Fox’s

"Wonnie," the nickname slips from your mouth with the same effortless fondness it always has. The same nickname that's made his chest tighten ever since you were sixteen and sharing cheap convenience store ramen after class.

You cup his cheeks with both hands, trying to force him to look at you properly, but Jungwon only turns his face away with a groan.

"Wonnie, please look at me—"

"Y/N," he sighs, "my answer is still no."

You flop backward against the couch dramatically, throwing one arm over your eyes. "You're impossible."

"And you're insane."

The moment your hands leave his face, the warmth disappears too quickly. And, Jungwon hates that he notices it instantly. He shifts closer anyway, resting a hand against your thigh in an attempt to soften the rejection.

"I could give you a million reasons why that was a terrible idea," he says quietly, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your jeans. "You just never listen to me."

You continue sulking, lips pressed into a stubborn pout, and he tries — and fails—not to smile at how ridiculous you look.

"Oh, so now you're laughing at me?"

"A little."

"You're the worst best friend ever."

"And yet, you keep me around."

"Unfortunately."

The teasing comes naturally. Easy. Familiar. It always has with him.

That's the problem.

Because sometimes Jungwon laughs at your jokes and you forget that best friends aren't supposed to memorize the exact shape of each other's smiles. Sometimes he brushes your hair away from your face so gently it makes your heart ache for days afterward. Sometimes he looks at you a little too softly.

And sometimes you think maybe, just maybe, he feels it too.

But five years is a long time to carry feelings someone never asked for. So you bury them beneath jokes and banter, late-night phone calls, and every “Wonnie” you pretend doesn’t mean more than it should.

Tonight, though, your frustration burns hotter than caution.

"Well," you mutter, staring at the ceiling, "I've been telling you that I love you for the past five years and you've never listened to that either."

Silence follows almost instantly. The kind that crashes into the room all at once.

Jungwon’s thumb stills against your thigh.

Your own heartbeat becomes deafening the moment the words register in your brain.

Oh.

Oh no.

Your eyes widen as horror crawls up your spine.

The realization hits with full force, hot embarrassment rushing from the tips of your ears down your neck. The living room suddenly feels too quiet, too warm, and too small.

And the worst part is that Jungwon hasn't said anything. Hasn't moved. Hasn't even blinked.

Mortification crawls up your spine so violently that your body reacts before your brain can catch up. With a strangled noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper, you whip around and bury your face into the couch cushion, as if disappearing into the fabric is a perfectly reasonable solution to confessing to your best friend by accident.

"Delete that," you mumble into the cushion. "Delete that from your memory right now."

Still nothing. The silence stretches, and somehow that hurts more than if he'd just laughed at you. You reason with yourself—maybe he's shocked, maybe he's trying to figure out how to reject you without ruining the friendship—and the thought makes your grip tighten against the pillow, heat radiating off your face even the air conditioner can't fix.

Why would you say that? And more importantly, why would you say that out loud?

You squeeze your eyes shut harder, wishing desperately for the floor to open up beneath you.

"Actually," you continue, words spilling out only because he still hasn't said anything, "let's collectively pretend that never happened. Forever. People recover from worse things."

"Y/N…"

His voice is soft. Too soft. Not awkward, not disgusted. Soft enough to make your chest tighten painfully.

So you freeze.

The couch dips slightly beside you before you hear the quiet rustle of fabric, followed by the sound of Jungwon lowering himself onto the floor next to your head. Then his hand—warm, gentle—comes to rest against your shoulder, thumb brushing slowly back and forth like he isn't entirely sure this moment is real.

Because it isn't, not to him. As you buried your face in his couch cushions, Jungwon genuinely wondered if he'd imagined the last five minutes—if his hopeless, painfully lovesick brain had finally snapped after years of wanting you quietly, carefully, and from a distance he forced himself to keep. Because to Jungwon, there was no way you'd actually said that. No way you'd just looked him dead in the eyes and admitted the thing he'd spent years trying not to hope for.

'Maybe you'd meant it jokingly. Maybe his stupidly hopeful heart had twisted your words into something they were never supposed to be,' he reasons with himself.

But then he noticed it—the faint pink slowly spreading across the tips of your ears. And everything inside him stopped.

Because if there was one thing that Jungwon was sure of, it was that he knew you. Knew every version of your embarrassment. Knew the difference between your fake dramatic whining and the genuine kind that made you hide your face from the world.

This was real. You meant it.

The realization hit him hard enough to steal the air from his lungs. Years of loving you silently, years of swallowing words at the tip of his tongue whenever you smiled at him too sweetly. Years of convincing himself that being your best friend was enough, because at least he still got to stay.

And now you were telling him—no. Not telling him. You'd been telling him, all along.

The thought made his chest ache in the best and most unbearable way possible.

"I'm serious," you mumble weakly into the cushion once again. "This is genuinely my villain origin story."

A small sound escapes him—not quite a laugh, more disbelief wrapped in fondness.

"I can't look at you right now," you confess miserably.

"Why?" he asks, and the question makes your embarrassment spike and your heart stutter at the same time.

"You're unbelievable," he murmurs.

You groan into the pillow. "Please let me die with dignity."

“Y/N,” he calls out quietly once more.

You hate the way your stomach flips at the sound of your name on his lips. Especially now. And most especially like this.

His hand stills on your shoulder for just a second. When he speaks again, his voice is gentler than you've ever heard it.

"Please look at me."

Something in the way he says it makes your chest ache—not pity, not discomfort, something else. Something terrifyingly hopeful. Slowly, reluctantly, you lift your head just enough to meet his eyes.

And Jungwon looks completely undone.

"What did you just say?"

What did you just say?

⠀⠀ ͏⠀⠀ ͏ ⠀ ͏⠀⠀ ͏⠀⠀ ͏⠀ ͏⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆

please do not repost, reupload, or translate my work anywhere else on the internet. i also do not approve uploading my work on any ai site. salamuch <33

oral (f. rec), fingering, pussy slapping (ikr), switch!reader, switch!sunoo, protected sex (that’s a first), riding, squirting, praise play, dirty talk, somnophilia, nipple play, handjob, orgasm control, overstimulation. lmk if i forget any

If you asked anyone else in this hallway why they were emptying their bank accounts for the Enhyphi raffle, they’d definitely name a specific fraternity boy and for three years, you had walked right past the huge glossy advertisements without a single second thought.

The annual charity draw was practically a campus holiday by now, a week long massive spectacle where thousands of students aggressively vied for the ultimate prize, which was a fully customizable, all expenses paid date with one of the fraternity’s elites. To you, it had always looked like a superficial circus and since the rotating charities never personally resonated with you, your cash stayed firmly in your wallet.

But this year’s flyer had a different footnote.

All proceeds go to the local Leukemia Research Clinic.

The words hit like an actual tap on your shoulder. Suddenly, the post lecture chatter of the corridor faded into the background, and the memory of a sterile hospital room from two years ago along with the fading smile of your aunt and the helpless anger of watching a disease steal someone away piece by piece.

It felt entirely bizarre to connect that lingering grief with the most coveted bachelors on campus. Yet, your hand was already unzipping your tote and your fingers were finding the edge of your wallet. Sure, a raffle ticket wouldn't bring your aunt back but for the first time in your college career, you felt like the money was actually going somewhere that mattered.

The walk from your building to the center of campus usually took five minutes but today the concrete pathways felt tight, completely choked by an unusual influx of students all moving in a single direction. You tucked your strap higher on your shoulder as you followed the crowd and the closer you got to the quad, the more the ambient buzz of campus life sharpened into something loud and bass heavy.

When you finally rounded the edge of the library, the brick path finally opened up and the sheer scale of the event hit you.

You stopped at the perimeter of the grass and let your eyes scan the transformation. The university lawn was now barely visible beneath a sprawling maze of interconnected white and blue canopy tents, thick black power cables snaked through the grass and a sea of moving bodies. Enhyphi hadn't just thrown a fundraiser—they had literally built a temporary carnival.

You slowly stepped onto the lawn, slowly navigating around a group of freshman girls who were frantically checking their makeup in their phone cameras. Looking to your left, you watched the crowd cluster around the wooden frame of a kissing booth. A guy in front of you paid his five dollars, stepped up on his toes and blushed furiously as one of the handsome frat boys leaned over the counter to plant a quick and overly exaggerated smack on his cheek, which prompted a loud cheer from the line behind him.

The smoky scent of charred meat grew thicker when you walked deeper into the crowd, making you glance towards the smoke plumes rising from a massive grill. Two frat boys, who were completely shirtless despite the slight afternoon breeze, clad in nothing but denim shorts and grease stained aprons, were putting on a full performance for a crowd. One was dramatically flipping hotdogs into the air and catching them on a spatula while the other barked out prices like an old school carnival worker, his defined chest was covered in a faint layer of ash.

You kept moving, using your eyes to search through the banners until you spotted the rather large sign reading RAFFLE TICKETS HERE — $10 A PIECE.

Your chest tightened slightly as you took in the view, the line was a long, looping serpent of people, starting right under the main tent, coiling past the grill stand, wrapping completely around the concrete fountain and stretching back toward the steps on the opposite side. You actually stopped in your tracks and let your hand drop from your bag zipper. The volume of the crowd was ridiculous and the thought of standing in the sun, surrounded by loud music and screaming students made your bedroom suddenly feel like a distant paradise.

You took a half step backward. This is ridiculous, you thought to yourself. I should just go to my room.

But as you stood there, fully ready to retreat, you kept your eyes on the front of the tent. A frat boy with a megaphone was efficiently handing out blue paper slips and making the process quicker. The line shifted and a solid block of ten people moved forward seamlessly, the queue compressing by several feet in a matter of seconds. They were running the booth with military efficiency, safe for the chatty girls that took their time flirt a little before stepping out of the line.

You looked back down at your purse in your tote and thought of the footnote on the poster, so you took a breath. You stepped onto the worn grass, walking to the very end of the line and taking your place behind a girl texting furiously on her phone.

It only took forty five minutes of shifting your weight from one foot to the other on the trampled grass to finally bring you to the front of the queue. The constant thud of the bass from the speakers and the shout of the megaphone had started to give you a dull headache but the relief of finally being next in line kept you grounded.

The girl in front of you, the one who had been glued to her phone the entire time stepped up to the folding table and tossed her long hair over her shoulder.

"Hi! I'd like a hundred tickets, please," she said with performative sweetness as she leaned closer with her palms on the table.

You blinked and leaned slightly to the side to see if you had misheard her but she was already sliding a crisp black credit card into the frat boys hand, with her eyes locked onto him.

He was incredibly handsome, wearing a backward baseball cap and a tight fitted tee with a name tag that said Jake pinned to his chest pocket. He looked up with a perfectly practiced frat boy smile spreading across his face as he took her card. "A hundred? Wow. Someone's trying to guarantee a win today."

"Well, hopefully," the girl giggled and fluttered her eyelashes. "I'm really hoping I win you, Jakey. I already planned our whole date."

Jake didn't miss a beat. He chuckled in an indulgent way that clearly showed he was used to this kind of attention every single day. He leaned in a little closer to her as his eyes gleamed with a playful but highly effective charm. "Is that so? Well, the odds are pretty competitive this year. Tell you what...maybe you should buy another fifty just to make absolutely sure. Give yourself that extra edge."

You watched in stunned silence as the girl didn't even hesitate. "You know what? You're totally right! Make it one hundred and fifty," she said, nodding eagerly as if he had just given her real financial advice.

You couldn’t stop your mouth from actually falling open. Your jaw was practically dropping to the grass as you did the mental math, one single raffle ticket was ten dollars. Ten dollars. That meant she had just casually dropped fifteen hundred dollars on a piece of plastic and a tiny slip of paper, all for a chance to go to dinner with a guy in a baseball cap.

One thousand five hundred dollars, you thought, staring at the back of her head in utter disbelief. That was insane work, a level of wealth and obsession that completely threw your brain offline and reminded you exactly what kind of madness this fraternity generated on campus.

"There you go, sweet thing," Jake said, with a smooth voice as he slid a clipboard and a pen across the table toward the girl. "Just write down your dorm, room number and your phone number right there. You know, so we can find you when your name gets drawn."

While she eagerly grabbed the pen, your eyes shifted to the guy standing directly to Jake’s left. He was leaning his hip slightly against the edge of the table with his arms crossed over a crisp white and blue jersey. The energy radiating off him was nothing short of pure amusement, he was watching the girl sign her money away with a look that said he knew exactly what kind of power the Enhyphi boys wielded in this school. It was written all over his face, like this effortless and teasing satisfaction that they could just flash a handsome smile and convince a student to drop a small fortune for a mere chance at their attention.

Finally, the girl scooped up her massive stack of blue slips, gave Jake one last lingering wave and stepped away.

Your chest tightened a bit as you took a half step forward, suddenly under the bright canopy of the tent.

"Hey there, gorgeous. Welcome to—" Jake started, letting his customer service smile snap back into place as he reached for a fresh roll of tickets.

But he didn't get to finish, the guy to his left suddenly moved and cut Jake off entirely. Standing closer to the table now, the bright afternoon light caught the sharp and impossibly symmetrical lines of his face and you instantly recognized him—It was Kim Sunoo and the small, silver rimmed name tag pinned to his jersey confirmed it, though his striking cat like eyes and flawless complexion were already a staple of campus gossip.

Without breaking eye contact with you, Sunoo smoothly extended an arm and subtly shoved Jake backward by the shoulder. It wasn't aggressive though, it was just a dominant but seamless reclamation of the counter space that sent Jake stumbling back a step with a startled mutter.

Sunoo rested his hands on the table and shifted in just a fraction. The teasing smirk he had been wearing a second ago quickly melted away and now he had a remarkably warm gentle smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"Hi," Sunoo murmured, his voice was surprisingly deep and grounding amidst the blaring music of the quad. "How many tickets can I get for you today?"

A sudden wave of shyness washed over you, making your fingers feel a little stiff as you reached into your purse to pull out a single ten dollar bill. Holding it out to him, you immediately felt incredibly small and acutely aware of the fact that the girl before you had just dropped a literal rent payment while you were standing here with the bare minimum.

"Just...one, please," you said softly, offering him a polite smile and hoping that would make him decide not to make fun of you. But you braced yourself for what you considered the inevitable anyway, you fully expected Sunoo to glance over his shoulder at Jake, share a silent joke and laugh at your expense, so you were practically bracing your shoulders to take the hit of their collective judgment, completely aware of how your wrinkled ten dollar bill would be a drop in the ocean of how much they made today alone.

But to your surprise, the mockery never came.

Instead, Sunoo’s neat fingers brushed against yours as he took the bill with his touch entirely too gentle. He slid a single blue paper ticket into your hand and never once let his feline eyes waver from your face.

"Man," Sunoo murmured, his gaze locked entirely on your face while he addressed his fraternity brother. "I think the universe is really looking out for us this year. All the prettiest girls on campus are buying tickets."

The unapologetic weight of his stare made it perfectly clear who he was talking about, he wasn't looking at the crowd or at Jake. He was looking at you.

And that made a sudden wave of flustered energy rush through your whole body. Your brain completely short circuited under the intensity of his undivided attention and when you opened your mouth to give a standard response, the words caught in your throat.

"I—uh—t-thank you," you stammered, the words tumbling out in a disjointed stutter.

Jake raised a sharp eyebrow from behind Sunoo and knowing smirk pulled at the corner of his lips as he watched your composure completely unravel.

Sunoo on the other hand, just let out an incredibly sweet chuckle that made his eyes crinkle at the corners again as he tapped the clipboard resting on the table. "Just write down your information right here, beautiful. Don't forget your dorm number."

Your fingers felt entirely too clumsy as you snatched up the pen, your handwriting coming out slightly shakier than usual while you quickly scribbled down your name, phone number and room details. The second the pen left the paper, you clutched your single blue slip tightly in your palm and offered both boy a breathless nod, before practically sprinting away into the safety of the campus crowd to escape the heavy warmth of Sunoo's gaze tracking your every step.

And as you walked away, all you could think about was how you’d never felt anything like that in your life. Even your high school crushes and exes hadn’t made you feel the way Sunoo had just made you feel in that moment.

A week and some days passed rapidly and the energy of the fundraiser quickly fell into the background of your memory. Your routine swallowed you whole again, ever unchanged and steady. You attended your lectures, ate your meals at the campus diner or your room and spent hours buried in your textbooks. The only real highlight of the last couple of days had been a video call with your cousin and you described the absolute circus of the frat festival, specifically the girl dropping fifteen hundred dollars on raffle tickets, she had let out a dramatic groan through the screen.

"Nothing like that ever happens here," she had whined and face planted into her pillow. "I wish I went to your school. My campus is a literal graveyard of joy."

You had laughed loudly and shook your head at her. "Ilham, you go to an ivy league, shut up. You're literally going to be a millionaire and I’m going to live off you."

She had just rolled her eyes, completely unimpressed by her own prestige, before your conversation drifted into lighter gossip.

Now, it was finally Friday night—your favorite night of the week and the bliss of a completely clear schedule was yours to enjoy. All your assignments were submitted, your technical labs were done and you were a full week ahead in all your classes. There was zero academic pressure weighing on your shoulders. You were freshly showered with your skin warm and smelling of your favorite body wash, dressed in a new pajama set. You’d gone all out to make this a cozy night in by also splurging on some new quality sheets. A heavy bag of takeout had just been delivered to your door and the mouth watering scent of your favorite cheat meal was already filling the small space of your dorm room.

You crawled onto your bed, propping your pillows up against the wall and opened your laptop to load up Off Campus, fully prepared to lose yourself in the scenes of the new show because Garrett Graham and Hannah Wells had completely stolen your heart over the last few days. You were entirely ready to unwind, isolate yourself from the rest of the university and do absolutely nothing for the next forty eight hours.

But the exact second you picked up your chopsticks and you were just about to take your first bite, a clear knock echoed against the wood of your dorm door, catching you completely off guard. You froze with your chopstick full of noodles halfway to your mouth, your brows furrowed as you stared confused at the solid wood of the door.

It was really surprising, mostly because your dorm room wasn't exactly a high traffic social hub. No one really ever came to visit you unannounced, especially not on a Friday night.

Your mind immediately began to spin, racking your brain for anyone who could possibly be standing on the other side of the door. Was it your lab partner? maybe realizing you needed to re do a circuit calculation? Or was it your mom dropping off a surprise care package? No she would’ve called you before she even got on the freeway. Or had your cousin somehow broken out of her college an hour to show up at your door as a surprise? No cause Ilham was bad at keeping surprises a secret. None of the answers made an ounce of sense, so you figured it was probably just your RA doing a routine floor check or a fellow student from your floor looking to borrow a cup of ice or some laundry detergent.

You set your chopsticks down on the edge of the takeout container and exhaled a puzzled sigh as you slid off the bed. You unlocked the door with a quiet click and pulled it open, the greeting already dying in your throat before it could even cross your lips because standing in the dim lighting of your dorm hallway was Kim Sunoo.

He was looking devastatingly handsome, his appearance just as sharp and perfectly put together just as it had been on the quad days ago. He was leaning slightly against the doorframe with a gentle expression on his face, completely contradicting the chaotic fraternity world he belonged. Your brain pulled a complete blank with the absurdity of the visual failing to register in any way. Of all the people you had guessed during those few seconds of walking to the door, the literal campus sweetheart was nowhere near the list.

You blinked and darted your eyes past his shoulder to the door on your left, then to the one on your right, fully expecting to see a frantic student waving him down, telling him he was at the wrong door. There was no way he was actually standing outside your room.

Looking back at him, you cleared your throat. "Are you...lost?"

Sunoo let out a thoroughly amused chuckle, his shoulders shifting slightly as he shook his head. "No, I'm pretty sure I have the right room. I'm here to take you on your date."

"What date?" you asked, feeling your brain completely stall.

"The raffle?" Sunoo prompted, tilting his head with a small smile. "From last week? You bought a ticket."

Your eyes widened as the realization hit you like a physical slap. It all came rushing back in a tidal wave and your jaw nearly dropped for the second time that week. You had actually won?

"Wait," you stammered, gripping the edge of the door a little tighter. "If I won, why didn't anyone text or call me first? You can't just show up at someone's dorm."

"I did," Sunoo said, pulling his phone from his pocket and tapping the screen before turning it toward you. A thread of unanswered green text messages and a missed call to your number stared back at you. "You never responded. Honestly, I was starting to get a little worried, so I decided to just come and check up on you myself."

A heavy wave of panic set in, leading you to take a deliberate step back into your room, trying to retreat into the safe sanctuary of it while keeping the door between you.

"Look, Sunoo, there’s been a mistake," you said quickly, raising your hands up in a defensive gesture. "I didn't actually intend on winning. I only bought that ticket because of the charity, literally just to donate. You should just take this opportunity to go out with a girl who actually wants to go or someone you really like. Basically...I'm just not interested."

Sunoo’s smile completely dropped and his lower lip pushing out into an exaggerated pout that looked entirely too endearing on his pretty face. The clear divide between his usual polished persona and this sudden, puppyish disappointment was deeply unfair and it almost disarmed you right then and there.

"Are you absolutely sure?" he asked softly, his dark eyes dropping to look down at you through his bottom lashes. He leaned a little closer against the doorframe as a teasing spark returned to his face. "I swear there’s nothing intimidating about me."

"No!" you shot back quickly, feeling flustered at the accusation. You cleared your throat, trying to regain your footing. "No, I'm not intimidated. I'm sure you're very sweet, Sunoo, really. It’s just...I don’t date. At all. So it’s really nothing personal."

The pout returned again, looking even more genuinely upset this time, as if the rejection actually stung him but the heavy cloud faded as quickly as it came and a clever glint took its place.

"You don't date at all?" he repeated and you couldn’t help but notice how incredibly persuasive his voice was. "Here’s the thing, I already paid for the reservation and the money already went to the clinic anyway. You’re just going to sit in here and eat by yourself on a Friday night? Why not think of it as a free and incredibly high quality meal with zero strings attached. If I’m completely boring, you can walk out after the appetizer. Deal?"

He offered you that warm, genuine smile again—the same one that had disarmed you at the raffle booth. There was no arrogance in his pitch, just an incredibly sweet charm that made your flat rejection feel entirely unnecessary.

"What do you mean you already paid for a reservation? I thought the dates were fully customizable. What if I want to go to an arcade or something?"

That seemed to catch him off guard as his eyes widened and he scratched the back of his neck. "Okay, maybe I got a little too eager when your ticket number got pulled from my pool."

"You got eager?" You titled your head at him, not fully understanding his words.

"Okay, let's reset," he murmured, sneakily avoiding your question, his voice dropped into a gentle cadence. "Forget the reservation. What’s your absolute favorite thing to do? Or your favorite place to eat around campus? We can just do that. No pressure or awkward small talk. Just two people hanging out, so it’s not really like a date date at all."

You looked back at your laptop screen, then back at his expectant face and found your defenses crumbling. Somehow, without even really trying hard, he seemed to be talking you right out of your own room.

The rigid walls you had built up over the last three years began to feel incredibly fragile under his steady stare. You looked down at your socks and a sudden thought popped into your head. There was this one legendary but incredibly elusive pop up taco place just off campus, they only opened on Friday nights and the line was notoriously brutal, always stretching from sunrise to sunset and making it nearly impossible for a busy student like you to catch them.

"Well..." you started hesitantly as you looked back up at him. "There's this pop up taco place down on the corner of this busy street two blocks outside campus. It's only there on Fridays but the queue is always insane. I've been wanting to—"

Before you could even finish describing the tiny pop up truck and the chaotic crowds, Sunoo’s entire face lit up.

"Wait, are you talking about the pop up on third street?" He interrupted with his eyes wide and glittering. "The one with the handmade corn tortillas and the lime marinated flank steak?"

You instantly lit up as well, your initial shyness completely forgotten as your eyes matched his excitement. "Yes! Exactly that one! Oh my god, I love their tacos so much but I’ve only ever managed to actually wait out the line and eat them once since I started school here."

"Well, you are in luck," he said, reaching for his phone again with an effortless flourish. "The family that runs that truck? Their oldest son is literally one of my closest friends from high school. I have his mom's number." He unlocked his screen, opening his contacts as he looked back at you with such a persuasive warmth. "Give me two minutes to make a quick phone call and I can guarantee we skip that entire line and get a fresh batch handed straight to us. What do you say?"

The sheer temptation of those tacos, combined with the utterly charming way he had just destroyed your entire defense, left you completely putty in his hands. You looked down at your pajamas and let out defeated laugh. He had really done it, he’d smoothly and flawlessly convinced you to go on this hot date date with him

"Give me fifteen minutes," you said, another laugh escaping you as you gestured down at your clothes. "Let me change out of these."

Sunoo’s smile widened, obviously satisfied with his victory. He stepped back from the threshold, giving you a little more breathing room, even though his eyes still held that magnetic pull. "Take your time, beautiful. I’ll be waiting in my car right out front, it's a black sedan parked by the main curb."

With a final smile, he turned and strolled down the hall, casually tucking his hands back into his pockets.

You closed the door, listening to the click of the lock echo in the suddenly quiet room, your heart was thumping a little faster than usual in your chest.

How did I let a fraternity boy talk me out of my Friday night takeout plans in less than five minutes? You shook your head but a helpless smile tugged at your lips as you walked over to your closet.

Sliding the wardrobe doors open, you stared at your hangers, suddenly hit with the classic dilemma—what do you wear to a non date that is secretly totally want to be a date?

It was just a casual taco pop up, so turning up in a dress or anything overly formal would look like you were trying way too hard. But you also couldn't go out with Kim Sunoo, who looked like he stepped out of a clothing ad even in a casual jersey wearing your oversized hoodie.

You combed through your options, cringing as your fingers brushed past your heavy workshop overalls. You wanted something that felt effortless but still pulled together and in the end you settled for your favorite pair denim shorts and a cropped knit sweater.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and convinced yourself it was cute enough, like you looked liked you just threw it on while secretly hoping you actually looked good enough to stand next to him.

It was the perfect balance of cute and comfortable enough for eating tacos on a Friday night. You quickly patted your cheeks and let out a grounding breath to calm the nervous flutter in your stomach.

It's just a casual hang out, you reminded yourself, pointing a finger at your reflection. Just a free meal with a really hot guy who’s not even into girls. No big deal.

With your phone and keys tucked safely into your shoulder bag, you locked up your room and headed down the stairwell. The cool evening air hit your face the second you stepped out of the building's main entrance and your eyes instantly searched the curb.

As he said, a polished black sedan was parked right under the street light and he was leaning back against the driver's side door, with the bright blue light of his phone screen illuminating the soft lines of his handsome face as his thumbs flew across the keyboard.

It was almost like he possessed some kind of sixth sense because before your sneakers even cleared the bottom step of the concrete entryway, his head snapped up and second his eyes found you, a wide smile broke across his face. He slid his phone into his back pocket, allowing his focus to take you in from head to toe with an appreciative twinkle that made you feel shy all over again.

"Look at you," Sunoo said softly as he stepped away from the car. "I really like that sweater on you."

Before you could stumble over a response or let out another nervous stutter, he was already rounding the hood of the car with a confident stride, he reached out to grasp the handle of the passenger door and pulled it wide open for you. He bowed his head slightly, carrying a gentlemanly smirk on his lips as he gestured for you to step inside.

The interior of his car smelled faintly of expensive cologne and clean leather. As soon as Sunoo slipped into the driver's seat and started the engine, the smooth hum of the car filled the space. He shifted into drive and navigated away from your dorm with one hand casually resting on the bottom of the steering wheel.

"Alright, so mission taco is officially a go," he said, casting a quick glance your way. "I called up my friend's mom while you were getting changed and told me to just walk right up to the truck when we get there."

"Wow, look at you with the vip connections," you said, a soft laugh leaving you before you smiled at him. "That's actually amazing, thank you."

"Hey, I take my taco promises very seriously," he teased.

As he drove, he kept the conversation completely effortless and breezy. He asked about your classes and how your semester was going, he wanted to know what you usually did to unwind when you weren't buried in schoolwork. Every time the car came to a halt at a red light, he would turn his head completely to look at you, giving you his undivided attention while you spoke.

Up close like this, you found yourself getting entirely too distracted. There was something undeniably captivating about the way he drove, it was with this relaxed surety exuding from him, the easy going grip of his hand on the wheel that almost made him seem straight. There was a level of magnetic assurance that was deeply attractive to you and you felt a sudden warmth pooling in your stomach, very turned on by how smoothly he carried himself.

Before you could get too lost in your thoughts, he pulled the car into a gravel parking lot and the tires crunched to a stop.

You hadn't been to this spot in months and it had completely transformed. Instead of just the lone taco truck you remembered, the lot had turned into a bustling night market. A variety of different food trucks were parked in a wide circle, each one serving up something different like gourmet sliders to churros. In the center, string lights were draped overhead attached to poles, casting a golden glow over a cluster of wooden tables and chairs. The air was thick with the delicious scent of grilled meats and spices, and the whole space was humming with the lively sounds of laughter and chatter blended with the sizzle of food hitting hot flat tops.

Sunoo killed the engine and hopped out, making sure he opened the door for you before you could even reach for your handle, just like he did the first time.

He casually led the way through the crowd, walking with an innate authority that easily cleared a path for the two of you. As expected, his friend’s family truck had the most brutal line in the entire lot, weaving halfway down the block. But Sunoo didn't even hesitate when he walked you straight past the waiting crowd, heading right up to the order window at the front.

The middle aged woman working the window was in the middle of counting change but the very beat she looked up and spotted his face, her eyes creased with immediate fondness.

"Oh, Sunoo, darling! Look at you!" she exclaimed in a voice brimming with genuine affection. "It is so good to see you, sweet boy!"

"Hi, Auntie," Sunoo smiled at her, propping his elbows against the counter with a respectful tilt of his head. "It's so good to see you too. How has business been tonight? Looks like you're completely crushing it."

"Oh, you know how it is, always busy, always crazy!" she laughed, waving a hand in the air before pointing her thumb toward the back of the truck. "Go on, head right around to the back door. The boys are back there."

"Thank you, Auntie," Sunoo smiled and turned back to you, an all too aware spark in his eyes as he took your wrist and led you around the side of the vehicle.

He pulled open the back door of the food truck, stepping into the heat and steam of the kitchen space, bringing you right along with him. The second you stepped inside, another man working the prep line looked up from the grill. His face split into a massive grin the moment he recognized Sunoo.

"Look who it is! Sunbun! Timed that perfectly, man," he yelled over the hiss of the meat, immediately reaching over to the counter and scooping up a heavy brown paper box. He handed it straight to Sunoo and the cardboard was already venting an absolutely incredible aroma of fresh cilantro and perfectly seasoned meat. "Fresh off the grill. Enjoy, baby."

Sunoo turned to you with a bright grin, lifting the heavy brown paper box in the air like a trophy. "Tada!"

You couldn't help but let out a loud laugh and clap your hands at the ease with which he had bypassed a two hour line. Seeing your reaction, Sunoo immediately placed his free hand over his chest and bent at the waist, performing a dramatic faux bow as if he were a classical performer thanking a stadium crowd.

"Thank you, thank you, you're too kind," he joked as his eyes danced with endearing humor.

He led the way back out into the center of the gravel lot, threading through the lively buzz and the warm glow of the string lights until he found an empty wooden table near the edge. He pulled out a stool for you, gesturing for you to take a seat. "Wait right here for a minute. I'm going to grab us something to drink."

"Sure," you smiled before settling into the chair and watching him walk off into the crowd.

True to his word, he was back within less than five minutes, carrying two large plastic cups filled with a pale yellow liquid. "Here you go. The truck two down has the absolute best lemonade in the city. Trust me on this."

You took a sip from the straw immediately and the refreshing balance of sweet and tart hit your tongue. You let out an appreciative hum, nodding in total agreement with. "Oh wow. You weren't lying, that really is incredible lemonade."

"Told you," he said, looking incredibly pleased with himself as he sat down opposite you.

He was being completely gentlemanly, taking charge of the setup so you wouldn't have to lift a finger. He carefully unlatched the cardboard tabs of the large paper box, folding the lid back to reveal a stunning arrangement of street tacos, stacked closely together and piled high with finely diced onions and vibrant wedges of lime. Sunoo picked up one of the amazing looking tacos, supporting the double corn tortilla expertly and set it right in front of you on a clean napkin.

You clasped your hands together in pure anticipation, your mouth practically watering from the rich aroma wafting up from the table.

You picked it up, squeezed a bit of lime juice over the top and took a generous bite. The flavor was an absolute explosion—the perfectly seasoned meat melted in your mouth, perfectly cut by the sharp onion and fresh herb. You instantly closed your eyes and let out a blissful sigh of pure contentment as you chewed.

When you finally opened your eyes, you looked across the table at him, your expression full of real gratitude. "Sunoo, seriously...thank you so much. This is amazing."

Sunoo let out a soft laugh as he watched you savor the food with such intense appreciation. "You look like you just had a religious experience," he teased gently, his eyes glued to your happy expression for a second longer before he picked up a taco of his own. "Alright, let's see if it lives up to my memory."

It did.

You chewed your taco and nodded along as Sunoo delved into the most ridiculous story about an incident at the frat house involving a lost mascot costume and three gallons of neon green punch. His storytelling was animated and his hands moved to punctuate the jokes, you actually found yourself laughing so hard you had to set your drink down to keep from spilling it.

Slowly, the laughter died down into a comfortable silence. You took a sip of your lemonade, allowing your eyes to drop to the table as a thought that had been lingering in the back of your mind for months resurfaced.

Sunoo seemed to be incredibly perceptive, he tilted his head and set his taco down on his napkin, his sharp eyes tracking the sudden shift in your expression.

"What?" he asked with curious smile dancing on his lips. "You got so quiet all of a sudden. I can practically hear your gears turning from over here."

You hesitated while rolling the plastic straw between your fingers before looking up at him. "Can I ask you something? Safely?"

"Sure," he murmured, resting his forearms on the table, completely intrigued.

"Well..." you started, clearing your throat slightly. "I kind of...always thought you were gay. And honestly, I always wondered why the frat wouldn't just put your name exclusively in the guy's ticket pool. You know, since guys buy tickets too. That way the gay ticket buyers on campus could actually end up with the gay guys from your fraternity."

Sunoo blinked, he appeared to be completely caught off guard for a little over a second before an amused laugh bubbled out of him. He shook his head and shifted slightly back in his chair.

"Ah, campus rumors," he chuckled. "Well first of all, I'm not gay. I'm bisexual. And second of all...my name is in both pools. If a guy's ticket had been drawn, I'd be out here eating tacos with him instead."

Oh.

You felt heat in your chest at the correction. "Oh. Right. But..." You squinted at him, trying to piece together the gossip you'd overheard all over campus in the last year. "I thought you were dating that hot guy, Sunghoon? Isn't that why everyone thought that?"

The second the words left your mouth, Sunoo's entire demeanor shifted into nothing short of unfiltered mischief. The cat like smirk returned to his face full force and his eyes flashed with a sudden, teasing energy.

"Oh?" Sunoo purred, shifting back over the table, his tone lowered. "You think Sunghoon is hot?"

Your heart did a quick flip in your chest. "No! I mean—that's not what I—" You completely fumbled, using your hands to wave wildly in the air as you tried to backtrack. "I didn't mean it like that!"

"Is Sunghoon your type?" Sunoo pressed further, not even trying to hide the delighted grin blooming across his face as he watched your composure disintegrate entirely.

"No, no, no," you repeated quickly, shaking your head so hard your hair flew across your face.

"Why not?" he teased more, resting his chin in his hand, like a cat that had just cornered a mouse. He was clearly enjoying every single second of seeing you so flustered. "You literally just called him a hot guy. Don't take it back now."

"Well, yes! Because Sunghoon is objectively hot!" you defended yourself, your face burning as you tried to logic your way out of the trap. "Like, just biologically. Everyone on campus talks about how good looking he is and honestly, everyone also talks about the two of you together."

Sunoo gave you a satisfied hum and his teasing expression softened just a fraction into something more sincere, though the playful glint in his eyes remained.

"Well, everyone on campus is slightly behind on the news," Sunoo said, taking a slow sip of his lemonade. "Sunghoon and I were dating. Past tense. But that's completely over now." He set his cup down and shifted his eyes back onto yours with an undivided intensity that made the surrounding night life noise fade away. "Like I said...I'm bisexual. Not gay. And right now, I'm entirely single and I'm sitting here with you."

"Okay, fair enough," you mumbled, trying to process the revelation about him and Sunghoon while taking another bite of your taco to give your hands something to do.

Sunoo watched you chew, a soft smile lingering on his lips before he rested his chin on his palm. "So, answer me this. Why did you choose this year to finally buy a raffle ticket? What changed?"

You arched an eyebrow at him. "How do you know I haven't bought one in previous years? Maybe I've been a loyal supporter of your fraternity's fundraising efforts all along."

Sunoo rolled his eyes and let a dramatic huff escape him. "Please. I've worked that booth every single spring since I was a freshman. If you had stepped up to my table before, trust me, I would have noticed you."

The absolute certainty in his voice made a familiar warmth fill your stomach. To hide it, you cleared your throat and decided to just give him the real answer, telling him all about Ilham’s mum—your aunt, how much she struggled and eventually passed away. So this year, the specific charity they were sponsoring actually hit incredibly close to home for you. You explained that you usually avoided the chaos of greek life events on the quad but seeing that specific foundation on the flyer made you want to drop at least a little bit of money to support it.

Sunoo's playful demeanor softened completely as you spoke. He listened intently and nodded in true understanding of your reason, his eyes reflected a gentle empathy that felt worlds away from his usual persona.

"Your aunt would’ve been really proud of you. That's really sweet," he said softly when you finished. "It makes sense why you wanted to chip in." Then, a coy smile made its way to his mouth again and his eyes twinkled with mischief. "But...why didn't last year's charity hit close to home? If I remember correctly, the proceeds went to the local veterinary clinic. And didn't you spend almost your entire sophomore year volunteering there?"

You froze, pausing your cup of lemonade halfway to your lips to stare at him, your brain entirely shutting down and rebooting in such a short amount of time, all because you were trying to figure out how on earth Kim Sunoo, a guy who lived in a perfectly different social stratosphere than you, knew such an obscure detail about your sophomore year schedule.

"Wait," you stammered, setting the cup down with a sharp click. "How do you even know that? I barely told my own friends I was volunteering there."

Sunoo's confident expression suddenly faltered and for the first time all night, his cool, unbothered exterior cracked just a little. He quickly looked away from you and his eyes darted to the string lights overhead. And then he took an oddly intense interest in adjusting the plastic straw in his drink while a faint pink hue began to dust the tips of his ears.

"I mean..." he mumbled, his voice dropping into a slightly defensive tone as he refused to meet your eyes. "I just...I saw you there. A couple of times. It's not a big deal."

Seeing the faint pink tint on his ears, you decided to show him some mercy and not press any further. You let out a knowing hum and let the subject drop, allowing the tension to melt back into the comfortable rhythm you'd been building all night.

"Actually...I have something else to ask you." You said, to which he tilted his head and gave you a welcoming nod.

"Go ahead. I'm an open book."

You held back for a bit then just came out with it. "Why are you even in a frat? I don't know, I guess I've just never thought it really fit your personality."

He shook his head a little, looking down at his food for a moment. "They're not all bad," he said, a slightly defensive but entirely fond note entering his voice as he gestured vaguely with one hand. "They're actually really great guys. I know there are a lot of stereotypes about frat guys and trust me, I do get why people think that way. But for me, it was different."

He hesitated and you watched his expression turn unusually grounded, very different to his normal bright demeanor. "Throughout high school, I didn't really have friends. Not real ones, anyway."

Your eyebrows knit together in genuine surprise before you could stop them. You stared at him, feeling thrown off by the admission. Sunoo was effortlessly charismatic, he was the kind of person who seemed like he would have been at the absolute center of every social circle since childhood. "Wait, really?" you blurted out, unable to hide your surprise. "No way. You seem like you would've been the most popular guy in school."

Sunoo offered a little cynical smile and waved off the compliment with a quiet sigh. "People liked being around me, sure but it wasn't real. It was just a lot of people who wanted to use me for stuff. For status or even favors, whatever. I was always super aware of it."

He cleared his throat then, his expression softened significantly like a warmer memory was taking over. "Until I met Jake and Jay. They were a year above me in school and they were just...the best. They didn't want anything from me cause they genuinely liked having me around. They looked out for me when they didn't have to." Sunoo smiled. "So, I kind of just followed them to the same college when I graduated. They were already sophomores in the frat so I just did what felt natural and joined too. They're my family."

You smiled gently, "That's really sweet," you said to him, looking at him with a newfound appreciation for the loyalty he held for his friends.

From there, the conversation drifted into much lighter waters. Sunoo opened up to you and casually shared the story of coming out as bisexual to his family when he was only fourteen. He told you all about how dramatic he had made the whole ordeal, only for his mom to look up from her cooking and tell him she already knew.

In return, you found yourself sharing things you rarely talked about with people from your school. You told him all about your absolute love for baking, your eyes lighting up as you described your dream of moving out of the dorms next year into a small apartment with a proper kitchen so you could finally start a small baking business.

"You're actually adorable, you know that?" he whispered so softly, you almost didn’t hear him but you did and it made your heart do another violent flip.

Before you even realized how much time had passed, the taco box was completely empty, so were the lemonade cups was and thankfully, the initial awkwardness of the evening had completely evaporated into shared jokes and easy laughter. You casually checked your phone to glance at the time and your eyes widened.

"Oh wow, it's really late," you commented, showing him the screen. "We've been sitting here for hours."

Sunoo glanced at your phone and nodded, a look of faint disappointment crossing his face before he caught himself. "Yeah, you're right. I should probably get you back before the dorm doors do their late night lockdown."

The moment you both stepped back into the quiet interior of his car, you couldn’t help but notice how the atmosphere had definitely shifted. The talkative dynamic you had shared at the table was now replaced by a heavy silence. The drive back to your building felt incredibly tense for absolutely no reason and every time he shifted gears or his hand brushed near the center console, a sharp spike of awareness shot through you. You felt completely squirmy in his passenger seat, only able to shift your weight and stare out the window to hide the fact that your chest was tight and your skin felt entirely too warm.

When he finally pulled up to the curb of your building, he didn't just let you get out. He killed his engine and walked you all the way inside, taking the stairs up in a charged quiet until you were standing right back in front of your room.

You turned around to face him, nervously clutching your bags at your shins. "Well...thank you for tonight, Sunoo. Seriously. I really, really had fun."

Sunoo took a deliberate step closer, the space between you shrinking instantly as the quiet of the hallway wrapped around you. "So," he started, allowing his voice to drop into that magnetic register. "Would you want to do this again?"

You swallowed hard and felt your back nearly pressed against the door. Needing a moment to ground yourself, you reached behind your back, slid your key into the lock, and pushed the door open slightly. But when you turned your head back to answer him, he had closed the remaining distance. He was standing even closer now and the faint scent of his cologne was enveloping your senses.

"Sure," you said shyly, the word barely a breathy whisper.

Sunoo hummed a little amused, a slow smirk playing on his lips as his eyes dropped to your mouth before rising back to yours. "And will you actually reply to my texts this time, angel?"

Your throat felt too dry and your brain was lagging so badly that you couldn't even form real words. All you could manage was a tight nod of your head.

His eyes shifted as satisfaction rippling through his expression. He leaned down even further until his face was only inches from yours and all you heard was a barely audible whisper—"Can I...?" Before his soft lips pressed against yours.

The touch made your heart start to beat so fast, you thought you would have a heart attack. You let eyes flutter shut but after a breathless moment, you gently broke the contact for a mere second to open your eyes and look directly into his hooded ones. The sheer desire reflecting back at you was all it took before you were the one closing the gap and capturing his lips again, this time, the kiss completely shifted.

It became deeper instantly, so urgent and hungry that he let out a growl in his throat as his warm hands came up to securely grip your waist and pull you flush against his chest. You threw your arms around his neck in return and buried your fingers in the soft hairs at the nape of his neck to pull him even closer. His tongue smoothly invaded your mouth, parting your lips with an effortless dominance that made a weak whimper leave you. God—he was a devastatingly good kisser.

Sunoo tore his lips away from yours with a breathless sound, only to immediately bury his face in the crook of your neck, planting hot kisses and sucking down the sensitive skin of your throat, his grip tightening as he anchored your body to his. Your breath hitched completely when you felt his fingers slide smoothly beneath the hem of your sweater, his bare palm making direct contact with the skin of your waist.

A sharp gasp ripped from your lungs at the quick intensity of it. "W-wait," you stammered, your hands shifting to press against his shoulders. "Sunoo, wait—"

The moment the words left your mouth, he stopped and took a step back completely, lifting his hands from your waist in a respectful, immediate retreat, even though his chest was heaving just as violently as yours was.

You leaned against the doorframe for support, feeling your chest get hot and your mind spinning. "We...we should probably stop," you panted, trying to find your bearings.

Sunoo nodded his head in immediate agreement, his own breath coming out in hot shallow pants as he tried to regain his composure. He cleared his throat and tried to form an earnest smile on his pretty face. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I should...I should definitely take you on another proper date before we take things any farther than…than this."

But it was like your body wasn't listening to common sense anymore. You were so intensely turned on, feeling the blood rush so loudly in your ears, that you could barely even process the words coming out of his mouth. The residual heat of his hand under your sweater and the sweet taste of him on your tongue had completely reconstructed your brain.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you shot your hand forward to grip the front of his jacket. With a sudden burst of confidence, you firmly hauled him forward, pulling him right over the threshold and into your room.

Sunoo let out a startled oof as his shoes stumbled over the entryway but the second the heavy door slammed shut behind him and locked with a loud click, any remaining hesitation vanished from both of you. He didn't say a single word, all he could do was simply back you straight into the nearest solid wall, using his hand to grip your jawline as he crashed his lips back onto yours, deeper and way more starved than before.

You toed off your sneakers and the shoes clattered forgotten against the carpet while his fingers were making their way down the front of your sweater. He popped open the buttons one by one and you quickly shrugged the heavy fabric off your shoulders, leaving you in nothing but your thin camisole. Through it all, your lips never left his and the kiss grew deeper, wetter too.

You didn’t even get the chance to gasp and look up at him again, he had hooked his hands securely underneath the jacks of your thighs. He gave a firm tug upward, prompting you to instinctively jump so he could have your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. When he tore his mouth from yours, he went straight for your neck again but this time he didn't stop there. He slid his lips further down, dragging searing kisses across your collarbone and down to your chest, he pressed his mouth right against the exposed curve of your breast above the low neckline of your camisole. A shaky gasp ripped from your throat and you could help the way your fingers tightened in his hair.

The next thing you knew, the room was titling and you were landing softly against the thick comforter of your unmade bed, the impact barely registered because the heat between you both was unyielding.

Sunoo hovered over you for a fraction of a second and his breath came in ragged pants while he quickly stripped off his jacket and tossed it blindly onto the floor. Then he shifted right back down to you, pinning you to the mattress under his weight as he took your lips in another crushing kiss.

As he settled directly between your thighs, he shifted his weight to get closer and that’s when you felt the evident outline of his firming cock pressing through his trousers right between your legs. The slight friction from his movement sent a sweet shiver of heat right to your core, making your hips instinctively twitch up against him as you realized just how far gone he already was for you.

The unexpected fervor of him made your hands frantic, it made you pull your lips away from his with a winded pant, your fingers dropped to his waist to fumble clumsily with the buckle of his belt. He let you try for a brief moment, his chest heaving while he watched your inelegant urgency but as your hands trembled against the leather and iron, a frustrated curse slipped past his lips.

He caught both of your wrists in a firm grip and easily pinned them flat against the mattress over your head with just one hand. The brand new display of dominance made your eyes go wide and your heart hammered against your ribs cause he was hovering over you, completely trapping you beneath his frame.

Using his free hand, he slowly reached down between your bodies. His eyes never left yours and his fingers quickly unbuttoned your jeans and slid the zipper down in one tug. The cool air of the room hit your skin of your belly, making goosebumps spread across your body.

"Lift up," he commanded in a rough mumble.

You arched your back, lifting your hips off the comforter to help him push the denim down your legs, then Sunoo move his weight to the side just enough to let you kick the trousers off, discarding them onto the floor along with his own shoes and jacket.

He slid back between your thighs, resting on his knees to drop his gaze down your body. The thin fabric of your panties was already soaking through, clinging to your skin and showing him the folds of your pussy. Sunoo let out a ragged sigh that was filled with both desire and restraint at the sight.

He looked back up and let his eyes bore into yours. "Talk to me, angel." He whispered, "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

Your eyes went wide as orbs in a flash of shock, you were way too shy and way too overwhelmed by the tension of Kim Sunoo commanding you like this to actually force the words out of your mouth.

Instead of speaking, you broke your hands free from his lingering grip and he let go to let you reach down to hook your fingers into the waistband of your panties, you slid them down your legs slowly. With your whole body feeling like it was on fire and your breath stumbling in your chest, you slowly spread your knees wider right in front of him, using your fingers to gently part the folds of your pussy, exposing your aching cunt directly to his weighted eyes.

Something so hungry settled behind his eyes the second you open yourself up to him, the utter vulnerability of your gesture struck him like a sucker punch and without a word, he reached forward, using his hands to grip the hem of your camisole and slide it up and over your head in one fluid motion, just to toss it away. Your bra followed a second later, the clasp quickly giving way under his expert fingers, the air hitting your skin made your nipples harden but the chill didn't last because Sunoo leaned down and his hot breath fanned across your chest before he pressed a soft kiss to the crest of your right breast. He moved to the left and opened his mouth to securely wrap it around your nipple, he sucked it deep into his mouth, using his tongue to swirl aggressively around the sensitive bud before giving it an intentional nip with his teeth.

A broken gasp tore from your throat, your fingers instantly tangled into the locks on his head, trying to push him closer as your hips twitched off the mattress. "Sunoo—ah," you whimpered.

He gave a low grunt against your skin, clearly pleased by your reaction, he slowly began to work his way down your body. He dragged his lips down the center of your stomach, making his tongue trace a hot line over your ribs, when he got to your navel, he placed a kiss next to it, then placed one on the soft skin of your lower abdomen. Every brush of his mouth was mind numbingly slow but it was building an unbearable tension in the quiet room and you were practically twisting beneath him, just eager for him to reach the ache between your thighs.

When he finally eased between your knees and his handsome face hovered mere inches from your wetness. He leaned in to plant gentle kisses along the sensitive crease of your thigh, making you squirm violently cause your anticipation reached a fever pitch.

He mumbled something you couldn’t make out but before you could even process it to ask what he’d said, he dived in.

The first touch of his tongue was a broad stroke straight up the center of your folds, using it to part them and bury his face completely in your heat. You let out a shriek of a cry, feeling your toes curl into the comforter while he zeroed in on your clit, his lips puckering around the swollen nub as he sucked it directly into his mouth. He used a firm drag and used his tongue to flick against the tip with so much precision that it threatened to blow your mind.

You were totally defenseless underneath him now, having no control of your hands as they left his hair to pull at your sheets, your hips also mindlessly chased the absurdly perfect pressure of his lips against you.

Just when the pleasure began to tighten into a knot in your stomach, Sunoo shifted and snaked his tongue downward, he drove his tongue deep into your leaky hole, like he was mimicking the hypnotic thrusts of a cock. He buried his tongue deeper inside you, drinking you in as your wetness poured over his lips and curling his tongue to stretch it against your tight walls.

"Sunoo! Sunoo, please!" You moaned out loud before throwing your palm over your mouth to cover it, scared of your floor mates hearing your cries from him driving you closer and closer to the edge.

"Fuck—I love eating pussy." He said, then slowed down to deliver quick kitten licks to your clit, he tilted his face up and when you looked down for a second, all you could see was lust.

"Have you ever been fingered before, angel?" he asked and you felt it vibrate right against you and you could barely think straight, let alone do the math. "I—I'm not a virgin," you tripped over your words carelessly, you felt that shy feeling again as you tried to form another response that would make you sound at least a little experienced and maybe even cool.

Sunoo responded with an amused sound that sent a quiver right through your whole body, then he lifted his hand and used his slender fingers to press right against the tender opening of your throbbing hole, not actually pushing inside yet but just circling it and teasing the tight ring of muscles until you were practically begging for the contact with every shift of your hips.

"Oh yeah?" he purred, continuing to toy with your entrance. "If you're not a virgin, what's your body count then? Hmm? Tell me."

The teasing question combined with the maddeningly slow rub at your pussy was entirely too much to handle, making your hand fly forward to tangle your fingers firmly into the strands of his hair. With a sudden burst of desperate strength, you pushed his face right back down into your cunt, wordlessly demanding the return of his mouth exactly where you wanted it.

Sunoo laughed right against your inner thigh, all too happy with how demanding and overcome you had become under his touch.

"Eager, aren’t we?" He laughed against your skin, the vibration making you twitch.

He didn't make you wait any longer though while his mouth returned to your sensitive nub, taking it again with a firm laps and sucks, he finally stopped the teasing at your hole. Finally, he slid in a lone finger straight inside your tightness.

A mewl escaped your lips as your walls helplessly clenched around him, your hips bucked upward when he buried the finger all the way to his knuckle, stretching you beautifully while his tongue drove you absolutely insane.

Sunoo caught your rhythm instantly, his long finger pumped deep inside your wet heat with a delicious accuracy. He hooked his finger slightly to catch the sensitive ridge inside you, all the while his tongue never relented its rapid flicking against your now swollen clit. The two fold sensation was completely overwhelming, making you shake and cry out his name but he seemed like he wasn't even close to finished.

With an approving grunt against your folds, he pushed a second finger right inside you and launched into a rapid fire pace. He scissored his fingers inside your pussy, bottoming out while his face stayed buried in your heat. With every upward thrust of his fingers, his nose and lips bumped directly against your clit, providing a blunt friction that threatened to push you over the edge of sanity.

"Sunoo—ah! Wait, please, it's too much, I'm gonna—" You moaned out a string of incomprehensible words, your head thrashing wildly against the pillow as your hands finally ripped at your new bedsheets. Your entire body was taut, like a wire stretched to its absolute limit and vibrating with the impending explosion.

Then, right at the peak of your agonizing suspense, this man pulled his fingers completely out of you, making an aching cry slip from your lips at the sudden loss of friction but before you could even open your eyes to complain, his flat palm came down against your soaking wet cunt.

Smack.

The stinging impact carried in the quiet room and sent a deep surge all over your already overstimulated nerves. Before you could even process the sensation, his hand descended twice more in rapid succession.

Smack. Smack.

The quick blend of the sting and the intense bliss completely broke you. A tearful sob of unalloyed ecstasy left you as your lower half convulsed. Your hips locked, bucking high off the mattress into his hand while your walls were clamping down on air.

"No..." Your fingers dug blindly into the now damp comforter as you tried to blink away the tears of overstimulation. He stayed hovered directly over your shaking thighs with a captivated look in his eyes as he looked down at the dripping mess between your legs.

"No?" he echoed your words in a mocking purr. "But you love it. Look at how your pretty little pussy is gushing all over my hand."

"I—it's too much," you gasped out, shaking your head against the pillow, trying to find your words. "Sunoo, please, I can't—"

Your protest was instantly cut off when his hand came down again to give another resonant slap right against your pussy.

Smack.

You couldn’t even register the impact this time before he slid his fingers right back inside you, sinking them in all the way down. "You can't what?" he asked, his thumb pressing hard against your clit while he pushed his fingers in and out. "Tell me exactly what you can't do while I'm inside you like this."

He pumped them once before ripping them completely out again.

Smack.

Another sharp slap drove the breath right out of your lungs. He was creating an intoxicating cycle of fingering you open and slapping your pussy, and it was so deeply consuming that your thighs began to shake. Your muscles were trembling, now unable to support your own weight as you laid there entirely exposed underneath him.

"Please, Sunoo...please," you sobbed out, feeling like you were completely suspended on the edge and desperate for a release that he keeps dangling just out of your reach.

Seeing you almost broken seemed to make him want to push further, even though his expression softened into that familiar, possessive focus, he still managed to tease you. "Aww. You wanna cum?" He asked you, his tone drifted into something thicker with desire. "You want me to make you cum?"

He left his fingers inside you, finally locking into a pace of pumping in and out of your tightness with such a depth that he was hitting that one spot over and over again. His movements were making wet squelch of your pussy fill the room till it was all you could hear.

As your hips blindly chased the rhythm of his hand, Sunoo leaned down and wrapped his plush lips right around your clit which was now even more sensitive from the slaps he’d given it, one more time. He sucked the swollen bead deep into his mouth and that was all it took for him to finally make you cum. You felt your whole body wound tight like a bowstring, your thighs shaking uncontrollably against his shoulders.

"Sunoo! Oh my fucking g—Ah!" You screamed for him into the empty room, crying out a chorus of breathless praises as your walls clenched down on his fingers in tight waves.

Sunoo didn't slow down for a second, all he wanted to do was drink he in your release and he did, using his tongue to lap up your juices while his fingers never stopped pumping inside you, he was deliberately riding you right through every single convulsion of your orgasm until you completely melted into the mattress, panting.

He stayed lingering between your quivering legs while your breathes came out in pants and the aftershocks of your orgasm began the fade. He gave your clit one last soft kiss, making your hips twitch weakly against the mattress, then he planted lingering kisses on the smooth skin of your left inner thigh and then your right, treating your body with a different kind of gentleness, far from how he was just slapping you moments ago.

He adjusted himself until his chin was propped on your lower belly and he was comfortably resting his head right against your thigh. He looked up the entire length of your body but your eyes were closed so tightly that your eyelids were practically vibrating, even your hands were still clutching the pillows.

A soft laugh bubbled out of his chest at the sight. "Mmm," he sounded out, letting it vibrate right against your skin. "Are you going to look at me, angel?"

You swallowed hard and felt the warmth spread deep in your chest, you fluttered your eyes open to look down past your chest, only to find his lidded eyes staring back at you. When your eyes met, an all too satisfied smile broke across his handsome face. He deliberately swiped his tongue over his bottom lip and the corners where your wetness still was, he was tasting you entirely unbothered. "You taste amazing," he told you directly and devoid of any hesitation. "Seriously. Perfect."

The bluntness of his praise made your brain completely melt and you let out an embarrassed groan, throwing your head back against the pillow to intentionally look away toward the ceiling to hide just how flustered he was making you.

But Sunoo was not done teasing you. Seeing your reaction, he moved closer with a serious glint appearing in his eyes. "You know...I can go again right now," he told you so confidently and you knew he wasn't bragging either, the hunger in his expression made it incredibly clear that he was entirely serious and he really, truly did love eating pussy. "I could stay down here all night if you let me."

The thought of enduring all that pleasure with the edging and teasing again when you were already completely spent made a bolt of panic shoot through you. Prior to him even moving a muscle, you quickly scrambled backward up the bed, your hands and knees kicked out as you frantically retreated until your back hit the headboard and you were clutching the comforter to your chest.

Sunoo burst into a loud laugh at your escape, his shoulders shaking as he sat back on his heels, to watch your wide eyed expression with a clearer view. He stretched his arm to pick his jacket off the floor and watching him hold the jacket made a different kind of panic hit you, the sudden worry that he was about to walk out the door made you sit up straighter against the headboard.

"Wait, are you leaving?" you asked, ignoring the way your voice was tight with anxiety.

He paused, holding the jacket in one hand as he looked back at you. A heavy sigh escaped his lips and his shoulders dropped slightly. "Because you just scrambled to the other side of the bed, angel," he explained softly, in a voice so full of a gentle restraint, it confused you. He ran a hand through his hair and gestured down toward the prominent tent in his trousers. "Look, we really shouldn't go any further than this tonight. I really, really wanted to—trust me—but I didn't want to rush you."

You stared at him for a beat and the remaining distance between you on the mattress felt too wide. "You're not, I promise," you tried to convince him.

Sunoo froze, his eyes searching yours while he looked like he was fighting an internal battle, his jaw all tight like he was trying to maintain his willpower while your naked body was completely exposed to him.

Deciding to end the hesitation, you asked the exact question that completely broke his mind. "Don't you want to fuck me?"

Sunoo actually stuttered, all his cool frat boy attitude evaporated in a matter of seconds. "W-what?" he blinked, his mouth opening slightly like his brain was slowing down on him.

Before he could recover his senses or talk himself out of it, you grabbed him firmly by the front of his shirt and you pulled him right back down onto the mattress with a surge of confidence. You immediately swung your leg over his hips to straddle his lap and settle right over his thighs. You watched the initial surprise on his face wear off before you leaned down closer to his ear, letting your breath reach his skin. "You should stay," you whispered against his neck, placing a kiss there. "I'm a little bit good at riding dick."

A rough growl left him and a dark smirk sliced across his face. "Oh really? Show me then," he challenged you.

Without breaking eye contact, his hands moved to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his trousers to push them down along with his boxers. Because you were straddling his lap, he only managed to get his pants down to his knees but it was more than enough for both of you. His dick sprang free and you took a moment to admire him, he was a fair size, thick and heavy and absolutely perfect in your opinion.

Slowly, you reached down, using your fingers to close around the pulsing length of him. The moment your hand wrapped around his shaft, your eyes widened because right before your eyes, his dick throbbed and grew noticeably bigger in your palm, filling out your grip until your thumb that was touching your other fingers couldn’t anymore.

A quiet gasp escaped your lips, making Sunoo give you a melodic laugh. "I'm a grower, not a shower, angel," he teased you, reaching up to use his thumb to gently wipe a stray tear of pleasure from your cheek.

But his arrogant laugh turned into a dramatic pout a second later as reality set in. He looked up at you with a look of frustration. "Fuck," he muttered. "I don't have a condom on me. My wallet is in my car."

To his complete surprise, you didn't look even a little disappointed. You simply shifted over and reached your hand toward your bedside table drawer to pop it open and pull out a square foil wrapper, holding it up between your fingers with a smile.

Sunoo gawked at you, "You're really full of surprises, aren't you?" he breathed out, just stunned by your preparation.

You tore the wrapper open with your teeth, placing the latex cap against the tip of his leaking cock and slowly rolling it all the way down the length of him.

The tight friction of your hands wrapping around him caused Sunoo to let out a sharp hiss, his back arched a little off the mattress while his knuckles turned white from gripping your hips.

Sunoo looked down as you aligned his cock to your still wet pussy carefully before pushing up while you sat down in one slow move. The initial stretch was immediate and thick, it forced a whine from your lips as your body unraveled on top of him. He paused for a beat, his hands bracing against your hips as he looked up at your face, checking your expression to see how you took him.

"Feel that?" he murmured in a heavy rumble.

You could only nod your head, your fingers sinking into the muscles of his shoulders as you focused on the feeling of him filling you out completely. He started to move with a calm rhythm, letting you left up until he was completely out before pushing back up and burying himself all the way back inside. The friction was delicious, like a deep heat that had your thighs loosening completely to welcome the pace.

He let out a low groan, clenching his jaw as he picked up the speed. Every thrust was deep and solid, anchoring him to the bed as the wet sounds of your hips plopping down on him met your ears.

You rolled your hips subtly, like you were testing the waters and a strained hum slipped past Sunoo's throat. His hands immediately tightened on your hips, pinning you in place before you could lift yourself up again. "Don't—Don’t do that yet," he groaned, his eyes squeezed shut, looking fully caught off guard by how good it felt just to have your pussy wrapped around his cock like this. "Just give me a second. You're so tight, it's driving me crazy."

A confident smile played on your lips as you looked down at his flushed skin and heavy eyes. "I told you I was good at this," you whispered, deliberately tilting your pelvis just a fraction to watch his jaw clench.

Sunoo hummed loudly at the little bit of friction. "Yeah, you weren't lying," he admitted while that familiar smirk slowly came back to his face as he ran his hands up the sides of your thighs and up to your waist, tracing the trembling muscles. "But I'm starting to catch my breath, baby girl. Why don't you show me what else you can do?"

You slowly lifted your hips at his command, sliding up the heavy length of him until you were barely hovering on the head, then sinking back down all the way to the root. Once you were bottomed out against his pelvis, you began to grind your hips in a rolling circle, deliberately showing off just how well you could control the friction.

Sunoo let out a long breath, his head dropped back against the pillow and he used his eyes to track the circular tilt of your torso. "Yeahhh," he growled out, his voice thick and rough as he watched you dominate him. "Just like that, angel. Keep doing that."

The feeling of him shifting and turning inside your slick walls was completely overwhelming. You threw your head back and moaned out loud. "Sunoo...you're so deep," you whimpered, feeling your internal muscles clench tightly around his shaft with every rolling movement of your pelvis. "You're stretching me so much."

Hearing your undone voice broke whatever tiny shred of control he had left, his expression hardened in front of you and when you were about to go for another roll of your waist, his hands grabbed at your waist. With new strength, he pushed your upper body down toward the side of his and altered your angle completely, then he securely locked arms around your waist, pinning your hips flat against his pelvis so you couldn't lift yourself or escape the depth unless he let you.

Without giving you a second to adjust, Sunoo bucked his hips upward with a forceful thrust, slamming deep into your pussy, his length hit every sweet spot of yours with an unrelenting accuracy. A scream caught in your chest as he kept your lower half locked in place, his hips snapped upward over and over again, totally taking over the rhythm and driving you wild.

Every time he fucked his cock up into you, his length bottomed out perfectly until your mind was threatening to go blank.

He was fucking you so good that you didn't care about anything else, you didn't care that his dirty shoes were dragging across your clean sheets or that the mattress was already ruined from the sheer amount of wetness dripping from your core. None of it mattered except the way he was stretching you open.

"Right there...ah! Sunoo, right there!" you cried out, clinging to his shoulders. Your upper body thrashed against him and your inner walls clenched around him in waves that got tighter and tighter. "It's so deep...you're too deep."

"You like how deep I am, baby? Tell me you like it," Sunoo was getting breathless, a groan came out from him as he thrust up even harder, his pelvis slamming against yours. He looked up at you at the side of him, overly captivated by the way you were taking him. "God, you feel so fucking good. You're squeezing me so tight, you don’t want me to leave?"

"I can't...I can't take all of it," you whimpered, your head falling forward as another heavy surge pushed you closer to the edge.

"Yes, you can," he countered. "Why you telling me you can’t take it?" He asked. "Don’t tell me you can’t take it."

He moved his grip to your back, right at your tailbone. "You're taking every single inch of this cock like a good girl. You were made for me, hm? Look at how perfectly you fit around me."

The praise was so intoxicating, like a delicious mix of control and submission to how good you made him feel. It drove a sudden shift in your body, the tightening of your inner walls let him know exactly how close you were to the edge but then you broke loose from his grip on your waist and sat up straight on his dick. Starting to bounce yourself on his cock all on your own, you lifted your hips high before plunging all the way down, taking every single inch of him in quick bounces.

He fell back against the pillows with an excited grin on his face. He looked hypnotized, like the visual of you alone just dominating the pace had him under your spell. "Yeah, just like that," he panted, his voice taking on a submissive undertone, you could’ve sworn you saw the switch in his eyes. "Use me, ma. Take whatever you want from me."

He let his large hands reach up a path of fire along your waist before moving up to caress your breasts. He cupped them, finding your nipples with his thumbs and pinching them firmly, the quick jolt of pleasure made you cry out and your pace turned even more frantic.

Wanting to connect with you through the intensity, Sunoo tried to lock his fingers with yours but you didn’t seem to be having it. So consumed by the fast approaching orgasm that was coming your way, you shoved his hands away and brought your own hands up to grip at your hair as you threw your head back.

"Sunoo, I'm so fucking close," you gasped out, your torso arching as you kept up the brutal rhythm. "I'm so close—You’re going to make me cum! Ahh!"

He let out a dramatic pout, softening his eyes into a look of mock hurt even though his hips were still trying to match your pace. "You don't wanna hold hands with me?" he complained in a whine.

You completely ignored his teasing and moved one knee to plant your foot flat on the mattress. Bracing both of your hands firmly against his chest for leverage, you started bouncing even harder, using the new angle to drive his length deeper and faster into your pussy.

"Oh, shit," Sunoo eyes grew wide as he lost his mind.

The feeling of your tight walls squeezing him with that much force, combined with the view of you completely taking charge and taking exactly what you needed from his body, was entirely consuming him. The thought of being completely used by you, of being your toy for the moment, turned him on to a dangerous degree. His cool demeanor was shattered and the deep groans he had been making earlier dissolved into needy whines that echoed loudly with every heavy strike of your hips.

"Am I...am I doing good for you?" The words tumbled out in a too eager rush. He fucked up a little, trying to use his hands on your waist for leverage. "Do you like it? Do you like my cock, ma?"

You opened your eyes and blinked past the haze of your pleasure to look down at him. What you found on his face was the absolute neediest expression you had ever seen on anyone. He wanted you to praise him—in fact, looking at the now dilated pupils of his eyes, it was clear he desperately needed it.

You willingly obliged, leaning down slightly so your voice could carry over the wet friction of your bodies meeting. "I love it, Sunoo," you told him, trying to sound as certain as you could so he would know what he was doing to you too. "I love your cock so much. You're fucking me so good."

You could see the praise slap him across the face and he whined out loudly and threw his head back against the pillows. His chest heaved and his jaw clenched tight, shaking at your approval as you continued to take exactly what you wanted from him.

Seeing him like that, so vulnerable and hanging on your every word, made you feel powerful in a way you had never experienced before. The utter thrill of rewriting the social hierarchy right here on your bed made a rush of new adrenaline run straight to your core. You leaned over him farther so you could continue feeding his hunger for approval.

"You're such a good boy, Sunoo," you murmured to him, making sure your voice was dripping with sweet control. "Look at how pretty you look when you're being used."

He let out a shattered sob at the words, his hips lifting off the bed in a weak, involuntary twitch that buried his length as deep as it could possibly go.

"You like being used, hm?"

"Yes! Y/n—Oh my fuck—I love it!"

When a sudden surge of confidence hit you, you slid one hand flat against his panting chest and pushed the fabric of his shirt upward. You tracked down to his chest and pinched his nipple firmly between your fingers.

Sunoo cried out a sound that echoed off the walls, immediately grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away, his eyes wide and blown out from overstimulation. "Ah! Stop, please—stop!" he whined desperately, his head thrashing against the pillow. "You're gonna make me—if you keep doing that, I'm gonna cum right now!"

Despite his verbal pleading, his body was completely betraying him. The absolute overload of pleasure shifted his instinct into overdrive and he began thrusting back up into you from below. His movements were no longer smooth or calculated, they were so uncoordinated now, with his pelvis slamming up against your thighs with a messy hunger.

But even with the lack of coordination, he was hitting that exact spot inside you with every single thrust of his hips. The friction was hot and so devastating, you left like you were in the verge of crying with the way your own body was tightening up, leaving you just seconds away from cumming too.

Your vision blurred at the edges as the orgasm coiled tightly in your lower stomach. Instead of letting go, you leaned your weight heavily onto his chest, pinning him down.

"You're gonna make me cum, Sunoo," you gasped out to him, your voice breaking as you tightened your grip, pinching his nipple even harder against his chest.

"Fuck, okay, okay—then cum with me, please!" he begged in a needy whine.

Desperate to match your pace and drag you over the edge with him, Sunoo let go of your wrist and slid his hand down between your bodies, slipping his fingers through the slick wetness at the base of his shaft until his thumb found your swollen clit. He began to rub you with a fast pressure to match the drive of his hips pushing up into your pussy.

You felt like you were going completely insane, the volume of physical sensation and psychological dominance were blurring together into a dizzying haze. Sunoo felt the shift and his large hand ran back to your hips and gripped the bone with sore might to anchor you down. A guttural sound left him from the very back of his throat, his entire torso stiffened beneath you as he mewled out, "I'm gonna cum—fuck, I'm cumming!"

The latex barrier filled quickly between your bodies, quaking with the heat of his cum but he did not stop thrusting. Even as his own climax tore through him and shattered his strength, his hips kept moving upward into you in stubborn determination, he was focused on making you too and you were so close to the edge you could practically taste it.

The feeling of his thumb rubbing against your clit became too overwhelming and the angle changed again just enough to drive you mad. Desperate for a different type of release, you pushed his hand away from your core while leaning back slightly, your hands shook uncontrollably as you took matters into them. Emulating the aggressive pressure he had used earlier, you entered into switching between rapid rubs and sharp slaps against your swollen clit.

Sunoo stared, pinned to the mattress as he watched you pleasure yourself and ride his overstimulated cock just so you could get yourself off. The explicit sight of you taking total control of your own orgasm while riding out the dying pulses of his release destroyed his senses.

The combination of his stubborn movements and the brutal stimulation from your own fingers pushed you beautifully over the precipice. Your walls clamped down with a vice like tightness, they contracted so violently that your body literally forced his cock to slide right out of you. The sudden, rolling waves of your orgasm took over quickly and your back arched into a rigid line, your fingers digging into your hair as your core gave way, causing you to squirt heavily and repeatedly all over his cock and his lower pelvis. Sunoo’s eyes rolled back as the wet torrent soaked his skin, leaving both of you completely ruined and gasping for air in the tangled sheets.

"Oh, fuck..." he panted as he looked up at you. "That was so hot. You are incredible."

Completely spent and trembling from the aftershocks of the climax, you let your muscles give out, making you slump forward to collapse directly onto his chest. Sunoo wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight against his warm skin. For a few long moments, the only sound in the room was the synchronized heaves of your breathing, until a quiet chuckle escaped your lips at the thought of what you had just done. Sunoo caught the infection of it and the two of you began laughing softly against each other, feeling as though the high strung tension of the night had finally dissolved into an exhausted but comfortable warmth.

He smoothed a hand down your back, letting his fingers trace the line of your spine as his laughter trailed off into a satisfied sigh. He kissed the top of your head and said something but his voice was muffled by your hair for the beginning part. "—so glad I rigged that stupid raffle."

The words hit your ears like a splash of ice water and the warmth in your chest vanished in an instant. You froze and the sudden stiffness in your shoulders caused his hands to pause their stroking.

You sat up slowly and stared into his face, your eyes wide in disbelief and sudden realization.

"What?"

© nephynes 2026

all works are pieces of original fiction, do not repost, translate, or adapt without explicit permission.

but the sick feeling you have deep in your gut from when you read those incriminating texts and watched those disgusting amateur sex tapes they filmed still kept you up at night.

you weren't mad because you wished to get back together with him—god, no. you were mad because who does he think he is to be cheating on you of all people?

you're hot. that's the reputation you've unintentionally created for yourself.

you're popular, easy on the eyes, and so charming that you're universally wanted but still unattainable to most people who tried.

your looks or level of sex appeal couldn't shield you from the fucked up way a person can decide to betray you out of nowhere. you knew that. but you'd least expected it to come from your ex because... he was seojun.

and it's an open secret within the student body that he's the guy who pursued you with the stubbornness of a crack addict hammering at the doorstep of his plug just for a single gram.

he kept pushing his luck—waiting for you outside classes, getting you treats you never asked for, and pathetically following on your tail no matter where you went.

you turned him down every single time.

you have a reputation to uphold: the popular girl who wouldn't be caught dead getting tied down to one person's bed, man or woman.

you're too young, too hot, and the confines of a committed relationship was something you couldn't ever see yourself being put into.

still, he convinced you that your time and energy wouldn't be wasted if you just gave him one chance. just a single one.

so when you gave him your sweet yes, seojun was nothing less than elated.

because who wouldn't be?what mentally sane person wouldn't be over the moon if they were be able strut into university grounds with you in their arms like a shiny, lip-gloss wearing badge of honor?

and you don't mean to be transactional. in your most vulnerable, a large part of you can admit that you felt genuine adoration for the guy — but if he was staining your reputation and boosting his own for being able to bag someone as untameable as you, then he should be somehow capable of keeping you satiated, right?

wrong.

night after night, you sat with the misery of your previously thrilling and colorful sex life turning more bland by the second.

little to no foreplay, unending doggy positions, and the act of pulling out your ol' reliable rose toy to fulfill your own needs once seojun finished became an unwanted habit.

as if that wasn't enough consequence to your stupid choices, you also had to deal with your inner circle of friends trying to placate you with the cursed phrase: "as long as he makes you happy."

but that was the issue, wasn't it? you weren't happy. not with his lackluster efforts in the romance department, and certainly not in his subpar performance in bed.

him having the audaciousness to fuck another woman was just the cherry on top.

that's why you decided to call for back up in the form of kim sunoo.

sunoo has been a constant in your life. though your friendship was forged by coincidence, it was strengthened by the passage of time.

growing up with his house beside yours, you figured the only reason he stuck around was because he didn't really have a choice but to associate himself with the chaotic ball of evil next-door.

you clearly remember him hiding behind his father's legs when your parents greeted each other the day you moved in to the house beside theirs. he was elusive during shared dinners and neighborhood barbecues, too. but your eagerness and consistency was able to slowly melt him down until he eventually stopped dodging your attempts to be closer.

he's been by your side since then.

he was there with you through the horrendous bowl cut you had at 6, the awkward growing-into-your-body puberty phase at 13, the college acceptance letters at 18, and several of your post-break up bitch fits like the one you had just a day ago.

he's helpful, always gave solid advice that sometimes feels a little too pointed, but you know it's all said out of love. the kind of friend who'd question you, but ride along anyway.

sunoo's perched on your bed, back rested against the headboard. tiktok audios blast from his phone, serving as a backdrop while you spend the next fifteen minutes scrolling through pinterest.

you needed inspiration for the hottest, steamiest picture to post — something so saliva-inducing that it would have your ex knocking frantically at your door and falling down on his knees and earnestly begging for you to take him back. and seojun, none the wiser, would be rejected with a few less-than-savory insults and a door slammed to his face.

oh, you could already taste how sweet that revenge would be.

"babe… you're seriously creeping me out. i know you're mad at your ex, but don't tell me he's driven you that crazy." sunoo mumbled with eyes still glued to his phone.

he doesn't need to see you pacing around your room. he just knows you are. and if his intuition served him right, he'd also guess that you also had your freshly-done nail between your teeth, biting on it to keep your temper at bay.

between the cringe-inducing motivational quotes and the ever inescapable clickbaity ads scattered across the pins, you were beginning to lose patience and had half a mind to reply something snarky back at him when you come across the photo.

a below the neck shot of a woman with splotches of hickeys scattered all over her neck and chest, fingers pulling down the fabric of her shirt until it revealed more marks that disappear behind her hands.

it's everything you envisioned and more.

it's perfect. it's sexy. it's tastefully raunchy. it existed in the gray space of being suggestive, but not quite reaching the line of desperate. (because god forbid your ex gets that impression.)

all of a sudden, your morale is charged back up to a hundred.

sunoo's doomscrolling is interrupted once again when you slip your phone in between his face and his own phone, smile so bright and jolly it's almost unbelievable that just got broken up with.

"sunoo! is this the photo or what?"

he takes a glance at the photo, gives your covered decolletage a quick scan, and returns his eyes to the next video his algorithm serves him.

"looks good, babe." he mutters, disinterested. "i'm soooo sure he'll come running back if he sees you pull your shirt down when he's already fucked another girl behind your back for a month."

the sarcasm in his voice goes straight over your head. "right? he'll be soooooo pissed!"

you run to the full body mirror in the corner of your room, tugging at the neckline of your shirt. "so about the hickeys. i'm gonna need you to make one here, a few by my jaw and neck, and then… hmmm, maybe a couple of dark ones on my left tit? like right about here—"

sunoo pauses his scrolling again, one of his well-groomed eyebrows rising. he was convinced he misheard you. weren't you only after the pose in that darned photo?

"a couple of what?"

"hickeys! i just knooooow he's going to be pissed if he sees i fucked around this quick after i broke up with his sorry ass. he doesn't have to know it's you, though. or maybe he can—remember he was so pressed about us being friends? yeah, that'll piss him off even more. but about the hickeys, i was thinking you could—"

"i'm not going to do that." he says flatly.

you slowly turn your head, eyes already throwing daggers his way. "well i can't fucking reach my own neck, can i? so you're going to have to do it."

"actually, i don't have to do anything."

"but sunoo!" you whine, moving on the spot beside him with pouted lips. "you said you'd help me."

"i said i'd help because i thought all i had to do was take a few photos of you in a sexy pose, not because i wanted to cosplay a vampire. i mean—sucking hickeys on your neck? that's ridiculous!"

"babe, come onnnnn," you plead, tugging on his hand. "it doesn't have to be weird! it'll be just like that one night during freshman year."

sunoo immediately cringes, expression contorting at the fresh wave of memories that your words bring.

that night was certainly... something.

two years ago, back before you moved to your fancy, off-campus flat, you snuck sunoo over to your dorm room after hours with a bottle of bottom shelf vodka in hand. you threw back one full shot glass after the other until you both end up tipsy and snuggled on your twin bed.

you stared at the bottle that was still halfway full sitting in the corner of your dorm room, the alcohol running through your veins pushing you to confess that you've never had the opportunity to give (or get) a hickey.

sunoo, careless and giggly from intoxication, admitted he had no experience in the matter either.

all of a sudden, you moved from being in his arms to being on top of him, straddling his lying body with eyes burning in determination as you convinced him that you could do it to one another.

you marketed it as something to aid your inexperience — it would boost your sexual knowledge so you wouldn't look like losers going into hook-ups and situationships and whatever messy relationships the first year of college offered.

he choked out a flustered "okay," not knowing the same experiment would be used against him years after by the same girl.

he pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a quiet sigh. "do i really have to do it?"

you pause, shoulders slumped down at his defeated tone. dread washes over sunoo when you poke your tongue to your cheek because he knew what this meant.

a brand new wave of your bitch fit is rolling in.

"you know what? i'm not going to force you if you don't want to help a friend in need." you grab your phone, grumbling more complaints under your breath.

"doll, you know i didn't mean it that way.."

your nails make loud clicking noises as you aggressively tap on the screen, scoffing through your nose while you scroll through the familiar names on your roster. "guess i'll just call jungwon, then. or jake. or winter, or sohyun—fuck!—whoever fucking answers first! 'm sure they'd be more of a willing participant anyway."

sunoo's jaw tightens at your fuck buddies' names. something difficult and unnameable clawed at his throat, begging to be vocalized but he swallows all of it down and reaches for your wrist instead.

"don't do that, doll."

"so are you going to do it instead?"

his hold tightens as the scowl on your face curl into a giddy smile.

"i knew you'd give in."

"hurry up and change into a different shirt before i change my mind."

you slip out of your bathroom wearing a velvet top just like the photo you found: classy crimson red color, off the shoulder neckline, form fitting at the waist, but loose enough around your chest for you to tug it down and expose the marks.

you walk over to sunoo with an extra pep to your step, giving him a single twirl. "how does this one look?"

sunoo's eyes travel to your face, to the clean, unmarred skin of your neck, and then lower down to where his eyes usually end up getting stuck on: your tits.

the shirt did wonders for your figure, and it's not his fault that the fabric had a special way of catching the light and emphasizing your breasts' perkiness so well — it's all normal and involuntary, really.

but the heat rising up to his cheeks and the guilt slamming at his conscience are proof that he couldn't convince himself it normal.

he knows he shouldn't be getting half-hard just from your pretty pair's silhouette and he knows he shouldn't be ogling at them so carelessly, but at the end of the day, sunoo was only a man—the kind who would fail the gentleman's challenge of looking away from temptation.

thankfully, you're too focused on yourself to catch him in the act.

"it looks good on you." sunoo swings his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting in his usual manspread before patting his thigh. "c'mere, babe."

you'd been in this position more times than you can count, so you sit down atop of him without hesitation, knees sinking into the soft mattress as you make yourself comfortable on his lap.

one of your hands rest on his shoulder and the other pushes your hair to one side. "you ready?"

"only if you are."

"alright. let's see how much you've improved since freshman year." you jab, grinning with that familiar glint of evil in your eyes.

confidence pours out of him as he leans in until the tip of his nose brushes along the column of your neck. "you don't know what you're asking for, doll."

the sudden closeness makes you shiver, goosebumps rising on your skin when you grow aware of how warm he is pressed against you. has he always been this broad? this firm?

you swear you didn't mean to gulp so loudly, but you did. and you knew he heard it because you could feel his shit-eating grin against your neck.

his lips brush against your pulse as he spoke. "nervous? don't tell me you're backing out now."

"what're you trying to imply? shut up and get to work." you bite back, further bratty remarks silenced by the press of his soft lips against your skin.

sunoo takes his time trying to find a spot that would deliver equal pleasure to you and insult to your ex. he presses open mouthed kisses along the side of your neck, and once he found a spot he liked, he didn't hold back.

he licks and nips into a patch of skin, muffling a groan against you as the whisper of soap and vanilla from your body mist hits his tongue. it's so sweet, familiar, and undeniably you.

you let out soft sighs, one of your hands scraping upwards until his jet black strands were tangled in your fingers.

he leans back on occasion to assess whether it was colored deeply enough for his liking. if it was, he'd move on to the next spot and if it wasn't, he'd go back in harder, hungrier.

"a–ah… sunoo," you whimper after an especially harsh bite. "can't you be more gentle?"

"do you want me to do my job properly or not?" he huffs and lets his teeth scrape against your jugular, almost as if to teach you a lesson.

you don't understand why he's suddenly so eager to be a participant in your vengeful side-quest, but sunoo knew damn well that the silence was doing. it was giving him the perfect opportunity to settle with the annoyance he's been trying to set aside for so long.

a deep-seated irritation, both from the fact that you were willing to go this far to prove your worth to your ex—who had already left you broken hearted and done it with another woman—and the fact that you essentially fooled him into being a tool to achieve that goal.

he quietly redirected that anger through increased roughness of his bites, disregarding if it brought you discomfort. you wanted to get your revenge on your ex, so in his own little way, he was getting his revenge on you too.

but the more marks he left, the more irate he got.

he pulls back, gracefully wiping the shine off of his plump lips. "you want me to put a few on your tits too, right?"

despite the ugly emotions brewing inside him, sunoo looked like composure incarnate.

you, in stark comparison, were a mess: lower lip caught between your teeth, face all flushed and reddish, eyes unable to meet his.

"y–yeah.. just a couple on the left one."

"well i'm not gonna be able to do that with your shirt in the way."

"shirt… ha, right," you force out a chuckle. "can you, like, look away for a quick second?"

he's confused but he follows your strange request anyway. you take that chance to pull your shirt over your head, and the belated regret of not wearing a bra hits you.

you fight through it, slipping your hands back up until you're cupping your bare chest, swallowing down a whimper when your palm presses flat against your pebbled nipples.

"you can look now..." you mutter, feeling blood rush to your cheeks.

it's odd to suddenly feel shy when sunoo has seen you in more awful situations.

he's once picked you up from a bar, wasted and sniffling like a madwoman with mascara-stained undereyes after one margarita too many. he was a witness to your swollen eyes and tissue-stuffed nostrils when you got sick.

hell, he even hung out with you when you were clad in just panties and a flimsy sports bra, nipples poking through the thin fabric, all sweaty and lethargic because your landlord took too long to fix your broken ac in the middle of an intense heatwave.

you've been more naked with sunoo.

and yet you've never felt more exposed until now.

it's not a matter of the amount of clothing. it's likely the way he's behaving—the dark tinge of hunger in his eyes triggering your prey tendencies to hide, to run, even when he isn't actually doing anything yet.

he doesn't speak, doesn't move. he just looks at the flesh spilling behind your hands and the pretty crimson marks blooming above it like his personal artwork.

"stop squirming." he commands in that low, raspy voice. the way your body quickly follows his orders is an embarrassment in itself.

he anchors you on top of him again and presses his lips on the spot just above the dip of your cleavage. slow and gentle, almost reverential in the way he lets his lips sink into the softness of your chest.

compared to your neck, the softness of his mouth feels even more devastating here. senses heightened by the pressure of his mouth sucking into the upper curve of your tits, warm and wet tongue licking the bruises he made like an apology.

each graze of his teeth sends warmth pooling between your spread thighs where your sorry excuse of cotton panties are most likely drenched and ruined already.

he shifts a little beneath you, spending a few seconds kissing around the mark he just made before he grunts in dissatisfaction at his inability to find the next suitable spot.

"take your hands off and let me hold them."

your heart drops. "w–what?"

"you heard me." he says, slowly lifts your fingers off to reveal more skin. there's almost a nonchalance in his tone, like he was only suggesting it to be more efficient. "i can hold 'em up, doll. i'd make better hickeys without your hands in the way."

you stare at sunoo, and he stares back at you.

you don't know what the simple act of revealing yourself topless to your best friend could entail. he has seen you almost naked, but this... it could completely change the way he viewed you. it could possibly ruin your friendship in it's entirety.

in hindsight, these were possibilities you should've considered before you persuaded him to help recreate that photo. but with several marks already tainting your skin, you deem it useless to fight his suggestion.

you begrudgingly let go and look to the side in shame.

you feel the hands on your hips slowly travel upwards, tracing the curve of your hips, up to the dip of your waist before he fully cups your tits. the warmth of his palms pressed against your ribs is too hard to ignore.

even with your eyes glued to the swaying curtains of your room, you could feel the intensity of sunoo's dark gaze piercing through your fully exposed torso. you could feel his breathing turn heavy as he inhales slow like he's dragging out the moment.

your tits are... perfect. they're smooth, perky, and feels the right amount of heavy in his hands—just as beautiful as sunoo imagined.

"didn't know how pretty these are, baby." he leans back in to brush his lips along your jaw, voice having that signature teasing lilt. "are they as sensitive as i think?"

the question is followed with a gentle squeeze, to which you respond with a high pitched whimper.

"huh.. guess they are. didn't realize there were still new things i can discover about you, baby." he gives you a cocksure grin, unable to resist jiggling them in his hold.

the bravery in your tone as you snap at him is fueled by a mix of impatience and humiliation. "j–just shut your trap, sunoo. are you going to mark me or are you going to keep yapping my ear off?"

"now, now, sweet girl. that's no way to talk to someone when they're cupping your tits—not when you're this reactive to it." he clicks his tongue, hands closing in around your breasts in a rough grope.

he runs his thumbs over your stiff nipples and the friction of his fingers going back and forth against the peaks has you stammering and squeaking at the same time.

"shit, sunoo..o—oh my god, wait, don't!"

your protest falls on deaf ears. in usual sunoo fashion, he does simply as he pleases. he stares at your chest, almost hypnotized, while he tweaks and pulls and pinches, uncaring for the pathetic little noises you made.

then, seemingly remembering the task at hand, he resumes his full hold, pushing your pretty pair up and together. he lets his lips brush against the drip between your breast, the lack of obstruction giving him the freedom to carelessly press kisses all over the smooth skin.

"so pretty... and so fucking soft. god, they're perfect."

his warm breath fans over your pebbled nipples and you have to purse your lips to hold back the mewls threatening to rush out. he's shamelessly kneading and squeezing, obsessed with how tender they feel in his hands while his mouth persists on leaving more marks, making the obscene sounds of slurping and lip smacking bounce against the walls.

you try to endure but you're too flustered to keep being this close to him when your body feels like it's wrecked and burning a thousand degrees.

"sun, that's more than enough for the photo—nngh… stop!"

sunoo leans away with an unamused expression. he stares at the purple and red splotches littered from your neck down to your soft mounds with his jaw clenched tight.

were they not proof that you allowed him to touch you? taste you? were your moans not evidence that he made you feel good? so why do you keep telling him to stop?

and above all else, why do keep insisting that this is still for that stupid fucking photo?

"stop? are you really telling me to stop?"

"y–yes!"

the chuckle he lets out sounds hollow. just as you believed he was granting you mercy by pulling away, he only did it put your desperation on display.

his hand leaves one of your tits unattended in pursuit of holding on the back of your head, slender fingers finding enough grip against your hair to guide you to look down.

there, on the very big and very obvious bulge he sported, was a dark patch of wetness that stained his grey sweats. a mark that you've left behind.

"shouldn't i be the one telling you that?"

oh, god.

you've been humping him.

you've been humping your best friend and you weren't even aware you were doing it.

your eyes widen. "i— i wasn't… i didn't—"

"didn't what? didn't mean to say stop, or didn't mean to slut yourself out on top of me like a needy whore?" he laughs meanly, tightening his hold on your hair.

the mean insults make you choke on your words and the pain on scalp is adding to it, spiraling you further into a humiliation-fueled arousal.

"n–no! i swear i—"

"what is it, doll? you were basically showing how much you wanted my cock, and you only want us to stop now?" he throws one rhetorical question after another, emphasizing his last word with a thumb cruelly pressed down on your stiff, aching nipple.

you let out a shattered sob, body instinctively arching towards him and causing even more pressure on where you were already feeling the most sensitive.

"f–fuck—nnh—sun, please. p–please!"

"please what, doll?"

please let go. please squeeze me harder. please fuck me. please stop. please keep touching me.

you don't know what you're begging for anymore.

the low timbre of sunoo's voice and the unbearable stickiness between your thighs and the sensation of his groomed fingernail scraping against the tip of your nipple was driving you into a lustful craze and further fogging up your mind.

"tell me, pretty. c'mon. use your big girl words and tell me what you want."

his thumb rests on your lower lip and presses on the dampness of it. not pushing in, just resting while he admired how ruined you look—skin glistening in sweat, cheeks deeply tinted, teary waterline making glitters as they reflect the dull warm light of your bedside lamp.

you look beautiful.

if he knew this was all it took to get a view of you like this, he would have probably risked your friendship a long long time ago.

"oh, my pretty doll. you can't even talk, can you? so desperate for cock you'd resort to humping me while i make your poor nipples swell up..." he's relentless with his taunts, knowing it was riling you up even more.

you could physically feel the gush of wetness leak from your hole simultaneous to sunoo pushing his thumb inside your mouth. it presses on the dip of your tongue and he's mesmerized at the sight of you accepting it wholly with eyes fluttered shut.

you suck on it with hollowed cheeks, tongue rubbing on the pad of his finger and it gets his painfully hard cock twitching inside his sweats. he wants nothing more than to push your head down and get your warm mouth sucking on something better.

"you're lucky i know you so well, baby. it's all you've been thinking about, right? me filling up that pretty little pussy of yours."

"mmmm–mhm..." you nod desperately with his finger still in your mouth and your pretty tits bounce along, almost putting sunoo in a trance again.

he pulls out his thumb with a wet pop, the same saliva-slick finger rolling around your nipple. the cool air of the room to bites on the sensitive buds but sunoo replaces it with his own mouth, desperate to give himself a proper taste.

he pulls gratification from how full your tits feel, from the noticeable tenseness in your muscle each time he purposefully pinches your stiff bud between his teeth, and how easily his tongue disappears into their softness.

most of all, he's proud of the sounds you make as he plays with your plush tits as much as he desired. the sighs of relief, your hitched breaths and moans, no matter how hard you tried to bite them back, were all laid out in the open and they made it impossible for sunoo to keep holding onto his patience.

"fuck, can't keep blue balling myself like this," he effortlessly flips you on your back until you're trapped between him and the bed, growling. "i need everything off. now."

you don't need to be told more. you make quick work of your shorts and panties, kicking it down your legs until your warm, sticky center is fully exposed while sunoo rids himself of his shirt.

you're eager to help him too. guided by the warning look in his eyes, you hook your fingers and tug down, not knowing you'd get a jaw-dropping surprise.

you already suspected sunoo had the cock to match his big-dick-energy.

the softness of his features made him an easy target for less than playful jabs—the size of his cock being the punchline of a joke more often than not. yet sunoo would just shrug and agree with that self-reassured smirk that told you he was more than pleased with the amount he was blessed with.

and it was a given that he knew how to put it to good use because he's narrated several horror stories of hook-ups desperately running back to him, begging to get another taste of the seemingly endless pleasure he could offer.

and maybe you've also let your mind trail off, wondering just how big your best friend's cock really is on nights when you were especially deprived of an orgasm. but you'd smack yourself out of that dangerous train of thought before ever reaching a conclusion.

yet no amount of speculation could have prepared you for what you're seeing.

sunoo is… big. hell, maybe big isn't even the correct term.

hung. your best friend is fucking hung.

not only was it long, but now that it's free from the confines of his pants, it's clearly visible how thick and girthy he was, too. it's neatly shaven, smooth, had bulging veins that lead your eyes down to his tip that was flushed a deep pink color and glistening with pre-cum.

and his cock's so pretty—probably the prettiest one you've encountered amongst the ones you've seen online and the ones you've personally handled in real life.

your mouth waters and your pussy gushes both in worry and excitement.

"eyes up here, sweets." he teases, tipping your chin up so you'd look at his face. "you're staring so hard. if your jaw drops a little more, i'd assume you're inviting me to stick it inside that pretty mouth."

"n–no… you're too…" you trail off, unable to continue your sentence. "it's not going to fit..."

"don't worry your pretty little head about that, doll. we'll find a way. with how wet you are—" he slips his hand between your thighs, a corner of his lip tugging up at the dampness pressing against his palm. "—i don't think it's going to be much of a problem.. but i'd gladly prep my girl."

you're putty in his hands as he positions you to lay down in the middle of the bed, legs spread wide enough for him to settle in between.

he's back to being gentle, plump lips pressing frustrating featherlight kisses along your inner thighs when you're already there, already bare, and ready to be taken.

"you said that you wouldn't blue ball yourself... so why are you fucking teasing?" you grunt breathlessly in frustration, tugging on his hair.

sunoo looks at you through his lashes and his fox-like eyes look even more hypnotizing from this angle. the way he maintains eye contact as he drags his tongue to lick along the sides of your puffy lips is downright nasty.

he lets out a sigh that sounded more like it was made out of pity for you. "because you're sopping wet, baby. so messy and eager. i wanted to savor the moment a little more, but if you're so eager…"

a menacing smirk graces his lips as he braces his arms underneath your thighs. and without any more words, he buries his face right in.

the hunger he's been staving off crashes down all at once, leaving what little doubt you had for sunoo's sexual prowess to dissolve into thin air.

his mouth lays flat against your folds, lapping stripes up and down your pussy with deathly coordination. he alternates between prodding his tongue into your hole, and stroking it upwards to rub the tip against your swollen clit, eagerly flicking at the pudgy bundle of nerves.

he muffles moans against your cunt and the subtle vibrations of his mouth feel like shockwaves with how pent up and sex-deprived you are, making you whimper even louder.

"oh, fuckfuckfuck—nnngh, sunoo!"

he tightens his grip to keep you from squirming, your unashamed noises encouraging him to continue exploring the cunt he'd spent a mortifying amount of time fantasizing about. (again, you may be his best friend, but he was also just a man.)

his warm tongue pushes in and out of your hole, wanting more of the nectar only you could offer. and once his greed was satisfied half-way, he pushes two fingers inside to keep it occupied.

"shit, you're so tight… 'nd so fucking sweet. could get fucking addicted to how you taste, doll." he whispers, voice fraying at the ends.

he could spend hours between your legs just devouring you, that's how far gone he is.

his plump lips find your clit again and his fingers pump in such quick rhythm that your juices splatter, staining his chin and knuckles.

you already felt like you were on cloud nine, body floating in the air, and the obscene, slurping noises that bounced off the walls from everything that he was doing only added to that delirium.

"sunoo… fuck, your mouth's so good!" you hiccup with eyes fluttered shut from bliss, the overwhelming sensation making your back bow high while your hips roll against his mouth.

his cock jumps at the soft noises you make. you're so hot, so desperate that it was making him rut against the mattress for a semblance of friction.

"pretty fucking girl. can't believe you've been hiding this sweet little thing from me. and you're being so noisy, too.. can you hear that? hear how desperate you are, just sucking my fingers right in?"

sunoo wasn't really asking to get an answer. he was so intoxicated from the way you taste that he was just slurring compliments against your sopping pussy.

he pulls away with the lower half of his face covered and glistening with your arousal, hooded eyes zoned in on your fucked out expression. his thumb rubs your clit in tight circles before adding another finger inside, curling them inwards until each push and pull rubs on your sweet spot.

"fuck, sunoo... i—hnnnghh—sunoo!"

you're so dizzy that you couldn't muster announcing your incoming orgasm. you're just bucking your hips against his hands to meet his fingers halfway, profanities and his name leaving your swollen lips again and again.

sunoo brushes his arousal-covered lips against your inner thigh, humming proudly at the way your walls pulse and tighten around his fingers because he already knows.

"it's okay, doll. cum for me. show me how good you feel fucking yourself on my fingers."

"fuck... s–sun!"

you're gasping for air, throwing your head back against the silken pillows—then your jaw goes slack while the rest of your muscles grow taut as the euphoric feeling takes over your entire body.

sunoo continues to whisper soft reassurances against your skin as he slows down his speed and presses gentle kisses on your pulsing clit to slowly guide you down from the height of your mind-blowing orgasm.

then, he braces an arm beside your head, one hand on your jaw to get you to look at him through the hazy filter of your blissful tears.

he kisses the corner of your mouth, an act that feels far too intimate despite his mouth being glued to your pussy just mere moments ago.

"shhhh, you did so well, baby. 'm so proud of my girl. did that feel good, mm?"

you can't reply anything comprehensible. just soft sounds that resemble a vague agreement which was somehow an even better answer.

he starts kissing lower and lower down your skin, following the purple-colored trail marks he left until his lips encase your nipple again. his tongue swirls around, flicking against the sensitive and swollen buds while cum stained fingers roll the other in between them, pulling more breathy noises of protest out of you.

"sunoo, wait—i.. i just came. i can't go again—nngh, s–stop."

sunoo reaches to get a hold of his cock, running the thick head of it up and down your slit until the mix of your arousals are leaking down to the bedsheet before presses his shaft down with a thumb until the underside of it is flat against your core.

"you say you want me to stop," a mixture between a sigh and a laugh escapes his lips at the filthy sight of your pussy lips struggling to wrap around his thickness. "yet here you are... staying still and leaking all over my cock while i use you to give myself a pussy job."

he's purely relying on your bare cunt for friction. sharp jolts of overstimulation shoots through your spine each time the long, veiny shaft drags on your swollen bud as sunoo continues thrusting into the air.

you don't spit it out verbally, but desperation is oozing out of you. you're gazing at him with pleading eyes, lower lip trembling with any coherent thought slipping from your mind the harder he presses his tip to your sensitive clit.

sunoo coos, reveling at the overwhelmed tears pooling at your waterline. "my poor little girl's such a cry baby. there's nothing to be shy about. i know you want it, so just say it. say yes and i'll give you your fill."

"yes. y–yes!"

he doesn't wait for you to question yourself why you answered him so quickly nor does he allow you to process what its consequences would be. he just whispers a satisfied "good girl," before angling his hips lower to push into you.

even after spreading you open with his fingers, your walls were still clamping down, unfamiliar to the feeling of wrapping around something this big.

"you're so fucking tight, shit." he hisses, expression crumpling.

"mmh.. b–big.. 's so big," the words come out as both a compliment and a complaint.

you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer, face grimaced in discomfort while tears roll from your eyes as sunoo pushes even more of himself inside you.

he pauses after seeing your sewn brows, kissing in between it. then his lips move to your cheeks, your ear, the side of your head.

he isn't really aiming, isn't really thinking.

he's just focused on distracting himself from the tight grip of your walls because he knows if he lets his body take over, it would want to take more and that would definitely hurt you.

"mmm, i know it is, baby. take deep breaths for me, okay? you're being such a good girl, taking my cock so so well.. just a few more and you'll feel so much better, baby. i'll make sure of it. can you let me make you feel good, hmm?"

you nod fervently at his promise and sunoo kisses the corner of your mouth as a reply. barely a brush of actual lip-to-lip contact.

in your daze, your eyes end up getting drawn to his lips. how plump and dewy they look.

sunoo's face is so close to yours now. barely an inch away. it would be so easy to kiss him. just a tilt of your head would close that short distance. you feel your lips already jutting out at the thought.

but a kiss—despite everything else you're doing, and have done so far—would be the most sacrilegious thing to want right now. like an act that would cross the line.

the conflict in your mind is interrupted, unable to be dwelled upon because he's pushing himself inside again and the sting shooting throughout your lower half grounds you back to the situation at hand.

"sunoo… you're—hnn, i don't.. i c–can't take more.." you drawl out, shaking your head.

"sshhh. you can, baby. i know you can. we're already so close, just.. ah—" his own brows furrowed as he looks down at where your bodies are almost connected. "—just hold on for a bit, mmkay?"

he offsets the pain by giving your tits gentle squeezes and showering you with sincere praises. "you're being so good f'me. my prettiest. 'm so proud of my favorite fucking girl.. taking so much of me already."

the amount of self-control it's taking him to be gentle with you is reflected in the tightness of his jaw as he slowly pushes the rest of his length inside, now fully nested within your snug walls.

"doll, f–fuck—you feel so good around me.. shit, you're suffocating my cock."

sunoo is damn near about to lose his mind.

you're so warm and so incredibly tight and you look so beautiful with tears in yours eyes.

he has prided himself, not only on his huge cock, but also on his impressive stamina—but right now he's spiraling, trying to think of his roommate's dirty socks, report deadlines, a sad k-drama, things that would keep him from cumming on the spot and they're barely doing the job.

"too much... 's too much, too full—!!" you cry out, walls spasming around him because they're unused to being stretched to this extent.

the reasonable part in your head is screaming "too much! too much!" and yet the deeply insatiable part of it is whispering poison in your ear, telling you want more—need more.

"shhh, 'ts okay. stay with me, baby." he whispers, tip of his nose nudging your cheek to pull you out of your short reverie. you make a broken sound to acknowledge him to which he smiles, kissing the corner of your lips again like a newly-developed habit.

the hand on your chest moves down to rub your clit in circles, lips travelling upwards to your ear to nibble at the shell of it until your soft sobs are replaced with needy mewls.

"that's right. let me take control, baby. i'll fuck all that pain away, make you feel good until you cream around my cock. you'd love that, wouldn't you?"

"y–yes, sun... wanna feel good, wan' more, please." you move your hips as best you can in blind search of more friction, cheeks flaring up when you hear the faint sound of his chuckle.

sunoo began thrusting shallowly, only pulling out a couple inches at most and gently pushing in again, considerate enough to ease you into it. when you're truly lax enough, whispering breathy pleads for more he finds a steady rhythm and starts to rock his hips.

"you're so tight, baby. s–so warm. don't go quiet on me now, mm? let me know how good i'm making you feel."

"yes, sunoo—hnnn!—it's so so good. please don't stop, baby," you give his arms encouraging squeezes and sunoo pretends his hips didn't stutter from the sudden pet name.

"i know, needy thing.. it's okay. i won't stop," his mouth trails lower once more because he seemingly can't stop himself from gravitating towards your chest.

he groans from deep within his throat and you could feel him start to move more recklessly the more he let himself slip further into his tit-drunken honest ramblings.

"mmh, i couldn't stop fucking you even if i wanted to. you're so beautiful. especially these tits—god, i love your tits s'much, baby. you don't know how insane they drive me. been wanting to see 'em so bad, you know that? you wore that top i bought you to the function last week and—ah, f–fuck—you know what i did the moment i got home?"

"mmm.. what—?"

"i fucking jerked off to the picture we took. your tits just looked so pretty," he confesses. the bluntness of his words, the way he bares out his desire and neediness for you, combined with the speed at which he's driving his throbbing cock inside is making your body tremble.

"you make me fucking pathetic, doll. got me cumming on my phone screen within minutes like a fucking teenager. shit, you piss me the fuck off."

like a switch, the anger sunoo has been holding onto comes back the moment he remembers why he's even fucking you. it's evident in the way he bites down on your nipple and in the cruel way his cock presses in so deep you swear you feel the head of it is prodding your cervix.

sunoo fixes his posture, tightens his grips on your hips until his knuckles turn white from the way he digs down your skin. now with leverage, he vents out all harbored irritation he has for you and your ex in quick, harsh thrusts.

"putting your body on display for my eyes like that and asking me of all people to help you in your evil little scheme few days after—but now... look at you. moaning like a slut under me, getting dumb for my cock. you're just as pathetic as i am."

it's supposed to be punishment, but it doesn't really feel like one when all it does is push you closer to the brink of another orgasm, your mind so hazy that your words come out slurred and almost incoherent.

"no—hnngh—n–no, 'm not!"

"really?" he's cocky now, a dangerous glint in his eyes when he pulls hips back far enough and slams it inside in one smooth push.

your eyelids screw shut, brows sewn together, mouth forming into a small o as his cock literally knocks air out of you. "oh my god—!!"

"all that effort for revenge just to end up like this... you are pathetic, baby," he chuckles, driving into your harder. "and all your facade of being the girl on top? the girl in power? down the fucking drain, because you do like being used—you love getting used by me. no toys, no ex, no lame fuck buddy could compare to your best friend's cock."

he threw that title to shame you for wanting him so obviously. from getting wet from his words, his mouth, his touch, his cock. not your ex's or your lame fuck buddies'—his.

and it's working.

he knows the shame is eating at you, turning you needier and hungrier. and he knows you're drunk on his cock so uses this newfound weapon against you—abruptly stopping with it still deeply inside.

"go ahead… admit it, doll." he gives you a condescending nod. a movement that says he isn't going to move until you could swallow down your pride.

you couldn't hold back a frustrated cry. your nails dig at his back in frustration, acrylic clawing into his smooth and fair skin as you pull him down until his face is barely meeting yours.

"don't you dare do this now, sunoo. stop teasing me and just fucking put it back in!"

the seriousness in your glared eyes causes a humorless chuckle to leave his lips.

"ah, you were so good for me just a while ago. what happened to my sweet girl? you know being a demanding brat doesn't work on me—it may have worked on the little fucktoys you have on your roster, but not on me."

a slow and filthy shlick sound echoes from between your bodies as he deliberately pulls himself out.

he watches with predatory hunger as you squirm and hopelessly grind your hips against the air, unused to the absence of his thick cock spreading you open.

"you either say it properly, or you don't get it at all."

"w–wait, no.." you squeeze his shoulders, looking up at him with pleading eyes. heat and shame and need flares up all over your body while he looks at you with a cruel smirk. "i want to... fuck, what do you want me to say?"

sunoo's free hand reaches up to hold your jaw. his eyes stare into yours and you know by the firmness of his grip that he has enough patience to keep dragging out this torturous game.

"you already know what you want, doll. you just have to say it. say you love being used. say you love my cock. matter of fact, if you want it so bad... then fucking beg for it."

you nibble down on your lower lip, heart sinking at his command before finally echoing out his words with a defeated tone.

"i love… being used by you. and i want your cock to fill me up again…"

"mmm, i couldn't hear you, baby. there's not much begging from what i heard either." he prods with a fake sigh, pushing his cock back inside your gummy walls again but not fucking you with more than the tip just to see how much you'd break.

your jaw is clenched, hips moving in desperate rolls and yet it wasn't enough to satisfy you—not after feeling him entirely. pride and reputation fully compromised, you finally sob out.

"please, sunoo!" you cry, pleading. "i want your cock.. i love it and i love being used by you so please use me however you want! just—just need you to make me cum. need you to make me take it, please!"

sunoo's heart swells at the desperation in your voice, ego boosted far beyond what he could've believed.

"would you look at that? my best friend, the university's resident vixen, actually begging like a good girl." he coos with faux-sympathy before ramming inside you in a single thrust.

he doesn't let you adjust to it anymore—if you were begging for it so loudly, he'd let you take every single merciless slam he gives.

his long cock drags against your slippery walls, getting you empty only to fill you whole again, the strength of his hips snapping into you making your body rock forward each time.

"oh my gosh, sunoo—yes! you're so deep inside me, fuck, please don't stop!" you chant his name in dragged out mewls, loud and unashamed.

the blacks of his eyes drown out the amber, pupils dilated at the sight of your restless hands pushing and kneading your bouncing tits together while your fingers roll the stiff buds around in quick circles—something he's only ever fantasized in the privacy of his own mind, now made true right before him.

"that's right, baby… keep playing with your tits f'me. give me a show." he rasps, voice thick with satisfaction.

like a reward, he hooks your legs to his shoulders and leans forward to where each slam of his cock would brush against the special spot that had you seeing pure white.

"sunoo—nngh, please... there! just like that... more! h–harder, please!"

he clicks his tongue against his teeth in pretend disdain, but he's beyond pleased at how vocal you are. "greedy girl, already taking a lot and still wanting more... maybe this is what you should send him, hmm? i bet he'd get the message loud and clear when he sees how good you're being for me, all pliant and dumb and needy for my cock."

the memory of your ex doesn't even sting, doesn't make you feel anything. there's no room for it when you feel so good, and so overwhelmingly full.

all you could focus on is sunoo, how handsome and sharp he looks when he's this possessive. sweat rolling down his toned torso, faint line of his abs showing each time he bottoms out, the dull shine on his lips that's making it look much more delectable than it ever has.

you're intoxicated from the pure bliss of his length hitting all the right spots that you let go of all inhibitions. you don't care anymore. you grab sunoo's shoulders and slur out, "k–kiss.. i wan' kiss, baby..."

his expression softens, thrusts faltering briefly as your breaths mingle in that narrow space between your lips. you look into his eyes, catching lust and something deeper you can't pinpoint before he finally seals your lips together.

you hold on his nape, keeping him close while he bites on your lower lip gently to make you part your lips, giving his tongue the opportunity to lick and swirl around your wet cavern.

it feels so easy to melt into it, having achieved what you've been fantasizing about since feeling his mouth on your skin.

the intimacy of the position, the feeling of his fingers brushing up your forearm so he could take your hands and pin it beside your head, the sound of skin slapping mixed with the intermittent gasps for air both of you take before going back to the messy kiss—it's all adding to the tight coil deep down your abdomen.

sunoo's fingers laces through yours and he pulls back slowly. "fuck, doll, y–you—" his words are interrupted by a hiss, eyes moving to look at the way his cock disappears into you. "feel so fucking good, shit—you're taking my cock like a good girl."

you feel so fuzzy, so lightheaded and sunoo's voice is the only thing keeping you from floating out of your body.

"y–your good girl," you nod your head, squeezing on your interlocked palms to gain his attention back, lips already pouted. "i'm yours, 'm yours! so keep making me take it and keep kissing me, please.."

you're begging so prettily, pushing all the right buttons to get his heart fluttering that sunoo has no other choice but to give in even if he knows it'll be the end of him to taste your lips like that again.

you let him muffle your noises, swallowing down all the high pitched whines and moans. he moves his hips faster, harder, despite the tender way his lips move against yours.

"my good girl's so pretty.. tight pussy's so good at taking me like it wants me to mold it to the shape of my cock." his voice is gravel-like when he whispers praises after pulling away.

your legs subconsciously wrap around his hips in fear that he'd pull the rug under you again. you tighten you legs around him, keeping him as close as possible when the pressure in your tummy begins burning too hot.

"sunoo, i'm gonna... please.. please! 's too much.. i'm—i'm going to cum!"

the whispers of his name turn into cries, only smothered when you bite down into his shoulder. sunoo lets out a pained groan, yet does nothing to move from you. instead, he drives into your faster, ruthlessly pushing you towards your peak.

he whispers sweetly, "i know, baby. fuck, i'm close too—let go and cum again f'me, pretty. make a mess on this cock, yeah?"

his voice unravels you, your second orgasm of the night coming down on your helpless body in a violent crash.

your muscles lock up as you coat his cock in your cum, eyes rolling to the back of your head, plump lips that were still shiny from the spit you shared parting to take heavy breaths.

the sight of you looking so fucked out snips at whatever thread of restraint he has left.

sunoo couldn't think, couldn't control himself from pushing into you again. he kept grunting under his breath, hips pistoning in and out of your pulsing hole, determined to chase after his own release.

"so pretty… so fucking beautiful.."

he hurriedly pulls himself out, scooting closer to you with fingers tightly coiled around his length in a pathetic attempt to imitate the warmth and tightness of your walls.

"fuck... shit—you look so fucking pretty, baby. i'm gonna mark you up, cum on your tits and make you all fucking mine."

the way he fucks his fist makes a filthy fapfapfap sound echo out. his thighs are clenching from the delicious burn of friction and his hips lose their pace.

your name finally comes out of his lips in a shaky growl as his cum spurts out in thick, translucent ropes across your heaving chest.

sunoo takes a mental image of that obscene view, keeping an eternal copy in the back of his mind before blindly reaching for his shirt so he could wipe off the mess he made.

after a while, you feel him slump down beside you, taking heavy breaths, completely and utterly spent.

you make your move to scoot closer to him, back pressed to his chest, curling into the open arms he's prepared for you.

his arms coil around your waist like a habit, sharp nose pressed on your nape with a palm splayed on your tummy. warm, familiar, and homey.

a smile graces his lips as he gets a waft of your hair's scent—citrus and berry.

"you're using the shampoo."

"what?"

"the shampoo i got you from the farmer's market last month. you said it's gross because you don't want to walk around smelling like pastry, but you're using it."

"it grew on me, i guess."

"it grew back on you." sunoo clarifies, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a gentle smile. "remember when we were fourteen and you asked my sister the recipe for her lemon blueberry cupcakes?"

heat rushes to your cheeks at the memory but you brush it off, turning around to face him. "that's such an obscure memory pull, sunoo."

he keeps his hold on you, fingers pressing on the small of your back. he shrugged, leaning forward to press his nose on your hairline, making a dramatic sniff to tease.

"it's what i remembered when i bought it for you—all i'm saying is i'm glad you're using it."

the action causes his lips to brush against your forehead and it reminds you of the kiss—that kiss. the way you begged for it, and the way he indulged your fantasy without hesitation.

the loud, insistent thought to kiss him again fills your mind. and like telepathy, he's pressing a kiss on your forehead, another to your cheek, then another to the corner of your mouth.

but just before you think he's about to kiss your lips... he pauses.

your breath hitches and you look so small, so confused. a part of his heart cramps up when you stare at him with such soft, hopeful eyes.

anticipation and fear both come as a single force, pushing him to press his lips on yours.

this isn't messy like the ones you did ago—no tongue, no moaning, no whispers of filth in between.

there's something much more innocent and clean in the way he's kissing you this time.

your heart flutters, warmth thrumming under your skin as your mind and body comes to an unshakeable conclusion: in comparison to the kisses you've shared with every fleeting hook-up and every romantic figure in your life, only this kiss—the one you're sharing with your best friend—feels right.

you part from each other, breathless and equally pink in the face.

he looks into your eyes with same, charged intensity like before. except this time, it makes him look unreadable. all of a sudden, dread settles in your stomach. heavy and suffocating.

what does this mean?

the fucking, the making out, and the possessive words sprinkled in between his body claiming yours—you believe it could all be somehow excused as things done in the heat of the moment.

but when all of it is said and done, and you're both naked under your blanket, limbs tangled together, looking at each other after sharing something that feels much more pure and intimate than anything either of you had ever done before...

fuck.

what does this mean?

what does all of this mean?

sunoo breaks through your overthinking with a confession.

"i want you. i think... i've wanted you, this, a long long while ago."

you stare at him, wide eyed, heart slamming against your chest. in utter disbelief, you ask him, "w–what? sunoo, what do you mean—"

he pauses, his eyes widening like he's also surprised of the truth that just left his his lips. he persists, nonetheless.

"i mean sometimes i look at you and don't know what to do with myself. sometimes... you walk around me in tiny shorts and the tightest fucking tops and i can't function because all i can think about is bending you over and making you scream my name, but above all that ape-brain bullshit of wanting to fuck you silly—i get pissed,"

his eyes screw shut and he pulls you in with a hand gently cradling the back of your head. he guides you to press your face to his chest so you wouldn't be a witness to the pain of his suppressed feelings violently getting torn out of him, one confession after the next.

"i get pissed and offended on your behalf.. when other people don't treat you right. even at their best, you deserve more than what they could do. and i've gaslit myself into thinking i only feel so strongly about your feelings and your well-being because i'm your friend. your best friend. and we've been at each others side since god knows when—"

he takes a deep breath in and hugs you tighter, sighing softly.

"but marking you up... and kissing you and making you feel good and calling you mine... it all felt too good. too right. i can't deny it anymore, doll. i.. i've wanted you all to myself for so long and now that i got a taste of it, i don't think i can keep lying to myself anymore. or to you."

the air that still reeked of sex turns heavy while you stare at one another.

there's a long pause, the previous noise now thinned out into an almost ear-splitting silence.

sunoo sobers up from his own confession, pulls back, and cradles your cheeks, stroking the skin gently with his thumb with worry written all over his face.

"talk to me, baby. i can't do this... you know i don't like it when you get in your head. let me in there, mm?"

instead of answering him, your first instinct is to press your palm over his chest, right where you feel the almost violent drumming of his heart.

"would.." you purse your lips, murmuring softly. "would things between us change if i admit i want you too?"

sunoo shakes his head, unable to fight the soft, genuine smile tugging on his lips. "not if you don't want it to."

"can i still watch movies sitting your lap?"

"mhm."

"and it won't be weird if i ask for kisses every now and then?"

"nope." he answers, making a popping sound with his lips. "i'd prefer it if you asked for more, actually."

your blush deepens, but you pry further. "and i could still go to you for a hundred and one percent honest advice if i'm not sure about my outfit?"

"only if you'll let me fuck you in it when it looks too good."

you gasp, smacking his chest with a giggle. "sunoo!"

he laughs heartily, forcing your violent hands to wrap around him instead. "i'm only half-joking, baby. you know you always get what you want anyway."

"damn right i do." you slump in his hold, snuggling closer against him when the whole revenge plan pops up in your mind. "oh.. um..."

"yes, doll?"

"should i still take a photo? you know, for the.. thing."

a devious smirk tugs on sunoo's lips but he hides it by burying his face in your hair. "you don't need to worry about that right now, baby. i'll take care of it like i always do. go to sleep, mm?"

"mmkay.."

"i love you, doll." he tenderly whispered against your forehead.

you bite back a smile, pulling him closer. "i love you too, baby."

sunoo was a different animal now that he's been promoted from being a best friend to a not-quite-boyfriend-yet lover.

you were tended to, treated like a princess and treated you like something a little less than one in bed when he figured out you loved getting humiliated quite a bit more than you led on.

he fed you, made you laugh, took pictures of you, and made you take pictures together.

for memories, he said.

you nodded, not suspecting anything at all.

he was cuter, more clingy and needy and so eager to get you focused on him that he didn't allow you to look at your phone, not even once.

so just spent the entire day together as usual.

and now, sunoo's already snoring behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, nose pressed into your shoulder after yet another stellar performance between your thighs.

your phone rang like it's reminded you of its existence. you reach for it slowly as to not disturb your lover, confused at the texts from your friends, all congratulating you for finally settling with the guy who's been there all along.

you realized it was due to sunoo and the instagram story he mentioned you in—the same picture he made you take. it was a cute and possessive photo, far better than what you had planned to show off your ex.

the reminder of him startles you.

you're so in love, so strung on the high of breaking free from the friend zone that in pursuit of making more space for memories with sunoo, your brain had pushed any vicious feeling you had towards seojun and the plot you brewed against him out of your mind.

but now that you've reminded yourself of him, you oddly feel... nothing.

you tap on your screen to go to your conversation with seojun.

you weren't going to do anything malicious. you just wanted to read through your final conversation again and confirm that you didn't have any leftover anger or desire to prove your worth.

you expected to see your hate-filled texts, but instead, you got the messages sunoo sent to him on your behalf.

seojun still wanted you, still cared enough to barrage you with questions and clear it out with a talk. you thought you'd feel something because he got mad.

instead, you felt nothing at all.

the only reason for the wicked smile on your lips was because you adored how cruel sunoo gets when he's possessive, going as far as giving your ex proof of your relationship in the form of your breathless moans while sunoo fucked your brain numb for the second time.

filthy, hot, possessive, and completely yours.

getting back at your ex was what you initially planned for, but getting fucked (and confessed to) by your best friend was what you got instead—and that's probably most fulfilling outcome you could have ever imagined.

because, yeah.

happiness really is sweeter than revenge.

FROM YAN 🐰 ➤ this birthday fic is for my favorite boy, my husband, and the absolute love of my life kim sunoo. happy birthday, my love. ♡ + peep the angel number word count? yeah, that's sunoo sending me his love n approval !! >< and um.. i kinda went insane on this, if u can't tell by the tags.. i also had to revise a few scenes but i'm pretty happy with how it turned out hehe. this is also for the kim sunoo luvbots nation WE ON THE UP UPPPSSSS !!! + my special sunshine, my sunoo-loving twin, bini sol: if ur out there reeding this, this is also for you. imy and ily. < 3

PERMANENT TAGLIST  ➤  @mariegibeau @kristynaaah @ikeukiss @zerocoded @alex-is-sleeping @ntxs1 @angelhyuka @tsukheeshima @clxssy1997 @cripplinghooman @xoxo-seraphine @jakeycakeys @neozon3nha @jakeycakeys @vmpiricou @ja4hyvn @luv4dani @nightcat101 @wonkiipiilled @boundlesselixirflux @cokewithcameron @taesungx @aerrdeicall @meikstv @justpassingdontworry @firstclassjaylee

Now it was just the two of you on the couch, the birthday boy’s thighs spread wide, his pretty face flushed pink, lips parted as he stared down at you with those dark, hazy eyes.

“Fuck… you really don’t have to—” Sunoo started, voice already hoarse, but you cut him off by pressing your palm firmly over the very obvious bulge straining in his black pants.

“Shut up, Sunoo. It’s your birthday,” you murmured, voice low and teasing as you slowly dragged the zipper down. “And I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

He let out a shaky breath that turned into a soft, needy whimper when you freed his cock. It slapped against his stomach, hard, flushed a deep pink at the tip, already leaking. Sunoo was always pretty, but like this? Messy hair falling into his eyes, lips glossy from the wine earlier, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, he looked sinful.

You wrapped your hand around the base and gave one slow, experimental stroke. His hips jerked up instantly.

“Shit—your hand feels so good already,” he breathed, one hand coming down to thread gently through your hair. Not pushing, just holding. Like he needed something to ground him.

You leaned in and dragged your tongue up the underside of his cock in one long, wet stripe, savoring the way he twitched against your tongue. When you reached the head you swirled around it, collecting the bead of precum and swallowing with a soft, appreciative hum.

Sunoo’s head fell back against the couch. “Oh my god…”

You smiled against his skin before taking him deeper, lips stretching around his thickness. He was big enough that your jaw ached in the best way after just a few inches, but you pushed further, relaxing your throat until your nose brushed his pelvis.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re taking me so well,” he groaned, fingers tightening in your hair. His voice had that sweet, breathy quality he usually saved for the stage, but filthier now. “Look at you… So fucking pretty.”

You moaned around him, the vibration making his thighs tense. You started moving, slow at first, dragging your lips up and down his length with wet sounds that filled the quiet room. Every time you pulled back you let your tongue flick against the sensitive spot under the head, then sank back down until he hit the back of your throat.

Sunoo was falling apart beautifully. His free hand gripped the couch cushion hard, knuckles white. Soft, broken moans spilled from his lips every few seconds, little gasps of your name mixed with curses and praises.

“You’re so good at this… ah—how are you so good? Gonna ruin me for anyone else, baby.”

You pulled off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his glistening cock. “Good. I want to ruin you,” you said, voice raspy, before diving back in with renewed hunger.

This time you went faster, hollowing your cheeks and sucking harder. One hand stroked what your mouth couldn’t reach while the other slipped between his legs to gently roll his balls. Sunoo’s hips started thrusting up shallowly, chasing the heat of your mouth like he couldn’t help it.

You let him. You wanted him desperate.

His breathing grew ragged. “Wait—slow down, I’m—fuck, I’m close already—”

You didn’t slow down. Instead you looked up at him through your lashes, eyes watering but determined, and moaned loudly around his cock. The eye contact broke him. Sunoo’s pretty face twisted in pleasure, mouth open in a silent cry as his thighs started trembling.

“I’m gonna cum—baby, I’m gonna cum down your throat if you don’t—ahh—”

You only sucked harder, taking him as deep as you could and swallowing around him. With a choked moan that sounded almost too pretty to be real, Sunoo came hard. Thick, hot pulses flooded your mouth as his hips stuttered and his fingers clenched in your hair. You swallowed every drop, working him through it until he was whimpering from overstimulation.

When you finally pulled off, lips shiny and swollen, Sunoo looked completely wrecked, chest heaving, eyes glassy, a lazy, blissed-out smile on his face.

He tugged you up gently by the hair and crashed his mouth against yours in a messy, grateful kiss, tasting himself on your tongue.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered against your lips, still panting. His hand slid down your body possessively. “My turn now. Get on the couch, baby.”

You laughed breathlessly as he flipped you onto your back, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischievous glint even while still recovering.

“Sunoo, it’s your birthday—”

“Exactly,” he cut you off, already sliding down your body, pushing your legs apart with eager hands. “And I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

He pressed a wet, open-mouthed kiss right over your clothed heat, looking up at you with those cat-like eyes full of hunger.

“Gonna make you cum so many times you forget your own name. Then I’m fucking you until the sun comes up. Sound good?”

You could only nod, already aching for him.

Best friend or not, this birthday was going to be one neither of you would ever forget.

(Masterlist)

you scoffed, mumbling under your breath. “i like you too, idiot.” sunoo thought he misheard what you said and came closer so he can hear you better. “what did you just say…? could you repeat that for me, please?” you sighed, defeatedly and embarrassed. “i said… i like you too, sun—“ he cutted you off by smashing his lips against yours, like he’s been starving. the way their mouth moved in sync, the wet and smacking sounds filled the living area.

the temperature is rising, hot and steamy. you tried to pull away from him but his grip on your waist got tighter. “where do you think you’re going, mhm? i’m not done with you yet…” he can’t get his hand off of your body, touching you in places where you’ve been craving to be touched by him. “there…fuck, don’t you fucking stop.” you demanded, meanwhile he tutted, disappointed from your bratty behavior. your friend slapped your bottom and you jolted out, startled. “behave, or i’ll leave you like this—whiny, soaked panties, because you’re so fucking demanding, hah…”

“sorry… i’m sorry, sunoo. i’ll be good.” you closed your eyes, tight and begging for forgiveness. you badly need to cum. “good girl, you really know how to listen.” he pry your legs open, wide and ready for him to devour you like you’re his prey. “you know… i’ve been holding myself back from claiming you in front of your parents and tell them that we’re faking every little stunt we did.” he confessed. “because i couldn’t keep pretending that i am not in love with you, [name]. so, let me make you feel good, yeah?”

he pulled the fabric to the side and saw how your pussy glistened from the slick. sunoo licked his lips as he leaned closer to your gushing cunt, giving it kitten licks before he bite the soft flesh not too harsh—and sucking it afterwards. he hummed in satisfaction, “fuck, you taste so good, sweets. i’ve been thinking about this, about you.” you tried to process what he just blurted out, but the feeling of his tongue and mouth doing wonders on your pussy isn’t helping… at all.

you feel like you’re floating, surrounded by the clouds and all shit like that. sunoo didn’t stop lapping at your cunt, he even slid his tongue inside you to feel how soft you are and slurp all the juices leaking over your hole. “hng—shit—you’re so good, sun. so fucking good. i’m going to cum….” the guy below you is flustered, cheeks morphed into crimson from the praise that slipped out of your mouth, his cock kept twitching in his pants, like it wants to be freed.

“cum on my mouth, [name]. wanna taste you.” sunoo thrust his tongue inside you with a finger, sliding in and out of you to help you from your climax. as you came on his mouth, like what he’s been babbling about. you heaved a breath, tired and legs numb. he suddenly got up without letting you call out for his name. you thought that he might leave but then, he came back holding a black blindfold and you noticed that sunoo is hiding something behind his back. “why are you frowning, pretty? we’re going to play a game and you have to guess what object is it, hm? come closer, let me put this blindfold on you.”

you blinked, flabbergasted. it’s not because you feel uneasy, but, you did not expect sunoo to be this freaky. “wait… shit, i should have told you first. tell me, are you uncomfortable? i’ll put it back and we’ll stop.” he was staring at you, feeling guilty from disregarding your permission. and yet, you only sit up straight, “i’m not that boring, sunoo. it’s just—surprising that you’re into this. you know… it’s hot.” you admitted without feeling ashamed, because it’s a fact. kim sunoo is hot.

he merely raised his eyebrow. after that revelation, you were now blindfolded and sitting on the edge of the bed—awaiting what’s coming. you almost missed the grunt sunoo let out just by watching you, clueless and hair a mess. “open your legs, sweets. first, i’ll smear something on your pretty cunt—then, eat it and you’ll have to guess as i put my mouth on you, get it?” you unknowingly gulped, nervous, because you don’t know what will happen if you guess it wrong. as you spread your legs in front of him, he knelt down and applied a cold object on your pussy folds.

“mhm… this is better than eating it in a normal and boring way. love your pussy, pretty. so bad.” he mumbled while licking and sucking the mysterious cold stuff between your thighs. you instinctively raised your hips, gesturing him to keep eating you out. abruptly, sunoo pulled away. your cunt is a mess—sticky with his saliva and the food he just finished gobbling down.

he stood up and gently grabbing your cheeks to kiss you. you practically forgot that this is a game, your thoughts are filled with sunoo and not even trying your best to guess what he just ate in your sopping core. “you have to guess it or no cumming? choose.” you whined because you couldn’t think properly and perhaps, he’s playing with you—a revenge, where it took you long enough to let him touch you and make you feel good. “mint cho… mint choco ice cream.”

you’re already celebrating in your head, not knowing that sunoo, your friend is smirking as if you said something funny. “wrong,” that made you freeze on your seat and you feel agitated because he is making fun of you for getting it wrong. “what the fuck do you mean i got it wrong? that’s mint choco, your favorite.” you can’t see him but his smirk is replaced with a grin, meaning you cannot cum today. “it is mint choco, pretty. did you seriously think i’d only put an ice cream in your needy little cunt?”

you mindlessly pressed your thighs together, apprehensive, due to the fact that he mixed something with the ice cream and so turned on by the way his voice shifted to deep and raspy tone. “w—what did you put in there?” he playfully tapped his cheeks, acting like he’s thinking deeply about it. “can’t tell you, sweets. not yet. you just have to relax and let me take care of you, hm?”

kim sunoo laid you down on the soft mattress, delicately. you are laying down, flat on your back. a pillow sitting under your lower back, so your body won’t be in pain after and it will be easy for him to fold your body in half. “put it in already… please? wanna feel you, sun.” you sobbed, as you felt the dampness between your thighs, flooding, over and over. the guy hovering above you scrunched his nose in annoyance, “you’re so insufferable, makes me want to leave you here.” he huffed, before adding. “i’ll jerk off with the thoughts of your pussy wraps around my cock, so perfectly. do you want that, huh? you keep testing my patience today, [name].”

you shake your head, gripping the duvet cover on either side and biting your lower lip to contain yourself from making noise that might anger him more. “i—i’ll be good, ngh.” thereafter, sunoo stripped off his clothes and leaving you only with your lace panty. you can hear him spitting, and imagining how his spit coated his length. your friend noticed the way you tried to close your legs. “uh-uh. keep them open for me, sweets. i love seeing your pretty cunt react for me.” when he said that, you could feel yourself leaking and making a mess on the bed.

“i hate waiting, you know?” he uttered, as he glides his cock on your clit down to your leaking hole. “mhm, look at you. you’re dripping. you want this so bad, don’t you?” he took a glance at you. “not as much as i do.” he whispered while you yelp, a loud-piercing sound bounces off the room as sunoo entered you abruptly. “so big.” your breath hitched from how his shaft stretches you open. he badly wants to slam his cock in you, yet he restrained himself since he will feel bad if you get hurt because of his impulsive act.

you told him that he can move and he did it with a slow-agonizing pace. sunoo quietly whimpers as he felt your gummy walls squeezing him like a vice. it feels good how each stroke is making you dizzy. meanwhile, sunoo is hissing and cursing under his breath above you. “god, your cunt fits so well around my cock. hah. you’re so perfect, my pretty.” his pace switched to brutal with need in them, secretly saying he loves you to the point that he can’t bear to lose you. sunoo pressed your other leg against your chest. the mushroom tip hitting and kissing the cervix which made it more pleasurable.

soon after, he is laying down beside you with his cock, still buried himself to the hilt, along with a force drive of his length thrusting in-and-out of you. “i’m coming… ngh, sunoo!” you screamed his name, and the guy holding your thigh, grinned from satisfaction. thank god, the room is soundproof or else there will be noise complaints. “that’s right, come for me, sweets. come all over this cock.” his heavy breathing and your cries mixed together with the intense pleasure building up from the two of you.

“mhm… i’m close too, pretty. shit.” sunoo rasps out as he snapped his hips for the last time, before liquids spurting out of the head. it was never ending, like he saved all of it just to fill you with his cum. your friend finally pulled out of you, followed by the mixed juices leaking out of your abused hole. their chest rising with heavy breaths slipping out of their mouth, exhausted. “sleepy—so sleepy.” you mumbled, still out of breath. sunoo only kissed your forehead, “sleep, i’ll clean you up later, hm? good night, pretty. i love you.” and then, you nestled yourself against his barrel chest, mumbling. “love you too, sunnie…”

it’s aphrodisiac chocolate. the stuff he mixed in on his mint chocolate ice cream, a moment ago, that he smeared in your fat and swollen cunt. the reason you were out of it—cock drunk, begging him to use you and make you as his personal cum dump. something that he can secretly use when he needs to satisfy himself.

‎© envil (‘26). ─── all rights reserved.

You leaned into Lois’ desk with a cup of tea, arms crossed, watching her and Clark discuss Superman’s latest encounter with the Hammer of Boravia. “I don’t even think that guy is from Boravia,” Lois commented.

“What makes you think that?” Clark asked, spinning his chair around to face her. “His name is literally the Hammer of Boravia.”

“I doubt his parents named him that, Clark,” you stated, taking a sip.

“You know,” he began, loosening his necktie, “Superman thinks he was faking his accent.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Superman said that?”

“Yeah,” he smirked, fixing his glasses. “I interviewed him right after.”

“You know,” you quoted him, setting the cup down, “it’s funny how you keep getting all these interviews with Superman.”

“I don’t think there’s anything funny about good journalism,” he countered and circled back around to face his desk.

You fantasized about throwing your cup at his thick skull. It infuriated you that Clark could get away with so much without any consequences. He was perpetually late to work, couldn’t spell a four-syllable word to save his life, and always knocked things over on your desk when he rushed by. But none of that mattered to anyone when he had a direct hotline to a superhero. Sometimes you wondered why you even bothered trying.

“Relax, guys,” Lois held up her hands. “It’s only nine in the morning. We have all day for you two to go at it.”

You rolled your eyes and walked back to your desk. There was much work to do in the aftermath of Superman’s unsanctioned arrival in Boravia. You just knew that you would be working past your scheduled hours tonight.

You were an hour into your research when your Editor-in-Chief stormed out of his office and onto the bullpen. “Everyone,” he called out, "I have an announcement to make!”

Everyone paused and turned around to face him. “I’m going to be hiring a Senior Reporter of Investigations. Lois is doing a fantastic job,” Perry said, glancing at her, “but she can’t do it alone.”

“The job is, of course, open to external applicants,” he continued, “but I’d like to hire from within.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Clark stiffen. You scoffed at the idea of him thinking he would be well-suited for the role.

“There will be no interviews for the internal candidates,” he continued. “The decision will be based on the candidate's performance from now till Christmas. May the best man win.”

Or woman, you smirked.

.

.

.

You and Jimmy spoke to each other in a hushed tone as you made your way to the local pub at nine o’clock.

You desperately needed a drink after the gruelling day at work. “You definitely have a shot, too,” you told Jimmy, waiting for the pedestrian sign to come on.

“I don’t want it,” he replied, shaking his head. “Sounds like too much work. You, on the other hand, love to work. You’ll make a great senior reporter.”

You grinned as you both crossed the road and entered the restaurant. Clark and Lois were already inside, chatting away. You scowled at the sight of him. He was probably asking her to put in a good word for him with Perry. Your suspicions became true once you were within earshot. “—you know I would be great for it,” Clark said, sipping on his milkshake.

“Hey,” you greeted Lois, slipping into the booth across from her.

Jimmy took a seat next to you, playfully slapping Clark on the arm. “Already campaigning?”

He shrugged, sheepishly. “Just fishing for some advice from the great Lois Lane.”

Lois waved him off, chuckling. Jimmy hailed a server down to the table for you two to order. He asked for an Old Fashion, which Clark appeared to approve of. You ordered your usual: seasoned fries with tequila in some cherry coke.

“I don’t know how you drink that stuff,” Clark commented once the server departed from your side.

You grabbed a tater tot off Lois’ plate and threw it in your mouth. “You know when I’m your boss,” you started, chewing away, “I’m gonna’ replace the espresso machine in the break room with a cherry coke fountain.”

“Oh, but you’re forgetting one thing,” he replied, slurping loudly, “you’re never going to be my boss because Perry hates you.”

“No, he doesn’t!” you cried, turning to Jimmy for reassurance.

“Clark’s being a jerk,” he said. “Perry doesn’t just hate you, he hates everyone besides Lois.”

You elbowed him on the shoulder, irritated that he was playing along. “And me,” Clark smirked. “But don’t worry, when I’m your boss, I’ll make sure that you are given many opportunities to earn brownie points with Perry. I know you’re into that.”

“When I’m your boss,” you hissed, fists clenching under the table, “I’m going to make you come into work an hour before everyone else.”

“When I’m your boss,” he countered, slamming his glass down on the table, “I’ll work you so hard that you’ll practically be living out of the Daily Planet!”

“The joke's on you, I already do that!”

Both Clark and you were red in the face by the time the server came back with your orders. You snatched the drink off the table, bypassed the straw, and began chugging the contents. You didn’t miss the face that Clark made at your action.

What is your fucking problem! you screamed on the inside.

You hadn’t stopped frowning since you had sat down. Clark hadn’t given you a moment of peace since you had begun working at the Daily Planet. You hated him deeply. Sure, he was easy on the eyes, and even his hideous oversized clothes couldn’t hide that impressive, colossal size of his, yet you just couldn’t understand why your coworkers fawned over him.

He was mean, rude, and plain disrespectful. He reminded you of those mean boys back in elementary school who would pull at your pigtails for fun with a nasty look on their faces.

You watched him from across the table. Anger bubbled in your stomach at the sight of him chatting away with your friends, seemingly unbothered by your interaction.

Yeah, you decided in that moment, I am going to win this hating game between us.

.

.

.

The four of you spent the next two hours at the bar before parting.

You trudged to the bus stop, trying not to trip over your own feet. You swayed a little as the drinks began hitting your head. Upon your arrival, you noticed that the bus stand was empty. You slipped your hand in your purse to pull your phone out to check the time, but when your hand found nothing, you yanked the bag off your arm to check inside. The only things you saw within were your wallet, house keys, and a leftover sandwich.

Shit, I must have forgotten it in the pub.

You left out a frustrated groan and turned back around. This day couldn’t get any worse, you thought. You trekked back as the wind picked up. You suddenly remembered the special weather advisory out for tonight; a windstorm was about to hit Metropolis close to midnight. You sped up, eager to reach home, and soon the pub’s entrance came into view.

You were about to rush inside when you heard a loud noise coming from the alley next to the bar, followed by two men shouting. Curious, you altered your course to take a look; even intoxication couldn’t get the investigative journalist out of you. Hiding behind a dumpster, you peeked out and saw a familiar face.

Clark was cornered against a chain-link fence by a man holding a knife. “You can’t hurt me, sir,” you heard him say, “and I really don’t want to hurt you.”

You almost didn’t recognize his voice. He sounded stern, and that was surprising. He didn’t even speak to you in that manner. “Shut the fuck up and give me that phone!” the man spat, stepping closer.

Your stomach tightened. You knew Clark couldn’t survive a knife-fight; that man walked into door frames despite trying not to on a daily basis. You had to do something. Before your liquid courage could slip away, you heaved the closest thing you could find— a broken chair leg off the garbage can— and charged at the man.

“Hey, buddy!” you called out. “Eyes up here!”

The man spun around just as you brought down the wooden scrap against his shoulder. He cried out, stunned, and that gave Clark enough time to snatch the knife out of his hand and throw it over the fence. The man staggered, eyeing you with rage. Realizing that he was outnumbered and freshly out of weapons, he shoved you to the ground. “Bitch!”

You landed on the concrete, your arms painfully breaking your fall. Clark made an attempt to grab the man, but he took off running. You groaned, struggling to get up as pain radiated up your limbs.

Clark rushed to you on the ground. “Why did you do that?” he exclaimed, eyes blown wide. ‘ “I was trying to help,” you grunted, pushing yourself up with your elbows. “He was going to stab you.”

He wrapped his large hand around your upper arms and helped you stand. “I had it under control.”

You scoffed, stumbling. “Yeah, right.”

He caught you again. “You could have gotten hurt,” he argued, jaw clenching. “Who do you think you are? Superman?”

You slapped his hand off you. “I’m so sorry for saving you, Clark,” you spat, limping away from him. “Next time I’ll just leave you alone to die!”

He strode up to you in seconds. “You’re hurt,” he said. “Let me see.”

The wind picked up, painfully brushing against the scrapes and cuts littering your arms. He seized your wrist, gently. You turned to yell at him to let go, but the look in his face made you freeze. His normally bright blue eyes were icy cold, nostrils flared, and a slight tremor ran down his body. You realized that he was angry. “A-Are you seriously upset with me for saving your life?” you stuttered in disbelief.

“You could have gotten seriously hurt,” he repeated, eyebrows furrowing.

“Why the fuck do you even care?” you asked, scowling.

When he didn’t answer and just stood there, seething in place, you rolled your eyes. You yanked your hand back and moved ahead. “Whatever.”

You had walked a few meters away when he called out, “I have your phone!”

You spun on your heels, pushing past the affliction. “Give it back, Kent!”

“No,” he shook his head, sauntering your way.

Your frown deepened. “What do you mean by ‘no’?”

“‘No,’ as in a negative response,” he clarified, condescendingly. “As in, ‘No, I’m not going to give it back unless you let me see how badly you’re hurt’.”

Your jaw went slack. Your head spun, and it wasn’t because of the alcohol swimming in your belly. You just couldn’t understand why Clark was being so persistent in not leaving you alone. Maybe he was finally realizing what an asshole he had been to you all these months, or maybe he was just embarrassed that you had to come save him like a damsel in distress. “Fine,” you hissed, sticking your arms out. “Have a look!”

He stepped into you, quickly. You scent of his pleasant aftershave invaded your nose. He took your hand in his and turned it around to see where the concrete had cut you. His fingers slipped up, and his thumb traced the skin underneath a scrape that ran diagonally. “This needs to be disinfected,” he whispered under his breath.

Your mouth went dry. “It will be,” you croaked, licking your lips, “as soon as I get home, but I can only do that if I have my phone.”

He nodded, still not moving away. “Yeah, you’re right.”

He peeled off his coat and draped it over your shoulder. “What are you doing?” you asked, jerking underneath the material.

“I’m getting you home, cherry coke.”

“Absolutely not,” you stated, shrugging his fabric off, “I can get home by myself.”

He pulled the collars of his coat together, pinning you in place. “You can hardly walk, and the bus stop is at least fifteen minutes away from here,” he said, bending down to meet your eyes. “What are you going to do if that man is waiting for you around the corner?”

You gulped. You hadn’t thought of that. “I can fight him,” you mumbled, shrugging again.

“Yeah, you probably can,” he sighed, his warm breath fogging his glasses. “I don’t want you, though.”

“Why?”

His hands tightened around the fabric, swaying you forward. “Because you saved me,” he answered. “And as stupid as that was, I am very thankful. I don’t want to see you getting hurt for it.”

Your cheeks grew warm in the cold. Clark Kent apparently had a heart, and you weren’t sure if you liked that revelation; it made your hating game harder.

“So let me repay you,” he continued, “Let me walk you to the bus stop, give you your phone back, and then we’ll be even.”

Those waves of pain hitting your ankle made the idea sound appealing. Repentantly, you nodded. Clark swept down and hooked his arm behind the back of your knee and hoisted you up. You yelped in surprise, clinging to him for support. “Don’t start,” he warned before you could object.

If someone had told you earlier in the day that your night would end with you being carried away by Clark, you would have laughed yourself to death. This makes no sense, you thought. You had spent every waking moment basking in the heat of your resentment of him, and this moment made you numb. You recalled your argument in the pub to ground yourself in that feeling again. You weren’t going to let one kind gesture sweep you off your feet.

Your head dropped down to your lap, and all you could focus on was how easily Clark supported you in his arms. He didn’t appear to be breaking a sweat. A chill ran down your spine, and you told yourself it was the gusts of wind making you shiver and not him.

The stop came into sight with the bus already waiting for you. Clark carried you until the steps leading up to the vehicle were almost under you. He set you down carefully, and the pain in your ankle returned as your feet touched the ground. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, meeting your eyes. “Get home safe.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice. You stepped onto the bus and then paused. You turned your head and asked, “My phone?”

“Inside pocket,” he answered, slipping his wallet out.

You watched him pay for your fare as you moved to take his coat off. He stopped you. “Keep it. It’s cold outside.”

Without another word, you walked inside. You refused to look out at him as the bus’s engine came to life, but you knew he was waiting on the sidewalk. The bus had pulled away from the curb and onto the street when you finally allowed yourself to look out the window. The street behind you was desolate except for a flash of red and blue zooming across the sky.

.

.

.

That night, you dreamt of Superman.

Rain thundered down on your room’s windows in the wee hours. You were laying down in bed, cuddling a pillow as a movie played on the television. You heard movement behind you, and then the mattress dipped under you. His hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his hard torso.

His nose buried itself into your hair, breathing in your scent. You hummed, sagging against him. His hand moved up to cup your breast over your shirt as your eyes fluttered shut. “When I’m your boss,” a familiar voice whispered, slipping your nipple between fingers and squeezing, “I’m going to work you so hard, cherry coke.”

Your eyes shot open. You whipped your head around. Clark lay behind you, head resting on an arm folded over a pillow, smiling lazily.

You woke up in the dark with a thundering heart. You were alone in your apartment with only the sounds of your laboured breaths echoing through the space. You reached under the covers, slick with sweat, yanked Clark’s coat off from over your legs, and threw it across your room in the dark.

.

.

.

The next morning, Clark brought you a cup of coffee.

You eyed it suspiciously, resting on your desk. You clicked the back of your pen, glancing back and forth between the cup and him. Remnants of your dream last night played in your head, heating up your face. “Why are you bringing me coffee, Kent?”

“I heard it boosts subordinates’ morale when management brings in treats,” he grinned. “I thought about bringing some cherry coke instead, but I couldn’t bring myself to stoop that low.”

Your jaw clenched. He was still mistaken that Perry would promote him. You reached behind your chair and swung his coat out from under your back. “I’ll trade you,” you huffed, holding it out to him.

He accepted it without much issue. You heard the door swing open, and Perry strode in. His gaze landed on you as he crossed the floor. “Great! I was looking for you two.”

You scrambled to your feet. “Yes, Mr. White?”

“You are going to be interviewing Lex Luthor,” he shared, “and Clark is going to help you prepare for it. You will need his expertise in dealing with a high-profile figure. Luthor has declined all prior requests for an interview until now. I don’t know what changed his mind, and frankly, I don’t care.”

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head. This was exactly what you needed to show your boss that you were the best candidate for the role.

“Why her?” you heard Clark inquire.

“Luthor has been soft-launching an anti-Superman campaign, and I’ll be damned if I let any other paper sit down with him,” he continued, ignoring him. “You will interview him at the New York Correspondent’s Dinner this Friday. Luthor requested that we send someone ‘pleasing on the eyes,’ and normally I’d ask Lois, but since she’s working on the Luthor Corp’ expose, that wouldn’t end well. Bottom line, don’t embarrass yourself, the paper, or me, kid.”

Your ears were ringing. The universe had just presented you the perfect opportunity: an interview to rival Clark’s own. “Yes, sir,” you replied, enthusiastically bobbing your head. “You can count on me.”

Perry nodded curtly and disappeared back into his office.

Lois whistled. “Hell yeah, darling!”

You mimed a silent scream at her, jumping in place. You spun around, grabbed your laptop and the coffee off your desk, and rushed past Clark. “Let’s go to the conference room, Kent.”

He followed at your heels to an inhabited room one floor up. You set your things down on the long table and sat on the seat closest to the door. He slipped into the empty seat next to you.

You buzzed with energy as you opened your device and opened a new document. “Are you seriously this excited for Lex Luthor?” Clark asked, glaring at you.

“Duh,” you made a face. “Why? Are only you allowed to do impactful things here?”

“Lex Luthor is a real jerk,” he frowned, displeased. “Aren’t you bothered by the fact that he asked for someone hot to interview him?”

You smirked. “Are you calling me hot?”

He ran a hand over his face and exhaled into his palm. “I just find it surprising that you’re all right with Perry sending you in as a honey pot.”

“Don’t lecture me on sexism, Clark,” you scowled, deeply. “I’m not stupid. I have dealt with that shit my entire life. I know exactly why Perry picked me, and no, I’m not ‘all right’ with it, but I’m going to make the best out of every chance I get. I’m tired of seeing others get opportunities that should be mine. ”

Clark watched you, lips turned downward. “Others?”

“You,” you answered, plainly. “Do you think Cat, or Lois, or I would last a week here if we started showing up late at work? If we began handing in final drafts with improper grammar? If we—”

“You are this upset over Perry being soft on me, cherry coke?” he asked, tilting his head.

Pure rage began to bubble in your stomach. “Soft,” you hissed, “is an understatement. He is lenient beyond what’s acceptable.”

“And you hate me for that?”

“Clark,” you spoke through clenched teeth, slamming your hands down on the table. “I hate that you are inconsiderate of other people’s time. I hate that you don’t let any opportunity to go by to undermine me. And I hate that there are no consequences for your actions.”

He had the audacity to appear offended. “You have no idea what my life is like,” he spat. “I deal with things beyond your imagination. You have all these nonsense assumptions about me, and have turned me into this bad guy in your head—”

“I know exactly what you’re up to! And don’t act like you don’t benefit from—”

“Let me finish!” he raised his voice. “I—”

“Did you just fucking yell at me?” you cried out, baffled.

“Don’t cuss!” he exclaimed. “I don’t like—”

“I don’t give a shit whether you like it or not, Kent—”

A knock interrupted your screaming match. The door creaked open, and Jimmy’s head popped in through the gap. “We can hear you both downstairs,” he shared apologetically.

Your head dropped your head in your lap, embarrassed. “Sorry,” you heard Clark say. “My fault. We’ll keep it down.”

The door closed, and you both sat in silence. The clock on the wall ticked away, and you counted the seconds and found them in sync with your thudding heartbeat.

Get it under control, you told yourself. Don’t let your anger overpower you.

You sighed and then looked back at your screen. “This is really important to me, Clark,” you said, forcing a polite smile. “I’m asking you, in the name of journalistic pursuit, to work with me. Can we call a truce and get started on this interview?”

You waited for his reply, keeping your eyes fixed ahead. “Yeah,” he answered, some painfully quiet moments later. “I can do that.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Relieved, you smile. “Great. Let’s start.”

.

.

.

Perry sprinted out of his office to you as you clipped your earring in.

“Change of plans,” he huffed, stopping at your desk. “You’re not going to ask him the questions you submitted.”

The news of Superman being evil incarnate had just been released by Luthor Corporation, creating a frenzy at the Daily Planet. You stood up and gathered your belongings: a tape recorder, a notepad, pens, and your invitation to the charity dinner. “I-I know, Mr. White. I will focus on the recording instead,” you told him, shoving them into your purse.

“I have emailed you some notes,” he said, walking with you to the elevator, “if you stick to them, things should go well.”

“Yes, of course,” you replied, pressing the button to call the cart up. “I will do that.”

You were absolutely not going to do that. You knew that you had one chance to make an impression, and you weren’t going to do it by playing it safe.

The elevator came up and you stepped inside. “Good luck, kid,” Perry wished and then spun around. “SOMEONE GET ME CLARK KENT!”

The doors slid closed as you observed Jimmy scramble to pick up the phone resting on his desk. After begrudgingly working with you on the interview for days, he didn’t show up on zero hour. In fact, no one had heard from him ever since the world had heard of Superman’s supposed harem.

Maybe he’s sad that the world thinks Superman’s a monster?

You made a face at the thought of feeling bad for Clark Kent as you smoothed a hand over your silk dress. You just knew that when Perry got him on the phone, they’d have a nice chat and smooth everything over. It would be as if he had never abandoned work to begin with.

The elevator pinged and opened itself up to the main floor. You stepped outside and walked up to a car that the Daily Planet had arranged for you. You slipped inside, and the driver pulled into traffic immediately.

A pit had begun forming in your stomach. Trying not to focus on it, you pulled out your phone from your bag and began reading through Perry’s notes. They were good. Great, even. It just bothered you that he didn’t think you could do this without being micromanaged by him or Clark as a proxy.

You turned your phone off and tossed it away. It bounced off the seat and landed inside the door pocket on the other side. You groaned, reaching over to retrieve it. Your fingers caught a stack of folded papers, and you pulled them out. You saw that you were holding a copy of the Daily Planet’s newspaper.

The headline read: THE MAKINGS OF OUR NEWEST SUPERHERO.

Followed by the words, ‘by Clark Kent’. You scoffed. Even leading up to one of the most pivotal moments of your career, he somehow managed to haunt you.

You imagined your name on the front page instead. You had to nail this. You had to do good. So good that everyone at work would think twice before speaking down to you—

Why aren’t you here, Clark?

The car skidded to a stop, and you looked out the window. You had arrived at the venue of for the New York Correspondent’s Dinner. You thanked the driver and took a deep breath to ready yourself to step out. Before you could reach for the door handle, someone yanked it open from the outside.

A face framed with two familiar dimples poked in. “Hey, cherry coke.”

.

.

.

You stepped out of the car, and Clark offered you his arm.

You didn’t have time to adjust to his unexpected arrival before he began leading you up the stairs to the venue. Clark had dressed up to the nines. You were amazed that he even owned a tuxedo.

You wondered if you had accidentally manifested him tonight. Next time I’ll ask for a million dollars, you thought.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, handing the invite to a staff member at the entrance.

“Couldn’t miss your big day,” he answered, looking ahead. “I’m her plus one. Clark Kent from the Daily Planet.”

The staff member nodded and pulled the velvet rope aside to let you both through. “Why didn’t you come into work? Were you with Superman today?”

“Are you supposed to be interviewing me or Lex Luthor?”

You grabbed onto his arm tighter. “I’m being serious,” you said. “Are you okay?”

He wouldn’t meet your eyes. “Yeah,” he shrugged. “Just a little under the weather.”

You knew he was lying, but you didn’t push further. The heat on Superman probably wasn’t sitting well with him. You both walked inside, and your eyes immediately landed on Lex Luthor speaking to some men across a crowd of people. He towered a foot above everyone else, just like Clark. Your stomach tightened at the sight. There was something strange about that man. His presence didn’t make you feel warm all over like Clark’s did.

You bit the inside of your cheek. That was twice within seconds that you had compared someone to Clark Kent. You shook your head to clear any thoughts of the field reporter.

You need to lock in, you told yourself.

You squeezed Clark’s arm and stepped away from him to make your way toward Lex. You saw him see you approach from the corner of his eye, but he made no attempt to cut his conversation short with the men surrounding him. You patiently waited, the back of your neck heating up, for him to finish before speaking. “Hello, Mr. Luthor,” you greeted, before anyone else, you claimed his attention.

He raised an eyebrow. “You are?”

You gave him your name. “Ah,” he recalled. “You’re that reporter from the Daily Planet.”

He snapped his fingers, and a waiter rushed to his side. He ordered you both a drink without asking whether you’d even like one to begin with. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said, flatly, “I don’t think I have time today for an interview. We can reschedule at my earliest convenience.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You had to come up with something quick to hook him in. You knew that you wouldn’t be getting another opportunity in this lifetime. “Oh,” you blinked, furrowing your eyebrows. “I was really hoping to get your opinion on the Superman tape released earlier today.”

Lex’s left eye twitched at your words. You fought back a smirk; you knew you had him then. He cleared his throat. “What would you like to know, miss?”

“I guess,” you started, curling a strand of hair behind your ear, “I wanted to know what your first impression was after finding the video?”

“I will admit that I was scared,” he answered, lips turning downward, “about learning that alien’s true mission.”

You nodded animatedly, trying to mimic empathy. “I’m sure many agree with you today. But what about all the kind acts Superman has performed over the years? The countless lives he has saved?” you inquired, shifting in place. “I mean, just today, he saved a squirrel from being crushed under debris. Some would argue that those acts define his true character rather than the orders given by his parents.”

Lex’s frown deepened. Behind his bald head, you saw Clark move into your line of vision a few feet away. He gave you a reassuring nod.

“I believe he is grooming us,” Lex responded, picking up a drink off the tray the waiter had returned with, “lulling us into complacency so he can dominate without resistance.”

You struggled to keep your face neutral. You collected your own glass and held it so tightly that you were afraid it was going to crack in your grip. “And why would he—”

“He is forging a path for his super-powered descendants to rule the Earth,” he continued, cutting you off. “Who knows how many children he has growing in his harem?”

Hatred rolled off the man in waves. Your forehead began to dampen at the change in his tone, yet you couldn’t help but challenge him. “You’re positive that the video is authentic and not some deepfake?”

“Twenty-eight of the world's top linguists have confirmed the translation,” he spoke through clenched teeth, “and thirty of the top forensic computer techs have confirmed the validity of the footage itself. Unfortunately, and much to your dismay, I’m sure, the video is real. But do tell me, miss, are you by any chance a fan of Superman?”

You froze, not expecting him to turn the tables. You had hoped he’d be self-obsessed enough to rant on. “I think he is doing some important work,” you answered, gulping a mouthful of your drink. “I always thought of Superman as a kind man, and I respect the work he does. He stands for hope and helping those in need. When I look at his actions, his choices, I find it very hard to rebuke him simply because his parents were horrible people.”

“Aliens,” Lex corrected sharply. “They were aliens. And that makes Superman not a man, but also an alien, sent from Krypton to rule over us humans with no mercy. It’s disappointing to see we are too busy fawning over a creature catapulted onto this planet to recognize that his strength illuminates how weak we all really are.”

A lump began to form in your throat. You could see that you had angered him. This was not how you had planned for this conversation to go. A woman in a gorgeous purple floor-length gown stepped into Lex, curling an arm around his torso. “Lex,” she called out, “Are you done? This party is very boring.”

He rolled his eyes and pulled his arm away from the woman to reach inside his coat pocket. He pulled out a card in between his fingers and handed it to you. “Feel free to reach me if you’d like an in-depth interview at a later time. I’d love to correct that opinion of yours regarding Superman.”

You took the card from him, his fingers brushing yours. You thanked him profusely as he walked away. Once alone, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Your eyes began to water. You recalled your encounter with Lex Luthor, replaying each mistake you had made on a loop. You had missed your chance.

.

.

.

Clark caught you crossing through the crowd just as the first tears fell.

You had crashed right into his broad chest with your head hanging low. He grabbed onto your arms to steady you straight as you wobbled on your heels. “What’s wrong, cherry coke?” he asked, distressed.

“I-I,” you stuttered, “I made a mistake, C-Clark. I didn’t turn my tape recorder on, and I didn’t stick to the questions Perry sent. I ruined it!”

“That’s okay,” he reassured, slipping his hand down to the small of your back. “You’re okay. Let’s step outside for a bit, yeah?”

You let him guide you up the stairs to the empty terrace. Cold air bit your bare arms as you made your way closer to the railing. Your sobs echoed through the space. “I-I panicked b-because he wanted to cancel t-the interview, and I r-ruined everything,” you hiccuped and bit the back of your hand to stop the tremors. “He was s-so angry—I felt it.”

Clark did the last thing you expected him to do— he wrapped his large hand around your wrist and pulled you into a hug. “I heard everything,” he said, resting his chin on top of your head. “You challenged him and that was brave. A man like Lex Luthor needs that. He is so used to being surrounded by yes-men that I bet meeting you was a breath of fresh air. He gave you his card, didn’t he?”

You inhaled deeply. The scent of his familiar cologne settled your nerves. “I know that you can remember every word that left his mouth without relying on a tape recorder,” he continued. “And if he wants to see you again, then you didn’t put him off that badly. Have some faith in yourself, cherry coke.”

You nodded, shaking in his embrace. His gentle words carved a space for himself within your heart. You tried to remember all those times you had argued, but their memory was already fading. “Although you probably shouldn’t see him again,” you heard him say.

You leaned back to look at him. His hands moved up to cup your cheeks, and his thumbs wiped the tears streaming down. “Why?”

Clark didn’t answer you. His gaze shifted back and forth between your eyes, lips, and neck. He dropped his hand and stepped away from you. “I don’t know,” he sighed, spinning around. “He just gives me the creeps.”

He strode to the railing and leaned against it. You sniffled and gingerly walked up to him. “Do you not like him because he’s mean to Superman?” you asked, stopping a few paces behind him. “Have you spoken to him recently? Is he doing all right?”

Clark stared off into the distance for a few moments. “No,” he answered sombrely. “He’s not doing well. He just found out that his own existence is a lie, that his parents sent him down to kill people, and that the whole world hates him. You know the DOJ has a warrant out for his arrest? He’s all alone now— even the Justice Gang won’t back him up.”

You didn’t know what to say. You had been so caught up in preparing for your interview that you had tuned everyone out. Except Clark. You were hyper aware of his presence and absence in every room you stepped in, and you despised that.

Before you could think your actions through, you closed the gap between you two. Your heart thundered in your chest so loudly that you knew he could hear it. “I don’t hate him,” you whispered in his back, your nose brushing against the dark fabric of his coat.

You felt him tense. “No,” he croaked. “You just hate me.”

You let out a laboured breath, your chest pressing into his back. “You just make me so angry,” you confessed, glad that he couldn’t see you. “Why can’t you be this nice all the time?”

Clark didn’t respond. Instead, he reached for your hand and brought it across his torso so you were hugging him from the back. “I thought about what you said to me in the conference room,” he said, his voice dropping. “You were right, Perry is soft on me—”

“No,” you started. “Clark I—”

He squeezed your hand tighter. “Let me finish, please. I have prepared a little speech.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, sorry. Go on.”

“You were right,” he repeated, exhaling. “Perry is soft on me, and it’s not fair. I can see that you work harder than anyone, but it’s not recognized. It’s almost like the paper doesn’t feel the need to recognize your or Cat’s accomplishments because they have satisfied their quota with Lois. There is something horribly wrong with how things are set up in our workplace, and it wasn’t correct of me to pretend otherwise. You were correct about me benefiting from it. You know what Perry said when I finally answered his call tonight? Nothing! Just told me to get a hold of Superman and that he’ll see me on Monday. If you had done that, he would have chewed you out for hours.”

You chewed on your lip, unsure of what to say again. You had always wondered about what it would look like when Clark acknowledged things for what they truly were, but in this moment, you were drawing blanks.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” he sighed, rubbing circles on the back of your hand. “I realize now that the way I have been speaking to you has been awful. You were right about that, too. My choices and actions make me who I am— and I haven’t been doing a great job lately. You don’t deserve to be put down by anyone, least of all me. I can’t tell you why I behaved like that, I-I’m not sure anymore. All I know if that I regret it.”

It was nighttime, but you were sure the birds were singing. You wrapped your other arm around him and he turned around to face you in your embrace. Your lips stretched into a grin. “You know what this sounds like, right?”

“Sounds like I’m apologizing for being an ass,” he stated, smiling.

You gasped. “Clark, you just said a bad word!”

“I guess I’m a changed man,” he shrugged, curling your hair behind your ear. “Can this new man suggest calling off the hating game between?”

You pouted. “It’s no fun just playing by myself,” you sighed, leaning into him. “Yeah, we can make our truce permanent.”

“Great,” he grinned, making his dimples shine through. “Can I suggest one more thing?”

“Yeah.”

He lowered his face closer to your own. Your stomach tightened, and goosebumps littered up your arms. The world quieted around you two. “Clark,” you whispered.

His hand slipped to cup the nape of your neck to angle your mouth up to his. Your head was spinning. You thought back to your dream the other night and the way his hands had roamed over your skin.

“I have been thinking about you a lot since the day I spilled coffee down your shirt,” he revealed, grazing his lips against yours.

“That was the first time you saw me,” you recalled.

He had soaked your white blouse dark within minutes of you walking into the Daily Planet. That was where the game had started for you. “Probably,” he let out a shaky breath as you clung onto the sleeves of his coat. “But who’s counting?”

You moved up to his mouth just as a surge in noise from the floor below caught your attention, breaking the charge in the air. You glanced down at Clark’s wrist, hovering above your heaving chest, and read the time on his watch. “They are starting the speeches,” you realized.

You groaned, resting your forehead on his shoulder. “Shit, okay,” you mumbled, looking back up at him. “We should go downstairs.”

He didn’t make any attempts to hide his disappointment. “Monday,” he promised. “We will pick this right back up on Monday.”

.

.

.

When you woke up the next morning, you thought you had imagined the whole encounter.

You had always hoped that you would eventually reach a point of indifference with Clark, but that day never came. As much as you tried to ignore it, something had changed between you two, like an atomic-level shift in the air right before lightning hits.

You just knew the next time you came into work, Jimmy and Lois would immediately pick up on it. Your phone buzzed under your pillow, and you reached for it blindly. Clark had sent you a text message.

Clark Kent Daily Planet: [photo]

You had received a photo of a ragged-looking dog. You tilted your head to the side in confusion; Clark had never mentioned being a pet owner before.

You: You have a dog? Clark Kent Daily Planet: It’s more of a foster situation. His name is Krypto. You: Hi, Krypto!!

You caught yourself grinning. Things were definitely different now. Your phone buzzed again.

Clark Kent Daily Planet: I can’t wait to see you on Monday. You: What’s happening on Monday? Clark Kent Daily Planet: You know precisely what’s going to happen, cherry coke.

He was right. You did know, and you couldn’t be more excited. The tide had definitely changed. Your phone buzzed again.

.

.

.

When Monday came around, you almost skipped into work.

Lois and Jimmy immediately asked you about your interview with Lex Luthor. You described the disastrous events, omitting all encounters involving Clark. “Have you started writing the article?” Lois asked.

You slumped in your chair. “Not yet,” you answered. “I’m not sure if I even want to.”

“What does that mean?” Jimmy inquired, leaning his hip into the corner of your desk.

“Lex was really tough on Superman,” you explained, “and I’m not sure if I want to add on to the dumpster fire he’s dealing with by publishing my article.”

Lois frowned. “You know Perry won’t like that, right? Are you sure you want to do this while he’s looking for someone to promote?”

You sighed. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I was going to talk to him about— has anyone seen Clark?”

“He’s been with Perry for the last hour,” Jimmy said. “He showed up an hour early. Can you believe that?”

You kept your face neutral to hide your approval of him taking the whole ‘changed man’ thing seriously. You stood up. “I’m just gonna’ go talk to them about this.”

You crossed the bullpen to Perry’s office. You held up your hand to knock, but froze at the voices coming through the door. “—you can’t just say that to her,” you heard Clark say.

“I told you a month ago that the position was yours,” Perry replied. “Why should I pretend otherwise?”

Your heart dropped down to your stomach and began thundering. Nausea built up in your throat. He knew. Clark knew that Perry had already given him the role, and he let you bend yourself backwards to try to prove yourself anyway.

“Because she is a good journalist,” Clark stated. “She deserves a chance.”

“I’m not saying she’s not,” he scoffed, “but you interview Superman and she writes about animal shelters seeking donations. I don’t understand your sudden change of heart. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see you both get along, but I’m not running a charity here.”

Tears sprang in your eyes. You felt like a moron for believing that things could ever be good between the two of you. Clark began to speak again, but you knocked on the door. All conversation inside the room immediately ceased.

“Come in,” Perry called out.

You yanked the door open and stepped inside. Perry stood in front of his desk with his arms crossed, with Clark next to him. Your eyes met, and you saw the moment he realized that you had heard everything.

You cleared your throat, blinking the tears away. “I wanted to let you know, sir,” you croaked, not looking at Clark any longer, “that I won’t be writing an article about my interview with Lex Luthor.”

Perry’s arms fell to his side. He started to speak, but you cut him off.

“—and that I quit”

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.

.

You rushed to your desk, wrenching your name tag off your neck.

Fuck this. Fuck everything. Fuck the Daily Planet. Fuck Perry White. Fuck Clark!

Lois eyed you in shock as you threw it on the table and grabbed your work bag, slinging it over your shoulder. Clark was at your heels, calling out your name, as you dashed to the elevator. You called the cart up and quickly stepped inside. You punched the button for the main floor and spun around, rage flooding your veins.

Just as the door was about to slide shut, a hand shot in to stop it. Clark pulled it back and stepped in, wearing a painful expression. You let out a bitter laugh. “You have a lot of nerve, coming after me.”

He moved inside and let the doors close behind him. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he pleaded, eyes blown wide. “You have to believe me.”

“Believe you?” you echoed, scoffing. “I don’t trust a single thing that comes out of your lying mouth.”

He shook his head, stepping close to you. You held up your hands, pausing his stride. Your vision began blurring, and you decided that you weren’t above letting this man see you cry. You didn’t care. There was no need to hide your hurt anymore because this was the last time you’d ever speak to him. “You knew,” you spat. “You knew and you didn’t say a single thing. How could you do that? I would have never deceived you like that. I have never!”

He snatched your wrists, scorching you with his touch. “I wanted to tell you,” he blurted, breath hitching. “I wanted to tell you so bad. I just never found the right time.”

You yanked your arms out of his grip. “Really?” you asked, lips tugging down, “We work together day and night, and you want me to accept that you simply couldn’t find the ‘right time’?”

“No, no, no,” Clark repeated, grabbing onto his hair. “Cherry coke—”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” you yelled, throwing your bag on the floor.

He hit the emergency stop button on the elevator panel, and the cart skidded to a halt. “I won’t take the promotion,” he said, quickly. “Please don’t quit, okay? Just tell me what to do to fix this, and I will do it.”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles,” you hissed. “In fact, I don’t need anything from you. Just leave me alone!”

His eyebrows furrowed. “No,” he spoke softly, “not that. Anything but that.”

You took in a laboured breath, composing yourself. “I heard what Perry said about me, and I’m not going to stay in a place designed to keep me down,” you started. “I just won’t do it. You can have your Daily Planet and relish in the limelight with your exclusive interviews, but I will always remember you as a man who stepped on others to get ahead.”

I will remember you as the man who broke my heart.

He looked like you had slapped him. “T-that’s not who I am,” he stuttered, head dropping down. “I-I’m not a bad man.”

“No,” you frowned, “you are just the guy who does fake interviews of himself to get a promotion.”

His head jerked up, and his jaw fell open. “You knew?”

You scoffed again. “Of course, I did. I’m not an idiot.”

You had figured out months ago that Clark Kent was Superman. It wasn’t hard. Despite what senior management thought, you were a great journalist. You had never said anything because you believed that his work was important; a courtesy that he didn’t think to return to you. That was the main reason behind your decision against publishing Lex Luthor’s comments about the superhero.

It was also what made the whole thing more frustrating. Clark already had his own thing by being the most powerful creature to walk Earth. But that just wasn’t enough for him. He just had to take the one thing you cared about as well.

You could almost see the cogs in his brain turning at your revelation. “Why didn’t you ever . . . ”

“Because, unlike you, I have integrity,” you answered, coldly. “Don’t worry, I still won’t say anything. I also happen to be good at keeping secrets.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but the intercom buzzed. “Everything all right?”

You picked up your bag off the floor and slung it over your shoulder. “Yeah,” you said, clearing your throat. “Just bumped into the button. Mind letting us through?”

The elevator buzzed back to life and began lowering you to the lobby. Clark stood there, frozen in time, as the door pinged open. You moved around him.

“I never want to see you again,” you told him, walking out.

.

.

.

The week following your resignation was quiet.

Lois and Jimmy met you after work every evening. You exchanged office gossip with the events leading up to your departure from the Daily Planet. Lois shared that she and Jimmy had ripped Clark a new one and that he looked like a lost, sad puppy at the office these days. Perry, on the other hand, was distressed because some journalists had threatened to unionize after the recent unfolding of events.

Good, you thought, they both deserve it!

Tonight, you found yourself staying in. You couldn’t keep yourself distracted forever. Sure, you were still healing from a broken heart, but that didn’t mean the world stopped spinning. The shadow of unemployment hung over you, heavy.

You were sitting down on a counter stool in your kitchen, stirring your hot chocolate with one hand and scrolling through LinkedIn with the other, when the reflection in your screen caught your attention. You jerked your head back to see a man in red and blue hovering outside your sixth-floor apartment balcony. “Holy shit!”

Superman offered you a sheepish wave through the glass. He glided over the railing and landed on the balcony with a small thud. “Sorry for scaring you,” Clark said, sliding the door open.

You regretted not locking your balcony doors. There was no need for I before. You didn’t think anyone could climb up that high to break into your home. Obviously, you hadn’t accounted for Superman to be the one making an attempt. “What are you doing here?” you demanded, shooting up to your feet.

“I know you don’t want to see me again,” he replied, moving through your living room, “but I just had to talk to you.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. “Ever notice how you completely ignore other people’s wishes and do what you want anyway?” you asked, scowling.

“Bad habit,” he answered, sitting down on your sofa. “I will work on it. Can we speak?”

You huffed in disbelief. You thought you would never see each other again, but here he was, dressed up in his Superman suit, sitting in your home.

Guess the cat’s out of the bag now, you thought.

“You have five minutes before I call the police,” you told him, taking a seat on the other side.

A coffee table separated you two, but even that felt too close. “Noted,” he said.

He reached into his collar and pulled out a neatly tucked-away yellow paper. “I wrote some notes down,” he explained, unfolding it.

“That’s extremely strange,” you remarked, crossing one leg over the other.

“I don’t want to mess up— have you started timing me already?

You glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. “You have four minutes and thirty five seconds, now thirty-four. . . thirty-three. . .”

“Okay, okay!” he exclaimed, and then turned his attention down to the thin paper in his large hands. “I wanted to start off by apologizing. I was wrong. I should have told you as soon as Perry let me know that he was going to promote me as a senior journalist.”

Your jaw tightened. “Then why didn’t you?” you questioned, taking a sip of your drink.

“Honestly?” he glanced up. “I was afraid. I didn’t want you getting angry with me.”

You blinked, confused. “Since when have you ever cared about making me upset?”

“I have always cared about you, cherry coke,” he stated. “How could you not know that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Clark,” you started, sarcastically, “maybe the message got lost between all the betrayal?”

Clark sighed and looked back down at his notes. “You have to believe me when I say that I wanted to tell you so bad. Every day we worked on that Lex Luthor interview, I came close to telling you the truth,” he read. “But then I saw you passionately you were working, and I just couldn’t. I didn’t want to crush your spirits.”

You wanted to hurl your cup at him. “You are such an idiot,” you frowned. “I would have given it my all regardless of the decision. That’s just the kind of person I am. What hurt me was being deceived and believing that I had a chance to begin with.”

“I know that now,” he admitted sombrely. “I was being a coward.”

“You not saying anything was a thousand times worse,” you continued. “Me hearing your conversation with Perry was a million times worse.”

He nodded. You took a sip to steady yourself. “I handed in my formal resignation, by the way.”

“Was it because of me?” he asked, in a small voice.

“Partially,” you admitted, hiding your face behind the cup.

“I will quit,” he stated, putting the paper down on his lap, “if that’s what it takes to make things better between us.”

“No, you will not,” you replied, sternly. “Don’t misunderstand. Your contribution to my decision was minuscule at best. I don’t want to work at the Daily Planet anymore because of the disrespect. I’m making that choice for myself. You don’t need to lose sleep over it. I will find work somewhere else. You, on the other hand, need a secret identity to help you with all that Superman stuff.

He exhaled deeply and ran his hands over his face. “How did you even figure it out?”

“It wasn’t that difficult, Clark,” you answered, setting the cup down on the table. “You only do field work when Superman is involved, yet no one has ever seen you together. You show up late to work anytime a meta-villain attacks Metropolis. Your dog is literally named Kyrpto. Plus, when you take your glasses off, you look exactly like Superman.”

He peeked at you from between his fingers. “Okay, when you put it like that, I just sound like an idiot.”

You gasp, mortified. “You just said a bad word!”

“Yeah. I seem to be doing many bad things lately,” he whispered to himself. “How come you never said anything?

“I did think about it. Especially on days you really pissed me off. I guess . . . I understood why you had to hide,” you shrugged. “Although it made my head spin at times. You were so kind to strangers, yet so awful to me. I just didn’t get why. For a solid month, I thought you were Superman’s evil twin.”

Clark let out a dry laugh. He looked up at the ceiling, staring at the chandelier bathing you both in yellow. “When you started as an intern at the Daily Planet,” he spoke, eyes growing distant, “you were obsessed with finding out Superman’s identity. Do you remember?

You nodded, twiddling your thumbs above your thighs.

“It freaked me out, really bad,” he confessed, blue eyes growing distant. “You once suggested in a team meeting that Superman may be Texan based on his accent, and I almost had a panic attack. I thought back then that if I was tough on you, I could discourage you from pursuing anything related to him. In hindsight, I understand that it was a dumb idea.”

You recalled the times he would shoot down your ideas about Superman during your time at the Daily Planet. “Are you being serious?”

“That’s the whole reason why I started interviewing myself as Superman to begin with,” he explained. “I believed you would let it go if he started speaking to another journalist, so I made interviews with Superman an exclusively Clark-Kent thing. It worked, and you never brought it up again.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and your back arched off the cushion. “Are you seriously telling me you were being mean to me because you thought I was so good at my job that I would figure out you were Superman?”

“Yeah,” Clark admitted. “And I was right, you did figure it out. I still regret it, immensely.”

You felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water in your face. You had always wondered when the hating game had started for him, but you could never have guessed the truth.

“This past week,” he continued, “I have been reflecting on everything I have done. I am so, so sorry, cherry coke. If I had only known, I wouldn’t have done any of that. I would have been a better friend to you. I would have . . . ”

“Would have what?”

He dipped his head down to finally look at you again. “You know exactly what.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I really don’t. I don’t think anyone truly knows what goes on your head.”

He paused for a moment before speaking. “You have no idea how hard it was for me to put on that act. And now I can’t stop thinking about how awful I was to you. I was trying to protect myself, but I went about it the wrong way and hurt someone I care about. I would do everything differently now.”

You felt your pulse throbbing in your neck. “Different how?” you insisted.

“I would have been honest about my feelings,” Clark answered, a remorseful smile playing on his lips. “I would have spoken to you kindly. I would have brought you coffee every morning. I would have asked you out to dinner months ago. And I would have definitely kissed you on that terrace, cherry coke.”

You squirmed in your seat, cheeks growing farm. “You can’t say things like that.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I wanted to anyway.”

Your mind couldn’t keep up with all the thoughts rushing in; you needed him out of your home.

He likes me. He was awful to me. He likes me. He made me feel so small. He likes me. He needs a reality check. Yes, but he likes me.

You sprang up and began pacing through your living room. “I need time to think,” you told him, marching back and forth.

He made no attempts to move. “Take all the time you need.”

You spun around on your heels to face him on the sofa. “Why would you tell me these things?” you cried, throwing your hands up. “This is b-bad timing . . . I need to focus. I need to be able to work on my job applications. Do you know I am working on six written pieces that ‘highlight my journalistic prowess’ right now?”

“I can help you with that!” Clark beamed at you. “You can submit an interview with Superman.”

You froze mid-step. “Are you being serious?”

“Sure,” he answered, voice getting higher.

You gulped. An interview with Superman would help get help against the gallows of unemployment. You desperately wanted Clark out, but Metropolis was an expensive city to afford. The spike in your home insurance after the Hammer of Boravia’s attack was enough to make you shudder. You grew distraught by the second.

Maybe think next time before you rage quit, you scolded yourself.

You took in a deep breath. “Okay, fine,” you decided against your better judgment. “If you’re sure you want to do this, I’m down.”

Clark grinned. “Let’s do it, cherry coke.”

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.

.

You rummaged through your purse to find your tape recorder; it had remained undisturbed since your encounter with Lex Luthor.

You turned it on and set it on the coffee table, and returned back to your seat. You cleared your throat and began speaking. “It’s August twenty-eight, twenty-twenty-five, eighteen-hundred hours, I’m sitting here with Superman.”

Clark rolled his shoulder back and sat up straighter. “Hello,” he greeted, his voice changing.

“Welcome.”

“Thank you,” he smiled. “I’m pleased to be here.”

You reached to shut the recorder off. “This is weird,” you remarked.

He slumped back down. “I’m not weird-ed out at all. I want you to interview me.”

You ran a hand through your hair, frustration budding inside. “I feel like I’m acting,” you sighed, “pretending like I don’t know who you are.”

“You should sit a little closer,” he suggested, “maybe that will help.”

You rolled your eyes, but moved to sit on the other edge of the coffee table with the recorder in your hand. His thighs spread apart slightly to make room for your legs in between. You made a conscious effort not to stare at them. “Let’s try this again,” you said, turning on the recorder. “So, Superman—”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“— recently it was reported you flew to Boravia’s airspace and threatened President Ghurkos to stop the invasion of the nation of Jarhanpur.”

“Yes,” he replied, head tilting to the side.

“And you did this without speaking to anyone in the national or international defense organizations beforehand,” you stated, leaning forward to stare him in the eyes. “Is that accurate?”

He blinked. “Umm.”

His large fingers pressed the pause button on the recorder in your palm. “I thought this was going to be an overall profile.”

You frowned. “We never discussed that.”

“This just seems a little dark, don’t you think?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“You thought I was going to write a 'puff' piece,” you scoffed, “after everything that’s happened?”

“No, no, no,” Clark said, quickly. “It just felt a little . . . attack-y?”

“Attack-y?

He held his hands up in surrender. “I’m not saying you meant it that way.”

Your scowl deepened. “You think that even the most harmless question from me is dangerous.”

“Harmless?” he echoed, raising a brow. “There’s nothing harmless about you, cherry coke. You just accused me of defying international treaties.”

“Because you did defy them,” you deadpanned.

Clark licked his lip. “I think you should come sit a little closer so I can explain to you how I helped save people’s lives,” he suggested, and pulled you toward him.

You moved to take a seat next to him, but he tugged you onto his lap. You landed sideways over his thighs. “W-What are you doing?” you inquired, shocked at your position.

“Just trying to hear you better,” he answered smoothly.

Painfully aware of the lack of professionalism, you turned the recorder back on with shaky hands. “So Superman,” you began, voice wavering, “we were just speaking about you defying international protocols.

He had the audacity to look surprised. “This is a ‘hit piece’.”

“What?” you exclaimed, attempting to stand up.

Clark held you easily in place by your arms. “You’re doing a hit piece on me,” he remarked.

“I’m not!” you cried out, squirming in his lap. “I’m simply asking questions that anyone would ask.”

“Okay,” he replied, a playful smile playing on his lips. “That’s fine. You can ask me anything you’d like. I’m an open book, baby.”

You turn the recorder back off. “This is on the record, Clark! I don’t want people finding out that Superman and I—”

“Are you doing what exactly?” he interrupted, repositioning you over him. “We haven’t even done anything . . . yet.

You sat on his large thighs, one leg folded on each side. “Are you messing with me right now?” you questioned, chest rapidly falling up and down.

“Not even in the slightest,” he replied, pulling you into him. “I’m just suggesting that you let me kiss you, and then we can get back to the interview. I’m finding it hard to focus on anything other than you right now.”

You blinked. Your head was spinning so fast that you wondered if you were still intoxicated from last night. This was the exact opposite of getting him out of your apartment. At this rate, he would be setting up camp in your living room by the next hour.

“Clark,” you whispered.

He called out your name, eyelids growing heavy. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You tried to ground yourself in the memories of your numerous quarrels, but they were fading once again. “Clark,” you repeated.

His hands trailed up your shorts and rested at the fold where your hips met your thighs. “Cherry coke.”

“This is a bad idea,” you croaked, fingers moving up the fabric of his suit to rest over the red and yellow emblem. “We are enemies. The hating game is back on, remember?”

“Not a chance,” he said, rubbing circles with his thumbs. “It ended for me a long time ago.”

Oh. Oh. You were melting in real time. Your mind was devoid of all thoughts except the burning sensation of his touch. You gulped. “Okay.”

His dimples poked through his cheek as his mouth stretched into a grin. “Okay.”

Your heart drummed loudly as his lips dipped to meet yours. He pressed a chaste kiss on your lips, but that alone was enough to ignite a fire within your bones. Your lips parted almost instinctively. When his tongue licked in your mouth, you lost all self-control.

The kiss grew messier instantaneously, with his saliva mixing with yours. His hands grabbed at the flesh of your butt, making you gasp and arch into his chest. “Yeah,” you heard him say when you both broke for air. “I’m not letting you go.”

His lips trailed down to your neck, peppering kisses down to the hollow of your throat and then back up to your jaw on the other side. This was much better than what you felt in your dream. Your imagination couldn’t even come up with the real thing.

His warmth made your systems go haywire. You moved your hands to his combed-back hair, and you clutched the strands to make your mouths meet again and again.

You didn’t know when, but his fingers had found their way under the hem of your shirt. You jolted at the sensation. He tore his mouth away and leaned back to look at you. “What’s wrong?” he asked, searching your face for any signs of discomfort.

“Feels good,” you whispered, tugging his face closer. “You feel really good.”

You kissed him, and your hips rolled down on their own accord. His hands began to move you over his crotch purposefully, and you were sure your pyjama shorts were soaked by now. You let out a silent prayer that his suit was waterproof as you lifted off his lap. His hands were quick to hold on to your waist. “Where are you going?”

You exhaled, squirming in his grip. “I . . . ”

“Don’t leave, cherry coke,” he pleaded, big eyes blinking.

You looked down at him below you. His hair was dishevelled, and his lips were swollen red with your kisses. The sight made your heart soar. You smiled at him, eyes forming crescents.

Yeah, I’m going to give in to his bullshit.

.

.

.

You both stumbled into your room, lips connected.

Your hands moved across the length of his shoulders and down his chest. Clark’s arms circled your waist to crush you into him. “How do I get this off?” you demanded against his mouth, tugging at the tight collar around his neck.

“There’s a tab,” he spoke between kisses, “under the cape. Pull it down.”

You followed his instructions, and the suit sagged around him enough for it to slump down. He wrenched the material off him and slipped out of it with the ease of someone who had done it many times. You watched him, eyes blown wide, as he stripped down to his boxers. You licked your lips in anticipation; even through the dark fabric, you could make out the sheer size of him.

Clark dropped down to his knees in front of you. He lifted the hem of your shirt, and his lips found your stomach. You held on to his shoulders to balance yourself as he kissed the expanse of your belly. “I need you to know,” he spoke from under your shirt, “that I don’t do casual. I can’t, especially not with you.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I know, Clark.”

He peeked out from under the fabric, bright blue eyes meeting yours. “I’m going to still do the interview even if we don’t do this,” he breathed, deeply. “You can say no, and it won’t change a thing.”

You nodded, enthusiastically, to urge him on. “I get that. I still want to.”

He stood up. “I just don’t want us to just hate-fuck and never see each other again.”

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed, leaning back in surprise. “Don’t cuss, Clark! It’s weirding me out. And stop giving me disclaimers! I am fully aware of what we are getting ourselves into. You have got to trust me when I say that I want this too, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” he grinned, nudging his forehead against yours. “Go sit down.”

You walked backwards with him until your thighs hit the softness of your mattress. You sat down as he knelt before you again. His fingertips slid under the elastic of your shorts and panties, and he slithered them down smoothly. “You have no idea how many times I have dreamt of this,” he told you, earnestly.

He took hold of your knees and spread them apart. The cold air hit your bare cunt, making you shiver. You couldn’t believe that you were sitting pants-less in front of Clark of all people. A tremor ran through your body.

He tugged you forward so that your hips hung off the edge of the bed. “You've got to show me what you like. I wanna’ make you feel so good.”

Your throat went dry. “Mm-hmm.”

You looked away just as his tongue licks a fat strip up from your soaking hole to the clit. Electricity shot up your spine at the sensation, making your legs jerk close. Clark’s grip tightened over your kneecaps to keep you in place. There was no winning against his strength, especially when your thighs were shaking.

He slipped a hand down to your pussy and used his fingers to pull your folds apart. He began following each lick with a kiss. You quickly glanced back at him to see his gaze fixated on you. The sight made you bite the back of your hand to stop yourself from crying out loud. “I want to hear you,” he spoke into your pussy. “Please let me hear you.”

The vibration made you toss your head back into the mattress. He opened his mouth wider and started sucking on your clit. You let out a moan that echoed through your bedroom walls. Your toes curled so hard that you were afraid your foot would begin cramping.

He let go of your clit with a plop and looked up. “Good?” he asked, mouth glistening.

You nodded frantically.

He dove back in. He stiffened the tip of his tongue to circle your clit. Your hand shot out to grab his dark curls. You didn’t know if you wanted to push his face further into your cunt or move his mouth away from you entirely. You felt him grin into you as you made your decision and turned his head toward the spot that made you melt.

He obliged, concentrating on the side of your clit that made you squirm. The shyness from your end disappeared soon after as Clark started to messily make out with your pussy. The slurping sounds were obscene enough to make your back arch up. You cried out in pleasure. Your hips seemed to have a mind of their own with the way they gyrated up to meet his mouth again and again and again.

Clark broke away from you, panting. “I need to stretch you out,” he stated, shaking himself. “Can I, cherry coke?”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak just yet. “Mm-hmm.”

He moved his thick middle finger down to your hole. Slowly, he pushed through the initial resistance until he was down to his knuckles. You seized at the intrusion, and he pressed his free arm over your stomach to pin you down. “Tell me what feels good,” he exhaled, determination shining in his eyes. “Show me where.”

Your cunt clamped down on him every time he moved his digit in and out. “Here?” he inquired, curling it up.

You brought your palms up to cover your face. His fingers found the spongy bit inside that you were never able to reach before. “You gotta’ talk to me, cherry coke. I like the sound of your voice. Right here?”

You gave in, heart thundering beneath your ribs. “Right there! Right fucking there!”

His fingers dug into the flesh of your stomach as pressure built up in your spine. “Remember when you gave me back my coat?” he asked, rubbing against the spot.

“Yeah,” you answered through your fingers.

“It smelled like that jasmine perfume you always wear,” he reminisced, picking up pace. “It got me so hard. I jerked off to it every night until the smell faded— had to retire it from my wardrobe entirely. Did you know that jasmine is my favourite flower?”

The visual of him tugging at his cock with his nose buried in the coat made a sob tear out from your throat. “Fuck!”

“Yeah,” he whispered, eyes dazed. “I’m going to, don’t worry. Just have to make some space first.”

His mouth came down on you again as his fingers pumped in and out. Every time he pulled away, his mouth would suck around your clit. “More, please!” you cried out, grabbing his locks tightly again. “I need more!”

Without any delay, he slid his index finger inside of you while still licking away. You felt so full with his fingers alone, you couldn’t imagine what his cock inside of you would feel like. Tremors ran through your body as your pleasure rapidly reached a crescendo. Your eyes rolled back as your orgasm tore through you. Ecstasy rolled through you in waves, making your limbs tight in one moment and then relaxed in the next.

You laid on your bed, staring at the ceiling as you panted. Your ears were ringing. Clark moved up into your line of vision, eyebrows furrowed. You spoke, but he had a hard time hearing you. He brought his ear closer to you, and you whispered, “I think you killed me.”

His glossy lips stretched into a smile. “Was I that good?”

“So good that I can’t feel my legs,” you replied. “Didn’t think you could do that, Kent.”

He pecked your lips. “Still want me around?”

You sighed, heart hurting at his persistent concern. “I’m not angry with you anymore, Clark,” you shared, brushing back his curls. “We’ll talk about everything after we’re done.”

“Done?” he echoed, leaning into your touch.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I still have to suck you off. You still have to fuck me silly.”

.

.

.

He froze, jaw falling open. You push him off you, so he is standing. You manoeuvred onto your knees; your legs still feeling too jelly to stand on your own. “You don’t have,” he gulped as you tugged his boxers down.

You nuzzled your nose into his crotch. “I wanna’ make you feel good too. Please let me?”

“Gosh, when you speak l-like that,” he sighed, broad shoulders dropping down, “I can’t think. A-All right.”

Your fingers hooked into the elastic of his boxers and pulled them down. His hands twitched at his sides, unsure whether to reach out to touch you or not. His huge cock slapped against his bare belly. “Whoa.”

You wished you had thought more about Clark’s penis before. If you had, you could have practised to fit it into your mouth. To say he was huge would be an understatement. His cock was thick at the base, too broad to fully wrap your small hand around, and adorned with a bulbous head only a little thinner. It truly was the perfect shade of reddish pink. Your mouth watered at the challenge.

“I wasn’t kidding about stretching you out,” Clark frowned with concern. “I don’t want to hurt you. L-Let me make you cum once more.”

You shook your head, adjusting your weight on your knees. “I’ll cum around your cock later, don’t worry.”

His eyes widened at your words. Before his mind could conjure any other thing that could possibly go wrong, you began peppering kisses along the shaft.

Clark shook at the contact, making you smile. You took as much of him as your hand could hold and slowly pumped him. His hands shot to grab your shoulders to distance himself from you, but you tightened your fingers around him in disapproval. “You can take it.”

You swiped your thumb along the head. His cock grew bigger in your grip. He swallowed and reached to push up the glasses he wasn’t wearing. “Please,” he whispered, licking his lips.

You gather the wetness pooling at his tip and smear it along the length. “You’re gonna’ make my jaw hurt, Clark,” you mused, looking up at him through your lashes.

He groaned. You lowered your head to his cock and slipped it into your warm mouth. You licked a long stripe from his perineum to the head. His body jolted, and his eyes fluttered shut at the sensation. “Watch me,” you said, holding him in your mouth.

He glanced at you in time to see your cheeks constrict around him. His hands slipped in your hair as his head fell back. You bobbed your head up and down, eyeing his prominent Adam’s apple from below. He tasted a little salty, mixed with something otherworldly you couldn’t quite discern.

You hummed in content. A thin sheet of sweat had formed over his body; he was truly a sight to behold. You pooled spit in your mouth and placed a palm flat against his taught stomach to help you pick up speed. His fingers grabbed onto your strands tighter. Your free hand clenched his left thigh as you worked him deeper into you. “Don’t ch-choke,” he grunted, eyes glistening.

I want to.

Much to your dismay, he was still holding back. If your mouth wasn’t stuffed full of him, you would have frowned. Instead, you move your hands to cup his ass to guide him in and out in between your lips. You wanted him to show you a glimpse of the strength you knew he possessed. You needed him to hold you in place and fuck your mouth.

A moan escaped him. He rocked his hips once, twice, thrice, and then pulled you away by your hair. “No,” you cried out in protest, “I wanted you to cum on my face!”

He exhaled harshly and crushed your lips against him in a messy kiss. You clung to him as he moved you back, climbing onto the mattress himself. He peeled off your shirt and then your bra from your torso as his tongue swept through your mouth. Once, you were just as bare as he; he gently shoved you down, making your head bounce on a gathering of soft pillows.

He hovered over you, panting wildly. You knew in that moment that the only place he would be cumming was inside of your pussy.

.

.

.

The air around you grew hotter as Clark climbed in between your legs.

He bent down to press his forehead against yours. “I have always wanted to feel something like this,” he exhaled, pupils blown wide.

You felt your heart double in size under your ribs at his words. You circled your arms around his neck. “Me too, Clark.”

“With you,” he clarified. “I have only ever wanted this with you. You make my head spin, cherry coke.”

Your eyes glistened as well. You cupped his cheeks and kissed him. Above, a light bulb shatters, bathing you both in darkness. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “My bad. This happens when I get too . . . excited.”

You giggled, running a hand through his curls. He trailed a hand down your neck and to your chest. He captured a nipple in between his fingers and gave it a tug. You hissed at the sensation. He lowered his head and wrapped his lips around it. Your spine tightened, and you arched up to him as he sucked at it.

Your toes curled. “Fuck,” you groan, squirming.

He let go of your swollen nipple with a pop and moved to the other. “I like it when you swear,” he smiled around your nub, dimples shining through. “It’s very punk rock.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again. His words cut through the tension. You felt at ease with him, like you two had done this many times before.

He reached down to grab his cock, and you spread your legs wider to make space for him. His leaking tip prodded at your centre. “I’ll go slow,” Clark promised, sincerely. “You’ll tell me if it hurts?”

You pushed yourself up on your elbows to observe and nod. You watch, breaths quickening, as his leaky head pressed firmly at your opening. He met a little resistance and glanced up to search your face for any signs of discomfort. When he didn’t find any, he inched in further. You collapsed back into the pillows as he slowly stretched you open on his dick.

He filled you to the brim soon after, almost like he was always supposed to be in there. He paused, buried inside of you to the hilt. You felt the mattress dip around your head, and his head pops into your line of vision. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you responded, meekly.

“Feeling good?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed.

The pressure inside you felt so tight that you couldn’t flex around him even if you wanted to. Your eyes grew wet as you tried to decipher if the feeling of him stretching you wide was too much or just right. “You’re huge, Clark,” you gasped, hands limp at your side. “Feels like you’re still in my throat.”

His cheeks redden at your words. “If you say things like that,” he bit his lower lip, “I won’t last long.”

You bit back your own smile. “I don’t want you to,” you confessed, holding his gaze. “I want you to fuck me into the mattress and then cum inside.”

He groaned in defeat and dropped his head into the crook of your neck. You jerked as his hips shifted, feeding his cock into you. “Shit!”

Clark moved again, and your arms flew to hold onto his shoulders. You hung on to him as he tentatively began to rock into you, getting you comfortable with his size. Your soft groans echoed through the room in sync with his rolls.

You moved your legs over his to tangle your limbs just as he snapped his hips forward, impaling you on the mattress. You cried out his name, nails digging crescents into his pale skin. His lips suck the spot on your throat that made you shiver. “I have wanted this for so long,” he gasped in your hair. “I can’t believe I’m finally inside you.”

Your eyes clenched shut, letting the tears drip down your cheek. “Every time we argued,” he continued, voice muffled, “every time you called me out, all I could think about was bending you over my desk and pulling your skirt down. Did you know that? Did you know that I was dying to be inside you?”

Your cheeks were scorching. Your heart battered in your chest hearing him speak like that. “Clark!”

He cupped the back of your knee and folded you like a straw at the hips. The sounds of your skin slapping together grow louder as he finds a new rhythm that makes you clench around him. “Tell me you needed this,” he demanded, leaning back to meet your eyes. “Needed this as much as I did?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, weekly shoving his chest. “Yes! Yes!”

“You just needed me to fill you up like this,” he continued, pounding you into the mattress. “I can do that. I can keep you full forever. No more fighting, okay, cherry coke? We can talk things out just like this.”

At this moment, Clark could ask you for anything, and you would agree to it. You’re lost in the feeling of his weight pressing down on you. You simply nodded, enthusiastically.

He leaned back on his knees, and you cried out at the loss. He grabbed your waist in his large hands to lift you up and began pulling you into his cock. Your belly grew warm. You squinted in the dark to see him staring at the bulge moving in your stomach.

You realized he was using his X-ray vision on you. “Gosh,” he gasped, sweat beading on his forehead. “I can see myself inside you.”

He adjusted himself, finding the spongy bit inside once again. “Right there,” he spoke to himself. “Gonna’ get you right there, baby.”

You groaned, legs wringing. He glanced back up at you. “You look so beautiful like this. If I had known, I would have done this sooner. I wanna’ watch you forever.”

Your back arced at a painful angle, but you pushed through the ache. Clark’s rambling was hurling you into the light, and you were so close. “Squeezing me so tight,” he grunted, driving into you harder. “We were made to be together.”

You took hold of the inky curls at the base of his neck. “Don’t stop! Do not stop!”

His lips stretched into a grin. If someone had told you a month ago that Clark Kent would be buried so deep in your pussy that you’d be feeling him in your throat, you would have laughed in their face. But there he was, inching you closer to bliss by the second.

His thumb found your clit and began rutting into you. “Clark,” you wheezed as he rubbed it. “I’m—”

Your vision went white. Your pussy clenched around him as waves of pleasure erupted from the base of your spine and out to your extremities. You cried out, shaking underneath him. Your vision blurred as the orgasm wiped your head clean.

Clark didn’t stop, cock still working into you. Your pussy grew sensitive when his rhythm grew sloppier. Groans began pouring from Clark’s mouth as he gathered you into his arms to thrust into you quick and shallow. Your stomach tightened at the sight of him losing himself inside you. You wished to engrave the image of his heavy-lidded eyes and slack jaw into your mind forever.

He let out a groan, heavy balls tightening against your ass, and flooded your cunt. He rocked into gently, riding out his orgasm. You felt impossible full as his cum leaked out of your pussy and dripped down the crevice between your cheeks.

Clark didn’t pull out. He cupped the back of your head and kissed you. You melted into his mouth, limbs still tingling. He manoeuvred you around so that he laid flat on the mattress with you on top of him.

His hands smoothed down your spine, and his lips pressed on top of your shoulders. “Are you okay?” he asked, breathless.

Your cunt pulsing around him as aftershocks of your orgasm worked their way through you made you groan. You nodded against his chest, breathing laboured.

“Please look at me,” he said, hooking a finger under your chin to lift your face up to him. “Did I hurt you, cherry coke?”

This was beyond anything you could have ever conceived. You couldn’t recall any discomfort you didn’t welcome wholeheartedly. “No,” you croaked, blinking at him. “You just made my brain all jelly.”

His lips stretched into a smile. He playfully nuzzled you, arms tugging you closer. You both settled in together, wrapped in each other's embrace, basking in the aftermath.

“Does this mean we are dating?” Clark asked in a small voice, breaking the silence.

You laughed into his torso. Only Clark Kent could be intelligent enough to keep up a secret identity, yet still be clueless when it came to romance. “Yeah,” you reassured him. “We are, Superman.”

You both stayed like that, joined together at the hip, until sleep took over. When you stirred up hours later, daylight was breaking over the horizon through your bedroom window. Clark’s eyes were closed, but his thumbs were rubbing circles on your back. He was just as hard as you last remembered.

You had just finished swimming, and your so-called friends had ditched you without a word. Annoyed but too tired to care, you grabbed your towel and spare clothes, heading straight for the showers.

You glanced at the signs on the two stalls. Both looked like female symbols. Without thinking twice, you pushed open the door and stepped inside. The nameplate on the front had slipped off earlier, revealing the truth this was the men’s bathroom.

It was quiet and empty. You chose the last stall, pulled the curtain shut, and quickly peeled off your wet pink sporty swimwear. The cool air brushed against your bare skin as you set the swimsuit aside. Completely naked now, you turned on the shower, letting the warm water cascade over your body. You ran your fingers through your wet hair, rinsing off the chlorine, when you suddenly realized you had forgotten your soap and shampoo.

Just then, you heard footsteps. Someone had entered the bathroom.

Luckily, you spotted a bottle of school-provided soap and shampoo on the small shelf inside the stall. You turned off the shower, wrapped one arm loosely across your chest, and peeked out from behind the curtain — just enough to show your wet hair and bare shoulders.

“Excuse me, can you please—”

Your voice died in your throat.

It wasn’t a girl.

A tall guy stood there, frozen mid-step, eyes wide as he stared at you. His mouth parted slightly, clearly trying to process the situation. Before either of you could react, the main door creaked open again — more voices echoing as a group of guys walked in.

In a flash, he moved. He rushed forward, slipped into your stall, and pulled the curtain closed behind him. You stumbled back in shock as he gently but firmly pushed you deeper into the stall, his hand landing on your bare waist.

Your eyes widened in recognition.

It was Sunoo — the handsome senior from the engineering department.

He was still fully dry in his casual clothes, standing inches away from your completely naked, dripping body. His warm palm remained pressed against the curve of your waist, steadying you… or maybe steadying himself. His breath was shallow, his dark eyes locked onto yours in stunned silence as the voices of his friends grew louder just outside the thin curtain.

You wanted to argue so badly — to push him away and hiss at him for barging in — but the voices of his friends right outside the thin curtain made you freeze. Any sound could give you both away. So you stayed quiet, heart hammering in your chest, cheeks burning with embarrassment and shock.

Sunoo’s eyes flicked toward the curtain for a split second, then back to you. Without a word, he slid closer, his body pressing lightly against yours as he reached for the shower knob. His clothes brushed against your wet, naked skin, sending a shiver down your spine. He turned the water on, letting the spray hit the wall first before adjusting it so it would sound like someone was actively showering.

The sound of running water filled the stall, masking your quick, shallow breaths.

His friends’ voices echoed loudly now, laughing and talking about practice, completely unaware. One of them even tried the stall next to yours before moving on.

Sunoo kept one hand firmly on your waist, steadying you under the warm spray. Water began soaking into his shirt, making the fabric cling to his chest. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body, his breath brushing against your wet hair. His dark eyes met yours again, a mix of apology and panic in them.

He leaned in slightly, lips barely an inch from your ear so only you could hear.

“…Sorry,” he whispered, voice low and slightly hoarse. “Just… stay quiet for a minute. They’ll leave soon.”

His fingers unconsciously tightened on your bare waist as another burst of laughter came from outside. The water continued to cascade over both of you now, drenching him completely while you stood there, heart racing, trapped between the cold tiles and his tall frame.

You were still completely naked.

He was fully clothed — but getting wetter by the second.

And neither of you could move without risking everything.

You hated it.

You hated how his low, husky whisper sent a warm shiver straight through your body. The way his breath brushed your ear made your stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear. Fuck, you thought, cheeks burning hotter than the shower water. You just nodded quickly, not trusting your voice.

You couldn’t even look at him directly. Every time your eyes tried to meet his, your heart stuttered. Instead, you kept your gaze lowered, staring at the wet fabric clinging to his chest. But curiosity won for a split second — you glanced up.

Fuck… he’s handsome.

Even soaked, Sunoo looked unfairly good. Wet strands of hair stuck to his forehead, water sliding down his sharp jawline. His usual calm, composed senior vibe was cracking under the situation, replaced by flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips. His dark eyes were locked on your face, careful not to let his gaze drift lower, though you could tell he was fighting it.

He noticed your quick glance. For a moment, something shifted in his expression — a flicker of heat mixed with panic.

The voices outside grew louder as his friends joked around, one of them yelling something about waiting for Sunoo. The running water was the only thing keeping your secret safe.

Sunoo’s hand was still on your bare waist, his fingers now lightly pressing into your slick skin as if he didn’t realize he was still holding you. The thin curtain and the sound of the shower were the only barriers between you and total humiliation.

You swallowed hard, painfully aware of how close his body was to yours. Every small movement made his wet clothes brush against your breasts and stomach. The heat between you two was getting harder to ignore.

He leaned in again, voice even lower this time, almost a breath

“…You okay?”

His eyes finally dropped for half a second — just long enough to take in the sight of your naked, dripping body pressed against him — before snapping back up to your face. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

You nodded again, biting your lip.

Neither of you dared to speak after that. The only sounds were the shower running and the heavy beat of your hearts.

You felt like you were losing your mind.

A deep, aching heat had settled low in your stomach, pulsing uncomfortably between your legs. It wasn’t just nervousness anymore. The way Sunoo’s wet body was pressed against yours, his fingers still gripping your bare waist, the sound of his breathing so close to your ear — it was making everything worse. Your thighs pressed together instinctively, but that only made the throbbing sharper.

Shit… not now. Not here.

You hated how your body was betraying you. The warmth spreading through your core, the way your nipples had hardened against his soaked shirt… damn it. You wanted to squirm, to clench your legs tighter, to do something to ease the building pressure, but you couldn’t. Any movement, any sound, and his friends right outside the curtain would hear.

Sunoo was still watching you, his dark eyes searching your face. He must have noticed the way your breathing had changed — quicker, shallower. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, almost like a silent question.

You shook your head very lightly, biting down hard on your lower lip. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even shift your weight without the water splashing differently. All you could do was stand there, completely naked and dripping, while unwanted heat kept pooling between your thighs.

Sunoo leaned in closer again, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, barely audible over the running shower

“…Breathe. I’ve got you.”

His voice was lower than before, a little rougher. You didn’t miss how his thumb unconsciously stroked your wet skin, slow and soothing. The front of his soaked pants was now pressed lightly against your hip, and you could feel he was getting hard too.

That realization only made the ache between your legs intensify.

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to fight the wave of heat crashing over you. Your friends had ditched you. You were stuck in the wrong bathroom. And now the unfairly handsome senior engineering student was trapping you against the wall, both of you soaked, while his friends laughed and chatted just a few feet away.

And all you could think about was how badly you needed relief.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The throbbing between your legs had grown unbearable. Every tiny shift of your body made it worse, and Sunoo’s warm, wet frame pressed so close only intensified the ache. Your heart was racing, your breathing shaky. You had to say something before you lost control.

With the shower still running loudly, you leaned in just enough so your lips nearly touched his ear. Your voice came out as a trembling, barely audible whisper

“…Sunoo… I-I can’t… it feels too much down there.”

The words left your mouth and you immediately regretted how needy they sounded. Your face burned with shame, but the confession was out. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, too embarrassed to look at him.

Sunoo froze against you.

His hand on your waist tightened, fingers digging into your slick skin as he processed what you’d just whispered. You felt his chest rise sharply against yours, his breath hitching. The front of his soaked pants twitched noticeably against your hip — he was definitely harder now.

He pulled back just enough to look at your face, his dark eyes wide with shock and something much hotter. Water streamed down his flushed cheeks as he stared at you, lips parted.

For a few long seconds, he didn’t speak. Then he leaned back in, his wet hair brushing your forehead, and whispered so quietly you barely heard him over the water

“…Fuck. You’re serious?”

His voice was hoarse, strained. His free hand came up to rest on the tile beside your head, caging you in as his body pressed a little closer despite himself. The new angle made his clothed thigh accidentally brush right between your legs, right against your aching core.

You had to bite your lip hard to stop any sound from escaping.

Sunoo’s eyes darkened. He looked like he was fighting every instinct he had.

“Tell me what you need,” he breathed against your ear, voice shaky but gentle. “Quickly… before they hear us.”

His friends were still chatting and laughing outside, completely oblivious, but the tension inside the stall had just skyrocketed.

You wanted to speak so badly.

You wanted to tell him exactly how badly your body was aching, how the throbbing between your legs was driving you crazy, how his thigh pressing against you was making it ten times worse. But fear sealed your throat. Any sound louder than a breath could alert his friends just outside the curtain. So you stayed silent, trembling, eyes glassy with desperation.

Sunoo studied your face for a heartbeat, reading the unspoken plea in your expression. His jaw clenched. Then he gave a tiny nod, understanding.

Without another word, he slowly slid his hand from your waist, down over your hip, and between your thighs. His touch was careful, almost hesitant at first. Two fingers gently parted your folds, finding you slick and swollen with arousal. The moment he brushed against your clit, your knees buckled. You grabbed onto his soaked shirt with both hands, burying your face against his chest to muffle any sound.

He started moving — slow, quiet circles against your most sensitive spot. The warm shower water mixed with your own wetness, making every glide smooth and torturously teasing. His fingers were skilled, pressing just enough to give you relief without making noise.

You bit hard into his shoulder through his wet shirt, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure spiked through you. A tiny, broken whimper almost escaped, but Sunoo quickly pressed his lips to your ear.

“Shhh…” he breathed, barely audible. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

His other arm wrapped around your back, holding you steady against him while his fingers continued their secret work — rubbing faster now, then slowing down when your breathing grew too ragged. Every stroke sent sparks up your spine. You were soaking his hand, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

The voices of his friends outside rose and fell, laughing about something stupid. The risk only made everything feel more intense.

Sunoo’s own breathing was uneven, his hardness pressing insistently against your hip through his soaked pants. He was clearly affected too, but he stayed focused on you, curling his fingers lower to tease your entrance before returning to your swollen clit with perfect pressure.

You wanted to moan his name. You wanted to beg him to go faster. Instead, all you could do was pant softly against his neck and roll your hips desperately into his hand, chasing the building pleasure in complete silence.

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your temple — almost sweet despite the filthy situation — and whispered hotly against your skin

“That’s it… cum for me. Quietly.”

Your body tensed hard as the pleasure finally crashed over you. You buried your teeth into Sunoo’s shoulder through his soaked shirt, biting down to stop yourself from crying out. A powerful orgasm ripped through you, making your thighs shake violently and your walls clench around nothing. You came hard on his fingers, hips jerking against his hand while the shower water continued to rain down on both of you.

Sunoo’s breath hitched sharply. Feeling you come undone, feeling how wet and tight you were, finally made him lose control.

He pulled his hand away from between your legs, breathing heavily. For a moment, he just stared at you — eyes dark with lust, hair dripping, lips parted. Then he slowly looked into your eyes, his gaze asking the silent question.

is it okay

You nodded quickly, desperately, still trembling from your orgasm.

That was all the permission he needed.

Sunoo stepped back just enough to peel off his wet clothes. His shirt hit the floor with a heavy splash, followed by his pants and boxers. In seconds, he was completely naked, his hard cock springing free, flushed and leaking at the tip. He kicked the soaked pile of clothes to the corner of the stall.

You leaned back against the cool tiled wall for support, chest heaving. Sunoo moved in again, tall frame pressing close. He hooked one of your legs over his hip, adjusting his position carefully. The head of his cock nudged against your slick entrance, sliding up and down your folds teasingly.

Just as he pushed forward — the thick tip stretching you open — your mouth fell open in a silent moan. Before any sound could escape, Sunoo’s large hand clamped firmly over your mouth, muffling you completely.

“Shhh…” he whispered hotly against your ear, voice strained with lust.

He sank deeper inside you in one slow, steady thrust, burying himself to the hilt. His eyes rolled back for a second at how tightly you wrapped around him. He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, forehead pressed against yours as both of you struggled to stay quiet.

Outside the curtain, his friends were still talking and laughing, completely unaware that Sunoo was balls-deep inside you just a few feet away.

His hand stayed pressed over your mouth as he slowly rolled his hips, starting to fuck you against the wall — deep, careful strokes that made your eyes water with pleasure.

Sunoo’s thrusts grew faster, deeper, and much riskier.

He was fucking you harder now, the wet sound of skin slapping skin starting to mix with the shower spray. Every stroke pushed you up against the tiled wall, your breasts bouncing with the force. The risk of getting caught only seemed to make him more desperate.

He suddenly pulled his hand away from your mouth. Before you could even gasp, he cupped the back of your head and crashed his lips against yours in a hungry, messy kiss.

You moaned into his mouth — soft and needy — and he swallowed every sound. His tongue pushed past your lips, tasting you deeply as he fucked you faster. The kiss was wet, sloppy, and intense, muffling your whimpers while his hips snapped against yours.

“Fuck… you feel so good,” he breathed against your lips between kisses, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

He angled his hips and drove into you even harder, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. The stall shook slightly. Water splashed everywhere. The wet sounds were getting louder.

Outside, his friends were still there. One of them laughed loudly and said, “Yo, where the hell is Sunoo? He’s taking forever.”

The voice was so close it made your pussy clench hard around him in panic and arousal. Sunoo groaned quietly into your mouth, his grip on your thigh tightening as he pounded into you faster, chasing his own pleasure now.

He broke the kiss for a second, pressing his forehead to yours, both of you panting heavily.

“You’re gonna make me cum…” he whispered hotly, eyes half-lidded with lust. His cock throbbed inside you, thick and relentless.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, biting your lower lip as his pace turned almost frantic — risky, noisy, and completely addicted to the feeling of your tight heat around him.

Your second orgasm was already building fast, dangerously close, while his friends lingered just outside the curtain, still chatting and waiting for him.

Sunoo suddenly pulled out of you, making you whimper at the loss. In one swift, strong movement, he gripped the back of your thighs and lifted both your legs off the ground, wrapping them around his waist. Your back pressed harder against the cold tiles as he held you up effortlessly, your body completely suspended between him and the wall.

His cock nudged your entrance again before slamming back inside you in a single deep thrust. The new angle was devastating — he reached even deeper, hitting spots that made your eyes roll back.

“Fuck—” you choked out against his lips.

He kissed you again, hard and desperate, swallowing your moans as he started fucking you with reckless intensity. The position allowed him to drive into you faster and harder. Wet, filthy sounds of his hips slapping against your ass echoed inside the stall, barely covered by the shower.

Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, nails digging into his shoulders as he bounced you on his cock.

The pleasure built dangerously fast. Your second orgasm hit you like a wave.

You came hard around him, pussy clenching and pulsing, thighs shaking violently in his grip. A broken, high-pitched moan escaped into his mouth. Sunoo groaned deeply, kissing you even more messily to silence you as your walls fluttered and squeezed him.

The feeling of you cumming pushed him over the edge.

“Shit… I’m cumming—” he gasped against your lips.

With a few final, brutal thrusts, Sunoo buried himself as deep as possible and came inside you. Thick, hot spurts of his cum flooded your pussy, filling you up while he held you tightly against the wall. His hips jerked, grinding into you as he rode out his orgasm, groaning quietly into your neck.

Both of you stayed locked together, panting heavily, bodies trembling. His cock was still buried deep inside you, twitching with the last drops of his release. Cum was already starting to leak out around him, mixing with the shower water running down your thighs.

Outside the curtain, one of his friends shouted, “Sunoo-ya! Hurry up, man! We’re waiting!”

Sunoo froze, still holding you up with both legs wrapped around him, his cum dripping out of your used pussy. He looked at you with wide, hazy eyes — a mix of satisfaction, panic, and lingering lust.

He pressed a soft, breathless kiss to your lips and whispered against them

“…We’re so fucked.”

Sunoo’s chest was still heaving, his cock buried deep inside you as he tried to steady his breathing. Even through the aftershocks of his orgasm, he managed to lift his head and shout toward the curtain in a surprisingly steady voice

“I’ll catch up! Just go ahead without me!”

His friends groaned and teased him for a second, but they sounded convinced.

“Alright, don’t take too long, dude!”

Their voices faded as they laughed and talked about random things — practice, food, some upcoming exam — until the bathroom door finally clicked shut behind them.

Silence.

You were finally alone.

“Fuck…” you breathed out, voice hoarse and shaky now that you could actually speak.

Sunoo pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes still dark with lust. A slow, dangerous smirk tugged at his lips. He was still holding both of your legs wrapped around his waist, his cock still hard and twitching inside your cum-filled pussy.

“Yeah… fuck is right,” he whispered, voice low and rough.

Without warning, he started moving again — slow and deep at first, pushing his cum even deeper into you with every thrust. The sound was wetter now, obscene squelching noises filling the stall as his load leaked out around his cock.

But being completely alone changed everything.

Sunoo’s pace quickly picked up. He fucked you harder, slamming into you with long, powerful strokes. Your back slid against the wet tiles as he railed you, the wet slapping sounds echoing freely in the empty bathroom.

“Again,” he growled against your neck, biting down gently. “I want you to cum again.”

He adjusted his grip, spreading your legs wider as he drove into you relentlessly. The new freedom made him bolder — louder. His moans mixed with yours, no longer needing to stay quiet.

You could barely think straight. His cock kept hitting that perfect spot, and the feeling of his warm cum being fucked in and out of you was driving you crazy.

Sunoo pulled out of you with a wet sound, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness.

“New position,” he said huskily.

He sat down on the small built-in bench inside the stall, water still cascading over both of you. Then he pulled you onto his lap, facing him — your knees straddling his thighs in a seated cowgirl position. The moment you lowered yourself, his cock slid back inside your cum-filled pussy in one smooth glide.

“Ride me,” he groaned, hands gripping your ass tightly.

You braced your hands on his shoulders and started moving, rolling your hips and bouncing on his cock. The new angle made him feel even deeper. Sunoo leaned back against the wall, eyes locked on your bouncing breasts as you rode him harder, the wet sounds echoing shamelessly now that you were alone.

“Fuck, you look so good like this…” he muttered, thrusting up to meet your movements.

After a few intense minutes, he suddenly lifted you off him. Before you could protest, he dropped to his knees on the wet floor in front of you, pushed your back against the wall, and threw one of your legs over his shoulder.

His mouth was on you instantly.

Sunoo licked a long, hungry stripe up your pussy, tasting both your juices and his own cum. He moaned against your folds, the vibration shooting pleasure through you. He ate you like a man starved — sucking on your swollen clit, fucking you with his tongue, and licking up every drop of his cum that leaked out of you.

“Ah— Sunoo!” you moaned freely, fingers threading through his wet hair, pulling him closer.

He looked up at you with dark, lust-filled eyes while his tongue worked relentlessly. Two fingers joined his mouth, curling inside you as he sucked hard on your clit. Your legs started shaking again within seconds.

You came hard on his tongue, thighs clamping around his head as you cried out. Sunoo didn’t stop — he kept licking you through your orgasm until you were pushing at his head from oversensitivity.

When he finally stood up, his cock was rock hard again, flushed dark and throbbing. He leaned against the wall, breathing heavily, water running down his toned body.

Your turn.

You dropped to your knees without hesitation, the shower water spraying over your back. You wrapped your hand around his thick cock and took him into your mouth in one go.

“Shit—!” Sunoo hissed, head falling back against the tiles.

You sucked him eagerly, bobbing your head, swirling your tongue around the tip, and taking him as deep as you could. The taste of your mixed juices coated your tongue. Sunoo’s hand gently held the back of your head, guiding you but not forcing, soft groans and curses spilling from his lips every time you hollowed your cheeks.

“You’re too good at this…” he panted, hips twitching. “Keep going, baby.”

After a few more minutes of you sucking him eagerly, Sunoo’s breathing turned ragged. His hand tightened gently in your wet hair.

“I’m close—” he warned, voice strained.

You looked up at him and took him deeper, sucking harder. With a low, broken groan, Sunoo came hard in your mouth. Thick ropes of his cum spilled onto your tongue as his cock pulsed between your lips. You swallowed every drop, milking him until he was trembling and gently pulling you off.

“Fuck… you’re incredible,” he whispered, helping you stand up.

You both finally took the chance to clean up properly. Sunoo grabbed the school-provided soap and shampoo. Under the warm spray, you washed each other — his hands gentle but lingering as he soaped your breasts, back, and between your legs. You returned the favor, running your hands over his toned chest and abs, smiling shyly when his cock twitched again at your touch.

After rinsing off, you both stepped out of the stall. Sunoo quickly went to his locker near the sink and grabbed the spare clothes he had left there earlier. He lent you his clean oversized hoodie while you changed back into your extra clothes. You dried your hair with a towel and brushed it in front of the mirror.

“I’m Y/N,” you said softly, glancing at him through the reflection. “Second year, Architecture.”

Sunoo smiled — a bright, charming smile that made your heart skip. He was drying his hair roughly with another towel.

“I’m Sunoo. Engineering senior,” he replied, still smiling. “Nice to officially meet you, Y/N.” He paused, then added with a playful glint in his eyes, “Wanna grab coffee? My treat.”

You couldn’t help but smile back. “I’d like that.”

You both walked out of the swimming complex side by side, the tension from earlier slowly turning into a warm, fluttering feeling.

Just as you reached the courtyard, two familiar voices called out.

“Y/N! There you are! We were looking for—”

Samantha and Yukuzi stopped mid-sentence. Their eyes widened when they saw who you were walking with.

Kim Sunoo.

They both looked completely starstruck, mouths slightly open.

“Uh… we wanted to—” Samantha started, still staring at Sunoo.

“Maybe later,” you said calmly, cutting them off with a small wave. “I’m kind of busy right now.”

Without waiting for their reply, you continued walking with Sunoo. He glanced down at you, amused, and quietly slipped his hand into yours.

You stand near the center of the living room, red solo cup dangling from your fingers, wearing a black crop top that barely qualifies as a shirt and a skirt short enough that you’d tugged it down twice on the walk over. Not that you care. You know you look good. The stares confirm it, the way eyes track you when you move through a room, the way conversations pause just slightly when you laugh.

“Babe!” Mina’s voice cuts through the music, and you turn to see her shoving her way through a cluster of drunk business majors, her own outfit just as devastating as yours—a tight red dress that clings in all the right places. She’s holding two fresh drinks, wearing that wild grin that always means trouble.

You take the cup she offers, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that look for?”

“I’m bored,” she announces, taking a long sip. “This party’s gotten stale. Everyone here is so predictable.”

You glance around. She’s not wrong. Same people, same drama, same bullshit. Heeseung is doing keg stands in the corner while Jake hypes him up, Jay is flirting with some girl from your Econ lecture, and everyone else is just going through the motions of a typical Friday night.

“So what do you wanna do?” you ask, leaning against the wall. “Leave?”

“No.” Mina’s eyes glitter with mischief. “I want to make a bet.”

You laugh, already intrigued. Mina’s bets are legendary—last semester she’d dared you to steal a traffic cone from campus security, and you’d done it just to see the look on her face. “I’m listening.”

She leans in close, her breath smelling like vodka and cherry chapstick. “See that guy over there?”

You follow her gaze across the room. At first, you don’t see who she’s talking about—there’s too many people packed into the space—but then the crowd shifts, and you spot him.

Park Sunghoon.

He’s standing near the bookshelf, looking deeply uncomfortable in a neat button-up shirt and glasses, holding what appears to be a bottle of water. His posture is stiff, like he’s not sure what to do with his hands, and he’s nodding along to something Heeseung is saying with this polite, awkward smile.

You know who he is, obviously. Everyone does, but for different reasons than they know you. Where you’re known for the parties, the chaos, the way you light up every room you enter, Sunghoon is known for being the biggest nerd on campus. Statistics and Data Science major, perfect GPA, the guy everyone goes to when they’re desperate for tutoring. You’ve seen him around—usually in the library, hunched over a laptop, or walking to class with his nose in a textbook.

“The nerd?” you say, taking a sip of your drink. “What about him?”

“I bet you can’t make him fall for you.”

You almost choke on your drink. “What?”

Mina’s grin widens. “Come on. Look at him. He’s like… a different species. You really think someone like him would ever go for someone like you?”

There’s no malice in her words—this is just how you two operate, all teasing and challenge—but something about it pricks at your pride. “Someone like me?”

“You know what I mean. Party girl. Confident. Hot as fuck. He probably faints if a girl even looks at him.” She gestures toward Sunghoon, who is now adjusting his glasses and looking around like he’s searching for an escape route. “I don’t think he’s ever even been to a party before tonight. Heeseung probably dragged him here.”

You study Sunghoon more carefully. He’s taller than you expected, with sharp features that might actually be attractive if he didn’t look so perpetually nervous. His hair is neat, parted carefully, and his clothes scream “I iron my shirts on Sunday nights.”

“That’s the bet?” you ask, turning back to Mina. “Make him fall for me?”

“Yep. And I’m talking actual feelings. Not just him stuttering around you—I want him gone for you. Pining. Obsessed.”

You laugh, loud enough that a few people glance over. “That’s almost too easy.”

“Then you won’t mind putting money on it.” Mina pulls out her phone, thumbs flying across the screen. “Two hundred dollars says you can’t do it.”

Two hundred dollars. That’s not nothing—that’s a weekend trip, or a new pair of boots you’ve been eyeing, or enough drinks to not worry about your bank account for a month.

But more than that, it’s the principle. The idea that Mina thinks you can’t do something, that Park Sunghoon is somehow immune to you, needles at something deep and petty in your chest.

“You’re on,” you say, shaking her hand. “Two hundred dollars. And bragging rights.”

“Bragging rights,” Mina agrees, her grin turning wicked. “This is going to be so fun to watch.”

You drain the rest of your drink, feeling the alcohol warm and loose in your veins, and set the empty cup on the nearest surface. “How long do I have?”

“End of the semester,” Mina says. “That’s what, fourteen weeks? Should be plenty of time. If you’re as good as you think you are.”

“Please.” You flip your hair over your shoulder, already feeling the familiar thrill of a challenge. “I’ll have him obsessed with me by midterms.”

Mina cackles, pulling you into a quick hug. “God, I love you. Okay. Go work your magic.”

You glance back toward Sunghoon. He’s still standing with Heeseung and Jake now, looking like he’s barely contributing to the conversation. Jay has joined them too, and the contrast is almost funny—three effortlessly cool guys and one awkward nerd who looks like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.

The smart play would be to approach him tonight, start planting the seeds. But you’re tipsy and the party is loud, and you know first impressions matter. You need to do this right.

“Not tonight,” you say, turning back to Mina. “I need a strategy.”

“Ooh, strategic. I like it.”

“Monday,” you decide. “I’ll figure out his schedule, and I’ll make my move.”

Mina raises her fresh drink in a toast. “To the downfall of Park Sunghoon’s GPA and emotional stability.”

You clink your cup against hers, grinning. “He won’t know what hit him.”

Monday morning comes with a hangover you shake off in the shower and a determination that feels almost dangerous.

You dress carefully—a tight cropped sweater that shows a sliver of skin above your low-rise jeans, paired with heels that make your legs look longer. Your makeup is flawless, lips glossy, and you know you look good because your roommate actually stops mid-bite of her cereal to stare.

“Where are you going looking like that?” she asks.

“Library,” you say, grabbing your bag.

“The library?”

You just smile and head out.

You’d done your research last night, scrolling through social media and asking around until you had a decent sense of Sunghoon’s schedule. Turns out, he’s a creature of habit—every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, he’s in the library from 9 AM to noon, tutoring students for credit. Something about needing volunteer hours for his degree, or maybe it’s for some honors society. You don’t really care about the why. You just need the when and where.

The library is quieter than usual, the Monday morning crowd sparse. You spot him almost immediately, sitting at one of the large tables near the windows, his laptop open and a stack of textbooks beside him. He’s alone right now, tapping away at his keyboard with the kind of focus that makes you think he’s probably forgotten the rest of the world exists.

You take a breath, adjust your bag on your shoulder, and walk over.

He doesn’t notice you at first. You have to actually stop in front of his table and clear your throat before he looks up, and when he does, his eyes widen slightly behind his glasses.

“Um,” he says, his voice soft and uncertain. “Hi?”

“Hi,” you say, flashing your most disarming smile. “You’re Park Sunghoon, right?”

“Uh. Yes?” He blinks up at you, clearly confused about why you’re talking to him. His gaze flickers down for just a second—taking in your outfit, probably—before snapping back to your face, his cheeks flushing pink.

Perfect.

“I heard you do tutoring,” you say, sliding into the chair across from him without waiting for an invitation. “For Statistics?”

“Oh.” His expression shifts slightly, relaxing into something more familiar. This is territory he knows. “Yeah, I do. Are you… do you need help with a class?”

“Desperately,” you lie, letting a little frustration creep into your voice. “I’m in STAT 400, and I’m completely lost. Like, I don’t even know where to start.”

STAT 400 is a class you could probably teach at this point—you’d aced it last semester—but he doesn’t need to know that.

Sunghoon nods, pulling out a notebook. “That’s a tough class. What specifically are you struggling with?”

You wave a hand vaguely. “Honestly? All of it. Probability distributions, hypothesis testing… I just can’t make it click, you know?”

He’s scribbling something down, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Okay. Yeah, I can definitely help with that. I tutor that class a lot, actually.”

“Really?” You lean forward slightly, resting your chin in your hand. “You’re a lifesaver. I was seriously worried I was going to fail.”

His eyes flicker to you again, and you can see him trying very hard not to stare. It’s almost endearing, the way he’s fighting to keep his focus on his notebook.

“So, um,” he says, clearing his throat. “When works for you? I usually do sessions twice a week, an hour each.”

“Whatever works for you,” you say easily. “I’m pretty flexible.”

He checks his phone, scrolling through what looks like a calendar. “How about… Tuesdays and Thursdays? 5 PM?”

“Perfect.” You pull out your own phone, typing in the times. “Should I meet you here?”

“Yeah, here’s good.” He looks up at you, and for a moment, you’re struck by how dark his eyes are behind those glasses. “Can I get your name? For my schedule.”

You tell him, and he types it into his phone, his fingers quick and precise.

“Got it,” he says, offering you a small, polite smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Looking forward to it.” You stand, slinging your bag over your shoulder, and give him a little wave. “Thanks, Sunghoon.”

His blush deepens at the sound of his name, and you have to bite back a grin as you walk away. This is going to be easier than you thought.

You show up to the library on Tuesday at 4:55 PM, which is late enough to seem casual but early enough to seem eager. You’ve dressed down slightly from yesterday—a fitted long-sleeve shirt that still manages to show off your figure, paired with jeans that sit low on your hips. Still hot, but approachable. You’re playing a character here, and the character is a girl who’s struggling with statistics and needs help, not a girl who’s about to ruin someone’s life for two hundred dollars.

The guilt hasn’t hit yet. Right now, it’s still just a game.

Sunghoon is already at the same table by the windows, his laptop open and a thermos of what you assume is coffee beside him. He looks up when you approach, and you catch the tiniest flicker of surprise in his expression, like he half-expected you not to show.

“Hi,” you say, dropping your bag onto the table and sliding into the seat across from him.

“Hi.” He closes his laptop and pushes it aside, pulling out a notebook instead. “Ready to get started?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you say with a self-deprecating laugh. “Fair warning, I’m really bad at this.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and there’s something unexpectedly kind in his voice. “Everyone starts somewhere. Can you show me what you’re working on in class right now?”

You pull out your own notebook—you’d actually done some prep work last night, writing out problem sets from the STAT 400 syllabus you still have saved on your laptop. You’d deliberately gotten some of them wrong, made your handwriting a little messier than usual, added some confused notes in the margins. It has to look real.

Sunghoon takes the notebook and studies your work, his brow furrowing in concentration. His fingers tap against the edge of the paper, a nervous habit, and you notice that his nails are neatly trimmed, his hands surprisingly elegant for someone so awkward.

“Okay,” he says after a moment. “I see what’s happening here. You’re getting tripped up on the notation, I think. The concepts aren’t that complicated once you understand what the symbols actually mean.”

He flips to a blank page in your notebook and starts writing, his handwriting neat and precise. As he explains the basics of probability distributions, you force yourself to pay attention, nodding along and asking questions that someone who’s actually confused would ask.

“Does that make sense?” he asks after a few minutes, glancing up at you.

“I think so,” you say. “Can you go over that last part again?”

He does, patient and thorough, and you notice the way he relaxes slightly when he’s teaching. The nervousness fades, replaced by something that almost resembles confidence. This is where he’s comfortable—explaining things, breaking down complex ideas into manageable pieces.

It’s… not what you expected.

You’d thought this would be painful, sitting through tutoring sessions for a class you don’t need help with. But Sunghoon is actually a good teacher, and there’s something almost soothing about the way he talks through problems, his voice low and steady.

“Try this one,” he says, sliding the notebook back to you with a new problem written out.

You make a show of working through it, deliberately hesitating in places, second-guessing yourself. When you write down the final answer—which you know is correct—you look up at him uncertainly.

“Is that right?”

He checks your work, and a small smile crosses his face. “Yeah. That’s perfect.”

The praise shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

“Really?” You let yourself sound surprised, pleased.

“Really. You’re getting it faster than you think.”

You beam at him, and his cheeks flush pink again. He looks away quickly, clearing his throat.

“Let’s do a few more,” he says.

The hour passes faster than you expected. By the time Sunghoon checks his phone and announces that your session is up, you’re almost disappointed.

“Same time Thursday?” he asks, packing up his things.

“Yeah, definitely.” You stand, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Thanks, Sunghoon. You’re really good at this.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He ducks his head, and you catch the small smile on his face as he turns away.

As you walk out of the library, you pull out your phone and text Mina.

Session one: complete. He blushed like four times.

Her response is immediate: you’re evil. i love it.

Thursday’s session follows a similar pattern. You show up right on time, dressed in a crop top and high-waisted pants that make Sunghoon’s eyes widen for just a second before he forces his gaze back to his notebook. You work through more problems, ask more questions, let him guide you through concepts you already understand.

But this time, you start to push things slightly.

“God, I don’t know how you keep all of this straight in your head,” you say at one point, leaning back in your chair and stretching your arms above your head. The movement makes your shirt ride up slightly, exposing your stomach, and you don’t miss the way Sunghoon’s gaze flickers down before he quickly looks away.

“It’s just practice,” he says, his voice a little strained. “Once you do enough problems, it becomes automatic.”

“You must be so smart,” you say, propping your chin in your hand and looking at him with wide, admiring eyes. “Like, seriously. I feel like I’m barely keeping my head above water in most of my classes, and you’re just… breezing through everything.”

He shifts uncomfortably. “I’m not that smart. I just work hard.”

“Don’t be modest.” You nudge his foot lightly under the table with yours, and he actually jumps a little. “You’re like, a genius. Everyone says so.”

“I’m really not,” he insists, but you can see the pleased flush creeping up his neck.

You let it drop, returning your attention to the problems in front of you, but you’ve planted the seed. Compliments, physical proximity, attention—these are the tools you know how to use.

Near the end of the session, as Sunghoon is explaining something about confidence intervals, you let your knee bump against his under the table. It’s brief, could be an accident, but you see the way he falters mid-sentence, his train of thought derailing completely.

“Sorry,” he says, blinking rapidly. “Where was I?”

“Confidence intervals,” you prompt, biting back a smile.

“Right. Yeah.” He takes a deep breath and continues, but his voice is slightly shakier now.

When the session ends, you pack up slowly, deliberately taking your time.

“Hey,” you say as he’s closing his laptop. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why do you tutor? Like, I know it’s for credit or whatever, but you’re already so busy. Don’t you ever just… want a break?”

He seems surprised by the question. “I don’t know. I guess I like helping people. And it’s good practice for me, too. Explaining things helps me understand them better.”

“That’s really nice,” you say, and you’re surprised to find that you actually mean it. “Most people wouldn’t go out of their way like that.”

He shrugs, looking uncomfortable with the praise. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is, though.” You give him a warm smile. “Anyway. Thanks again. I actually feel like I might not fail this class now.”

“You’re not going to fail,” he says firmly. “You’re doing really well.”

Something about the conviction in his voice makes your chest tighten, but you push the feeling aside.

“See you next week,” you say, heading toward the exit.

As you leave, you glance back and catch him watching you. He looks away immediately, his face flushing, and you can’t help the satisfied smile that crosses your face.

This is almost too easy.

By the third week of tutoring, you’ve established a routine. Tuesdays and Thursdays, 5 PM, the same table by the windows. Sunghoon is always there early, his materials already laid out, a thermos of coffee within reach. You’ve started to learn his habits—the way he taps his pen against the table when he’s thinking, the way he pushes his glasses up when he’s concentrating, the way he smiles when you get a problem right.

You’ve also started to push boundaries more deliberately.

You sit closer to him now, close enough that your arms brush when you’re both leaning over the same textbook. You ask him to show you how to work through problems on your laptop, which means he has to lean in close, his shoulder pressed against yours, his face inches from yours as he points at the screen.

He’s still nervous, still awkward, but he’s getting more comfortable with you. He makes eye contact more often, laughs at your jokes, occasionally offers comments that aren’t strictly about statistics.

“Are you going to the game on Saturday?” you ask during one session, glancing up from your notebook.

“Game?” He looks confused.

“The basketball game. Against State.”

“Oh. No, probably not. That’s not really my thing.”

“What is your thing?” you ask, genuinely curious despite yourself.

He thinks for a moment. “I don’t know. I like hiking, I guess. And I play chess online sometimes.”

“Hiking?” You raise an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the outdoorsy type.”

“Why not?” There’s a hint of defensiveness in his voice.

“I don’t know. You just seem like you’d rather be inside with a book.”

“I can like both,” he points out, and there’s a glimmer of something in his eyes—amusement, maybe, or challenge.

“Fair enough.” You grin. “Maybe you should take me sometime. I could use the exercise.”

His eyes widen. “Oh. Uh. I mean, if you want. There’s a good trail about twenty minutes from campus—”

“I’m kidding,” you say quickly, laughing. “Can you imagine me hiking? I’d die.”

“Right.” He laughs too, but it sounds slightly forced. “Yeah.”

You almost feel bad for teasing him, but you push the feeling aside. This is the point—keep him off balance, make him think about you, wonder about you.

Later in the session, when you’re both bent over a particularly complicated problem, you reach out to point at something on the page. Your hand brushes against his, and you let it linger for just a second longer than necessary before pulling away.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

“It’s fine,” he says, but his voice is tight, and when you glance at him, his jaw is clenched. Interesting.

After that session, as you’re walking back to your apartment, Mina calls.

“How’s Operation Nerd going?” she asks immediately.

“Good,” you say. “He’s definitely noticing me.”

“Noticing you, or noticing you?”

“Both, I think.” You push open the door to your building, nodding at a couple of girls you recognize from a party last weekend. “He’s still really awkward, but he’s warming up.”

“Have you guys hung out outside of tutoring yet?”

“No. I’m taking it slow.”

“Slow?” Mina sounds incredulous. “Babe, you have like eleven weeks left. You need to speed this up.”

“I know what I’m doing,” you say, climbing the stairs to your floor. “If I come on too strong, he’ll get suspicious. He’s not stupid.”

“Fine, fine. You’re the expert.” There’s a pause, and then: “Are you having fun, at least?”

The question catches you off guard. “What?”

“I mean, is this entertaining? Or is it just a chore?”

You think about the way Sunghoon’s face lights up when you get a problem right, the way he listens so intently when you talk, the way he’s slowly becoming less guarded around you.

“It’s fine,” you say eventually. “He’s not as boring as I thought he’d be.”

“High praise,” Mina says dryly. “Okay, well, keep me updated. I want all the details.”

After you hang up, you find yourself thinking about the question. Are you having fun?

The honest answer is yes. You are. And that should probably worry you more than it does.

The following Tuesday, something shifts.

You’re halfway through the session when Sunghoon’s phone buzzes. He glances at it, frowns, and then looks at you apologetically.

“Sorry, do you mind if I take this? It’s my friend.”

“Go ahead,” you say, waving him off.

He steps away from the table, phone pressed to his ear, and you watch as his expression shifts from confused to annoyed to resigned. When he comes back, he’s running a hand through his hair, making it stick up slightly.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, sorry. That was Heeseung. He’s having people over tonight and wanted to make sure I’m coming.”

“Are you?”

“I guess. He’ll give me shit if I don’t.” Sunghoon sits back down, but he seems distracted now, his usual focus scattered.

“You don’t sound excited,” you observe.

“Parties aren’t really my scene,” he admits. “Too loud, too crowded. I usually just end up standing in a corner wishing I was home.”

You laugh. “Then why go?”

“Because Heeseung, Jake, and Jay are my friends, and they actually want me there. I think.” He says it like he’s not entirely sure, and something about that makes your chest ache.

“They definitely want you there,” you say. “Those guys don’t do pity invites.”

He looks at you, surprised. “You know them?”

“Everyone knows them. We run in similar circles.” You lean back in your chair, studying him. “How’d you end up friends with them, anyway? No offense, but you’re not exactly the typical crowd they hang out with.”

“We lived in the same dorm freshman year,” Sunghoon says. “Heeseung and I got paired as roommates, and Jake and Jay lived down the hall. They kind of… adopted me, I guess. I don’t really know why.”

“Maybe because you’re cool,” you suggest.

He snorts. “I’m definitely not cool.”

“You’re cool in your own way.”

“That’s a nice way of saying I’m a nerd.”

“Being a nerd isn’t a bad thing,” you say. And then, before you can think better of it: “I’ll be there tonight, probably. At Heeseung’s thing. Maybe I’ll see you.”

Sunghoon’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Yeah. Maybe.”

The rest of the session is slightly stilted, both of you distracted by the knowledge that you’ll be in the same place later, outside the safe confines of the library. When you pack up to leave, Sunghoon clears his throat.

“Hey, um. Thanks. For saying that. About me being cool.”

You smile. “I meant it.”

And as you walk away, you realize with a start that you actually did.

Heeseung’s apartment is packed when you arrive just after ten, Mina in tow. The music is loud enough to make the walls vibrate, and the air is thick with the smell of beer and too many bodies in a small space.

“This is going to be good,” Mina says, already scanning the room. “Is your nerd here yet?”

“Don’t call him that,” you say automatically, and then catch yourself. Since when do you care?

Mina gives you a look but doesn’t comment. “Well? Do you see him?”

You crane your neck, looking over the crowd, and finally spot Sunghoon near the kitchen. He’s wearing jeans and a plain black t-shirt—the most casual you’ve ever seen him—and he’s talking to Jay, looking significantly less uncomfortable than you’d expected.

“There,” you say, nodding toward him.

“Oh my god, he’s actually kind of hot when he’s not dressed like someone’s dad,” Mina says.

She’s not wrong. Without the button-ups and the overly neat hair, Sunghoon looks… different. Younger. More relaxed. And yeah, hot.

“I’m going over,” you say.

“Good luck,” Mina calls after you, already veering off toward the makeshift bar.

You weave through the crowd, dodging drunk dancers and people shouting over the music. When you reach the kitchen, you tap Sunghoon on the shoulder.

He turns, and his face lights up when he sees you.

“You came,” he says, and he sounds genuinely happy about it.

“I said I might,” you reply, grinning. “Hi, Jay.”

Jay gives you an appreciative once-over—you’re wearing a tiny black dress that leaves very little to the imagination—and nods. “Hey. You two know each other?”

“Sunghoon’s my tutor,” you say.

“Tutor?” Jay looks at Sunghoon with mock suspicion. “You didn’t tell me you were tutoring hot girls.”

Sunghoon’s face goes red. “It’s not—she needed help with stats—”

“I’m just giving you shit,” Jay says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go find Jake. You two have fun.”

He disappears into the crowd, leaving you and Sunghoon alone in the relative chaos of the kitchen.

“Want a drink?” you ask, already moving toward the counter where someone’s set up a chaotic array of bottles and mixers.

“I’m okay,” Sunghoon says, holding up a bottle of water.

“Of course you are.” You pour yourself something strong, turning back to him. “So. How are you surviving so far?”

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” he admits. “Maybe because you’re here.”

The comment catches you off guard. It’s surprisingly bold for him, and when you meet his eyes, there’s something there you haven’t seen before—a flicker of confidence, maybe, or just the tiniest bit of flirtation.

“Smooth,” you say, taking a sip of your drink.

He looks immediately mortified. “Sorry, that was—”

“I’m kidding. It was sweet.” You step closer to him, close enough that you have to tilt your head back slightly to maintain eye contact. “You should let yourself relax more often. You’re less uptight when you do.”

“I’m uptight?” He sounds offended.

“A little,” you tease. “But it’s part of your charm.”

Before he can respond, someone cranks the music even louder, and the kitchen suddenly floods with people trying to escape the living room. You’re jostled forward, and Sunghoon reaches out instinctively to steady you, his hands landing on your waist.

For a moment, you’re pressed against him, close enough to feel the heat of his body, to see the way his pupils dilate slightly behind his glasses.

“Sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t let go immediately.

“It’s okay,” you murmur.

The moment stretches, tension coiling between you, and you realize with a jolt that your heart is beating faster. Not because you’re playing a role, but because he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the room, and it feels…

It feels good.

“Do you want to go somewhere quieter?” he asks, his voice low.

You nod.

He takes your hand—his grip warm and surprisingly steady—and leads you out of the kitchen, through the crowd, and out onto the apartment’s small balcony. The noise fades to a dull roar as he slides the door shut behind you, and suddenly it’s just the two of you under the night sky.

“Better?” he asks.

“Much.” You lean against the railing, looking out at the campus spread below. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He stands beside you, close but not touching, and for a few moments, neither of you speaks.

“Can I ask you something?” he says eventually.

“Sure.”

“Why did you come tonight? You said parties are your thing, so you probably had other options.”

You turn to look at him. “Maybe I wanted to see you.”

His breath catches. “Really?”

“Really.” You’re not sure if you’re lying anymore.

Sunghoon holds your gaze, and something shifts in the air between you. He takes a step closer, and your pulse spikes.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says softly.

“Me too,” you whisper.

And when he smiles—a real, genuine smile that makes his whole face light up—you feel something crack open in your chest.

This was supposed to be simple. Easy. A game.

But standing here with him, the city lights glittering below and his hand just inches from yours on the railing, you’re starting to realize that you might be in over your head.

Sunghoon is already at your usual table, but today there’s something different. Instead of his typical setup of laptop and textbooks, there’s a white paper bag and two coffee cups.

“Hi,” he says when you approach, and he looks almost nervous. “I, uh. I brought coffee. And pastries. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I just guessed. I hope that’s okay.”

You stare at the cups, something warm and unfamiliar blooming in your chest. “You brought me coffee?”

“Yeah. You mentioned last week that you didn’t have time to grab any before our session, so I thought…” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Is that weird? That’s probably weird.”

“It’s not weird,” you say softly, sliding into your seat. “It’s really sweet.”

His face lights up, and he pushes one of the cups toward you. “It’s a vanilla latte. But if you don’t like it, I can—”

“Vanilla latte is perfect.” You take a sip, and it’s exactly the right temperature, exactly the right sweetness. “Thank you, Sunghoon.”

“You’re welcome.” He’s smiling now, that soft genuine smile that makes your heart do stupid things.

The session proceeds normally—problem sets, explanations, the comfortable back-and-forth you’ve developed—but the coffee and pastries feel like something more. Like he’s trying to take care of you in his own quiet way.

Halfway through, while you’re working on a problem, Sunghoon speaks up.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you say, not looking up from your notebook.

“Why economics?”

You pause, pen hovering over the page. “What?”

“Your major. Why did you choose economics?”

No one has asked you that in a long time. Most people just assume you picked it because it’s practical, or because you wanted something that would make money, or because you didn’t know what else to do.

“I like understanding how things work,” you say slowly. “Like, why people make the decisions they make. What drives markets, what causes crashes, all of that. It’s like… a puzzle, I guess. And I’m good at puzzles.”

Sunghoon is looking at you with this intense focus, like he’s genuinely interested in your answer. “That’s really cool.”

“Yeah?” You feel oddly vulnerable suddenly.

“Yeah. Most people just say it’s for the money.”

“I mean, the money doesn’t hurt,” you joke, but it falls flat.

“I get it, though,” he says. “That’s kind of why I like statistics. Everything can be understood if you have enough data. The world makes sense when you can quantify it.”

You find yourself smiling. “We’re more similar than I thought.”

“Is that surprising?”

“A little,” you admit. “I thought you’d be all… I don’t know. Textbooks and equations and no personality.”

He laughs, a real laugh that makes his eyes crinkle. “Wow. Thanks.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” You’re laughing too now. “I just meant—you’re not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Boring? Uptight? But you’re actually…” You pause, searching for the right word. “You’re actually really easy to talk to.”

Sunghoon’s expression softens. “So are you.”

The moment hangs between you, charged with something you can’t quite name. You’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re sitting, how his knee is almost touching yours under the table, how easy it would be to just lean forward and—

Your phone buzzes, shattering the moment. It’s a text from Mina: party at sigma chi friday. you coming?

You type back a quick yeah probably and set your phone down, but the spell is broken. Sunghoon has already returned his attention to the textbook, his expression neutral.

The rest of the session passes normally, but something has changed. There’s a weight in the air now, a tension that wasn’t there before.

When you’re packing up to leave, Sunghoon clears his throat.

“Hey, um. Are you doing anything this weekend?”

Your heart skips. “Why?”

“There’s this new exhibit at the art museum. Photography from conflict zones. I thought it might be interesting, and I was wondering if… if maybe you wanted to go? With me?”

He’s asking you on a date. Park Sunghoon is asking you on an actual date.

You should say yes. This is perfect for the bet—spending time together outside of tutoring, building a connection, making him fall harder.

But the thought of it makes your stomach twist with something that feels uncomfortably like guilt.

“I can’t this weekend,” you say, and you’re not sure if you’re relieved or disappointed. “I have plans with friends.”

“Oh.” He tries to hide his disappointment, but you can see it in the way his shoulders slump slightly. “That’s okay. Maybe another time.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Another time.”

As you walk away, you can feel his eyes on your back, and you hate yourself a little bit.

Friday night comes, and you’re at the Sigma Chi house with Mina, three drinks deep and feeling reckless.

The party is packed, bodies pressed together in every room, music so loud you can feel it in your bones. You’re wearing your sluttiest dress—a tiny red thing that barely covers your ass—and you know you look good because you’ve been turning heads all night.

“There’s Jake,” Mina says, pointing toward the kitchen. “With Heeseung and Jay.”

“So?” you say, taking another sip of your drink.

“So, isn’t that Sunghoon’s friend group? Maybe he’s here.”

You scan the kitchen, but you don’t see Sunghoon anywhere. Just his three friends, laughing and drinking and looking effortlessly cool in a way Sunghoon never quite manages.

“I don’t think he’s here,” you say.

“Probably for the best,” Mina says. “You can actually have fun without worrying about the bet.”

But that’s the problem. You’re starting to realize that you have more fun with Sunghoon than without him.

You push the thought away and drain your drink. “I need another.”

The next hour is a blur of alcohol and dancing and the kind of mindless fun you usually thrive on. You dance with strangers, do shots with girls from your econ class, lose Mina somewhere in the crowd. And then Jake finds you.

“Hey,” he says, appearing at your elbow with that easy smile. “You look like you’re having a good time.”

“I am,” you say, and you realize you have to raise your voice to be heard over the music.

“Want to get some air? It’s hot as hell in here.”

You follow him out to the back porch, where it’s marginally quieter and cooler. There are a few other people out here, smoking and talking in low voices, but Jake leads you to a corner that’s relatively private.

“Better?” he asks.

“Much.” You lean against the railing, looking up at him. Jake is attractive in an obvious way—tall, athletic build, sharp jawline. The kind of guy you’d normally go for without thinking twice.

“I’ve seen you around,” Jake says, moving closer. “You’re hard to miss.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Definitely.” His gaze drops to your lips, then back up. “You’re friends with Sunghoon, right?”

The mention of Sunghoon’s name sends a jolt through you. “He’s tutoring me.”

“That’s all?”

“What else would it be?”

Jake shrugs. “I don’t know. He talks about you a lot.”

Your heart stutters. “He does?”

“Yeah. He tries to be subtle about it, but it’s pretty obvious he’s into you.” Jake grins. “Can’t blame him.”

You should ask what Sunghoon says about you. You should care more about the implications.

But you’re drunk and Jake is hot and he’s leaning in, and when his lips meet yours, you don’t pull away.

The kiss is good—he knows what he’s doing, his hands confident on your waist—but it feels wrong somehow. Like you’re kissing the wrong person. When you break apart, Jake is smiling.

“Want to get out of here?”

“I—”

“There you are!”

You turn to see Mina stumbling out onto the porch, clearly wasted. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. We need to go. Now.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m about to throw up and I need you to hold my hair.” She grabs your arm, pulling you away from Jake. “Sorry, Jake. Emergency.”

You let her drag you back through the party and out the front door, and it’s only when you’re halfway back to your apartment that you realize you’re relieved.

“Did I really interrupt something?” Mina asks, her words slurring slightly.

“Nothing important,” you say.

“Liar. That was Jake. He’s hot.”

“Yeah.”

“So why do you sound sad about it?”

You don’t have an answer.

Saturday morning, you wake up with a pounding headache and a feeling of vague dread that has nothing to do with the hangover.

You kissed Jake. Sunghoon’s friend. One of his only friends.

It shouldn’t matter. This is a bet. You’re not actually dating Sunghoon. You don’t owe him anything.

But the guilt sits heavy in your stomach anyway.

Your phone buzzes with a text from Sunghoon: Hey! I know you said you were busy this weekend, but if you have any free time tomorrow (Sunday), I’d love to show you that trail I mentioned. No pressure though!

You stare at the message for a long moment.

You should say no. You should keep your distance, maintain the boundaries of this fake tutoring relationship.

But instead, you type: Sure. What time?

His response is almost immediate: 10 AM? I can pick you up.

Sounds good.

You set your phone down and bury your face in your pillow, trying to ignore the voice in your head that’s asking what the hell you’re doing.

Sunday morning dawns clear and bright, and you find yourself actually putting effort into your outfit—athletic leggings, a fitted tank top, your hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Hiking clothes, but still cute.

Sunghoon picks you up at exactly 10 AM in a slightly beat-up Honda Civic that’s meticulously clean inside. He’s wearing athletic gear too, and without his glasses—he’s wearing contacts, he explains—he looks different. Younger. Even more attractive.

“You ready?” he asks as you buckle your seatbelt.

“As ready as I’ll ever be. Fair warning, I haven’t hiked since high school.”

“It’s an easy trail,” he assures you. “More of a nature walk, really.”

The drive takes about twenty minutes, filled with easy conversation and music from a playlist that’s surprisingly good—indie rock mixed with some Korean R&B. You learn that Sunghoon is an only child, that he grew up in a small town, that his parents are both engineers and have very high expectations for him.

“Is that why you work so hard?” you ask. “Because of them?”

“Partly,” he admits. “But also because I don’t really know what else to do. School is the one thing I’m actually good at.”

“That’s not true. You’re good at lots of things.”

“Like what?”

“You’re a good teacher. You’re patient, you actually listen, you explain things in a way that makes sense. That’s a skill.”

He glances at you, surprised. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

When you arrive at the trailhead, it’s not crowded—just a few other cars in the small parking lot. Sunghoon grabs a backpack from the trunk, and you start walking.

He was right about it being an easy trail. The path is well-maintained and mostly flat, winding through trees that are just starting to show their fall colors. It’s beautiful in a quiet, understated way.

“I come here when I need to think,” Sunghoon says as you walk. “It’s peaceful.”

“What do you think about?”

“Everything. School, the future, whether I’m making the right choices.” He pauses. “Sometimes I feel like I’m on this path that was decided for me, you know? Like, I’m going to graduate, get a good job, make my parents proud. But I’m not sure if it’s what I actually want.”

You’re surprised by the honesty. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know. That’s the problem.” He looks at you. “What about you? Do you know what you want?”

The question catches you off guard. What do you want?

A month ago, you would have said you wanted to graduate, make money, have fun. Simple things.

But now, standing here with Sunghoon, you realize you don’t know anymore.

“I’m figuring it out,” you say finally.

You walk in comfortable silence for a while, and then Sunghoon leads you off the main path to a clearing that overlooks a small lake. The view is stunning—water glittering in the sunlight, trees reflected on the surface.

“Wow,” you breathe.

“Right?” He sits down on a large flat rock near the edge of the clearing, and you join him. “I found this spot last year. I don’t think many people know about it.”

“It’s beautiful.”

He pulls out his backpack and produces two bottles of water and some trail mix. “Snack break.”

You laugh. “You really came prepared.”

“I try.”

As you sit there, eating trail mix and looking out at the lake, you feel something loosen in your chest. This is nice. Simple. Real.

“Can I tell you something?” Sunghoon says after a while.

“Of course.”

“I’m really glad you agreed to come today. I know tutoring is our thing, but I wanted…” He trails off, looking uncertain. “I wanted to spend time with you outside of that. As friends. Or, I don’t know. Whatever this is.”

Your heart is pounding. “Whatever this is?”

He turns to face you fully. “I like you. I know that’s probably obvious, and I’m sorry if that makes things weird, but I can’t stop thinking about you, and I thought maybe—”

You kiss him.

You’re not sure why you do it. Maybe because of the way he’s looking at you, so open and vulnerable. Maybe because you want to stop him from saying more things that will make you feel guilty. Maybe because you’ve been wanting to kiss him for weeks and you’re tired of pretending otherwise.

Whatever the reason, you lean in and press your lips to his, and for a moment, he freezes.

Then he’s kissing you back, tentative at first and then deeper, his hand coming up to cup your face. His lips are soft, and he tastes like trail mix and mint gum, and it’s good—better than it should be, better than kissing Jake, better than anything you expected.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathing hard.

“Wow,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“Does this mean…?”

“I don’t know what this means,” you say honestly. “But I like you too. I think.”

He smiles, bright and genuine, and pulls you in for another kiss.

You lose track of time there by the lake, kissing Sunghoon like teenagers, his hands respectful but wanting, your fingers tangled in his hair. It feels right in a way that scares you.

When you finally break apart for real, the sun has shifted position, and you realize you’ve been here for over an hour.

“We should probably head back,” Sunghoon says reluctantly.

“Yeah.”

The hike back to the car is different from the hike out. Sunghoon holds your hand the entire way, his grip warm and steady, and you can’t stop smiling.

This wasn’t part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to actually like him.

But as he helps you into the car and leans over to kiss you one more time before closing the door, you realize you’re completely screwed.

That night, lying in bed, you finally respond to Mina’s texts.

how’s the bet going?

You stare at the message for a long time before typing: Good. He’s definitely into me.

perfect. keep it up. easy money.

Yeah. Easy money.

But it doesn’t feel easy anymore.

The following week, everything changes.

Your tutoring sessions become something more—study dates, really, where you spend as much time talking and laughing as you do working through problems. Sunghoon brings you coffee every time now, always remembering exactly how you like it. You find excuses to touch him, and he finds excuses to touch you back—a hand on your shoulder, fingers brushing when you pass papers back and forth.

On Thursday, after your session ends, he walks you back to your apartment. It’s out of his way, and you both know it, but neither of you mentions it.

At your door, he kisses you goodbye, slow and sweet, and you have to physically stop yourself from inviting him inside.

“I’ll see you next week,” he says, his forehead resting against yours.

“That’s so far away,” you murmur, and you’re surprised to find that you mean it.

“We could… do something over the weekend?” he suggests. “If you want.”

“Like what?”

“There’s a film festival on Saturday. Foreign films. Probably boring to most people, but—”

“I’d love to,” you interrupt.

His face lights up. “Really?”

“Really.”

He kisses you again, deeper this time, and you feel yourself melting into him.

When he finally leaves, you float into your apartment in a daze. Jiwoo takes one look at your face and grins.

“Oh, you’ve got it bad,” she says.

“Shut up,” you say, but you can’t stop smiling.

That night, you’re lying in bed scrolling through your phone when you see a post on Jake’s Instagram story. It’s from the Sigma Chi party—a blurry photo of the crowd with the caption good times.

And suddenly you remember. The kiss. Jake.

Your stomach drops.

You need to tell Sunghoon. You should tell him before he hears it from someone else, before it becomes a thing.

But how do you explain that you kissed his friend while you were… what? Were you dating him then? Are you dating him now? You never actually defined what this is.

You open your messages with Sunghoon, type out Can we talk? and then delete it.

This is fine. It was one kiss, weeks ago, before you and Sunghoon were actually together. It doesn’t mean anything.

Except it does mean something, because it means you were pursuing the bet. And if Sunghoon ever found out about the bet…

You close your phone and stare at the ceiling, your earlier happiness curdling into anxiety.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

Saturday arrives, and you meet Sunghoon at the small independent theater on the edge of campus. He’s dressed nicely—dark jeans and a fitted sweater that makes him look older, more sophisticated. When he sees you, his entire face transforms with his smile.

“Hi,” he says, pulling you in for a kiss that makes your toes curl.

“Hi yourself.”

The film festival is showing three movies back-to-back, and you settle into your seats with a large popcorn between you. The first film is French, subtitled, about a woman navigating love and loss in Paris. It’s beautiful and melancholy, and halfway through, Sunghoon reaches over and takes your hand.

During the second film—a Japanese drama about family—you rest your head on his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around you. It feels domestic and comfortable and utterly terrifying.

By the third film, you’re barely paying attention to the screen. All you can focus on is the warmth of Sunghoon’s body next to yours, the way his thumb traces patterns on your shoulder, the way he occasionally leans down to whisper commentary that makes you laugh.

When the festival ends and you step out into the evening air, you feel drunk on happiness and caffeine from the terrible theater coffee.

“That was amazing,” you say.

“Yeah?” Sunghoon looks pleased. “I wasn’t sure if it was too pretentious.”

“It was exactly pretentious enough.” You loop your arm through his as you walk. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming. I know it’s not exactly a typical date.”

“Who says I want typical?”

He grins and pulls you close, kissing you in the middle of the sidewalk like you’re the only two people in the world.

You end up at a small cafe nearby, ordering hot chocolates and splitting a piece of chocolate cake. The conversation flows easily—he tells you about his thesis project, you tell him about your internship applications, and somehow you end up talking about childhood dreams and fears and all the small details that make up a life.

“I wanted to be an astronaut when I was a kid,” Sunghoon admits. “I was obsessed with space.”

“What changed?”

“I realized I get motion sickness really easily.” He laughs. “Not exactly ideal for space travel.”

“That’s tragic.”

“What about you? What did you want to be?”

You think back. “A lawyer, I think. I liked arguing.”

“That tracks.”

You kick him lightly under the table, and he catches your foot between his, holding it there.

The cafe starts to close, and reluctantly, you both leave. Sunghoon walks you home again, and at your door, the goodbye kiss turns into several goodbye kisses, which turn into you pressed against the door with his body flush against yours.

“Do you want to come inside?” you breathe against his lips.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

You unlock the door and pull him inside, grateful that Jiwoo is gone for the weekend. The apartment is dark and quiet, and you lead Sunghoon to your bedroom, your heart pounding.

Inside, you turn to face him, suddenly nervous. This feels different than all the other times you’ve done this with other guys. This feels like it matters.

“Hey,” Sunghoon says softly, stepping closer. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“I want to,” you say. “I want you.”

He kisses you then, slow and deep, walking you backward until your legs hit the bed. You fall together, a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter, and as he hovers over you, looking down with so much want and tenderness that it makes your chest ache, you think: I’m in so much trouble.

But you push the thought away and pull him down into another kiss, losing yourself in the feeling of his hands on your skin, his mouth on your neck, the weight of him above you.

When you pull him inside your bedroom, the air between you feels electric. Sunghoon’s hands are tentative at first, skimming over your waist like he’s afraid you might disappear.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice low and rough in a way you’d never heard before.

“More than okay,” you whisper, reaching up to pull him into another kiss.

That seems to break something loose in him. His kisses become deeper, more urgent, his hands more confident as they explore. You pull at his sweater, and he breaks away just long enough to tug it over his head.

You’ve never seen him like this—shirtless, his body leaner than you expected but defined, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Your hands find his skin, tracing the lines of his shoulders, his ribs, and he shivers under your touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your neck, his lips trailing down to your collarbone. “I’ve thought about this so many times.”

The admission sends heat pooling in your stomach. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His hands find the hem of your shirt, and he looks up at you, waiting for permission.

You answer by pulling it off yourself, and his eyes go dark with want.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and the curse sounds foreign in his mouth, which somehow makes it hotter.

His hands cup your breasts through your bra, and you arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. He kisses down your sternum, your stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans.

“Can I?” he asks, looking up at you.

“Please.”

He unbuttons your jeans slowly, reverently, sliding them down your legs along with your underwear. When you are finally bare before him, he sat back on his heels just looking at you, and you feel genuinely seen in a way that should have made you self-conscious but instead makes you feel powerful.

“You’re staring,” you say, but is no bite to it.

“Can’t help it.” He leans down to kiss you again, his body presses against yours, and you can feel how hard he is through his jeans.

Your hands go to his belt, fumbling with the buckle until he helps you, kicking off his jeans and boxers in one motion. And then there was nothing between you, just skin on skin, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the best way.

“Do you have…?” he starts.

“Nightstand,” you gasp. “Top drawer.”

He reaches over, finds a condom, and you watch as he rolls it on with shaking hands. When he settles back over you, positioning himself between your legs, he pauses.

“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” he said, his eyes searching yours.

“I will. I promise.”

He pushes into you slowly, carefully, and you both groan at the sensation. He fills you perfectly, and when he’s fully seated inside you, he drops his forehead to yours, breathing hard.

“Okay?” he manages.

“So okay,” you whisper. “Move. Please move.”

He did, starting with slow, deep strokes that have you gasping and clutching at his shoulders. His technique was unpracticed but enthusiastic, and when you shift your hips to find the angle you need, he paid attention, adjusting immediately.

“Like that,” you breathe. “Right there.”

“Here?” He hits the spot again, harder this time, and you cry out.

“Yes, fuck, yes.”

He set a rhythm then, his hips snapping against yours, one hand braced beside your head and the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and the sounds he makes—low groans and whispered curses—were pushing you closer to the edge.

“You feel so good,” he pants against your neck. “So fucking good.”

Your nails rake down his back, and he hisses, his rhythm faltering for a moment before he regains control. You can feel yourself getting close, that familiar tension building low in your belly.

“Touch yourself,” he says, his voice strained. “I want to feel you come.”

The command sends a shock of heat through you. You slide your hand between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. The added stimulation combined with the feeling of him inside you is too much.

“Sunghoon,” you gasp. “I’m—”

“Come for me,” he says, and that’s it.

Your orgasm hits you like a wave, your body tensing and shaking as pleasure rolls through you. You feel yourself clenching around him, and he groans, his movements becoming erratic.

“Fuck, I’m—” He doesn’t finish the sentence, just buries himself deep and comes with a broken moan, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both of you catching your breath. Then he carefully pulled out, disposed of the condom, and collapsed beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms.

“That was…” he started.

“Yeah,” you agreed, your voice still shaky.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, your temple, your lips. “You’re amazing.”

And lying there in his arms, your body still humming with aftershocks, you feel something crack wide open in your chest. Something that feels dangerously close to real feelings.

Later—much later—you lie tangled together in your sheets, Sunghoon’s arm wrapped around you, his breathing deep and even. You should feel satisfied, content.

Instead, you feel like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall.

You wake up to sunlight streaming through your window and the unfamiliar weight of someone else in your bed.

For a disorienting moment, you forget where you are, who you’re with. Then Sunghoon shifts beside you, his arm tightening around your waist, and everything comes rushing back.

The film festival. The cafe. Bringing him back here. The sex.

Oh god, the sex.

Your face heats at the memory, and you bury it in the pillow. Sunghoon makes a soft noise in his sleep, nuzzling into your neck, and despite everything—the guilt, the confusion, the looming disaster of the bet—you can’t help but smile.

“Are you awake?” His voice is rough with sleep, muffled against your skin.

“Maybe.”

He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” You turn in his arms to face him, and he’s unfairly attractive like this—hair messy, eyes soft, a small smile on his lips.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

He kisses you, slow and lazy, and you can feel him hardening against your thigh. Your body responds immediately, heat pooling low in your stomach, but before things can progress, his phone buzzes insistently on the nightstand.

He groans, breaking away to check it. “It’s Heeseung. He wants to know if I’m alive.”

“Are you?”

“Barely.” He types out a quick response and sets the phone down. “I should probably go. I have a study group at noon.”

Disappointment lances through you, which is ridiculous. You just spent the entire night with him. “Yeah, okay.”

“Unless…” He looks at you hopefully. “Do you want to get breakfast first? There’s that place near campus that does really good pancakes.”

You should say no. You should put some distance between you, figure out what the hell you’re doing.

But instead you say, “I love pancakes.”

The diner is busy with the Sunday morning crowd, but you manage to snag a booth near the back. Sunghoon orders a truly obscene amount of food—pancakes, eggs, bacon, hash browns—and you raise an eyebrow.

“What? I’m hungry.” He grins. “Last night was… athletic.”

You kick him under the table, face flaming. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying.” His grin widens. “You’re very… energetic.”

“Oh my god, stop talking.”

But you’re laughing, and so is he, and when the food arrives, you end up stealing bites from his plate while he pretends to be offended.

It’s domestic and easy and terrifying.

Halfway through the meal, Jake walks in with Heeseung and Jay. Your stomach drops.

Jake sees you first, and something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe, or understanding. Then he’s heading over with the other two in tow.

“Sunghoon!” Heeseung says cheerfully, sliding into the booth beside him without asking. “You never came home last night. We were worried.”

Jay smirks, looking between you and Sunghoon. “Clearly not that worried.”

Sunghoon’s ears turn red. “We were just… we went to the film festival and then—”

“And then you stayed over,” Jake finishes, his eyes on you. There’s something unreadable in his expression.

“Hi, Jake,” you say carefully.

“Hey.” He slides in next to you, forcing you to scoot over. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah.”

The tension is palpable, at least to you. Sunghoon seems oblivious, too busy fielding questions from Heeseung about the films, but Jake is looking at you like he knows something.

“So you two are like, together now?” Heeseung asks bluntly.

Sunghoon glances at you, and there’s vulnerability in his eyes. “I… we haven’t really talked about it.”

“We’re seeing each other,” you say, reaching over to lace your fingers with his. “Right?”

“Right.” His smile is so genuine it makes your chest ache.

“Cute,” Jay says, stealing a piece of bacon from Sunghoon’s plate. “Our boy’s all grown up.”

“Fuck off,” Sunghoon says, but he’s grinning.

The conversation shifts to other topics—an upcoming game, someone’s disastrous Tinder date, plans for Halloween. You mostly stay quiet, hyperaware of Jake beside you, wondering if he’s going to say something about the party. About the kiss.

But he doesn’t. He just eats his food and makes jokes with the others, and when they finally leave, he gives you a long look that makes your stomach twist.

“He knows,” you say once they’re gone.

“Knows what?” Sunghoon asks, signaling for the check.

“Nothing. Never mind.”

The next week passes in a blur of classes, tutoring sessions that turn into makeout sessions, and stolen moments in empty classrooms and dark corners of the library.

You can’t keep your hands off each other. It’s like a switch has been flipped, and now that you’ve crossed that line, neither of you can go back.

On Tuesday, your “tutoring session” lasts all of fifteen minutes before Sunghoon is pulling you into his lap, his mouth hot on your neck.

“We should actually study,” you gasp, even as you grind down against him.

“We should,” he agrees, not stopping.

You end up in the single-user bathroom on the third floor, Sunghoon pressing you against the door as he kisses you breathless. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your hips, sliding up under your shirt to cup your breasts.

“God, I can’t stop thinking about you,” he breathes against your lips. “It’s affecting my grades.”

“Liar. You’re incapable of getting bad grades.”

“Want to test that theory?” His hand slips between your legs, rubbing you through your jeans, and you bite back a moan.

“Someone could hear.”

“Then you’ll have to be quiet.”

He drops to his knees, and your brain short-circuits.

“Sunghoon, what are you—”

“Let me,” he says, already unbuttoning your jeans. “Please. I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

You should say no. You’re in a public bathroom in the library. Anyone could walk by.

But then he’s pulling your jeans and underwear down, and his mouth is on you, and all rational thought flies out the window.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe, your hands flying to his hair.

He’s enthusiastic if not entirely skilled, his tongue exploring with scientific precision, trying to figure out what makes you gasp and moan. When he finds your clit and sucks lightly, your knees buckle.

“There,” you manage. “Right there, don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He works you with his mouth, his hands gripping your hips to hold you steady, and you have to bite down on your fist to keep from crying out. The knowledge that you’re doing this here, in public, with Sunghoon of all people on his knees for you, makes it even hotter.

You come embarrassingly quickly, your orgasm hitting you hard and sudden. Sunghoon works you through it, lapping at you until you’re shaking and oversensitive, and when he finally pulls away, his lips are shiny and his eyes are dark with lust.

“You taste amazing,” he says, his voice wrecked.

You pull him up and kiss him hard, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Your place. Now.”

“I have a roommate.”

“My place then.”

You somehow make it back to your apartment without attacking him in public, though it’s a close thing. The moment you’re through the door, you’re on him, pushing him toward your bedroom and stripping off his clothes.

“Bed,” you command, and he goes willingly, lying back and watching as you undress.

When you straddle him, positioning yourself over his cock, he groans.

“Condom,” he manages.

“Nightstand.”

He reaches over, fumbles with the drawer, and rolls one on with shaking hands. Then you’re sinking down onto him, both of you moaning at the sensation.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands gripping your hips. “You feel so good.”

You start to move, riding him slowly at first and then faster, chasing your pleasure. His hands roam your body—your breasts, your stomach, your thighs—like he can’t decide where to touch you first.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he says, his eyes locked on you. “So fucking beautiful.”

The praise sends heat through you, and you lean down to kiss him, your movements becoming erratic. He takes over then, thrusting up into you hard and fast, and the change in angle has you gasping.

“Touch yourself,” he says, echoing his words from last time. “I want to see you come again.”

You do, your fingers finding your clit, and the combination of his cock inside you and your own touch is too much. You come with a cry, your body clenching around him, and he follows a moment later with a groan, his hips stuttering.

You collapse on top of him, both of you breathing hard, and he wraps his arms around you.

“I’m never going to be able to concentrate in the library again,” he says, and you laugh into his chest.

Thursday’s session is more of the same. You try to actually study—you really do—but Sunghoon keeps looking at you with these heated glances, and his hand keeps finding your thigh under the table, and eventually you give up and suggest going back to his place.

His roommate is at class, and you have exactly ninety minutes before he’s back.

You make the most of it.

This time, you’re the one on your knees, learning what makes Sunghoon gasp and curse. He’s bigger than you expected, and you take your time, using your tongue and lips and hands until he’s gripping the sheets and saying your name like a prayer.

“I’m close,” he warns, but you don’t pull away.

When he comes, you swallow, and the look on his face is worth it—complete bliss mixed with awe.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “That was…”

“Good?” you ask, crawling up his body.

“Understatement of the century.” He pulls you in for a kiss, apparently not caring that you just had him in your mouth. “Your turn.”

“We don’t have time—”

“We have time.”

He proves it by going down on you again, this time with more confidence and skill. He’s a fast learner, you’ll give him that. He remembers exactly what you liked before, adding new tricks that have you squirming and begging.

When you come, it’s intense enough that you see stars, and Sunghoon looks so pleased with himself that you can’t help but laugh.

“What?” he asks, grinning.

“Nothing. You’re just… you’re really into this.”

“Into making you feel good? Yeah, I am.” He kisses your inner thigh. “Is that weird?”

“No. It’s perfect.”

And it is perfect, which is the problem.

Because every moment with him feels more real, and every real moment makes the lie bigger.

That night, Mina corners you at a party at some frat house you don’t remember the name of.

“Okay, what the fuck?” she demands, pulling you into a relatively quiet hallway. “You’ve been dodging my texts for two weeks.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to update me on the bet? Because from what I’m hearing, you and Park Sunghoon are basically dating now.” She raises an eyebrow. “Which is great for the bet, obviously, but you’ve been weird about it.”

“I haven’t been weird.”

“You’re being weird right now. What’s going on?”

You take a long drink from your cup, buying time. “Nothing. It’s going fine. He’s definitely into me.”

“And are you into him?” The question is pointed.

“It’s a bet, Mina. Of course I’m not actually—”

“Bullshit.” She crosses her arms. “I’ve known you for three years. I can tell when you’re lying.”

“I’m not—”

“Do you actually like him?”

The question hangs in the air between you. You could lie. You should lie.

But you’re so tired of lying.

“I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “Maybe.”

Mina’s expression softens. “Babe…”

“I know. I’m an idiot. This was supposed to be easy, and I’m making it complicated.”

“So end the bet. Just tell him the truth.”

“And say what? ‘Hey, funny story, I only started talking to you because my friend bet me two hundred dollars that I couldn’t make you fall for me, but surprise, I actually caught feelings’? That’ll go over well.”

“Better than him finding out some other way.”

“He’s not going to find out.”

“Jake knows.” Mina says it casually, but the words hit like a punch.

“What?”

“Jake knows about the bet. He was there when I made it, remember? And he’s Sunghoon’s friend. You really think he’s not going to say something?”

Your stomach drops. “Jake wouldn’t—”

“Wouldn’t he? You two hooked up at that party. And now you’re dating his friend. You don’t think that’s going to come up eventually?”

Panic rises in your throat. “We didn’t hook up. We just kissed.”

“Does Sunghoon know that?”

“No.”

“So you’re keeping secrets on top of secrets. Great plan.”

“What do you want me to do, Mina?” Your voice comes out sharper than intended. “I can’t unfuck this situation. It’s already fucked.”

She sighs, her expression gentler now. “Look, I’m not trying to be a bitch. I’m worried about you. This isn’t like you. You don’t do feelings, you don’t do relationships. And now you’re in this mess because I made a stupid bet. So I’m giving you an out. Call it off. Keep your money. I don’t care. Just… don’t hurt him. And don’t hurt yourself.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It could be.”

But she doesn’t understand. It’s not about the money anymore. It’s not even about the bet.

It’s about the fact that you’ve built something real with Sunghoon, even if it’s built on a foundation of lies. And you don’t know how to tell him the truth without destroying everything.

The next morning, you wake up to a text from Sunghoon: Can’t stop thinking about yesterday. When can I see you again?

Despite everything—the guilt, the fear, the looming disaster—you smile.

Tonight? My place?

Perfect. I’ll bring dinner.

You spend the day in a state of anxious anticipation. Part of you wants to cancel, to put some distance between you and figure out what to do. But a bigger part of you just wants to see him, to pretend for a little while longer that everything is okay.

He shows up at seven with Thai food and that soft smile that makes your heart hurt.

“Hi,” he says, kissing you hello like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Hi.”

You eat on your bed, cross-legged and trading bites of pad thai and spring rolls. Sunghoon tells you about his thesis advisor giving him shit for missing a meeting, and you tell him about your nightmare group project in your econometrics class.

It’s domestic and comfortable and you wish you could freeze this moment forever.

After dinner, you end up tangled together, kissing lazily. His hands are under your shirt, yours in his hair, and it’s not urgent or desperate—just sweet and slow.

“Can I ask you something?” Sunghoon says against your lips.

“Mm?”

“Are we… I mean, I know we said we’re seeing each other, but are we like, exclusive? Because I’d like to be. Exclusive, I mean. If you want.”

Your heart squeezes. “You want to be my boyfriend?”

“Yeah. I really do.” He pulls back to look at you, and there’s such open honesty in his face that it makes you want to cry. “Is that okay?”

You should say no. You should end this before it gets worse.

But instead you kiss him hard and whisper, “Yes. I want that too.”

His smile is brilliant, and he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss. Things heat up quickly after that—clothes coming off, hands and mouths everywhere.

This time, Sunghoon takes his time. He kisses every inch of your skin, mapping your body with his lips and tongue. When he finally settles between your legs, he looks up at you with dark eyes.

“Tell me what you want,” he says.

“You. Just you.”

He works you with his mouth until you’re trembling and gasping, and when he finally pushes inside you, it feels different. More intimate. Like you’re not just fucking but making love, which is a thought that should terrify you but instead just makes you hold him tighter.

“I’m falling for you,” he breathes against your neck as he moves inside you. “I know it’s fast, but I can’t help it.”

You should tell him the truth. Right now, in this moment, you should come clean.

But instead you just kiss him and whisper, “I’m falling for you too.”

And the worst part is, you mean it.

Later, after he’s fallen asleep, you lie awake staring at the ceiling.

You’re in love with Park Sunghoon.

You’re in love with the boy you were supposed to play, the bet you were supposed to win. And he loves you back, except he doesn’t really love you—he loves the version of you that you’ve been pretending to be.

Or maybe he does love the real you. Maybe all the pretending has become real. Maybe there’s no difference anymore.

Your phone buzzes with a text from Jake: We need to talk.

You stare at the message, your heart pounding.

Everything is about to fall apart. You can feel it.

And you have no idea how to stop it.

You meet Jake at a coffee shop off campus, somewhere you’re unlikely to run into anyone you know.

He’s already there when you arrive, sitting in a corner booth with two cups of coffee in front of him. He slides one toward you as you sit down.

“Vanilla latte,” he says. “I remembered from that party.”

“Thanks.” You wrap your hands around the cup, more for something to do than because you actually want it.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Jake studies you with an unreadable expression, and you force yourself to meet his gaze.

“So,” he says finally. “You and Sunghoon.”

“Yeah.”

“How long has that been going on?”

“A few weeks. Officially, I mean. We’ve been doing the tutoring thing for longer.”

Jake nods slowly. “He’s really into you. Like, really into you. I’ve never seen him like this with anyone.”

Guilt twists in your stomach. “I know.”

“Does he know about the bet?”

There it is. The question you’ve been dreading.

“No,” you say quietly.

“Are you going to tell him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Eventually.”

“Eventually,” Jake repeats, his tone flat. “So you’re just going to keep lying to him?”

“It’s not that simple—”

“It actually is that simple.” He leans forward. “You made a bet that you could make him fall for you. You did. Congratulations. Now either you tell him the truth, or you don’t. But this middle ground where you’re pretending everything’s fine? That’s fucked up.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Your voice comes out sharper than intended. “I know it’s fucked up. I know I should tell him. But how do I do that without destroying everything?”

“Maybe everything deserves to be destroyed if it’s built on a lie.”

The words hit harder than they should. You take a shaky breath. “Why do you care so much? You barely know him.”

“He’s my friend. And he’s a good guy. He doesn’t deserve this.” Jake pauses. “And honestly? I don’t think you deserve to hurt yourself like this either. I saw your face when you’re with him. Whatever started as a bet isn’t a bet anymore. You actually care about him.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Tell him the truth. Before someone else does.”

Your blood runs cold. “Are you threatening me?”

“No. I’m warning you.” Jake’s expression softens slightly. “Look, I’m not going to tell him. That’s not my place. But Mina was drunk when she made that bet, and there were other people around. Someone’s going to say something eventually. And it’s going to be a lot worse if he hears it from someone else.”

He’s right. You know he’s right.

“I’ll tell him,” you say. “I just… I need to find the right time.”

“Don’t wait too long.” Jake stands, leaving his coffee untouched. “For what it’s worth, I think he’d understand. He’s not perfect either. None of us are. But he deserves honesty.”

After he leaves, you sit alone in the coffee shop for a long time, staring at your phone.

You pull up your messages with Sunghoon, dozens of texts full of inside jokes and sweet nothings. Then you scroll to Mina, her most recent message asking if you want to go out this weekend.

You type out three different messages to Sunghoon—variations of “we need to talk”—and delete them all.

Tomorrow. You’ll tell him tomorrow.

But tomorrow comes and goes, and you don’t tell him.

You tell yourself you’re waiting for the right moment, but the truth is you’re a coward. Every time you’re with him, you see how happy he is, how he looks at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and you can’t bring yourself to shatter that.

The week passes in a strange tension. On the surface, everything is perfect. You and Sunghoon are inseparable—studying together, eating together, sleeping together. He’s introduced you to his parents over video chat, and you’ve started keeping a toothbrush at his place.

But underneath, you’re drowning in guilt and anxiety, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It happens on Friday night.

There’s a Halloween party at one of the bigger fraternity houses, and everyone is going. Sunghoon isn’t thrilled about it—he’s still not much of a party person—but you’d promised you’d go together, and he’s trying.

You’d put actual effort into your costume—a devil, complete with red bodysuit, horns, and a tail. Sunghoon is dressed as an angel, which he’d been embarrassed about until you told him how hot he looked in all white.

“We’re very on the nose,” he says as you walk to the party, his hand in yours.

“I think it’s cute. Heaven and hell, together at last.”

“Is that what we are?” He grins. “I’m corrupting you or you’re corrupting me?”

“Definitely the second one.”

The party is already in full swing when you arrive, the house packed with people in various states of intoxication and costume creativity. You spot Mina almost immediately—she’s dressed as a sexy nurse and is already drunk, dancing on a table with some guy from her marketing class.

“I’m going to get us drinks,” Sunghoon says, kissing your temple. “Want your usual?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He disappears into the crowd, and you start making your way toward Mina. But before you can reach her, someone grabs your arm.

It’s Jenna, a girl from your econometrics class. You’ve talked to her a few times, but you wouldn’t call her a friend.

“Oh my god, I’ve been looking for you!” She’s clearly drunk, her words slightly slurred. “I need to know—is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“The bet! With Park Sunghoon!” She’s practically shouting over the music. “Mina told Sarah who told me that you made a bet you could make him fall for you. And oh my god, you guys are actually dating now? That’s hilarious. How much did you win?”

Your blood turns to ice.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, but your voice sounds wrong even to your own ears.

“Come on, don’t be modest! It’s genius, honestly. I mean, he’s such a nerd, it probably wasn’t even that hard—”

“Stop.” The word comes out harsh, cutting. “Just stop talking.”

Jenna blinks, taken aback. “Whoa, okay. I was just—”

But you’re not listening anymore. You’re scanning the crowd frantically, looking for Sunghoon, praying he’s still in the kitchen getting drinks, praying he didn’t hear any of that.

And then you see him.

He’s standing about ten feet away, two cups in his hands, his face completely blank.

Your heart stops.

“Sunghoon—”

But he’s already turning away, setting the cups down on the nearest surface and heading for the door.

“Shit,” you breathe, pushing past Jenna and fighting your way through the crowd. “Sunghoon, wait!”

You catch up to him outside, on the front lawn. He’s walking fast, his shoulders tense, and when you grab his arm, he jerks away.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice cold in a way you’ve never heard before.

“Please, just let me explain—”

“Explain what?” He whirls to face you, and the hurt in his eyes is devastating. “Explain how you made a bet that you could make me fall for you? Explain how this entire thing has been a lie?”

“It’s not—it wasn’t all a lie—”

“How much?” His voice cracks. “How much did you win?”

“Sunghoon—”

“How much?” He’s shouting now, and people are starting to stare.

“Two hundred dollars,” you whisper. “But I don’t want it. I never wanted it. That’s not what this is about.”

He laughs, a bitter sound. “Right. So what is it about? Entertainment? Did you have fun? Watching the awkward nerd fall all over himself for you?”

“No, it’s not like that—”

“Then what is it like? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you played me. You pretended to need tutoring, pretended to be interested in me, pretended to—” His voice breaks. “Did you fake all of it? Every moment, every kiss, every time you said you cared about me?”

“No!” Tears are streaming down your face now. “I didn’t fake it. I swear, I didn’t. It started as a bet, yes, but it became real. My feelings are real.”

“How am I supposed to believe that?” He’s crying too, and seeing him cry because of you is the worst thing you’ve ever experienced. “How am I supposed to believe anything you say when everything has been a lie?”

“Because I love you,” you say desperately. “I love you, Sunghoon. That’s real. That’s the realest thing I’ve ever felt.”

For a moment, something flickers in his expression—hope, maybe, or want. But then it hardens again.

“You don’t love me,” he says quietly. “You don’t even know me. Because if you did, if you cared about me at all, you wouldn’t have done this. You wouldn’t have—” He stops, taking a shaky breath. “I need to go.”

“Please don’t leave. Let me explain properly, let me—”

“There’s nothing to explain.” He takes a step back, putting distance between you. “You made a bet. You won. Congratulations.”

“Sunghoon—”

“I don’t want to see you anymore. I don’t want to talk to you. I just… I need you to leave me alone.”

And then he’s walking away, and you’re standing alone on the lawn in your stupid devil costume, crying so hard you can barely breathe.

Behind you, the party continues, oblivious to the fact that your entire world just imploded.

You don’t remember getting home. One minute you’re on the lawn, the next you’re in your apartment, Mina’s arms around you while you sob into her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” she keeps saying. “I’m so, so sorry. I should never have made that stupid bet. This is my fault.”

But it’s not her fault. It’s yours.

You’re the one who accepted the bet. You’re the one who lied. You’re the one who kept lying even after you started developing real feelings.

You’re the one who broke Park Sunghoon’s heart.

Your phone won’t stop buzzing—texts from people at the party, from Jenna apologizing, from people you barely know asking if it’s true. You turn it off and curl up in bed, still in your costume, feeling like you’re suffocating.

“What do I do?” you ask Mina, your voice hoarse from crying.

“I don’t know, babe. Give him time, maybe? Let him cool off, then try to talk to him again?”

“He said he doesn’t want to see me.”

“He’s hurt. People say things they don’t mean when they’re hurt.”

But you saw his face. The betrayal, the devastation. That wasn’t just hurt. That was something deeper.

You’d made him believe someone could care about him, could see past the nerd label and the awkwardness and love him for who he is.

And then you’d proven that it was all an act.

“I ruined everything,” you whisper.

Mina doesn’t argue.

The next morning, you wake up with a pounding headache and swollen eyes. Your phone is still off, and you’re afraid to turn it on.

But you force yourself to. You need to know how bad it is.

The damage is worse than you thought. There are dozens of messages, multiple group chats discussing the drama. Someone apparently recorded part of your argument with Sunghoon and posted it online. Your mentions are full of people calling you a bitch, a heartbreaker, cruel.

And they’re not wrong.

You scroll through until you find messages from people who actually matter. Heeseung sent you a long text that essentially amounts to “what the fuck is wrong with you.” Jay’s is shorter but somehow more cutting: “He really loved you. I hope it was worth it.”

Jake’s is the one that makes you cry again: “I warned you. I hope you figure out how to make this right.”

There’s nothing from Sunghoon.

You open your conversation with him, looking at the last messages he sent—a string of heart emojis in response to a photo you’d sent of your costume. It was less than twelve hours ago, but it feels like a lifetime.

You type out a message: I’m so sorry. I know you don’t want to talk to me, but please, let me explain. What I said last night was true. I love you. I never meant to hurt you.

You stare at it for a long moment, then delete it.

Words aren’t going to fix this. Nothing is going to fix this.

You’ve lost him.

And it’s entirely your own fault.

The first week without Sunghoon is the worst week of your life.

You stop going to parties. You can barely drag yourself to classes. Your carefully constructed social life—the one where you were always the center of attention, always having fun, always in control—crumbles around you.

Because it turns out that when people know you’re capable of something that cruel, they look at you differently.

Mina tries her best to support you, but even she doesn’t know what to say. She canceled the bet immediately, told you to keep your money, apologized a hundred times. But it doesn’t change anything.

You avoid the library completely. You can’t bear to walk past your usual table by the windows, can’t bear to remember all those tutoring sessions that turned into something more. Your statistics homework sits untouched—you can’t bring yourself to look at probability distributions without thinking of Sunghoon’s patient explanations, his neat handwriting, the way his face would light up when you got a problem right.

Your roommate Jiwoo walks on eggshells around you. She brings you food you don’t eat, suggests watching movies you can’t focus on, and eventually just sits with you in silence because that’s all you can handle.

“You need to get out of bed,” she says on day five, opening your curtains despite your protests. “You haven’t showered in two days. You’re not eating. This isn’t healthy.”

“I know.”

“So get up. Take a shower. We’ll go get coffee or something.”

“I don’t want coffee.”

“I don’t care what you want. You’re getting out of this apartment.” Her voice is firm but kind. “Come on. I’ll wait.”

You drag yourself out of bed, shower on autopilot, and put on clothes that aren’t pajamas for the first time in days. When you look in the mirror, you barely recognize yourself. Your face is pale, eyes hollow and red-rimmed. You look like you’ve been through a war.

You feel like it too.

Campus feels different now. You walk with your head down, avoiding eye contact, hyperaware of every whisper and pointed look. The story has spread—everyone knows about the bet, about what you did. Some people are sympathetic, but most just see you as the girl who broke Park Sunghoon’s heart for two hundred dollars.

You deserve it. Every bit of judgment, every dirty look. You deserve all of it.

Jiwoo takes you to a small cafe on the edge of campus, one you’ve never been to before. It’s quiet, mostly empty, and you’re grateful for the anonymity.

“Talk to me,” Jiwoo says once you’re settled with your drinks. “What are you feeling?”

“Everything. Nothing. I don’t know.” You wrap your hands around your cup. “I keep thinking about his face. When he found out. I’ve never seen anyone look so… broken.”

“Have you tried to reach out?”

“What would I even say? ‘Sorry I made a bet to make you fall in love with me’? There’s no apology big enough for what I did.”

“Maybe not. But maybe he deserves to hear that you’re sorry anyway.”

You shake your head. “He said he doesn’t want to see me. I have to respect that.”

“So that’s it? You’re just giving up?”

“I’m not giving up. I’m accepting that I fucked up so badly there’s no coming back from it.” Your voice cracks. “I lost him, Jiwoo. And it’s my own fault.”

She reaches across the table to squeeze your hand. “For what it’s worth, I think your feelings were real. I saw how you were with him. That wasn’t fake.”

“It doesn’t matter if they were real. Not when everything else was a lie.”

You start seeing Sunghoon around campus, though “seeing” isn’t quite right because you make sure he never actually sees you. You’ve become an expert at ducking into buildings, changing directions, hiding behind groups of people.

Each glimpse of him is like a knife to the chest.

He looks tired. Sad. He’s always alone now, you notice—no more walking with Heeseung and the others, no more sitting in groups at the dining hall. He’s retreated back into himself, back into the lonely, isolated version of himself that existed before you.

Before you ruined everything.

On Tuesday at 5 PM, you walk past the library and see him at your old table. There’s a girl sitting across from him—you don’t recognize her—and she’s working through what looks like statistics problems. He’s explaining something, using the same patient tone he used with you, and seeing it makes you feel physically ill.

He’s moved on. He’s replaced you.

Which is what you wanted, right? For him to be okay? But watching it happen feels like dying.

Week two is somehow worse than week one.

You run into Heeseung at the gym. You’ve been going at odd hours to avoid people, but apparently not odd enough. He’s on the treadmill next to yours, and for a moment you consider just leaving. But he speaks before you can.

“You look like shit,” he says bluntly.

“Thanks.”

“Sunghoon looks worse.”

Your chest tightens. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Too bad.” Heeseung stops his treadmill and turns to face you fully. “You fucked up. We all know it. But I’m not here to lecture you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I’ve known Sunghoon since freshman year, and I’ve never seen him as happy as he was with you. And I’ve also never seen him as miserable as he is now.” He pauses. “And because Jake told me what you said. That you actually fell for him.”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“It matters to him. Even if he won’t admit it.”

You stop your treadmill too. “What do you want me to say, Heeseung? That I’m sorry? I’m sorry. That I wish I could take it back? I do. That I love him? I—” Your voice breaks. “I love him so much it’s destroying me. But he doesn’t want anything to do with me, and I don’t blame him.”

Heeseung studies you for a long moment. “He’s stubborn. Probably the most stubborn person I know. When he decides something, it’s really hard to change his mind.”

“So I’m fucked.”

“I didn’t say that.” He grabs his water bottle. “I’m just saying, if you really love him, you’re going to have to fight for it. Because he’s not going to make it easy.”

“He shouldn’t have to make anything easy. I’m the one who screwed up.”

“Yeah, you did. But people screw up. That’s life. The question is whether you’re going to let one mistake define you, or whether you’re going to do everything you can to make it right.”

He leaves you there, heart pounding, his words echoing in your head.

On Saturday morning, you wake up to a text from Mina: brunch? you need to eat and i miss you

You almost say no. But Jiwoo would just drag you out anyway, so you agree.

Mina picks the place—a cute little diner near campus that does bottomless mimosas on weekends. It’s the kind of place that’s usually packed, but you arrive early enough to get a table.

You’re halfway through your pancakes when the door opens and Sunghoon walks in.

Your heart stops.

He’s not alone. There’s a girl with him—the same one from the library, you realize. She’s pretty, with long dark hair and a sweet smile. She’s laughing at something he said, and he’s smiling back, and seeing them together feels like someone reached into your chest and ripped your heart out.

“Oh shit,” Mina breathes, following your gaze.

You can’t look away. You watch as they’re seated at a booth near the window—the same booth you and Sunghoon sat in that Sunday morning after your first night together. The morning when everything felt perfect and possible.

The girl says something and Sunghoon laughs—really laughs—and you realize with a sick feeling that you haven’t heard that laugh in weeks. Not since before everything fell apart.

“We should go,” Mina says, already signaling for the check.

“No.” Your voice sounds strange, hollow. “It’s fine. We were here first.”

“Babe—”

“I said it’s fine.”

But it’s not fine. Nothing is fine. You watch as they order coffee, as Sunghoon does that thing where he pushes his glasses up when he’s happy, as the girl reaches across the table to show him something on her phone and their fingers brush.

Does he touch her the way he touched you? Does he kiss her like he kissed you? Does he tell her about the hiking trail, about his dreams of being an astronaut, about all the little things he shared with you?

Has he replaced you that easily?

“I need to go,” you say abruptly, standing up. Your chair scrapes loudly against the floor, and several people look over—including Sunghoon.

Your eyes meet across the diner.

For one terrible, eternal moment, everything else falls away. It’s just you and him, all the hurt and love and regret hanging between you like a physical thing.

His expression shifts—surprise, then pain, then carefully controlled blankness. He looks away first, turning his attention back to the girl across from him with deliberate focus.

The dismissal is clear. You mean nothing to him now.

You barely make it outside before you start crying.

Mina follows, wrapping her arms around you while you sob on the sidewalk. People walk past, staring, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“He’s moved on,” you choke out. “He’s already moved on.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe she’s just a friend—”

“Did you see the way he looked at her? He was happy, Mina. Really happy. Like he is when he’s—” You can’t finish the sentence. Like he was with you.

“Come on,” Mina says gently. “Let’s get you home.”

You let her lead you back to your apartment, your mind stuck on repeat. The image of Sunghoon laughing with that girl, the way he looked away from you like you were nothing, the realization that you’ve truly, permanently lost him.

This is what you deserve, you tell yourself. This is the consequence of your actions.

But knowing you deserve it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

That night, alone in your room, you finally let yourself break completely.

You pull out your laptop and open the folder of photos from the past few weeks. There are dozens—candid shots of Sunghoon studying, selfies you took together, photos from the hiking trip. In every single one where he’s looking at you, his expression is so full of love it makes your chest ache.

He really did love you. Completely, genuinely, without reservation.

And you destroyed that.

You find yourself scrolling through your text messages with him, reading through months of conversation. The early ones are formal—just coordinating tutoring sessions. But they gradually shift into something more. Long conversations about nothing and everything. Stupid jokes. Good morning and goodnight texts. The kind of constant communication that happens when you can’t stop thinking about someone.

The last text is still the string of heart emojis he sent in response to your costume photo. You’d been so happy that night, getting ready for the party, excited to show him off to everyone.

And then it all came crashing down.

You start typing before you can stop yourself: I saw you today at the diner. You looked happy. I’m glad. You deserve to be happy. I know you don’t want to hear from me, and I promise this is the last time I’ll bother you. But I need you to know that I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. What I did was unforgivable, and I understand why you hate me. But I need you to know that my feelings were real. Are real. I fell in love with you, Sunghoon. Really, truly in love. And I know that doesn’t excuse what I did, and I know it doesn’t change anything, but I needed to say it. You made me want to be a better person. You made me see that there’s more to life than parties and surface-level friendships and keeping people at arm’s length. You made me feel things I didn’t think I was capable of feeling. And I ruined it. I ruined the best thing that ever happened to me because I was selfish and careless and stupid. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t even expect you to respond to this. I just need you to know that I’m sorry. And that I love you. I’ll always love you.

You read it over three times, your finger hovering over the send button.

Then you delete it.

He’s moved on. He’s happy. And sending that message would just be selfish—making yourself feel better at his expense.

So instead, you close your laptop, turn off your phone, and cry yourself to sleep.

The next morning, you wake up to pounding on your door.

“Go away, Jiwoo,” you mumble into your pillow.

“It’s not Jiwoo.”

You bolt upright. That’s not Jiwoo’s voice. You stumble to the door and open it to find Jay standing there, looking uncharacteristically serious.

“We need to talk,” he says.

“I don’t—”

“It’s about Sunghoon. Let me in.”

Your heart racing, you step aside. Jay walks in, looking around your disaster of an apartment—tissues everywhere, empty takeout containers, your laundry piled in the corner.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “You really are a mess.”

“If you came here to insult me—”

“I came here to tell you that Sunghoon is miserable.” Jay turns to face you. “That girl you saw him with? That’s his cousin. She’s visiting for the weekend, and he agreed to show her around campus. But according to Heeseung, the entire time they were at that diner, he kept staring at the door like he was hoping someone specific would walk in.”

Your breath catches. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because he’s too stubborn to admit that he misses you. And you’re apparently too much of a coward to fight for him.” Jay crosses his arms. “Look, what you did was shitty. We all agree on that. But Sunghoon isn’t some innocent victim in all this either.”

“Yes, he is—”

“No, he’s not. He put you on a pedestal. He built up this image of you as this perfect girl who chose him over everyone else, and he didn’t give you room to be human. To make mistakes.” Jay pauses. “I’m not saying what you did was okay. But I am saying that relationships are complicated, and people fuck up, and maybe if you both actually talked to each other instead of suffering in silence, you could figure this out.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Have you actually tried? Like, really tried? Or did you just accept his initial reaction and give up?”

You don’t have an answer to that.

“That’s what I thought.” Jay heads for the door, then pauses. “He’s going to that hiking trail. The one he took you to. He goes every Sunday morning. Maybe you should accidentally run into him.”

“Jay—”

“Or don’t. Keep wallowing in your guilt and let him keep wallowing in his hurt. But I’m telling you, you’re both miserable apart. So maybe it’s worth at least trying to be miserable together.”

He leaves, and you stand in your apartment, his words echoing in your head. Maybe it’s worth at least trying.

Sunday morning dawns gray and overcast, threatening rain.

You almost take it as a sign to stay home. But you’ve spent two weeks being a coward, and you’re done with that.

You dress in the same athletic clothes you wore the first time Sunghoon took you hiking. No makeup, hair pulled back. This isn’t about looking good. This is about being honest.

The drive to the trailhead feels both endless and too short. Your hands shake on the steering wheel, and you have to give yourself a pep talk in the parking lot before you can get out of the car.

Sunghoon’s Honda Civic is already there.

He’s here.

You start up the trail on unsteady legs, every step feeling monumental. The trees are mostly bare now, leaves crunching underfoot, fall having settled fully into the world while you were busy falling apart.

You find him at the clearing overlooking the lake, sitting on the same flat rock where you first kissed him. His shoulders are hunched, head down. Even from a distance you can see the exhaustion in his posture. He looks like he hasn’t been sleeping any better than you have. You step into the clearing.

He hears you immediately, head snapping up. When he sees you, his expression cycles through surprise, pain, anger, and finally settles on something carefully neutral.

“What are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you.”

“I thought I made it clear—”

“I know. Five minutes. Give me five minutes, and if you still want me to leave after that, I will. I’ll never bother you again.”

A long pause. Then he gestures stiffly to the rock beside him.

You sit, leaving space between you, and for a moment you both just stare out at the lake. The water is choppy today, reflecting the gray sky.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “I know that’s not enough. But I need to say it again. What I did was cruel and selfish and unforgivable, and I hate myself for it.”

“Why did you do it?” His voice is quiet. “Was I really that much of a joke to you?”

“No. You were never a joke. That’s the thing—you were supposed to be. It was supposed to be easy. I was supposed to play a part, win the bet, and move on.” You take a shaky breath. “But then I actually got to know you. And everything changed.”

“When?” he asks. “When did it become real?”

“Maybe when you brought me coffee without being asked. Maybe on Heeseung’s balcony. Maybe the first time you made me laugh for real.” You look at him. “I don’t know the exact moment. I just know that somewhere along the way, pretending became impossible because what I felt was completely real.”

He’s quiet. You press on.

“I saw you at the diner with your cousin. I thought she was someone you were moving on with, and it destroyed me. The idea of you loving someone else—” Your voice breaks. “That’s when I knew I couldn’t just accept losing you without a fight.”

“Jay told you she was my cousin,” he says flatly.

“Yes. And Heeseung told me you still had feelings for me. And Jake—” You pause. “Jake warned me weeks ago to tell you the truth. I should have listened.”

“You should have told me from the beginning.”

“I know. I was a coward. I kept telling myself I’d do it tomorrow, and then tomorrow became two weeks, and then it was too late.” Tears stream down your face. “I don’t expect you to forgive me easily. I’m not asking for that. I’m just asking for a chance to prove that I’ve changed. That my love for you is the realest thing I’ve ever felt.”

Sunghoon is quiet for so long you think he’s going to ask you to leave. Then he speaks.

“I’ve been miserable without you,” he says roughly. “I’ve been trying to be angry. Trying to hate you. But every time I come here, I think about kissing you on this rock. Every time I tutor someone new, I compare them to you.” He exhales. “I told my cousin about you. She called me an idiot for not hearing you out.”

Something flickers in your chest. “You talked about me?”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” He finally turns to look at you, really look at you, and his expression breaks open. “You look terrible.”

“So do you.”

“Yeah.” He reaches out hesitantly, brushing a tear from your cheek. The touch sends electricity through you. “I missed you.”

“I missed you every single day.”

“I want to forgive you,” he says slowly. “But I’m scared. How do I trust you again? How do I know this isn’t another performance?”

“You don’t. Not yet. I can’t hand you trust—I have to earn it back. Slowly, honestly, for however long it takes. I’ll be transparent about everything. I’ll go to therapy. I’ll do whatever it takes.” You lace your fingers through his. “Just don’t give up on us before we even try.”

“You’d go to therapy?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

He looks down at your joined hands. “I really loved you. Love you. Present tense. I can’t seem to stop, no matter how hard I try.”

“Then don’t try.” You move closer, until your knees are touching. “Let me love you back. For real this time.”

He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, something has shifted.

“No more lies,” he says firmly. “No more games. If we do this, we do it honestly. Complete honesty, always.”

“Complete honesty. Always.”

He leans in slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away. You don’t.

When his lips meet yours, it’s careful at first, tentative—like you’re both afraid of breaking something fragile. But then you’re kissing him deeper, pouring everything into it. All the guilt, all the love, all the desperate hope that you haven’t destroyed something irreplaceable.When you finally pull apart, you’re both crying.

“I love you,” you whisper. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” He presses his forehead to yours. “Even though I probably shouldn’t.”

“We’ll make this work. I promise.”

“We’d better.” He squeezes your hand. “Can I take you to breakfast? Somewhere new. Not the diner.”

“New memories,” you say softly.

“New memories.”

He stands and offers his hand. You take it.

Three months later, you’re back at the library table by the windows.

Actually studying this time. Sunghoon is beside you, working on his thesis, occasionally stealing your coffee or reaching over to help with a problem. His hand finds yours between pages, a habit neither of you noticed developing.

Things aren’t perfect. There have been arguments, moments of doubt, nights where old wounds reopened. But you’ve worked through them. Therapy helped. Honesty helped more.

Mina waves from across the library. Jake gives you shit sometimes, but it’s affectionate now. Heeseung and Jay have folded you into the group like you were always there.

Your life looks different. Quieter in some ways, fuller in others. Less performance, more presence.

“Want to get out of here?” Sunghoon asks, already packing up his bag. “I know this hiking trail…”

You laugh. “Always with the hiking.”

“You love it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” He takes your hand. “Come on. Let’s go make some more memories.”

Park Sunghoon was never just the biggest nerd on campus.

He was the love of your life.