has never seen a human face in their entire life.
so when sunghoon returns to the table and tries to put them on, it’s all a tragic scene—the strap catches, the goggles twist, his hair gets stuck. and through it all, you watch with a smile playing at your lips, but you don’t laugh. instead, you step closer, simply tilting your head.
“here,” you murmur, your voice gentle in a way that makes something inside sunghoon want to claw at his own skin. your hands lift, slow and careful, fingers sliding lightly into his hair as you adjust the straps behind his head.
“bend down a bit,” you say, struggling to reach his height, and sunghoon does what he’s told. you finish adjusting the goggles, smoothing down a strand of hair near his temple before your fingers linger for a brief second. the moment is light. short. harmless. but still long enough for sunghoon.
“thanks,” he says in a voice that isn’t really a voice. it’s low and careful, like if he speaks too loud the moment will shatter.
because you’re still close. close enough that he can feel your own warmth. close enough that if he tilted his head forward just a fraction, his lips would be right near your own. and he is trying so hard not to focus on that. he miserably fails.
all he can focus on is your breathing—soft and a little uneven, like you’re not totally unaffected either, which would be insane, because this is you and this is him and the universe should not allow him to have this much hope. that would be cruel.
but then your eyes flick up to meet his, and the world gets quiet for a second, like someone hit pause on everything except the two of you.
sunghoon swallows hard. his eyes dart elsewhere, anywhere, but then it hits him.
it hits him abruptly and mortifyingly, with the force of a preteen revelation:
there’s the subtle sheen of sweat tracing the line of your collarbone, where the lab’s humid heat has your skin glistening just enough to draw his eye to the hollow of your throat, where you’re wearing the tiniest necklace he has ever seen in his life.
and somehow that is the most scandalous thing he has ever encountered.
because it sits there, tiny and delicate and soft—and he thinks back to the way you spoke to him at the party. the way your eyes didn’t back down from his, the way his name sounded from your mouth the first time he met you. like you knew exactly what you were doing.
you are everything but delicate. and something about that contrast, the softness laced with boldness, the gentle curve edged with something sharp—makes something in sunghoon go frighteningly, beautifully still. because sunghoon realizes he want more.
and not just in that casual, lab-partner-who-lives-ten-doors-down-and-occasionally-asks-to-borrow-sugar way. but in the remember-your-favorite-snack-and-stock-the-pantry-with-it, memorize-your-handwriting, learn-your-schedule-by-heart, hold-your-face-in-my-hands-and-finally-know-what-you-taste-like kind of way. the kind where he’d trace the line of your jaw just to feel your pulse quicken under his touch, where late-night texts turn into confessions whispered into the dark, where the world narrows to just the heat of your breath mingling with his, close enough that one right move could unravel everything else.
park sunghoon is 22 years old but his brain reacts to this realization like he is eleven, standing at the edge of the community pool and realizing that girls have collarbones and the world will never, ever be the same. his ears go hot. his heart beats faster. he looks away.
“no problem,” you clear your throat, stepping back, smoothing down your skirt with your palms. your voice is light again, controlled. but there’s a little curve at the corner of your mouth—like you know.
and somehow, everything after that falls into a quiet, simple, routine. because, in theory, the experiment is simple. measure, mix, heat, observe. nothing that a normal college student with half a functioning brain shouldn’t be able to handle.
which is precisely the issue. because the second sunghoon thinks he’s in the clear, the second sunghoon thinks he can maybe, possibly, start a normal conversation with you, maybe even pretend like the past two incidents never even happened—
you lean slightly over the lab bench, shifting slightly when the edge of your sweater brushes against his wrist. and that’s all it takes.
sunghoon forgets everything he just told himself.
“okay,” you tap your fingers playfully against the table. “we just need ten millimeters of solution A.”
“right,” sunghoon says, nodding immediately.
sunghoon says this with confidence.
sunghoon does not know what solution A is.
his hands are still steady though, surprisingly. he reaches for a beaker, a dropper, a labeled bottle.
“careful,” you say softly, fingers brushing his wrist as you help guide the pipette from one bottle to the other. sunghoon tries to ignore it. he really, really tries. he then looks at you, and you’re already looking at him.
“you’re really focused,” you tease with a small smirk, an eyebrow lifting.
“yeah,” he says without thinking. but he’s focused on you. not the beaker. not the measurement. and most definitely not the very important instruction that says pour ten millimeters and not thirty.
so when he pours—it’s too much. way too much. there’s a hiss, a bubble, a foaming roar before sunghoon could stop it even if he wanted to.
“wait—no that’s too—” you start, but it’s too late. and all sunghoon can do is stand there, and watch. watch as the reaction is already shooting upward, a fountain of foaming mixed colors exploding straight into the air before dropping right back down and directly—
on you.
all over you. from your hair to your eyelashes to your lips to your sweater to the floor.
the entire room goes silent. sunghoon swears he can hear 1) the way the professor closes her eyes slowly, like she’s lived this exact nightmare seven semesters in a row, and 2) someone in the front of class whisper a small, “holy shit.”
and sunghoon is frozen in horror. completely, absolutely, done. wishing death upon himself. his soul leaves his body, watches from the ceiling, and considers not returning.
you blink. foam slides down your cheek in slow motion. “okay..,” you say, very calmly, as though you saw this coming from a mile away and yet still trying to process what happened. “..cool. of course.”
“i—i am so—” sunghoon’s voice breaks as he inhales a heavy breath, the words tumbling before he even knows what he’s apologizing for this time. the explosion? or maybe still the throw-up? the almost-broken-nose moment? “i don’t even know how that—”
you hold a hand up, stopping him mid-sentence. a blob of foam falls from your face.
“sunghoon,” you deadpan, eyes slowly opening. and your expression says it all—not annoyed, not surprised, not even disappointed. just the acceptance of fate. and sunghoon mentally accepts the fact that maybe he should not be allowed within ten feet of you.
“i know,” you sigh, voice strangely gentle for someone covered head to toe in chemicals and is the current center of attention in a room full of people, “and it’s okay.”
sunghoon squeezes his eyes shut. there is nothing he can say. no apology that will undo the last ten minutes, the last few days, the last entire week. no sentence in any human language that can fix this.
maybe this is punishment for that one time he ghosted a girl because she used too many laughing emojis. maybe this is karma coming back. maybe someone hired a witch to curse him. maybe it was jay. honestly, it was probably jay.
your voice breaks him out of his downwards spiral, “i think i need to…go wash this out.”
and because sunghoon is sunghoon and a man powered entirely of panic, impulse, and bad luck—he moves before he thinks. his hands are already tugging his own hoodie over his head, the hem catching awkwardly on his shirt, his hair going everywhere, and earbuds (why did he put his earbuds in his pocket) flying out and clattering to the floor.
but then he’s holding the hoodie out in front of him.
just…holding it. straight armed. eyes avoiding yours and trained on the material in front of him.
and you just stand there, foam still dripping, but now staring at the hoodie. then back at him.
“sunghoon—”
“just take it,” he blurts, his cheeks flushed pink and voice embarrassingly earnest. “please. before the chemicals…seep…or—spread? i don’t know—”
and sunghoon has no idea what happens when lab foam dries on skin. he just knows it sounds bad and cannot, and will not, be the reason you get third degree chemical burns.
but when you take the hoodie from his hands, a small thank you on your lips, you look at him with something soft, something understanding, something that looks real, and not tossed out of politeness or pity. something that makes sunghoon’s heart want to beat straight out of his ribcage.
and when you come back a few minutes after, sunghoon thinks he’s ready.
he is not ready.
because, see, sunghoon did not think ahead (he has never once thought ahead, historically speaking), and therefore he did not anticipate the sheer consequences of his own actions playing out. of him handing you his hoodie. of you actually wearing his hoodie.
but there you are.
and it swallows you whole. the sleeves bunched slightly at your wrists so they don’t slip past your fingers. the hem hits right at the end of your skirt. the collar sits a little wide and off-center because the hoodie is well-loved, and because sunghoon studies in it, because he sleeps in it, and because he chews on the drawstring when he’s stressed—so one string is short and the other is stupidly long, uneven in the exact way only his hoodie is uneven.
your hair is pulled up now, strands slightly damp from the sink, your cheeks pink from your attempt of scrubbing mysterious chemicals off, and you look like you belong in it.
sunghoon’s body has a reaction that can only be described as malfunctioning. his breath catches in his throat, his pulse jumps, and that foreign feeling of something coiling tight and low in his gut comes back, heating spreading uninvited, unwelcomed, but definitely undeniable.
because you look good. and soft and warm and heartbreakingly casual. like you’ve worn his clothes a thousand times before. like you will wear his clothes a thousand more.
and definitely like something sunghoon could be stupid about for the rest of his life. like there is a universe—maybe just slightly left of this one—where this is normal. where you wash your face at his bathroom sink and steal his clothes on purpose and drink the orange juice from his fridge without asking.
and he would let you. every single time.
so yes, the third time sunghoon sees you—he knows it’s coming. he just didn’t expect to want it this time.
“so let me get this straight,” jay leans over the table with the wide eyes of someone who already heard the story (he did) and is simply here just to see his friend in agony (he is), “…you blew her up?”
sunghoon peers his eyes from across the courtyard table, nearly scoffing, “no, i didn’t blow y/n up.”
“so…you blew up all over her?”
sunghoon throws his hands up exasperatedly, gesturing to his still very intact self, “well, evidently not!”
“okay…so,” jay draws his voice out, slow and unimpressed, dragging the fork through his lunch, “…what did you blow up?”
“why—” sunghoon drags a hand down his face, “—is everyone saying i blew something up?”
jay looks straight at him, chews on his pasta, and does not answer. instead, he pulls out his phone.
“because,” he scrolls through the screen once before turning the screen up to sunghoon, “of this text i got from jake saying ‘sunghoon blew up y/n. eye roll emoji.’”
sunghoon stares. blinks, then stares again.
traitor.
“i blew up our science experiment,” sunghoon mutters through a sigh, pinching his nose like the memory physically hurts him. “all. over. her.”
jay pauses mid-bite. lets it sink in. then—
“oh god,” he bursts into full laughter, “all over her?”
sunghoon ignores him. rolls his eyes.
“jay, it was so bad,” he groans, burying his face into both hands now. “i don’t even know what happened. she was so close to me and her hand brushed mine and it’s like my brain just—” he then looks up and claps his hands together dramatically. “—stopped.”
jay doesn’t say anything.
sunghoon, however and unfortunately, continues.
“and then it gets worse, jay.”
there’s a long beat. jay gives sunghoon a look that tells him there’s no possible way it could get worse. but, once again, because the universe has a weird sense of humor, sunghoon’s existence is living proof that it always will get worse.
jay takes another bite before he nods solemnly, as if gearing up for what’s coming. “alright, lay it on me. what’s next, what else could possibly have happ—”
but jay doesn’t finish.
because at that exact moment—you walk into the courtyard. hair still pulled into a loose ponytail, the sunlight catching in your face like the sun only came out today to make sure you’re seen by the rest of the world, a smile on your face as you walk besides jake.
but none of that matters.
because you’re still wearing sunghoon’s hoodie. his hoodie. and he can’t take his eyes off you. you look like you got dressed in his bedroom. you look like you belong in his bedroom.
sunghoon stops breathing. from beside him, jay also freezes.
“…isn’t that…your hoodie?” his chewing slows down to a a stop, voice going flat. then, just for dramatic effect, “…on y/n?”
sunghoon does not look away. in fact, he’s full on staring. stares like a man witnessing both the holiest and worst moment of his entire life.
“that, jay—” sunghoon says, voice low, hollow, and utterly destroyed, “—is exactly how it gets worse.”
jay looks at you—completely swallowed by the hoodie, laughing lightly at something jake says, fingers tugging absentmindedly at the drawstring.
he looks back at sunghoon and squints.
“…this is bad,” jay starts slowly, nodding as if he totally knows what’s going on but definitely doesn’t, “because…?”
sunghoon turns to him with a look, “BECAUSE, JAY. SHE’S WEARING MY HOODIE. and it makes me—” he gestures weakly, helplessly, and vaguely to himself— “feel things.”
and that’s when jay sets down his fork very gently, the realization hitting him in real time, “oh my god, you like her.”
sunghoon doesn’t respond. he just closes his eyes, inhaling slowly, trying to remember the exact breathing pattern his therapist (again, jay) recommended for moments of emotional crisis (four counts in, six counts out, something like that)—which, by the way, he is strongly considering firing him now because none of his advice ever helps in the moment.
because yes. sunghoon does like you.
he likes you. he likes the way your laugh sounds just a little breathier when you’re trying to not show you think something is funny. he likes the way you talk like you’re choosing your words on purpose, but never too carefully. he likes that you didn’t freak out on him when he, multiple times, was the direct cause of your suffering. he likes the way you look at him like he’s not the complete wreck he is. he likes that you’re kind, but not in a soft, fragile way. kind like you’re aware and like you choose to be.
he likes you, and the only times he has ever interacted with you, he’s probably taken another two years off your lifespan.
sunghoon, by all known definitions, should never interact with you ever again.
“oh wow,” jay continues, laughing now, breathless, delighted, and the worst therapist-slash-best-friend in the world. “no, dude. you totally do. you have a crush on the girl you’re, like—” he holds his fingers up half an inch apart, “—this close to actually killing.”
sunghoon slams his palm on the table and immediately regrets it because it rattles and now people are looking, “shut up, jay.”
jay raises both his hands in surrender, but the smirk on his face says he’s not surrendering at all.
“no, like—think about it,” he presses, leaning in closer. “that’s probably why you keep messing up. you’re nervous around her. like, elementary playground crush behavior. you’re basically pulling her pigtails.”
sunghoon stares at him, horrified. “jay. let’s not compare this to elementary school kids please.”
jay shrugs, picking his fork back up and goes back to twirling his pasta like this is a regular tuesday and not a life-changing-revelation for sunghoon.
“whatever,” sunghoon continues, voice deflated, shoulders sinking, “it doesn’t matter anyway. it’s not like she feels the same way. especially after i—” he pauses and gestures vaguely to the lingering memory of disasters that has defined his existence lately. “all of that.”
he doesn’t specify which disaster. he doesn’t need to. jay knows. you know. the world knows. God definitely knows.
sunghoon rubs a hand over his face, voice growing quieter, smaller. “i should just stop. stop talking to her. stop trying. just…distance myself or something.”
that’s when jay’s fork freezes mid-air. he sets it down and looks at sunghoon like he just suggested he run off to the mountains and join a cult.
“okay. woah. relax, drama queen. absolutely not.”
sunghoon blinks. jay picks his fork back up and points it at him with the authority of something who has never once been correct but speaks confidently anyway.
“first of all, please never say the words distance myself ever again. you sound like an awful romance-novel-series-turned-movie-franchise.”
sunghoon glares weakly from across the table. “i’m being serious, jay. she probably hates me. or worse—” he has to swallow because the next words taste bitter, like something he never wanted to even consider but could be highly likely, “—she’s probably, like, i don’t know—into jake. or something.”
and jay actually physically recoils. his whole upper body leans backwards like someone just threw a raw fish at him and he has to grab the edge of the table to prevent himself from falling back.
he then furrows his brows at sunghoon, eyes squinting, “you’re joking, right?”
sunghoon doesn’t answer. because he is, surely, not joking.
jay looks over his shoulder to where you’re standing across the courtyard—still smiling, hair still catching sunlight, still wearing sunghoon’s hoodie—then looks back at sunghoon with the expression of someone witnessing unprecedented levels of stupidity.
“sunghoon,” he says carefully, slowly, “y/n looks like the kind of person who probably color codes her google calendar and knows the exact expiration date of every condiment in her fridge. and jake—” his thumb points vaguely behind him, “—jake once microwaved a fork because he thought it would make his food taste warmer. the entire reason why we don’t live with him.”
sunghoon just stares. jay nods to himself, like there’s no possible argument to this. “trust me. i don’t think y/n would want to choose that life.”
sunghoon opens his mouth to argue—because at least warmer meals by microwaved-metal sound better than an almost broken nose by football—but then his gaze flicks over jay’s shoulder.
“jay. stop. talking.”
and jay isn’t even talking anymore, but he shuts his mouth anyways. he goes still. sunghoon goes still. then, sunghoon’s eyes widen a fraction, the smallest warning signal.
because you’re coming over. you’re walking across the courtyard next to jake, food in hand, and waving over at the two boys, completely unaware of the quarter-life-crisis occurring only a few feet away.
sunghoon keeps his face still, but his posture changes slightly. he pulls his shoulders back, takes a deep breath, straightens out the water bottle sitting in front of him for absolutely no reason.
“hey,” jake calls out, slapping jay lightly on the back as he drops into the seat next to him, “mind if we join?”
you’re already sliding into the empty spot next to sunghoon, easy, natural, like it’s just what you do. like this is normal. like sitting beside him is just…your place.
“’course not,” sunghoon mutters, politely, evenly, eyes fixed on absolutely anything else that isn’t you. the water bottle, the condensation, the way the light hits the plastic. fascinating stuff, really.
you shift, just a little—knees angled toward him, shoulder brushing close enough that he can feel your warmth, not touching, but enough to notice the space between you.
“hey,” you say. it’s small, soft, casual. it’s nothing dramatic, but yet, sunghoon feels it like someone tugged a string from somewhere deep within his ribs.
he doesn’t look up, just nods.
“hey.” it’s neutral, nothing to analyze, nothing to misunderstand.
if you’re weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t think anything of it. but here’s the thing, you are paying attention. so you offer him a faint smile, the kind that’s quiet, doesn’t demand anything, just acknowledgement.
and sunghoon sees it. his chest goes painfully warm. because he wants to look back. wants to return it. wants to ask how are you in a way that means i’ve been thinking about you and not just saying it to make small talk.
he wants to tell you he keeps replaying the sound of your laugh in his head and wants to say something stupid and honest and reckless like i hope the hoodie’s okay. actually, please just keep it. forever. i don’t want it back.
but instead, he focuses harder on anything and everything else around him. the way jake’s enthusiastically talking to jay about something with his hands. the wrinkled label on the water bottle. jay’s pasta, now stale and definitely cold. everything he doesn’t care about. because, right now, looking at the one thing he does care about feels too dangerous for himself.
and you notice. not in the dramatic why-are-you-avoiding-me kind of way, but in the micro-shift in your posture. the way your smile lingers for half a second longer than it should, like you were waiting for something. the way your fingers tap the edge of the table a few times. the way you let out a small exhale through your nose.
“—thinking just something small at our apartment,” jake’s voice finally cuts in, bright and loud. he’s gesturing big enough to knock jay over if he wanted to. “drinks, music—maybe ni-ki can dj if he doesn’t lose his shoe again.”
jay groans. “one, he is not dj-ing. last time was a one direction blender remix from hell. and two, ni-ki will never not lose his shoe.”
you laugh at that, the sound light, amused, genuine. and sunghoon swears his chest has never felt more tight.
jake continues, eyes wide and excited, “anyways—you guys are coming. this weekend. both of you. no excuses.”
sunghoon nods once, quick and automatic. “yeah. sure.”
your head tilts at that, just slightly—a tiny furrow in your brow, like you can sense something in the air is different.
and sunghoon tries his best to pretend he doesn’t notice. tries to pretend that the sudden distance between you isn’t something he’s actively building with his own hands. but it feels awful.
because he knows what he’s doing. doing the exact thing jay told him not to do—the easy thing. pulling back, shrinking, playing it safe. as if safety has ever saved him from anything.
he swallows hard. his jaw clenches. the collar of his shirt suddenly feels too hot, too tight. but the conversation keeps moving around him anyways—jake rambling about playlists, jay complaining about how he’s going to be forced to help clean afterwards—voices blended together into one long, meaningless sound.
meanwhile, sunghoon is somewhere else entirely. somewhere between panic and longing and the quiet awareness of his own undoing. he finally risks a glance, quick and careful, but just enough to look at you. and you’re already looking back at jake now, laughing gently, the kind that sunghoon could definitely get used to, but—
your fingers still tap against the table. your leg bounces next to his, as if in anticipation, as if aware.
and sunghoon’s chest aches in a way he can’t explain. not to himself. and definitely not to you.
the next time sunghoon sees you, he swears it’s not his fault.
at least, he’d like to think so. but statistically speaking—and sunghoon knows his statistics—it probably was his fault anyways.
the parking lot is nearly empty, close to sunset hour—that small time in between where the sky is barely turning colors and everything looks a little softer around the edges, the campus quieting down in the way it only is when all classes have ended for the week and everyone’s going home.
sunghoon’s already halfway through the lot, keys dangling from hand, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. and he’s so close. dangerously, blissfully close to freedom. to going home, collapsing onto the couch, arguing with jay over takeout before inevitably eating cereal and playing league until his eyes dry out. so, yes, almost free.
almost able to pretend today didn’t happen. almost able to pretend he didn’t, once again, cause minor emotional and physical harm to the girl who has done nothing but exist and be moderately nice to him.
he unlocks his car, swings the back door open, tosses his backpack in with a soft thud. and then—he looks up.
and he sees you.
you’re a little ways across the lot—just far enough that sunghoon could pretend he didn’t notice you if he were a stronger man (he is not), but still close enough to see his hoodie’s sleeves pushed up to your elbows, a frown on your face as your phone is pressed to your ear, and the hood of your car propped open.
sunghoon watches as you pop your head back into your car and turn the key back into the ignition again and again and again—
to no avail. the car stays dead.
sunghoon hesitates. he internally debates. argues with himself for, like, three whole minutes.
he could leave. he could absolutely leave. you haven’t seen him yet. he could get in his car, drive away, go home, take a nice, warm shower even though it has weak water pressure, eat cereal over the sink, and pretend he never witnessed anything.
but instead, he stands there. like an idiot. staring across the parking lot with the look of someone who’s fighting with only himself.
don’t go. she definitely thinks you’re a curse.
go. she’s wearing your hoodie.
don’t go. what if you break the car somehow.
go. now. before she calls roadside assistance and meets a guy who’s better at life than you. or worse, jake.
don’t go. you’re supposed to be distancing. that’s the plan. that’s the safe thing. the smart thing, the—
you look up.
and when your eyes meet his, your expression softens, breaking into something comforting and relieved. like you’re glad to see him. you lift your hand and give a small wave.
and that’s it. that’s the end of sunghoon’s entire distancing plan.
he sighs.
fine. he is going.
he is a moth and you’re the closest open flame and he will simply have to deal with the consequences later.
his feet start to move before the rest of him agrees to it, shoulders stiff, posture trying very hard to look normal and calm and definitely not like he just had a full internal monologue breakdown. you give him a smile when he’s close enough—bright, easy, familiar, somehow—and sunghoon has to physically look away for a beat to reorient his mental wellbeing.
“car won’t start?” he says, even though he definitely already knows the answer.
you let out a breath, the sound coming out like a laugh as if the situation is somehow funny instead of deeply annoying. “yeah. i think the battery’s dead. or the universe hates me specifically. either one.”
sunghoon’s lips twitch because he’s sure if the universe hates anyone specifically, it’s him. “could be both.”
your smile widens as you look up at him, “definitely both.”
there’s a short pause that falls between you two for a second before you speak up again, “i tried calling the roadside people but it keeps going straight to voicemail, which feels pretty ironic.”
“i’m pretty sure roadside assistance is a scam anyways,” he says, shrugging as he tucks his hands deep into his pockets. “i think they just nap in trucks and hope people give up.”
you laugh at that, fully this time, and it’s even softer, warmer, like the joke wasn’t even that funny but you like the way he said it. and sunghoon is ridiculously glad his hands are in his pockets now, because his fingers twitch at the sound.
and park sunghoon is not a car guy. not even a little bit. he failed his driver’s license test twice. and not even the driving part—he failed the written part. both times. he still has to google which side his gas tank is on. and he’s pretty sure his car is two years due for an oil change.
so what he does next is absolutely logical, because sunghoon is not touching your car with a ten foot pole. what he does is what any rational, non-car expert, guy with a raging crush and a fully functioning car would do in this situation:
“do you…want a ride home?” he offers, though it comes out more like a question to himself.
your lips part just slightly. surprise flickers across your face—and then something else. something unreadable. something that feels like a soft yes. “really? you don’t mind?”
sunghoon nods—casual, casual, very casual—despite the fact that his heart is jumping around in his ribcage at the thought of you sitting in his passenger seat.
“i mean…” he clears his throat, eyes down to the ground just to avoid yours. “we literally live down the hall from one other. i wouldn’t exactly be able to sleep peacefully knowing you got stranded in a parking lot.”
your smile widens a bit more, real and grateful, as you fidget with the ends of the hoodie now. “okay,” you say. “yeah. i’d really appreciate that.”
and that’s how sunghoon finds himself walking you to his car—unlocking the passenger door for you like he was raised by parents who taught him manners (he was) and how to fall in love too fast (he does).
he gets in on his side, starts the car, and the radio is too loud, so he turns it down. then it’s too quiet, so he turns it up again. then regrets everything.
but he starts driving anyways, silence falling in between the two of you. he grips the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, and he clears his throat just to have something to do.
the engine hums, the sky slowly going from pink to orange around you two, but the one and only thing sunghoon can perceive is your presence in his hoodie in his car.
you look out the window, watching the campus buildings pass. “i always forget how pretty it gets around this time,” you murmur, suddenly breaking him out of his own thoughts.
sunghoon glances at you before focusing on the road again. “yeah,” he says, a little small. “it kind of sneaks up on you.”
you smile, not looking away from the window. and then suddenly, “you strike me as a sunset person.”
sunghoon stills and blinks, keeping his eyes trained on the road. “a what?”
“like…you seem like someone who appreciates that kind of stuff,” you explain, glancing slightly at him. “sunsets. late-night convenience store runs. peeling fruit the slow way. that kind of person.”
sunghoon opens his mouth. then closes it, because he does not know what to do with that sentence.
“i..i guess?” he tries, trying very hard not to panic at the idea of someone, namely you, having thoughts about him. “well, you seem like a…sunrise person.”
you turn to look at him fully now, and you laugh under your breath, “i’m definitely not a morning person.”
“no. not morning,” he says, shaking his head a little. he turns right at a stop sign, his hand loose on the wheel now, almost relaxed. almost. “just…the feeling of starting fresh.”
you don’t say anything right away. you just look at him, eyes trained to the side of his face, as if you’re trying to figure something out.
and sunghoon nearly drives into a parked prius, but he hopes you don’t notice that.
you look back out your window, but your smile stays, “that was weirdly poetic of you, park sunghoon.”
sunghoon swallows hard, but his grip loosens some more. the quiet settles again after that, but now it’s different. lighter, easier. you start talking about the small things, nothing earth-shattering, but something comfortable. something about the terrible on-campus breakfast, the vending machine that stole your dollar this morning, how jake broke your coffee machine after two uses. but the whole time—sunghoon can’t help but think.
think how maybe in another universe, this is normal.
maybe in another universe, you’re always in his passenger seat at the end of the day. maybe he drives you home not out of chance, but because it’s routine. because you’re just in each other’s lives. because this is what you do. because he knows what songs you like to play when you’re tired and which stores you stop at on the way home and how you hum when you think about what you want to eat for dinner.
maybe in another universe, he didn’t meet you by accidentally hitting you in the face with a football. maybe in that universe, he’s…normal. not whatever this is—this mess of nerves and second guesses and catastrophes that only ever seem to happen to him whenever he’s with you.
maybe in that universe, he meets you at one of jake’s parties he throws too often. maybe you’re laughing at something someone said, holding a red cup and leaning against the counter, and sunghoon sees you from across the room the way people see things they were always meant to find.
maybe he walks over—all steady and confident—and says something easy, something light, something that makes your smile bloom slowly and softly at him. not out of politeness, not out of pity because he threw up all over you. just because you want to.
maybe in that universe, he gets the girl. but this is not that universe.
and when the car rolls to a stop outside the building, sunghoon still finds himself walking you to your door.
because of course he does. because he wants to. because he doesn’t know how not to.
you stop in front of your apartment, keys already halfway in the door, and turn to him, meeting his eyes fully.
“thank you,” you say, and the look in your eyes is soft. honest. and something else, something sunghoon can’t quite place and, frankly, is afraid to. “for the ride—” and then you look down, fingers toying with the drawstring of the hoodie, like it means something you don’t have words for just yet, “—and the hoodie.”
and as sunghoon looks at you in the quiet of the hallway—just you, him, the flicker of the dying lightbulb a few doors down, and the pure warmth he feels around you—he thinks there’s a version of this moment where he says it all.
where he doesn’t swallow everything down, doesn’t mistake silence for safety. where he tells you he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since the first time you laughed in his direction, that the sound of it still sits in his chest. where he admits that every stupid mistake, every clumsy accident, somehow only pulled him closer.
but instead, this version has him standing still, heart in his throat, pretending that wanting you quietly is the same as not wanting you at all.
so he just nods.
“yeah. of course.”
you smile one more time, soft and unsure, lingering just a beat too long—like you’re waiting for him to say something else, or maybe trying to find the courage to say something yourself.
but then you turn, hand halfway reaching to the door handle, and pause. your fingers hover mid-air. the hallway hums with nothing but silence and the heaviness of everything left unsaid between you two.
sunghoon straightens instinctively, caught off guard by the stillness that follows.
you turn back to him. “can i—” your voice comes quieter this time, hesitant in a new way he hasn’t heard before. “—can i ask you something?”
sunghoon blinks, his throat suddenly dry. “uh…yeah. of course. what’s up?”
“we’re cool, right?” you ask, eyes wide and searching his face. “like…we’re friends?”
and the words hit harder than they should. sunghoon does not know how to answer that. because how exactly does he even define what this is? a one-sided crush? forced proximity? neighbors-turned-accidental-victim-and-perpetrator-turned-friends?
“um—yeah,” he finally says, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “i’d say so.”
you study him for a long second, lips parting like you’re testing to see whether he’s lying. “okay. i just…didn’t know if i did something wrong. you seemed a little off earlier, at lunch.” and your laugh that follows is small, nervous, the kind people use to soften a truth. “and i overthink sometimes, so…yeah.”
sunghoon’s heart twists sharply at that. you, overthinking. you, worrying if you’d done something wrong when he’s the one building the wall between you.
“no,” he blurts before he can stop himself. it comes out too fast, too honest, but he keeps going anyways. “no, you didn’t do anything.” he clears his throat, a bubble of nerves rising too fast. “i just…wasn’t feeling great. long day, you know? classes and…exploding chemicals and stuff,” he exhales, the corner of his mouth twitching.
your shoulders relax, the worry written all over your face fading into something gentler and amused. “okay,” you say with a nod, your smile returning. “just wanted to make sure. friends, then?”
the word stings again, but sunghoon forces a smile anyways. “friends.”
you grin—wide and bright—and it makes something in his chest go weightless and heavy all at once. because, sunghoon realizes, not for the first time, this is what he likes about you, maybe. that you’re not all sharp edges and confidence like he thought. you’re also warmth and thoughtfulness and awkward timing, the kind of person who checks in even when you don’t have to. just because you want to, and just because you mean it.
“i’ll see you tomorrow then?” you say, hand going back to unlock your door. “at the party?”
sunghoon nods. “wouldn’t wanna miss it.”
you look back and smile at him one more time before slipping inside, the door closing gently behind you. sunghoon stands there for a moment, clinging to the warmth of your presence still in the air, lungs tight, and heart somewhere between the pavement of the parking lot and the memory of seeing you for the first time that day in the courtyard.
and he thinks—not for the first time, and definitely not for the last—
in this universe? he is truly, utterly, deeply doomed.
“so you’re really not coming?”
jay’s already standing by the door, shoes on, dressed in what he considers casual party attire, which means a wrinkled overshirt that might be clean, with a white shirt under that definitely isn’t, and jeans he absolutely pulled off the back of his desk chair. his keys jingle in his hand as he leans against the door frame, waiting for sunghoon to fold.
“yes, jay. i’m staying.” sunghoon doesn’t even look up from the couch, eyes trained on the random documentary that he found on the nature channel playing in front of him. “and frankly, you can’t make me go.”
jay lets out a huff. “jake could. and he will. we literally live ten feet away, he’ll drag you by your ankles if he has to.”
“then tell him i’m sick,” sunghoon mutters back, slouching deeper into the couch like he’s trying to merge with it. “like the flu or something.”
jay’s laugh that comes after is a loud, disbelieving, ha.
“that’s so bull. you only ever get sick for two reasons,” he holds up two fingers. “one, when you drink too much, and two, when you get that suspicious ass chinese takeout i keep telling you to stop ordering.”
sunghoon finally looks up from the tv to glare at him. for a second, it looks like he might get up—stand his ground, be a grown man, assert dominance or whatever the sunghoon equivalent is to that.
he doesn’t.
he just grabs the nearest couch pillow and launches it in jay’s direction with zero aim, zero strategy, and zero strength.
jay looks at the pillow. then at sunghoon. “wow,” he says flatly before tossing it back onto the far end of the couch.
“okay, fine,” jay continues, a mix of amusement and pity in his tone, “but you’re really gonna sit here on a saturday night—” he cranes his neck toward the tv, brows furrowing, “—watching a documentary about…dinosaur extinction?”
“dinosaurs are cool,” sunghoon says, eyes narrowing in defense. “plus, i’m tired.”
“no,” jay crosses his arms. “you’re lying.”
sunghoon then lets out a sigh through his nose, because—yeah, he is. but he doesn’t let jay know that. because what he wants to say is that he’s exhausted, but not in the way that sleep can fix. the kind of exhaustion that comes from thinking too much and saying too little. from the drive home yesterday that replayed in his head so vividly he’s starting to remember it like a movie he’ll never get to rewatch. from the realization that every time you smile, something inside him shifts a little, softly, painfully, and permanently.
and that terrifies him. because sunghoon has never been that guy. not the one who gets the girl, not the one who says the right thing at the right time. he’s the background character—the one who holds the door, smiles too late, apologizes too much.
so no, he can’t go to that party. he can’t stand in a crowded room watching you light up the way you do—laughing at something someone else will say, someone else’s story, someone else’s joke, someone who isn’t actively avoiding you for your own good—reminding him of all the ways he can’t have you.
jay stares for a beat longer, studying him like he’s about to bring up the topic sunghoon’s been avoiding all day and night—but he doesn’t. he just exhales, slow and knowing, and reaches for the door. “fine. i’ll tell jake you caught the plague or something.”
and after jay leaves, sunghoon’s not sure how much time passes. the apartment settles into that kind of quiet that lets you hear the hum of the fridge, the faint tick of the clock in the hallway that jay insists adds ambience, the low static of the tv playing in front of him.
sunghoon is still on the couch, now half under a blanket he stole from jay’s room, his eyes fixed on the screen, where a cgi triceratops is doing something probably scientifically inaccurate. but it doesn’t matter anyways because he hasn’t been paying attention for the past forty minutes. because his mind is somewhere else. it’s been somewhere else since you shut your door one night ago, wearing his hoodie and smiling at him like he hadn’t spent the whole day overthinking about you.
and he tells himself—again, again, and again—that this distance thing is good. smart. necessary. that the safest point between your two paths is the one where he never hurts you again. where he removes himself before he ruins something that could’ve been easy, simple, normal.
and sunghoon almost believes it, too.
until his phone buzzes.
it buzzes once, and it’s quick and sharp, yet cuts through his silence. he glances at the coffee table and stares at it. he almost doesn’t want to pick it up, as if he knows who it is and is avoiding the inevitable.
but he reaches for it anyway.
Y/N (11:15PM) :
hii sunghoon
and his heart drops. he stares at the screen. doesn’t type. doesn’t move. his thumb hovers just above the message box just as his phone buzzes again in his hand:
Y/N (11:16PM) :
jay told me you weren’t feeling well :( i hope everything’s ok
sunghoon inhales sharply through his nose. his jaw tightens. because, no, nothing’s okay with sunghoon. not really. not the kind of ‘not okay’ that he could exactly explain to you, though. it’s not a headache or a fever or whatever lie jay came up with. somewhere more like the ache of wanting something he’s convinced he shouldn’t. something that looks a lot like you.
his brain starts the war almost instantly.
don’t answer. you’re supposed to be distancing, remember? this is the plan.
don’t be an asshole. just say thanks. be normal for once in your life.
sunghoon groans quietly, head hitting back against the couch as he presses the heel of his hand to his forehead.
then your third text lights up the screen.
Y/N (11:18PM) :
do you want me to bring anything?
and sunghoon’s brain short circuits completely.
yes. you. here. now.
you standing in his doorway, wearing his hoodie again like it’s the most natural, normal thing in the world. you filling the apartment with that quiet warmth you seem to carry everywhere. you sitting beside him on this stupid couch watching stupid documentaries with him until stupid hours of the night.
but because he can’t exactly put that feeling into logical words, he instead stares at his screen for a little too long, fighting with the part of him that’s screaming to stop pretending he doesn’t care.
he stares long enough at your words that the screen dims, and he has to tap it once just to see your name again.
his thumb twitches—hovering, shaking—because a part of him wants to break the rules he set for himself. wants to answer you. wants to let himself want you.
but he doesn’t.
he shuts his phone off, flips it back down on the table, and pushes it away like it’s the devil himself. his throat burns, his chest hurts. he leans back into the couch, closing his eyes, and exhales—slow, heavy, resigned.
because if he answers, he’ll just want more again. and wanting has never ended well for sunghoon. so he tells himself you’re just being kind, that this is what you do because this is who you are. you care, you reach out, you text first. you say things like hope you’re okay and ask if he needs anything because you ask everyone that. because you’re a friend.
sunghoon sinks deeper into the couch, trying his best to breathe through the tightness that refuses to leave. the clock ticks, the documentary plays, the phone stays face down.
and just when sunghoon finally feels himself settle—
the front door slams open.
“—OKAY. first of all, you’re coming to this party. and second of all, you’re so stupid.”
jake storms in at full volume, the door slamming shut behind him with the force of someone who has no respect for privacy and apparently door hinges. he’s flushed—cheeks pink, eyes bright, hair a mess, which means he definitely pregamed his own party.
sunghoon jolts upright so fast he nearly falls off the couch. “jesus christ—”
but jake is already toeing off his shoes like he lives here, marching across the living room like a man on a mission, and unfortunately for sunghoon, that mission is him.
“dude,” jake says, pointing at him like an accusation, “what the hell is wrong with you?”
sunghoon groans, dragging a hand down his face. this is jay’s fault. this is all jay’s fault. it’s always jay’s fault. jay never locks the door and this is the consequence for sunghoon not checking. this is karma. this is the plague he supposedly caught. he’s never lying again.
“so tell me why jay said you’re sick,” jake even air quotes it. “‘sick.’”
a beat.
“which is a lie, by the way.”
sunghoon glares weakly. “why does everyone just casually know the conditions under which i get sick?”
“because,” jake raises a finger, counting, “one, you only get sick when you drink too much—”
sunghoon mutters, “oh my god—”
“and two—” jake continues, louder, a second finger in sunghoon’s face, “—when you get chinese food from that cursed corner place i keep telling you not to order from. so unless you did either of those tonight, which you didn’t—because they only take venmo and i checked your venmo transactions—”
“why the fuck are you checking my venmo transacti—”
“—you’re not sick.” jake finishes triumphantly.
“you, jay, and i need to have a conversation about boundaries,” sunghoon deadpans at the boy in front of him.
“don’t deflect,” jake snaps at him. “you’re avoiding the question.”
sunghoon slumps back into the couch cushions, silently praying for death. or a sinkhole. or spontaneous combustion. he’s not picky, really.
“i’ll just go to the next one, okay?” he mutters from his spot. “it’s no big deal.”
and jake gives him a look that says he’s offended. like, genuinely offended.
“it is a big deal,” jake squints, marching a few steps closer. “you’re not skipping this just to avoid y/n. what are you, twelve?”
sunghoon instantly shoots upright again, a look betrayal on his face, “i—what, who said anything about—”
“jay.”
sunghoon shuts his eyes. exhales. counts to three.
jay is fired. jay is beyond fired. he is never telling jay anything ever again.
“and also, i just know you,” jake continues, pacing the living room like this is an intervention sunghoon is now apparently a part of. “you can’t keep doing this. moping around, feeling sorry for yourself just because you made a few minor accidents.”
“a few major—”
“—yes, sunghoon. a few minor ones,” jake says, waving a casual hand through the air. “just go to the party, talk to her, apologize. kiss and make up—actually, don’t do that one unless the vibe is right—but you get my point. just don’t sit here doing this sad boy act and torturing yourself.”
sunghoon narrows his eyes at him, because he forgets—he always forgets—how stupidly well jake knows him.
jake, who once sat with sunghoon on the curb after a failed calculus final and talked him out of dropping out entirely by buying him a churro and saying, ‘your brain just had a lag.’
jake, who memorized sunghoon’s stress tells by sophomore year of highschool—right thumb tapping: anxious; left thumb tapping: spiraling.
jake, who once dragged him out of bed at 2AM because he ‘felt in his soul’ that sunghoon needed fresh air and a convenience store slushie.
jake, who has known every single crush sunghoon’s ever had—most of whom sunghoon barely even realized were crushes until jake said something.
so yeah. of course jake sees right through him.
sunghoon looks away, jaw tight. eventually, he lets out a sigh, “jake, it’s not that simple.”
“sure it is,” jake stops, hands on his hips. “you just make it complicated.”
sunghoon looks up then, and his expression isn’t defensive. just resigned—the kind that comes from trying too hard to convince yourself you don’t care that there’s no way you could go back now.
“i’m not going,” he says finally. “end of story.”
and for a moment, jake looks like he might argue again, brows drawn together, mouth opening. but then he stops. his mouth shuts and something soft flashes in his eyes. he lets out an exhale.
“fine,” he turns to the door, already putting his shoes on. “stay here. be mysterious and tortured or whatever.”
sunghoon doesn’t reply. he just watches the glow of the tv flicker across the living room—tiny prehistoric creatures moving across the screen, narrator droning on.
and right as jake is about to leave, he pauses. “oh, by the way—” he adds casually. “she was asking about you.”
sunghoon freezes. his heart does something absolutely violent and traitorous inside his chest.
jake then glances over his shoulder, “she was looking for you, actually,”
and that’s it. that’s the crack in sunghoon’s entire resolve.
because logic means nothing when it comes to you. because distance means absolutely nothing when you’re still thinking about him. and restraint? restraint dies instantly because he can already see it—you, at that party, somewhere in the crowd, wearing something that’s definitely going to make sunghoon stop breathing, holding a drink and smiling at someone who could be him, but isn’t.
jake opens the door. “see you there, yeah?”
sunghoon didn’t really know what the plan was. not really, anyways.
but here he is.
the music’s too loud, the lighting’s too low, tinted red in that way that makes everyone look vaguely better but slightly untrustworthy, and everything smells faintly of fruit punch, cheap beer, and body spray. there’s a sticky patch on the floor that catches the sole of his shoe everytime he shifts his weight, and someone spilled an entire drink near the door but everyone’s pretending they don’t see it.
and now sunghoon’s standing in the corner, yet again, red solo cup in hand, the deja vu washing over from last time. he’s already warm—cheeks flushed from the multiple shots jake forced into his hand the moment he arrived, calling them ‘celebration shots’ for finally showing up. jake took three. jay took one, immediately regretted it, but took a second one anyways. sunghoon took two and was rudely reminded him and alcohol don’t like one another.
now he’s approximately three minutes into a conversation with a classmate whose name he absolutely does not remember but is pretending he does because lying feels easier than admitting he forgot. the poor guy is saying something about his econ midterm, but the words wash over sunghoon like static. because even while nodding politely, even through the chaos of the environment, sunghoon’s eyes find you.
of course they do.
you’re across the room by the couch, cup in hand, laughing at something someone just said. your head tilts back a little, your mouth curves in that way that knocks the air straight out of his lungs. it’s the kind of laugh that makes strangers look your way without knowing why. the kind of laugh that gets stuck in his head for days after.
and, of course, you look good.
unfairly good.
your hair soft under the shifting lights, your cheeks glowing, your sweater hanging just right on your frame. there’s something about you—always something—that makes you look like a secret sunghoon wants to keep, a discovery he wants no one else to find, something he wants to learn slowly, quietly, intimately.
he swallows hard. looks away. then looks back again, because he can’t not.
and then, almost as if you can feel that he’s staring—you glance up. your eyes scan the room lazily, drifting over faces and shoulders and the mess of people. until they land on him.
your expression softens. surprised, but warm. a small, easy smile curves onto your lips—one that says oh, you came, and something else he’s too scared to interpret.
and sunghoon, because he’s sunghoon, and a complete, absolute idiot—panics.
he panics and turns away. pretends to be very interested in the contents of his red solo cup that he knows isn’t even close to edible. nods along to whatever econ-related nonsense the guy in front of him is saying like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever heard.
and he doesn’t see it—but you frown slightly. doesn’t see the way your smile falters, something uncertain flickering across your face. doesn’t see the slight confusion in your eyes before you turn back to your group.
and that’s how it starts. the night spins on just like that—full of almosts and not quites and hesitation.
you find him in the kitchen a little bit later. he’s pouring something that looks just as inedible as before into his cup, and you smile when he notices you.
“hey—i’m glad you made it, you feeling better?”
but sunghoon startles like you’ve caught him doing something wrong. he steps back too quickly, nearly bumping the counter, muttering something along the lines of ‘yeah—i’m okay, fine—’ before he excuses himself to find jay.
later, you end next to him in the circle when jake—who’s already too many shots in—suggests a game of truth or dare. you sit, knee brushing sunghoon’s for a second, before he abruptly stands up, mumbling about needing more ice in his cup before disappearing into the crowd.
and then it keeps happening. you’re mid-conversation with jay and jake, laughing at something ridiculous they just said, when your eyes move across the room, as if your body can’t help but instinctively search for him. when you finally find him again—leaning against the wall across the room, phone in hand, eyes meeting his for a brief second—his gaze darts immediately back down to his phone as if nothing just happened.
you start to notice it—the way he never stays in the same place as you for long, the way he keeps his shoulders angled away from you, the way his smile turns tight and fades when you step too close. the way his eyes flash with something heavy and unspoken before he drags them away from you as if touching you would be dangerous.
you try to tell yourself you’re imagining it, that maybe he’s tired, that it’s the alcohol or the lighting or ni-ki’s loud karaoke or anything else.
your chest feels tight. the air feels heavier than it should. jay is rambling about unplugging the karaoke machine before ni-ki loses his voice, jake is doubled over laughing, red cup in hand that you should definitely take away from him, but none of it feels right anymore.
and it’s ridiculous, really. because you shouldn’t care this much. because, technically, sunghoon is no one to you. just a boy you met recently. a boy who happened to be decent-looking—very, very, decent-looking. who happened to be clumsy in a way that drew you in instead of away. who happened to be your neighbor. your roommate’s best friend. a guy with pretty hands and a nervous laugh and a tendency to panic whenever you tried to flirt with him on purpose.
and, honestly—at first it was fun.
because you’re not oblivious. you’re not dense. you noticed the way he got nervous around you. you saw the way his eyes widened the first time you ever said his full name, the way his breath caught when you leaned in, the way his hands shook the tiniest bit when you wore his hoodie.
and god, you liked it. you liked getting a reaction out of him. liked watching the way he came undone so easily around you.
but now? now that same boy won’t even look at you?
it feels worse than it should. worse than you want it to. worse than anything he’s done so far—and that includes accidentally assaulting you three times.
you tell yourself it’s fine. that it doesn’t matter. that you’re overthinking again, like you always do.
you laugh at something jake says. you clink your cup against jay’s and take another sip just to have something to do ith your hands. you smile, chat, pretend nothing’s wrong.
but then, from the corner of your eye, you see it.
the way sunghoon’s head turns when you laugh, just barely. the way his gaze flickers toward you for a second too long. the way his jaw tightens before he looks away again like he saw something he shouldn’t have.
and that’s when something inside you snaps. the ache shifts sharply, into something close to frustration, confusion and something hot behind your ribs that makes your drink taste too bitter and makes the room feel too loud.
you set your drink down on the table next to you, too hard. it spills over the rim. you don’t even care.
because what is this? what is he doing? and why does it sting so much?
jay says something to you—something that makes jake laugh again a little too loudly, but you barely hum in response, eyes already scanning the room again.
you find him again, now closer to the back hallway, talking to someone you don’t recognize. he looks uncomfortable, like he almost always does, but there’s something else tonight. something distant.
and you’re done trying to figure it out.
you held back, you didn’t push. you swallowed your pride enough to ask him point-blank if you were even friends. you tried to read him, tried to be patient, tried to be understanding.
and now he’s avoiding you? after he’s the one who kept messing up? after he offered you his hoodie? after he drove you home? after everything?
you feel heat bubble in your throat, not from embarrassment, but something closer to hurt. something that feels too close to rejection from someone you barely even know.
you’re done. you’re done wondering. done overthinking. done waiting for him to make the first move.
so before you can talk yourself out of it, your feet are already moving. through the crowd, past the couch, past jay’s raised eyebrows, jake’s knowing smirk, and ni-ki’s off-key singing.
and when you finally get to him, he barely has a second to react before your hand catches his wrist and you’re pulling him into the dim hallway of the apartment that leads to where the bedrooms are.
it’s quieter here, the thumping bass of the music fading into a distant pulse behind him, like a heartbeat finally slowing down—unlike his own. the air is cooler, laced with the faint scent of spilled beer you’re going to lose your mind over in the morning and whatever cheap air freshener jake sprayed earlier—but it’s still a relief from the chaotic swirl of bodies and flashing lights in the living room.
sunghoon stumbles a little as you tug him along, finally stopping with a soft thump when his back hits the wall. he’s trapped—stuck against the peeling wallpaper and your hand still wrapped tightly around his wrist. his eyes widen, the look on his face equal parts confusion, surprise, and something else, something that makes your stomach flip.
“so are you going to tell me why you’re ignoring me?” your voice comes out sharper than you intended, raw with the sting of it all—the silence, the distance, the hurt flashing in your eyes as you watch him falter.
sunghoon’s mouth opens, then closes, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. his cheeks are flushed pink under the dim lighting, and you can’t tell if it’s from the shots he knocked back earlier with jay and jake or from the way you’re standing so close.
“i—i’m…” he’s stammering, his voice low, almost like a whisper stuck in throat, like he’s afraid the words will shatter everything between you. “i don’t—”
“because first of all,” you step closer, “you tell me we’re fine, we’re friends, we’re cool, that i didn’t do anything wrong—”
his eyes flicker in panic. breath stutters, chest rising too fast.
“—and then you ignore my texts. completely avoid me. won’t even look at me. in my own apartment.” you exhale sharply. “i’m confused, sunghoon.”
and for a moment, neither of you move. the music muffled now, just an echo behind you, and the hallway feels too quiet. too intimate, too charged, like the world narrowed down to just the two of you. you loosen your grip on his wrist, but you don’t drop it. and he doesn’t pull away. he just looks at you like he’s bracing for impact. then, he swallows hard, “i—it’s not like i want to—”
“...okay,” you cut in but your voice is softer, steadier, “then what is it?”
you watch as sunghoon takes a breath as if to ground himself before he starts, “it’s just—i…” and suddenly his words tumble, trip, collapse over themself. “i don’t know. i just keep messing up. everytime. like the football, the shoes, the lab, probably somehow your car breaking down had something to do with me, literally everything—”
“sunghoon—”
“—and it’s like my body just glitches around you or something,” he blurts, running a hand through his hair. “i get nervous, then do something stupid, then you get hurt, and then i feel like an idiot—” his voice cracks and he has to take a breather before continuing again, “and i don’t know how to get myself to stop screwing up around you. i don’t know how to just be normal. not with you.”
his eyes drop. shoulders tense. he looks like he hates himself for saying any of that out loud.
you don’t say anything. you just look at him, studying the way his cheeks glow that soft pink, the slight part of his lips as he breathes unevenly, the way he looks at you with that raw, boyish vulnerability and nerves.
and then your anger melts into something else. something warmer, deeper, something that understands. something that makes the frustration soften and something that tugs at your chest.
you step closer, close enough to feel the heat rolling off of him, close enough that he sucks in a breath like you just touched him even though you didn’t. a small smile makes its way to your face as you tilt your head to meet his eyes fully. your eyes flicker down his face—along the cut of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the way he swallows hard under your gaze.
“okay then…just stop messing up,” you whisper, lips quirking just the tiniest bit. your tone is lighter now, teasing, like it’s the simplest solution in the world.
sunghoon blinks at you. once, then twice. because you say that as if it’s easy. as if your simple existence being just mere inches away doesn’t set every nerve inside his being on fire. as if his heart isn’t pounding so loud and wild that he’s convinced you can hear it, drowning out the rest of the party around you. as if you’re not looking at him with your glossy eyes and lips, so close to his own, that he doesn’t know if he should kiss you or melt into the ground.
but none of that matters.
because you decide for him.
because the silence is too thick, too charged, and you can’t take it anymore. so before you can even think to stop yourself—
you lean in and close the distance, your lips brushing his in a hesitant, soft way that sends a jolt through you both. and it’s cautious at first, like testing the waters, and sunghoon genuinely believes he’s in a fever dream for a second. but then his hands suddenly find your waist and pull you in closer, and it shifts into so much more.
his lips move against yours with a newfound urgency, one hand sliding up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. his back hits the wall again with the sudden motion, but he doesn’t care. in fact, in this moment, nothing else matters to sunghoon right now.
because you’re deepening the kiss, tasting the faint bitterness of beer on him, mixed with something sweeter, something unmistakably sunghoon, something that pulls you into a quicker, messier rhythm. a low groan escapes his throat, vibrating against your mouth, and it only fuels you further. you break apart for a breath, but only for a second before your lips crash into his again, your hands fisting in his hoodie as you push him harder against the wall. his fingers dig into your hips, pulling you flush against him until the heat between you becomes nearly unbearable.
“come on,” you murmur against his lips, your voice breathless as you grab his wrist again, but this time you tug him toward the first door in the hallway—your room—and push it open with your free hand.
the door clicks shut behind sunghoon, and he barely has a moment to take in the surroundings—dimly lit by the small lamp on the nightstand beside your bed, a string of lights laced along the headboard, a stack of annotated books piled on your desk, and a row of succulents perched on the windowsill. it’s all so warm, so utterly you.
that’s all he manages to register within the first 0.5 seconds of entering your room. because you don’t hesitate. your lips crash into his again, more fervent now, hungry, backing him hard against the door until the frame digs into his back but he doesn’t even care.
sunghoon kisses you like he’s terrified it’ll end if he stops—too much tongue at first, then not enough, teeth clashing in the mix because he tilts wrong, nose bumping yours, a startled little huff escaping him when you nip his bottom lip and he doesn’t know whether to pull back or chase harder. his hands are everywhere and nowhere—gripping your waist tight, then loosening like he’s scared he’ll bruise you, then wandering up your back and fisting your sweater like it’s the only thing keeping him on earth.
it’s sloppy, breathless, desperate in a way only a kiss can be when the person has waited twenty two years and repressed every memory that came before it. his rhythm falters with every push and pull, chasing your mouth when you pull for air, making these soft, involuntary sounds—half-whimper, half-groan—that he’ll probably overthink about later.
“park sunghoon,” you whisper against his swollen lips, pulling back just enough that he instinctively follows, chasing, eyes still closed, and completely, utterly, wrecked. your hands knot in his hoodie, “am i your first kiss?”
sunghoon’s eyes flutter open, hazy and dark with pure want as he looks down at you. “yeah—well, n—” the rest dies when your drag your teeth over his lower lip, slow and deliberate. a broken, needy sound tears out of him and his hips jerk forward involuntarily, “—no. yes? i think.”
“you think?” your hands slide into his hair, nails scraping lightly, and tug just enough to tip his head back. the soft thud of his back hitting the door again doesn’t even register—his arms only tighten around you, fingers everywhere like he’s trying to memorize your exact shape through fabric. “tell me.”
“technically—” he starts, voice cracking. “there was this girl in tenth grade—”
you cut him off again with your tongue this time, licking into his mouth slow and filthy, and whatever story he had dies against your lips. he makes another helpless noise, raw and surprised, and tries to copy the motion. his nose bumps yours again, his grip on your hips stutter, and every time he thinks he found the rhythm, you change it, and he whimpers like it hurts. it’s all messy, desperate, and perfect.
one of his hands slides down—hesitant, then sudden—and cups the back of your thigh. he lifts it experimentally, and when you immediately hook your leg around his waist he groans like he’s been punched. you smirk against him, giving him credit for the confidence you didn’t think he had in him as he pulls you flush against his body.
“—spin the bottle,” he manages to gasp out when you trail your mouth along his jaw now, nipping at the skin here and there. he tilts his head back, offering more as his eyes flutter closed again, a soft moan on his lips. “i bit her lip and she bled—”
you giggle softly against his jaw, teeth grazing the sharp line of it, and he shudders so violently his knees almost buckle. his voice is strained now, another small gasp cracking from his throat when you roll your hips once, the friction going straight to his core. “—and my therapist told me to repress traumatic memories so i don’t count it.”
you freeze and pull back slightly, lifting an eyebrow as amusement flickers in your eyes despite the heat pooling in your core. “your therapist?”
sunghoon’s eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide, mouth swollen and red and still chasing yours. “uh. yeah. jay. jay is my therapist.”
your lips twitch, a small laugh bubbling out before you can catch it. god.
“fuck. you’re so cute,” you murmur, and the sound of your laugh seems to snap the last thread of any and all restraint sunghoon had left. you crash your mouth back into his the same second he surges forwards, kissing you like he’s drowning and you’re his oxygen, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded at this point. you’re already moving, tugging the front of his hoodie, walking backward, pulling him with you step by stumbling step across the room.
he follows without question, hands roaming everywhere all at once—up your back, into your hair, down to your ass like he can’t decide what he wants to hold onto most. his mouth never leaves yours, swallowing every soft noise you make, and every time you nip his lip he makes that same desperate little sound and tries to kiss your harder, deeper, messier.
your legs hit the edge of the bed first, and you tumble backwards with a small thud. sunghoon stays standing at the foot of the bed, chest heaving, lips parted and shiny, hair a mess. his eyes rake over you—lips swollen, hair fanned across your pillow, that infuriating, knowing smirk still clinging to your mouth like you already know exactly what you look like sprawled out waiting for him.
and god, sunghoon thought he knew what living felt like. he thought he was pretty damn accomplished already—decent grades, a color-coded closet, the occasional victory when he plays league with the guys. but this? sunghoon just stares, like this sight of you like this is a religious experience he’s not worthy of.
he’s never felt more alive.
you prop yourself up on your elbows, tilt your head, and your smirk widens.
“gonna keep me waiting, park sunghoon?”
you tease, an eyebrow arched as sunghoon shakes his head frantically in an almost comical, desperate no. he scrambles forward like a man possessed, knees sinking into the mattress before his weight is on you just right, one thigh easily slotting between yours as he leans down to capture your lips again. his hands shove under your sweater, palms hot and trembling against your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra like he’s afraid to go higher but dying to.
your hands roam up his back under his shirt, light enough to raise goosebumps, but hard enough to make him arch and grind down with a muffled, broken moan that vibrates straight into your mouth. his mouth trails everywhere, hot and open against your neck, tasting the cool metal of that stupidly delicate necklace, teeth nipping in that perfect, impossible way that hitches your breath and makes you wonder how the hell this could be his first time doing this.
his thigh presses firmer, rough denim rough against your bare skin where your skirt has slightly ridden up, and you can’t help it—you roll up into him, shameless, chasing the pressure, hips circling slow and needy—not sure what you’re after, just something, anything, to relieve the rising ache.
and that makes sunghoon freeze. just for a split second—his mouth hovering over your collarbone, breath ragged and uneven against your skin. you feel it right away, the faint tremor in his hands where they’re gripping your hips, the way his body tenses against yours. he pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes—his own wide, pupils blown but laced with something else—uncertainty and pure, raw, nerves that make your heart twist.
“wait,” he breathes, voice low and rough. his forehead drops to yours, nose brushing, lips so close you can feel the ghost of them against yours, “i…i don’t know what i’m doing.”
and it’s the way the confession spills out. the way it sounds so vulnerable, jagged edges and all. the way his cheeks burn a deeper red that starts to creep down his neck. the way his fingers flex against your sides, like he’s afraid to let you go but equally afraid to keep touching.
the way his eyes hit you—with desire so thick it aches in your core, tangled with that boyish charm that only makes him so much more endearing, more real. you tilt your head up, your hands softening where they clutch his shoulders.
“sunghoon,” you whisper, voice soft but steady, thumb tracing a slow circle onto his hoodie. “that’s okay. we can stop, or we can keep going. whatever you’re comfortable with.”
and sunghoon swallows hard. every nerve he owns is screaming—your body soft and there beneath him, the way your legs are hooked around his waist, it’s all overwhelming, intoxicating, like he’s edged too close to the sun and has absolutely no intention of backing away. and sunghoon’s never been here before, never had anyone look at him like this. but he’s also never felt this way about anyone before. and that’s what makes his heart slam against his ribs.
his eyes drop to your lips before flickering back up. “yeah?” it’s barely a word, more like a pure plea, and god, the vulnerability in it tugs at you harder.
“yeah,” you lean in, brushing your mouth against his in a feather-light touch, not quite a kiss, but just enough to make him chase it. his breath hitches, hands sliding up your waist under your sweater again, hesitant but warmer now, like your words unlocked something for him.
“i just—i really like you, y/n,” his words are so soft and quiet you almost think you made it up. “—and i really don’t want to mess this up. more than i have.” his hands shake slightly on your waist, thumbs rubbing gentle circles over your skin as the confession hangs there between you like something holy and obscene at the same time.
you lean up and give him a full kiss this time, soft, gentle, and reassuring, then smile against him, shifting your hips just enough against him to draw a sharp inhale from him. “you won’t, hoon,” you whisper, nipping at his lower lip, tugging it gently between your own until he groans. “trust me, you’re not going anywhere.” you fingers weave back into his hair, guiding him back down as you capture his lips again—slower this time, letting him set the pace even as you arch up to meet him.
and sunghoon melts into it, his tongue shyly tracing your lips until you part for him, letting him in with a soft sigh that goes straight to his core. his hands gain confidence, sliding up your sides, palms warm and slightly calloused as they explore the curve of your ribs, stopping just shy of your bra like he’s silently asking for permission. you nod into the kiss, arching your body into his hands, and he exhales like he’s been holding that breath for years. fingers shove your sweater up and off in one frantic motion, and the cool air hits your skin the same second his mouth does—and it’s hot, open, starving against your throat.
your hands go down to the ends of his hoodie, dragging the material up his chest yourself, nails raking over his abs, feeling them tense under your touch. “off,” you mumble into his mouth.
sunghoon doesn’t hesitate—he takes it off so fast and clumsily, in park sunghoon fashion, that he almost elbows himself in the face but that doesn’t matter. it’s tossed blindly into the corner of your room before he’s back, chest pressing against you, skin already boiling hot.
his lips find your throat again, this time sucking a small mark just below your jaw, harder than before, teeth scraping, tongue soothing, and when he pulls back to check your face, there’s still that flicker of hesitation, like he’s waiting for you to tell him no.
“this okay?” he murmurs against the bruise he just left, voice wrecked, his hips rolling down experimentally—a slow, grinding press that has you gasping, thighs tightening around him, the rough drag of his pants over your bare thighs sending a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly. sunghoon’s breath catches—sharp and audible—like he’s just discovered something forbidden, his eyes flicking down to where your bodies connect, then back up to your face, searching, pleading.
you can’t answer with words. you just arch up even more, grinding your heat against the now obvious length of him, and the broken moan that rips out of his throat is unholy. he starts to move a little faster, barely holding it together as he chases the way you’re arched off the bed. his hands brace on either side of your head, arms trembling faintly from the effort of holding himself up, caging you in the best kind of trap.
you nod, biting your lip to stifle back a moan, your hands sliding down his sides with a firm press. “yeah, just like that,” you whisper, voice laced with encouragement that makes his pupils go wider. “keep going, just feel me.”
he follows your lead, eyes locked on yours, lips parted in awe as he follows your rhythm. “fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours again. another roll, deeper this time, heavier, his hardening length unmistakable through his jeans, pressing right where you need it, drawing a whimper from your throat. “like this?”
“yes, perfect, hoon,” you let out, rewarding him with a tilt of your hips that has him cursing again under his breath, his movements faltering for a second before he steadies himself again. “use your hands, baby. touch me. here.” you take one of his palms and guide it between your bodies and beneath your bra, molding his broad hand over your breast and squeezing it lightly with your own fingers laced over his.
sunghoon’s eyes darken to near black as he stares at his hand on you like it’s a miracle. the hesitation flickers again—he bites his lip hard, eyes darting to yours for that final green light. you nod, arching into his touch and removing your own hand before he finally moves, thumb circling slowly at first, then bolder, pinching lightly until you gasp his name, “sunghoon—yes, harder.”
he obeys instantly, rolling the bud between his fingers while kneading with a confidence that borders on desperate. the sensation releases another moan from you, this time loud enough that he clamps his free hand over your mouth instinctively, his eyes blown in a panic.
“shh—people might—” but you don’t let him finish.
you take his thumb between your lips, sucking it without any hesitation that leaves him choking on a sound that’s half-moan, half-whine, hips now jerking erratically against yours. his hand falls away, replaced by his mouth crashing into yours—messy, all teeth and tongue, swallowing your moans as he grinds harder, faster, the rough drag of fabric and heat coiling tight between you until you’re both chasing that edge, breathless and lost.
sunghoon should be embarrassed, really. the only one coherent thought left rattling around his skull is:
he’s about to cum in his pants like a goddamn middle-schooler and there’s not a single thing he can do to stop it.
he can’t stop the obscene sounds spilling from his mouth, his gut feels like it’s on fire in the best way possible, and he’s jerking his body against your soaked heat like it’s trying to fight its way through the pathetic fabric. it’s his first time with a girl, and he might not even make it to the first time part at this point.
“skirt. push it up,” you pant against his lips, and he does, fumbling his fingers to fully hike the fabric to your waist, exposing the thin barrier of your underwear. his hand hovers there, burning over your thigh, inches from where you’re aching and soaked for him. “touch me, hoon,” you urge, not waiting to take his wrist and press his palm right over your wet core, letting him feel the way you’re absolutely dripping through the lace.
sunghoon’s entire body locks at the sensation, eyes in shock, lips shiny and swollen as he stares down at you, chest heaving. “i—fuck, you’re…wet.” the word comes out slowly, almost disbelieving. his fingers flex, tracing the outline of you through the thin fabric. your mouth drops open slightly at the sensation as you buck up into his hand with a sharp whine, nodding.
“yeah, for you, hoon. now rub, like—” you move his fingers for him, showing the motion—slow, firm circles over your clit that already have your legs trembling, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling. he easily takes over after two strokes, copying perfectly, his touch turning slick as he presses firmer, learning your body like it’s his new religion. “oh god—yes, right there, don’t stop—”
and he definitely isn’t planning on it. sunghoon’s mesmerized, forehead pressed to your shoulder now, watching his own hand work between your legs like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. his hips keep grinding, chasing his own friction clumsily against your soft thigh, breaths coming in hot gasps against your skin.
“sunghoon—fuck,” you whimper, the praise spilling out as his thumb finds that perfect rhythm on your clit, circles tightening, faster now, the slick sounds filling the room obscenely. he groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard, his free hand clamped on the headboard above you to steady himself.
“am i—is this good?” his words come out cracked and rough, raw desperation threading through it as he presses two fingers experimentally against your entrance through the soaked fabric, feeling you flutter and pulse for him. his hips grind down harder in response to your every twitch, the bulge in his jeans now straining, hot and insistent against your thigh. sunghoon’s unraveling—muscles tense, cheeks flushed, abdomen flexing with every roll—but those big, pleading eyes keep flicking up to yours constantly, almost as if begging for reassurance, for you to keep leading him through this fire.
“perfect, baby. so, so good,” you choke out, your hand shooting down to cover his, guiding his fingers to slip right under the edge of your underwear now. “inside—now. curl them up, like this.” you demonstrate with his hand, pushing one long finger past your folds, then two. and he slides in so easily, your arousal coating him instantly. the stretch burns sweetly, and you both moan—his a broken, addicting sound that sends a vibration straight through you.
sunghoon stops again, buried to the knuckles, eyes staring down at where he’s disappearing inside you. “holy shit,” his voice is wrecked, feeling the way you clench instantly around him. “you’re so—tight—fuck, i can feel you—” his fingers twitch inside you, curling just like you showed him, brushing that one spot that makes your eyes roll back instantly.
“right there. right there, hoon. please—” you cry out, back arching off the bed, nails raking down his bare back hard enough that it stings but he doesn’t care. your words give him the confidence to move—gentle thrusts at first, scissoring his fingers gently, learning the slick glide of you around him, then bolder, fast, his thumb never leaving your clit. the dual sensation has you seeing white, the pleasure coiling violently tight in your core, breaths coming in sobs now.
his forehead drops to yours, noses bumping, lips brushing yours in frantic, open-mouthed kisses that are more shared air than anything. “tell me—fuck, tell me what else,” he’s panting against your mouth, his free hand moving from the headboard to palm your breast fully, rolling your nipple between his fingers. “want to make you—cum—please, show me how—”
and that plea—raw, ruined, his—snaps the coil.
you shatter—walls clamping down hard on his fingers that they stutter inside you, your orgasm rushing through in sudden waves before you could see it coming. “sunghoon—yes, yes, yes—” your cries muffle into his shoulder, thighs shaking uncontrollably, gushing over his hand in a rush that soaks his fingers, his wrist, the sheets beneath you.
sunghoon whines, all high and uneven as he watches you come undone on his fingers, squeezing him like you’re trying to keep him inside forever. his hips jerk forward in messy, desperate snaps against your thigh, cock leaking steadily through his boxers now, chasing friction he’s too wrecked to control. he doesn’t stop—he can’t stop—pumping you through it, thumb grinding ruthless circles over your swollen clit until you’re twitching, oversensitive, thighs clamping around his wrist like a trap, a broken sob ripping out of you that sounds like his name and mercy all at once.
only when your body limps, boneless and gasping, does he ease his fingers out—slow, deliberate, eyes locked on the way your slick coats him, strings of it clinging to his skin as he holds them up to the dim light. his breath stutters at the sight of his glistening fingers, dripping with just pure you. “did i—fuck, did i do that?”
he doesn’t wait for an answer. brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean with a filthy, broken groan that vibrates straight to your spent clit, making your body jerk again even as you’re still coming down. his tongue swirls, greedy, eyes fluttering shut like he’s tasting heaven and hell at once.
you’re ruined—face flushed, lips bitten raw, hair stuck to your forehead with sweat—but that smirk still clings. you grab his wrist, yank him down hard, and crash your mouth to his, tasting yourself on his tongue—a little salty, a little sweet, but all filthy. “we’re not done,” you murmur, wrecked and hungry, hands already fumbling for his pants. “off—now.”
sunghoon nods frantically, hips lifting just enough to help you shove the material down his legs, boxers tented obscenely, a dark stain already blooming in the front. before he can even process, you hook your fingers in the waistband and drag them down too, freeing him and—fuck. he’s thick, flushed a deep red and curving up toward his stomach, already twitching under your gaze untouched.
he immediately tries to hide his face in your neck, mortified. “don’t—don’t stare like that.”
you giggle, low and filthy, wrapping your hand around him without warning—one firm stroke from base to tip, thumb swiping through the bead of pre-cum leaking from his slit, spreading it down his length in a slick glide.he immediately bucks into your fist with a choked sob, one hand clutching your shoulder, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
“baby, you’re gorgeous,” the words drip off your tongue like honey or poison but sunghoon doesn’t know the difference at this point. your thumb swipes over his silt again, and sunghoon has to shut his eyes to restrain himself from finishing all over your fingers right then and there. “feel how hard you are for me? fucking dripping.”
another stroke—tighter, faster—and his head slams against the pillow next to your head, throat bared, a high, desperate whine tearing out of him.
“touch yourself,” you order, guiding his trembling hand to wrap around yours. “show me how you do it when you think about me.”
sunghoon’s eyes snap to yours, wide and scandalized, breath picking up. “w—what? i—fuck, i don’t—” but his hand moves anyways, wrapping around yours where you stroke him, guiding you together—slow twists at the head, then long pulls back to his base. he’s so responsive, every drag pulling more and more. more moans from his throat, more precum from his tip, leaking steadily over your knuckles.
“good boy,” you praise, and he preens, chest puffing slightly, a desperate whimper spilling out as his free hand braces the headboard above you again for leverage.
“faster—” you tighten your grip, speeding up, and he follows your lead flawlessly, both your hands working him in brutal sync until he’s babbling nonsense pleas mixed in with your name like a prayer he’s too far gone to control.
then you feel him twitch, once and hard, and you stop cold, releasing him. sunghoon almost pouts at the sudden, aching void—the sharp denial hitting like a punch, but you’re already shifting, too fast to let him dwell.
“not yet—i want your mouth first,” you murmur, sitting up and shoving at his chest until he’s forced back on his heels between your spread thighs, cock bobbing heavy and desperate, flushed dark and leaking. his gaze drops—your face, your bitten lips, then lower to where you’re still exposed, folds swollen and glistening, lace shoved aside and ruined, dripping with the mess he made of you. “get off the bed. on your knees, hoon. want you to taste me.”
he drops instantly—knees thudding against the floor at the foot of the bed, hands grabbing your thighs and yanking you to the edge so fast the mattress springs groan. his face is inches from your core now, breath punching out hot and frantic over your sensitive skin, making you twitch.
he swallows hard at the sight. “i—you need to…show me please,” he’s nearly begging, his voice raspy yet so earnest that it makes your heart stutter at the sight.
you thread your fingers in his hair, guide his mouth forward, pressing his lips to your inner thigh first, letting him kiss and lick small, gentle patterns up toward where you’re aching. “start slow, baby,” you breathe, thighs trembling. “kiss it, then tongue—flat and wide.”
he obeys like it’s the only thing he was born to do.
lips brush your folds—hesitant, reverent—then his tongue comes out, one broad, filthy lick from your entrance to your clit that punches the air out of your lungs. you immediately roll your hips into his face shamelessly.
“fuck—yes—just like that—suck my clit now—”
and sunghoon doesn’t need to be told twice. he devours you—nose bumping your mound, tongue sloppy and urgent, latching onto your clit with a perfect amount of greed that it pulls a small scream from your throat. he’s messy—chin slick, eyes glassy as he glances up through his lashes for approval, moaning into you every time you tug his hair like he’s on the receiving end.
“mmph—good?” he mumbles into you, the vibration nearly sending you over, and then—without waiting—he sinks one long finger back inside you, curls it hard, and starts pumping like you taught him.
“oh my god—sunghoon, fuck—yes—”
your ankles lock behind his head, heels digging into his back, and you ride his face without shame—hips rolling, grinding, fucking yourself on his tongue while he devours you, thriving on every gasp, every quiver, tongue delving deep, lips sucking with starvation. like it’s his last meal and his punishment and his salvation all at once.
sunghoon’s free hand then drops between his own legs —wraps around his aching cock and starts stroking in frantic, sloppy pulls, hips thrusting into his fist in time with the way you’re riding his face. pre-cum drips onto the floor, splattering the wood, and he doesn’t even care—just moans into your cunt like a broken thing, eyes rolling back every time you clench around his finger.
you force yourself up on shaking elbows just to look at the view.
sunghoon on his knees, hair wrecked from your hands, face buried between your thighs, skin slick with sweat that catches in the dim light, mouth shiny with you, pumping his cock recklessly—and those dark, glassy eyes flicking up through wet lashes, begging for approval even as his tongue fucks you into oblivion.
the sight alone almost ends you.
so you decide you’re going to ruin him. and he’s going to thank you for it.
“hoon—fuck—come here,” you haul him up by the hair until his mouth slams into yours, slick with your release, tasting like salt and sin. you feel the heavy, slick weight of his cock pressing against your thigh, twitching wildly with need.
you shove him back with a teasing palm to his chest—flip him in one sharp twist—and he goes down easy, hitting the mattress with a small grunt, eyes huge and black as he puts together what’s about to happen. you straddle him in a heartbeat later, knees digging into the sheets on either side of his hips, hovering just high enough that your soaked heat brushes the flushed head of him—once, twice—drawing a needy, high-pitched whine that rips straight from his chest.
his cock lines up perfectly—throbbing, veins bulging, slick with both of you—and he bites his lip bloody trying to hold back the whimper, hands shaking violently where they clamp your waist for dear life. “wait—shit—i don’t have a condom—”
“sunghoon,” you shoot, voice raw and impatient, already lifting your hips to torture him at your entrance, sinking down just enough to swallow his tip in tight, wet heat. “i really don’t fucking care right now.”
his head slams back against the headboard with a thud, a raw moan tearing free as his hips jerk up involuntarily, trying to bury himself deeper.
“just wanna make you feel good, yeah?”
he nods wildly, eyes pleading—utterly lost, wrecked, and completely yours. “please—fuck, yes please—”
you don’t wait any longer. you drop, sinking down fully in one brutal, merciless move. and the stretch—the sweet, burning stretch of him splitting you open has you both gasping, the pent up tension that’s piled up for days finally shattering into a pure ecstasy that has you blinded.
he fills you to the brim, thick and pulsing, every inch dragging against your clenching walls as you bottom out, your hips now flush against his. you can’t make sense of it—how he’s stretching you impossibly wide, the burn delicious and overwhelming all at once, your body fluttering around him in desperate adjustment. his head snaps back against your headboard again, his throat exposed and veins bulging as he can’t stop the deep moans coming from his chest, hands clamping onto your hips—bruising, possessive, the only way to keep himself grounded.
you collapse forward, forehead to his, breaths mingling in hot, frantic pants. his eyes are squeezed shut, lashes wet against his pinked cheeks, lips opening and closing from the pure pleasure, “oh my god—you’re…fuck you’re—so tight—” the words tumble out, his hips twitching up, chasing the sensation, making you both gasp at the jolt.
“shh—stay still,” you whisper as best as you can, hands holding his face to force his glassy eyes open. and you have to collect yourself for a second. because park sunghoon is a vision—lips swollen red, pupils dark and blown, sweat trickling down his temple. “breathe, hoon.” you clench around him deliberately, and he tries his hardest not to snap immediately, his cock throbbing deep inside you.
“c—can’t—it’s too much—gonna—” his voice cracks, hands scrabbling at your waist, dragging you down harder even as his thighs shake violently under you, every muscle rigid, restraint shattering second by second. he’s pulsing inside you, fighting with everything he has not to cum, teeth gritted, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes because it’s too good, too perfect, too much.
you lift your hips carefully, just an inch, then sink back down, slow, torturous, letting him feel every slick of you swallowing him whole. “fuck—yes—” his eyes roll back, mouth falling open on a silent moan, his hips bucking up to meet you halfway on their own, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing loud and filthy. “tell me—fuck, tell me if it feels good—”
“perfect, baby. you feel perfect,” you gasp immediately, voice trembling as you finally start moving—hands braced on his sweat-slick chest, nails carving red lines into his skin. “just like this—harder now, hold my hips—help me—”
and he does—fingers pressing as he hauls you down onto his cock as he suddenly slams up, meeting your movements in brutal, punishing thrusts that turn the air filthy, wet slaps echoing, obscene, and unrelenting. the bed starts to creak in protest beneath you, the string lights on your headboard blurring into hazy streaks as the pleasure turns into tears stinging your eyes.
“hoon, yes, yes—faster,” your voice breaks into sobs, head tipping back, spine arching so hard your breasts shove up into his face.
he absolutely loses it.
he’s seventy percent sure he’s blacked out—the rest of him drowning in the symphony of your broken whines, the way your pussy sucks him in like it’s starving, the intoxicating sensation of you around him—every wet clench, every flutter squeezing him. but he’s still determined, feral with it, a man suddenly possessed—one hand flying up to palm one of your breasts hard, rolling the nipple rough enough between his fingers to draw a small yelp from you, the other shoving between your bodies to rub messy, perfect circles over your swollen clit.
“s—so tight—fuck, so mine,” he chokes out, voice breaking on every thrust. “mine, mine, mine—fuck—please say—”
his thrusts turn erratic, sloppy, with a new found determination as he chases his release, eyes locked on where he splits you open—you stretched around him, white slick coating his thighs, his balls, every inch of skin where you two collide.
“yours,” you moan, nails digging further into his chest. “been yours ever since you hit me in the fucking face, baby.”
and that does it. sunghoon just breaks.
back arching off the bed, whole body spasming, a strangled cry of your name tearing from his throat as as you feel him cum hard, his cock pulsing and swelling impossibly thicker inside you, the harsh and hot spurts filling you up quickly. the heat of it, the throb, the way he jerks inside you shatters you instantly after.
your second orgasm hits you with a sob against his mouth, clamping down viciously around him, milking him dry as you gush—violent, soaking pulses that drench his cock, his lap, the sheets, everything in a hot, filthy flood that leaves you shaking, blinded, ruined.
you collapse together—boneless, shuddering wrecks tangled in the sweat damp sheets that now cling to your skin. his arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against his chest, his cock still twitching deep inside as the aftershock ripples through you both. the room spins softly in the dim glow of your lights, the only sounds the distant party you both forgot about and your breathes mingling in a ragged harmony—his chest heaving against yours, heartbeats syncing in a frantic yet slowing pattern.
sunghoon buries his face in the crook of your neck, lips brushing sloppy, uncoordinated kisses, trying his best to catch his breath, each exhale hot against your skin.
“did i—was that okay? are you hurt anywhere?” voice small, vulnerable again despite the literal fact that he’s still buried deep inside you, his release leaking warm and sticky down your thighs, pooling beneath you in an intimate, filthy reminder. his hand moves to stroke your back gently, tracing the curves of your body as if mapping every inch for damage.
you giggle against him, the sound exhausted yet euphoric, vibrating through your chest as you lift his chin with a single finger, tilting his flushed face to yours. the kiss is soft, slow, lingering—tongues lazy and unhurried, a stark contrast to a few minutes ago, tasting all like salt and sex. “hoon, i think you ruined me,” you murmur against his lips, half-teasing, half-serious, your voice strained from the moans he pulled from you.
he lets out a small, relieved laugh, warm and genuine as his hands stay gentle on your back, thumbs circling soothing patterns over your damp skin. you shift slowly, lifting off him with ease, both of you exhaling in a sharp unison at the sudden emptiness.
you don’t pull away far, nestling into his side, draping a leg over his thigh as he tugs your crumpled up blanket over you both. his arm curls around your shoulders, his fingers tracing lazy swirls along your arm, the touch sweet and affectionate.
“ruined you, huh?” he echos after a beat, voice muffled as he presses a kiss to your temple, lips curving into a shy grin against your hair. “is that…good ruined or bad ruined? because if it’s bad, i swear i’ll make it up to you—after i make up for your nose. and shoes. and clothes. i’ve got a lifetime supply of apologies, honestly.”
you snort softly, cuddling closer into his neck, inhaling the comfort and warmth radiating off of him as your fingers dance lightly over his chest. “good ruined, idiot. like, the kind where i might not be able to physically get up tomorrow. so now you owe me at least breakfast in bed.”
“deal.” sunghoon chuckles, the sound vibrating through you both, his free hand slipping under the blanket to find yours, lacing your fingers in a loose, effortless hold. “pancakes? or—wait, do you even like pancakes? god, i don’t even know that yet. we should probably fix that before i ruin you again.”
you tilt your head up, eyes narrowing playfully before a small smirk tugs at the corners of your lips, “baby, is that your way of asking me out?”
his laugh melts into a groan as he buries his face into your hair again, arms tightening around you as he pulls you impossibly closer, bodies fitting perfectly together, “keep calling me baby like that and we’re skipping the pancake date—i’m just gonna ruin you all over again.”
your grin widens as you lift a brow at him, a mix of teasing and challenge written all over your face. then, your hand begins its slow, deliberate descent, fingers trailing a lazy path down his chest, over the ridges of his abs, your eyes watching his adam’s apple bob with a hard swallow, his breath catching in anticipation as your hand moves lower and lower.
you part your lips just enough, voice laced sweetly with promise: “deal, baby.”
and after that night, everything kind of falls into an abnormally normal rhythm.
sunghoon did get you pancakes—because he’s a man of promises.
but not until after he ruined you a second time, because, well…he’s a man of promises.
he eventually makes up for the other accidents too. he starts knocking on your door at 8:03AM every morning—two coffees balancing in one hand, a paper bag of something warm in the other, hoodie string still uneven but now on a different hoodie because he let you keep that other one. he starts showing up—after class to drive you home with him, in your texts to ask you which cereal he should buy for the week, in your kitchen, handing you clean dishes while pretending not to stare at the way you hum along to whatever song is playing.
he starts showing up in parts of your life where you didn't even know he was missing but now that he’s here, you never want to go back.
and through it all, sunghoon learns you. he learns that you can’t drink iced coffee without stirring it exactly three times first, that you sometimes talk in your sleep, that you always pick the m&ms out of trail mix, that you hate parallel parking but love late night drives, that you laugh with your whole face, and that someway, somehow, between the pancakes and drives and mornings and the softness—you’ve managed to carve out a permanent place in his life without either of you really meaning to.
so yeah. everything becomes accidentally abnormal after that night.
sunghoon still wakes up on time like he always does—but now he gets ready faster, just so he can walk ten doors down the hall and meet you before class.
you still sit next to him in chemistry, but now your hand is slyly trailing up his thigh under the bench table while he’s trying (and desperately failing) to measure 25 milliliters of sodium hydroxide without shaking.
when you’re at his apartment, curled up together on the couch, jay walks by and gives sunghoon a look that says finally.
when he’s at your apartment, head resting in your lap, jake walks by and gives you the same look.
it’s all wonderfully, beautifully, accidentally abnormal. which, for you and sunghoon, feels just right.
so, yeah—they say you never forget your firsts.
your first love, your first kiss, your first time.
for park sunghoon? he’ll never forget the first time he met you.
and honestly?
he kind of really hopes he never will.
꩜｡⊹ ࣪ ˖ ty all again if u made it to the end <3 mwahmwahmwah
welcome to sleepy me rambling 'bout jimin teasing and getting you off on his fingers—p.s... it gets messy hehe~ // nsfw warning !!
jimin’s fingers move gently at first, deftly circling your puffy folds as he holds you tightly in his arms while you arch your back tantalizingly against his chest. he peppers ticklish kisses on your temple and cheek as he coos at how much of a good girl you are.
“does that feel good?” he whispers lovingly in your ear as you babble an incoherent response up at him. he chuckles so sweetly, as though his fingers weren’t cruelly teasing the aching spot in between your legs.
“ngh… so sticky…” you’d whine as you hear the obscene noises his fingers were pulling from your cunt, eliciting a low groan from his throat.
“yeah, such a naughty girl you are, hmm? making such a mess all over my bedsheets…” jimin teases a finger inside you for emphasis, causing you to yelp in surprise. “aw, s’that feel good baby?”
you can only nod, your mind going haywire from being teased for so long like this. “j-jimin… want it in…” your words trail off as you tug desperately at the silver chain dangling from his neck.
his fingers immediately stop playing with your cunt, causing you to cry out at the loss of touch. “what’s that, baby? use your words.” he uses his free hand to cup your chin, tilting your head to face him.
you huff at the absence of friction between your legs, squirming in his cruel yet gentle hold as you peer up at him with pleading eyes. “jimin! want your fingers.. hff… ‘nside me, please…”
a sly smirk graces his baby pink lips as he lifts your head for a sloppy kiss. “good girl, so sweet for me. open your legs, baby.” he gently eases your legs back open before raising his slender fingers to his mouth, admiring the way your honey drips from them so sensually. “look at you… so messy and wet for me.“
he slowly slides his fingers into his mouth, never breaking his dizzying eye contact, a wanton moan slipping from his lips as the taste of your nectar hits his tongue. all you can do is watch, mouth agape, as he slides his fingers out with a slick pop.
“you taste so divine,” jimin whispers, holding you close as his hand travels down between your legs, where you continue to leak all over his bedsheets. “i want you to feel as good as you taste, baby.”
you cry out as you feel him slowly push two fingers into your pussy, stretching out your pulsing gummy walls and stuffing you full. the sensation is almost too much to bear, forcing you to scratch a burning trail down his muscular arms with your nails.
he laughs at your fierce reaction, holding your smaller body tighter against him. “you’ve got claws, baby. relax and let me make you feel good. i want you to cum on my fingers, okay? can you do that for me?”
“yes, daddy,” you mewl in a daze as drool spills from the corner of your lips at the feeling of jimin filling you up with just his fingers alone.
he groans lowly in your ear—such a sinful sound—as he watches your eager pussy suck his fingers in so easily. lewd squelches mingled with your soft, desperate pants fill the room, making your brain hazy.
“fuckkk… your pussy’s so needy for me, you hear that baby?” he coos down at you, eyes flitting between his fingers plunging in and out of your hole to the increasingly fucked-out expression on your face. as he continues to pleasure your weeping cunt, his voice suddenly catches in his throat. “ah… my cock’s so hard for you… need to get my baby off first…”
you can hear the quickly-waning restraint in his voice as his feverish blood rushes straight to his straining cock, begging for attention as he takes in the heavenly scene in front of him. the way your breasts jiggle with every thrust of his fingers, your futile attempts to paw at his arms like a feeble kitten, how your lips form a perfect little ‘o’ that makes him want to defile your throat with his cock… it’s all too much for him.
“j-jimin! too much… can’t…” you cry out, raking your nails across any expanse of his skin that you can get your hands on as you squirm in his arms.
he huffs out a laugh, biting his lip as he focuses on pounding his fingers into you harder, faster. “s-shit, baby… ‘can feel you clenching ‘round my fingers like a good girl. you close, baby?” you nod, tears pricking at your waterline, earning a smug smirk from him. “i knoww, it feels so good, hmm? come on, baby. cum all over my hands for me.”
his neverending gentle praises combined with the sinful squelches filling the room had you quickly hurtling over your climax as the band inside you snapped, causing you to cry out in ecstasy, loud enough for all the neighbors to hear. your body convulsed in jimin’s arms as your pussy squirted harder than it ever has before, completely soaking his fingers and the sheets beneath you, leaving your chest heaving in wonder and your entire body shaking from the force of it all.
jimin, on the other hand, was absolutely in love, watching the scene unfold in front of him with wonder. he adored the way your plush thighs trembled as he felt the last few pulses of your orgasm squeeze around his fingers, the way your eyes crossed and your tongue lolled ever-so-slightly from your lips at the overwhelming ecstasy. oh god, he was a lucky man.
“awh, baby, look at you,” he cooed, his fingers catching as much of your dribbling juices as they could. “you made all this mess just for me?”
in your broken state, all you could manage was a feeble nod as you tilted your head back to face him. “nn…. kiss…”
he gave you the sweetest grin, as though he hadn’t just destroyed your pussy with his fingers alone. he raised his soaked fingers to his mouth, lewdly licking them clean before kissing you deeply, soft lips claiming your own as his tongue danced with yours. after a while, he slowly pulled ever-so-slightly away from you, brushing his nose against yours.
“you did so good for me, baby,” he whispered, his hand traveling down to tenderly caress your waist. after a quiet moment of staring deeply into your eyes, admiring the way they glimmered just for him, he pressed another soft kiss to your lips. “so good. now let me clean you up.”
those were the last words you heard before you found yourself easily being carried princess-style into a warm, bubbly bathtub. ♡
─── IT'S JUST A CLUNK OF METAL! ✧･ﾟ he watched her often, in the little window across from his shop. she danced, she sang, she twirled around the shop like a fucking disney princess and he loved it, he yearned to be near her. and on one particular day, when the snow and wind howled outside; he got his wish. the beautiful florist across the street needed him, and he'd help her in more ways then one. ꕤ⠀ՙ
🔩 *◞ jeon jungkook x f ! reader ﹐☆ mechanic jungkook & florist reader snowed in trope sweet reader lowkey pussy drunk jungkook obsessed jungkook smut sex on a car oral (f. rec) fingering choking spitting edging chain kink unprotected sex dirty talk ➜﹒minors do not interact
▹ word count ✶﹐12.5k
The garage door was rolled down tight against the biting winter wind, its heavy metal frame rattling every few seconds as another gust slammed into it. Only the small rectangular window cut into the steel offered a framed glimpse of the world outside— a blurry, swirling canvas of white and gray where snow whipped sideways in furious sheets. Inside the mechanic shop, the air was thick with the sharp, familiar scent of motor oil, burnt rubber, and warm metal. The overhead heaters hummed steadily, pushing out blessed waves of heat that battled the cold seeping through the cracks. Fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, casting long shadows across tool-strewn workbenches and half-disassembled engines.
Jungkook stood near the front, rag in hand, absently wiping grease from his fingers as his gaze drifted— as it always did, toward that perfect little window across the narrow street. Your shop glowed like a beacon in the storm.
Soft, golden light spilled from the florist’s wide display windows, turning the falling snow into drifting sparks of amber. Through the delicate glass panes, framed by lush greenery and winter blooms, he could see you clearly. You moved with an effortless grace that made his chest tighten every single time. Tonight you were singing to yourself again. He couldn’t hear the melody over the howling wind and the low rumble of the shop’s ventilation system, save for the distance as well, but he didn’t need sound. The way your lips parted and shaped the words, the gentle sway of your body as you twirled lightly between the potted plants in the window display— it was like watching a private performance meant only for the flowers and the snow.
You held a small, pale green watering can in one hand, tilting it with careful precision as you misted the ferns and delicate winter jasmine that sat proudly in the front. Droplets caught the light like tiny diamonds before disappearing into the rich soil. Your free hand occasionally brushed a stray petal or adjusted a ribbon on a pre-made bouquet, your movements fluid and joyful. Your hair— loose and slightly tousled from the day’s work, caught the warm glow every time you spun, making you look like one of those Disney princesses from the old animated films he used to watch. Innocent. Radiant. Completely unaware that someone across the street was completely, hopelessly captivated.
Jungkook’s lips curved into a small, unconscious smile. God, he loved this part of the evening. The quiet ritual of watching you close up shop had become his favorite part of the day, even if it made his heart ache with a yearning he couldn’t quite name. You were so close, just a narrow street away— yet felt miles out of reach.
He’d imagined walking over there a hundred times: stepping into that fragrant, colorful world, introducing himself properly instead of offering awkward waves from across the road when your eyes accidentally met. But every time courage flickered, doubt snuffed it out. What would a woman like you want with a grease-stained mechanic who spent his days elbow-deep in engines?
“Earth to Jungkook.” A large hand suddenly waved in front of his face, breaking the spell so abruptly that Jungkook startled and nearly dropped the rag. He blinked, heat crawling up the back of his neck as he turned to face Namjoon.
Namjoon stood there in his thick winter coat, already zipped up to his chin, keys jingling in his pocket. His dimpled grin was wide and knowing, eyes sparkling with barely contained amusement. “You’ve got it bad, man. Like, painfully, obviously bad.” He chuckled, shaking his head as he adjusted the strap of his messenger bag. “How long are you gonna keep staring at her like a lovesick puppy? It’s been months. Just go talk to her already. Worst she can say is no.”
Jungkook felt his face flush hotter. He tossed the dirty rag onto the nearest workbench a little harder than necessary and waved his friend off with a scoff, trying to play it cool. “Shut up, hyung. It’s not like that.”
“Sure it’s not,” Namjoon laughed warmly, the sound rich and fond. He clapped Jungkook solidly on the shoulder as he headed for the side door, boots thudding against the concrete floor. “Whatever you say, lover boy. Just… the snow’s really picking up out there. Listen to that wind— it’s getting worse by the minute. Don’t stay too late, okay? Lock up soon and get home safe before the roads turn into an ice rink.”
“Yeah, yeah. I will,” Jungkook muttered, already drifting back toward the small window as the side door clicked shut behind Namjoon, leaving the shop quieter than before.
The wind howled louder now, a fierce, mournful sound that made the garage door shudder violently in its tracks. Snow lashed against the windowpane, blurring his view for a moment before the gust passed. Across the street, You were still moving between the plants in your window display, that soft, private little dance continuing as you prepared to close up for the night. The clock on his wall read just past six-forty-five — seven o’clock was creeping close. Soon You’d flip the “Open” sign to “Closed,” turn off the warm lights, and disappear into the storm.
Shaking his head at himself, Jungkook forced his gaze away and turned back toward the old sedan he’d been working on before Namjoon left. The hood was still propped open like a gaping mouth, exposing the engine’s tangled veins of hoses, wires, and metal. He grabbed a fresh rag and his wrench, the cool, heavy tool familiar and grounding in his palm. Leaning back under the hood, he lost himself for a while in the mechanical rhythm— tightening a stubborn bolt here, checking a loose hose clamp there. The sharp, acrid scent of motor oil and coolant mixed with the faint metallic tang of the shop surrounded him, a comforting contrast to the soft, imagined floral sweetness that always lingered in his mind whenever he thought of you.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the concrete floor littered with tools and spare parts. Outside, the blizzard grew steadily more vicious. The wind screamed through the narrow street like a living thing, rattling the windows and making the entire building groan under its assault. Snow piled higher against the curb, turning parked cars into soft white mounds. Jungkook tried to focus, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the golden glow across the way— to the way you twirled between your plants like the storm didn’t exist for you.
He was deep in concentration, fingers working carefully around a delicate sensor, when a new sound sliced through the muffled roar of the storm.
A car engine struggling to turn over.
Click… click… click.
The rapid, helpless clicking echoed faintly from across the street— the unmistakable sound of a dead battery or a failing starter fighting against the freezing cold. It came again, more desperate this time. Then, soft curses drifted on the wind. Or rather… the gentlest almost-curses he’d ever heard. “Fudge… oh, come on, not tonight. Please, just…ugh!"
Jungkook froze mid-motion, wrench still gripped tightly in his grease-stained hand. That voice. He’d only caught snippets of it before— soft and melodic when you greeted customers on the sidewalk, warm with gentle laughter when you chatted with regulars outside your shop, the occasional polite “excuse me” when your paths briefly crossed. It was always sweet, wrapped in a quiet confidence that made something warm and fluttery bloom in his chest. Even now, frustrated and battling the bitter cold, you couldn’t bring yourself to swear properly. You said “fudge” like it was the most severe word you could manage, your tone still so endearingly soft and sure.
A slow, involuntary smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. God, you were adorable. The kind of adorable that made his heart stutter and his stomach twist with yearning. He’d imagined hearing that voice directed at him so many times— saying his name, laughing at something silly he said, the soft sounds of your moans as he moved inside you.
He straightened up quickly, nearly banging his head on the raised hood in his haste. Heart suddenly racing, he peered out through the small rectangular window again, wiping away the condensation with the sleeve of his shirt.
There you were. You had made it to your little silver car parked right in front of your florist shop. The driver’s side door hung open, snow already dusting the dark fabric of the seat in delicate white flakes. You sat half-inside the vehicle, one booted foot still planted firmly on the snowy pavement as if ready to flee back into the shop at any moment. Your thick winter coat was pulled tightly around your small frame, the hood tugged up over your head, but a few loose strands of hair whipped wildly in the ferocious wind. You turned the key in the ignition once more — click… click… click— and let out another soft, defeated sound, your shoulders slumping visibly against the seat.
The storm was intensifying by the second. Visibility had dropped dramatically; the streetlights struggled to cut through the dense, swirling white curtain. Snow lashed sideways, stinging and relentless. Your car clearly wasn’t starting, and you were out there alone in the freezing dark, the temperature plummeting as night settled in.
This was it.
This was his sign— the universe finally giving him the push he’d been too cowardly to take on his own. Jungkook didn’t let himself overthink it this time. His pulse hammered hard against his ribs, a wild rhythm that drowned out the howling wind for a moment. He tossed the wrench onto the cluttered workbench with a loud metallic clatter, not caring where it landed. In one fluid motion, he snatched his heavy black coat from the hook by the side door and shrugged it on hastily, zipping it all the way up to his chin. He yanked a dark beanie over his messy, slightly sweat-dampened hair and shoved his gloves into his pockets, fingers already tingling with anticipation and nerves.
The side door of the shop groaned loudly as he pushed it open with his shoulder. The full, brutal force of the blizzard hit him instantly— like stepping into a frozen whirlwind. Icy wind sliced at his exposed cheeks and neck, snowflakes stinging his eyes and clinging to his lashes. The cold burned his lungs with the first deep breath, sharp and unforgiving. Snow had already accumulated several inches on the ground, crunching under his boots as he stepped fully outside.
He didn’t hesitate.
Jungkook pulled the door shut behind him with a firm click, the sound almost swallowed by the roaring storm, and began making his way across the narrow street toward you. Each step felt heavier than the last, not from the deepening snow but from the wild thud of his heart. The wind howled around him, whipping his coat and threatening to steal the air from his chest, but Jungkook pushed forward, eyes fixed on the small, bundled figure beside the silver car. Up close, You looked even smaller against the storm— delicate and out of place in the raging white chaos, like one of your own fragile winter blooms suddenly exposed to the elements.
Your hood framed Your face, cheeks already flushed a soft pink from the cold, and those strands of hair danced wildly around Your features. You looked... vulnerable. Beautiful. And something deep in his gut twisted with the sudden, vivid thought of how you might look flushed for entirely different reasons— lips parted, eyes half-lidded, that soft voice breaking into breathy little sounds as he...
He shoved the image away before it could fully form, cheeks burning hotter than the wind could cool. Not now, you idiot. Focus.
You turned the key again just as he reached you, another helpless click... click... click — and let out a quiet, frustrated sigh that the wind nearly carried away. When You glanced up and saw him standing there, your eyes widened in surprise, lashes dusted with snowflakes.
“Hey,” Jungkook said, raising his voice just enough to cut through the storm without shouting. He offered what he hoped was a warm, reassuring smile, snow already piling on his shoulders and beanie. “Need some help? Your car’s not turning over, sounds like the battery or the starter’s giving you trouble in this cold.”
You blinked at him, gloved hands still gripping the steering wheel. For a moment you seemed flustered, shifting in your seat as another gust of wind rocked the car. “Oh... um, I’m so sorry,” You said, your voice soft and sweet even through the embarrassment, exactly like he remembered. It wrapped around him warmer than any heater. “I know it’s freezing out here, and you really don’t have to help. I can try calling someone or... or wait it out. I don’t want to bother you.”
Jungkook shook his head immediately, stepping a little closer so the wind didn’t swallow his words. Snow crunched under his boots as he gestured gently toward you. “It’s no bother at all. Really. I’m Jungkook, I own the mechanic shop right across the street.” He pointed behind him through the swirling white, where the faint outline of his garage door was just visible. “Pushing your car over there would be easy, and I can take a look at it inside where it’s warm. You can hang out with me while I work on it, wait out the storm. No sense sitting out here freezing when the roads are only getting worse.”
He watched you process his offer, the way You knawed gently on your bottom lip in thought. That small, unconscious habit made his chest tighten. Your teeth pressed into the soft pink flesh, leaving a faint indent, and for a fleeting second his mind wandered again, wondering how that lip would feel under his thumb, or between his teeth, how You might sound if he kissed you slow and deep until You forgot all about the cold. Soft. You’d probably sound so soft... maybe a little whimper, all sweet and surprised...
He cleared his throat, forcing his thoughts back to the present as You finally nodded, a shy smile breaking through your hesitation. “Okay... if you’re sure it’s not too much trouble,” You said quietly, still sounding a little uncertain but grateful. “Thank you. Really.”
Relief and excitement surged through him, warm despite the freezing air. “Great. Just put it in neutral and I’ll be right back to open the garage.”
Jungkook jogged back across the street, boots sinking deeper into the fresh powder with every stride. The wind fought him the whole way, but he barely felt it now, adrenaline and something brighter buzzing under his skin. He reached the side door of his shop, fumbled with the keys for only a second before unlocking it and slipping inside. The relative warmth hit him like a blessing, but he didn’t linger. Moving quickly to the control panel, he hit the button for the main garage door. It rumbled to life with a low, mechanical groan, slowly rolling upward and letting in a rush of icy air and swirling snow as it revealed the brightly lit interior of the shop.
He stepped back outside immediately, waving toward your car through the storm. “Alright, it’s open! Let’s get you inside!”
Together they worked to push the car. Jungkook positioned himself at the rear, hands braced firmly on the trunk, muscles flexing under his coat as he leaned into it. “You don’t have to help,” he called out to you over the wind. “I’ve got it, the snow’s slippery, just get in and steer if you want!”
But you insisted, shaking your head as You moved to the side of the car, gloved hands pressing against the driver’s door frame. “No, I want to help. It’s my car, the least I can do.” Your voice carried that same gentle determination, and he couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at his lips.
The car was heavy, resistant against the accumulating snow and ice, but with both of them pushing it slowly began to roll forward. Jungkook’s boots dug in for traction, his breath coming in visible puffs as he put real effort into it. You pushed alongside him, smaller frame leaning in with surprising determination, your soft grunts of effort mixing with the howl of the wind. Every time their eyes met briefly through the flurry, You offered a shy little smile that made his pulse stutter. The narrow street felt endless in the storm, snow stinging their faces, wind tugging at their coats, but inch by inch they moved your silver car across the road and up the slight incline into the open garage bay. The moment the tires crossed the threshold, the raging blizzard dulled to a muffled roar outside the rising door.
Warm air from the shop’s industrial heaters rushed forward to greet you both, chasing away the sharp, biting cold that had clung to your coats, your hair, and your cheeks. Snow that had dusted your shoulders and boots began to melt almost immediately, forming tiny glistening puddles on the concrete floor beneath you.
Jungkook brushed fresh flakes from his beanie and shook out his heavy black coat, small droplets scattering. He tried to steady the sudden, wild rhythm of his heart. You were here. Actually here, inside his shop, alone with him, the rest of the world locked out by the raging snow.
“You can sit anywhere you want,” he said, his voice warm and steady despite the nervous flutter in his chest. He gestured around the spacious garage with a gloved hand. “Make yourself comfortable. There’s a folding chair right over there by the workbench if you’d like, or the stool by the tool chest. Whatever feels good.”
You nodded shyly, offering him a small, grateful smile that made something bright and warm bloom low in his stomach. “Thank you… again. I really appreciate this,” you murmured, your voice soft and sweet, still carrying that gentle lilt he had admired from across the street for so long.
He watched as you moved toward the old metal folding chair beside the sedan he’d been working on earlier. You brushed a few stray snowflakes from your coat before lowering yourself onto the seat, your posture a little stiff at first, hands resting neatly in your lap as if you were trying not to take up too much space. The overhead fluorescent lights cast a soft, diffused glow over you, highlighting the pretty flush still lingering on your cheeks from the harsh cold outside. Your hair was slightly tousled from the wind, a few damp strands clinging to your forehead and temples. You looked so beautifully out of place in the middle of his gritty, oil-scented world— delicate and bright like one of your own winter flowers suddenly transplanted into a mechanic’s garage. And yet… you fit. Somehow. Perfectly.
Jungkook forced himself to turn away before he could stare too long. He moved to your silver car and popped the hood with a practiced, smooth motion. The metal creaked as it lifted, revealing the engine bay. Leaning in, he examined the components with focused eyes, his fingers moving with familiar ease over cold metal and plastic. The sharp, familiar scent of motor oil, coolant, and rubber filled his nose again, grounding him in the familiar rhythm of work. But underneath it all, something much sweeter drifted toward him— your perfume. Soft, floral, with delicate hints of vanilla, fresh blooms, and something warm and feminine that made his pulse stutter and his thoughts scatter for a dangerous moment.
God… you smell like springtime wrapped in sugar. Like you could bloom right here in the middle of all this grease and metal.
He tried his hardest to stay focused on the battery terminals, checking the connections and corrosion, but his mind wandered anyway. Just for a second. He pictured you right here, bent forward over this same hood, your coat long discarded, back arched beautifully as he pressed up close behind you. The way your soft voice might break into breathy little gasps and moans, sweet, surprised at first, then growing needier as he thrust deep and slow inside you. Your hands gripping the edge of the hood, knuckles turning white, while he whispered filthy praises against the nape of your neck, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip. How you might sound when you finally let go— those delicate “fudge” habits replaced by desperate whimpers of his name, your body trembling under him as he—
Jungkook snapped out of the vivid fantasy hard, blinking rapidly as a rush of heat crawled up the back of his neck and settled low in his belly. He cleared his throat roughly and forced his attention back to the engine. Get it together, Jeon. She — you — are sitting right there. Focus.
After a thorough inspection, the diagnosis was simple and clear. He straightened up, wiping his hands on a relatively clean rag, and turned toward you. “It’s just the battery,” he announced gently. “The extreme cold drained it pretty badly tonight. It happens a lot this time of year with older batteries. I can jump it easily with my truck once we’re ready, but…” He paused, glancing toward the closed garage door where the wind continued to scream and rattle the metal. “The roads are way too icy right now. Even if we get the car started, I wouldn’t trust driving anywhere in this mess. Visibility is terrible, and the plows probably won’t come through for hours. We’re probably stuck here for a few hours at least— maybe more, until the storm eases up.”
He leaned one hip casually against the front of your car, trying to look relaxed even as his heart hammered.
You were sitting there looking adorably nervous, hands wringing together in your lap in that sweet, unconscious way. Your fingers twisted and fidgeted, betraying your anxiety even as you tried to keep your expression calm. Your bottom lip was caught gently between your teeth again, eyes wide and uncertain as you processed his words. The sight made his chest tighten with something fiercely protective and warm all at once.
“I’m really sorry about this,” you said softly, huffing out a small, resigned breath that made your shoulders rise and fall. “I should’ve left the shop earlier… or checked the battery before the storm got so bad. But… yeah, I think waiting is the best option. I don’t want either of us sliding off the road or getting stuck somewhere worse.”
Jungkook nodded immediately, offering you a gentle, reassuring smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Hey, no apologies needed at all. I’m genuinely glad I was still here to help. Honestly, it’s no trouble. This is what I do.” He gestured vaguely around the warmly lit shop with one hand. “We’ve got plenty of heat, lights, tools— whatever we need. I can even make some coffee or hot chocolate if you’d like. There’s a mini-fridge and hot plate over there. Beats sitting alone in a freezing car waiting for a tow truck that might not even show up tonight.”
You relaxed a little at his words, your shoulders easing as you gave him another shy, tentative smile. The way your eyes softened when they met his made his stomach flip pleasantly. “Hot chocolate sounds really nice, actually… if it’s not too much trouble,” you admitted quietly.
“It’s not trouble at all,” he replied quickly, maybe a touch too eagerly. He pushed off your car and moved toward the small break area in the corner of the shop, where the mini-fridge hummed softly and a hot plate waited on a cluttered counter. As he filled the kettle with water and searched for the packets of hot chocolate mix, he couldn’t help stealing glances back at you over his shoulder.
You were still sitting there on the folding chair, hands now resting more calmly in your lap, but that faint nervous energy lingered in the gentle way you watched him move around his space. The shop felt smaller now, cozier, the storm outside creating a strange, intimate bubble just for the two of you. Warm golden light, the low hum of heaters, the faint sweet scent of your perfume mixing with the earthy notes of oil and metal… and hours stretching ahead of you both.
Jungkook’s mind wandered again— unbidden, dangerous, and far too tempting. He wondered how long it would take for that adorable shyness to melt away in the warmth. How your voice might change when it wasn’t so polite and careful anymore. How you’d look with your hair messy from his hands, cheeks flushed deep pink for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold outside, and those soft, pretty lips parting around quiet, needy sounds of his name.
He swallowed hard, stirring the hot chocolate a little more vigorously than necessary, trying to ignore the growing heat low in his belly and the way his jeans suddenly felt tighter. “Here you go,” he said gently, walking back toward you with both steaming mugs. He handed you the white one, careful not to spill any as he lowered himself onto the low rolling stool a respectful distance away from your chair. “Careful, it’s hot. I added a little extra cocoa, figured we could use something sweet after dealing with that storm.”
You accepted the mug with both hands, wrapping your fingers around the warm ceramic like it was a lifeline. A tiny, grateful smile curved your lips as you inhaled the chocolatey aroma. “Thank you… this smells amazing.” You took a careful sip, eyes fluttering closed for a brief second in pure contentment. The soft little hum of satisfaction that escaped you made Jungkook’s chest tighten.
For a few minutes, the only sounds were the muffled howl of the wind outside, the steady hum of the heaters, and the quiet occasional clink of your mugs. You both sat in a comfortable but slightly charged silence at first, the storm creating an intimate little world just for the two of you. The shop lights cast a warm, golden hue over everything, softening the usual harshness of tools and metal. Snow continued to pile against the small window in the garage door, but in here it felt almost… peaceful.
“So… how long have you owned the flower shop?” Jungkook asked eventually, his voice low and curious. He leaned forward slightly on the stool, elbows resting on his knees, genuinely wanting to know everything about you.
You glanced up at him, cheeks still carrying that pretty flush from the cold and now the warm drink. “Almost two years now. It was my dream for so long— having a little place where people could come in and feel something beautiful and fresh even in the middle of winter.” Your fingers traced the rim of the mug absently. “I love watching people light up when they find the perfect bouquet or when a plant they thought was dying starts thriving again. It’s… healing, I guess.”
Jungkook nodded, his dark eyes never leaving your face. “I can see that. From across the street, I’ve watched you dancing around with the plants, singing to them sometimes.” He admitted it with a soft, sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry if that sounds creepy. It’s just… you always look so happy in there. Like the whole world outside doesn’t touch you when you’re surrounded by flowers.”
Your eyes widened a little in surprise, then softened with shy amusement. You bit your bottom lip gently— that adorable habit again, before replying, “You noticed that? I didn’t think anyone could see me through the window when I get like that. I guess I forget people are watching sometimes. It’s embarrassing… but also kind of nice to know someone was paying attention.”
The air between you felt warmer, thicker. Jungkook’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth as you spoke, then flicked back up to your eyes. “It’s not embarrassing. It’s… really beautiful. You make the whole street brighter.”
You looked down into your mug, a delicate blush deepening on your cheeks. “That’s sweet of you to say. I’ve noticed you too, you know. You’re always working so hard over here— covered in grease but still smiling when customers leave happy. And you have this focused look when you’re under a hood… it’s kind of captivating.”
Jungkook’s heart stuttered at your words. He hadn’t expected you to admit that. The compliment landed softly, making heat bloom in his chest and lower. He shifted on the stool, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting now, only a couple of feet apart in the quiet shop.
The conversation flowed more easily after that. You told him about your favorite flowers (peonies in spring, paperwhites in winter), the funny regulars who came in every week, and how you sometimes stayed late just to rearrange displays because it calmed you. He shared stories about ridiculous car repairs — the time someone brought in a car with a family of squirrels living in the engine, or the customer who insisted their “check engine” light was just the car being dramatic. You laughed at his animated retelling, the sound light and melodic, filling the shop and making Jungkook’s stomach flip every time.
As the minutes stretched into an hour, the storm outside seemed to grow even fiercer, wind rattling the garage door like it wanted in. But inside, the space between you had slowly shrunk. At some point, Jungkook had moved his stool closer without realizing it, drawn in by the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about your shop and the way you leaned forward when listening to him. Your knees were almost brushing now. The sweet scent of your perfume mixed with chocolate and the faint trace of his cologne created an intoxicating little bubble.
You shivered lightly despite the heat, setting your empty mug aside. “It’s still so cold out there… I can’t believe how fast the storm got this bad.”
Without thinking, Jungkook shrugged off his thick flannel overshirt— the one he wore over his plain black t-shirt and offered it to you. “Here. It’s warmer than it looks. The heaters are good, but sometimes the draft still sneaks in.”
You hesitated for only a second before accepting it, draping the oversized flannel over your shoulders. It swallowed your frame, the sleeves hanging past your hands, but the sight of you in his clothes did dangerous things to his pulse. You looked soft. Small. Like you belonged right here with him.
“Thank you,” you whispered, pulling the fabric closer around you. Your eyes met his, holding longer this time. The shy nervousness from earlier had faded into something warmer, more open. “You’re really kind, Jungkook. I was so scared when my car wouldn’t start, but… I’m glad it was you who came out.”
His breath caught. The way you said his name— soft, sincere, sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. He set his own mug down and leaned in just a fraction closer, voice dropping lower. “I’m glad it was me too. I’ve wanted to talk to you properly for months. Watching you from across the street… it was nice, but this is better. A lot better.”
The air grew heavy with unspoken tension. Your gaze flicked down to his lips for the briefest moment before returning to his eyes. Jungkook’s heart pounded hard against his ribs. He could see the faint rise and fall of your chest, the way your fingers tightened slightly in the fabric of his flannel. Everything felt slower, more intimate, the storm outside a distant roar compared to the quiet electricity building between you.
“You know…” he continued softly, his hand moving almost on its own to gently brush a stray strand of hair away from your cheek. His knuckles grazed your skin, warm and slightly rough from work. “I’ve thought about what it would be like to finally be this close to you. To hear your voice without a street between us.”
Your breath hitched softly at the touch, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned into it just a little, eyes half-lidded and trusting. “I… I’ve thought about it too,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “More than I probably should have.”
That was all the encouragement he needed.
Jungkook searched your eyes one last time, giving you every chance to stop him. When you didn’t, he closed the small remaining distance between you, tilting his head slightly as his lips met yours in a slow, gentle kiss.
It started soft— tentative and sweet, like testing warm water. Your lips were even softer than he had imagined, tasting faintly of chocolate and something uniquely you. A quiet sigh escaped you as you kissed him back, one hand coming up to rest lightly against his chest. The flannel slipped slightly off one shoulder, but neither of you cared. Jungkook’s hand cupped your cheek tenderly, thumb brushing your skin as he deepened the kiss just enough to pour months of quiet yearning into it, slow, reverent, and full of the warmth that had been building all evening.
Your breath mingled with his, both of you still close enough that the slightest movement would bring your mouths together again. You didn’t pull away. Instead, your fingers curled lightly into the front of his black t-shirt, holding on as if you were afraid the moment might slip away.
You pulled away only for a second, Jungkook’s dark eyes searched yours for only a heartbeat before he leaned in again, capturing your lips in a deeper kiss. This one wasn’t quite as tentative. It was slower, more intentional— his mouth moving against yours with a quiet hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface for months. One of his hands slid to the nape of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair, while the other rested at your waist, pulling you just a little closer on the chair.
You sighed softly into the kiss, a delicate sound that made something tighten low in Jungkook’s stomach. He loved it immediately, that sweet, breathy little noise that escaped you when his lips pressed more firmly. It was needy in the softest way, exactly like he had imagined during all those stolen glances across the street. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, tongue gently tracing the seam of your lips until you parted for him with another quiet, almost surprised hum.
The shop around you seemed to fade even further. The distant roar of the storm became background noise compared to the soft, wet sounds of your mouths moving together and the quickening rhythm of your breathing. Jungkook groaned low in his throat when your tongue shyly met his, the taste of chocolate and warmth flooding his senses. He kissed you harder, more insistently, savoring every little gasp and whimper that slipped from you as the intensity built.
Your hands wandered. One stayed fisted in his t-shirt while the other slowly slid up to his chest, fingers brushing over the thin silver chain that rested against his collarbones. The cool metal contrasted with the heat of his skin. When you wrapped your fingers around the chain and gave a tiny, experimental tug, Jungkook’s breath hitched sharply.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, lips shiny and slightly swollen, eyes dark with want. Your cheeks were flushed a deep pink, lashes fluttering as you tried to catch your breath. The oversized flannel had slipped further off one shoulder, revealing the soft curve of your neck and the edge of your sweater underneath. You looked beautiful, shy, but clearly affected, lips parted and breathing uneven. “You like that?” he murmured, voice rougher than before. His thumb brushed tenderly over your bottom lip. “Grabbing my chain… pulling me closer?”
You bit your lip, that adorable nervous habit making his heart stutter even as heat pooled hotter in his veins. Your fingers tightened around the silver links again, but you didn’t pull yet. Instead, you nodded shyly, eyes dropping for a second before lifting back to his. The combination of innocence and quiet desire in your gaze was devastatingly hot. Jungkook’s lips curved into a small, heated smile. “Go ahead, baby,” he whispered, leaning in so his forehead rested against yours once more. His voice dropped even lower, intimate and encouraging. “Yank on it. As hard as you want. I like it when you get a little needy.”
The shy nod you gave him, small, almost hesitant, but paired with the way your eyes sparkled with newfound boldness— was both incredibly adorable and undeniably arousing. The moment your fingers tightened properly around the chain and gave a firmer tug, pulling his mouth back down to yours, Jungkook let out a low, appreciative groan.
The kiss ignited.
He surged forward, mouth claiming yours with more heat this time. The gentle exploration from before melted into something hungrier, more desperate. His tongue slid against yours in slow, thorough strokes, tasting you deeply as he tilted his head to kiss you at a better angle. You whimpered softly— a needy little sound that went straight to his cock, and he swallowed it eagerly, drinking in every soft moan and breathy sigh you offered.
Your grip on his chain never loosened. Every time the kiss grew more intense, you tugged him closer, the cool metal pressing into the back of his neck as you pulled him in like you couldn’t get enough. Jungkook loved the way it felt, the slight sting when you yanked harder, the silent demand in the gesture that contrasted so perfectly with your shy, sweet nature. It made him kiss you harder, one hand sliding down to grip your hip, fingers digging in just enough to anchor you as he leaned over you on the chair.
The makeout session turned heated fast. Wet, open-mouthed kisses replaced the softer ones. Your soft sounds grew needier— little whimpers and quiet moans that spilled from you whenever his teeth grazed your bottom lip or his tongue explored deeper. Jungkook was addicted to them already. Every time you made that delicate, desperate noise, he responded with a low growl of his own, pressing closer until your knees parted slightly and he could settle between them.
He broke the kiss only long enough to trail his lips along your jaw, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck. When he gently sucked at the sensitive spot just below your ear, you let out a particularly sweet, breathy moan that made his hips twitch involuntarily. “Fuck… you sound so pretty,” he murmured against your skin, voice thick with arousal. “Those little sounds… keep making them for me, baby. I could listen to you all night.”
Your fingers yanked on the chain again, harder this time, guiding his mouth back to yours in a messy, heated kiss. Tongues tangled, breaths mingled, and the quiet shop filled with the sounds of your growing desperation— soft whimpers, the wet slide of lips, and the occasional needy whine that escaped you when Jungkook’s hand squeezed your waist or his teeth nipped gently at your lower lip.
Jungkook groaned low into your mouth every time you whimpered, the sound vibrating against your tongue and sending sparks straight down your spine. He was quickly becoming addicted to those soft, needy noises you made. Each little whine and breathy moan spilled from you like music, so sweet and desperate that it made his cock strain harder against the front of his jeans.
His large hand, which had been gripping your hip possessively, began to wander with deliberate slowness. He gave you every opportunity to stop him, trailing his palm down the curve of your thigh before sliding it inward. When his fingers finally pressed over the seam of your pants, rubbing firmly against your clothed pussy, a sharp gasp escaped you. Your hips twitched forward involuntarily, seeking more of that delicious pressure even through the layers of fabric.
Jungkook pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of you breathing hard in the warm, oil-scented air of the shop. His dark eyes were blown wide with lust, locked intensely on yours as his fingers continued those slow, teasing circles over your core. Even muted by your pants and underwear, the heat and dampness radiating from you made his breath hitch.
“Is this okay, baby?” he murmured, voice rough and low, barely above a whisper. His thumb pressed a little firmer against your clit through the fabric, drawing another soft whimper from your lips. “Tell me if you want me to stop. I’ll stop anytime.”
The warmth of the shop’s heaters wrapped around you both, but it was nothing compared to the fire building low in your belly from his touch. You were already aching, wetness soaking into your panties as his fingers worked you so perfectly. Shy as you still felt, the need was stronger. You shook your head quickly, voice coming out breathy and trembling with want. “Don’t stop… please, Jungkook.”
That desperate little “please” made something primal flare in his chest. Jungkook’s lips crashed back onto yours in a deeper, more claiming kiss, tongue sliding against yours as his fingers rubbed harder, pressing the seam of your pants right against your swollen clit. The wet heat between your legs grew with every stroke, and your soft whines turned higher, needier, spilling uncontrollably into his mouth. He swallowed every sound greedily, loving how your body responded so honestly— hips rolling against his hand, fingers tightening around his chain until the links pressed into the back of his neck.
After several long, heated minutes of kissing and teasing touches, Jungkook broke away again, lips trailing hot and open-mouthed along your jaw and down the sensitive column of your neck. His breath ghosted over your skin as he spoke, voice thick with restraint and raw desire. “Can I take your pants off?” he asked, fingers still rubbing those maddening circles that made your thighs tremble. “I want to touch you properly… feel how wet and warm you are for me. Is that okay, baby?”
Your heart raced, cheeks burning with a mix of shyness and overwhelming arousal. You wanted him— wanted this, so badly that the words slipped out easily, shaky but certain. “Yes… I want you. So bad.”
Jungkook let out a low, appreciative groan that vibrated against your neck. “Fuck, you’re so sweet,” he whispered, pressing one last kiss to your pulse point before pulling back. He helped you slide off the folding chair on slightly shaky legs, his hands gentle yet sure as they moved to the waistband of your pants. With careful reverence, he hooked his fingers into both your pants and panties, sliding them slowly down your thighs together. The cool air of the garage kissed your newly exposed skin, raising goosebumps along your legs as he knelt briefly to pull the fabric completely off, along with your boots and socks. He set the bundle neatly aside on a nearby cluttered workbench, his eyes never leaving your body.
When he rose to his feet again, his gaze was dark and hungry, drinking in the sight of your bare lower half. The oversized flannel you still wore— his flannel, hung loosely off one shoulder, the hem brushing teasingly against the tops of your thighs. You looked breathtaking like this: flushed, shy, and exposed in the middle of his mechanic shop, surrounded by tools and the faint scent of oil and metal. It was such a filthy contrast to your soft, floral sweetness, and it made his cock twitch painfully.
Instead of returning you to the chair, Jungkook guided you backward until the backs of your thighs met the wide, sturdy workbench behind you. It was the perfect height, high enough that when he stepped between your parted legs, your bodies aligned beautifully, his hips brushing against your inner thighs. The flannel slipped further down your shoulder, revealing more soft skin, but you made no move to fix it.
He leaned in close, capturing your lips in another deep, heated kiss before pulling back just enough to ask again, his voice husky and careful. “Can I touch you now, baby? Really touch you… with my fingers?”
“Yes,” you breathed out immediately, the word coming out whiny and desperate, your hips shifting restlessly on the edge of the workbench. Your fingers tugged on his chain again, pulling him closer as need pulsed through you. “Please, Jungkook… I need it. Touch me.”
The needy whine in your voice nearly broke his control. Jungkook’s eyes darkened further, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he slid one large, warm hand between your thighs. His fingers glided through your slick folds, parting them gently and coating themselves in your arousal. “So fucking wet already,” he murmured appreciatively, voice hoarse with awe. “All this pretty slick just for me? You’re dripping, baby.”
He started slow and teasing, circling your swollen clit with two fingers in gentle, deliberate strokes— light pressure at first that gradually grew firmer as your reactions encouraged him. Every slow circle drew another needy sound from deep in your throat: high, whiny little moans and breathy whimpers that filled the warm garage and made Jungkook’s breathing grow ragged. He watched your face the entire time, mesmerized by the way your eyes fluttered half-closed, how your mouth fell open in pleasure, how your head tipped back slightly when he hit that perfect spot.
“That’s it… make those pretty sounds for me,” he praised softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear as his fingers continued their torturous circles. “You sound so fucking needy, baby. I love it. Love hearing how much you want my touch. Keep whining for me like that.”
When your hips began rolling more insistently against his hand, chasing the pleasure, Jungkook shifted lower. He pressed one thick finger slowly inside your tight heat, moving carefully and gently pumping in and out to open you up. The wet, slick sounds of his finger gliding through your arousal mixed with your increasingly desperate whines, creating an intoxicating rhythm that echoed softly in the shop. He curled his finger just enough to brush that sensitive spot inside you, drawing a particularly sweet, high-pitched whimper from your lips.
“Relax for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing along your neck and collarbone as he carefully added a second finger. He stretched you slowly, deliciously, scissoring gently while his thumb kept up those firm circles on your clit. The pace remained soft and deliberate, thorough prep rather than anything rushed— but the way you clenched around his fingers and let out those needy, whiny moans told him you were falling apart so beautifully.
Every whimper, every desperate roll of your hips, every soft “please” that slipped from your lips made Jungkook’s own arousal spike higher. His cock was rock hard, pressing insistently against his jeans as he worked you open with patient, skilled fingers. He kissed you deeply again, swallowing your moans while his fingers continued their slow, thorough exploration, curling, pumping, and rubbing until your thighs trembled around his waist and your whines grew louder, more urgent.
The storm outside continued to howl and rattle the garage door, snow piling higher against the windows, but inside this warm, intimate bubble, the only thing that mattered was the way you sounded for him— needy, whiny, and utterly perfect.
Jungkook had no intention of rushing.
He wanted to hear every single desperate sound you could make before the night was over.
Jungkook’s fingers continued their slow, thorough work between your thighs, two thick digits pumping gently inside your slick heat while his thumb circled your swollen clit with firm, precise strokes. The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers moving through your arousal filled the warm garage, mixing with the distant howl of the storm outside. Your soft whines had already grown into breathier, needier moans, but he could tell you were ready for more. He watched your face closely, dark eyes drinking in every flutter of your lashes and every parting of your lips.
Testing the waters, he curled his fingers harder, thrusting them a little deeper and faster, the heel of his palm pressing firmly against your clit with each stroke. The change in pace was deliberate, rougher than before, but still careful, watching for your reaction. Your response was immediate and beautiful.
A loud, broken moan tore from your throat as your head fell back, eyes squeezing shut in overwhelming pleasure. Your fingers shot down to grab onto his forearm, nails digging into the hard muscle there as your hips bucked against his hand. “Ah— Jungkook!” The moan came out loud and desperate, echoing softly in the shop. You clenched tightly around his fingers, thighs trembling around his waist as waves of heat crashed through you.
Jungkook’s breath hitched sharply, a low, hungry groan rumbling in his chest. Fuck. He loved every second of it— the way your pretty face contorted in pleasure, the way your voice cracked on his name, the way your body gripped him so greedily. Watching you fall apart on his fingers was quickly becoming his new favorite sight. Your grip on his arm only spurred him on, your nails leaving little crescent marks on his skin that he would wear proudly.
“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, voice thick with arousal as he kept up the rougher pace, fingers thrusting deeper, curling harder against that sensitive spot inside you. “You like it a little rougher? Look at you… falling apart so pretty for me. Moan louder, sweetheart. Let me hear how good it feels.”
You did exactly that. Another loud, needy moan spilled from your lips, your back arching as you held onto his arm like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. Your hips rolled desperately against his hand, chasing every thrust, every press of his palm. The flannel hung loosely off your shoulders, barely covering anything anymore, your skin flushed and glowing under the warm shop lights. Jungkook couldn’t look away— you were a vision: needy, whiny, and completely lost in the pleasure he was giving you.
But the more he watched you, the more desperate he became. His cock was painfully hard, straining against his jeans, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more. He needed to taste you.
After a few more rough, deep thrusts of his fingers that drew another loud sob-like moan from you, Jungkook slowed just enough to speak, his voice raw and almost begging. “Baby… fuck, I need a taste. I’ve been dying to know how sweet this pretty pussy is.” His fingers kept moving slowly inside you as he leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear. “Please… can I eat you out? Let me put my mouth on you. I’ll make you feel so good — I promise.”
You were trembling, chest heaving, but the desperate plea in his voice made fresh heat flood between your legs. You nodded frantically, voice coming out in a broken, needy whisper. “Yes… yes, please. I want your mouth.”
The relief and hunger that flashed across Jungkook’s face were instantaneous. He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, bringing them to his lips for a quick, filthy taste that made his eyes flutter shut with a deep groan. “So fucking sweet already,” he muttered, almost to himself.
Without wasting another second, Jungkook dropped gracefully to his knees in front of the workbench. The concrete floor was hard and cold against his knees, but he didn’t care— nothing mattered except the sight of you spread open for him. He hooked his strong hands under your thighs, spreading you wider and pulling you closer to the edge of the workbench until your pussy was right at the perfect height for his mouth. The flannel had slipped almost completely off one shoulder now, bunching around your elbows, leaving most of your upper body beautifully exposed.
Jungkook looked up at you one last time, eyes dark and blown with lust, lips slightly parted. “Keep making those sounds for me, baby. I want to hear every single one.”
Then he leaned in and connected his mouth to your core.
The first broad, slow lick from the bottom of your slit all the way up to your clit drew a loud, sob-like cry of pleasure from your throat. Your back arched sharply off the workbench, one hand flying down to tangle desperately in his soft, dark hair while the other gripped the edge of the table. “Oh my god— Jungkook!” The moan came out broken and overwhelmed, tears of pleasure pricking at the corners of your eyes from the intensity.
Jungkook groaned deeply against your pussy, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure through you. He didn’t hold back. His tongue worked you with hungry, expert strokes, licking broad and flat over your folds, then flicking rapidly against your swollen clit before sucking it gently between his lips. He alternated between long, thorough licks that collected every drop of your slick and focused suction that made your thighs shake violently around his head.
“Fuck… you taste even better than I imagined,” he mumbled against your core, voice muffled and reverent. He lapped at you like a man starved, tongue dipping inside your entrance before circling your clit again with relentless precision. Every sob, every loud moan, every desperate whimper that spilled from your lips only made him more eager. He gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open as he devoured you, the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth working your pussy filling the garage alongside your cries.
You were falling apart completely now. Loud, needy sobs of pleasure echoed around you with every pass of his tongue. Your hips bucked against his face, fingers tightening in his hair as you pulled him closer, grinding against his mouth in search of more friction. Jungkook loved it— loved the way you lost control, the way your usually soft, shy voice turned into these broken, desperate sounds just for him. He hummed and groaned against your core, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation that made your toes curl.
He sucked your clit into his mouth again, flicking his tongue rapidly while two fingers slid back inside you, thrusting in time with his mouth. The dual sensation— his hot, wet tongue and his thick fingers stretching you— pushed you higher and higher. Your moans turned into loud, continuous whines and sobs, your entire body trembling as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak.
Jungkook pulled back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny and swollen, chin glistening with your arousal. His voice was rough, desperate, and full of awe. “That’s my girl… let go for me, baby. Come on my tongue. I want to feel you fall apart.”
Then he dove back in, mouth working you even more intensely, fingers curling perfectly inside you as he pushed you relentlessly toward the edge. Jungkook’s tongue worked you relentlessly, broad strokes and rapid flicks alternating with deep, sucking pressure on your swollen clit. His two thick fingers pumped steadily inside you, curling against that perfect spot with every thrust. Your loud, broken sobs of pleasure filled the warm garage, mixing with the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth devouring your pussy. Your fingers were tangled tightly in his dark hair, hips grinding desperately against his face as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.
He pulled back for just a moment, only long enough to look up at you with dark, lust-blown eyes. His lips were shiny and swollen, chin glistening with your slick. Without breaking eye contact, he gathered saliva in his mouth and spat directly onto your core— a warm, filthy stripe landing right over your clit and dripping down to your entrance.
The sensation was almost overwhelming.
A sharp, needy cry tore from your throat as the warm spit made contact with your already sensitive flesh. Before you could even process it, Jungkook’s fingers were there, spreading the wetness, fucking his spit slowly and deliberately into your hole. The lewd, squelching sound it made was filthy and intoxicating. He pushed two fingers deep, twisting them as he spread the slick mixture, opening you up even more while his thumb continued teasing circles around your clit.
“Oh— god, Jungkook—” you moaned loudly, the words slipping out broken and desperate. The added wetness, the way his fingers fucked his own spit into you so deliberately, it sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through your body. Your thighs trembled violently around his head, hips jerking involuntarily at the overwhelming sensation.
While his mouth hovered teasingly close, still breathing hot against your core, you couldn’t wait any longer. Your hands moved frantically to the oversized flannel still hanging loosely off your shoulders. You tugged it off completely, letting it pool behind you on the workbench. Next came your sweater— you yanked it up and over your head in one hurried motion, tossing it aside. Your bra followed quickly, unclasped with shaky fingers and discarded somewhere on the floor. The cool air of the shop kissed your newly bare skin, making your nipples harden instantly into tight peaks.
Completely naked now except for the way your body was spread open for him, you palmed at your own tits. Your hands squeezed the soft, warm flesh, thumbs brushing over your hard nipples before pinching and tugging on them gently at first, then a little harder as the pleasure between your legs intensified.
Jungkook’s eyes flicked upward the moment you started touching yourself. His mouth was still on you— tongue lapping slowly at your folds, but his gaze locked onto your hands as they kneaded and played with your breasts. The sight of you squeezing the soft flesh, fingers tweaking and tugging on your nipples, sent a deep, guttural groan vibrating straight against your core.
“Fuck… look at you,” he moaned against your pussy, the words muffled but full of raw hunger. “Touching your pretty tits while I eat you out… you’re so fucking hot, baby.”
The vibration of his groan combined with the way his tongue flicked rapidly over your clit again pushed you right to the edge. His fingers never stopped, still fucking his spit and your slick deeper into you with rougher, wet thrusts. The dual sensation, his hot mouth sucking on your clit and his thick fingers stretching and filling you— was too much.
Your back arched sharply off the workbench, one hand still squeezing your breast while the other tightened painfully in his hair. “Jungkook— I’m— ahh!” The orgasm hit you hard. A loud, sobbing cry ripped from your throat as pleasure exploded through your body. Your pussy clenched violently around his fingers, thighs shaking uncontrollably around his head. Waves of intense heat crashed over you again and again, your hips bucking wildly against his mouth as you came so hard you saw stars. Your fingers tugged harshly on your own nipples, the sharp pleasure mixing with the overwhelming sensations between your legs until you were a trembling, moaning mess.
Jungkook didn’t stop. He groaned loudly against your core, lapping up every drop of your release as it coated his tongue and chin. His fingers kept moving through your orgasm, drawing it out as long as possible while he sucked gently on your oversensitive clit. He watched you the entire time— eyes dark and reverent, loving the way your face twisted in ecstasy, the way your tits bounced slightly with every shuddering breath, the way your loud, broken moans filled the entire shop.
Only when your body started to relax, trembling with aftershocks, did he finally ease up. He pressed one last, slow, open-mouthed kiss to your pussy before pulling back slightly, lips and chin shiny with your cum. His fingers slipped out of you gently, and he looked up at your flushed, blissed-out face with a hungry, satisfied smirk. “God… you come so beautifully,” he rasped, voice hoarse and thick with arousal. His hands smoothed soothingly over your trembling thighs as he rose slowly to his feet, stepping between your spread legs once more. “I could watch you fall apart like that all night.”
He leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, messy kiss so you could taste yourself on his tongue. One of his hands came up to gently cup your breast, thumb brushing over your still-sensitive nipple as he kissed you slower, letting you come down from the high while the storm continued to rage outside.
Your body was still trembling with aftershocks, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. The warm glow of the shop lights bathed your naked skin, making every inch of you look soft and glowing. Jungkook hovered over you, lips shiny with your release, eyes dark and hungry as he watched you come down from your high. His fingers traced soothing patterns on your thighs, but the thick bulge straining against his jeans told you he was far from done.
“Jungkook…” you whispered, voice hoarse and needy from all the moaning. Your hands reached for him, fingers brushing over his arms and tugging weakly at his t-shirt. “Please… I need you. Fuck me. I want you inside me so bad.”
You didn’t even have to beg.
Jungkook was already planning to bury himself deep inside you the moment he tasted your release. Still, hearing those desperate words fall from your sweet lips made his cock twitch hard. A low, possessive groan rumbled in his chest as he leaned down and kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue again. “I’ve got you, baby,” he murmured against your mouth, voice rough with restraint. “Been dying to fuck you since the second I got you in here.”
In one smooth motion, he slid his hands under your thighs and lifted you off the workbench like you weighed nothing. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as he carried you the short distance across the garage to your silver car. The hood was still warm from sitting inside the heated shop. He laid you down gently on the smooth, glossy surface, your back meeting the cool metal with a soft gasp. The contrast of the slightly chilled hood against your overheated skin sent a fresh shiver through you.
You looked absolutely beautiful like this— completely naked, spread out on the hood of your own car, hair fanned out beneath you, flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips, legs parted invitingly. The flannel and your other clothes lay forgotten somewhere behind you. Jungkook stood between your thighs, staring down at you like you were the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.
“Fuck… look at you,” he breathed, hands smoothing reverently up your sides. “Laying on the hood like this, waiting for me. So fucking pretty.”
He couldn’t wait any longer. Jungkook reached behind his neck and pulled his black t-shirt off in one fluid motion, revealing his toned chest, defined abs, and the silver chain that still rested against his collarbones. The chain swayed lightly as he moved, catching the light. Next came his jeans and boxers— he shoved them down his hips and kicked them aside, finally freeing his hard, throbbing cock. It stood heavy and flushed against his stomach, the tip already glistening with precum.
The silver chain was the only thing he kept on. Jungkook stepped closer, hands gripping your thighs as he spread you wider on the hood. He looked down at you with dark, hooded eyes, voice low and husky. “How do you want it, sweetheart? You want me to fuck you slow and deep… or do you want me to pound you hard?”
Your hands slid up his bare chest, palms gliding over warm skin and firm muscle. You traced the lines of his abs, then higher, fingers brushing the silver chain. A shy, almost bashful smile curved your lips as you looked up at him through your lashes. “Pound me,” you whispered sweetly, voice soft and shy despite the filthy words. “I want you to fuck me hard, Jungkook.”
The innocent way you said it— so sweet and delicate, like you were asking for something gentle instead of begging to be railed, made a surprised laugh bubble out of Jungkook. It was low and warm, eyes crinkling with both amusement and raw desire. “Shit… you say it so fucking cute,” he chuckled softly, leaning down to brush his nose against yours. “Say it again for me, baby. Tell me exactly what you want.”
Your cheeks burned hotter, but the ache between your legs was stronger than your shyness. You tugged lightly on his chain, pulling him closer as you repeated, voice still soft and sweet, “Pound me, Jungkook. Please… fuck me hard.”
Jungkook’s laugh faded into a deep, hungry groan. “That’s my girl.”
He wrapped one hand around the base of his cock and tapped the thick head against your soaked pussy. The wet sound it made was filthy. He dragged the tip slowly up and down your slit, letting it catch on your sensitive clit with every pass. Each teasing stroke made your hips twitch and a soft whimper escape your lips. He coated himself in your slick, the head of his cock glistening with a mix of your arousal and his precum.
“Ready for me?” he asked, voice strained with need as he lined himself up at your entrance.
You nodded frantically, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. “Yes— please—”
Jungkook pushed forward. The thick head of his cock stretched you open as he slid in slowly at first, letting you feel every inch. He groaned deeply, eyes fluttering shut for a moment at how tight and warm you felt around him. “Fuck… so tight, baby. Taking me so well.”
Once he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, he paused — letting you adjust to his size while the silver chain dangled between you, brushing lightly against your chest. Then, true to your sweet request, he pulled back almost all the way before slamming back in hard.
The first rough thrust made the car hood creak beneath you and a loud, needy moan spill from your lips.
Jungkook didn’t hold back anymore. He set a punishing rhythm, pounding into you exactly the way you’d asked, deep, hard strokes that made your tits bounce with every thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the garage, mixing with your moans and his low, guttural groans.
His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place on the hood as he fucked you harder, the silver chain swinging with every powerful snap of his hips. “Like that, baby?” he growled, eyes locked on your face, drinking in every expression of pleasure. “This what you wanted? Me pounding this pretty pussy on your car hood?”
The car hood creaked loudly beneath you with every powerful thrust as Jungkook fucked you exactly the way you’d shyly begged for, hard, deep, and relentless. His hips snapped forward with bruising force, driving his thick cock into you over and over again. The wet, obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the warm garage, echoing louder than the muffled howl of the storm outside. Your body jolted with each punishing stroke, tits bouncing heavily as you lay spread out on the glossy metal surface.
“Jungkook— oh my god,” you moaned loudly, voice breaking with pleasure. Your hands gripped the edges of the hood for support as another particularly deep thrust made your back arch. “I love your big dick… god, it feels so good—”
“Yeah?” Jungkook growled, voice rough and filthy as he slammed into you harder. “Fucking take it, baby. Take every inch of this big cock like a good girl.”
His words sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you. He picked up the pace, fucking you faster and rougher, hips pistoning with raw power. The entire car started to jerk and rock beneath you with the force of his thrusts, the suspension creaking in rhythm with every brutal snap of his hips. The silver chain around his neck swung wildly, occasionally brushing against your chest as he leaned over you.
You were moaning so loudly now— high, needy whines and broken sobs spilling from your lips without any filter. “Ah— yes! Harder— please—” Jungkook’s hands moved from your hips to your tits, grabbing them roughly with both palms. His fingers dug into the soft, plush flesh as he used them for leverage, squeezing hard while he pounded into you. He kneaded and groped them possessively, thumbs brushing roughly over your sensitive nipples, pinching and tugging as he drove his cock deeper.
“Fuck, these tits are perfect,” he groaned, eyes fixed on the way your breasts bounced and spilled between his fingers with every thrust. “So soft… bouncing so pretty while I fuck you.”
Your hand slid down your body, fingers finding your swollen clit. You started rubbing tight, desperate circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves, the added stimulation making your moans turn even louder and more whiny. “Jungkook— ahh! It’s so deep— I’m— god!”
The combination of his brutal pace, his rough hands mauling your tits, and your own fingers frantically playing with your clit pushed you higher and higher. Your pussy clenched tightly around his thick cock, slick sounds growing wetter and louder as you dripped down his shaft.
Jungkook was losing it.
He was so pussy drunk he could barely keep it together. His thrusts grew erratic and even harder, the car rocking more violently beneath you. Low, desperate groans and whiny moans spilled from his own throat— raw and broken, nothing like his usual confident tone. “Shit— baby, you feel so fucking good… this tight little pussy is gripping me so hard. Can’t— fuck— can’t stop…”
His head fell back for a moment, eyes squeezing shut as he fucked you with everything he had. The silver chain bounced against his chest with every savage thrust. Sweat glistened on his toned body, muscles flexing as he used your tits as handles to pull you back onto his cock harder. “You’re so loud for me,” he panted, voice strained and husky. “Keep moaning like that, let me hear how much you love getting your pussy pounded.”
You were a mess, moaning loudly, whining his name, fingers rubbing your clit faster as his cock slammed into you repeatedly. The car continued to jerk and creak under the intensity of your fucking, the hood warm against your back from the friction. Jungkook’s grip on your tits tightened, fingers leaving faint red marks on your skin as he used them to drive himself even deeper, hips snapping forward with desperate, animalistic force.
“Gonna— fuck— gonna make you cum again,” he growled, leaning down closer so the chain dangled right above your face. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide with lust. “Cum on my cock, baby. Want to feel this pretty pussy squeezing me while I fuck you stupid.”
Your moans turned into loud, continuous whines, body trembling as the pressure built unbearably inside you. Jungkook’s thrusts never slowed— hard, fast, and deep, while his hands continued to grope and squeeze your tits roughly, using them to pull you onto his cock with every stroke. The pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter until it finally snapped.
You came hard for the second time.
A loud, sobbing cry tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you. Your pussy clenched violently around his cock, pulsing and fluttering as waves of intense pleasure ripped through your body. Your back arched sharply off the hood, tits bouncing wildly in his rough grip. Your hand flew down from your clit to his pelvis, pushing weakly at the hard muscle there as the overwhelming sensation became almost too much. “Jungkook— ahh! Too much— I’m cumming— !”
But Jungkook didn’t slow down. Instead, one of his hands released your breast and slid up to wrap firmly around your throat. He didn’t squeeze hard enough to hurt, but the pressure was possessive and controlling as he choked you through your orgasm, hips still snapping forward with deep, punishing thrusts.
“Take it, baby,” he growled, voice rough and strained, eyes locked on your face as you fell apart beneath him. “Take my cum. Gonna fill this pretty pussy up. Don’t push me away— take every fucking drop.” The combination of his cock slamming into your spasming walls, his hand around your throat, and his filthy words sent you spiraling even higher. Your eyes rolled back slightly, loud whiny moans turning into choked, broken sobs of pleasure as you came harder around him.
Jungkook’s rhythm faltered as he chased his own release. His thrusts grew erratic and desperate, the car jerking sharply with every slam of his hips. He was so pussy drunk he could barely hold it together anymore. His breathing was ragged, low whimpers slipping from his throat as he fucked you through your orgasm.
“Fuck— baby— I’m gonna cum,” he panted, voice cracking. “Gonna fill you up— shit—”
With a deep, stuttering groan that quickly turned into a soft, broken whimper, Jungkook buried himself as deep as he could go and came hard. His cock pulsed inside you, thick ropes of warm cum spilling deep into your pussy. His hips jerked erratically with every spurt, the silver chain swinging wildly between you as his body trembled. He whimpered again, a needy, desperate sound that made your walls flutter around him— as he emptied himself completely, flooding you with his release.
Only when the last shudder wracked his body did he loosen his grip on your throat. He stayed buried deep inside you for a long moment, both of you panting heavily, bodies slick with sweat.
Finally, Jungkook pulled out slowly with a wet, obscene sound. A thick trickle of his cum immediately began to leak from your stretched hole. Before it could drip down onto the car hood, your hand moved between your legs. Two of your fingers pushed into your sensitive, cum-filled pussy, slowly fucking his release back inside you with lazy, deliberate strokes.
Jungkook’s eyes widened, breath still coming in harsh pants as he watched the filthy sight. His chest heaved, silver chain rising and falling rapidly with each ragged breath. “Fuck… look at you,” he rasped, voice hoarse and awed. “Pushing my cum back in like such a good girl. So fucking dirty for me.” He couldn’t tear his eyes away, watching your fingers slide in and out of your creamy pussy, pushing every drop of his load deeper while your thighs trembled from the overstimulation. The sight made his spent cock twitch with renewed interest even as he tried to catch his breath.
You looked up at him with hazy, blissed-out eyes, fingers still buried inside yourself, a shy but satisfied little smile playing on your swollen lips. Jungkook leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours as he panted softly. “You’re gonna be the death of me, baby… but fuck, I’m not done with you yet.”
n; this was a request by @internationalplayboi4u i strayed a bit away from the request so i hope that is okay! i hope you like it (:
Huge, submissive boyfriend Jungkook who lets you pin him down even if he could easily overpower you. Throw in that size kink for me, ma.
─── YOU'RE SO BIG! ⸝⸝ ✶
contains ⇢ smut size kink big dick!jungkook riding choking subby!jungkook jungkook is wearing a chain ﹒⟢ hard thought!
The night settles softly around you, dim lamplight spilling like honey across the living room, catching in the curve of the empty wine glasses abandoned on the coffee table. The air feels warm, the space between the two of you was closing in little by little, until it dissolved into nothing at all.
Jungkook is pressed into the couch beneath you, shoulders sinking into the cushions as if they’re the only thing keeping him grounded, his breathing shallow as he stares up at you, wide eyed, pink lipped and amazed. That dazed look was your favorite, Jungkook was big. He could easily turn you over without so much as a second thought, but instead he allows you to handle him: to take the reigns.
His lips are parted before you even touch him again, a beg on the tip of his tongue. "Baby─" He pants, but you're already shaking your head, shushing his whines before they can even begin. Jungkook only groans, his hands finding the dip of your hips, urging your forward only slightly, searching for some kind of comfort─ some kind of relief.
You catch him, his efforts going unrewarded. "No." You huff, grabbing at his hands at your side. Your hand comes up, fingers curling gently but firmly under his chin, tilting his face toward yours, guiding him with a confidence that makes his lashes flutter, a groan falling from his lips. Then you kiss him, slow at first but it doesn’t stay that way for long. It deepens, heat blooming between you, your mouth moving against his in a rhythm that leaves him breathless, a quiet sound slipping from him before he can stop it.
"Please..." He breathes against your lips, the feel of his breath on your skin igniting a flame inside of you. Your hands roam his shoulders, down his arms, and then over his chest, appreciating every single ridge, every taunt muscle.
Your thumb brushes over his bottom lip, soft, slow, and he inhales sharply at the contact, his head tipping back slightly into your touch without thinking. “Look at you,” you murmur, your mouth close to his ear, “You’re already this worked up… and I’ve barely touched you.”. Jungkook trembles, a slight shiver runs through his body and you bask in the feel of his trembling need for you.
His lips part again, a soft, breathy sound slipping out before he can catch it. "I— i—" He stutters, his eyes glazed over as your lower half begins to grind into him, slow and steady, teasing him. He swallows, gaze dropping for a second like he’s embarrassed by how easily he gives himself away, how transparent he is beneath you.
"What baby?" You taunt, head tilting to the side in mock innocence. "Tell me what you want..." you say, thumb pressing a little more deliberately against his lower lip, tugging it down just enough to watch the way his breath catches.
He exhales shakily at that, almost a whine hidden in the sound, and it’s like that’s all the permission he needed— because when you lean in again, he meets you faster this time, needier, his lips chasing yours the second they touch. It’s messy in the best way, his rhythm unsteady, like he’s trying to keep up but keeps getting lost in the feeling of you.
You don’t let him take over. Not even for a second.
"Fuck me." He breathes out, harsh breaths as you continue to grind down on him, picking up speed only slightly.
You don't answer, instead you kiss him again. Your hand slides from his chin to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair, holding him right where you want him as you kiss him deeper, slower, controlling the pace until he’s the one following you again, melting back into the couch with a soft, broken sound against your mouth.
“Easy,” you whisper against his lips when he tries to chase you as you pull back just a fraction, his mouth brushing yours like he can’t stand the distance. Your grip tightens slightly in his hair— not enough to hurt, just enough to make him still. “You don’t rush me.”
His eyes flutter shut at that, a quiet “okay…” slipping out, barely more than a breath.
You reach down, your fingers wrapping around his already hard cock, your tiny fist was nothing in comparison to the sheer size of him, the weight of him. Your hand move languidly up and down, stroking him with a keen precision to have him mewing. The soft sounds falling from Jungkook lips were your driving force— you wanted, no, needed to please him.
"Feel good, baby?" You coo, continuing your slow strokes. He only nods, head titled back, lips parted slightly and his skin flushed with pink hues. You smile at him, chasing that wasn't wrapped around him up, across his stomach, then to his chest and finally to the chain that dangled from across his neck. Your fist wound tightly around the cold metal, yanking him forward.
A gasp fell from Jungkook's lips as he watched you yank on his chain. You used the momentary distraction to lift yourself up, lining his cock with your entrance and sinking down.
"Fucking— hell" He grunts. His hands find your hips once again, grounding himself. The feeling of you wrapped around him almost too much to bare.
“Exactly what you wanted?” you whisper softly, your voice brushing over him like a test, your thumb tilting his chin just enough to keep his gaze where you want it.
He nods too quickly, like the answer lives in his bones. “Yes,” he breathes. You lift yourself again, falling down harshly again and again, the skin of your thighs meeting his in harsh smacks.
A soft, needy sound escapes from your lips at the stretch of him, he was big, you could feel him everywhere and the the urge to collapse against grew stronger with each rise and fall of your hips. "Fuck." You moaned, "You're so fucking big!"
He lets out a soft, broken sound at that, everything about him is responsive— every shift of your touch, every change in your pace.
“I don’t think I can handle your pace,” he admits, barely above a whisper, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans closer, like he’s willing to fall apart if it means staying right here with you.
Your expression softens just a fraction at that, your thumb brushing lightly along his cheek, slowing down only a bit, to catch your breath, your hips moving in slow grinds against his. “You’re doing just fine,” you murmur. “Look at you..." Your hands grab at his chest, your fingers finding his neck before wrapping them around the skin and squeezing only slightly. That pulls a quiet, breathless laugh from him, but it dissolves the second your lips meet his again, slower now, deeper in a way that feels less overwhelming and more consuming.
"I'm so close..." You murmur, breathless. "Make me cum, please." You're the one begging now, trembling as his hands pressed firmly into the skin of your hips.
“Don’t stop,” he whispers again, the words fragile but certain, his forehead resting against yours. You don't answer right away, to lost in the feel of him, deep inside of you.
"Oh fuck." You whine, as you meet your end. Jungkook following suit as your orgasm crashes into you like a tidal wave.
His forehead falls to yours as the both of you catch your breath. The aftershocks of your orgasm leaving your body like jelly in his hold.
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