mew ♡

none of these are by me (obviously) so send lots of love to the OPs 😘😘

THIS POST HAS REACHED LINK LIMIT, PART TWO WITH MORE AUDIOS:::

more audios

Last update: June 10th

୨ৎ ℋeeseung 🐹 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Heeseung x Male listener (Bottom Hee)

HeeWon (Bottom Hee)

HeeKi (Bottom Hee)

Heeseung (Solo)

Heeseung x listener (Blowjob)

Heeseung x listener (Riding Sub Hee)

Heeseung (Solo 2)

Heeseung x Fem listener

Sub Heeseung (Solo 3)

HeeSun (Blowjob)

Heeseung (Solo 4)

Heeseung x Fem listener (eating out)

HeeJay (Bottom Hee)

Heeseung (Solo 5)

Heeseung x Male listener (Bottom Hee 2)

Heeseung x Fem listener (Sub Hee)

Heeseung (Solo 6)

Heeseung x Fem listener (eating out 2)

Heeseung (Solo 7)

HeeJake (Blowjob)

Heeseung (Solo 8)

୨ৎ 𝒥ay 🐈‍⬛ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

JayKe (Bottom Jay)

Jay x listener (Top Jay)

Jay (Solo)

JayKe (Top Jay)

Jay x listener (Sub Jay)

Jay x listener (Top Jay 2)

Jay x listener (Sub Jay 2)

JayHoon (Bottom Jay)

Jay x Fem listener

Jay (Solo 2)

Jay x Fem listener 2

HeeJay (Bottom Jay)

୨ৎ 𝒥ake 🐶 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Jake x Male listener (Bottom Jake)

Jake x Fem listener (Riding Sub Jake)

Jake x Male listener (Bottom Jake 2)

Jake x listener (Jerking him off)

Jake x listener (Somno, Top Jake)

JayKe (Bottom Jake)

JakeHoon (Bottom Jake)

Jake (Solo)

Jake (Solo 2)

Jake x Fem listener

Jake x Fem listener (Sub Jake 2)

Jake (Solo 3)

Jake x listener

Jake (Solo 4)

Jake (Solo 5)

HeeJake (Bottom Jake)

Jake x listener (Top Jake)

୨ৎ 𝒮unghoon 🐧 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

HeeHoon (Bottom Sunghoon)

HeeHoon (Bottom Sunghoon 2)

Sunghoon (Solo)

Sunghoon x listener (Riding Sunghoon)

Sunghoon x listener (Blowjob)

HeeHoon (Bottom Sunghoon 3)

HeeHoon (Bottom Sunghoon 4)

HoonWon (Bottom Sunghoon)

Sunghoon x Fem listener (Pegging)

HeeHoon (Blowjob)

୨ৎ 𝒮unoo 🦊 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

SunWon (Bottom Sunoo)

HeeSun (Bottom Sunoo)

Sunoo x listener (Sub Sunoo with a toy)

Sunoo (Solo)

Sunoo x listener (Overstimulating Sunoo)

SunKi (Bottom Sunoo)

Sunoo x listener (Bottom Sunoo)

Sunoo x Fem listener (Bottom Sunoo)

Sunoo x listener

Sunoo x listener (Blowjob)

Sunoo x listener (Riding Sunoo)

SunKi (Bottom Sunoo 2)

Sunoo x listener 2

Sunoo x listener 3

Sunoo (Solo 2)

Sunoo x Fem listener (Blowjob)

Maknae Line (Bottom Sunoo)

୨ৎ 𝒥ungwon 🐱 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Jungwon x Male listener (Bottom Jungwon)

WonKi (Bottom Jungwon)

Jungwon (Solo)

JayWon (Bottom Jungwon)

Jungwon x Fem listener (Sub Jungwon)

Jungwon x Male listener (Bottom Jungwon)

JayWon (Bottom Jungwon 2)

JayWon (Bottom Jungwon 3)

Jungwon (Solo 2)

Jungwon (Solo 3)

Jungwon (Solo, Sub Jungwon)

Jungwon x listener (Sub Jungwon)

Jungwon x listener

Jungwon x listener (Top Jungwon)

Jungwon (Solo 4)

୨ৎ𝒩i-𝒦i 🐣 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Ni-Ki (Solo)

Ni-Ki (Solo 2)

Ni-Ki (Solo 3)

Ni-Ki x listener (Bottom Ni-Ki)

Ni-Ki (Solo 4)

Ni-Ki x Fem listener (Updated)

Ni-ki (Solo 5)

Was moving far away from home at 18 the best decision a financially unstable dumb teenager, a.k.a you, could make?

Fuck yes and fuck no.

You absolutely hated the school environment you were in back in your hometown. Sure, you had a lot of friends, got to experience the popular “high school love” thing, and made a lot of memories that even until now are still worth talking about.

But high school always had its fair share of drama. Rumors that spread faster than facts, snitches who always seemed to know something you did not, fake screenshots of fake text messages, secret animosity sitting quietly behind group photos, and inside jokes that did not feel as funny anymore once you thought about them too long. It all drained the life out of you in a way you did not fully recognize until you were already too exhausted to care.

It was not loud. No, it was way worse than that. It was constant.

Which is why in the last few years of high school, you made the decision to take your studies a bit more seriously. You sacrificed the time you had saved up for doomscrolling and scrolling through nothing in particular, and replaced it with studying that actually made your head hurt in a different way. You started staying at least two hours later in the library, sometimes more when the building was already half empty and the janitors had started their rounds.

At first it felt forced. Like you were pretending to be someone disciplined just because you were tired of everything else falling apart around you. But slowly, it became routine. Familiar. Almost comforting in a strange way, like at least that part of your life made sense.

And in the end, all of it paid off. You got accepted into a pretty well known university with your dream program on the other side of the country, and with a 40 percent scholarship.

You still remember how unreal it felt when you saw it. Not excitement first, but disbelief. It’s like your brain needed a second to catch up to the idea that you were actually allowed to leave, actually chosen to leave.

To say that the last four years of your life were the best you have ever had would be an understatement.

New friends who did not know your old reputation. New organizations that did not care what you were like in high school. New school, new city, new hangout spots that slowly replaced the ones you used to think were irreplaceable. Cafés where you studied at midnight, convenience stores you started recognizing by heart, metro rides and late-night walks that made you feel like you belonged somewhere completely different.

Everything was literally amazing in a way that almost felt suspicious when you were in it.

You would be lying to yourself though if you said you did not still get homesick. It was not dramatic, not the kind where you cried every night, but more like small hits of it at random times. Hearing your hometown accent in public. Smelling food that reminded you of your kitchen. Seeing group chats light up during holidays you were not physically part of yet.

You went home at least four times a year, for summer, for Christmas, and whatever else came up that required you to get your ass back to the other side of the country. Every time, the airport felt like a strange in-between space, like you were not fully leaving or fully arriving, just switching versions of yourself.

It did not help that you were so, so used to your parents handing you everything on a silver plate. Not in a spoiled, careless way, of course, but in a way where you never really had to think about the weight of things. Problems were solved quietly, decisions were made for convenience, and responsibilities were always softened before they reached you.

Now it was different.

Now you had to think before you acted.

Now everything had edges you could not ignore anymore.

Everything in your life recently had been going pretty well, but there was always one thing you could not quite wrap your head around fully.

Being financially independent.

Not in the exaggerated broke college student stereotype people joke about, but in the quiet, constant awareness of it. The way you mentally subtract expenses before you even agree to plans. The way you pause slightly longer in front of anything that is not strictly necessary. The way even small purchases feel like tiny negotiations with yourself.

It showed up in the smallest places. Your phone bill reminder. Grocery runs that used to feel simple but now required actual planning. Random cravings that turned into calculations instead of impulses. Even going out with friends sometimes came with a quiet mental checklist of what you could afford without regretting it later.

It was not that you could not survive. You were surviving just fine.

It was just that nobody really prepares you for the feeling of realizing that freedom does not just mean leaving home.

It also means learning, very slowly, that every version of independence has a price tag you are now responsible for reading.

You were absolutely horrible at managing your own finances, despite studying economics.

The irony was not lost on you.

You could explain inflation in a classroom setting, could break down opportunity cost in neat little definitions, could even sound annoyingly confident about budgeting theory.

Yet, in real life, you once nearly maxed out your own credit card buying a new set of clothes because you told yourself it was a “one-time reset” for your wardrobe and personality.

It was not a reset. It was quite literally a financial mistake wrapped in good lighting and impulse control issues.

So instead of minimizing your expenses like a normal, responsible person would do, what did you decide to do?

Simple. Pick up a new side hustle.

You had so many options to begin with, but none of them really resonated with you that much.

Working part-time at a restaurant? Cool in theory, but you did not want to leave your 5 p.m. classes and immediately hop on a bus ride to what you privately called the establishment of doom and dishes. The idea of standing for hours after sitting through lectures already made your soul feel tired.

Online tutoring? You were capable of it, technically. You knew you could do it. But the thought of spending your already limited free time slowly losing your mind over someone else’s academic problems felt like a different kind of exhaustion you were not willing to sign up for.

Being an online affiliate for something? Almost. Definitely closer. But you could only say so much for someone who was somehow shadow banned on every single platform the internet had to offer. Even algorithms seemed to look at you and decide you were not meant for conventional monetization.

So what exactly did you pick up?

You chose to become a webcam model, or more commonly known as a cam girl.

That might have been the biggest plot twist in your entire life. You would have never expected yourself to take up that kind of work, not even in the most chaotic alternate timeline version of you.

But who were you to complain?

It paid.

And more importantly, it paid in a way that actually made your financial anxiety quiet down for once. You did not have to do much beyond curating an online presence, following the boundaries you set for yourself, and listening to the odd requests of your viewers while maintaining full control over what you chose to show and what you did not.

It was structured chaos, in a way. Controlled attention. Anonymous interaction. Predictable unpredictability.

And you were not even that hesitant at first, because even before you started, you made one decision very clearly for yourself.

You were going to wear a mask.

Partly because you were not particularly fond of seeing your own face on screen. It felt too direct, too real, too easy to recognize yourself in a way you did not enjoy.

But more than that, it was because you did not want any traceable version of you floating around the internet. No clear identity. No direct link back to your real life. No possibility of some random video resurfacing in the future and landing in the wrong hands.

Especially not your parents.

You could already imagine it. The silence. The confusion. The question that would never need to be fully spoken out loud: why the hell did we not just sleep that night?

So you built the separation carefully. Deliberately.

A mask. A name that was not your name. A version of yourself that existed only behind a screen and only when you allowed it to.

And slowly, without you fully noticing when it became real, your alter ego stopped feeling like a joke or a backup plan.

It became something people recognized.

A persona that lived in the gaps between anonymity and attention.

Ultimately, your alter ego was eventually known as:

Mask Girl.

Everything about it felt incredibly surreal, both in a good and somewhat bad way. But with money popping up in every single crevice of your life, you never said a single thing about it.

It was not something you bragged about. It was not something you explained. It just became part of your life in the same quiet way everything else did once you stopped questioning it too much.

In your last year of university, you finally saved up enough money and moved out of the cramped university dorms into an apartment complex just three stations and a two-minute walk away from your university. It sucked that you had to wake up a bit earlier just to make it on time for your first class, but it was so worth it.

The difference was immediate.

No more thin walls that made you hear every conversation, every laugh, every slammed door from three rooms away. No more shared bathrooms that always somehow felt busy when you needed them most. No more cramped space where your life was basically folded into a bed, a desk, and a small corner of “existing.”

Even up until now, now that you have finished university, you are still living in that same apartment complex.

Some things just became permanent without you realizing it.

The apartment itself was quietly perfect in ways you only noticed after living there for a while. It had really nice tenants who mostly kept to themselves, the kind of people you only ever saw in passing in elevators or hallway nods. There was a café downstairs that sold incredibly good carbonara, the kind you pretended was a “treat” but ended up ordering more often than you should have. A convenience store sat dead smack beside the building, which made late-night cravings dangerously easy to act on. And there was a laundry room in the basement that always smelled faintly like detergent and warm metal.

It was functional, but it never felt cold.

And somehow, you got blessed with Unit 110.

It was slightly bigger than the other units due to some measurement errors the architect made during the planning, something that felt almost too trivial to matter but ended up changing everything about how the space felt. It did not feel like a typical studio that forced you into corners. It felt like it breathed a little more.

There was a window that overlooked the entire city, especially beautiful at night when everything turned into scattered light instead of structure. A really good air conditioning unit that actually worked without negotiation. And just so much space for one person that you sometimes forgot how quiet it could get until you stopped moving.

At first, you filled it with the usual things. A bed that you chose more for comfort than aesthetics, a desk that slowly became your work zone, a small kitchen area you only fully used when you were motivated enough to cook something that was not instant food.

But over time, it became more than just a place you stayed.

It became yours.

Your routines lived there. Your silence lived there. The version of you that did not need to perform for anyone lived there.

It was your little paradise, and you loved it to bits.

Your apartment unit had three rooms aside from the main living space. Your room, your bathroom, and what was formerly the guest room, because you had turned it into your little recording spot.

It looked like a bar inside, in a way. Not in a literal sense, there were no drinks, no bartenders, nothing like that. But the atmosphere of it felt like one. Dim lighting. A long table pushed against the wall. A computer setup taking up most of the space like it had always belonged there. Everything arranged just enough to feel intentional, but still slightly improvised.

It was a space that existed in its own time zone.

Your costumes were there too. Cosplays of characters you wanted to wear. Outfits you picked up over time because they looked interesting, or because you thought they had potential for the screen. Tight corsets that shaped your silhouette the way you wanted it to be seen. Mini skirts that felt like they belonged to a version of you that only existed online. An incredibly short pair of shorts you found in a thrift store because, in your words, it had “immaculate potential.”

Your accessories sat neatly on a small table beside a huge mirror. Earrings, chains, small details that changed nothing and everything at the same time.

And most importantly, your mask.

It was always there, always waiting. 

Every night, you would step inside that room, close the door behind you, and switch.

You would change into something curated, something intentional. A tiny corset that hugged your waist in a way that looked almost too precise. Accessories layered just enough to complete the image. You would spend five minutes debating between shoes or slippers like it actually mattered in the grand scheme of things, before eventually choosing based on comfort more than aesthetics.

Then you would strap your mask on and become someone else.

Just like that, you would stream for a long stretch of time, slipping into a version of yourself that felt separate but familiar.

To say that the moment you went online, a huge sum of people would immediately enter your stream was an understatement.

They came in fast. Consistently. Predictably. Names stacking on top of names. Messages flooding the side of your screen until it became more noise than words. Virtual gifts appearing in bursts that made the interface light up in ways you had long since stopped reacting to.

They sent you money. Always.

They complimented your body. They begged for a face reveal. They asked random questions about your day like they had any real access to it. They asked about your workout routine, your meals, your life outside the screen, as if you were something they could slowly piece together if they paid enough attention.

Most of it passed through you like background static.

But there was always something, or someone, that stood out.

A viewer with the username tiramissulatte.

You never really understood why.

They were not different in any obvious way. Just another name in a flood of usernames. Just another presence in a space filled with thousands of people watching you at the same time. Just another atom in a molecule you were never supposed to examine too closely.

Yet you did.

Maybe it was because they stayed longer than most. Always one of the last few to leave, lingering quietly in chat even after the noise had thinned out. Sometimes asking how you were, in a way that felt less like curiosity and more like checking in. Maybe it was because they always sent more than you expected, consistently, like it was habitual rather than performative. Maybe it was because they complimented you in a way that felt oddly grounded, never exaggerated, never overly loud. Or maybe it was because every now and then, when you would randomly slip into talking too much about your life after a long stream, half joking, half not, he would respond like he was actually listening. 

Maybe.

But you never let yourself think too hard about it.

Because at the end of it all, he was still just another viewer.

Right?

Just another person you did not know personally, sending money into a screen because you existed behind it.

Someone you would never recognize in real life. Someone who did not know you either. Just another name in the system.

That’s all it’s supposed to be.

You never thought much about the people behind the walls.

Not the ones in your building, and definitely not the ones behind usernames.

Because why would you?

People were just there.

There’s a family living in the unit directly above yours because their kid once gave you a loaf of banana bread. There’s an old grandma living in Unit 108 who goes out for a stroll at exactly 6:15 every single morning. Your childhood friend’s ex surprisingly lives two floors below yours.

You only know a handful of people in the building, mostly just by their first name and face, faces you see every single time you stride through the apartment complex for yet another side quest.

One of them would be the specimen residing in Unit 109, a.k.a your next-door neighbor, Sunghoon.

You do not know him personally. You never really had the time to bond with your neighbors because you were socially awkward, and the outdoors constantly had to beg for your attention if you were not busy doing provocative dances in front of your computer.

You have heard about him in passing conversations though, the first being some girl in the convenience store openly thirsting over him while you were trying to decide between two donut flavors.

He is at least four years older than you, loves working out, and has a dog named Gaeul.

Aside from that, you mostly just knew him as someone who lived beside you, someone who kept odd hours sometimes, and had this strange presence that made silence feel slightly more intentional rather than empty.

You saw him in fragments of your life quite frequently though.

In the laundry room during the evenings. In the convenience store early in the morning when you were cooking up cup noodles and caught him casually stuffing protein bars into his pockets before paying for them. Even on metro rides sometimes, though for most of the trip, he always got off before you did.

It was never anything important.

A familiar face in passing. A quiet presence standing a few feet away from you while waiting for the dryer cycle to finish. Someone you occasionally shared silence with in the most unremarkable parts of your routine.

Nothing more, nothing less.

At the end of the day, Sunghoon was just your next-door neighbor.

And you were just another stranger living behind the wall beside his.

Meanwhile, somewhere else entirely, thousands of people knew you only as Mask Girl.

It was a Thursday night when you were on stream once again.

You had just wrapped up your dancing for the night and sat down on your chair in front of the computer, ultimately deciding you just wanted to interact with your viewers now instead of exhausting yourself any further.

Your room glowed in shades of pink and warm yellow from the lights you had set up earlier. The fairy lights hanging near the ceiling reflected faintly against your wings every time you moved, making them shimmer slightly whenever you leaned back in your chair.

Tonight’s theme was inspired by Flora from Winx Club.

You actually went all out for this one.

Your hair was down, and you had curled the ends earlier after finally deciding to put your neglected curler to use. You wore a green corset with pink highlights that hugged your waist perfectly, paired with a flowy pink skirt that was short in the front and longer at the back, the fabric swaying every time you shifted around in your seat.

Gold jewelry with tiny white and green details wrapped around your neck, arms, and fingers. A pink flower bracelet rested around your wrist, while little green and pink accessories were pinned carefully into your hair.

And most importantly, your wings.

The fairy wings that cost at least eight sacrificed café visits.

You still thought about that every time you wore them.

Your wedged sandals with green straps were another financial tragedy entirely. You literally had to outbid someone else for them on Instagram at one in the morning while half awake and emotionally attached to the idea of completing the outfit.

Worth it though.

Absolutely worth it.

Your stream was calmer tonight. Less dancing, more talking. The kind of stream where you just sat there and let conversations drift wherever they wanted.

One moment you were debating spice tolerance levels for hotpot, and the next you were somehow explaining how embarrassingly average your science grades were back in high school despite currently holding an economics degree.

The chat moved so quickly you almost stopped reading half of it.

stargirl222: NEED the fit details immediately omg 😩💳 luv4maskgirl: your hair looks sooo pretty tonight whattt thr fuck 😭 user1028199171681: I LOVE YOUU MASK GIRL HOPE YOU HAD A NICE DAY 😖❤️‍🩹 MUAH MUAHH purplefairydust: flora wishes she looked like this btw jaeyunsleftsock: no becausr the wings actually EATTTTTT 👅

You laughed quietly to yourself, adjusting one of the bracelets around your wrist while reading through the flood of comments.

Then another message appeared.

From a username you had unconsciously started recognizing faster than the others.

tiramissulatte: ouhh shii 👀 are those new nails? they look gooood 😉 like really good im not glazing

Your eyes flickered toward the message almost immediately.

A small smile spread across your face before you could really stop it.

“Finally, someone appreciates my financial sacrifices,” you joked, leaning closer to the camera.

Carelessly, you lifted your hands toward the screen to show them off properly.

They were white nails with green and pink polka dots, with tiny detailed designs scattered across different fingers. Flowers, stars, butterflies, little details that took way longer at the nail salon than you originally planned for.

You turned your hands around slightly beneath the light so the designs would catch the camera better.

In the process, something else became visible too.

The moles on your hands.

Not one or two.

Seven.

Four on your left hand, three on your right.

Tiny dark marks scattered delicately across your skin in a pattern you never really thought much about because they had always been there, as familiar to you as your own fingerprints. They sat between the soft pink and green tones of your nails, small against the glow of your ring light, almost hidden unless someone was really paying attention.

And your viewers apparently were.

The chat immediately flooded again the second your hands filled the screen.

angelkisses: OH MY GODDDD THOSE NAILS ARE SO PRETTY 🥹 maaaskg1rluver: the butterflies??? hello??? 😍your nail tech ate the whole thing up girl drop the social media asap cherrysoda88: whoever your lover was in your past life definitely had a hand fetish because wtf these are gorgeous 😭 chwenotchewtrainfan5: SO CUTE STOPPPPP 1bubbleberry: the flower details are literally perfect omg

You laughed at the comments, rotating your wrist slightly so the tiny charms and glossy polish would catch the light better.

The designs looked even prettier on camera than they did in real life.

Little flowers painted carefully onto the white polish. Tiny stars scattered across two fingers. Butterflies detailed so delicately that your nail technician nearly went cross-eyed trying to finish them.

And beneath all of it, the moles.

Visible for only a few seconds whenever your hands shifted beneath the light.

If someone looked closely enough, if they mentally connected them together in the right order, they formed something that almost resembled a heart.

A slightly uneven one.

A wobbly little heart stretched across both your hands.

You never thought much about them yourself. They were just there, little marks you had grown up seeing every single day.

Nothing special, nothing memorable, it was something a bit more insignificant if you were to have a say in it.

The chat continued moving quickly anyway, people far more focused on the nails themselves than anything else.

Then another message popped up.

tiramissulatte: nails are so cute wth, next time i’m paying for the appointment ✌️

You laughed immediately after reading it out loud.

“Please do actually, because these nearly cost me my dignity and apartment unit,” you joked dramatically, leaning back in your chair.

The chat spammed laughing emojis almost instantly.

You stayed online for a little longer after that, talking about random things that barely connected to each other anymore. Someone asked about your favorite late-night snacks, another person asked if you preferred rainy weather over sunny weather, and somehow the conversation spiraled into whether or not cereal counted as soup.

Eventually though, exhaustion began settling into your shoulders.

The clock at the corner of your monitor was getting embarrassingly close to midnight.

You stretched slightly in your seat before sighing.

“Okay, I think I’m finally ending stream before I accidentally start saying things that’ll haunt me forever,” you said, laughing softly.

The chat immediately flooded with dramatic goodbyes and begging.

“Goodnight everyone,” you added, lifting your hand toward the camera one last time. “Eat something good tomorrow, don’t annoy people online too much, and drink water or whatever.”

A few more messages flashed by.

jays60kgdumbbell: GOODNIGHTTTT PRETTYYY 😚💗 mistleeetoedestr0yer: sleep weeeell mask girl !! tiramissulatte: goodnight :)

You smiled faintly before finally ending the stream.

And just like that, Mask Girl disappeared for the night.

The next day, the clock on the wall blinked 5:28 PM in sharp, slightly harsh light, like it was reminding you that time was still moving even if your life had just shifted into something unfamiliar.

Fresh graduates. No more classes. No more campus schedules. Just you, your apartment, and whatever came next.

You were already in the laundry room.

Basket balanced on your hip, half your attention on your phone, half on the machine that kept making that uneven humming sound like it had opinions about your clothing choices. You were doing laundry early because your university friends had dragged you into weekend plans again, something about drinks, pictures, and “celebrating freedom now that we have reached unc status and are unemployed.”

Honestly, you needed it.

Especially because your digicam friend was pulling up to the function.

Which, of course, meant every outfit mattered more than it should have.

You were already mentally building combinations while dumping clothes into the washer, thinking about lighting, angles, whether your green top would match the vibe or if you should just default to black like usual. Graduation had not made you any less image conscious, it had just given you more time to overthink it.

The laundry room was almost empty except for the steady rhythm of machines and distant echoes of footsteps somewhere above.

A second basket appeared in the doorway a moment later, slightly heavier than the sound of it suggested. The person carrying it shifted it once, like adjusting their grip without really looking down.

You didn’t look up at first. Just slid a shirt off your arm and dropped it in. “You can take that one,” you said, moving your basket slightly so the space next to you was clear.

There was a pause before the response came. Not long, but just enough to register that it wasn’t immediate.

“Thank you.”

You recognized the voice before you even looked. Not from conversations, more from repetition. From hearing it in passing often enough that your brain had filed it under familiar without attaching anything to it.

Sunghoon stepped in fully a second later, basket shifting against his hip before he set it down beside the machine next to yours. He didn’t rush the movement. Just placed it, glanced at the row of washers, then chose one without hesitation.

You finally glanced over properly. “You’re early too.”

“Not early,” he said, opening his basket. “Just on time for this one.”

“That sounds like you planned it.”

He gave a short look that didn’t quite become a reaction. “It’s laundry.”

Fair enough.

You went back to your machine, pressing clothes down a little more than necessary, like they needed convincing to fit. The detergent bottle sat between you both on the counter, cap already slightly sticky from use.

Sunghoon reached for his machine lid, paused, then leaned slightly toward the detergent shelf. His hand stopped before it even got there. The shelf sat higher than it needed to.

He looked at it for half a second, then at you.

You were already half on your toes again without thinking about it. “It’s fine, I totally got this in the bag.”

“You don’t.”

“What do you mean I don’t, I definitely do. If you believe it’ll be, then it’ll be.”

He didn’t argue. He just stepped closer, reached up once, and pulled the bottle down like it had always been in the wrong place. He set it down between you with the same quiet efficiency he used for everything else.

“Here.”

“Oh my goodness, thank you so much,” you said, taking it. Your fingers brushed his without either of you adjusting for it.

He didn’t comment. Just moved back to his machine and started sorting clothes in a way that looked practiced, not careful.

You poured detergent into the cap, watching the liquid rise. “My friends are already arguing about outfits,” you said after a moment. “We haven’t even left our places yet.”

“Sounds normal,” he said.

“Pfft, it’s not normal. It’s so, so messy, but it works out.”

“Sounds like it.”

You huffed lightly, like that was not helpful but also not wrong.

Behind you, a machine somewhere finished a cycle and clicked open with a soft mechanical sigh. Someone walked past outside the room, footsteps fading quickly.

Sunghoon loaded his machine without looking rushed, each motion unremarked, like he had done it too many times to treat it as anything new.

You capped the detergent and leaned slightly against the counter for a second, scrolling again. “They’re threatening me now.”

“Who is?”

“My friends. Bro, they said I’m not allowed to show up looking underdressed.”

“That seems manageable. You have a whole sea of clothes with you here.”

“It’s not when everyone has opinions.”

He paused briefly, then closed the machine lid. “Wear something you already like.”

“That’s just your own advice.”

“It works for others.”

You looked at him for a moment longer than intended. He was already facing his machine again, like the conversation had ended without needing closure.

The laundry room kept its rhythm around you. Water running. Metal shifting. That low hum that never really actually stopped.

You turned your attention back to your clothes, still thinking about colors that would photograph well, still weighing options that didn’t need that much thought.

Sunghoon didn’t look over again, but his timing stayed the same as before. Quietly matching the space without making it obvious he was doing it.

His gaze flicked once, briefly, not to your face this time, but lower, where your hands moved as you sorted through fabric. It lingered just long enough to register something small there, something familiar in a way he didn’t react to out loud. Then it was gone again, like it hadn’t happened at all.

The cheesecake was an impulse buy, the kind of decision made early in the morning when the lights of the 24-hour grocery store hummed too loudly, and the exhaustion made everything seem like a good idea. 

It sat in its little plastic container now, slightly off-center on the middle shelf of the fridge, the condensation on the lid catching what little light seeped in from the open door.

"Don't you dare melt," you muttered, poking the container like it might argue back. 

The fridge motor wasn’t running. You’d noticed that immediately when you got back, the absence of its usual background buzz making the apartment feel eerily hollow. The overhead light hadn’t worked either, and after flipping the switch three times just to be sure, you’d sighed and dug through the junk drawer for the flashlight you swore you’d left there. The beam was weak, the batteries probably older than your last relationship, but it was enough to see the disaster zone that was your kitchen.

The flashlight beam flickered as you jostled it, casting shaky shadows across the countertop where your phone lay. 

You thumbed the screen awake, squinting at the sudden brightness, and opened your socials. 

˗ˏˋ mask girl 🎭: hey ya’ll !! hope all are doing well ^^ unfortunately won’t be hosting a stream tonight due to unforeseen circumstances (a power outage) 😞 thank you sooo so much and i love you all 🤍 take care lovelies, will be back soon :) mwa

You hit post before you could second-guess the excessive cheerfulness, then immediately watched as the first like popped up — tiramissulatte. Of fucking course. Leave it to them to be online at the exact moment your life decided to fall apart.

The cheesecake container slipped slightly in your grip as you turned back to the fridge, its plastic surface slick with condensation. "Listen," you told it solemnly, as if the dessert could comprehend the gravity of your tone, "I'm not abandoning you. I just—I can't eat you right now. It's not you, it's me." 

The silence of the apartment made the whole exchange feel even more ridiculous. You glanced toward the front door, then down at the cheesecake again. Unit 109 had power. Unit 109, where Sunghoon lived. 

"Okay, come with me," you muttered to the cheesecake, grabbing your keys with your free hand. 

The hallway was dim, emergency lights casting long shadows, and you hesitated for only a second before knocking on the door. It swung open faster than expected, revealing Sunghoon in a faded band tee, his hair slightly mussed like he'd been running his hands through it. He blinked at you, then at the cheesecake in your hands, then back at you.

"Uh," you said intelligently, suddenly hyperaware of how ridiculous you must look. "So… you're kind of like, one of the lucky three with electricity on our floor. And I have this cheesecake. Which is going to melt. And I was wondering if—"

Sunghoon’s eyebrows shot up, and for a terrifying second, you thought he might laugh at you. Instead, he just grinned, stepping aside with a sweeping gesture. “Cheesecake emergency? Come on in.”

You hovered awkwardly in the entryway. “I swear I’m not usually this weird,” you blurted out, then winced. His living room was tidy but lived-in, a half-finished puzzle on the coffee table, a laptop open on the couch. “I mean… the power’s out in my unit, and I panicked. About the cheesecake. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he echoed, deadpan, but his eyes crinkled at the corners. He reached for the container, his fingers brushing yours briefly, and you tried not to notice how warm his hands were. “You know, most people would’ve just eaten it,” he mused, peering at the dessert like it held the secrets of the universe. “But no, you apparently didn’t.

“It’s a good cheesecake,” you defended, though your voice cracked a little. “Also—um, I wasn’t in the mood earlier, but now I’m emotionally attached. It’s quite complicated.”

Sunghoon snorted, shaking his head as he carried the cheesecake toward his kitchen. "You named it yet?" he called over his shoulder, and you could hear the grin in his voice.

You hesitated near the door, suddenly unsure if you were supposed to follow. The absurdity of the situation hit you all at once, standing in your neighbor's apartment at god-knows-what hour, debating the sentience of a dessert. "I might have whispered 'Chessie' to it when I took it out of the fridge," you admitted, shuffling forward when he gestured for you to come in.

He laughed outright at that, the sound warm and effortless as he slid the container onto a shelf in his fridge. "Chessie," he repeated, like he was testing the name. "Cute." The fridge light bathed his face in a soft glow, and you caught the way his nose scrunched slightly when he smiled.

The silence stretched for a beat too long. You cleared your throat, nodding toward the fridge. "So, uh. Thanks. For saving Chessie's life."

Sunghoon leaned against the fridge door, arms crossed. "You know, if you're going to stage a dramatic rescue mission, you could at least stay for the victory celebration." He tilted his head toward his living room, where a half-eaten bag of chips and two cans of soda sat on the coffee table. "I was just rewatching Bladerunner with questionable subtitles. You in?"

Your stomach chose that exact moment to growl loudly. You pressed a hand to it, mortified, but Sunghoon just grinned wider. "That's a yes from the jury," he said, grabbing one of the sodas and tossing it to you. You fumbled the catch, the can clattering against the counter before you snatched it up. Smooth.

The couch dipped under your weight as you settled in, putting a careful distance between yourself and the spot where Sunghoon flopped down. The laptop screen flickered back to life, casting eerie blue light across his features. "Subtitles are in... Filipino, I think?" he mused, squinting at the text. "I don’t know, it’s pirated. Either way, Harrison Ford's dialogue makes zero sense right now."

You snorted, popping the soda tab. "So you're telling me this is artistic interpretation? I see."

The soda fizzed against your lips, tart and sweet, and you let out a tiny, involuntary sigh. Sunghoon shot you a sidelong glance, his mouth quirking. "That good, huh?" he teased, nudging the bag of chips toward you with his elbow.

You grabbed a handful, crunching loudly just to fill the silence. 

Onscreen, Harrison Ford mumbled something that the subtitles translated as "the electric sheep dreams of disco," and you burst into laughter so abruptly that you nearly choked. 

Sunghoon thumped you on the back, his hand lingering just a second too long before he pulled away, pretending to focus very hard on the movie. "See? Art," he said solemnly, but his voice wobbled with suppressed laughter.

A gust of wind rattled the windows, and you both jumped. The power in your unit was still out, but here, in Sunghoon’s apartment right next door, it felt like a different world, warm and alive, as you curled your legs under you and stole glances at the way the laptop light caught the curve of his jaw, until he caught you looking once and smirked, tossing a chip at your face, which you immediately retaliated by flicking a crumb at his eyebrow. 

The subtitles grew progressively worse. 

At one point, Rutger Hauer’s monologue was translated as "my hemorrhoids ascend beyond mortal pain and into legend," and Sunghoon wheezed so hard he had to pause the movie. 

"This," he gasped, wiping his eyes, "is the worst pirated copy I’ve ever seen." You grinned, nudging his shoulder with yours.

Then the laptop screen flickered. The lights dimmed for a heartbeat, just long enough for your stomach to drop, before steadying again. Sunghoon went very still, not at first in an obvious way, but in that quiet pause where something in him shifted and locked into place.

His eyes weren’t on the screen anymore. They drifted past it, past the noise of the movie, toward the courtyard outside. Your unit stayed dark. His stayed lit. The contrast sat there a little too clearly now, and what had felt like a coincidence earlier started lining up into something more deliberate in his head.

“Hey,” you said, nudging him again, lighter this time. “You okay?”

He exhaled through his nose, forcing a small laugh as he leaned back slightly. “Yeah,” he said. “Just thought we were about to join the blackout club.” But even as he said it, his eyes flicked once more toward your building, slower this time, like he was checking something he already suspected.

He shoved the half-empty chip bag into your hands a little too quickly. “Eat. Before Chessie gets jealous.”

You obliged, crunching loudly just to annoy him, while back on screen, Harrison Ford pressed his face against a foggy window, and the subtitles just practically declared bullshit. You laughed, nearly dropping the chips, and Sunghoon laughed too, but it came a fraction late, it’s as if his attention had split somewhere else and was only half returning.

His gaze drifted again, not obvious, not lingering, just brief enough to feel instinctive. Your hands when you reached for the chips. The way you talked. Small details he had seen before, in passing, in fragments, never important enough to name until now when they started stacking together.

Seven marks. Four on the left, three on the right. He didn’t need to count them again. He already had, earlier in his head without realizing it, and now the memory of it sat differently, like something that had quietly stopped being random.

Outside, the rain picked up, tapping unevenly against the glass. Across the shared courtyard, the apartment blocks faced each other in uneven light, his unit still glowing while yours stayed swallowed in darkness. 

“You think it’ll come back on tonight?” you asked, mostly to fill the silence.

This time, Sunghoon didn’t answer right away. His thumb rolled slowly over the dented soda can, the pressure steady, controlled, like he was keeping something from showing on his face.

He already knew which unit had power and which didn’t. He’d heard the older woman from the next unit earlier, complaining loudly in the hallway about the outage on your side of the building. Somewhere between those facts and everything else he had quietly noticed over time, the pattern had stopped being accidental.

“Probably not,” he said finally. Then, a beat later, softer but still casual enough to pass, “I mean, the building super hates overtime pay. Doubt they’re calling electricians this late.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty anymore, just heavier, like something unspoken had settled into it and refused to leave.

The movie kept playing, distorted and ridiculous, Harrison Ford apparently mourning the fate of electric sheep in neon skies, but Sunghoon wasn’t really watching it now. He was watching you the way you didn’t notice being watched, in fragments and reflexes and habits you never thought twice about.

The way you laughed without thinking. The way you leaned back like this space belonged to you. The way your hands moved when you spoke, careless and familiar in a way that now felt too specific to ignore.

Seven marks.

You tossed another chip at him, hitting his chest before it fell into his lap.

“You’re a terrible liar,” you said suddenly. “What’s up with you?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer, just looked at the chip like it had interrupted something bigger than it should have.

Then he looked back at you.

Something in his expression had already shifted, not obvious enough to name, but no longer as loose as before. Still calm. Still controlled. But no longer fully empty of thought. 

“Nothing,” he said.

It wasn’t exactly a lie.

It just wasn’t the truth either.

Because whatever had clicked into place earlier wasn’t gone. It was sitting there now, quietly unresolved, replaying itself in fragments he couldn’t fully ignore anymore.

If he was wrong, it was coincidence.

If he wasn’t, then he had already noticed too much to walk it back. 

The movie kept running, but neither of you was really watching it anymore. The screen flickered through scenes that didn’t matter, dialogue dissolving into background noise. The apartment still felt warm and familiar, but something in it had shifted in a way neither of you acknowledged directly. It wasn’t sudden or dramatic. It was subtle enough to sit underneath everything else, like attention had quietly split into two layers without either of you deciding to notice it.

You felt it first in Sunghoon’s timing. Not absent, not distracted, just slightly delayed. A laugh that came a beat late. A glance that moved away too cleanly. A pause between movements that didn’t used to exist. Nothing obvious enough to call out, but consistent enough that once you noticed it, it stayed. There was restraint in it now, like every reaction was being filtered before it reached his face.

Outside, rain traced uneven lines down the glass, splitting the courtyard into two mirrored halves again. His unit stayed bright while yours remained dark, and the contrast no longer felt incidental. It sat at the edge of your vision like something that had always been there but only now mattered. You rolled a chip between your fingers, watching him more than the screen.

“Okay,” you said lightly, but it came out more carefully than intended. “Why do I feel like you’re overthinking something?”

Sunghoon didn’t answer right away. His thumb stopped moving against the dented soda can for just a moment, long enough to be noticeable if you were already watching him closely. Then he exhaled and gave a small shake of his head. “I’m not,” he said, but it was too controlled to fully relax the air again. The answer fit the question, but it didn’t dissolve anything.

You hummed like you accepted it, but your eyes stayed on him. The way he sat hadn’t changed in any obvious way, still leaned back, still casual, still comfortable in theory. But there was a difference now in how he occupied the space. Less looseness. More awareness. Like part of him had shifted slightly inward, even while everything outward stayed the same.

Onscreen, something dramatic happened and neither of you reacted. Instead, his gaze drifted briefly, not toward the movie but toward you. It wasn’t long enough to be called staring, but it wasn’t accidental either. Your hands when you reached for chips. The way you shifted your weight into the couch like you belonged there without thinking about it. Then his attention moved away again, too smoothly, like he had corrected himself.

“You’re weird tonight,” you said, softer now, less teasing than before.

That made something in him tighten just slightly. Not visible in a dramatic way, but enough to change the timing of his next breath. “Call my friends, I’m always weird,” he said, but it didn’t land with its usual ease. The space between you didn’t open or close, it just stayed held in place longer than normal.

The silence after that wasn’t empty. It felt measured, like both of you were circling something without naming it, careful not to step directly into the center of it. The movie kept going in the background, but it had become irrelevant, just movement and sound without focus.

Then you stood up.

It was casual, unforced, like nothing had changed in the last few minutes. You stretched slightly as you got up from the couch, already turning your attention toward the door. “I should go get my charger,” you said, like it was the most ordinary reason in the world. “My phone’s going to die.”

Sunghoon looked up immediately. Not sharply, but fully, like his attention had already been waiting for that exact shift. “Now?” he asked.

It wasn’t challenging. It wasn’t questioning in a confrontational way. It was simply confirming the timing, like he was checking whether this was already decided or still flexible. You nodded once. “Yeah. Before my phone dies and I disappear socially forever.”

A beat passed.

He didn’t move from the couch, but something about his stillness changed. It wasn’t passive anymore. It was present in a more deliberate way, like he was choosing not to interrupt something he could technically stop. The air between you felt slightly more focused now, like it had narrowed.

“Wait,” he said.

It was quiet, but it held.

You paused with your hand near the doorframe, not fully leaving yet, just caught in the space between intention and action. When you looked back at him, he hadn’t changed position. Still seated, still relaxed on the surface, but his attention was fully on you now in a way that didn’t drift.

“I mean,” he added after a moment, voice steady but less casual than before, “you don’t have to go right now.”

It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t a command either. It was something in between, stated simply enough that it could pass as nothing, but placed carefully enough that it didn’t feel like nothing.

You held his gaze for a second longer than expected. The joke you were about to make didn’t come out immediately. Instead, the space between you tightened just slightly, not uncomfortable, but no longer fully casual either.

“It’s literally right next door,” you said finally, lighter than what you were feeling.

“I know,” he replied.

The silence after it didn’t stretch, it snapped into place. 

You exhaled sharply, something between disbelief and irritation, and your grip on the doorframe tightened. “Okay, fuck, cut it out. What’s wrong with you and what do you want from me?” you huffed out, voice edged now, done with whatever this half-game had turned into. 

Sunghoon didn’t react right away. Not startled, not defensive. Just still for a beat too long, like he’d already passed the point of deciding whether or not to say it.

Then he stood up.

Slow. Controlled. No hesitation, but no rush either. The space between you stopped feeling like a living room and started feeling smaller than it was meant to be.

“I’m not guessing,” he said quietly.

That alone made your expression shift slightly.

He took a step closer, closing the distance he’d already been measuring all night. His eyes stayed on you the entire time.

“I’ve seen your hands,” he continued, tone even. “The nails. The moles. I’ve seen them enough times to remember them.”

A pause.

Then, flat and certain—

“I know you’re Mask Girl.”

A beat.

The words didn’t land loudly.

They landed precisely.

For a second, nothing in your expression moved. Just a quiet freeze, like your brain had to catch up to something that had already finished happening.

“No wait,” you blurted out too fast, voice cracking at the edges. “That’s not, no, you can’t just say that like it’s—what are you even talking about?”

You shook your head once, then again, like repetition could undo it. “You’re wrong. That’s not real. That’s not possible.”

Sunghoon didn’t move. He didn’t interrupt. He just watched you, steady in a way that made your own words feel less solid the longer you spoke.

“I’m not guessing,” he said again. “I’m not joking either.”

Your breath caught, sharp and involuntary. Your hand slipped off the doorframe without you noticing. The space behind you stopped feeling like an exit.

“No,” you said again, but quieter now. Less certain. “You don’t know that. You can’t—”

"You don't know that," you said again, but your voice cracked on the last word. Quieter now. Less certain. "You can't—"

"Can't what?" Sunghoon stepped closer. His voice stayed low, steady, the same tone he used when he talked about the movie earlier — except now there was something underneath it. Heat. Conviction. "Can't recognize the waist I've watched for six months? The way you tilt your head when you're reading chat? That mole just above your collarbone?"

Your hand came up instinctively, pressing against your own skin where he was looking. That tiny brown mark you'd forgotten about. That you never thought to hide.

"I've watched every stream," he said, and he wasn't stopping. He was right in front of you now, close enough that you could smell the fabric softener on his hoodie, see the way his jaw tightened when he spoke. "Every single one. I know the sound you make when you're stretching after a long stream. I know you bite your lip when you're nervous even though no one can see it. I know your hands, how you move them when you're talking about something you actually care about. I knew it was you the moment the power went out and you knocked on my door."

Your throat was so tight it hurt. "That doesn't mean—"

"I've wanted you," he said, cutting you off, and the raw honesty in his voice made your breath catch. "Before I knew it was you. Before I realized you were next door. I'd lie in bed after your streams ended and think about what your voice would sound like if you said my name. What you looked like under that mask. I've wanted you so fucking badly it's kept me up at night."

Your mouth opened. Closed. Nothing came out.

And then his hand was on your waist.

It wasn't tentative. There was no hesitation in the way his fingers curled against the curve of your hip, tugging you forward until there was no space left between you. His other hand came up to your jaw, tilting your face toward his, and the look in his eyes made your stomach drop, dark, hungry, months of wanting compressed into a single second of eye contact.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he said, voice rough. "And you're going to decide if you kiss me back."

He didn't wait for an answer.

His mouth was on yours, hot and insistent, and every logical thought you'd been holding onto scattered like ash in wind. You knew you shouldn't. You knew this was insane — your neighbor, your viewer, someone who had seen parts of you that no one in real life was supposed to see. But his lips were moving against yours like he'd been starving for it, and his tongue traced the seam of your mouth and you opened for him without thinking, without deciding, just pure instinct and want flooding through your veins.

He groaned into your mouth when your tongue met his. His hand tightened on your waist, pulling you harder against him, and you felt it, the solid press of his cock through his sweatpants, half-hard already and thickening by the second. He ground against your hip without breaking the kiss, a low, needy sound rumbling in his chest.

Your fingers found the hem of his hoodie. Then his shirt underneath. You pushed both up, needing to feel skin, and he broke the kiss long enough to let you pull them over his head. The hoodie landed somewhere on the floor. His shirt followed.

And then you saw him.

God. Fucking. Damn.

His chest was broad, shoulders wide, with a defined line of muscle running down his stomach that you could trace with your eyes. His arms were corded, veins visible where they wrapped around the bone. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, and the way his dark hair had fallen across his forehead made him look wrecked already, and you'd barely touched him.

"You're so hot," you heard yourself say, the words falling out before you could stop them.

The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Yeah?"

"Shut it, weirdo."

You dropped to your knees.

The sound of fabric rustling filled the small space between you as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and pulled. They slid down his hips, catching briefly on the thick swell of his cock straining against his boxers, and you had to bite your lip at the sight. Even through the cotton, you could see the shape of him, long, thick, already pressing against the fabric like he was out of room.

You pulled his boxers down too.

His cock sprang free, and your mouth went dry.

He was big. Not in a modest way, not in a "it'll probably fit" way. He was big — thick at the base, curving slightly upward, the tip already flushed and wet with pre-cum. Your fingers wrapped around him instinctively, and you couldn't even close them all the way. The heat of his skin against your palm made your thighs press together.

"Fuck," you breathed.

"Problem?" His voice was strained above you.

You looked up at him through your lashes, and the sight almost made you forget how to breathe, him standing there, bare from the waist down, watching you with half-lidded eyes, his chest rising and falling too fast, his jaw tight with restraint.

"No problem," you said. And you leaned forward.

The first contact was just your tongue, flat against the underside of his shaft, tracing a slow line from base to tip. He hissed, his hand finding your hair, fingers threading through it but not pulling. Not yet. You took the head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, and the taste of salt and skin flooded your senses. He was warm. Heavy on your tongue. Precum spread across your taste buds, bitter and clean.

You sank lower.

It was a struggle. Your jaw protested immediately, he was too thick to take easily, too long for you to fit more than half without working for it. Your hand gripped the base, stroking in rhythm with your mouth, saliva already starting to drip down your chin. The sounds you made were wet, messy, obscene.

"Shit," Sunghoon breathed above you. His fingers tightened in your hair. "Look at you. Taking me so deep already."

You moaned around him, and his hips twitched.

"Fuck—yeah, just like that. Keep going."

You tried. You really did. But your jaw was already aching, and you had to pull back, gasping, a string of spit connecting your lower lip to the tip of his cock. You looked up at him, breathing hard.

"You're really hot, you know that?" Your voice was hoarse. Raw. "And big. Like—really fucking big."

He laughed, a short, breathless sound that dissolved into a groan when you stroked him while you talked.

"You have no idea how long I've thought about that mouth," he said. "How many times I watched your streams and wondered what it would feel like to have those lips around my cock."

Heat shot through you. Your fingers tightened around his shaft.

"Now you know."

"Not yet," he said, and there was something in his voice that made your stomach flip. "I'm not done with you."

He bent down, hooked his arms under yours, and lifted you like you weighed nothing. Your legs wrapped around his waist automatically, your back hitting the wall for a second before he carried you to the bedroom. His mouth found yours again, kissing you deep and dirty, tasting yourself on your lips. You bit his lower lip and he groaned into your mouth, his cock pressing against the soaked fabric of your shorts as he moved.

He dropped you onto the bed.

The mattress bounced under you, and before you could push yourself up, he was there, crawling over you, caging you with his arms, looking down at you with an expression that was equal parts reverence and hunger.

"Can I record this?"

The question caught you off guard. Your heart hammered.

"You want to—"

"I want to watch it later," he said, and his voice was so low it vibrated through your chest. "I want to see what you look like when I make you come. I want to see the way your body moves when I'm inside you. I want to hear those sounds you make from the other side of the wall and know I was the one who put them there."

Your panties were soaked. You could feel the slickness pooling against the fabric, could feel the way your thighs wanted to press together to relieve the ache building between them.

"Yes," you said, and your voice shook with want. "Fuck, yes. Record it."

He reached for his phone on the nightstand, set it up on the dresser facing the bed, and hit record. The little red dot blinked at you from across the room, and somehow, knowing he was watching you through that lens, knowing he wanted to keep this, made you wetter.

He settled between your legs.

"Fucking look at you," he murmured, hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your shorts and panties down in one smooth motion. The cool air hit your bare skin and you shivered. "I've thought about this so much. Every night after your streams, I'd lie in bed and imagine what you'd taste like."

His mouth found your inner thigh. A kiss. Then another, moving higher. His breath was hot against your skin, and you could feel your own arousal slicking your thighs, could smell yourself in the air between you.

"Please," you heard yourself say. "Sunghoon—"

He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips. Then his mouth was on you.

His tongue slid through your folds in one long, deliberate stroke, from your entrance to your clit, and the sound you made was almost animal. Your back arched, your hands fisting in the sheets as he licked into you like he was trying to memorize the taste. His nose pressed against your clit, and he moaned against your cunt like he was the one being pleasured.

"Taste so fucking good," he said against you, the words vibrating through your sensitive flesh. "Knew you would. Knew it."

His tongue circled your clit, flicking over it in quick, precise movements that had your hips bucking against his face. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider, and you felt one of his fingers circle your entrance before sliding inside.

You cried out.

"Shh," he murmured, mouth still working you. "Let me hear you. Your voice is the sexiest thing I've ever fucking heard."

He added a second finger, curling them upward, and the pad of his fingers pressed against that rough patch of nerves inside you. Your vision went white at the edges.

"Right there," you gasped. "Don't stop, don't—"

He didn't. His fingers pumped into you, steady and deep, while his tongue worked your clit in rhythm, and you could feel yourself building, that coil tightening in your gut, your thighs starting to tremble around his head.

"Come on my face," he said, pulling back just long enough to breathe the words against your aching clit. "I want to taste it. Want to feel you fucking dripping down my chin."

That was all it took.

You shattered, crying out his name, your hips grinding against his mouth as the orgasm ripped through you in wave after wave. He moaned against you, drinking it down, working you through it with his tongue until you had to push his head away because it was too much, too sensitive.

He came up, grinning. His chin was wet, slick with you, and he wiped it with the back of his hand like it was nothing.

"Beautiful," he said. The way he said it, like a fucking prayer, made your chest ache.

But he wasn't done.

He positioned himself between your legs, and you felt the thick head of his cock pressing against your inner thigh. He didn't push inside. Not yet. Instead, he slid himself along the slick skin of your thigh, his cock leaving a trail of pre-cum against your flesh.

"These thighs," he said, voice wrecked. "I've watched you walk through the hallway in those shorts and wanted to bite them. Wanted to feel them wrapped around my head while I ate you out. Wanted to come all over them."

He rutted against your thigh, the head of his cock catching against your slick folds but not entering, just sliding through the wetness, teasing both of you.

"I'd stroke my dick to your streams," he admitted, and the confession made you clench around nothing. "I'd watch you stretch on your bed, watch you laugh at something in chat, and I'd imagine you knew. Imagined you were doing it for me. That you wanted me to watch."

Your hands found his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

"Sunghoon. Damn it, you asshole, just put it in."

"Not yet." He leaned down, kissing your collarbone, your chest, your sternum. "I want to enjoy you first. I've been waiting months."

His mouth found your nipple, tongue circling the hard peak before sucking it into his mouth. His hand found your other breast, thumb working the nipple until it was just as hard. He switched sides, giving each one the same attention, and you could feel the echo of his mouth everywhere.

"Your tits are perfect," he said against your skin. "When you wore that low-cut top last week, the gray one, I couldn't think about anything else for three days. I watched your stream that night and I couldn't even focus on what you were saying. I just kept staring at your chest."

You moaned, head falling back, and he took the opportunity to mouth at your throat, sucking a mark into the sensitive skin just below your jaw.

He pulled back, finally, and the head of his cock nudged at your entrance. You both froze.

"Ready?" he asked, and there was something almost tender in his voice, even through the roughness.

"Fuck me," you said. "Please."

He pushed in.

The stretch was immediate and overwhelming, his cock filling you inch by inch, spreading you open, and you felt every single millimeter. Your fingers dug into his back, your mouth falling open in a soundless cry as he seated himself fully inside you.

"Fuck," he breathed, forehead dropping to yours. "You feel—god, you feel so fucking good. So tight. So wet."

He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel the weight of him inside you. His breath was ragged against your lips.

"Open your eyes," he said.

You did. He was looking at you, dark eyes boring into yours, and the intensity of it made your heart stutter.

"I've wanted this," he said. "So badly. You have no idea."

Then he started to move.

The first few thrusts were slow, deep, grinding against that spot inside you with every roll of his hips. His breath hitched with each stroke, and the sounds he made, low groans, muttered curses, mixed with the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of you.

"Look at you," he said, picking up the pace. "Taking my cock so well. Like you were made for it."

Your hands found his ass, pulling him deeper, and he groaned at the contact.

"Yeah? You want more?"

"Yes—fuck, yes—"

He drove into you harder, and the headboard started to hit the wall, a rhythmic thumping that you were sure the neighbors could hear but you didn't care. His hand found your throat, pressing gently at first, and you moaned.

"Harder," you said.

His grip tightened.

His thumb pressed against the side of your windpipe, not cutting off air but making you aware of every breath you took, every inch of control he had. His other hand grabbed your hip, angling you so he could go deeper, and the new position had him hitting a spot that made your vision blur.

"Right there," you gasped. "Don't—don't stop—"

He didn't. He fucked you harder, his pace relentless, his hand on your throat squeezing just a fraction tighter. His mouth found your ear.

"You have no idea how many times I came to the thought of this," he rasped. "How many nights I lay in my bed, listening to you move around in your apartment, wondering if you were touching yourself too. Wondering if you'd let me watch."

You were so close. You could feel it building, that pressure coiling tighter with every thrust.

"I'm going to come inside you," he said, and the words sent a jolt through you. "No—I'm going to come on your tits. I need to see it. I need to see you covered in my come and know you're mine."

He pulled out suddenly, and you whimpered at the emptiness. But then his hand was on your stomach, pushing you flat, and he climbed up your body, straddling your chest. His cock was slick with you, glistening in the dim light, and the sight of it, thick, hard, wet with your arousal, made your mouth water.

He stroked himself above you. Once. Twice.

"Gosh, this is for you," he said. "Every time I watched your streams. Every night I came thinking about you. This is all for you."

His hand moved faster, and you watched his stomach tighten, watched his jaw clench, watched his eyes lock onto your tits like he was memorizing the sight. And then he came.

Hot stripes of come hit your chest, your tits, your collarbone, a splash on your chin. He groaned through it, his hips jerking with each pulse, painting you white. His cum was warm and thick, dripping down the curve of your breast, pooling in the hollow of your throat.

He collapsed beside you, breathing hard.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Your skin was sticky, your thighs wet, your body aching in the best possible way. The only sound was both of you panting, trying to remember how to breathe.

Then he reached over, and with his thumb, he wiped the drop of come from your chin. He looked at it for a second, then brought his thumb to his own mouth, licking it clean.

"Stay," he said, his voice rough and soft at the same time. "Tonight. Tomorrow. I don't care. Just—stay, please."

He pulled you against his chest, his arm wrapping around your waist, his face pressing into your hair. His heart was hammering against your back.

"We'll figure out what this is," he murmured. "Together. But I'm not letting you walk back to your apartment and pretend this didn't happen."

You turned in his arms to face him. His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing across your skin.

"Okay, okay," you said, breathless, your voice finally giving out on the edge of a laugh that didn’t have any real protest left in it.

⭐️ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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"Hoonie- agh- slow down!"

He roughly ruts against your covered cunt, your thin lace panties doing nothing to hide the slick spilling out of you. The friction of the fabric against your clit, the way his cock hits all the right spots inside you, sends you over the edge, and you come, crying out into the pillow as you gush all over him, your legs shaking from your sixth orgasm.

"Yeah? Like it when I ruin these pretty little panties?" Sunghoon growls, pulling your hair back just enough to see your fucked-out face. You moan out in response.

He fucks you through it, the punishing pace of his hips getting faster, slamming you into the mattress with each thrust. His thick fingers find your panties and pull them to the side, before he presses his cockhead against your bare folds and comes hard, growling as his teeth find your shoulder and suck marks into the skin.

You whimper inaudibly. You can feel it, the hot, wet pulse of him covering your folds, your sore, abused cunt twitching in response.

You hear a sharp ripping sound as he tears the cum-soaked fabric off your legs, his arms keeping you in place.

The feeling of being wholly his, being used and utterly ruined by him, sends your nerves alight, the pleasure blinding, everything more intense.

"Note even close to done yet," Sunghoon mutters before he flips you onto your back. The intensity in his eyes shocks you- he looks at you like he wants to eat you alive, like he wants to consume you.

You barely have a second before he buries his head in between your legs, his tongue instantly deep inside your tight walls. You cry out- try to close your legs, but he forces your thighs apart, his grip on the soft flesh so tight that you know he'll leave bruises.

He eats you out like a starving animal, slurping up the release of your previous orgasms, overstimulating you to the point of no return.

"It's too much- I can't-"

But Sunghoon can't hear a word you say, too lost in his own pleasure.

He makes you cum in barely minutes, making you soak his face, sending you over the edge. The moans falling from your lips are barely audible, your voice hoarse.

He lifts his head then. Lips covered in your slick. Eyes brimming with deranged lust, his hair a mess. You make a sound. Your hips twitch.

And Sunghoon's mouth is suddenly on yours, kissing your lips hard.

You gasp into his mouth- you can taste yourself, taste your cum mixed with his, and he growls, taking advantage of your shock and forcing his tongue into your mouth, his hands all over you, nails digging into your skin, powerful muscles pinning you into the mattress.

You're delirious, your whole body shaking as his already hard cock presses against your soaked cunt- you can feel every vein, every inch of him rubbing along your clit. You feel his cock press against your entrance, and without warning, he thrusts in.

You scream then- scream as your hands clutch the bedsheets, as you feel your tight walls struggle to accommodate him as he bottoms out, pulling you into a rough kiss.

"Still so fucking tight," he hisses into your ear, sharp teeth grazing the softness of your skin.

Tears spill from your eyes. Your face twists in overstimulation, trying to bury your face in the pillow next to you. You can barely think, can barely look him in the eye.

Its all too much- and suddenly, you feel everything. His hands on your thighs, the sting of the hickeys littered all over your collarbones your neck, the aftershocks of your previous orgasm still rocking through your body, his cock deep inside you, too big, too much.

You look up at Sunghoon, but he's barely recognisable, breathing hard, eyes clouded with lust and want. You feel his hot exhale on your neck.

Something shifts then- shifts into something darker, something that threatens to shatter you into pieces. For a second, you feel trapped, helpless. You let out a soft whimper. You can barely form words, your lips shaping soundless pleas-

And then he thrusts. Again, but this time is slower, fuller, right into the depths of your womb, and something inside you finally breaks.

True fear shoots through you, and your vision goes white. Your hands scrabble on the sheets, your heart pounding loud as he fucks you. You can't breathe, can't get out from the water, your head held under the surface, and you try, try to inhale, but you're choked, and you mindlessly cry out, sobbing in fear-

"Stop! Sunghoon, stop , red, RED-"

Your voice breaks off as he instantly stills. Your eyes threaten to spill tears, eyes screwed shut; you can't see the way he looks at you in the moments after everything stops. Shock.

"Y/N?", he whispers. Voice small, almost surprised. You can't respond.

Time slows down. Sunghoon pulls out of you fast, removes his hands from you, but you don't register any of it. You can barely think, your mind numb, any energy you had used up on saying the safeword.

Then you feel a soft hand gently cupping your cheek. He's kneeling at your side, your back still flat on the mattress, and you lean into the touch.

Sunghoon's heart hammers in his chest. His body is sweat-soaked, shaking, lips still coated with your saliva and slick. He moves away a strand of hair from your face, almost on autopilot.

You're not crying anymore. But you're completely still. And that's so much worse.

And the look in your eyes? Sunghoon's heart physically stops when he sees it.

It's as if a light had gone out. You look up at him blankly, eyes wide. Your lips part slightly, you blink slower, overstimulated, overwhelmed.

The tension in the room was thick, a string pulled tight, threatening to snap.

You say something then. It's barely audible- hardly a whisper. But he hears.

"Hoonie?" you manage to say. Blinking up at him, too fucked-out to think, to feel. He freezes. Every muscle in his body is tensed.

He's trying so hard not to lose it.

To hug you so tight you can't breathe, to wrap you in so much love, so much softness that you'll never feel anything but loved, never say his name in that scared, shaking little voice ever again.

But he waits. Because he knows you need space, need comfort without skin, without touches.

When your fingers finally reach for him, he takes that as permission. As a sign.

So he pulls you into his lap instinctively, even though a voice screams at him in his head that he doesn't deserve this, doesn't deserve to love you, to feel your soft, pliant skin under his fingertips.

He holds you close. Gathers you up, tries to stitch together the threads of your broken body, threads that he had torn through without even realising.

He pushes his thoughts away. Because he knows that if he lets himself think, he'll lose it.

And he needs to be strong, needs to be safe for you, so that you can fall apart in his arms. so you can trust him.

A tremor runs through your whole body. And you let out a little gasp, a barely-there breath, warm on Sunghoon's shoulder.

But he notices. He understands. So he moves. Shifts you just a little, so your body is comfortably curled in his arms. Gently tugs the blanket over your body.

A second later, you crumble.

You don't break down slowly. It all comes crashing down on you at once. You shake violently in Sunghoon's arms, crying hard and ugly as you finally breathe, finally take in deep lungfuls of pure oxygen.

You sob harder- burying your body in his so completely, that you're not sure where he starts and you end. But Sunghoon doesn't care- he just holds you tighter, letting you crack and shatter into a million shards of ice in his embrace.

He doesn't speak. Doesn't need to. But his actions mean more than words.

You don't know how long you've been crying. It feels like hours, minutes, maybe mere seconds. All you know right now is the way Sunghoon's muscled arms tremble as they wrap around your waist, clasping at the small of your back.

You let your emotions pour out in a flood of tears, letting yourself feel lighter, freer, falling because you know he'll catch you.

Sunghoon clenches his jaw as he holds you, trying so hard to stay emotionless, stay strong, body still, locked around yours like iron. Your sobs have finally subsided, leaving only deep, ragged breaths, your body melting into his arms, tension releasing slowly.

And then-

You look up at him. Reach a hand to gently cup his cheek, brushing over his lips. Your fingers are steady.

The sight wrecks him. His bottom lip trembles under your fingers, tears threatening to spill.

The way you look at him like he matters- like he didn't make you cry so violently that his whole chest was stained with your tears.

His breath stutters like he’s trying to hold himself together by sheer force of will, but the cracks are showing.

"Sunghoon," you say softly, pressing your palm right over his heart. "Sunghoon, it's okay-"

And the sound of your voice, that little word, his own name, finally breaks him.

He crushes you into his neck, finally pulling you close, so you don't see the way his diamond-hard facade crumbles like wet sand at your words, at your touch.

He cries hard into your hair, self-hatred ripping his heart into shreds, as he breaks apart, his hair a mess, his body doubled over, as if the weight of what he'd done to you was physically pulling him down.

"It's not okay," he sobs. "I- I hurt you, I hurt you, and you trusted me, trusted me to have you fully, and I broke that trust, I hurt you..."

His voice trembles on those last words. Like he can't fathom that he could ever truly harm you.

His hands reach for you- then stop. Held in the air mid-movement, quivering with barely-restrained want.

Not lust. Not desire. Just the need to have you close. To reassure you, say what he can't with words, but he doesn't want to hurt, to bruise you anymore than he has.

He's scared, you realise. Scared that he's gone too far.

"You can touch me." you whisper into the small space between you.

He lets out a soft sound. It sounds like paper tearing. And he breaks just that little bit more.

He cups your face in his hands, curling his fingers under your jaw. You let out a whimper.

"I'll never forgive myself," Sunghoon cries into your forehead, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your temple, your cheeks, your lips. "Never..." His voice is shaky, tears still running down his cheeks.

He keeps going.

"I don't deserve you- don't deserve to be yours, don't deserve to have you like this, don't deserve to fucking live~ "

Sunghoon breaks off instantly as you take his hands in yours. He looks down at you. Eyes brimming with unspoken love. He's shaking with the weight of his emotions, yet he's waiting. Listening.

"You stopped," you whisper. "That's the important part. And I know that you'd never truly hurt me- that you'll always listen. Always take care of me."

You squeeze his hands tighter. He grips back. A promise. Of staying with you, through everything. Together.

Sunghoon tugs you back into his chest. Arms encircling you, shielding you from the world. Some of the tension has gone out of his body, muscles relaxing to let you in. But he's still worried about you. Still wracked with guilt and shame.

"You were so still," he whispers into your temple, his voice cracking. "You couldn't even speak- I was so fucking scared..."

You rest your head on his chest. "It was a lot," you agree. "It just- got to a point where I couldn't take all of it. All the pleasure...it stopped feeling good at some point. I couldn't process all of it."

"I'm so sorry," Sunghoon whispers, his throat tight. "I'll be gentle, I'll never be rough like that again, I promise..."

"It wasn't about how rough you were," you say softly, reassuring him slightly. "We agreed to go harder than usual. I wanted this. And we haven't tried this before."

"I know," he says. "Its just... " He stares at his hands, still clasped in yours, like they belong to someone else. His gaze travels upwards; searching your face for any sign of fear, discomfort, betrayal- and when he doesn't find it, his expression crumbles in a way that he can't hide.

"I lost control with you." His voice tries to stay steady, but cracks on the last note.

"I-I didn't even think you'd ever say the safe word if I was with you. When we were fucking, it didn't even cross my mind that i could hurt you, no matter how rough I went- I didn't realise you were in pain. Because of what I did."

You tilt your head, eyes wide, questioning. He continues on, his voice soft, open in a way he hasn't been with anyone but you.

"I crossed a line I didn't even know existed. I made you feel scared. Feel unsafe."

Sunghoon's voice drops. He brushes your hair away from your face. Leans in to whisper into your ear.

"And I never want to make you feel that way again."

Your throat tightens. Your eyes are glassy- not with fear. Not with pressure. With love.

"That's why we have a safeword," you say, pulling back enough to meet his eyes. "The only way you could have truly made me feel unsafe is if you didn't listen. And you listened."

"I always will, baby," he whispers, cradling you close, hands stroking your hair. "Always."

"You didn't break anything," you say. "You didn't cross any lines- I trusted you. Still do. And I forgive you. Because you didn't keep going. You stopped before you could hurt me."

He lets out a long, shuddering breath- and something finally loosens in his chest. Sunghoon moves to press his lips to your forehead, tucking you tight into his arms.

"You're everything," he says, kissing your eyelids, your tear-beaded lashes. "My fucking everything."

You take his face in your hands and bring your lips to his, one hand in Sunghoon's hair, the other resting on his knee. The kiss tastes like the salt of tears and the sweetness of love.

When he finally pulls back from the kiss, something has changed in Sunghoon's eyes. Still protective. Still gentle. But no anger. No self-hatred. Just love.

"Okay," he whispers. "I'm still sorry. But as long as you're okay, I am too."

But he still fusses over you- picking you up bridal-style and taking you to the shower, cleaning the dirt and sweat and cum off of your bodies, changing the soaked sheets and laying you down on fresh blankets.

He kisses all over you, lips murmuring apologies into your skin, lips passing over every bruise, every mark extra soft under sheets.

When you settle next to him on the bed, you're nestled into his side, his arm a solid, safe weight around you.

"Thank you for using the safe word. Thank you for trusting me." he whispers into your hair.

Some moments live inside you forever, even if you spend years trying to pretend they never happened. 

The first time you kiss your best friend is one of them.

THREE YEARS AGO

You don’t remember how the two of you ended up on the floor, only that it’s late and everyone else is gone and the living room is half dark except for the warm glow from the TV that no one’s really watching.

Sunghoon is sitting on the floor with his back to the couch and his legs stretched out in front of him, a tangerine turning slowly in his hands as he peels it—and you’re stretched out beside him with your head resting on his thighs and your hair spilling over your cheek. There’s a bowl of peels next to you—the sharp citrus smell bleeding through the heavier, sweet smell of whatever (suspicious) syrupy thing Heeseung poured into your drinks and called “the Evan classic.” (whatever that meant.)

Yunah hadn’t wanted to drink alone, and you’d never been able to say no to her (she mirrors her mother in a scary way) when she pouted at you across the kitchen island. Sunghoon had frowned at the first clink of bottles, told you you didn’t have to, but you’d just grinned and shrugged and told him he’d take care of you anyway. Now, neither of you is drunk enough to forget tomorrow, but you’re tipsy enough that the ache between your ribs is beginning to slip out in all the small ways you both always shy away from.

You pout up at him. “You’re mean, slow, and annoying,” you mumble, and then you tilt your head up from his lap as you watch him. “I could’ve peeled five by now, Grandpa.”

“Then get off my lap and do it,” he huffs, not even glancing at you.

“Nuh uh,” you hum immediately, grinning wide. “You’re warm. And sooooooo comfy.”

Then, without looking at you, he holds one of the segments above your head. But instead of just taking it from him, you open your mouth expectantly without even bothering to move. 

He snorts. “You’re like a literal child. Are your hands broken?”

You grin and tilt your head back farther on his thigh, making yourself comfortable like a cat would. “Too tired. Feed meee.”

He dramatically sighs, but he gives in anyway and presses the tangerine to your lips. You bite down gently, sweet juice bursting over your tongue, and he watches you chew with a look of exaggerated exasperation.

“Happy now?” he asks, wiping a bit of juice from your chin with his thumb. 

“Mmm. Happiest girl ever,” you nod as you chew contentedly, and he sticks his tongue out and shakes his head—then he’s smiling and already peeling off another segment. But before he feeds it to you, he uses his free hand to gently brush your hair back from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear. 

You squint up at him and notice how red his ears are. “Oh my god. You’re blushing.”

Sunghoon immediately makes a face and glances away. “Shut up. I’m not blushing.”

You poke his leg. “You soooo are. Look at your ears! They’re like cherry red. Wait—hold still.” You reach up like you’re about to pinch his cheek, but he swats your hand away, which only makes you laugh harder. “I need to take a picture of this and add it to my collection of blackmail—”

“Don’t you dare—”

You just stare up at him for a moment and giggle while he stares down at you, still all flushed. You’re sure your own cheeks are properly red now, too.

“Don’t go,” he says quietly after a while—like he almost didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Your brows pull together. “Huh?” you say through a mouthful—though you know exactly what he means. 

“Don’t go,” he says again, quieter this time. “Just… stay.”

You’re quiet for a second. You search his face and silently hope he’ll finally say something. Something you’ve been hoping for your entire life. Something you know he won’t ever say because you know he doesn’t feel the same way, but you still, still wish for every time it’s just the two of you like this, or even when it’s not just the two of you and he still makes you feel like you’re the only two people in the world, let alone the room.

“Why?” you breathe.

He doesn’t answer right away. He peels the last bit of rind off the tangerine, splits it neatly in half, and gently feeds it into your mouth again, then meets your eyes again and huffs a quiet laugh. 

“Because, you’re somehow the only one who can keep Hee in check,” he shrugs, and grabs the glass beside him, “How else am I gonna survive without you? The second a drink touches his mouth, he starts calling the remote his butler and tries to order pizza from it.”

Of course. 

You roll your eyes (mostly at yourself for still being a hopeless romantic), but you snort as you picture Heeseung doing just that a few hours ago.

“You’re talking like I’m leaving forever,” you say softly, despite the ache in your chest—and nudge your shoulder into his knee. “It’s just for the summer. Plus, you’ll be too busy skating to even think about me.” 

Then he smiles—though it doesn’t reach his eyes entirely.

“Right,” he swallows and turns the empty glass in his hands, thumb tracing where your lipstick left a ghost of a mark. “Yeah, I’ll be… skating.”

You catch the look on his face then—the shadow that’s been lingering all month, something too heavy for someone so young. You’d wanted to ask before, a hundred times, but every time you’d tried, he’d brushed you off, swearing up and down that everything was fine. 

“Hoonie?”

“Yeah?”

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Sunghoon just gives you a lopsided smile, a little bit sheepish, a little bit sad. “Yeah. And you can too, you know?” he says quietly (clearly deflecting, because you can always tell). “Doesn’t matter what it is. You could tell me anything.”

You know he means it. Deep down, you know—no matter how much you mess up or how ugly your thoughts get—he’d never turn you away. Even now, with half your heart aching for more, you know you could bare your soul to him and he’d hold it in his hands, gentle as always.

You don’t say anything. Instead, you just nod, the words you want to say piling up at the back of your throat. I would stay forever if you tell me to. I wish you’d tell me what’s hurting you so I could fix it. I wish I could tell you how badly I want you to kiss me. I wish I could say I love you—even though I know you don’t believe in that. Even though I know you’ll never love me back, not the way I want, not with all the walls our families have built between us.

But some things are easier to leave unsaid. You tuck the thought away and you push yourself up from his lap as you suddenly remember something. 

“Oh, wait! I almost forgot—” you scramble up slightly and reach for your bag on the couch with an excited grin, then you add on in a singsong voice, “I have something for youuuuu.”

“Huh? Is it another friendship bracel—”

“No,” you giggle and pull out the journal you bought for him and wiggle it at him. “Ta-dah! You know how I like to write down everything. Soooo… I thought you could do it, too.”

He takes it from your hand and squints down at it, then looks back at you with a puzzled expression. “A… diary? What am I, a twelve-year-old girl?”

“Shut up. It’s a journal,” you correct and point your finger as a matter of fact. “Not just any journal, either. It’s limited edition Tiffany. Look—” you point at the lock—the tiny engraving on it that says Hoonie My #1—and you grin. “I even had it engraved for you.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “You’re such a nerd. What do I do with it?”

You nudge his knee with your foot. “Well, write in it? Duh?” you shrug. “This is the first summer we’re apart… since like… I was seven. So like, write down anything you want—what you’re thinking, stuff that happens, dumb things Heeseung says. Then, when I come back, we trade journals, and it’ll be like I never left.”

“Why do you want me to write in it, anyway?” he teases, his eyes dancing as he watches you struggle. “My life isn’t as interesting as yours.”

“So you don’t forget about me while I’m gone.” You blurt it out before you can stop yourself, and it comes out a little too quietly, so you drop your gaze right after, eyes fixed on the rug as you start picking at a loose thread.

He’s quiet for a moment, so you look back at him. Something shifts behind his eyes—and his voice is quieter when he answers, “I couldn’t forget you even if I tried.” Your breath stutters in your chest, but you barely have a second to process the fuzzy feeling before he adds, “You’re too annoying to forget.” 

The fondness in his eyes betrays the jab—but you scoff and shove at his shoulder. He turns the blue journal over in his hand and hums.

“Okay, I think I already have my first entry,” he says sarcastically, and pretends to ponder it for a moment longer. “Dear diary, day one: Y/N left for Paris today. The birds are singing, the sun is shining, and my ears have stopped ringing from all the whining—”

You cut him off by shoving him; then you stick your tongue out at him and reach for the journal. “Fine, forget it, you asshole. Give it here—”

“Nahhh,” he holds it up higher while grinning wide and stupid and impossibly bright—all teeth and trouble, the sort of smile that crinkles up the corners of his eyes and makes his whole face light up, annoyingly soft and a little bit cocky, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “I have day two planned too—Dear diary, I finally don’t have to listen to Ariana Grande anymore—”

You gasp very dramatically. “Hey! You said you liked her songs! Ugh—Give it back, Hoon!” You reach over him this time for the notebook again, and you get a grip on it. “I’m revoking your rights—”

“Hey—no, I want it,” he says, and you laugh and tug harder, and he tugs back even harder, and your hands tangle, and then you’re suddenly a little too close, laughing too hard, and you trip forward and land straight in his lap. “Y/N—”

And you both stop breathing for half a second.

The laughter dies between you, and you’re both quiet—too quiet and too nervous and already half flushed from the alcohol—and staring and staring and staring at each other like it’s the first ever time.

You both lean in for the kiss at the same time.

The kiss is impossibly soft and sweet, barely there at first—lips brushing so tenderly as you lean into each other even more. It’s even sweeter when he brings his hand up, fingers trembling just slightly as he tucks your hair behind your ear, his palm fitting over your cheek like he’s memorizing the feel of you. He exhales into the kiss, a shaky breath that feels like relief, like he’s finally breathing for the first time. You lean into his touch and deepen the kiss, and everything softens, even the ache in your chest.

When you part, he keeps his forehead against yours. Neither of you says anything for a long time.

You’re the one who tries first. “That was—”

“Stupid,” he cuts you off quickly. Then he shakes his head and rubs a hand over his face. “That was stupid.”

You blink. The words land like a slap to your face. “Oh,” you say after a second, forcing a laugh. “Um, yeah. Totally stupid.”

He looks away. “We probably shouldn’t—”

“—talk about it?” you finish for him.

He nods once, eyes on the floor.

So you hold out your pinky.

“Then we won’t,” you say, despite how badly you want to.

He looks at your hand, hesitates, then hooks his finger around yours all the same. “Promise,” he says softly.

You smile—small, and you’re aching entirely too much for a teenage girl. “Promise.”

He looks at you then, properly, and for a moment he seems older—exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with the drinks you’ve had or what just happened at all. 

The thing is, Sunghoon hasn’t told you that he’s quitting skating and that you’ll be gone for his last competition. He hasn’t told you he doesn’t have a choice, or about the coldness at home, about the bruises that have been blooming near his ribs lately—how his father’s drinking gets worse every week and how his mother has given up on him entirely. There are so many things he hasn’t told you, really, because there’s a part of him that wants to protect the last person who still looks at him and sees something soft, instead of something broken or pathetic that shouldn’t be there. He doesn’t want to change the way you look at him. He doesn’t want to put the weight of his world on your shoulders. Maybe it’s selfish, maybe it’s cowardly, but it’s the only thing he can still control.

So he keeps the words behind his teeth, where you’re still just two best friends with tangerine juice (and a soft, innocent secret kiss) on your lips, pretending you have all the time in the world.

He nods and rubs his thumb over the edge of the bottle by the couch. “We’re… um… drunk, anyway.”

You’re not, not really. But you nod anyway. “Soo drunk.”

In two months, you’d leave for Paris, and you didn’t know it then, but that was the night everything between you stopped being simple. And no, the kiss didn’t really change anything, not really—not when the two of you were always so good at pretending. But still, somehow, that was the summer nothing between you was ever quite the same again.

You’d come back with a journal filled with so many things you wanted to tell him about, only to find that the boy you knew would be gone, scattered somewhere you couldn’t reach for ever again, without ever knowing why, no matter how hard you tried every day after that. And that’s just how it happens sometimes… You love someone so much and you think you’ll always know them, never imagining they could just wake up one day and turn into someone you don’t know at all in the blink of an eye. 

It’s a strange kind of mercy from the human mind that memories stay warm even after the people in them go cold, because holding onto the feeling of what was is the only way to survive what is, no matter how hard you pretend not to care anymore.

You have a problem.

It’s a big problem. Massive, really.

You can’t stop having sex with Park Sunghoon.

But before we get to the part where you spiral and make the most diabolical decisions of your life, let’s rewind a little—to the part right after you slam that bathroom door and try to remember how to be a functioning human being.

“Um—are you guys… actually okay in there? Wait, don’t answer that. I’ll just tell the stylists to head to the new room, okay? Thirty minutes—uh, take your time! I mean—don’t take your time, but, you know, just… Uh, I’m leaving!”

Ningning’s voice comes from behind the door—and then you’re stuck staring at your own reflection again. 

News flash; it still hasn’t gotten any better.

You sigh and start counting the… bite marks (Dear God.) first, and you really wish you hadn’t.

They’re fading… but there’s about five below your jaw, then your neck, your collarbone, your tits, your shoulders, your thighs. And, oh my god, your fucking arms. What the hell is he? A vampire?

You give up on counting the hickeys because some things are better left a mystery—so you just tug on the bathrobe and cinch it tighter than necessary. Your legs are starting to ache in places you didn’t even know could ache, and you try not to think too hard about it as you quite literally force yourself out of the bathroom.

Sunghoon is on the couch with his head tipped back and a new shirt thrown on, but still just in his boxers. You naturally ignore him completely and pretend he’s part of the hotel decor.

Speaking of the hotel decor… Jesus Christ. It’s actually so much worse from this angle. Sheets tangled and half on the floor, rose petals stuck to the broken glass on the floor, the champagne bottle still rolling by the window—Oh! The fucking window with literal fluids and imprints on it. Yeah. Okay. You’re mortified. No, not even mortified—beyond mortified. You’re on another astral plane of shame.

Despite how destroyed you are, you walk over to the desk (weakly and shakingly) and you drop to your knees and carefully start picking up shards of glass. You don’t even think; you just do it, running on adrenaline and humiliation at the thought of some poor cleaning lady seeing this room and knowing exactly what went down, and you can’t have that because no one gets paid enough to deal with this. 

Sunghoon watches you for a second with his brows furrowing. “You don’t have to do that.”

You glare at him. “Oh, right, because housekeeping loves cleaning up broken glass and mystery fluids for… for… there’s no wage in the world that I could possibly state. Do you want them telling stories about how the great Park Sunghoon trashes his own hotel rooms?”

He looks annoyed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What the hell could you possibly have meant, sitting there sprawled up like that?” you scoff, “Have a little shame for once in your life. Or are you just that fucking spoiled?”

He shakes his head and huffs a laugh. “You’re one to talk.”

You roll your eyes and dump broken glass into a trash can. “Well, at least I’m not going to be the reason someone’s traumatized. Correction, extremely petrified. And you—” you point at him with a balled-up tissue, “—are helping. I’m really not letting some poor staff deal with your… animal instincts.”

He scoffs and raises a brow. “Animal instincts? Really?”

You open your mouth, ready with another biting remark—but then he huffs and gets up and suddenly starts pulling his shirt off over his head.

You freeze.

Then he turns around with his back to you, and the words properly die in your throat… Because his back—holy shit. Talk about hypocrisy, woman. 

His back is a mess of angry red lines, nearly bloodied, scratches crisscrossing over his skin so deep and so jagged that you can’t even tell where one ends and another begins. There are even more on his shoulders, along with… hickeys and bite marks… (?) on his biceps that you don’t even remember leaving. Not to mention, there are hickeys blooming up all over his neck and down his chest too, and some of them are already turning a dark, sickly color. It’s bad. It’s really bad for both of you.

You’re still staring when he throws a look over his shoulder. “Go on,” he taunts. “Do tell me more about animal instincts.”

You swallow once and then blink. 

“Are you actually serious right now?” you snap, and before you can think, you untie your robe and pull it open—exposing all the marks, the bites, and the angry purple-red patches mapped across your skin just the same. “You wanna go there? How the fuck am I supposed to cover all this up? At least you get a suit—”

There’s a half-beat where neither of you moves, and you realize—Oh. So, you’re just… naked in front of him again. Great. Amazing. Lovely! You catch the way his eyes flicker down, the way he drags his teeth over his top lip, almost like he’s contemplating something deeply sinful. More so than what just happened here.

You pull the robe back — yanking the tie so tight you wince at the way it feels against your sensitive body. “Shut up.” You look away from him and bend down weakly again.

“I didn’t say anything.”

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts and grab another fistful of broken glass, mumbling under your breath, “Fucking beast.”

He bends down to help you clean up anyway. “You started it. Try not to maul me next time,” he murmurs.

You shoot him a look and lob the balled-up tissue straight at his stupid, perfect chest. “There won’t be a next time, jackass,” you snap, but the words barely even sound convincing to your own ears.

The thing is, your body’s already betraying you with the ache between your legs that isn’t just from how fucked-out you are (you’re beyond satisfied… actually, infuriatingly so, but… you’re still horny. Plain and simple.)

“Yeah? You sure about that?” he taunts. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re already eyeing me like you want a third round.”

Oh, for fucks sake.

Your glare at him. “I’ll kill you.”

“Uh-huh,” He just shrugs. “We’re both adults. We’ve established that we don’t like each other, but… clearly...” His gaze drops pointedly, lingering on the mess of bruises and marks on his (still) shirtless self. “We’re good at something together.”

You do agree with him… You obviously hadn’t even meant it when you’d said there’ll be no next time… but you still glare at him and carefully shove another handful of glass into the trash. “God, you’re so—” you start, but you don’t have the energy for it. “Just shut up and clean before I actually kill you and add a dead body to the list of atrocities in this room.”

The two of you move quietly after that, and there’s a weird sort of rhythm to it—him sweeping up the larger shards while you collect the smaller ones in a towel, both of you avoiding each other’s eyes. And somehow, you actually manage to tidy up most of it — Almost enough to look normal, if you ignore the sheets missing from the bed, the very broken headboard, the very obvious bodily imprints on the window you can’t scrub off… but hey! It’s something.

Then you spot a shard you missed glinting by the window, and you sigh as you crouch down to grab it—

“FUCK! OW!” 

The glass slices into your finger because you underestimated your bodily strength and just how wobbly your legs are—and sort of fell into it—and the blood blooms instantly.

Sunghoon’s instantly there, crossing the room before you can blink. “Are you fucking stupid?” His hand closes around your wrist, turning your palm up so he can see. “I told you not to—”

You try to yank back, but you wince. “It’s fine, it’s not—” you look down at his wrist and then at how his brows are knitted together, and your chest aches for a moment. “Let go.”

He scoffs and drops your wrist instantly. “Just go shower,” he clicks his tongue and drags a hand down his face. “You can barely even stand.”

You scowl and lick the blood off your finger. “Why the hell do you care?”

“I don’t care,” he huffs, but he still reaches for a tissue and hands it to you. “I do care, however, about showering. And you’re taking too long right now. Just be grateful I’m letting you go first.”

Asshole.

You huff and take the tissue from him and throw it back in his face, but then you limp your way to the bathroom anyway. You close the door, take off your robe, and weakly step into the shower without another thought. You turn on the hot water — hissing at the way it feels on your skin — but you let it scald you, hoping it’ll erase something—anything.

You’re barely one round into washing your hair when you hear the door open.

Of course.

You glare over your shoulder, too tired to even curse properly. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you hiss, and then you press your hands to your chest and attempt to cover yourself up.

Sunghoon just steps in, bare as the day he was born, eyes raking over you and giving you a look that says he’s absolutely baffled at how you’re trying to cover up. “Showering,” he raises a brow. “You’re taking too long. And I realized I don’t care.”

“You fucking—” you grit your teeth and refuse to move. The shower is big enough for two, but you’d rather drown than share it. “Use the sink or wait for me, asshole.”

He ignores you entirely, steps in, and reaches for the shampoo bottle. “I’m not waiting for you any longer. Move, or I’ll move you.”

God, you hate him.

You’re so mad you could slap him, but you’re also so fucked out and still needy you could scream. You try not to stare down at his dick—soft, but still huge, ridiculously huge, a fucking monster—ENOUGH. He steps in closer, and how your body goes tight at the thought of him even half-hard, let alone—

You shake your head. No. No, no, no.

You grab the shampoo like you might actually throw it at his head, but instead you squirt a generous amount into your palm and continue lathering your hair furiously. You tell yourself over and over again that you’re not affected by how you’re both naked again and actually showering together after having the craziest sex of your life.

God, You’re so, so full of shit. 

But you try not to stare at him again, and just focus on getting yourself the hell out of here. (You still catch yourself sneaking glances anyway—the way water beads down his muscular chest, the way you’ve marked him up, the lazy way he runs his hand through his hair with those ridiculously big hands of his… Christ.) 

At first, it’s almost fine. Too fine, really—he ignores you completely, acting like you’re just… casually sharing a shower, not like he was just inside you an hour ago. Not like he’s visibly hard again or anything. He steals the conditioner right out of your hand, and you mutter a string of curses under your breath, but he still shrugs you off. It’s all so normal to him it actually pisses you off more.

So, maybe you do it on purpose. 

Maybe you start working the shower gel lower, letting it drip down over your breasts as you slide your hands over your skin in slow circles—pretending you’re just trying to get clean on purpose. You let your head tip back a little too far as you work the suds over the soft swell of your skin and hiss at how tender your breasts feel as you give them a squeeze. 

You’re not even looking at him, but you can feel his eyes on you, and you pretend not to notice. 

You drag your hands down even slower over your nipples, working them between your fingers until they stiffen up, the water washing white suds down your stomach. Then you finally glance over at him innocently through your wet lashes.

He tongues his cheek and huffs a low laugh. “Ah. Where are my manners?” he tuts, then he shakes his head and suddenly steps right behind you, and you feel his cock right against your ass—thick and heavy and so, so hot you might actually lose your mind. “I just realized I didn’t even give you proper aftercare.” 

He leans in even closer until his nose brushes your ear, “Let me clean you up.”

You snort, but your heart starts pounding in your chest. “Aftercare? Yeah, right. If you touch me, I’ll kill you.”

He ignores you completely as he reaches for the douche. “No, really, I insist.” His breath is warm against your ear as he pushes a thick strand of wet hair off your neck. “Let me take care of you.”

He brings the hot water down over your body, like he’s actually just washing you, and then he brings it around your back. For a second, you almost let your guard down, and also almost think he might not be a huge dick after all, but then—

He grabs the shower head and fiddles with the settings to change the water pressure, and before you can even process what he’s doing, he brings it in front of you and moves the shower head lower and presses it right between your thighs. The water hits your clit dead on, and you gasp—no, you fucking scream because your knees nearly give out from the shock. 

“AH—you ASSHOLE—” you yelp, but it melts into a gasp, a whine, then a moan as he presses the shower head even harder, angling it just right so every pulse of water slams into your clit. You scramble for the wall — nails scraping tile — and Sunghoon just laughs into your ear, sliding an arm around your waist to hold you upright.

“You wanna fucking tease me?” he growls, mouth right against your ear. “This is what you get.”

“Fuck—Sunghoon, you—bastard—” you choke out and try to pull away, but he just tightens his grip and presses the shower head even harder against you. “Sunghoon—that’s—stop, I can’t—”

“Not until you count for me.” His hand comes down and smacks your ass. “Go on. Count,” he orders.

You grit your teeth and try to yank at his arms, knees wobbling from the water pressure. “Fuck you—Ah—”

Another slap, even harder this time. “I said count.”

You glare at him over your shoulder, breath coming in ragged gasps from how he’s circling the shower head on your clit. He slaps you again and your skin stings, the heat blooming up your spine, and your mouth betrays you with a moan that makes you want to punch yourself in the face.

“Are you fucking crazy?” you moan. “I’ll slap you right back—“

His lips brush your ear as he lands another stinging slap on your ass even harder. “Still not counting?”

“That was four! You ass!” you spit through gritted teeth, then your hand flies up and you grab for his hair—and you tangle your fingers in it and yank on it very hard until he hisses right back. 

“Fucking bitch,” he grits out, and it just makes you pull his hair harder—dragging his face down closer until his mouth is right against your neck. You’re trembling so bad now you can barely hold yourself upright, but you still tilt your head back with your eyes squeezed shut, mouth falling open as you arch into him and grind into him shamelessly for more friction. 

“You’re such a fucking slut,” he laughs, voice muffled as he sucks another mark on your neck. “Look at you. Can barely stand up straight, and you’re still fucking yourself on my hand. Can’t get enough, huh?”

“God, you talk so much. It’s annoying—just shut up,” you manage to huff, then he lets go of your waist and shoves his hand down between your legs, and he starts circling your clit in time with the water. He pinches down hard on your clit and holds you tighter when you buck against his hand. 

“Maybe I should keep you here all day—see how many times I can make you come until you finally stop running your mouth like a brat. Is that what you want?” you just moan in response, and he smirks and drags his teeth down your already marked-up throat. “Thought so. Open your fucking legs—yeah, just like that. Fuck, you’re dripping.”

He slides one finger inside you and crooks it in a way that makes you buck so hard against him that your knees finally, properly give out, but he just grips you tighter and practically holds you upright with one arm.

You reach behind you, and your hand finds his hard cock, and you squeeze it just to get a reaction, and he sucks in a breath and snaps his hips forward so quickly you almost lose your grip.

“Fuck—” he chokes out, voice cracking as you pump him once, twice, dragging your thumb over his angry, leaking head, feeling him twitch in your palm. “Such a needy brat.”

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ needy,” you snap, but it comes out as a moan as he fingers you harder and meaner. “So just—f…fuck me already.”

“No next time, huh?” he mocks, cock straining against your palm. “Tsk. You’re pathetic. Didn’t even last a full ten minutes.” 

You grit your teeth and squeeze his cock as you start pumping him furiously. “It’s just… Sex. Too much talking, not enough fucking,” you shoot back, “God, you’re such a fucking—mph—asshole, just—” your words die in your throat when he curls his finger inside you and hits that spot.

He yanks your wrist away from his cock and lands another slap right on your ass. “That’s for touching me without permission. What number are we at?” he grunts, and when you don’t answer; he grips the flesh hard enough to make you moan out a curse. “I can do this all day. I said count.”

“Five—fuck—Sunghoon, I swear to god I’ll kill you in this—”

You don’t even finish before he turns you around and grabs you, strong arms lifting you up so fast you let out a startled yelp as you wrap your legs around his waist. He hauls you out of the shower and back into the room with water dripping everywhere. You watch him dig a condom out of his wallet again, tearing it open with his teeth, and all you can think again is… just exactly how many condoms does he carry in that thing? You don’t even process anything else — suddenly, he has you back in the shower, bracing you up against the tile with your legs locked tight around his waist, lining himself up and making you beg for it. Then he thrusts into you in one rough, breath-stealing stroke, making you moan so hard you nearly bite your tongue off trying to hold it in. You’re already aching despite being violently sore and overstimulated from the last three hours—but the pain from how he’s stretching you again only makes it better and more addictive. 

Then you just grab his hair and drag him into you and… shit.

The kiss is different this time—the water makes everything messier, slicker, and impossibly filthy. Your lips are crashing together with water and spit; both of you moaning straight into each other’s mouths and eating every sound the other gives. You can’t even pull back… It’s like your lips are stuck to his, and the sensation of the wetness and softness of his lips actually makes your head spin. You just want more. more. more. Everything feels so heightened and so good, especially as he fucks you harder, faster, and deeper, curses muttering from both of your mouths the harder he goes. Somewhere in the haze, he grabs the shower head again and presses it right to your clit, and you almost sob — (honestly, you could be sobbing right now and you wouldn’t know) — at how the water pounds into your nerves in perfect sync with the way he fucks into you.

“Yeah? You like that?” he pants between moans against your ear as you clench around his cock, “Fuck, I can feel you squeezing around me again. Didn’t… get enough the first seven times, you fucking slut?”

“Y...you’re such—Nghh—a cocky bitch. All you do is talk, talk, talk—”

He pulls out and slams back into you so deep you choke on your own words. “Still running your mouth?” he exhales, “Didn’t I say I’d fuck you quiet?” He thrusts harder, and you actually sob into his mouth, and your moan gets swallowed up by his lips.

You snap right back despite how your entire body is tingling, biting at his jaw as you gasp for breath, “If you could actually fuck, maybe I’d be quiet—SHITSHITSHIT.”

You don’t even bother keeping your screams in as you cry out while stars burst behind your eyelids when your orgasm hits you just right, and he moans right into your mouth and keeps fucking you straight through it until you’re sure he’s rearranging your insides while you practically sob into his mouth.

You’re truly only upright because he’s holding you up against the tile—your whole body is trembling, your clit is throbbing, your is cunt still pulsing around him, so tight it’s a miracle he can even keep moving, but he does… he drags out until only the swollen head of his cock is left inside you and then he slams all the way back in with a filthy, wet smack so deep you swear you feel him in your fucking heart. His forehead presses to yours, and you both just look down between breathless pants and watch as his cock slides in and out and in and out of you — you see the obscene stretch — his cock glistening, slick with your wetness and from the shower, veins bulging, so long and thick you keep wondering how you’re even taking all of him. The sight alone makes your pussy milk him even more.

“Look at you, taking it like a good little whore,” he spits roughly. “This pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it? So tight, so wet—fuck.”

You’re so far gone from the pleasure, but you still manage to harshly drag your nails down his stomach—leaving red trails in his wet skin and making him groan. The sight in front of you… He’s dripping wet. Water beads down his chest and drips from his slicked back hair as he thrusts into you with every muscle tensed. His thick brows are drawn together in pure concentration while he stares down between your bodies, watching his cock disappear into you with his mouth open as he gasps for breath. Naturally, your eyes fall onto his biceps… And you mindlessly bring your hand up to feel them… The arm he’s holding you up with is flexed so hard you can feel the veins and every tight muscle beneath your palms. You dig your fingers into his bicep just to feel how hard he’s straining to keep you up and tear you apart while his thrusts start losing rhythm.

It’s the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever seen.

“You’re… the fucking whore,” you manage to gasp, voice barely there as he slams his cock into you so deep it knocks the air out of your lungs. “Gonna cum, pretty boy? Can’t get enough of this—”

He cuts you off with a rough moan and shoves two fingers into your mouth—and starts thrusting into you even harder. “Fucking talk now,” he snarls.

You moan around his fingers with your eyes rolling back as your whole body burns from being overstimulated — and you feel his cock twitching inside you. He yanks his fingers from your mouth just to grab your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eyes as he pounds into you — and you’re barely clinging to reality when he suddenly pulls out and tears the condom off. 

“On your knees,” he grunts.

You blink at him, brain short-circuiting. “M’too sore,” you manage, but you’re already letting yourself slide to the floor anyway. He presses a hand to your shoulder to steady you, and then he guides you down all the way, and you end up weakly kneeling on the slick shower tiles with your thighs trembling to bits.

Sunghoon grabs your chin and tilts your head up. “Press your tits together for me,” he rasps, and you’re past the point of fighting back—so you push your breasts together, and he starts stroking himself over your chest. “Fuckk, just like that—look at you. Obedient little thing,” His hand is in your hair as he fists his cock, once, twice, and then he’s coming all over you — smearing it across your tits, watching it drip down your skin as he pants — and then he brings his cock down between your tits. You lean in and drag your tongue up his tip, but before you can take him into your mouth; he pulls your hair slightly and stops you.

“Not so fast,” he growls. “Who said you could?”

You lick a stripe up his cock anyway — locking eyes with him as you do — and you drag your tongue over the sensitive head until he hisses. 

“Your face did. You look desperate enough to me,” you shrug, then brush your mouth over his tip and grin wickedly, "Actually… why don’t I make you beg for it right here?”

Sunghoon clenches his jaw. “Don’t fucking test me.”

He watches as you press your tongue against the tip to lick his cum off, and then you smear it across your lips as you hum and pull back. “Mhmm, I can make you feel good… I’ll clean you up,” you tease—and it’s truly a miracle you’re even speaking at all, but you still manage the strength to reach up and wrap your hands around the base of his cock. “Unless… you can’t handle it?”

“Fucking brat,” he curses, but he doesn’t stop you this time when you open your mouth and bring his cock closer to slap the head against your tongue to smear what’s left of his cum across it. Then you close your lips around the tip and start sucking him slowly, eyes never leaving his as you swirl your tongue around his head — making a show of it even as you glare up at him. “Shit—” he moans, and you hum around him and bob your head forward to take him in slightly deeper, dragging your nails over his thighs just to make him twitch as he tips his head back. “Fuck, you’re such a fucking tease. That’s Enough—” his knuckles whiten in your hair as you suck him clean and lick every drop from his cock, until he pulls out and drags your head back and swipes his thumb messily over your mouth.

Neither of you says a word about how there’s maybe five minutes left before you’re supposed to be downstairs, or how you’re both still catching your breath from the fact that you just fucked for the first time—and then did it three more times. No, the only words exchanged are when he tells everyone to fuck off, to then spend the next ten minutes with you bent over the sink with his mouth buried between your thighs, determined to wring out every last sound you have left to give him.

So, yeah. 

You have a problem.

By the time you manage to throw some clothes on and limp (like, seriously, limp) your way to the new room where the stylists and glam team are waiting, your legs are barely cooperating — honestly, you’re kind of surprised they’re still attached at all. You barely have enough time to register the horror on the stylists’ faces before you make a beeline for the bathroom, dragging Ningning in with you and slamming the door shut.

Ningning looks terribly concerned. “Is… everything okay?”

You hesitate for a beat, then just give up and pull your robe open a little—just enough to expose the absolute horror show of hickeys and marks all over your skin.

“Help,” you squeal. “I don’t want all of them out there to see this. At least not… entirely.”

Ningning’s eyes go comically wide. “Oh! Is that—wait—is that a… um... a bite mark on your arm?”

You flap your arms and panic. “Don’t look at the arm! Actually, don’t look at anything. I know, I know, I look insane. This is so unprofessional, right? I mean, you’re my assistant, but you’re also kind of my only friend here—Oh God, are you my friend? I really hope you’re my friend. I want to be your friend. I just—” you stop rambling for a shaky breath, “I… I needed a girl to talk to here. I’m sorry I’m putting you through this. I give you permission to blackmail me or leak this to the press… I literally don’t care, I’ll die of actual shame before that happens anyway—”

Ningning snaps you out of it when she holds up her hands and places them on your shoulders and shakes you gently. “Y/N. Breathe,” she says softly, and you meet her eyes and slump under her touch. “Look… I promise, you’re not the first person to show up to hair and makeup looking like they got… mauled by a tiger. I mean, okay, maybe not exactly like this, but you get what I mean.”

You let out a weak laugh and groan into your palms, but before you can say anything, Ningning adds, “Wait. I’ll be back.”

She ducks out of the bathroom for a split second, leaving you alone to panic in front of your own reflection again. But she’s back before you can spiral any further—arms loaded with what looks like an entire makeup kit; foundation bottles clattering together, brushes poking out at every angle, and concealers in every shade known to man.

She drops everything on the counter with a dramatic flourish. “Girl, sit,” she orders, already grabbing a concealer palette. “You’re in luck. Covering up questionable hickeys is, like, my third superpower. First is perfect eyeliner, second is making grown men cry. We’ve got this.”

You stare at her, and you swear a halo appears above her head, and a tremendous bit of awe washes over you as you throw your arms around her in a messy hug. “Oh my God, you’re an angel. How are you this sweet? Are you even real, or am I hallucinating you as a coping mechanism?”

Ningning pats your back gently and squeezes you once while giggling, and you let go of her and sink down onto the closed toilet lid, relief flooding you so hard your legs go a little more jelly, and you just… let her work her magic in silence.

“Okay, um…” she hesitates and bites her lip as she blends concealer over the hickey blooming by your collarbone, “it’s totally unprofessional of me to gossip… if this is even gossip, but, uh… just so you know, Sunghoon already told everyone that if you’re not feeling up to attending anything today, it’s not happening. Like, he was weirdly… insistent about it. Protective, honestly.”

You blink at her. “He said that?”

Ningning nods as she dabs a peach-colored corrector along your neck. “Yeah, he’s usually really polite, you know? Super formal with everyone. But he was like, ‘If she wants to skip, she skips. Anyone says otherwise, they answer to me.’ Like, literally. The hotel director looked like he was about to cry. I think I was, too.”

Why would he…? Your breath stutters. But you don’t think too much about it because you can’t afford to add that to your list right now.

You groan and hide your face in your hands. “God, that’s so fucking embarrassing.”

Ningning pulls your chin up with gentle fingers and pries your hands away. “Oh! Also… apparently, room service came by your room at some point? And, um, overheard some… noises? And it’s kind of going around right now. One of the stylists nearly dropped her coffee. She was apparently betting with her other stylist friend that the two of you were a PR relationship, but I totally defended you two even though, obviously—wait—sorry, I know that’s so unprofessional to say—”

You blink up at her, barely even processing what she’d said. “Ningning, you’re literally covering up my hickeys. And you already know that we literally—” you bring your voice down into a whisper, “are a PR relationship.”

Ningning pauses and gives you a slow, sarcastic raised brow as she silently glances between your marked-up neck and then back to your face.

You clear your throat, suddenly aware of how ridiculous it sounds. “Um… I can explain, well… I don’t know how to—”

She cuts you off with a laugh. “No, you don’t need to explain anything, Y/N. Seriously. As long as you’re okay, that’s just your business,” she gives your hand a little squeeze. “Now hold still.”

You hum softly, trying not to fidget as she starts patting foundation over your collarbone again. But then your gaze drifts to the mess of makeup on the counter—and you spot a small, elegant navy box tucked beside the brushes that looks entirely… too suspicious and out of place in between that mess. 

Harry Winston. 

That’s not just any box.

“Ningning,” you say quietly, jerking your chin towards the box, “what is that?”

She glances where you’re looking. “Oh. That,” she blinks and reaches for it on the counter and turns it open in her hand. “I was given this, um, right before you came down here. Apparently, it’s an ‘important image requirement’ from Mr. Park himself.”

You stare at her and try to ignore the ring in the box. “An image requirement?”

She nods and lowers her voice so just the two of you can hear. “He said it was non-negotiable for tonight, to strengthen the ‘narrative’ he’s selling for investors at the dinner. Oh, and making sure the photographers get good photos—”

You don’t hear a single word she’s saying after that. Your eyes are glued to the engagement ring glimmering under the light with your heart thudding in your chest, and you feel bile rising in your throat.

“I want to speak to Sunghoon.”

They’d told you to wait until the two of you were done with hair and makeup before you could speak to him, and that was that. 

At some point, a makeup artist leaned in and said, “These two lovebirds, huh? Can’t keep you apart for five minutes.” She grinned at your reflection, and you had to force yourself to laugh, all while you tried not to throw up every time you glanced down at the navy box in your hand, clutching it so tightly that the corners were digging into your palm painfully so.

Your mind is a thousand miles away.

You barely even react as they prod, tug, and pin you into something sleek and shiny. You don’t care to hear a thing—someone’s yanking a brush through your hair, someone’s pinning you into a dress. It’s all so far away it may as well be happening to someone else. Some luckier, dumber girl who never learned any better.

It’s only when the door beeps open that you actually come back to your body for a second.

Sunghoon enters the room, and the stylists immediately scurry out like mice while casting anxious glances between the two of you.

Then it’s just you and him.

God, despite how mad you are, despite everything, you can’t help but notice the way he looks standing there… He’s wearing a black dress shirt that sits perfectly around his stupidly broad shoulders with a tie that’s knotted low and loose, his sleeves are rolled up just enough to show his forearms, and his belt is cinched tight around his waist—all of it tailored so perfectly to his body that you have to bite down on your tongue to keep from staring. It’s ironic to your circumstances, because he looks like husband material if you’ve ever seen it. He looks every bit the man you used to imagine growing old with back when you were still naive enough to believe in things like that. 

But it isn’t him. It’s just someone wearing his face, that empty look you can’t seem to get past—dressed up in a dream you don’t believe in anymore.

He crosses his arms and arches a brow. “You wanted to see me?”

You don’t answer at first. Instead, you hold up the box in your hand and give him a look.

“What the fuck is this?” you snarl.

He just slowly looks at you, then at the box, then right back at you with a blank face. “You know what it is.”

You let out a bitter laugh and shake your head in disbelief. “Really? That’s what you say?”

“Yes,” he shrugs. “It’s just a fucking ring.”

You want to kill him.

“Just a fucking ring—” you bark at him, but before you can spit out another word, something catches your eye. 

Gold. 

An unmistakable band wrapped right around the ring-fucking-finger of his left hand.

Everything else fades away. 

You don’t even care about how you can barely stand upright — adrenaline rushes through your veins as you storm across the room, and you grab his wrist and yank it up between you.

“Why the fuck are you wearing this?” you snap. “Are you kidding me?”

He wrenches his hand out of your grip. “Keep your voice down,” he grits out and jerks his chin towards the door. “You want them all listening?”

Your vision blurs around the edges. Shit.

“I don’t care who hears me! I’m just—this is not—this isn’t what I want. This isn’t even… This wasn’t part of anything. I don’t want this from you.” You shake the box, and your voice drops lower. “…Not like this.”

Sunghoon just stands there with his arms crossed and watches you, and his silence makes you feel even smaller, more foolish, and all the more trapped.

You shove him, or at least you try to—your strength is gone. Your hands barely make an impact against his chest.

“Don’t just stand there like you always do! Say something!” you choke out. “Anything. Just—say something!”

He doesn’t even meet your eyes.

“There’s nothing for me to say,” he says. “Wear the fucking ring and stop whining. We have to be downstairs for photos in fifteen minutes.”

“Can you fucking hear me?” Your voice wobbles. “I said I’m not wearing that thing. I’m not—Are you fucking serious? Look at me!” you snap and step closer. “You just fucked me for hours and hours upstairs—couldn’t keep your hands off me, couldn’t stop touching me and running your mouth, and now you can’t even look at me? You can’t even say shit?!”

He finally meets your gaze then.

“Yeah,” he spits. “I fucked you. So what? I’ll fuck you again right here if you want, and I wouldn’t think twice about it.”

You muster all the strength you have left in you and— 

You slap him.

His face turns in your hand and your hand stings from the force of it, but he doesn’t even flinch or take a step back—he just takes it, then slowly turns his head and looks right back at you.

“You’re disgusting. How can you… wear that?” You feel tears running down your cheeks properly now, and you hate yourself for crying in front of him, but you can’t stop them. “How can you just—take it off. Take it off NOW.”

Your hands reach for his again, trying to pry the band from his finger—like if you just get it off, maybe all of this will stop, maybe you’ll wake up and none of it will be real. 

He jerks his hand away again. “Enough. Stop acting like a fucking baby.”

You stare at him and just… You want to grab his face and just shake him until he says anything that isn’t rehearsed or cold or just… empty.

You swipe at your cheeks; your makeup is smudged all over your hands now. “God. Look at me, I’m—fuck, my makeup’s everywhere—” Your voice cracks right through the middle, and you look away, just so you don’t have to see the way he’s looking at you. “I just… I can’t do this, I really can’t—are you seriously not gonna say anything?”

“No.”

That’s it. That’s all you get. 

“I wanna go home,” you murmur, and it comes out so small because you’re not even sure who you’re talking to anymore. “I just… wanna go home. I wanna call my mom.”

This time, you get nothing from Sunghoon. He just stands there with his arms crossed and his eyes somewhere over your shoulder.

“Do you really not care at all?” you whisper. “Do you even know what this means?” 

You hold up the box between you with shaky hands. 

“This is… real. This… means so many things. For one… It isn’t just for a headline or a few weeks of photos. If I put this on tonight—” your voice cracks again, “I stop being me. I’ll never get to be my own person again. You’ll always be the perfect Park Sunghoon. But me? I’ll never be Y/N Y/L/N again. I’ll just be your fiancée forever, some footnote to the fucking Park family, something you can discard tomorrow, but I’ll never get to take back! I never… signed up for this. We agreed to play pretend for a year, not for us t..to actually… even after that stupid statement you gave, your father—”

Sunghoon face twists, and he finally snaps.

“God—You really think he cares? My father will do whatever it takes to get what he wants.” He snarls, and his voice comes out so loud you actually flinch. “You, me—none of it fucking matters as long as he wins.”

“You didn’t even tell me,” you whimper, pushing at his chest with both hands weakly. “Ningning… handed it to me. I had to find out from her like I’m—like I’m some prop… Like I’m not… Just—talk to me, Sunghoon. Don’t you feel anything at all? Don’t… you remember us?”

“Again with this… Remember?” his nostrils flare with anger. “What is there to remember? There’s nothing anymore. You’re nothing.”

Before you can even think of something to say, he snatches the box right out of your hand and drops down on one knee. 

“What, do you want me to ask you properly? Is that what this is about?” he scoffs. “You want me to get down on my knees and pretend like I ever had a choice in my goddamn life? HUH?!”

You’re sure your heart stops beating.

“ANSWER ME.”

You flinch again. “No. No, no. Stop it,” you whisper as you shake your head. “Just stop it, please, please—”

“No. You want the performance? I’ll give you the fucking performance.” His hand trembles as he holds up the ring and looks up at you. “Will you marry me, Y/N? Will you do me the honor of wearing the fucking ring now, like everyone wants?”

“Shut up. Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up—just get up!” you choke out. “Get up! Why are you—”

“No!” He scowls, but his voice is shaking, and so are his hands. “I said, will you fucking marry me?”

The sight of him down on one knee… 

Your knees buckle and you collapse beside him—and you bury your face in his neck and sob so hard your whole body shakes. 

“Please—don’t do this to me. Please, stop it…” Your hands are on his face before you even know it, thumbs shaking as you try to get him to look at you. “I’m tired, Sunghoon… It’s me… Don’t m..make me—” You sniff hard and wipe your thumb over his cheek, and he squeezes his eyes shut. “Look at me. Please. Do you want me to beg? I’ll beg. I’ll beg you, I’ll do anything. Just don’t make me do this… Don’t talk to me like that. Not when—” Your voice catches on a broken sob, and you look down at the ground, and inhale a long breath.

You press your forehead to his.

“…Not when there was a time when I would’ve given anything to see you like this, to have you, to be yours. But not like this. You’re not—” your voice is barely above a whisper, “You’re not him anymore. You’re just… this. And I’ve accepted it—I’m okay with that now, I am. Really. I just don’t want anything to do with you anymore, not like that, never—so please, just don’t do this to me. Please…” 

You pull back because, stupidly, you’re desperate for a flicker of warmth on his face — for any sign that he cares, really. But all you find is steel and ice… and then he opens his eyes and wrenches himself from your hands and stands abruptly, and you flinch back and wrap your arms around yourself on the floor.

“I can’t do this with you right now,” he exhales. “I can’t—fuck—” He pauses and drags his hand through his hair. “You keep turning this into… You think this is what I dreamed about when I was a kid? Fucking hell, Y/N, do you truly think that I dreamed about getting paraded in front of cameras like a fucking puppet, pretending that I’m marrying you, when I would never—” He cuts himself off. 

You wipe your cheeks and force yourself to look up at him through the blur of your tears. “Don’t you dare fucking stop,” you weep. “Don’t stop. You always stop, Sunghoon. Just—just tell me! For once, stop being a coward and just say it. Whatever it is. I can fucking take it. Just tell me the truth!”

He looks at you then, and his eyes are colder than you’ve ever seen. “You want the truth? I told you I meant it when I said I’d marry anyone but you,” he clicks his tongue. “And I still do. You hear me? If it were up to me, you’d be the last person I’d ever stand next to, the last name I’d ever say out loud. IF it were up to me… So stop crying like I can fix any of this. Stop looking at me like I’m supposed to save you. I can’t. I won’t.”

You can’t stop crying. You hate yourself for it, for every humiliating, wrecked sound that escapes your mouth. Out of everything that’s happened today, it’s this—this moment—that you know you’ll never live down. Not ever.

“Fuck you,” you breathe between tears. “Fuck you, Park Sunghoon. I hate you.” 

“Glad to hear it.”

Then you pull your knees up to your chest and curl in on yourself so small you almost disappear. “Get out,” you choke out. “Get out, get out, get out, get out—” each word comes out more desperate, a snarl and a plea at once. “I don’t want to see you right now. Just go. Please. Get out.”

A beat of silence passes between you two.

“I’ll tell them you can’t make it to the event tonight,” he says quietly. “But the photographers…” he shakes his head, “You have ten minutes to pull yourself together before the press starts asking questions. Then... Do whatever the hell you want.”

Then he turns on his heel and leaves without waiting for you to respond—not even glancing back as the door shuts.

You miraculously make it downstairs in time for the photographers. Well, “in time” is generous…  It’s the ten minutes that bastard gave you to pull yourself together. Technically, you’re both an hour late to the original schedule, but nobody says a word about it—at least not while you’re standing right there.

Nobody said a word when they redid your makeup, either. You just sat there biting your tongue to stop yourself from crying again, not caring at all how pathetic you must’ve looked to them.

Anyway, right now you’re just a mannequin standing there draped in satin with pearls digging into your skin. You don’t remember how you got there, and later, you won’t even remember what you said to the press, or who you thanked, or if you even spoke at all.

But you let the flashes blind you anyway. Someone’s telling you to “Move left! Show the ring! Can you lean into Sunghoon a little more — smile wider?” and you’re just nodding and doing the whole obedient little porcelain doll routine.

You’re limping and your hand is shaking, but nobody notices. Or if they do, nobody cares.

You’ll be a photograph someone will find in an article or a magazine soon, smiling so beautifully that no one will ever know you spent the whole night wishing you could just disappear.

The camera's flash, over and over.

You are nowhere at all.

At some point, a reporter steps forward and asks Sunghoon if he wants to say a few words for the “special edition.”

“Sunghoon-ssi, could we get an official statement? It’s just—” she tilts her head as she looks between the two of you, “—it all happened kind of fast, didn’t it? The news about your relationship only came out a week ago, and now this?”

She’s not mean about it. She’s just doing her job. She’s just doing her job. — You repeat over and over again in your head to stop yourself from launching your heel at her head.

Sunghoon shifts beside you, and he’s quiet for a second. Then you feel him look at you for a second from the corner of your eye, and he clears his throat. 

“Ah,” he starts, and you feel his hand tighten around your waist. “It’s not that complicated… I’ve known her my whole life.” He pauses and glances at you again. “I met her, and I knew it would be her every day after that.”

What?

He just…

You reach for him and wrap your arm around his neck and tuck your face in there—half because you have to play along, but mostly because you can’t let anyone see your face for a second as you squeeze your eyes shut and try not to cry all over again.

And that’s the photo that’ll end up everywhere—the one with you flushed and half-hiding in his neck, your fingers tangled in his shirt, and your eyes closed. People will say it looks romantic, that you two are so happy together.

You’ll know it’s anything but that.

When they all finally get what they came for—when every possible angle of your new shiny fake life has been immortalized forever—Ningning appears at your side as if conjured by mercy.

She loops her arm around your waist and steers you away from the swarm, back into the elevator, up and up and away from everyone. She doesn’t even say anything dramatic. Maybe she says something soothing, maybe she doesn’t. You honestly black out for a while and don’t remember. You just remember how gentle her hands are as she wipes the mascara off your face, peels off the fake lashes, takes the pins out of your hair, and then orders room service for you and tucks you in. 

You curl up on the bed with your knees pulled so tight to your chest it hurts, and you don’t even last ten seconds after you hear the click of the door shutting behind her when she leaves.

“It’s not that complicated… I’ve known her my whole life… I met her, and I knew it would be her every day after that.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

There’s really no use pretending or burying anything anymore, you think.

So you let yourself feel everything—or, well, you try to… The only problem is, when you spend three years refusing to acknowledge emotions and bottling everything up like a lunatic, it’s not like you get some nice little waves of sadness that come and go… No, it just slams into you all at once, like someone cracked open your ribcage and dumped everything inside at the same time. 

You cry and cry and cry for the girl you will never get to be. The one who could have been loved by the boy he used to be — before the world made him sharp and cold and cruel, before you learned that some things can’t be fixed, and not all wishes come true, no matter how hard you want them to.

And you do mourn for that boy, too.

Not because you’re wishing for things to go back to the way they were—you’re too tired to even want that anymore—but you mourn for him. He really, truly is gone, and now you’re stuck with this stranger who just happens to have his face, or at least the ghost of his face. 

And you don’t know what to do with that. Not at all.

Sunghoon hasn’t fully registered a single word being said to him for the past two hours.

It all just goes in one ear and out the other. People congratulating him, shaking his hands, glasses clinking, the drone of someone mentioning numbers, praising his father, his own name, and the ghost of yours said over and over and over again. 

All he can think about is you.

And this time, he doesn’t even try to lie to himself about it. 

You; crying so hard to the point where your whole face was red, with your hands fisted in his hair, begging him over and over again.

And then, as if his brain wants to make it worse, he closes his eyes for a moment, and suddenly he’s twelve years old again and half-hidden behind the door as he looks into his parents’ bedroom. His mother is on the floor, and she has got her hands twisted in his father’s pant leg with her hair falling in her face and tears spilling out of her eyes, and she keeps saying his name and asking for something she was never going to get, while her father didn’t even glance at her and tried to pry her off his shoes like she was a mere irritant and nothing else. And Sunghoon just stands there frozen in the shadow because he doesn’t know what to do. He’s too small to do anything, too powerless to move, and all he wants is for someone to save him or for the floor to open up and swallow him whole so he doesn’t have to listen to it anymore.

He never really left that spot.

He zones out so bad he almost forgets he’s still standing there, so when someone asks him something, he just…. Maybe he says he needs air, maybe he just stops answering and they finally get the hint and leave him alone. Either way, he slips out through a side door and just walks until he ends up in some empty hallway off the lounge. 

And then, out of nowhere, someone grabs him by the arm and spins him around, and for a split second, everything quiets down in his head because he thinks it might be you. Before he can even process anything else, a pair of lips crashes against his and pulls him into a kiss, and he freezes for a moment. But then instinct kicks in when he recognizes the voice, and he jerks away so hard he nearly stumbles back.

“God, you look terrible,” Sooha croons, not sounding all that concerned or particularly fazed by how hard Sunghoon just pulled away from her. “I couldn’t wait to get my hands on you.”

Sunghoon wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and just stares at her with anger building up in his chest.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he sneers.

She toys with his tie, and he bats her hand away immediately. “What, I’m not allowed to say hi? Relax, you looked so lonely in there, I thought you might need some company.”

He holds up his left hand and flashes his ring at her, not really sure why he bothers, considering he knows it’s void of any meaning whatsoever—but he does it anyway.

“I have all the ‘company’ I need,” he huffs and jerks his chin towards the ring.

He turns to walk away, but she grabs his sleeve.

“Oh, please. Where is she then, huh?” Sooha looks around theatrically, like you might jump out from behind a potted plant or something. “And you really expect me to believe your lovesick fiancé act? When that—” she jabs a finger at the ring, “was supposed to be ours?”

For fuck’s sake. He really doesn’t have the time for this right now.

He slowly looks down at her hand on his arm, then looks back at her. “Let go.”

Sooha just shrugs and steps in closer like she’s not hearing a thing he’s saying. “C’mon… Cheer up. Not to mention how you were fucking me just a few months ago,” she says with a cruel little smirk. “So don’t bullshit me. I was kind enough to play along this afternoon, so where’s my reward? Don't you miss me?”

“That was a mistake,” he says through his teeth. “And you know it. I was fucking drunk, Sooha.”

Sunghoon truly thinks he might be hallucinating this exchange because Sooha doesn’t even bother backing down. If anything, she steps even closer.

“But it wasn’t just that one time, was it? We both know I’m the only one who can actually keep up with you.” Sooha practically purrs.

Sunghoon almost laughs—and then he actually does a little, but not because it’s funny. Because for a moment, he thinks of you again. You. You. You.

And how you’d probably punch Sooha right in the face if you were here, and then punch him twice for good measure. He shakes his head then, and he doesn’t bother telling her to let go again. He just yanks himself free out of her grip and walks off without another glance in her direction.

“Fine. Be like this!” Sooha calls out behind him mockingly, “You always come crawling back to me, anyway!” 

He almost laughs again, and this time, it’s because it’s funny.

He finds himself in the elevator going up and up and up, then the doors open to the hush of his father’s office—and he slowly enters the dark room and sits at the edge of the desk, because it feels less like trespassing than the chair. 

He pulls out his phone with shaky hands and he scrolls—barely able to see past the sting in his eyes—and once again calls the one person who’s been the only family to him if he ever came close to having one.

“Sup, HoonHoon?” Heeseung answers, and Sunghoon can hear the rapid clicking of his mouse on the other end.

Sunghoon doesn’t answer. He just inhales and exhales and counts to ten internally while pressing the heel of his palm to his sternum like he can force his heart to slow down.

Heeseung waits a beat. 

“Yo, man, is this a butt dial? Because if you’re gonna make me listen to you breathing into the phone at midnight, I at leastttt hope you’re doing something interesting with your other hand.”

Another beat of silence passes.

“Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be at that dinner for the opening night or whatever? Wait—don’t tell me, are you thinking about me right now? Awwww, Hoon-ahhhh. You miss me that bad?” He tries again.

There is nothing but the sound of Sunghoon’s ragged breath in the receiver.

“…Hoon?” Heeseung’s laughter falters. “Hey… Uh. You good?”

“…I fucked up,” Sunghoon says finally after a while. His voice is hoarse and barely there, but then it tumbles out all at once, “I fucked up, hyung. I think I really, really fucked everything up this time. We should’ve never gotten drunk at the gala that night… My father’s forcing us to do this, hyung. He’s making us go through with it. I… I tried—She… she’ll end up like my—”

“Huh? Whoa, whoa, whoa—slow down. Hey. Hey, slow down, okay? What happened? What’s going on? Are you drunk?”

“No,” Sunghoon croaks and shakes his head, even though Heeseung can’t see him. “I’ve had two drinks, but… no. It’s not that. I’m—” He swallows hard. “Hee, have you seen the news?”

There’s a beat, then Heeseung huffs a soft, nervous laugh. “I’m gonna be real with you, man. I’ve been playing League for, like, fourteen hours straight. I haven’t seen myself in the mirror, much less the news.”

Sunghoon squeezes his eyes shut. “Just… look up my name.”

Heeseung sighs. “Alright, alright, give me a sec—” 

There’s a quiet shuffling—then a low mutter and a few strings of curses about his monitor being too bright, and a few seconds of mouse clicks on the other end of the line.

“Okay… the mighty Park Sunghoon… let’s see…” He pauses. “WHAT? Oh, brother. Oh, that’s… yeah, that’s a ring if I’ve ever seen one. Oh, look at the size of that rock. Jesus, Yo. You two are fuckeddddd. But, hey, lil sis looks good… Okayyy first ladyyyy… And you’re there… Wait...” the sound of his chair rolling closer comes from the other end, “Is that… Is that a hickey on your neck? Man—is that a hickey on HER neck?! Bro?!” 

Sunghoon wonders why he always lets him go on for that long. “Heeseung,” he grits out.

“Aye, sorry, bro. I lost the plot... I, um... Are you okay, man? For real.”

“Do I sound okay?”

“Fair,” Heeseung sighs. “Man.. Did you two… at least try to talk this time? I mean, really talk, not just… You know, emotionally repress in each other’s vicinity and hope your ancient psychic connection does the rest.”

Heeseung waits, but Sunghoon doesn’t answer. He’s just staring at the floor with his jaw clenched so tight it hurts.

“Hey,” Heeseung’s voice is softer when he speaks again. “Do you want to tell me what happened? Or do you want me to just do the thing where I talk to you for a while and we both pretend I’m some wise thinker?”

“I don’t… It was bad. She was crying on the floor, hyung… she was fucking begging me…” Sunghoon lets out a shaky exhale and rubs his hand over his face, “And I felt just like—”

Heeseung clicks his tongue. “Hey. Hey. Breathe, okay? Just… actually talk to her, man. You can’t keep doing this. You know what I always tell you.”

Sunghoon just shakes his head and rubs at his eyes. “I don’t want to talk to her. You know I can’t. If I see her, if I even hear her voice, I’ll—” His throat closes up. “I’ll say something I can’t take back. I don’t know how to look at her right now.”

“Christ, man,” Heeseung sighs, “You know, if I didn’t know any better…” He clicks his tongue, “Hating her isn’t going to fix anything, you know? I know you, bro—I know you both… But some days I can’t even tell if you’re trying to keep each other close or push each other away as far as you can.”

“Doesn’t really matter, does it? It’s…” Sunghoon swallows and huffs a shaky laugh, “Nothing matters anymore. This is how it is now. She hates me, I hate her, we ruin each other, end of story.”

For a second, all he can hear is Heeseung’s breathing on the other end. Then Heeseung says, quietly, “Do you want me to come get you, bro?” he pauses for a moment. “Shit, you’re in fucking Japan… Uh… say the word and I’ll hop on the next plane. For real, Hoon. Just say the word. I’ll be there.”

Sunghoon laughs weakly despite his state. “And what, exactly, would you do?”

“I’ll do whatever the hell you need. But… you have to tell me what you want, Hoon. I can’t help you if you don’t even let yourself want anything.”

“Just... Stay on the phone with me?” Sunghoon says.

“As long as you need, man. I’m not going anywhere,” there’s a faint crackle in the background, then Heeseung groans, “AWW MAN! They killed me! I was AFK—but, uh—yeah, I’m here.”

And so they stayed like that for a while and just talked about nothing, really. Heeseung started telling him about how he finally gave Valorant a shot today, and it was dumb, but it worked because Sunghoon started to feel sort of normal again. Sort of.

He ignored the sea of missed calls from his father’s assistant waiting for him, because he honest to God couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about any of that. He’ll deal with it in the morning, or never, whatever. It’s not real right now.

What’s real right now is how he can hear you silently crying in the dark.

He’d come back upstairs after the dinner, after all the bullshit and the empty congratulations and the endless parade of handshakes and fake smiles, to find you curled up and asleep in the middle of the bed with a tray of room service untouched beside you. And he couldn’t—God, he just couldn’t—share the bed with you tonight.

So he’d just walked straight to the couch in the corner and tried to force himself to sleep, even though he knew that wasn’t going to happen, because the couch may as well have been made from fucking stone, given how uncomfortable it was.

It started with the tiniest sob at first—a muffled hiccup he told himself he’d imagined—but then he heard it again, and then it was a sniff, and then came another. 

And this is the part that really pisses him off: Every single part of him wants to rip itself out of his own chest and offer it up just so you’d stop making that sound. He wants to tell you to yell at him, throw something, call him a bastard again, or break his nose if you have to—literally anything but that sound. But he stays rooted to that goddamn couch because he knows—he knows—if he moves, if he opens his mouth, if he lets himself care, it’ll be the end of everything he’s been telling himself for the past three years.

He listens to your crying like a selfish bastard until it fades out, which somehow feels even worse because it’s like you’ve finally bled yourself dry. He squeezes his eyes shut and tells himself that it doesn’t matter, over and over and over again, until it’s enough to partly drown out the noise of your sobs in his head even long after you’ve stopped crying.

It’s for the better. This is the best way, Sunghoon.

He stays awake all night just to make sure you don’t start again.

You know what’s worse than crying yourself to sleep until you’re damn near dehydrated?

Waking up, catching sight of yourself in the mirror, and realizing, Wow! You actually look how you feel.

You honestly have no clue how many hours you spent lying on your side, staring out at the city through the hotel window while Ningning braided and unbraided your hair. She didn’t ask any questions you couldn’t answer and never told you it would all be alright, either. The two of you simply just existed together softly in a cocoon of silence as you watched some Gossip Girl, and it was honestly the only thing holding your atoms together. She’d left only a while ago and had promised to return in the morning with caffeine and treats.

You haven’t seen Sunghoon all day.

He is probably out there right now being the perfect son and slipping into whatever role gets him through the day. Ningning told you he’s got some things to oversee here, but she also let slip that last night, when you didn’t go to the dinner, Mr. Park was apparently furious, and it twisted something inside you.

And you, on the other hand? You’ve managed to set a personal record for most hours spent not moving. You’ve been ignoring every call, even the ones from your parents, and you’re simply pretending your phone doesn’t exist—because the mere idea of seeing any photos from last night makes you want to start sobbing all over again, and God knows you’ve cried enough to last a lifetime today.

Every inch of your body is sore to the point of oblivion—No, scratch that. Everything hurts, actually. Physically, emotionally, whatever-ally. Nothing is working for you right now, like, not one single thing. Isn’t that just so lovely? 

You bury your head under the covers and tell yourself that eventually you’ll move, eventually you’ll shower, and eventually you’ll become a functioning human again. 

This is your life now.

So, you didn’t exactly expect your plans to shower to extend all the way to about eleven pm, and it was only when you heard the door beep and Sunghoon return that you immediately wince and throw yourself in the shower.

It’s not like you’re avoiding him. You’re just… thinking.

And honestly, you don’t trust yourself when you think too much… especially when that’s literally all you did today—just thinking, and then thinking about the thinking, and then overthinking the thinking, and then overthinking the overthinking. You’re not proud of the conclusion you came to, by the way. Hence, the shower... It felt like the only place you could rinse it off for a minute… but by the time you were done, you didn’t even know if you felt better or felt worse. (definitely worse.)

But now here you are, standing in the bathroom in your nightgown (which you packed last minute because of Sunoo), once again staring at your own reflection like maybe you’ll see someone else there if you look long enough.

But you don’t. This is really you.

Your eyes fall on the stupid ring you brought into the bathroom with you. 

You’d spent a solid five minutes this morning just staring at it, and another five plotting out the logistics of launching it off the balcony while Ningning tried to talk you out of it, and then ten minutes throwing it in and out of the trash.

Fuck it.

If pretending is all you’re good at, then you might as well be the best at it. If being Mrs. Park is the only thing left for you, then you’ll be her on your own terms. You’ll be anyone if it means you can stop feeling like this, even for a night. 

So when you hear Sunghoon moving around in the room, you just… accept it. Because you know exactly what you want to do next. And is it pathetic that you barely lasted a day or that you didn’t even put up a good fight? Yeah, probably. Definitely. Is this a healthy course of action? Definitely not.

But honestly, what’s the point of hurting and tossing and turning in bed when you could just… do something about it? 

You take one more breath, slide the stupid ring on your finger, and open the door.

Sunghoon is sitting on the edge of the bed with his glasses on, propped up against the headboard with his phone in his hand. He doesn’t look up right away. Maybe he’s ignoring you on purpose, maybe he’s just tired, or maybe he’s trying to prove a point. You have no idea, and you really don’t care.

You cross the room over to him with your heart pounding so hard you’re positive he can hear it from where he’s sitting, and when you stop in front of him, you reach out and you just… take his phone out of his hand and set it face down on the nightstand. He blinks and finally glances up at you and raises his brow just a fraction. 

There’s a split second where you almost lose your nerve, where your mind starts up with all its usual bullshit—what if I look too pathetic, what if I regret it, what if, what if, what if—

“I need you,” you say.

There it is, out loud, hanging between you, honest and ugly and true.

Sunghoon looks… surprised. Like, actually surprised. He tongues his cheek as he looks you up and down and drinks in the sight of you just standing there in your red nightgown that hugs every inch of you just right, barely covering your thighs. His gaze darkens as it lingers at the hem and slides back up over your hips and your chest, and you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows once.

Well. He didn’t laugh in my face or call me pathetic. That’s something. (And honestly? With you standing there in that, there’s no way he’s thinking straight, you also think. It may be cliché, but game is game.)

He opens his mouth to say something, but you stop him.

“Don’t say anything. Just… wait.”

Then you crawl up onto his lap and place your knees on either side of his thighs, and you hold your hand up and show him the ring on your finger. You watch his brows knit together for a moment as he looks between it and you. 

“Isn’t this what you want?” you breathe shakily. “For me to wear the ring? To pretend? Who says we can’t just… extend that here? Pretend with me,” your nails dig into his shoulder; it’s a plea, and it sounds like one. “I’m not asking for anything else. I don’t want anything from you. I just want you to fuck me like it means something, even though it doesn’t.”

Sunghoon doesn’t move for a second, but you see something shift in his face. And then—this is truly the worst thing he could have done, you think—he reaches up and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and brushes his thumb over your jaw so gently it nearly makes you bite your own tongue off. 

“Go to bed,” he says quietly.

You blink. “What?” 

“Go to bed, Y/N,” he says again. 

Okay. So… you’d thought way, way too much about this all day, but not a single scenario in your brain had prepared you for him to actually refuse you.

You didn’t even have the energy to be angry about it… Yesterday, you (insanely) fucked him to release your pent-up anger, but today…. It’s not anger at all. It’s just need, exhaustion, and desperation. Maybe he sees that in your face or hears it in your voice. Or maybe it’s just obvious in the way you immediately crawl off his lap and curl yourself up on your side without another word.

If you thought crying in front of him was rock bottom… The universe sure loves reminding you there’s always a new low. 

So you just lie there.

You face the wall and pretend he’s not right there, and that none of that just happened as you try to keep your breath even and swallow down whatever the hell is left of your pride. (Spoiler: there isn’t anything.) You stare into the dim room and fight to keep the tears at bay, and after a while—maybe a minute, maybe a century—the voice in your head quiets down. But just as you’re about to drift into that weird, numb nothingness, you feel Sunghoon move and—

He finds your hand on the mattress and laces your fingers together.

Not all the way, but his palm slides over yours and his fingers curl tenderly around your hand… and he just… holds it. 

And that’s all it takes for your breath to stupidly catch in your throat.

You don’t even dare move, or react, or look at him, and you can’t even process why he’s doing this—mostly because he doesn’t let you. He lets go almost instantly, and before you can even blink, he’s on his feet and out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

Great. Another low. You’re really just collecting them tonight, huh?

You’re not even sure when you started crying again. Maybe you never really stopped. Maybe you’d been crying longer than you knew; maybe you were crying when you came out of the bathroom. What the fuck is wrong with me?

You toss and turn, and the sheets tangle around your legs for what feels like hours, and your mind is spinning faster than your heart can keep up. You think you might actually go crazy if you have to stay in this bed one second longer, so you sit up, just wanting out, wanting anything—maybe a cigarette (which is crazy cause you rarely ever smoke), maybe just to smash your stupid head into the wall until you can’t feel anything—

And then the door beeps, and before you even have time to register what’s happening, Sunghoon is crossing the space between you in a single stride. 

“Sunghoon, I—” 

The words die in your throat when his hands find your jaw and tilt your face up… And then he kisses you.

It's… Your brain tries to catch up with what’s happening, but instinct still takes over, and you melt into his wet kiss as you bunch your fists in the fabric of his shirt and moan into his mouth.

He breaks the kiss, just long enough to rip his glasses off and toss them somewhere behind him—and your eyes meet for a breathless moment. Then you drag him back in by yanking his shirt in, and you push him onto the bed with more force than you mean to. He lets you, for a second. But then he grabs you, flips you under him, and he’s right back on you—even harder and sloppier, like he needs to fuck the ache out of you with just his tongue in your mouth—it’s all teeth and tongue and panting.

He’s pressing you down into the mattress, and you could cry from relief. Maybe you were. His hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back so he can mouth at your throat, and you swear you could just come from this—just from the way he’s on you and how filthy his tongue feels in your mouth again. Your lips part, and he groans against your mouth, the sound vibrating all the way through your body, and it makes you clutch him harder, needing more, needing anything that isn’t the cold ache that’s been rotting you from the inside out.

“Say it.” he pulls back and mutters against your lips, “Tell me exactly what you want from me.”

For a split second, you consider laughing in his face or making him work for it just for the hell of it—but you don’t. Because that’s not what you want right now. 

“Everything,” you whisper, and it’s probably the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him—only, no part of you means it in the way you once would have meant it. You reach up and pull his hand until he’s holding your face, until his ring is pressed right up against your teary cheeks. “I want everything you can give me, and I want it to mean nothing at all.” 

“You want me to fuck you like this is real, is that it?” 

If you weren’t all out of fight, you definitely would have slapped him for the way he’d just said that so mockingly. But you nod anyway, and of course, he doesn’t let you off the hook that easily. Because he’s Park fucking Sunghoon.

“No, sweetheart. Use your words,” Sunghoon says smugly. He looks so cruel and complacent that it makes your skin burn. “If you’re going to be this fucking pathetic, you better tell me exactly what you want. So beg. And make it pretty.”

You reach up and press your palm right over his mouth. “Don’t. None of that,” you plead, and hold your other hand up to show him the ring again. “I told you what I want. I’m playing my part,” you say quietly. “Now I want you to play yours.”

He laughs against your palm, then he bites the base of your thumb, and you gasp and pull away. Then he grabs your wrist and pins it above your head, his fingers laced tight with yours—the ring digging into your knuckles.

“None of what, hmm? You think just because you’re wearing my ring, you get to call the shots?” he murmurs, dragging his mouth down your jaw and leaving a wet kiss just beneath your ear. “But fine. I’ll bite. You want to play house, baby? That you’re Mrs. Park, begging for it like a good little wife?”

You meet his eyes, and you don’t even try to hide how devastated you sound or look. “Stop. I want you, Sunghoon. Without any baggage. Just for tonight. Just… Please don’t make me ask again.”

Before you can blink or process the way his brows furrow as he takes your expression in, his mouth is on yours again. You moan into it when you feel the hard line of his cock pressing up against your thigh—and you immediately hook your legs around his waist. For a second, you just breathe him in while kissing him… His sharp cologne, the clean scent that’s only ever him. You clumsily push at his shoulder and try to roll him over, wanting—needing—to take control, if only for a moment, and he pulls back with an eyebrow raised. He lets you move again just enough to give you hope, and then he huffs and stops you. 

Sunghoon looks like he’s about to laugh. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You lean in closer and press your lips to his jaw, then lower, trailing wet kisses down the stubble along his throat.

“What do you think?” you murmur as you lightly scrape your teeth on his jaw. “I want to be on top.”

“Tsk,” he shakes his head and huffs a breath. “I don’t think so.” 

You want to slap that smug grin off his face, but it also just makes you want it even more. So you find it in you to push the bastard—just a little.

“What, you can only fuck if you’re on top?” you mutter, as you sink in a mark right beneath his ear with your teeth. “Didn’t know you were that boring.”

Sunghoon’s tongue presses into his cheek, and, for a second, you think he’s going to pin you down even harder, judging by the ridiculous look on his face. But instead, he flips the two of you over—and suddenly you’re straddling his waist with your knees braced against his hips. He leans back until his head is tipped into the pillows, and he watches you with hooded eyes. 

“Go on then,” he murmurs as his hands settle on your thighs. “Take what you need.”

You don’t hesitate—you immediately grab his neck and tangle your fingers in the hair at his nape, and you kiss him. You just kiss him and kiss him until your lips feel swollen, until you’re both gasping for air, and all the while you groan and grind down on him, rubbing yourself on the thick length straining through his sweatpants. You brace yourself on his chest with your palms pressed flat—using him for leverage, and he lets you; lets you take what you need, lets you use his body like it’s the only thing left tethering you to earth. His grip on your ass tightens until you’re sure he’ll squeeze bruises into your skin, and he drags you back and forth harder over his cock, making you throb even more.

“Fuck—such a good little bride, huh?” he pants, “So fucking eager for me, even when you’re sore.”

You don’t bother dignifying yourself with a response—No, you double down and drag your nightgown up—but his hand catches yours, and he stops you.

“No,” he rasps. “Keep it on.”

You blink down at him with your nightgown bunched in your fists, but the way he’s looking at you through his heavy-lidded eyes makes your whole body go hot and tight. He slowly traces along the neckline, toys with it, and then slips his fingers just under the red lace.

“Makes it better, don’t you think?” he leans up, mouth finding your throat, and he drags his tongue slowly over every hickey he left there yesterday—like he’s counting them one by one. “You’re all dressed up and acting like a real wife—just for me.” His hands fists in the hem. “You wanna play pretend that bad, hmm? You wanna see how fast I can ruin you in this pretty little thing?”

Oh. His head is getting bigger by the moment, it seems…

And sure, you may be desperately horny and wrecked — but you still have to say something.

“Don’t let it get to your head, Sunghoon.” You huff a laugh and lean in so your mouth is right against his ear. “You know I’m just doing this to feel good, right? Don’t start thinking you’re special.”

He threads his fingers into your hair and yanks your head back hard enough to make you hiss. “Ah. I think you just forgot who you’re talking to,” he tuts and holds his left hand up again to wiggle his ring finger. “If you want to feel good, you'd better learn some fucking manners, Mrs. Park. Want to try again?”

You click your tongue and pout. “Mmm. No need for that,” you coo, “I’ll be good tonight.”

You slide both your hands over his raised hand—God, he’s so much bigger than you. Even with both your hands wrapped around his, his palm still dwarfs yours. You trace your thumb along his ring finger and toy with his ring. Then you lock eyes with him and you lean in and—without breaking eye contact—slowly wrap your lips around his ring finger. He lets out a filthy, low groan when you start to suck and let your tongue flick over his knuckle and around the band—dragging your lips up and down the length of his finger until it’s slick with your spit. You feel the tremor in his hand and the way his other hand’s grip tightens in your hair, clearly fighting for any semblance of control. You press your tongue right under the ring and start working it loose, and then you pull it off with your teeth. He hisses and watches you the entire time, then, with a shaky little grin and the ring in between your teeth, you bring your lips to his and kiss him. 

His tongue is greedy. He licks into your mouth like a starved man. You moan right into him, grinding down on his cock so hard it makes you dizzy—rolling your hips and using every inch of friction, and he lets out a moan that vibrates against your tongue, and his hands clamp down on your ass to drag you over his achingly hard, clothed cock again and again until the noise in your head quiets down. You finally pull back just slightly with a line of spit stringing between your mouths, and the ring still glinting between your teeth. 

For a moment, neither of you moves as you stare at each other.

Then he reaches up and tugs you closer by the nape of your neck, and he slowly kisses you again—open-mouthed and wet—before gently prying the ring from your mouth with his teeth. Then he flips you beneath him in one quick movement.

“What are you—” you start, but he cuts you off with his low voice.

“I’m gonna make you feel it,” he groans as he drags his mouth down your neck and kisses every mark he left on you. He moves lower and lower until he's right at your thighs, then he pauses, the gold band glinting between his teeth again. “Isn’t that what you want?” 

You arch a brow and scowl at him even as your heart stupidly pounds under your ribs. “I said I wanted to be on top.”

He huffs a laugh, and you see him tuck the ring in the inner corner of his cheek with his tongue. “A good husband takes care of his wife first, doesn’t he?” he says, and then he drags you closer to him by your legs. “Spread your legs.”

Your heart jumps straight up into your throat. But you do. You spread your legs for him, and he immediately hooks your legs up onto his shoulders, and his big hands settle on your thighs to keep you right where he wants you. He starts trailing kisses terribly slowly on your calves, then the inside of your leg, open-mouthed and maddening. 

“This”—kiss—“is”—kiss—“what”—kiss—“you”—kiss—“want?” he murmurs against your leg as he trails lower and lower between kisses. “You want me to be soft? Gentle? You want me to whisper sweet nothings, hmm?”

Your hips buck and you glare down at him with your cheeks burning. “Get to the fucking point, Sunghoon.”

He suddenly bites your thigh—hard enough to leave a brand new mark—and you yelp.

“Tsk. I was generous enough to agree to play along with your desperate act, and now you’re not even behaving properly?” he squeezes your thigh and grins cruelly. “I should leave you here for being so fucking ungrateful.”

Okay. No more self-sabotaging, even if he’s being a total fucking jerk. Don’t you want this?

“Yes… God, that’s what… I want. Just… make me feel good. Please,” you plead. You hate how it sounds coming out of your mouth, but you strangely don’t feel ashamed.

He looks up at you from between your legs, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Then, as if he’s got all the time in the world, he carefully sets your legs back down on the mattress, and he sits back on his knees and yanks his shirt off over his head.

He’s… your mouth actually goes dry.

You want to scream at him, maybe throw something, because there’s no reason a person should look like that—broad shoulders, cut abs, that little dip at his waist you hate yourself for noticing. It’s infuriating, honestly, the way your body aches just seeing him undressed, especially knowing what he’s about to do to you. He drops the shirt off the edge of the bed and leans back over you with his hands roaming up your thighs, and he bunches your nightgown higher and higher until it’s barely covering anything. 

“Up,” he orders as he curls his finger around the waistband of your panties. You lift your hips for him immediately, and he drags your panties down slowly, little by little, all while never looking away from your clearly impatient face. He tosses it to the side, and then he drags his fingers up your inner thigh and traces lazy, teasing circles on the skin. Then he spreads your folds open with his other hand — thumb brushing your clit just lightly enough to make you whine.

He spits the ring out onto his palm.

“Now,” Sunghoon looks at you and bites his lip, “Let’s hear it, Mrs. Park. Beg for me,” he coos. “Make it so pretty I almost believe you’re really my wife. Make it worthy of me.”

You saw that coming. You force yourself to hold his gaze as you spread your legs even wider. “Is that what you want, Mr. Park? Want your good little bride to beg for your cock?” you breathe, and it’s actually physically painful to let the words out because you are so not the begging type. “Please. Fuck me so dumb that I’ll sign any contract you want—make me beg to keep your last name.”

“Such a fast learner—who knew you could be this obedient?” he huffs out a low laugh, and for a second, he just watches you—sprawled out and embarrassingly soaked before he’s even really started. “Jesus, you’re already this wet?” he rasps, “I haven’t even touched you properly yet. You’re this needy for your man, sweetheart?” 

Your cheeks burn, and you bite down on the urge to tell him to eat shit.

Then he grabs the ring and you gasp at the feeling of the slick metal as he presses it right on your clit and starts rolling it in slow, rough circles.

He lazily spits right onto your clit, and you watch hungrily as it drips down between your folds and pools at your entrance. You whimper as his fingers reach down to mix your wetness with his spit—gathering it up and dragging it back up to your clit as he continues to work it with his ring. The sensation is maddening—so different and obscene, the symbol of everything that’s fucked between you now pressed against the place you’re aching for him. 

“You feel that?” he growls, “Is that real enough for you?” he drags the ring over your clit again and again, making your whole body jolt with every pass. “Is this what you wanted? To be fucked with a promise and nothing underneath it?”

You choke out something between a moan and a curse, back arching off the bed as he circles your clit even harder.

“Answer me,” he growls.

“Yes—God, Yes!”

You feel him grin against your thigh, and then he brings his head down and drags his tongue over your clit right where the metal was a second ago. And… Shit. The way his mouth latches on and his tongue flicks over you again and again… You squeeze your eyes shut so hard out of pleasure that you feel like your head is going to explode.

He’s sucking so hard your back arches off the bed again, but he presses you down harder and groans into you, and it vibrates right into your core. Then he drags his tongue down slowly and fucks it into you, properly tongue-fucking you like it’s his cock. His stubble scrapes your inner thighs, and the sensation only adds to it and burns you in the best way as he buries his face deeper, tongue pushing in and out as he fucks you with his mouth.

“Oh shit—fuck—” you gasp and pull his hair to tug him even closer so you grind down on him deeper… you’re practically riding his face at this point. He alternates between pressing sloppy, wet kisses all over your clit, sucking, licking, and even softly nipping it just to hear you yelp. “Oh my god. Oh my GOD—”

“No,” he huffs and pulls back slightly, but it’s enough to make you whine and chase his mouth with your hips. “Say my name.” 

You hesitate—just for a second, the remaining scrapes of pride prickling at your skin even though your brain is hazy with want, but you do it anyway—because you’ll do anything if it means he keeps doing exactly that. “Shit—Sunghoon,”

“Wrong. Say it like you mean it.”

“Sunghoon,” you practically moan it like a prayer, but he’s still unmoving.

“Tsk. Still wrong,” He squeezes your thigh and keeps you in place as you try to buck your hips up. “Try again. Say it right if you want me to keep going.”

You blink as you try to figure out what he wants, and you realize the answer is right there—disgustingly glinting on your finger.

You swallow and whisper, “Mr. Park—please, I need you.”

“That’s more like it,” And then his mouth is on you before you can even register it, tongue circling your clit again, harder, faster, drawing out every desperate sound you can give him and more. He holds you down as you writhe beneath him, grinding against his mouth with all the desperate need you’ve been trying to drown all day. And just as you begin teetering on the edge…

He pulls back entirely.

Your eyes fly open. “Don’t—Why’d you stop—?”

He bites his lip and smirks up at you. “Almost forgot to put this back where it belongs,” he drawls, holding up his ring between his fingers.

You open your mouth to say something, but the words die in your throat as you watch him bring the ring right up to your pussy again; only this time he places it flat against your hole.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he takes his ring finger and slides it right through the center of the ring, pushing in right into your hole until the band is back on his knuckle with his finger buried inside you.

It nearly knocks the breath from your lungs—your cunt clutches around his finger as he starts fingering you, and every pump makes his ring drag against your walls as he starts to stretch you.

“There. Much better,” he smirks, and curls his finger inside you just right as he starts circling your clit with his thumb. “Now tell me you feel that.”

You can barely breathe. “I—fuck, Sunghoon—Yes,”

And then he starts to fuck you faster with his finger—you’re gasping, moaning, legs shaking, completely and utterly at his mercy. You can barely keep yourself together—all that tension and ache you’ve carried all day is burning up, being turned into something so raw it’s almost unbearable. You don’t even realize you’re the one dragging your nightgown up even higher than it already is, baring yourself to him completely as you start playing with your own tits.

“Fuck,” Sunghoon growls, and his free hand slides up to grab your breasts roughly, and he squeezes them hard enough to make you let out a pornographic moan—then he kneads and pulls at your nipple, thumbs rolling over your sensitive peaks as he pinches and flicks it in tune with how he’s fingering you. Then he lowers his mouth right down to your pussy again and starts devouring you like he’s starved and you’re the only thing that will ever satisfy him. His tongue is relentless as he circles your clit in tight, merciless patterns, while his finger keeps pumping in and out of you — the weight of that fucking ring making every single shove that much dirtier. Your eyes flutter shut, and you just let yourself drown in it, letting his mouth and hands and the rough burn of his stubble against your thighs turn your whole world inside out as every muscle in your body coils tighter, desperate for the relief only he can give you.

You’re so fucking close—your thighs start trembling as you clamp them tighter around his head, fingers twisting harder around his hair, and when you glance down at him through your haze, you moan when you catch the diamond ring on your hand in his hair, glinting in the dim light.

Sunghoon groans against you, and you swear you feel him smirk into your pussy—lips wrapped around your clit. “Is my good little bride about to cum for me?” he breathes into you. “Should I let you? Do you think you deserve it?”

You dig your nails into his scalp, hips bucking up into his mouth as you try to force him closer. “Yes. Sunghoon, please—please, I’m so close, just—”

“Louder. Say it again,” he growls, his eyes meeting yours as you look down at him. “Say you want it, Y/N. Beg for it.”

And you do—because, well, you know why. “Fuck y—I want it, I want to cum, please, Sunghoon—please, make me—” 

He doesn’t even give you time to breathe after that. He presses his mouth right back to your clit, sucking hard enough to make you see stars, and the combination of his tongue and the steady drag of his ring finger inside you is pure, electric agony. You fall apart so hard you nearly black out—your whole body going tense, thighs shaking, toes curling, your grip in his hair turning borderline violent, but it only makes him groan harder into you. You cry out as your cunt clamps tight around his finger. It’s dizzying how deep the sensation goes… Every pulse and flutter of your orgasm throbs around him, how wet you are, how he just keeps fucking you through it, his tongue working you until your body gives out and you’re twitching, limp, unable to do anything but sob his name over and over again. He stops for a moment and spits right onto your swollen cunt and spreads it with his tongue before he goes back to sucking on your clit, slower now, almost lazy, like he has all night to wring every last bit of feeling out of you. You try to pull away—more like twitch away out of instinct—but he just grabs your waist and drags you right back to his mouth.

“Did I say you could move?” he murmurs as his lips brush your oversensitive clit. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He grabs your tits again and squeezes them harder. He’s so slow now, so thorough, tongue circling your clit and then sucking it between his lips, not letting up for a second as your body goes tight all over again—nose pressed right up against your clit as he eats you out like it’s what he was made to do.

“Sunghoon—fucking hell, give me a second—” you choke out, not even sure if you mean it. You grind your hips down against his soaked face because again, your body has a mind of its own, and she truly never knows what it wants. “I’m still—fuck—sore,”

Sunghoon doesn’t even bother stopping… He’s fucking relentless. You don’t know if you want to cry or cry. You buck your hips up into him.

“What? Didn’t you want to play house, baby?” he taunts, his voice muffled by your thighs. “You can take it, can’t you? Look at you still grinding up into me,” He squeezes your tits again and pinches your nipple roughly until you gasp. “I’m just doing my husbandly duties.”

Then he shoves two fingers inside, and your eyes roll back so hard you’re sure they’ll stay stuck there. “This is what being Mrs. Park means—taking everything I give you. Can you handle that?” he groans as he works your pussy open with his fingers, pumping them in and out, “Fuck. Tightest fucking pussy.”

“Fucking—God, I hate you—” you hiss through your teeth. The burn of the stretch hurts so good as he starts pumping faster — you’re still twitching around from the aftershocks of your last orgasm. “I can take it—you bitch—”

“What was that?” he tuts, and his fingers go still inside you as he shakes his head mockingly. “Ahh. On second thought, let’s just go to bed, hmm?”

Your back arches, and it slips out before you can stop it, “No. Don’t you dare stop,” 

He chuckles. “That’s what I thought,” he grins, and then he crooks his fingers up until you’re gasping, hitting that spot that makes your legs shake. “Look at you. Fuck, you’re already about to cum again, aren’t you? That fast? Such a needy little thing—embarrassing, really.” Your cunt clenches around his fingers again, the pain and pleasure blurring together until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. “That’s it—Fall apart on me. Let me feel you.” 

You can’t even argue because he’s right. You come again shortly after that, so hard, screaming his name a bit (way more than a bit) too loud for this time at night—your hips jerking helplessly as you cry out for him, every single muscle burning, mind gone, nothing left but the feeling of being absolutely wrecked and ruined—exactly how you wanted. Then, after a moment, he lets you go. You watch as he presses his tongue flat on your hole and starts licking a slow stripe up over to your clit, then your stomach, and all the way up between your tits. He pauses to drag his tongue over one nipple, then the other, sucking it between his lips. The friction of his stubble against your already sensitive and tender tits… Fuck. You moan and arch your back to press yourself further into his mouth as your hands slide up his arms, placed by your side, and you squeeze his biceps—God, the veins, the muscle, the strength of him holding you open and down. 

“Sunghoon—” you manage to choke out, “Take your fucking clothes off. S’not fair.”

“Not fair?” he mocks, nipping at your nipple lightly and tugging it between his teeth. He gives your breast a wet, open-mouthed kiss, then drags his tongue over the soft swell of your breast and bites it hard enough to make you cry out. “Life’s not fair, sweetheart. Didn’t anyone teach you that?” 

You mockingly pout at him. “What a shame… Good thing your bride can teach you just how fair it can be,” you tease, though it comes out as pants, and then you weakly tug at his waistband to yank him closer, not even caring if you sound stupid. “Off. I want you naked for me, Mr. Park.”

He laughs and pushes up to his knees, and you watch as he finally shoves his sweats down—and his cock immediately springs free (the bastard wasn’t wearing underwear.) He’s so flushed, precum leaking insanely at the tip, and just so so heavy against his thigh. God. You don’t think you’ll ever get used… to this. The sight of him makes your mouth actually, properly water and your cunt clench tighter, even through the aftershocks.

“Better?” he drawls, stroking his length once just to tease you.

You’re literally sore in places you didn’t even biologically consider could be sore from (every part of your legs, the inner parts your shoulders, the crook of your elbow, for fuck’s sake), but the thing is… you’re coming to find out that when you’re this horny—when he’s right in front of you, naked and cocky and flushed… You don’t care about anything. You push up and practically launch yourself at him—wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him so deep he nearly topples over. He laughs right into your mouth, and you feel his cock drag between your bodies, smearing wet against your stomach. 

“Always so impatient,” he murmurs, biting at your bottom lip as he slaps your ass hard enough to make you whimper. “Pathetic.”

You chase his mouth, rolling your hips up, whining when the head of his cock presses against your inner thigh. “I said none of that. Just—” You break off, moaning as you grind against him, “—just fucking kiss me, Sunghoon. Please.”

You drag him down onto the bed with you—mouth never leaving his—and Sunghoon lets you. He’s smirking into the kiss and letting you push him down until you’re straddling his hips. You pull back for half a breath just to see him laid out beneath you—hair a mess, lips swollen, cock flushed and leaking… The power rush goes straight to your head and it makes you oh, so bold. You lean down and start trailing kisses down his jaw, then his throat, kissing your way to his chest and his abs, dragging your tongue slowly down his body. Then you reach his cock and you glance up at him as you wrap your hand around the base and dip your head with your lips ghosting over the head, tongue flicking out just to taste the precum collecting on the tip. But before you can do more, his hand flies to your hair, and he pulls you back with a little more force than necessary.

“No,” he says, voice low and deep. “Not tonight.”

You cock a brow. “What, you get to have all the fun? It’s my turn.”

His grip in your hair tightens, and he yanks your head back further. “This isn’t about turns,” he rasps. “I don’t need your mouth on my cock to feel good. You think I eat you out because I expect you to do it back?” 

Oh wow. Heaven have mercy.

The way he said that so… smugly and infuriatingly composed just makes you feel hotter. But you lower yourself anyway, and you drag your tongue up in a slow stripe from his balls, then up the thick, long length of his cock—just because you can—then over his abs, your mouth trailing spit all the way up his stomach, his chest, the sharp edge of his collarbone, up to his jaw, and he practically groans with every lick. You straddle his bare stomach, your pussy pressed wet and hot against his abs, and you lean down and lick right up to his ear as he fucking whines.

“You sound so needy, Mr. Park,” you tut, and nip at his earlobe. “You’re just gonna lie there like a good husband and let me ride you?”

His hands grip your hips as you slowly grind down on his abs. “Needy?” he taunts. “You’re the one making a mess everywhere. Go on. Fuck yourself on my cock. Let me see just how desperate my good little wife really is.”

You settle with your knees bracketing his hips, but there’s a sudden hesitation—one second of tension between you right before you reach down to line him up, and he catches your wrist. 

“Wait—shit, I’m out of condoms,” he groans.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly and too quickly. “I don’t want you to use one.” 

It slips out like a secret, like a confession—and the moment the words leave your lips, you see it: Sunghoon’s pupils blow wide, and something wickedly dangerous and absolutely sinful flickers over his face. He actually fucking groans—and for a moment, he just stares at you with his head tipped back against the pillow. 

“Fuck—say it again.”

“I want you to fuck me raw. I want to feel you. Just you, Sunghoon. Nothing else.”

“You sure?” his voice is pure sin now, all gravel and want and the threat of something that feels bigger than both of you. “Don’t say it unless you fucking mean it.”

You nod and bite your lip. “I’m sure. Just—please, Need it.”

He pushes up and grabs you hard by the hips and drags you flush against him. His back hits the headboard, and you end up half-kneeling in his lap. “You’re sure,” he says again, almost like he’s saying it to himself—and his hands find themselves splayed over your bare ass. He squeezes, hard enough to make you shiver. 

You roll your eyes. “If you say it one more time, I’ll change my mind,” you huff, but your voice isn’t nearly as steady as you want it to be.

He tsks. “Still a fuckin’ brat,” he mutters, but he’s already shifting you higher. “C’mere.”

He kisses you roughly, and you melt into it, your hands flying up to his hair—fisting at the roots like you’re angry with him for how much you want this. Somewhere in the middle of the kiss, you feel his cock sliding up against your pussy, and you moan right into his mouth. He breaks the kiss, forehead pressed to yours, both of you just breathing, breathing, breathing. One of his hands comes up to your jaw to tilt your head so you look him in the eye properly.

“Go on,” he purrs, “If you want it so bad, take it.”

You whimper—then you raise yourself a bit, reach down, wrap your hand around his thick cock to line him up, and then you slowly start to sink down on the head. You both gasp as you take his fat head in one push.

The stretch is so intense it makes you scream and bury your face in his neck as you start to take more, forcing yourself down inch by fucking inch. He’s tearing you open, and you can feel every vein on his cock inside your walls, and his hands are everywhere—digging into your hips, sliding up your back, tangled in your nightgown as he brings it down again and—

RIIIPPPPPP.

He fucking tears the nightgown clean in half and rips it open right down the middle with one vicious pull, and you freeze any movement in sheer disbelief, despite how full you already feel and how badly your thighs are shaking as you look down at your ruined nightgown and the lace shredded in his fist. 

You slap at his chest. “What the fuck—you asshole, that was—!” 

“Payback,” He cuts you off, looking insufferably pleased with himself as he leans in to kiss your neck. “I’ll buy you another one,” he rasps, “And another. And another. And another—I’ll buy you ten in every single color. I’ll spoil you fuckin’ rotten.” He says, and grips your ass harder as he thrusts his hips up slightly to push in deeper. “Now quit whining and ride me, Mrs. Park.”

“Fuck—Sunghoon—” you moan. Your thighs are shaking, and your pussy’s gripping him so tight it must hurt, but he just groans and thrusts up to push you down even further as his arms wound around your waist to hold you up. “FUCK—”

“Easy,” Sunghoon grunts. “Take it slow—Shit, you’re so fucking tight—Relax.” His hands slide lower, palms splayed across your ass as he guides you down. “How are you this tight—Fuck,”

You press your forehead to his, breath hot and shaky, and mind absolutely GONE to even register what you’re saying. “You’re too big—fuck, you’re actually too big—you bastard, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. You’ve already done it, haven’t you?” his voice drops to a filthy purr as he watches you through half-lidded eyes, all lust and something else you won’t let yourself name, and it only makes it harder to breathe. “You take it so well.”

“FUCK—Just—hold me,” you moan. “I can’t—my legs—”

“I got you,” he exhales, and takes your weight as he stretches you out. “I got it. Let me do it for you, yeah?”

You finally, finally sink all the way down, taking every inch until your ass is flush against his thighs and he’s buried deep inside you, and it feels like he’s everywhere—stretching you so wide you’re not sure you’ll ever recover.

For a moment, you just stay like that as your pussy accommodates to his cock again. Then he slowly drags his cock back out almost all the way to the tip—and thrusts back in just as slowly. The moan you both let out into each other’s mouths is obscene (and, again, too loud for this hour, but you don’t particularly care.)

“Wait—you asshole,” you moan as he starts to fuck into you deeper, not even sure if you mean it as a complaint. “It’s—fuck, Sunghoon, it’s too much—”

“Shh, sweetheart,” he soothes, but there’s nothing gentle in the way he grinds your hips down and fucks up into you. “You’re my fiancée, aren’t you? Gotta get used to it—get used to me.” He leans down and sucks a mark on your neck, “Gotta stretch you out so you fit me perfectly.”

You can’t do anything but moan as he moves you slowly—up and down, up and down—making you ride him.

“Fuck—Sunghoon, I can feel you… Here,” you gasp and grab his hand to press it on your lower belly where the thick head of his cock nudges at your walls.

“Fuckk,” he groans and snaps his hips up harder as he presses down on your stomach, “Take it. Take all of it—my good little fiancée, letting me fuck her so full she can’t even remember her own name.”

You can’t, honestly. All you can do is moan into his mouth as the filthy slap of skin on skin echoes in the room as he moves you up and down — But then you start bouncing in his lap and fucking yourself on his cock properly — ass slapping down against his thighs and making every thrust hit deep. Your hands twist in his hair, and you lean in and bite his jaw, licking over the bruises you’ve left there, moaning shamelessly louder when he fucks up into you just as deep.

“Feels so good,” you breathe, almost shocked by your own honesty. “You make me feel so fucking good, Sunghoon.” Your forehead drops to his, noses brushing, breaths mingling, and it’s so intimate you almost can’t stand it. But you don’t care. This is what you want. “T…Tell me what you want, baby. Tell me how you want it.”

“Just like this,” he whispers, and it’s not a command, it’s a plea. He fucks up into you so deep you see stars, “Don’t stop, just like that. Fuck, I—” he stops. “Fucking… made to fit me.”

You grind harder, loving the way his voice cracks. “Mhmm,” you moan and drag your nails down his chest hard enough that he grunts, “I…I want you to feel me—every time you even think… about someone else touching you.” 

His eyes flutter shut, and his head falls back as you muster up some strength and rise off and then slowly sink back down onto him, and he lets out a low, rasped moan.

“No one else,” he groans quietly, so low you barely even hear it. “Only… you.”

You don’t even hear the words he says—not really, not over the blood roaring in your ears, not over the sob that tears itself out of your throat. You’re shaking—face buried in the crook of his neck because it’s all too much. You’re sobbing, properly sobbing now—but you don’t care, not when Sunghoon snaps and grabs your hips harder and starts fucking up into you, hard enough that you swear you can feel him in your fucking chest. “Sunghoon—” you gasp, your words dissolving into a scream as he drives up into you, hard enough that your ass slaps against his thighs, his cock hitting. He groans against your shoulder, mouth hot and open against your skin, his teeth dragging along your collarbone as he drives his hips up again and again and again.

“That’s it—” he pants. “Fuck, listen to you. You’re crying all over my cock. Can you feel that? Fucking dripping down your thighs, soaking me.”

You clamp your teeth down on his shoulder so roughly that you feel the way his muscle tenses under your mouth. He hisses, a deep, guttural sound torn straight from his chest, and you feel his cock throb inside you as he grinds up, impossibly deeper, grinding you down hard enough you see white behind your eyelids.

“Fuck—” Sunghoon groans, and his hand flies up in your hair to tug your head back enough so that your throat is bare for him. You gasp, eyes fluttering open just in time to see the wild, wrecked look in his eyes before his mouth crashes down on your neck. His teeth sink into your skin, biting you so deep you cry out—screaming, arching into him, as your cunt clenches tighter around him.

He thrusts up into you again, then he drags every fucking inch out and slams back in to make you feel every stretch and drag of his thick cock inside you, hitting all the right spots.

“Sunghoon—oh my god—fuck, don’t stop, please, please—” you sob, your voice breaking into a high, keening wail as he rocks you down to meet every thrust.

“Never stopping,” he grits out, and he brings his other hand down and starts circling your clit — and he bites you again, right beneath your jaw, so hard you’re not sure if you’re crying from the pain or the pleasure or the absolute way he’s destroying you or maybe something else.

And then—you can feel it, that rush building, the heat coiling low in your belly, spreading through your legs… but it’s different this time.

“Sunghoon, I—I-I’m gonna—” you choke, your whole body starting to shake.

Everything is tingling—you’ve only ever felt anything close to this once before, and even then, it hadn’t been like this—

And then—oh god—it hits you, so hard you nearly black out. Your cunt clamps down around him so tight — and then it’s like your body just breaks. You gush all over him — slick, wet heat pouring out of you, soaking his cock, his thighs, and the sheets underneath. It’s so much, you can’t even process it — you don’t even realize what’s happening until Sunghoon groans.

“Holy fuck—” he chokes as he looks between the two of you, his hands digging into your ass. “You’re—shit, you’re fucking squirting—fuck—”

You can’t look, you can’t breathe, you’re just sobbing and shaking, legs trembling uncontrollably as your body lets go, as you ride out the most intense, mind-melting orgasm of your entire fucking life. The pleasure is electric and endless, rolling through you in waves that leave you limp, shaking, tears streaming down your cheeks as you collapse against his chest. He just kisses you everywhere he can reach. 

You’re barely even in your body anymore, honestly. The taste of your own tears snaps you out of your haze for a moment as Sunghoon kisses you. You don’t even register it at first when he maneuvers you, hands gripping your hips as he flips you back onto your back, his cock never once slipping from your cunt. He’s still buried so deep it feels like you’re split in two, and he’s fucking you so slowly and pressed so close to you can’t even tell where you end and he begins.

He’s close; you can feel it in the way he moves, the way he can’t stop groaning, the way his mouth can’t stop moving over your skin—your jaw, your cheek, your lips, your throat, back to your mouth. His cock drags through your overstimulated, soaked cunt, and for once, you actually think it’s too much. 

His hands frame your face, thumbs swiping at your tears.

“Come back to me,” he mutters, “C’mon, darling, look at me.”

You force your eyes open, blinking through the haze. He’s so close you can see every fleck in his brown eyes, every line of hunger, and something that could almost be tenderness etched on his face. He’s all you see, all you feel—Sunghoon, Sunghoon, Sunghoon.

“Ho—” you gasp, voice a shaky sob, “I can’t… do this—oh my god, I can’t—”

He shushes you, kissing your lips, your jaw, your temple, murmuring against your skin, “You can. You feel that?” he groans as he reaches between you to press a hand on the faint bulge in your lower belly from his cock. “That’s real. This—right here—nothing’s more fucking real than this.”

He pulls back — his cock dragging almost all the way out — then, with one insanely brutal snap of his hips, he slams back into you so deep you cry out, your back arching off the bed as his cock splits you open all over again.

“Fuck—” he groans, biting down on your shoulder as you clamp around him. He does it again, even slower this time, letting you feel every single inch as he slides out, and then he slams home—hard, deep, so rough the bed shakes beneath you. Your hands fly to his back, nails sinking in, dragging him closer. He presses his whole body down over yours, hips grinding deep and flush to yours, every inch of him pressed so tight you’re pinned beneath his weight. He doesn’t move—just stays there, cock throbbing deep inside, his chest heaving against yours. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his heavy-lidded brown eyes wild, sweat slicking his thick brows.

“Where do you want me?” he rasps, voice so low it feels like a secret between just the two of you. “Tell me where you want it, baby.”

You wrap your legs tighter around his hips, holding him in place. “Inside,” you moan, and your voice is so needy and raw it doesn’t even sound like you. “Sunghoon—inside, please, I want you inside—”

He presses his forehead to yours as he rocks into you even slower. “Shit—Yeah? Inside?” he groans, a wicked smile twitching at his lips as he breathes between thrusts. “Want me to fill you up? Fuck a baby into you right here? Want me to actually make you my wife, Mrs. Park?”

You whimper and nod frantically. “Yes. I want it, Want you—I want all of you—just do it, please—”

The mere idea of him filling you up—of Sunghoon spilling himself deep inside you—it’s enough to send another bolt of heat twisting low in your belly.

Your cunt starts achingly clenching around him as your next orgasm starts to build. He lets go of your face just long enough to tangle his hand with yours, fingers lacing tight—Then he brings your ring finger up to his mouth, pressing a slow, reverent kiss right to the band—his eyes never leaving yours—and that itself shatters you a little bit more.

His thrusts are starting to falter, but he’s still going, slowly. The drag of his cock, the press of his hips, the way his thumb brushes over your ring and then dips down to rub tight circles over your clit—it’s too much. You can feel him everywhere, body and soul, filling you until there’s nothing left of you but this.

“Let go for me again,” he whispers as he pulls your leg higher up his waist, opening you even wider for him. He drives in impossibly deep, grinding against your clit every time he sinks home. “Give me one more, sweetheart. You can do it. Just one more. Fucking show me who you belong to.”

You’re gone—completely, utterly, deeply gone. 

And under his weight, with his cock filling you so perfectly, with his lips stealing your breath and his hands locked with yours, you realize—you’ll give him anything he wants. Anything. You’re his. For tonight, for as long as he keeps fucking you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. You feel it start to crest inside you — all-consuming — your cunt milking him for everything he has as you arch into him harder, breasts pressed up against his chest.

“Sunghoon—fuck, I’m coming, I’m—I can’t—oh my god, please, I need it—need you—” Whatever you were going to say turns into a scream as you come again, so hard you feel like your heart stops — whole body burning, shaking, crying as you lose yourself in the pleasure. “I can’t—I can’t—I can’t, shit—I CAN’T—” 

He loses it. “I got you—shit,” he moans and buries his face in your neck as his hips messily snap forward. “I got you, f—fuck. Gonna fill you up, just like you want. Gonna fuck you so full, you’ll never forget who you belong to.” 

“Fuck—oh, fuck—” he moans, and then you feel it. Thick and hot, spilling inside you, flooding you, filling you to the fucking brim as he groans your name against your mouth. His cock pulses and throbs inside you, your bodies locked so tight there’s no room for anything but the heat and the ache and the feeling of being completely, utterly, and entirely full of him.

For a long time, neither of you moves. Sunghoon just stays pressed over you with his face buried in your neck. You can feel his heartbeat pounding against yours as you cling to him. He gives a few more lazy, messy thrusts—pressing you even deeper into the mattress, and his mouth finds your throat, mouthing kisses—soft, shaky, too gentle—while you both try to catch your breath. You could stay like this forever and never come back down.

The drag of him leaving you is unbearable when he starts to pull out—your whole body aches at the loss (you’re greedy.) Then you feel the mattress dip at your side. You blink down to see Sunghoon shifting lower, dropping between your trembling thighs—you feel his hands spreading you wider for him, and he just… stares. He looks absolutely fucking wrecked, and the sight alone is enough to make you feel like you might start crying again, this time from something that isn’t pain or pleasure, but something messier that you shove right down.

He drags his thumb along your swollen pussy, spreading you open even more as he watches his thick milky mess leak out of you and down your thighs and onto the sheets. He doesn’t even try to hide how much he loves it—doesn’t say a word, just watches, completely transfixed, as he pushes his cum back inside just to see it leak out again. And then slowly, so fucking slowly, he pushes two fingers right back into your swollen cunt. You mindlessly jerk away for a moment because you’re too sensitive, and he grips your thigh tighter. 

“Tsk. Don’t move,” he croons, as he pumps his fingers in and watches his cum spill out around them, only to push it right back in, over and over again. “You wanted to be filled, didn’t you? Gotta make sure you keep every last drop.”

“Shit—Just like that—” you whine. Your hips twitch up against his hand, greedy even though you’re shaking and fucked out. “God—I can take it, just—I need—”

“Yeah? Can’t help yourself, huh? You like having my cum inside you this much?” His thumb starts rubbing tight circles on your clit, and you almost scream. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Anything. Fucking anything, I don’t care, just—keep going—”

“Shit. You insatiable little slut,” he mutters, and slides his fingers in deeper, scissoring them, fucking his cum back into your swollen, sensitive cunt, thumb brushing your clit until you’re sobbing and moaning and screaming and shaking again—too much, too far gone to care. “There. Hold it all in for me.”

He relents after a while when you’re truly spent, fingers slipping out with a filthy wet sound. He leans down, presses one last kiss to your cunt, then wipes you clean with a damp towel he grabs from the bathroom with no particular gentleness, but it’s still more than you expected. He tosses the towel aside, and when he sees the look on your face, he shrugs and grumbles.

“Don’t get any ideas… Someone’s gotta clean up your mess. Part of my role, isn’t it?”

You roll your eyes. You’re not particularly proud of what you’re about to say… but the thing is, if there’s one thing that’s more insatiable than your sex drive… It’s that you’re entirely too needy, and like, you’ve come too far at this point to even pretend to care about your pride or who you’re doing this with. So why the hell not? It’s only for tonight.

“Shut up. Come here and hold me,” you huff and demand, and when he raises a brow, you add, “Don’t look at me like that. God forbid I want to be held after all that?”

He shakes his head. “You’re so fucking clingy, you know that?” he mutters, “No.”

“No?” you cock a brow. “Really? You’ll fuck me stupid and fill me up, but you draw the line at a little cuddling? Are you a pussy, Mr. Park?”

Sunghoon clicks his tongue. “Watch your mouth.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Come here.”

He exhales. “I said no.”

You only snort. “Are you seriously that pathetic? What, you think if you hold me for five seconds it might actually mean something?”

He scoffs. “None of this means anything.”

“Good. Then we both agree,” you jab a finger at him, “And you have nothing to lose. So come here, Mr. Park. You still have a role to play.”

“You’re fucking impossible,” he grumbles, but he crawls up behind you anyway with a rough sigh. He slides his big arms around your chest and pulls you back against him, skin to skin, your body fitting perfectly against his. You tuck your head under his chin, letting him nuzzle into your hair, as your fingers find his biceps — tracing the muscle just to be annoying. Then he shifts and slides his arms up, snaking them over your chest and around your throat—biceps framing either side of your neck. The bulk of his biceps presses against your throat as he flexes—hard. Bastard. He knows exactly what he’s doing. You tip your head back just a little, letting your throat bare itself over his arms.

You feel Sunghoon smiling against your hair. “You like that?” 

You mouth kisses along the curve of his bicep just for the hell of it, tongue tracing the veins just because you can. “Show off,” you mutter and bite him, and he just flexes harder, rolling his hips forward so you feel the hard line of his cock pressed against your ass.

He doesn’t say anything; he only tightens his arms around your throat just enough to make your breath catch. You swallow and focus on tracing lazy circles over the veins in his biceps, pretending not to notice his cock hardening right against your back, and especially pretending you’re not already clenching around nothing cause you want to go again. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just let yourself sink into the warmth of his arms, and ignore the way your heart won’t slow down. 

But then Sunghoon presses his mouth to your ear and practically purrs into it, “Practice makes perfect, Mrs. Park. How many times do you want to try for a baby tonight?”

And for a long, long while, you don’t think of anything at all. Not the past, not tomorrow, not what any of this means. He just fucks you slow, again and again, until the sun’s bleeding through the curtains and both of you are too tired to remember where pretending ends and real begins.

“Y/N! Hello? I brought you sweets and matcha just like I promised,” Ningning calls with a set of knocks on the door, too cheerful for the hour or the state of your dignity. “You'd better be decent!”

Oh. You had entirely forgotten about that.

You shoot upright in bed. “I’m—” you start, but the sound comes out as a strangled moan, which, in your defense, is not your fault at all. You cough and try again. “I’m—fine! I’m decent!”

“Hmm. I don’t think you’re decent at all.”

Uh…

Sunghoon is currently between your thighs, half hidden under the hotel comforter, lazily mouthing at your pussy like he’s got nowhere to be and nothing to prove. You clamp a hand over your mouth and try to muffle yourself, but he just pins your hips down and glances up at you with that infuriating, insufferable smug look of his. He licks a slow, filthy stripe up your cunt, and you nearly buck right off the bed. 

“Ning, give me ten minutes! N… Need to shower first!” you yell, voice an octave too high, before lowering it tremendously and slapping at Sunghoon’s hair weakly, “Get the fuck off—”

“Okay! I’m counting!” 

This time, you properly tug at Sunghoon’s hair. “That’s enough—” you whisper, whine, moan—you’re not sure, but your words betray you as you shakingly buck into his mouth, “That poor girl— Don’t do this again. She brought me breakfast—”

“Yeah?” Sunghoon glances up from between your thighs with his mouth glistening, smirking like the absolute bastard he is. “I’ve got mine right here.”

You squeeze your thighs around his head and groan into the pillow and try your absolute best to smother another moan as he latches his lips around your clit again. Remember when you thought you had a problem? You had no fucking idea.

Somehow, you survive. (Barely.) You honestly don’t know how you’re still alive. You lost count of the orgasms at some point between the second round last night and… the literal fucking sun rising. 

You and Sunghoon didn’t talk about anything as you got ready to leave for the airport. Of course you don’t.

You managed to shove him off of you, then locked yourself in the bathroom and attempted not to look like you spent all night being ruined in six different ways, all while running on maybe two hours of sleep. Ningning gave you a suspicious look over her drink when you finally went down to the lobby, but bless her, she doesn’t ask why you look like you haven’t slept in a decade. 

And just like that, you and Sunghoon fall right back into your usual routine. He’s back to his usual resting bastard face, you’re back to rolling your eyes at every single thing he does, and if anyone saw you two right now, they’d never guess you’d spent the entire night (and about thirty minutes this morning) fucking each other dumb. (Well, maybe they would, considering how you’re limping…) Point being, it’s actually kind of impressive, the way you both manage to keep it together like none of it ever happened. Who would have thought the two of you would be this good at pretending, huh? It’s just sex. Just to feel good. No strings, no feelings, no questions asked.

A totally normal agreement between two functioning adults. (You’re so colossally fucked.)

It’s only after takeoff that you dreadfully check your phone for the first time since yesterday. Your thumb mindlessly swipes through the flood of unread notifications when something catches your eye at the top of your screen. One attachment from an unknown number… You almost ignore it, but something about it snags your attention and attaches right to your gut, so you click on it.

Your heart drops out of your chest so fast it leaves you dizzy.

It’s a photo of… 

It’s taken from a distance downstairs in the hallway of the hotel, probably with a shaky hand… She’s pressed up against him, so close it’s like she wants to crawl inside his skin, her hands clutching his jacket for dear life. His own hands are tangled in her hair as he kisses her. There’s nothing polite or gentle about it; if anything, it looks desperate, like neither of them can get enough. You can’t see their faces clearly, but you don’t need to. You’d recognize the shape of him anywhere, even if you were blindfolded, even in the dark. And he’s wearing the same outfit from last night…

You, of all people, should know better by now. And you do. So this didn’t matter. It’s the fucking principle of it that gets you… And… Fuck.

You turn off your phone and shove it face down into your bag like that’ll be enough to keep it from burning a hole straight through your chest, and tip your head back against the seat. The only thing you can hear is the blood pounding in your ears—well, that, and the fucking announcement about turbulence or whatever. You put your headphones on and press play on whatever playlist drowns out the world best, then you pretend not to notice the heat of Sunghoon’s body right next to you.

You stare down at the ring on your shaky finger and don’t say a word, even after you’ve landed back in Seoul. 

You really are so fucking good at pretending.

FEEDBACK & REBLOGS ALWAYS APPRECIATED ( ˘⌣˘)♡(˘⌣˘ )

smut tags― borderline infidelity (jay is into but doesn’t wanna admit it), finger fucking, neglected cock syndrome, hair pulling, jay teaches jake how to fuck his girl, jay basically moves jake like a puppet, cum stuffing, humiliation/degradation, double vaginal penetration, unprotected sex

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

What Jake feels for the remainder of that drive was unexplainable. Looking at you through the mirror with Jay next to you…it felt,for lack of a better word, different. Sure, he’s walked in on the two of you before, and watched for a little too long but, this is different. He personally saw Jay stuff you full and not only that but he saw your face as it happened. You spoke for him, to him , and he didn’t even get his ass kicked by Jay after the fact.

The feelings in his head swirl around like a forming tornado threatening to touch down and cause him to lose all sanity. Five days with you two locked in this beach house with nothing but freedom at your feet. Worse, even when the three of you go home, he’s just locked in a different space with the two of you until he gets back on his feet. Jake isn’t even sure if he wants to leave now. On one hand, he wants to start running just to get away from the overwhelming embarrassment, on the other, he thinks he might like it. He thinks the two of you might like him being around to see too. 

“Is this going to be a normal thing?” Jake remembers asking Jay inside of the bathroom at the gas station. What was Jay’s response? “ Maybe, if you keep wanting to catch us.” 

What to do, what to do, with a lust so hungry Jake feels like it’s eating him from the inside out? Catch you on purpose? Stalk your private moments with his best friend just to get another taste of that bliss just out of reach? Not even a taste actually. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jay drags his feet as he carries your bags along with his own. He’s acting normal despite the constant groaning about how his legs hurt after certain endeavors on top of the thirteen-hour car ride. You stay close to him, attempting to snatch a few bags so that he would at least stop crying about the very deed he wanted to do during the ride. 

Jake stays behind, quietly carrying in his things and avoiding the cracks on the sidewalk so as to not scratch his new suitcase set (and so he doesn’t break his mother’s back). One headphone in, he barely hears the two of you as he opts to try and escape the madness outside of the audio in his ear. That is, until he gets inside the beach house.

“Okay so, hear me out–” Jay smiles at Jake, stepping in front of him as he tries to pass. “Listen, Jake. Just,” Jay puts his hands out in front of him, stepping both left and right to continuously block Jake’s path. 

“There’s only one bedroom.” You announce, breaking Jay’s plan of trying to convince Jake that it would be a sick idea for him to watch more . 

Jay did know. Of course he fucking knew, he’s the one who booked the place. You didn’t know, but he also knew you’d play along anyway. Given, Jay hadn’t completely planned the whole car thing so it’s kind of awkward now. Despite always wanting to be caught, watched, and envied, Jay really didn’t think past the idea of causing Jake inner turmoil with this rental.

“S’cool. I’ll take the couch.” Jake waves off, dropping his bags and looking around the space.

Your eyes drop before Jay’s do. 

“Wait, no,” Jay groans out, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, you can still sleep in there with us. There’s two beds.”

Two beds. So it was intentional to put Jake in a position he couldn’t resist, huh?

“The idea was to invite you to watch. Surely you’ve caught on to everything by now, right?” Jay looks at Jake with an apologetic stare. “It’s kind of awkward now inviting you, but I thought you’d be happy to take us up on the offer, especially after our little talk…”

Jake looks to the floor with tinted red flushing over his cheeks. 

“You really couldn’t just wait to get here first before sitting him down and discussing?” You ask, scolding your boyfriend despite the fact that you played at least fifty percent into his on-the-fly plan on the ride over here.

“You looked hot and he was tired.” Jay states the obvious with a careless shrug. 

Jake is just standing there trying his best not to let his mouth fall open. Jay really wants to propose that he should just watch? Nothing else? Just fucking watch?

 Ka-ching. It’s little to grasp at, but Jake’s gonna take it. After seeing everything and hearing you, why wouldn’t he? His best friend is practically giving him the ability to watch you be pleasured. 

“Okay,” Jake stops both of you from bickering. “Let’s discuss it now then.” He adds, averting his eyes from both you and your boyfriend to avoid showing how much interest he actually has in this little vacation plan.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

After a long and drawn out discussion, rules were set into place. Rule number one, Jake cannot touch you under any circumstance. You were quick to side eye your boyfriend’s best friend during that moment, noting the disappointed look that washed across his face. Rule number two, Jake can request things he wants to see, but if either you or Jay are uncomfortable with it, the request can be ignored. Rule number three, you can talk to Jake while it happens and he can talk back, but Jay will more than likely use every opportunity he finds to humiliate him for it. 

Jake doesn’t falter at any of the rules except for the first one, mostly because it’s going to be hard to not want to touch you. He assumes that’s part of the fun for Jay though. He feels embarrassed accepting the terms, awkward as he places his bags in the shared room the three of you will be sleeping in, and restless at the way reality hits him. You, his best friend’s girlfriend, want him to see. 

You want him to get off to you. 

He feels a bit shameful about it. After all, Jay has been his best friend for fucking years at this point and he’s a little unnerved that none of this is making him feel as weird as it should be. Should Jake really be excited about watching his best friend fuck his girlfriend? Probably not, but he is, and he just assumes this is another ‘ weird’ thing he likes added to his list. 

“Hey–” Jay nods his head towards Jake as you walk out of the room for a shower. You did your best to clean up at the gas station too but, to be fair, the bathroom was just as dirty and cum-covered as you were, probably.  

“Yeah?” Jake looks over at him, unzipping his suitcase and pulling out a change of clothes. Mostly so he can hop in the shower after you’re done. 

“You sure you’re cool with this? I know I kind of did a lot of this intentionally, but really, if you’re uncomfortable I’d rather you just tell us–”

“No!” Jake argues at an embarrassingly desperate pitch. “I mean, no.” He clears his throat as he corrects himself, and then does his best to avoid eye contact by focusing solely on digging for his toiletries. 

“That’s what I thought,” Jay smiles knowingly at him, internally writing a list of things he can do to torture Jake, a list specifically made to cause envy and probably resentment. 

“So, like,” Jake swallows, still unsure of his footing in this situation. “When will it happen again?” 

Jay actually laughs at him this time. 

“Oh, you thought–” He shakes his head and goes to take off his shirt. “No, no. Jake. You’re still gonna have to catch us to watch.” He explains, throwing his shirt on the presumed “cuck chair” in the room.

“Wait, what?” Jake is confused. They want him to watch, but they’re still going to make him go through the embarrassment of catching them? 

“That’s the fun part of it for me,” Jay tries to clear it up. “I like the surprise of someone seeing. I like the reactions. It’s exciting,” He continues, now stopping to really look at Jake. “Looks like you enjoy watching, so–”

Jake nods slightly, tilting his head with a furrowed brow.  “For the record, I’ve never been into this kind of thing. You kind of made it hard not to see things.” 

“I know.” Jay laughs. “Gotta get creative on weeknights when there's no parties going on.”

“You do it at parties? Like just right there in public ?”

Jay nods with a smug smile. 

“A lot of people don’t even notice, but the ones that do–” Jay’s eyes nearly light up. “They always watch. They don’t even pretend to look away.” 

Jake feels a little bit flushed at the idea of attending a party with the two of you. He couldn’t imagine being put in a situation where he, along with several others, get to watch you orgasm. 

“She likes that?” Jake asks, a little shocked.

“I mean, she gets really into it but I can admit that she seems to like when you watch a lot more.” Jay glares for a second. “Which again, kind of pisses me off.”

Jake waves him off, trying to act nonchalant about it. 

“I hope you know that this is more of a trial run, Jake. If she gets bored of you, she probably won’t be as into it later.”

Okay, ouch. Fair, though. Jake would never stick around if it’s not something you want. He can already sense that Jay didn’t want it this way either. Maybe Jake watching was exciting, but he does sense a bit of tenseness in the air each time Jay brings up how you lusted over him so blatantly in the car. 

“And if she doesn’t get bored?” Jake counters and Jay kind of takes internal offense to it. Passive aggressively chuckling towards him. 

“Oh, she will.” Jay says as a way to assure himself rather than answering Jake. “I’m the only person she doesn’t get bored of.” 

  Jake, for some reason, takes that as a challenge. He might be the one getting the short end of the stick here, but the only reason he’s getting a stick at all is because of you. Regardless of if Jay wanted him to watch, surely he never wanted you to like it as much as you do. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Well, competition is one way to put it. Jay resents himself forever even trying to get Jake all flustered. He did it because he wanted to be watched, but he also wanted Jake to be fucking jealous. How the hell is he supposed to be jealous when you, his own girlfriend, got entirely too wet for another man while he was buried in you?

Playing it as cool as he can, Jay is still excited, just a little less now that he knows he’s going to have to fight for your attention. Those set rules? Between you and Jay, neither of you had to actually follow those rules. Jake can do what he wants at your discretion, but it’s not like Jay is gonna just tell him that. He was shocked that you pressed to let Jake join just one time. His whole fantasy is about being watched during a private act, not inviting someone to actively play a part in it. Nevertheless, he granted you a small nod when you suggested it, sternly letting out a small “ just this once. ”

Sure, he’s the one who fucked you in the car and he’s the one who told you to talk to Jake but, it’s not like he expected the outcome that came from it. It was a moment of lust where he thought it would be hot to see you unable to speak because you’re being fucked– but no. You were speaking to Jake and riding him harder because of whatever the fuck was going on up in that front seat. 

Naturally, your boyfriend has that mischievous little glint in his eye when you return from the shower and Jake opts to steal the bathroom before he can. 

“You are aware that you’re getting more out of this than I am, right?” Jay laughs, pulling you from your stance and flopping you down onto the bed. “I just wanted him to be jealous, you’re ruining my fantasy.”

You smile at him with the same mischievous little glint. 

“And you’re an amazing boyfriend for letting me try something new,” You praise, kissing the tip of his nose when he crawls on top of you. “I’m sorry that it’s hot knowing two guys want me this badly.”

Jay sighs, dropping his face to your neck to smell the soap against your skin. Of course, you’d be into that. His thing is people being jealous of what he gets and your thing just has to be the idea of being wanted. It fits a little too well. 

“Bet you weren’t even planning to put anything on for bed tonight, were you?” He laughs with a groan, cursing how willing he is to let you have whatever you want despite not wanting to give Jake what he wants. 

“Bingo,” You smile evilly, pulling away from Jay so you can see his face. “Plus, it’s hot seeing you get all possessive. That’s new, even for you.”

Jay once again sighs with a groan. 

“Promise you won’t like, up and leave me for my best friend?”

Realizing there’s a bit of truth behind his concerns, you stiffen a bit.

“You know I wouldn’t do that. Just because he’s hot doesn’t mean he can pleasure me better, or treat me better.” 

Finally, a genuine smile breaks across his face and it makes you feel warm. 

“Do you wanna play a little tonight?” He offers, wiggling on top of you with a newfound desire over the fact that you always know how to silence even the slightest of insecurity he feels. 

 “After everything from the ride over? I’m tired, Jay, really.” You admit with a pout. 

“I’m not tired yet. Just let me do the work, you can just rest–” He tries to convince you and it works, much like it always does. 

Jay is doing this specifically for you. It’s not like he always needs to be seen when the two of you are intimate. It’s nice sometimes seeing you act real for him. Seeing your underwhelming and soft reactions to whatever he’s doing because you both know that you’re not putting on a show. He can admit to loving the way you still moan for him despite knowing nobody but him can hear it. 

Even knowing Jake will be in the bed next to yours at any moment, you think Jay can get away with whatever he wants to do privately . And for the most part, he does. At least, at first he does. 

Lying on your back with a leg thrown over Jay’s lower half as his fingers trace lazy circles against your bare skin, you knew his fingers were going lower and lower, but it’s relaxing even as your eyes fight to stay open. 

When Jake comes back into the room, hair still dripping a bit at his failure to dry it properly, you don’t move or react outside of a sleepy glance at him. 

“Hey, you ready to hit the sack?” Jay calls out, fingers moving lower on your stomach and landing just above where your panties would sit if you were wearing any under this robe. 

“Yeah. Water ran cold though, might wanna wait a little bit before you shower, Sorry.” Jake admits with shame, not making eye contact with either of you as he flops himself onto his bed. He’s wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, which is something you’ve seen him wear time and time again at home, but man, why does it look so hot now?

Jay laughs, kind of like an ‘of course there's no hot water for me’ laugh, but he doesn’t mind, if anything, he’s having fun lulling you to sleep with a gentle finger fuck session behind Jake’s back.

The room goes silent save for the television that Jay flips to some random reality show. You’re still focused on his fingers, more gentle than he normally would be. Still, it’s probably just because, for once, he doesn’t want Jake to know what’s happening. 

When your boyfriend’s fingers finally make their way to your clit, it’s not shocking that you’re already wet. Your breathing is still even, and it feels good to be touched right now. You turn your head only slightly to look at Jake. He’s so endearing to look at. Never once have you seen him preparing himself for sleep. For some reason, it feels intimate seeing his bedtime rituals. 

With one hand scratching against his hair, he’s on his side and practically hugging his pillow against his head as he fixes his eyes on the television. You can see how heavy his eyes are. He was already tired when he first started his shift of driving, and the back seat didn’t offer much in terms of a nap. You imagine if he knew what Jay was doing, he wouldn’t have the energy to participate anyway. 

You, though, are feeling a little bit more awake since your clit is being beautifully stimulated by your boyfriend. Jake’s supposed to be watching you with this little deal, but there were no rules that you couldn’t watch him and fantasize, right?

Jay is a little shocked when you hold his hand in place and turn to face Jake. You close your eyes at first, mostly so it still looks like you’re about to sleep, but you press Jay’s fingers a bit lower, urging him to penetrate you with them. 

He, like the amazing boyfriend he is, follows suit with a curious stare at the back of your head. Then, he turns on his side behind you and spoons you, adjusting his position so that he can swoop his hand under your ass and between your legs in order to do just as you ask of him.

Jay knows what you’re doing, but opts not to say anything despite really wanting to. He assumes Jake is blissfully unaware, somehow, so saying something would turn this whole situation into something more than any of you actually feel like doing tonight.

This goes smoothly for a few minutes, with his fingers gently and silently plunging in and out of you. Honestly, Jay is too good with his fingers and he’s being too quiet compared to normal, again, because of Jake. You know you shouldn’t be including him right now, but you are, even if secretly. 

A breath falls from your lips when Jay rubs his fingers against a particularly sensitive spot inside of you, sending a wave of warmth down your body and dripping out against his fingers. 

“Feels good?” He whispers against your ear, noting the way your breathing is a bit more audible. “Don’t forget that I’m the one touching you, baby.”  He adds in an even quieter whisper. 

You let out a small groan in response, very small. Just loud enough for Jake to fix his eyes on you to find you blatantly staring back at him.

You smile at him and press your ass back against Jay just a little bit, and he’s quick to move his fingers quicker inside of you.

Jake just looks at you, processing that it’s already happening again. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The summer air is salty but all too grounding for Jake as he sits on his towel and watches the way you and Jay appear to be as comfortable as ever wrestling on the shore of the sea. Even after last night, part of him wonders what actually happened but he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to ask. Not only did you look at him as you hit your climax, but Jake was made aware that he needed to be silent in watching you due to your finger coming up to your mouth in a shushing action.

His eyes darted to Jay when you did that but he appeared to be a great actor as he watched the tv with his head tucked between your shoulder and neck, fingers plunging in and out of you casually. Even when Jake gently fucked his own fist, staring directly back at you, he realized that this shared moment with you was something Jay wasn’t aware of. It blurs the lines a bit of what is okay and what isn’t, but the rule is that Jake can watch if he catches the act. He guesses you’re the one breaking rules.

Even now, as he processes this newfound sexual adventure in his head, he’s fond of the relationship Jay has with you. Incredibly jealous, of course, but also just– Jake wants what Jay has.He wouldn’t share you, he wouldn’t want people to see him pleasure you, and he certainly wouldn’t want Jay’s cock to make an appearance at any point during his relationship with you, but you’re not his. 

Still, the two of you seem to enjoy this kind of thing, and the fact that Jake appears to be the chosen third to take part makes him feel warm. Despite his jealousy, he respects the relationship you have with his best friend for the most part. There’s still that selfishness inside him though, the thought of being able to be between your legs rather than just a person to look at across the room? It drives him insane. Jay gets to flaunt you, make you feel good, and make you moan but, Jake is very aware that he got all of your attention the night before, even if it wasn’t his own fingers doing it to you. He got your attention in the car too, to the point of Jay showing his own jealousy. 

Again, there’s a thin line between what he’s allowed to do and infidelity. If you ask him to do anything though, he’s going to do it. He’s going to be what you want or need at any given moment simply because he’s a single man forced to live with his extremely sexually adventurous friends, and you happen to be incredibly fucking arousing to him. Jay kind of did it to himself. Never would Jake have fantasized about you like this if it weren’t for the fact that Jay desperately wants people to see his cock inside of you.

“Hey!” You shout from the shore, pulling Jake out of his thoughts. 

He waves back to you and then glances at Jay who has a huge smile on his face. Jake watches as you struggle to leave the water, the weight of the waves pushing and pulling you as you look at him. He stands to his feet, kicking off some of the sand on his legs, and makes his way towards you as well, meeting you in the middle. 

“I’m gonna have a snack, go waterboard my boyfriend.” You joke when you stop in front of him. 

“There’s chips in my bag if you want any.” Jake waves you off, realizing how normal the communication is between the two of you. In the silence, the communication is somehow more intimate.

When Jake makes his way down to the water, straight up to his best friend, for some reason he still feels like he’s walking on eggshells with all of this. Not with you though, because you clearly know what you want. Jay, on the other hand, shows that he’s annoyed over his plan becoming more of a pleasure for everyone but him.

“You’re not hungry?” Jake asks, dipping himself lower into the water and shivering at the ocean breeze. 

“Nah, we’re finally here. I’m staying in the water ‘til I’m forced to leave.” 

“Ah, good plan.” Jake confirms, allowing himself to float back a bit with the waves.

“Are we okay?” Jay suddenly asks, standing to his feet and looking down at him. “You really are allowed to decline this offer. I'm even a little nervous about it now.”

Jake squints his eyes open towards Jay, the sun blinding him more than his best friend’s smile usually would.

“It’s a little weird but I like trying new things. I’m not trying to disrespect you by accepting.”

Jay sighs in relief. 

“I know. If it’s gonna be anyone, I'd rather it be you.” He laughs with a sigh. “Still would rather her focus on me but I guess I kind of owe her this.” 

Jake adjusts himself back to his feet, tilting his head at Jay.

“Oh yeah?” 

“I mean, it’s not like she was into the whole being watched thing until I told her I wanted to try it.” Jay looks up into the sky, feeling the sun warm his face. “I liked it more than she did, but she came around, I never forced it or anything.” He breathes in the air and sinks lower into the water. “I think she did it to please me but she started getting really into it after a few times.” 

“She’s definitely something–” Jake starts, glancing at your figure flopping back on the sand and sinking your hand into a bag of chips. 

“Yeah, and I guess it’s my turn to let her try the things she’s curious about.” He laughs. “Even though it’s my fault and it involves my best friend. I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that neither of you would do anything behind my back. ”

Damn. 

“Um, yeah.” Jake looks away for a moment. He knows he is famously awful at lying.

Jay looks at Jake knowingly. 

“Like, without me in the room at least,” He smiles, winking at Jake once before throwing a splash at him. “because I know what you guys did last night.”

Jake goes silent, wiping the salt water from his eyes and looking at Jay apologetically with burning pupils. 

“Relax, she told me while you were up there sulking. Said something about the danger of me finding out or something got her going, even though she knew that I caught on anyway.” Jay reassures, explaining away any explanation of Jake himself being the reason for it. “I get it.” He laughs this time.

“Should I like, have not watched?” Jake asks awkwardly, looking away from Jay and floating back a bit. 

“Nah, just give her what she wants. She’s gonna tell me regardless so let’s just try to have fun with this okay? If any of us are having issues, speak up.” Jay glares for a moment. “Because you know damn well I’ll put a stop to all of it if it goes too far.”

Jake nods, a small smile creeping up on his face. 

“What happens at the beach, stays at the beach.”

“God, I hope. I’m not moving you into our room at home.” Jay laughs, feeling a little better about it.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

A very sexually active trip indeed. Jake could sense the tension in the air by the time all of you return to the beach house. Even through dinner, he sensed both you and Jay staring at him in very different ways. Even though talking made Jay feel better, he’s still possessive over you and you seem to like it a lot . So, he might be playing it up a bit for your sake. 

You are quite literally eye-fucking Jake, and Jay’s eyes are basically demanding him to keep his cock under lock and key. It’s weirdly erotic, and insanely confusing, but he knows Jay will speak up if shit goes too far, just like he said he would. 

By the time the three of you are piled up on the couch and putting in some shitty romance movie, it gets a little more comfortable. 

You’re leaned up against your boyfriend and Jake is leaned up against the arm of the couch at the other end. He doesn’t feel eyes on him anymore and it’s a relief. 

By the time it’s mid movie, he notes the soft snores coming from Jay. You, on the other hand, are feeling mischievous. Jay said to you specifically, away from Jake, no limits . Do what you want to him, ignore the rules, explore, have fun– but be ready to stop at the slightest mention of discomfort from either of them. You’re being given so much fucking power over both of these men. They both want you , and god does it feel fucking amazing to be wanted. 

When you shift towards Jake, gently so that Jay isn’t stirred from his slumber, Jake finds himself leaning towards you without question. Even when you slide yourself under his blanket and grab his hand, he doesn’t falter. 

His attention to the plot on the screen in front of him surely falters though. You’re doing the thing again. You’re excluding your boyfriend and Jake can’t bring himself to give a single fuck right now because you’re quite literally slipping his hand into your panties without so much as a “please?”

Immediately Jake’s fingers explore against his better judgment. He’s seen your pussy stretched out on his best friend, he’s watched you orgasm, he’s heard you moan, but never has he gotten to touch you. 

“Mhm,” You encourage gently when Jake slides his fingers down your slit, collecting the slippery arousal and sliding his fingers back up to your clit. 

  You found yourself wondering how Jake would do it, especially the past day or so. Jay knew how to please you, but you can’t help but think that the act of someone learning how to please you is just as hot. Jake appears to know exactly how to use his fingers against a woman, the thought of him alone with someone other than you only heightens your pleasure at this moment. 

Jake does this for a while, silently and gently rubbing your clit as he forces his eyes to stay on the screen. You just watch him though, and the way he parts his lips in a silent moan when you press against his fingers with the smallest show of want . 

The secretiveness of it really gets you going. Seeing Jake turn to mush in your hands, doing anything you could ask him to do, right there while your boyfriend is sleeping next to you? God, what a fucking simp. You love it. You love the fact that his fingers are slightly softer compared to Jay’s, and the way he avoids sticking them in you even if you insist by lifting your hips slightly.

You lean towards Jake more this time, moving one leg over his lap and opening yourself up for more. 

“You should fuck me.” You whisper into his ear with a voice far too sweet for the words. “He won’t mind.” You add at his silence, feeling his fingers halt as he processes the words. 

“I can’t do that–” Jake whispers back, sliding his fingers down again and noting how much wetter you’ve gotten. 

“Want me to ask him?” You joke, grabbing his hand and holding his fingers right against your entrance. 

Jake shakes his head, feeling nervous as hell as his fingers rest in the one spot he definitely would love to fuck. 

“You’re no fun.” You sigh in disappointment, releasing his hand.

That makes Jake panic a little bit, the words of Jay mentioning that you will get bored with him eventually. It drives him to just—

“Brave boy,” You coo out at the feeling of Jake slipping his fingers inside of you through a panicked motion, sliding them in until you can feel his knuckles against your folds. You knew he would give you what you want.“Your fingers are long. Do you know how to use them, Jakey?”

Jake is fucking floored by the idea that his fingers are inside of you, you’re talking to him like this, and Jay is missing out on all of it.

Except he’s not. To Jake’s knowledge, Jay is in dream land. You, on the other hand? You’re very aware that Jay is terrible at pretending to sleep. Not only is he putting on this show for you, but he’s actually helping you. 

Kind of a shock, because you really did think he was asleep at one point. He blew his cover with a small smirk towards you, peeking an eye open at your shock of him resting a hand on your other leg and spreading it more in your attempt to get Jake to finger-fuck you. Jay wasn’t going to help out, but the moment he heard Jake reject you, he figured that his best friend can definitely be trusted in this situation. 

One of Jay’s favorite things about you is how dirty you can be, but never once has he seen you be more dominant over another person. Certainly not him. He finds it incredibly sexy in the way you both mock and talk down towards Jake even though he’s making you feel good. You don’t do that to Jay, you only moan for him. So yeah, maybe, going against his gut in this situation and allowing Jake to actually touch you is a bit hotter than he wants it to be. 

The best part? Jake doesn’t know your cues when you’re nearing orgasm, but Jay does and he uses that to his advantage. Spreading your leg out further so Jake can do whatever it is he’s doing with his fingers better. 

Jay softens at the fact that he would have already brought you to orgasm by now. Your soft mews sound more like you’re trying to fluster Jake rather than a reaction to pleasure, and it’s fun. It’s boosting his ego so high that he actually wonders how long it’ll take Jake to get you there. 

You feel just as boosted as Jay does right now. With his false sleep as he attempts to help you through this, Jake is half-focused on finger fucking you out of fear that he will be caught. It’s all well and good, but you want to cum. 

“Jake,” You whisper loudly, forgetting that you’re supposed to be pretending this is a secret. 

When Jake tries to pull his fingers out of you at the loud whisper, ultimately so he could pretend he was just watching the movie and absolutely not burying his fingers into his best friend’s girl, you hold his hand in place. Preventing his fingers from leaving you and you look at him. 

“Don’t stop.” You lean into him and whisper in a lower tone, rolling your hips forward against his fingers as you hold them there harshly. “You can make me cum this way, right? I promise I’ll be quiet, just pretend Jay’s not here.”

Jake looks at you, darting his eyes to the sleeping Jay next to you, and then he slowly nods with a nervous swallow. 

He wants to fuck you so bad, but this is all he gets. Still, it’s more than he anticipated and he will be damned if he embarrasses himself by not getting you off like this. Gently, Jake keeps his eyes on Jay as he moves slightly over you, getting a better angle with his wrist so that he can quite literally, fuck you senseless with his fingers. 

With one hand on the couch over your shoulder, the other between your legs, you watch him as his eyes continuously dart between you and your boyfriend. Jake can’t watch the screen anymore considering he’s now faced away from it, he has to watch you. If this truly was a high-stakes session of pleasure, surely the two of you would be caught like this. 

Thankfully, Jake doesn’t notice the very aware hand of Jay gripping your leg open, which makes it more sexy. To see him put your pleasure over his friendship with your boyfriend so willingly, to position himself in such a way that is far more telling than it needs to be, yeah, he’s a fucking simp. 

“Oh, fuck–” You choke out, feeling Jake’s newly angled fingers plunge deeper into you. His knuckle bumps against your clit easily when he does this and it has your entire body jolting a bit. 

Jake swallows that praise, pulling his fingers out and pushing them back in at a quicker pace. The sound of your pussy is not quite as loud as the movie on the screen, but all three of you can hear it. Even Jay has to hold back a small moan at how genuine you sounded just now. His grip on your leg becomes almost bruising as his own arousal stirs past a comfortable level. 

Jake’s eyes aren’t shifting anymore, you notice. As you stare up at him, he stares right back at you. Seemingly forgetting that he’s supposed to be hyper-aware of his surroundings right now. Instead, Jake is noting the way your body slightly shifts up when he harshly pushes his fingers in, to the point he could nearly imagine he’s fucking you.

 Except if he were, he would hope to have you moaning more, moving more, fucking yourself on him, using him. 

You can practically see Jake lose himself to lust. His eyes are dark, and his messy is hair falling against his lashes as if he were the one being fucked out right now. Internally, you feel such a large amount of endearment over him. 

You think back to when he fucked his fist in the car. He was showing an extreme amount of intent during that moment and it had your head fucking spinning watching him do it. You can imagine he must be hard right now. Jay must be hard too. If you wanted to, you could expose Jay for being awake and ask them both to fuck you right now, but you relent. Relishing in this power of having them both, one more unaware than the other. It’s too sweet to put an end to so quickly. 

As you look back up at Jake, you want to kiss him. Jay never said anything about that but you assume that could actually be crossing a line, so you don’t. Against your own wishes of wanting to keep this a secret, you lean yourself to Jay who still tries to pretend he’s asleep. 

Jake watches and panics, but can already feel you grabbing his hand and forcing him to keep pace. The fear that runs through his bones of being caught is fucking intense right now, especially when you lean your head into Jay’s neck and start sucking it.

You can feel Jake try to pry his hand back and you chuckle at it with an unstoppable smile against your boyfriend’s neck because, well, now Jay moves his hand to replace yours. Now he’s the one forcing Jake to keep pace.

Jake’s eyes widened at the realization, relaxing his hand against the unfamiliar grip on it.

“Wait–” He says in a raspy voice, looking between the two of you as Jay peeps an eyes open. “How long have you been awake?”

Jay drops the act with a motion of slamming Jake’s fingers into you one last time before removing his grip and now grabbing yours to place against his embarrassingly hard length. 

“The whole time.” Jay glares at him. “Too late to stop now, go on.” He encourages, wincing at the way you instantly grip him through his pants. “Do as she asked, make her cum.”

Jake feels embarrassed again. Despite technically not actually being “ caught” , he still feels ashamed of what he was doing, yet, his fingers are still in you. 

“Let me see if you can do it,” Jay continues, adjusting his body so that he can look down at what Jake is doing. “Move the blanket, baby.” He adds as he looks at you now. 

Shoving the blanket down, Jake notes how your hand is palming against Jay, and his fingers are inside of you. For some reason, Jay being hard makes him feel a little less ashamed but still embarrassed. How is he supposed to perform under pressure like this?

“Stop looking at us like that. If you’re not gonna continue, I'll finish her off myself – without you, ” Jay half-insults, half-encourages his best friend. 

Jake moves his fingers again at that, the realization of being given permission washing over him so quickly that it almost felt like an orgasm running through his body. He can do whatever he needs to do to make you come. He doesn’t have to hide it, it’s not a secret. 

Without a second thought, Jake pulls himself off the couch and stands to his feet to get between your legs. He looks between the two of you one last time and then down at your pajama shorts. For the first time without asking, Jake pulls them off of you in one swift motion before falling to his knees and examining how wet you look, pulsing around the loss of his fingers. 

“How does she look?” Jay asks with a quirk of his brow, bucking his hips up against your hand and tilting his head to kiss you on the temple. 

Jake says nothing but swallows in response, forcing himself to focus on you and pretend that Jay isn’t there studying the way he fucks his fingers back into you. 

When you let out a small whine at his silence, rolling your eyes the same time you roll your hips, Jay chuckles and reaches to pull his own pajama pants down. If you three are gonna be doing this, might as well have fun with it. 

Jake ignores it still, using his fingers to spread your lips and watch your hole continue to clench around nothing when he slips his fingers back out. Even without seeing your face at this moment, he can see how much you want this. Your glistening folds are practically begging to be fucked by one of them, if not both. He makes haste, watching as your pussy envelopes three of his fingers at once now, clenching them so tightly that he can feel them crowd together inside of you. 

You whimper at it, rolling your hips forward to sink his fingers further into you. 

“Can I lick her?” Jake asks, not moving his eyes from the way he can see your slick drip down his fingers. 

”Please?”

“Does she want you to?” Jay counters, also not moving his eyes from the way your fist circles the head of his cock before sliding back down and making him shiver.

You don’t even answer, and instead use your other hand to reach for Jake’s head, gripping his hair that’s in reach to you and dragging his face forward until you feel his breath on your clit. 

Jake takes that as an invitation, instantly flattening his tongue against your swollen bud and sliding down. You can feel his fingers spreading you open, reaching into you so deeply as you begin to feel his tongue trace around his fingers at your entrance. 

You moan, which makes Jay turn his face and lift your chin as if to shut you up from showing pleasure towards another man. You find that sexy, cute even, so you reward your boyfriend and reassure him with a harsher grip against his cock, milking him of his precum and chuckling into his mouth.

Jake doesn’t even care about what’s happening on the couch. He’s on his knees in front of you, tasting you, fingering you, and he genuinely thinks this might be heaven. He can feel his own length adjust in his pants, happy that the loose fabric accommodates the growth to full hardness. Jake already knows he’s not going to be getting off tonight by anything other than his own hand, and he does not give a shit about it. 

He licks against you as if you are the last woman on earth, honestly, and Jay can’t even bring himself to be in competition with Jake at this moment considering how much attention you’re giving to him and not Jake. This could work, surely, he’s never seen you so horny over a simple handjob before. 

  You roll your hips against Jake’s mouth repeatedly, chasing your high as he continuously tries to accommodate every spot of your pussy that needs stimulation. 

“He’s good at this–” You choke out, reaching to grab Jake’s head and hold him in place against your clit. You can feel his fingers pick up speed when you do that, and you can feel the vibrations of his groans against your clit even more.

“Oh yeah?” Jay laughs in a breath, darting his eyes to see Jake’s shoulder flexing as he fucks into you, his hair a mess between your fingers. “Better than me?” 

You shake your head, eyes sparkling up at Jay as he finally leans down to whisper to you.

“Are you close? You seem close–”

You nod this time, rolling your eyes back a bit when Jake intentionally licks circles around your clit and pumps his fingers painfully fast into you. 

“Don’t tell him,” Jay warns, fucking himself against your now loosened grip. “Do you want me to take over?”

You say nothing back but Jay can see your body tense. He makes haste, jumping up from his spot and practically shoving Jake out of the way to get between your legs. 

Jake doesn’t even know what’s happening, the loss of your warmth around his fingers and the taste of you gone all too quickly as he watches Jay bottom out into you in one go. His best friend’s fingers replace what his tongue was doing, and Jake watches the way you lay breathlessly against the couch. 

Now is his time, he guesses. Reaching one hand into his pants, he shows no shame in using his slick-coated fingers to furiously slide up and down his length at a pace he wishes he were fucking you at.

There, on his knees, Jake pushes and pulls himself to the edge in time with you. He watches your face and watches the way your hands grip against Jay as he fucks into you at a pace that looks painful. The sound of slaps in the room coming from all three of you, finally, you come undone. 

He watches the way you hold Jay’s hips in place, burying himself into you as you quiver around him, and only then does Jake let out a choked moan, coating the inside of his pants with strings of thick, milky cum. 

Just as quickly as you hit your climax, your eyes lazily fall to Jake as he sits out of breath, wet spots staining his pants as Jay continues to chase his own high. 

  The two of you look at each other for a long moment. You can’t help but feel that he looks entirely sexy when he’s spent and empty of his arousal. You don’t sense a hint of disappointment in his eyes as he looks back at you, breath uneven, not at all bothered by the fact that he’s not the one fucking you.

Except he is bothered by it. He felt like he came so close to making you cum, all for Jay to step in and take over. Still, that’s your boyfriend. Jake feels lucky enough to even be part of this. And by the time Jay finally gets himself off, all three of you just look at each other. 

“So,” Jay sighs, out of breath. “She tastes good, right?” He smiles, proud of himself for not letting Jake make you come.

You playfully slap him with a laugh, shuffling from the couch and standing to your feet. You examine the wet spot from where you were being fucked open by both of them and smile at it. 

“Let’s go shower, again.” You sigh, grabbing Jay’s hand and dragging him to the bathroom.

Jake is left sitting there, still on his knees, processing what just happened. 

He could get used to this.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

By the third night, Jay is geared up and ready knowing full well that Jake has already touched you and he’s going to have to share tonight if your words are anything to go by. If you’re asking him to let Jake fuck you, it’s gonna have to be his way. 

Your eyes sparkled when Jay agreed in the silent morning as Jake slept like a fucking rock in the bed across the room. 

“Don’t worry,” You assured him. “I love you, I’m just having fun.”

“ I know.” Jay responded to you, silently and looking back at you. 

He didn’t worry so much about it after last night, anyway. He got more into it than he thought he would, and the competition of it all got both you and Jay off. Jake appears to be having fun too, and staying aware of the fake-ass boundaries the two of you set for him.

“Tonight?” You look to Jay and nod as you head off for the kitchen in an attempt to make something to eat for both of them.

“Tonight, if he’s willing.”  Jay confirms, ultimately stirring Jake from his sleep. 

“Good morning, you can sleep. She’s gonna make some food since we got her off or something.” Jay says towards Jake after you disappear from the doorway, lifting his arms and stretching his body out. 

“What were you guys talking about?” Jake asks half asleep as he hears your footsteps towards the kitchen fade away. The sleep in his voice is heavy and he clears his throat as he rubs his eyes. 

 “Nothing much. She wants to play a game later.” Jay tries not to ruin the plan. 

“Oh yeah, like what?” Jake sits up, reaching for his phone to check the time. 

“Probably monopoly or some shit.”

Jake notes that Jay appears to sound bored of the conversation, so he doesn’t push or pry any longer.

“We going to the beach today?” He asks now, somehow not feeling awkward at all about last night. It almost feels normal now. 

“Yeah, probably after we eat. Wanna go help her with me if you don’t plan to go back to sleep?”

Something inside of Jake swells up at the invitation from Jay to help you do mundane things. Boyfriendly things. As if the two of them are your boyfriends, and not just Jay.

 “Gonna brush my teeth first.”

Jay nods, giving Jake a tired smile as he heads off into the kitchen after you.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake isn’t sure if he’s thinking too hard about it or if he’s getting his hopes up. He’s a lover, not a fighter, and very much willing to share you if the two of you offered to involve him in the relationship with more than just sex. Cooking in the kitchen with the two of you made him happy. Jay was clearly in boyfriend mode, guiding you by the waist when you were wisping from one end of the kitchen to the other. Jake was also kind of in boyfriend mode, though the two of you probably didn’t catch on. It’s not that he’s trying to intrude, it’s just that, he kind of has a hard time fucking a woman and not having feelings after the fact.

When Jake said you looked pretty, Jay didn’t falter even a tiny bit at the compliment. Instead, he smiled at Jake with a nod because of fucking course you look pretty. And when Jay gave you a light kiss to the lips as you stirred something in a bowl, Jake found himself wanting to do the same. He knows he can’t though, so he keeps to himself in this little unsure bubble of what the two of you feel towards him. 

The food was decent, save for the fact that none of you have stepped foot in a grocery store and are surviving off of what you brought in a cooler from home. Jake could tell some of the vegetables were wilted and needed to be cooked, thankfully, none of you enjoy letting food go to waste so that’s why you’re stuck eating it this morning. 

It’s comfortable. Too comfortable. Especially when Jake takes it upon himself to do the dishes despite always arguing at home about doing them. Jay finds himself in a strange kind of headspace too. Lightening up about the idea of Jake being around and touching you, but also, like, still being possessive because you're super into it. If Jake was anyone else, Jay doesn’t think this trio thing would work out as well. Still, this is a conversation for after the trip. 

  By the time the three of you are at the beach, you make a show of yourself for both of them and anyone else who happens to be looking your way. If tonight goes anything like you want it to, you need them to be absolutely feral for you by the time the sun sets. 

It works for the most part. Ghosting your hand over Jake’s cock under the water, blatantly grabbing Jay’s out in the open just to see him buckle under the arousal of it being in public. You feel on top of the universe as their eyes go from bright to dark and full of arousal as the day goes on.

When you part from both of them, heading back to the shore in order to find a bathroom somewhere, the two of them stay behind. You do your best in giving those two alone time too because surely they need to talk or something.

That, they do. 

“She’s doing all of this on purpose, you know.” Jay laughs, wading in the water beside Jake. “How are you feeling about it?”

Jake shrugs, avoiding the incoming wave and lifting his chin with a wince. “I’m feeling less weird about it now, I guess.”

  Jay nods, looking at him and studying his expression. 

“She wants to fuck you.”

Jake can’t help but smile. He has no words to respond to what Jay just said. 

“Shockingly, I kind of want to see her do it.” Jay splashes Jake as if he’s mad, but stands back as his best friend wipes his eyes. 

“Yeah?” Jake’s eyes are beaming despite the redness of the saltwater hitting them, and Jay just stares at him.

“I don’t know man, I’ve never been into this kind of thing. Sharing, and such, but like–” Jay tries to explain, searching internally for a reason as to why he should hold onto the annoyance of sharing his girlfriend. “I don’t know.”

Jake tilts his head, looking at him. 

“It’s kind of fun?”

Jake nods this time. He’s still getting the short end of the stick but he literally couldn't care less. 

“I like watching and I like when you let me touch her.” Jake admits, glancing away and breathing in through an embarrassed wince over what he just said.

For some reason, that sentence arouses Jay. “When you let me touch her.” Jake is really giving full power to Jay to control a sex life that isn’t his and it’s embarrassingly sexy to be given that power over another man. He’s not entirely interested in Jake sexually, but he is entirely interested in Jake’s sexual interest for his girlfriend. Interested in controlling it. 

“This is going a lot further than we ever intended it to.” Jay comments, sinking himself lower in the water and thinking intently on what’s going to happen after the three of you get home. “Guess we will see what happens.” 

Jake quirks an eyebrow. 

“If I asked you to fuck her, would you?” Jay continues, in his head, about why he feels like all of this is okay to him now.

Jake narrows his eyes, wondering if it’s a trap but ultimately nods. 

“I mean, yeah, if you both told me to.” 

There’s the control again. Jake blatantly gives it up just to get the smallest taste of what you share with Jay. 

“And you wouldn’t do it behind my back? Like, be real with me right now.”

Jake knows he would probably be too weak to say no to you. He thinks you know it too.

“What makes you think she would go behind your back anyway?” Jake counters, challenging Jay’s trust in you.

And then it all makes sense. You wouldn’t go behind his back for anything that’s not agreed upon. You’d tell him everything, you’d involve him, or you’d at least ask if you can fuck his best friend behind closed doors. 

It all feels like it’s falling into place too perfectly, and that’s the only uncomfortable thing about this. Jay looks at Jake and then shifts his eyes over to the shore, where you’ve come back from your adventure to the bathroom. 

“Nah, you’re right.” Jay assures himself, standing back up and waving over to you. “Just keep in mind that she’s my girlfriend and I’ll be the one to make her cum.”

Jake is well aware that you’re not his, Jay doesn’t have to rub it in.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Though Jay never explicitly stated that Jake would be able to fuck you tonight, it became increasingly obvious as the day went on. Even as you blatantly touched him in front of Jay, he would simply avert his eyes from Jake and carry on with whatever he was doing.  

By the time the three of you got back to the house, Jake had to fucking fight himself to not jerk off in the shower. Clearly you were wanting to have fun again tonight if the sheer amount of touching throughout the day is any indication. 

The showers from all of you went by far too quickly to ignore as well. Jake thinks he beat his record speed of being out and dressed in under six minutes. You and Jay, opting to shower together, made Jake think the two of you would go in there and fuck behind closed doors, but even that didn’t happen as the two of you were leaving the bathroom in under fifteen minutes. 

Now, the three of you are in this beach house away from a city that is far too familiar to you. The air feels electric but also slightly awkward. You don’t know how to start, Jay certainly doesn’t know how to start, and Jake simply needs the green light to make his attempt at whatever the fuck is supposed to happen. It’s a knowing kind of look that the three of you share as you head into the bedroom one by one. Jake doesn’t know if he should get onto his own bed, or yours at this point considering he hasn’t exactly been told what’s supposed to happen. 

He didn’t have to think too hard though, as he trails in behind Jay who guides you to your own shared bed with him. Jake stands there in silence, watching the way both of you pat your hands on the bed as if to invite him in. 

“Shit, this is really happening?” He asks, almost wanting to cover his ears and cringe at the way he breaks the silence. Jay nods to him silently.

“If you want it to?” You ask, scooting closer to Jay and feeling him move a hand to your thigh. 

Jake is careful when he makes his way to the bed, glancing at both you and his best friend as if the gig would be up soon and you’d both start laughing at him for believing that this is happening. Instead, though, you adjust yourself and your boyfriend on the bed as Jake makes his attempt to find a space to claim for himself.

Now lying on your back, head on Jay’s lap as you both watch Jake, he sits himself awkwardly on the side of the bed and stares forward. 

“Bro, why are you all shy? You literally ate her out last night.” Jay laughs, trying to blame the nervousness all on Jake despite not knowing how to get the ball rolling himself at this point. Then, he’s reaching forward and over you to spread your legs out. Your bathrobe does little to hide the lack of material underneath, already bare and ready for both of the men in the room. 

“I don’t know–” Jake argues, glancing over at you and instantly drawing his eyes to what’s beneath the robe. He tries to look away with a gulp of whatever the fuck he was going to say next, but ends up double taking at the view of you being presented to him by Jay. “I’ve never done this before…” He trails off, voice coming to a whisper as he shamelessly stares and the arousal begins to take full hold of his body. 

You shift your hips a bit, as if to grind yourself against nothing to show that just like him, you can be desperate too. 

“Fuck,” Jake sighs out, shifting his body fully onto the bed and facing you. “I–”

“Go on.” Jay encourages, noting the way his friend is practically drooling at the image of you in front of him like this. Proud of himself for having a girlfriend so fucking alluring.

“Should I just,” Jake stops, looking at Jay and avoiding eye contact with you. “touch her? like, what are my limits?’ 

Jay honestly doesn’t care what he does as long as you want it but, what he’s damn sure won’t happen is Jake getting head from you. He can eat you out all he wants but your mouth is to never be on him in any way, shape, or form without being told to do it by Jay himself. 

“Help him out.” You comment, flicking your head back a bit to look at Jay from under your lashes. He smirks at you and responds with a small nod. 

“Remember, you can just tell us to stop if you change your mind.” Jay directs towards Jake as he leans forward and pulls him closer to you by his arm. 

Jake falls a bit, on all fours right between your legs as he stares down at your folds. He says nothing in response to Jay, now lost in the world of getting to taste you again and wondering how many more times he will be granted permission to do this. 

“Stick your tongue out and use it, Jake.” Jay demands in a slightly…off tone? One that seemingly makes fun of Jake for not having touched you yet. 

Jake listens, granting Jay a nice little ego boost as he hums from behind you at your sharp inhale when Jake kisses against your clit. Still, this is going to happen his way and if Jake thinks he can eat pussy well, he’s about to learn.

Jay leans forward, your body leaning with him as he harshly grabs Jake’s hair, pressing his lips against you harder, guiding his head up and down. “Stick your tongue out more–” Jay demands again, gripping his hair harder.

Strangely enough, Jake allows it. He sticks his tongue out the moment Jay demands it, and allows himself to be guided by the hair against your pussy. He groans out against you, tasting you again despite it not being of his own free will. Would Jake prefer eating you out the way he wants to? Absolutely. Does the feeling of having his head guided between your legs also kind of get him off? Oh, fuck yeah. All he has to do is imagine it’s your hand doing it. 

You, however, watch as Jay pulls Jake up, still by the hair, and looks at him. 

“Tongue fuck her, I’ll take care of the rest.” He says, releasing Jake and watching the way he sinks down between your legs again. 

Making it easier for him, you prop your legs on his shoulders, ultimately boxing Jake in against your wet and glistening hole. It isn’t long before you feel his tongue circling, inserting against your walls. It’s not a lot to go off of, but god he looks so good between your legs like this. The image only gets better when Jay unties the loose knot of your robe and pinches against one of your nipples, his other hand going straight to your clit and rubbing it just the way you like. 

“Can you cum like this for him?” Jay asks against your ear, holding you against him with his hand still playing against your nipple. “Let him really taste you?” 

You nod to him with a moan, shifting your hips as if to fuck yourself on Jake’s tongue. Each pinch against your nipple sends a sensation straight to where you’re being stimulated the most, and yeah, you can definitely cum on Jake’s tongue if he keeps trying to reach as deeply as he is now. 

Jay’s fingers are expert when it comes to your body, he could have you falling apart right here, right now if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. He watches, instead, the way you tighten your legs around Jake’s head to pull him in closer. The way his best friend doesn’t even come up for air is laughable, but he gets it. 

It’s the fact that for the first time, Jay kind of enjoys the idea of a man touching what’s his, solely because he can see how badly they want it. Knowing that he, himself, can do it whenever he wants and they can’t.

When your boyfriend rubs your clit faster, it has you chasing Jake’s tongue harder , and when you chase Jake’s tongue, he makes a point to lick every crevice you have to offer in order to entice moans and groans of his name from your mouth. 

When you start to tense up, Jay knows exactly what it means. He lurches forward again and pulls Jake away from you, reaching back just as quickly to rub your clit harder.

“Watch her cum,” Jay smiles, abusing your clit just the way you love it until your legs are shaking and falling from Jake’s shoulders. “Keep your tongue out.”

“Shit–” Jake sighs out, watching your cunt drip out its continuous orgasm. Without any indication from the two of you, he takes the risk and dips back down, tongue lapping up the mess of your arousal and humming against your folds in a beautiful and desperate mantra.

“Oh god–” You choke out, jolting from the sensitivity of his tongue toying with you, Jay continuing to press your orgasm further, not relenting even as sensitivity takes hold. 

Jake licks up every single bit of it and Jay watches him, feeling you continuously quiver in his grasp as you come down from the high. 

“Now, fuck her.” Jay smiles knowingly, looking down at you and the way you already look dazed.

Jake shoots his head up to look at Jay, instantly he’s nodding and practically throwing his pants off. A true desperate show of how much he wants to be inside of you. 

Both you and Jay examine Jake when he pulls his cock out. You’ve seen it before but never in its full glory. He’s big. 

Jay glances down at you with an ‘are you sure you wanna do this?’ look and all you can do is chuckle and wiggle your hips as if to entice Jake to fuck you so senseless that Jay appears to be jealous again. It wouldn’t take much, really, because Jay is jealous right now. He needs to make damn sure you know that his cock is the only one that can make you scream, regardless of length, or whatever. He’s still thicker than Jake is.

Jake watches the two of you share looks and instantly gets a bit shy, doesn’t change the fact that he’s gently jerking himself off in preparation though.

“Condom?” Jake asks, obviously.

“No,” You say, nudging him closer again with your leg. “Im on the pill and you live with us, I know for a fact that you haven’t been fucking around.”

More shy now, Jake averts his eyes as he shuffles his way closer, all the way until he can feel his cock pressed against your leg. In one last attempt before he goes off the deep end, he looks to Jay for approval and is granted it almost instantly with a nod. 

He slides in, painfully slow in your opinion, but to Jake it’s like he’s trying to feel each ridge, clench, and wall around him as he does it. You wince only a little at the size, taking a deep breath and grabbing Jay’s hand when he bottoms out. 

Jake attempts to let you adjust, but it doesn’t go as smoothly as he wants to because the second he pulls his hips back, he’s slamming into you with a force he didn’t even know he had. The sounds you let out as he does this has Jay going fucking insane, you can feel his cock against your back continuously twitching as Jake fucks into you. 

Only when you keep your eyes on his best friend does Jay move from under you, replacing himself with two pillows as he stands at your side. 

“Stop looking at him like that,” He demands, lowering his pants enough to let his cock spring free and in front of your face. “Look at me.” He continues, stroking himself as he stares down at you.

This is what you want. You want them to fight for your attention right now. Thankfully to Jay, Jake is in his own world, head thrown back as he continuously plunges into you with the obvious need of a man who hasn’t had sex in months. 

You stare up at Jay then allow your eyes to fall to his pulsing and raging length in his hand, without hesitation you open your mouth for him.

“Good girl,” He praises, setting his cock on your tongue and allowing you to feel the weight of it before he slowly slides further into your mouth. “How does it feel to be fucked from both ends?” Jay asks with a bit of a demeaning tone. “Is it everything you ever wanted?” He asks again, this time sliding further down your throat before taking hold of your head and holding it in place. 

You have no reason to answer his questions, because he already knows the answer judging from the sound of how wet you are. He can fucking hear it. 

“I bet it is.” He continues through a sigh, effectively fucking your mouth open much like his best friend is doing to your pussy. 

One thing Jake doesn’t seem to catch onto is the fact that both you and Jay are talkers during sex. Jake, not so much, so when your mouth is gagged by a cock, he has no choice but to listen to Jay talk to you. 

Jake’s hips stutter only slightly when you gag around your boyfriend, all because that gag appears to travel down your body. Your cuntclenches him so tightly that he could honestly start crying right now if it wouldn't end with him being made fun of. 

So fucking tight, practically choking him out by the cock. 

“Do that again–” Jake pleads, gripping your legs and spreading them away from his hips. He angles himself a bit more by placing both hands under your ass and pressing into you again, this time stilling his hips so he can feel your walls jerk him off. 

Jay smirks, not knowing what the fuck Jake is referring to. 

“Do what again? Gag her?” He asks, jolting his hips forward and again sliding down your throat.

 You gag, and your pussy constricts.

“Goddamn, yes, that.” Jake chokes out in a sigh, trying to press his cock into you even deeper. 

Jay looks down at you and the way your eyes start to glisten with tears. He knows they’re good tears, especially with the way you try to smile around his cock. 

“So dirty,” He compliments, sliding out of your mouth and wiping a tear from your cheek. “This okay?” He continues, knowing you like it, but he still needs to get that confirmation considering this is new to all three of you. 

You nod with a moan and a deep breath, grabbing his drenched length and sinking it straight back down your throat. Jay seethes a string of curses when you do that. You’re too fucking good at deep-throating and it’s driving him up a fucking wall how hot you are right now. 

Being fucked open is one thing, but being fucked open from both ends is another. Even with Jake practically cockwarming himself in you, you can feel how rock hard he is with each twitch and aroused pulse, his length consistently putting pressure against your g-spot. God, you feel so full.

Jay elicits gags from you again, pulls out so you can breathe, and then goes right back to fucking your mouth at his own pace. Jake, on the other end, has since lost all form of self control with your last gag. You’re dripping around him, clenching him so fucking tightly, he can’t help it when he grips your ass firmly and essentially gags you himself with how hard he begins to piston his hips. Even Jay is thrown off by the way you stop sucking and your mouth goes slack.

He slides out of your mouth, listening as a drawn out moan of Jake’s name comes from your lips. 

“Look at her–” Jay glares, forcing Jake to slow his hips and look at you. “Look at how good you’re making her feel.” He adds again, only slightly more aroused than he is threatened by your expression. 

Jake is looking, watching as your eyes fall to him and you buck your hips up as if to ride yourself on him. 

“God, please Jay, can she ride me?” Jake loses composure, slipping his hands out from under your ass and grabbing your waist. 

Jay doesn’t even get to answer the firm “no” he was intending because he can see you look at him with pleading eyes just like his best friend. It sucks to have all of this power but still not be able to say no to those pretty fucking, tear stained eyes when you look at him like this. What’s worse?

The way Jake is looking at him is arguably…just as fucking hot.

And so, Jay bows his head in approval and wonders when the fuck he became the third wheel in his own relationship, that is, until you sit yourself up, push Jake back, and settle yourself on his thighs. 

You don’t move as you look at your boyfriend, your pleading eyes now turning to concern as he stands by himself off of the bed. For some reason, it comforts him. 

Jay smiles at you softly, kind of like a small confirmation that he’s doing just fine, and then moves forward to further that confirmation for you.

“She takes it so well, right?” Jay averts his eyes to Jake, getting behind you on the bed and settling down with his cock in hand. “Go on, ride him, baby.”

So you do, rolling your hips forward and backwards in a way that has Jake slipping in and out of you with ease. He can feel you drip onto his legs and honestly, he’s in fucking heaven right now as he places both hands on your thighs and stares directly at his cock disappearing inside of you. 

It’s a shame really, considering being ridden is one of Jake’s weaknesses. 

“Can I cum in her?” Jake blurts mindlessly, his hips attempting to fuck into you despite your weight on him keeping his hips down. “Jay, please? Can I cum in her?” 

His questions come out frantic, pleading for the ability to release his control and absolutely let you fuck him into oblivion, but he waits, now halting your hits from moving as if to contain the load he’s about to release without permission. 

“What if I say no?” Jay laughs, gripping his cock and watching the way Jake twitches inside of you. 

You move your hips again, a small chuckle lightly coming out alongside Jay as Jake hits rock bottom and somehow spirals further down. 

“Shit, shit!” Jake groans, urging you to lift up a bit as he painfully begins to slam into you.

Jay can hear his cum seeping out of you with each plunge of his cock, he can see it spurt out of you and down Jake’s legs. God damn it’s way hotter than he anticipated it being. 

Without a second thought Jay is pulling himself up and positioning himself behind you. He doesn’t say a word as he presses the small of your back forward so that your tits press against Jake’s face, and prods his cock at your entrance. Right there beside Jake, he slides in with an uncomfortable stretch. 

“This is how you fuck my girlfriend.” Jay groans, feeling your pussy hug around his cock and his best friend’s. He can already feel Jake going soft from the recent orgasm, but he doesn’t relent. Jay starts moving his hips regardless, fucking Jake’s released load back into you with an impossible stretch.

Honestly, Jay is on cloud 9 listening to both of you whine and moan. Neither of you stopping him, and even Jake finds the sensitivity of his cock being fucked against as insanely pleasurable as it is painful. 

You’re staring down at Jake when you slightly lift, and he’s looking up at you as Jay continuously stimulates you both. At this moment, you’re both in this together and Jay has full control. Deserving control, you think. Smiling at Jake, you drop your head to his neck and start talking. 

“You felt so good,” You praise him, moaning at the way Jay slams into you. “Can you get hard again?”

Jake simply nods because he cannot, for the life of him, think of words right now. He’s already feeling his arousal coming back to him. Even Jay feels it, in the way his softening cock manages to get hard again within mere minutes. He’s never been able to get hard again that quickly, but then again, Jake was practically pussy starved so he doesn’t question it. 

The fit inside of you grows tighter and tighter as Jake’s cock wakes up to the overstimulation, all the way until all three of you are wincing at the drag of Jay continuously fucking into you. The sound of moans, slick, and heavy breathing is all that can be heard when Jake moves his hips at an opposite rhythm of Jay. 

“Oh, fuck yes–” Jay moans, throwing his head back and looking down at how stretched open you are with two cocks stuffed inside of you. “You’re doing so good, so fucking good–” He babbles on, praising you, or Jake, he doesn’t even know at this point. 

Overstimulated, his cock feels as though your cunt has a death grip on it as he continues to squeeze along size Jake’s length, your wet and sore walls clenching them so tightly that Jay barely has to move at all to feel like he’s fucking the daylights out of you. 

Jake’s small thrusts only push the orgasm to the edge for both you and Jay. The head of Jake’s cock drags alongside Jay’s with each thrust and it has him nearly gasping for air when his orgasm hits him.

Jake hasn’t stopped moaning since Jay fit himself into you, nor have you. Who has control in this situation? Not a single person, not even Jay, as he frantically bottoms himself out and shoots his cum against the impossibly tight space inside of you. Jay’s orgasm ignites yours, your g-spot having been stimulated this entire time, you nearly squeeze so hard that they both are forced out of you, but they fight the sensation, continuing to bury themselves into you through your high.

Pained gasps drag on and all you can feel are fingertips both clawing and squeezing at you when you release around them, squeezing both of them tighter, and tighter, until Jay has no choice but to slip his spent cock out of you. 

You slump over instantly, your walls fitting themself back around Jake’s still hard length inside of you.

Jake struggles to orgasm again, unsure of if he has any cum left after the first one, so he pulls out of you the moment Jay shoots a look at him, as if to tell him to stop. Still in his aroused state of mind though, Jake practically shoves you back onto Jay as he works himself up to whatever orgasm he has left by his own hand. 

It takes a moment, but you feel his second load hitting against your thighs not long after and all that’s left to do now is assess the damage.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

There was no damage. Even as Jay apologetically begs you to tell him the truth. To tell him he went too far, or was too rough. You liked it, and you hate that you have to convince him of it. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Jay asks, kissing you once on the back of your neck after you nod with a dazed smile. “And you?” Jay averts his eyes to Jake, who is sprawled out regaining his breath at the foot of your bed.

“I’m great, actually.” He says, looking over to Jay with a dopey kind of smile. 

“You’re both insane.” Jay finally releases a breath of relief, realizing how much you and his best friend have in common sexually.

It’s…weirdly endearing, making his heart swell at the way both you and Jake look at him expectantly. Like still, he has control over all three of you. 

“You didn’t like it?” You ask, and Jake nods along with your question to look at Jay.

“Of course I fucking liked it.” 

“Then what’s the issue?” Jake asks, sitting himself up now and pretending he doesn’t get a headrush almost instantly. 

Jay thinks hard about it. Is there even an issue? Did he ever expect to actually share his girlfriend with Jake this way? Of course not, but it doesn’t change the fact that all three of you enjoyed every bit of that. Plus, Jake doesn’t appear to be super competitive and listens to everything Jay says to do. 

Who wouldn’t be turned on by that kind of control anyway?

 ・・・・・・ EPILOGUE  ・・・・・・

Jake has become a constant fixture in your sexual relationship with Jay now, but he doesn’t step out of line much to Jay’s pleasure. Even now, months down the road from the beach vacation, all three of you came to terms with the fact that Jake wants to stay, and so do the two of you. 

Rent is split three ways, you’re split two ways, but you get it all. Truly, you feel like you have the best end of this bargain. Even now, Jay tends to have more private sex with you as if to avoid constantly living in the world of kinks and pushing boundaries. You enjoy it. You love sharing moments with him without Jake around, and even when Jake does walk in on it, he doesn’t stay most of the time because now, when it’s meant to be for all three of you, Jake is blatantly invited. He knows now that any sex he isn’t aware of isn’t for him, despite it being the complete opposite from before. 

It’s a comfortable kind of thing. Even if the three of you don’t talk about it outside of these walls, it’s what you like, it’s what they like. Even Jay has loosened up a bit more about you and Jake together. It’s not like you’re dating him, but your boyfriend has actually implied you go busy yourself with Jake when he’s exhausted or too tired to fuck you himself. If anything, when you do go and busy yourself with Jake, Jay usually ends up watching anyway. 

“Jake,” Jay says from across the room after yet another session of cuckolding his girlfriend and best friend. “I hope you know that she’s still my girlfriend and I will always be the one to fuck her better.”

“You’re really gonna say that after I just made her cum twice before you even got your cock out?” Jake laughs. 

“She’s my girlfriend.” Jay glares but Jake can see his smile.

“I know. You keep her happy.” Jake drops the playful act and decides to genuinely let Jay know. 

“Unfortunately, your cock is required for her happiness sometimes.”

“No, his cock is required for fun. You are required for my happiness.” You interject, reminding them that you’re literally still in the room, heaving from your third orgasm.

“And that’s why this little arrangement works out.” Jay agrees, lifting himself to kiss you. “Only I get your love and affection. Jake just gets 30% of your orgasms.”

“10% of yours too, apparently.” Jake shifts his eyes to Jay.

Jay does remember the few times he’s let Jake fuck you and grew so aroused by how you act with his best friend in contrast to himself, that yeah, he guesses he can give Jake and his huge cock some credit for making him cum a few times, but really, it’s because he’s seeing his girlfriend stretched out and cock stupid, definitely because they both whine in unison over him. 

At the end of the day, it’s cute, especially because Jake can still never fuck you as good as he will. You may be cock-stupid for his size, but you’re cock-drunk for how Jay works it inside of you.

And so, it appears that Jay is in a happy relationship with you, a healthy one. One where he’s perfectly comfortable cleaning his best friend’s cum out of you.

smut tags― he’s a little cocky (lmao), i guess you could say size kink but it’s more like huge cock / tiny pussy size kink, theres some crying, praising, reader gets off like almost instantly and becomes incredibly cock drunk the second he’s able to actually fuck

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Things you knew about your boyfriend before dating: he’s very protective, super smart, has good taste in music, his hands are big and warm, and he’s very down to earth.

Things you didn’t know about your boyfriend until after dating and he’s on top of you during a moody and rainy night makeout session: his cock is huge and it’s very intimidating.

One might ask, how could you have not known? Well, that’s easy. It’s a fairly new relationship and a very shy relationship at that. It’s a bit embarrassing for you, actually, because it’s not like you don’t want to be intimate with him. You definitely do, and apparently so does he. 

It’s the first time in the three weeks you’ve been dating that you’ve gotten to be completely alone with him in an intimate setting. For one, you live with your parents, and secondly, he lives with three other dudes who like to be all up in his business. It’s not exactly easy to get alone time with him. Thankfully, your parents are out on a five-day holiday somewhere in the Bahamas and you’re here on your family couch with Jaeyun’s hands cradling your neck as you kiss him. 

It got heated very fast, presumably because the two of you haven’t really had the privacy to do more than a standing makeout session without someone listening in, or worse, walking in. It almost makes the air feel electric now, kind of like a breath of fresh air except the fresh air tastes like the fruity chewing gum he had in his mouth when he originally came over.

Here’s the thing though, and man, it’s a thing. Looking at Jaeyun you’d think he’s average at best and you’re not really the type to go around guessing dick sizes.  So, naturally, when he slots a leg between yours as he got on top of you and you fucking felt it against your leg, you were a little more shocked than anticipated. Maybe he let out a little snide chuckle at your reaction too, you wouldn’t know, you were kind of busy wondering when he was going to let you in on the secret. 

Now, here you are deep in thought of how the hell that thing is going to fit anywhere while simultaneously one hundred percent willing to make it fit because god, does he know how to makeout and feel someone up. 

The more he kisses you, the more his hands roam, the more you experience intimate touches with him, the more you feel like your skin is on fire and replacing that intimidation with extreme arousal and lust. All the way until the point that the presumed makeout playlist starts over and he finally pushes a bit further with you.

“Is this okay?” He asks, now slotting himself entirely between your legs and essentially pressing his length directly against the pool that is threatening to seep through your fucking denim shorts. 

You give him a half nod, trying to pretend that he’s definitely a normal man with a normal cock. He smiles though, knowing full well that this isn’t what you were expecting. No one ever expects it from him. 

“You seem occupied,” he comments, pressing himself against you a little more and leaning down on his arms to nip at your lips. “or shocked, maybe?”

You try to kiss him to shut him up, not wanting to expose yourself for being entirely inexperienced with a size like his. 

“Hm?” He encourages you, pulling back again and looking directly into your eyes with a confident smirk. 

“Well,” you shift your eyes away and sigh out, “you’re kind of huge…” 

He takes that compliment and runs with it. It’s not like the two of you have to finally have sex or anything, but you both knew what was happening and you both definitely knew what the other wanted. At least ten minutes ago that was the situation.

“Is it too much?” He asks, this time a bit more concerned that his own biology could ruin this for you. 

“Probably? no, maybe?” 

Jaeyun pulls away from you, moving himself to sit back against the couch and give you your space. Considering probably and maybe isn’t a yes, he feels no need to push or pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do. There have been times where he’s hurt another person while being intimate, though not intentionally, he’s not exactly willing to do that to you unless you’re like, you know, jumping his bones for it. 

“Still, i’d like to try–” You start, looking at him as you sit up and feel your entire body tingle at the cold air that replaces his warmth. “Maybe if we take it slow– like, really slow?”

He looks at you with shining eyes. He asked you to be his girlfriend because he genuinely likes you. He likes your voice, he likes the way you smell, likes when you talk about your favorite songs and favorite movies. He was definitely smitten from the moment he saw you trip on your own two feet down the front porch of a house party months ago. Taking it slow with you was pretty normal, and the fact that you want him too just makes him all the more willing to take his time. 

“I’ll take care of you, ” he hums, spreading his legs a bit across the couch to give himself more space to re-adjust himself. “Just tell me if I need to slow down?” 

You nod, staring directly between his legs and rubbing your own together on instinct. If anyone’s gonna split you open, it might as well be your boyfriend.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

When he said he would take it slow with you, he really meant it. The fact that he curled three fingers into you for a solid twenty minutes and you still feel like your legs will buckle on you at any moment knowing that this is just for prep– oh damn. 

 The fact that he even used his tongue on you for the first time, making sure you were more slippery than you already were for another twenty minutes? The fucking fact that you were on the verge of orgasm when he pulled it out and presented it to you like a cock you could totally sit on without issue? 

Fuck.

Reality washes over you far too quickly when you actually make that attempt. 

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel like you were being torn apart by him, but part of you loves the way his gentle hands hold you steady as you try to sink down. You can feel the wet heat between your legs coat his length inch by inch as you start to slide down.

He stops you only for a moment when he notices you wincing. 

“Breathe, baby, just a little more.” He encourages, getting a nod from you before guiding you down further.

You breathe, clenching around him and doing your best to stop doing that so you can relax. You can tell he’s struggling to actually take it slow by now too, only because you can feel his hands shake against you as he holds himself back from obliterating you, probably. You’d think it would be quite endearing to see, if it weren’t for the fact that your eyes are blurring from the tears threatening to fall. 

Feeling embarrassed, you wipe your eyes and focus on how he feels inside of you. The pain is still there, but as you “sit” here, that pain somehow does replace itself with a strange sensation of pleasure little by little. You’ve always wondered what it felt like to be full, and it appears that this is exactly it.

It’s overwhelming.

“Do you want to stop?” He asks after noticing your tears, a bit of panic in his voice despite the fact that you could have sworn hearing a moan come out alongside it, “Pull up, it’s okay, you can–”

You sink down further instead, now bottoming yourself out on him and releasing a broken whine of both pain and pleasure. He grunts in unison to your whine, gripping your hips even harder than he already was and squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Fuck,” he sighs out, lazily opening his eyes to look at the way you perch yourself on him so perfectly. “Such a tight fit.” 

You nod, mostly unable to hear a word he’s saying as you try to relax your body enough to get rid of that small hint of pain. The consistent clenching of your adjustments send your boyfriend spiraling a bit, unable to contain his sighs of pleasure as your tight and wet heat squeezes his cock.

“Tell me when I can move, please, tell me–” He groans out almost frantically, staring down at where you sit flush against him and wanting so badly to fuck into you.

 He’s wanted to do this to you since you started dating, now that it’s finally happening, and now that you’re quite literally jerking him off simply by adjusting to his size– you know, it’s not exactly easy to contain himself. 

You take a few more seconds to breathe before your body finally relaxes and you give him a reluctant nod. 

Instantly it’s like you’re seeing stars. He barely moves, all he does is flex his abs and press his hips up and it’s like he manages to fit another non-existent inch inside of you. 

You groan out, falling forward against his chest and gripping onto his shoulders as you feel your body adjust to even that small movement. To you, this is so fucking embarrassing, but to him? 

Hottest thing ever. Really. 

He can hear your whiny gasps against his neck when he moves and it’s driving him fucking wild, especially considering the fact that his cock is driven so deeply inside of you that he thinks you’d tell him to stop— but you don’t. 

You’re so good to him, and for what it’s worth, he wants to make sure this will be the best orgasm of your life.

Slowly, his hands fall to your ass and guide you up. You feel slight relief as a few inches leave you, and your stomach bubbles with that same sensation of both pleasure and pain when he slides you back down.

He moans out at you, almost like he’s cooing in pity at how much you’re trying to take for him. It’s incredibly sexy to hear now that your ears have stopped ringing and you’re beginning to believe that you’d never want anything smaller than him anyway.

This time, you lift on your own and sink back down just as fast, wincing again against his neck but releasing a moan that sounds more like pleasure than anything else. He sees this as a green light, gripping your ass and encouraging you to lift slightly again.

“Stay like this.” he mutters with a deep breath before kissing against your forehead and thrusting his hips up once, hard. 

The tight heat you’re offering sends him into a frenzy when paired with the wet slap of his pelvis hitting your pussy, and the sounds you’re making offer little in terms of stopping because by now, you’re both loving it. 

He thrusts into you with ease, the drag loud and slippery, the moans of pleasure you release only make him go faster, harder. Almost releasing a whimper of his own at how fucking perfect you are for taking all of it.

“Look.” he tries to let out, waiting for you to pull yourself up from his chest and look at him.

You do with ease, that broken face from before now replaced with lustful and blown out pupils. 

“Look how good you take it,” he praises with a groan, almost punctuating each word with a thrust, “knew you could take it.” 

Your broken smile that falls into a slack mouthed string of nonsense only continues to push him.  All the way until you can’t think straight at all, and you’re feeling your body tense up with such pressure that you can’t even warn him before your walls are clenching so tightly that it even hurts him. 

You grasp onto him for dear life as your orgasm washes over you, drenching his entire length as you hold your breath. Never have you gotten off while feeling so fucking full, and arguably, you don’t think you could ever feel an orgasm so intense without him being the one to split you open.

“There you go baby.” he hums, watching you breathlessly fall apart on top of him before picking up his rhythm again and chasing his own high.

By this point, you’re so well adjusted that even the searing pain of his restless thrusts feel good. Your brain is foggy but you can’t help but just fucking watch him.

This is your boyfriend and this is what it looks like when you’re making him feel good. 

“Are you close?” you start to bounce on him, meeting his rhythm and allowing him to rest his own hips. 

He nods as he looks at you, awestruck with how you’re already able to ride him as if you weren’t whining just moments before. Seeing you take him in full like this is enough to have his cock pulsing.

“Just a bit more, baby.” He closes his eyes and runs his hands up your waist. “Keep riding me, fuck.” 

And that, you do. Feeling proud of yourself for being able to actually take this literal monster, you focus on the twitch inside of you as he releases with a deep and breathy moan.

It’s entirely too sexy to ignore, and you continue to bounce even as he tries to hold you in place to subdue the sensitivity of his cock being fucking strangled by how tight you are. 

Once his body stops jerking and you feel the last twitching release inside of you, you fall forward and both of you groan from the sensitivity. 

“There are pros and cons to having a big dick, i guess.” he admits in a groan. 

Even when you laugh, there’s another wince from both of you followed by a groan.

“Pros: big dick.” he whispers, holding you still against him so you don’t move again before he can soften up and pull out. “Cons: big dick.” 

You still laugh, and it still hurts. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jay -

Prefers to finish: on your lips and chin

“Open that mouth,” he mutters, low and close, jerking his fist as he towers over you. “Keep your eyes up. I want you to watch me fall apart for you.”

The first stripe lands right on your bottom lip. He lets out a sharp breath through his teeth, finishing in slow strokes as it drips down your chin.

His thumb tilts your jaw up and he smears it across your mouth, shaking his head.

“Such a mess,” he says. “And all of it’s mine.”

⸻

Sunghoon -

Prefers to finish: directly across your face — lips, cheek, lashes if you let him

“Don’t blink.”

That’s all he says. One hand tangled in your hair, the other stroking himself steady and mean until it hits — thick across your cheekbone, mouth, the corner of your eye.

“You wanted this,” he whispers, gaze cool, chest heaving. “Look at you. So pretty like this. Ruined.”

He leans in, dragging his thumb down the trail he left.

“Smile for me. Let them see what I do to you.”

⸻

Jake -

Prefers to finish: tongue and lips — intimate, possessive, soaked

“C’mon, sweetheart. Tongue out. You know I love it when you ask for it.”

His voice breaks at the end, fingers tightening in your hair. He comes with a raw groan as it splashes across your tongue and lips, and the second he catches his breath, he’s already pulling you into a kiss.

“Taste it,” he mumbles against your mouth. “That’s what you do to me. Every time.”

⸻

Jungwon -

Prefers to finish: on your lips and nose — clumsy but intense

“Shit—fuck—don’t move—”

It hits without warning, thick across your lips and the bridge of your nose. His breath stutters, face flushed, but he doesn’t look away — he stares like he’s memorizing every drop.

“I didn’t mean to—” he starts, then stops. His fingers brush your cheek, slow.

“…Don’t wipe it yet. Please.”

⸻

Heeseung -

Prefers to finish: across your cheek and jawline — unpredictable and hot about it

“You always look better like this,” he grins, just before he finishes.

His hips jerk forward once, and the first ropes hit just below your cheekbone. He doesn’t flinch. He strokes through it lazily, watching it trail down toward your jaw.

“Didn’t even try to aim for your mouth this time,” he breathes out, dragging two fingers through the mess and pressing them to your lips.

“Guess I’ll have to clean it up myself.”

⸻

Sunoo -

Prefers to finish: wherever he damn well pleases — lips, cheek, nose, chin

“Don’t flinch, baby. You’re the one who said you could take it.”

His tone is soft, almost too sweet — until it lands across your lips with a wet splat, and he laughs breathlessly.

“Aww… poor thing,” he says mockingly, stroking himself slower as it drips from your mouth. “You were hoping for a kiss, weren’t you?”

He leans in and whispers,

“Not with that face.”

________________________________________

THANK YOU FOR THIS REQ MUAH

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And you hadn’t—unless, obviously, you had to. For the sake of the public or whatever.

Because there’s only so much you can say to someone you’re legally bound to pretend to love when you can’t even look at him without wanting to punch him or throw up or cry or maybe do all three and then some more, and you haven’t decided which one would feel better yet. If at all.

You’d barely even gotten any sleep last night because you couldn’t shake a terrible feeling you had—though it wasn’t anything related to what you’d texted Sunoo about. No, your mind was quite made up on that matter.

You’d called Riki yesterday—just to make sure—and he’d said yeah, he was the one who took you home that night. So that should’ve been that. Except… it didn’t feel like that. But whatever. You had bigger things to worry about this morning.

When you got to the airport this morning, you did what you’ve always done; you schooled your face the way you’ve known your whole life—chin up, smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, turn towards the best lighting angle, and give them something pretty to photograph. You’d actually thought to yourself for a second that this might be easy if you just do the thing where you step outside of yourself and pretend you’re also watching it happen from somewhere in the crowd. 

And then he’d touched you.

He slid his hand around your waist—his palm flat and warm against the dip of your waist, and for one stupid second, your whole body had gone absolutely rigid. 

Smile. Just fucking smile—you’d thought to yourself.

And then you leaned into him like you’d done it a hundred times before—because you had, in another lifetime. Because pretending is the only thing you’ve ever been good at your whole life.

Someone had yelled both your names, and he must have noticed how tense you’d physically been because at one point he’d dipped his head close enough that his mouth almost brushed your ear, and he whispered, “Relax, darling.” Just to taunt you.

You wanted to elbow him in the ribs. You wanted to grind your heel into his stupid, polished shoe and to keep walking and let the whole world watch him flinch like an idiot.

Instead, you’d breathed through your teeth and kept smiling until you were finally through the sliding doors and the noise of the crowd had faded behind the glass.

And then you went back to keeping your distance—because the hardest part was done. You hovered near him just enough for it to seem believable, and after a while, once you were inside the gate, he slid his hand around your waist again, ever so casually.

You stopped dead. “Don’t.”

He didn’t even glance at you. “Don’t be a fucking brat.”

You blinked. “The hell did you just say?”

“People talk.” He smiled simply and jerked his chin forward, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Behave.”

You stared at him for a long second, then looked around. “There’s no one here, you dick.”

“There’s always someone here, sweetheart,” he said with that mocking kind of smile of his that made your blood boil, and then tilted his head toward the corner where two assistants were whispering behind their tablets, pretending they weren’t watching. 

You had dug your nails into your palms so hard that the crescents stayed there for several minutes afterward.

By the time you got on the plane, you were seconds away from fully losing it. Maybe it was the fact that you were heavily sleep deprived, or how your head still had a faint ache to it, or maybe, just maybe—crazy—the fact that this… this is actually your life now. But anyway, you didn’t wait for him to say a word—just immediately slid into the window seat and turned your face away like the sight of him would physically burn you if you stared at him a second longer.

He sat down beside you, of course. Because of course he did. Because where else would he sit?

“Don’t start,” you said under your breath without even looking at him.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, well, don’t.”

He leaned back in his seat, and his voice was low. “You always this pleasant in the mornings?”

You turned your head just enough to glare at him. “You wanna die?”

He didn’t say anything back this time. Not even a smirk. Just looked at you for a second too long, the muscle in his jaw ticking once before he clicked his tongue and turned his head toward the aisle.

You furrowed your brows a little at that—not that you cared, obviously, but it was weird. He usually always had something smug to say back, some shitty comeback waiting on his tongue. 

But you don’t see the way he looks back at you then and almost opens his mouth to say something, not really—you’re too busy pretending the window’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever looked at in your life. 

The thing is, Sunghoon remembers that night enough for the two of you. 

He remembers it in a way that makes him want to claw it out of his own head. The way your voice had gone small, how your fingers had curled weakly around his arm, how you’d leaned into him like you used to before everything went to hell, and how you’d whispered that you miss him into the crook of his neck like you’d been holding it on the tip of your tongue this whole time.

And it had gutted him, sure, but not in the way you’d think. It wasn’t tender, it wasn’t sad—it was anger tearing through him. Because even drunk, even out of your mind, you still managed to sink your teeth into the one part of him he’d killed off years ago. He wanted to say a million cruel things—to throw it all back at you, to make you feel the same sick heat that had been rotting in his chest since that night. 

But you didn’t seem to remember.

So he let it go and told himself it was better this way. That it would be easier for you to hate him if you never remembered, and easier for him to hate you even more if you did.

But anyway, you shoved your earbuds in and continued to stare hard out the window as the engines started rumbling. You felt him glance your way once—maybe twice—but you don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing you noticed. You shift against the window, fold your arms, and will yourself to sleep.

When you finally drift off, your head tips slightly toward him.

He doesn’t move.

Not for a long time.

FRIDAY NOON

The hard part, for most of it, was over.

Well. Not really. But at least you’d somehow already gotten through the ribbon cutting—the cameras, the press, and all the polite laughter and smiling that made your cheeks ache. 

The two of you had barely spoken after the plane ride, and the car ride from the airport to the hotel had been so painfully silent you’d felt bad that Ningning had to sit through it. You almost considered talking to him just so the poor girl wouldn’t have to suffer in there. 

Almost.

You walked beside Sunghoon while the hotel director—who was practically bowing every time Sunghoon opened his mouth—showed you around. He went on about where the guests would come in for the event later tonight, how the dinner would be set up, where the photographers would stand, and a bunch of other things you didn’t really wanna know. Honestly, you’d stopped pretending to pay attention halfway through. 

The stale politeness of everyone trying too hard to impress Sunghoon, seeing as he is here in his father’s stead, makes you want to crack your head against the nearest wall just to feel something real. That’s the whole reason you were sent here in the first place. Mr. fucking Park couldn’t oversee the grand opening of his own godforsaken hotel because of some last-minute business elsewhere, and that left Sunghoon and, of course, you.

The tour he was giving you had gone down toward the main lounge to a wide open space just off the lobby where a handful of investors and partners had already gathered for drinks and light refreshments. So that’s where you are right now.

You’d already had to talk to so many men that you’d lost count, and every single one of them somehow managed to make you feel worse than the last. All you wanted was to sit down somewhere quiet and take these goddamn heels off somewhere—anywhere but here—anywhere that didn’t make you feel like a fucking display piece beside him.

You were already at your limit, and the day hasn’t even properly started.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, was doing just fine. Too fine. To the point where it actually pissed you off (like every other thing he did.) Seeing him all polished and well-spoken like this, you’d almost forget the filth and cruelty that could come out of his mouth when it was just the two of you. 

For just a second there, your mind almost drifted somewhere else… back to a time where you hadn’t even thought he was capable of ever being cruel entirely, but you shook your head and stopped yourself before it went too far.

Anyway, point being, you were about one more bit of small talk over a champagne flute away from losing your fucking mind.

“Your father must be proud,” says one of the international partners—who looks like he’s in his mid-fifties—loud enough to pull you out of your thoughts. His wedding ring looks like it hasn’t been worn with love in years, and you already hate him. But he’s important, which means you have to be nice, even if the sight of his hungry eyes lingering on you longer than necessary makes you want to hurl your guts out. “You’re so young and already carry yourself with such poise and intellect, and I’m sure you’ll make a fine successor soon enough. Especially with a beautiful wife like that by your side.”

Beautiful. That’s all you get.  

Meanwhile, you’d think Sunghoon built the whole goddamn hotel with his bare hands with how they’ve been praising him ever since you set foot into this building. It’s actually getting ridiculous.

You can feel yourself being made smaller and smaller with every passing minute—and the main part of you worth acknowledging in this room is the fact that you’re here with him. 

And fucking hell, the way these men look at you is so fucking invasive to the point where you want to crawl out of your own skin just to escape it—or better yet, shove your half-empty champagne glass into the eye of the next man old enough to be your father who looks at you like you’re some kind of toy or something.

You come from a family that built entire industries, and your father alone could buy out half the men in this room and still sleep just fine at night. They all know it, too. They just choose to forget the second they look at you. And it’s fucking driving you insane… because you’ve spent your whole life trying to be taken seriously, learning and doing things most people your age wouldn’t even know how to ask about, let alone think of—to prove that you actually belong in the world you’ve been born into. But it doesn’t actually matter, does it? Not when all they see is a neckline and a pretty face standing next to a better suit and tie.

“And Mrs. Park,” the man turns to you with a creepy grin that makes your stomach actually twist in disgust, “You are quite the vision, such a fine accessory for such a fine gentleman.”

Well.

If you’ve learned anything this past week, it’s that it can, in fact, always get worse. 

The fact that he called you an accessory is surprisingly not even the worst part about the filth that just left his mouth—it’s the Mrs. Park attached to it ever so casually—and it’s about… exactly the fifth time that has happened ever since you landed in Japan… You two weren’t even fucking married whatsoever. No, seriously, what the fuck is everyone’s problem? You truly only exist in relation to him in this fucking building. Do they know who you are?

You consider going off script and actually responding to him—maybe to ask if he plans on actually addressing you directly or just through your proximity to the stupid, putrid asshole beside you, maybe to even tell him to go to fucking hell and stop eyeing you in a way that is making your skin prickle with anger and humiliation—but you don’t get the chance.

Because suddenly, he’s speaking.

“Ah, Mr. Nakamura—She’s not Mrs. Park,” Sunghoon says, all too easily and politely, as he lifts his champagne to his lips and takes a slow sip, then, after a moment, he adds, “Not yet, anyway.”

Your mouth might’ve dropped open a little bit, but you catch it. Sort of. You try to recover and force a small, polite smile that feels like it doesn’t belong on your face. 

He goes on, “My apologies, I seem to have forgotten to properly introduce her. This is Y/N Y/L/N. Daughter of Chairman Y/L/N of Han Empire—surely you’re familiar?”

That gets him. The man blinks and his smile falters nervously, and you can almost taste the awkwardness in the air.  

Sunghoon’s mouth curls into a practiced smile as the man in front of him eyes him with surprise, and a clear apologetic look. “She actually laid the foundation of the entire PR direction for this launch herself and balances a full course load at university on top of that,” he adds and sets his champagne down. “If you knew half the things she’s capable of, you’d know I’m the accessory here.”

Huh?

For a second, it almost hit something soft in you—something that makes you think of your father, the way he’d always step in for your mother when men like this used to do the same thing. The quiet, dignified way he’d shield her without making her feel small.

But you know better than to mistake what Sunghoon just did for that.

It’s not about you. It will never be about you. And you don’t want it to be.

It’s only ever about optics for him. He’s made sure to remind you of that time and time again.

And you really, really hate that you needed someone else to speak for you at all—especially him—when you’ve never once felt small in rooms like this before.

The man nods and laughs a little too loudly, and then he does the whole “Oh, of course! Your father is such a blah blah blah; your family is blah blah routine," as he finally reaches out to shake your hand properly. But you barely register it. All you can see is Sunghoon and his infuriating smug face, and the way he lifts his champagne toward you with that faint smirk tugging at his mouth. Then the man in front of you excuses himself a moment later, muttering something you couldn’t quite understand before slipping back into the crowd. 

And just like that, it’s only you and Sunghoon again for the first time since the airplane.

You look at him again, and he’s still looking at you with the same smirk plastered on his stupid face. You consider slapping it off for a second—just to do something with all this pent-up anger bubbling in your chest. But instead, you take a smooth step closer, your arm brushing his as you lean in—close enough that anyone walking past would think you were whispering something sweet to your boyfriend.

“Are you fucking enjoying this?” you say through your teeth. 

Sunghoon’s smile doesn’t even falter. “Who said I’m enjoying this, sweetheart?” he murmurs back, voice low enough that only you can hear.

“Stop that—it’s written all over your face,” you say flatly, still smiling as you watch people pass you by. “You look like you’re having the fucking time of your life.”

He doesn’t respond right away and only studies you with that unreadable look of his before saying, “Tsk. You think I like standing here listening to them talk like that? To speak to them about you?”

Fucking prick.

“Then don’t fucking speak. I don’t need you to speak for me,” you murmur after a moment, still keeping your face pleasant. “And you can keep your stupid compliments to yourself. I’m capable of introducing myself just fine.”

You barely register the movement until you feel the light pressure of his hand sliding around your waist again—his touch is warm. Too warm. It settles at your hip like it belongs there, pulling you in just enough that from across the room, you probably look like you’re in love.

You feel sick.

“You sure?” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that his breath brushes your ear. “Because the last five times they called you Mrs. Park, you just stood there and smiled like a good little wife.”

Your fingers tighten around your champagne glass as you turn to face him, and you’re so close it’s almost ridiculous—to the point where you can see the media training assistants in your head with their eyes going wide—close enough to feel his breath when he speaks. You consider shoving him off, but there are entirely too many people around for that.

“Okay,” you say, too sweetly, and give him a very ridiculous mocking smile. “Next time they say it, I’ll just shove this fucking champagne glass up their asses, then. No—seriously, what the fuck did you want me to do? Ridicule your name in front of your father’s precious investors? Hey! Maybe I should even tell them that we’re not even a—”you mouth the word couple.“—Like a real good little wife.” 

He smiles at a couple walking past and lifts his hand to gently adjust a strand of hair falling over your shoulder. 

You stay frozen.

Then he dips his head even lower until his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Maybe just try growing a spine instead,” he murmurs. “You talk big when it’s me, but the second someone else speaks over you, you just stand there and take it.”

This fucking asshole. You were actually at your limit.

“You’re one to talk about spines, Sunghoon,” you snap, though still composed. “You don’t even have a fucking backbone—”

You stop yourself immediately.

Because what you’d almost absentmindedly said was you ran away from me for three years. You avoided me like I was nothing. Like I hadn’t meant anything. Like we never—you clench your jaw, swallowing it all down so hard it makes your throat burn. You hate your brain; you truly, truly, do.

He brushes his fingers just slightly over your waist and leans in again with that same smug fucking smirk. “Don’t get shy,” he murmurs. “What is it you wanted to say about me and my backbone? Hmm?”

“Fuck off,” you whisper, your voice still sugarcoated in a smile, as if you’re teasing. Like you’re flirting. Like you’re normal. “And get your fucking hands off me.”

But he doesn’t move. He just looks right at you.

It feels like the entire room has shrunk down to just the space between you.

“You’re annoying, you know that?” he mutters under his breath after a beat and catches you off guard. “You turn everything into a fucking moral standpoint and take it personally. It’s fucking exhausting.”

You clench your jaw. “You’re such a fucking—”

“Careful,” he interrupts and squeezes your waist enough to make you hiss for a moment—he’s smiling wider now and whispering right into your ear. “We’re in public.”

You step aside a bit, and then your hand moves down to where his hand is on your waist, and you try to brush it off subtly, but he tightens his grip and keeps it there. 

You just stare at him.

“The whole point of us being here is to sell the image that we’re a strong couple,” he goes on smoothly. “That just now? I didn’t do it to defend you. I couldn't care less what they call you.”

“Right,” you scoff. “God forbid I ever forget what a gentleman you are.”

But he doesn’t stop. He goes on. 

“I wouldn’t even waste a breath if the circumstances were different,” he says, and pauses—just for a second—when a waiter steps in between you to quietly take his empty champagne glass. He’s smiling like his jaw aches from holding something worse back when he whispers to you, “But unfortunately, as long as they think we’re a couple—” he tilts his head just a fraction, “you’re my responsibility. So shut up and take it.”

Like fucking hell he could talk to you like that. 

You shake your head and laugh lowly. “Get right with God today, because I’m going to kill you—”

“Tsk,” he interrupts, smiling wider now, whispering right into your ear. “Again, people are watching. Be a good girl, Hmm?”

You’re about to open your mouth and tell him not to ever call you that again if he wants to live to see another day—

“Sunghoon?”

A soft voice comes from in front of the two of you, and for a second before your mind even registers it, a decayed pit reopens in your stomach. 

And then you look up, and it’s her.

“Sooha,” Sunghoon greets her, and you feel the way his hand loosens around your waist. The sound of her name still makes something in you go tight, just like it used to when you were seventeen. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Neither did I,” Sooha smiles at Sunghoon as she walks towards the two of you and ignores you entirely. “I heard Mr. Park couldn’t make it, so I thought—well, it had to be you filling in. It’s been so long… well, a few months. But still!”

Right. This is the part where you go back in your head. Well… You’ve been in here the whole day. Anyways, did she just say I thought it’d be you filling in? Pfft. Liar. Your joint appearance was all over the news.

Wait. A few months? 

Your teeth catch the inside of your cheek. You don’t know why that small addition makes something inside you burn. Maybe it’s the tone… how she said it like she wants you to know something you don’t. Or that she knows something she shouldn’t.

Sunghoon smiles softly, and your nails absentmindedly dig into your palms again. “Yeah. It really has been a while.”

You don’t miss the way she’s still pretending you don’t exist. You can see it written all over her—the pointed glances, the deliberate tone, and the small tilt of her head when she speaks only to him. The fuck? Are we seventeen again? As if you have time for this fucking bullshit right now. 

Doesn’t matter if she ignored you or not, because you and Sooha have always been on opposite ends of the room, even when you weren’t—God, you really thought you were over this. All this ancient, dried-up, pathetic bullshit that makes your stomach turn inside out, all because of some night when you were seventeen and stupid and too young to know that there are some memories that stick in your ribs forever.

Not that you care. You don’t care. It was forever ago. It was before anything—before everything, actually. Just a party, a door left half-open, someone moaning, and then you, standing dumb and frozen, watching Sooha’s leg slide over Sunghoon’s hip while he kissed her neck like he meant it. You remember thinking you should leave, or maybe just set yourself on fire in front of them to burn their eyes the same way. Instead, you frantically apologized and stormed out like an idiot, and Sunghoon chased you down the hall—tripping over his own shoes, saying your name like he owed you something when he didn’t really, like he even had anything to explain in the first place.

You had your first proper ugly fight that night. The first of way too many. He was red-faced and breathless, and you were crying so hard you couldn’t breathe, and you swore you’d never think about it again. And you hadn’t until now.

(You are, obviously, an adult. It does not matter. You are not mad. You do not care.)

And the worst part? Even before that night, even before any of it, Sooha always had a way of making you feel… small. This wasn’t even really about him. She never had to say much (though, God help you, she did)—just the way she’d look at you, the tilt of her chin, the mocking laughter at anything you said like you’d said something weird, and all the sly little digs you’d pretend not to hear because you like to think you’re above passive-aggressive childish shit. All in all, She’d been making you feel out of place since the day you met her, always so amused at your expense. 

Then—Sunghoon’s hand tightens again at your waist, just slightly, but it’s enough to pull you a little closer to him and out of your thoughts, and you immediately see Sooha’s gaze drop to where his hand rests against you and then back up to your face. You also don’t miss the way her smile twitches for a moment.

She lets out a breathy laugh. “Ah, Sunghoon-ah… you were always one for public displays of affection.” Sooha shakes her head a little as if she’s recalling a memory fondly. “Oh, sorry—where are my manners?” (Have you ever had any? You think.) “I guess congratulations are finally in order for you two.” Then she actually turns to you with amusement and a wide smile, like you’ve only just materialized beside him. “Y/N, it’s so nice to see you again. I almost didn’t recognize you without your glasses—you look so different.”

Here we go… 

You didn’t even wear your glasses that often for her to be saying that. Like you actually can’t remember the last time you’d worn them publicly yourself. 

You bite down on a scoff. “You too, Sooha. You look exactly the same,” you say, smiling ever so politely. “Lovely as always.” 

Her eyes dart between the two of you, and you can tell she has a million things she wants to say. She settles for, “You two seem… happy,” and you can practically hear the mocking punctuation on it.

Sunghoon holds you just a little tighter, and he looks at you for a brief moment. “We are,” he says, and caresses the side of your waist gently. Then he turns back to Sooha and clears his throat. “How’s your father doing?”

Sooha turns back to him, and her expression immediately softens in a way only you could ever tell. “Oh, he’s good. Busy, as always. I’m mostly here on his behalf—he still insists on doing everything himself, but he’s finally realizing he’s not thirty anymore.” She laughs softly, brushing her hair back. “He was just telling me about the last time you came to Tokyo with him. That must’ve been, what… two years ago now?”

“Three,” Sunghoon corrects, and he’s still smiling, and you hate the way that smile of his hits you like a punch. It’s easy. Soft. Effortless. Familiar. Too familiar and not familiar all at once.

Sooha laughs again. “God, I remember that trip too,” she touches his arm lightly as she says it, her fingers just barely grazing the fabric of his sleeve, like she has every right to. “You and my brother got into that ridiculous argument over dinner—what was it even about again?”

Sunghoon didn’t pull away from her touch.

“I just remember getting very drunk, to be honest,” he says, a small grin tugging at his mouth as he shakes his head. “Your brother wouldn’t let it go for days.”

“And he still refuses to tell me what you’d rambled about that night!” she laughs again, and you almost scrunch your face to mock her. 

What the hell do you look like just standing here? It just pisses you off even more—obviously because you’re exhausted—and you keep your chin up and let them talk or catch up or whatever… this was. 

You’re just tired. That’s all.

Sooha glances at his hand on your waist again before looking back up at him. “No, but seriously, Sunghoon, I’m so happy for the two of you,” she smirks, and you can tell she’s about to say something diabolically passive-aggressive by the look on her face. “Didn’t actually think you had it in you to settle down.”

There it is. 

You can’t help it—your fingers curl around his sleeve and you tug him even closer. You don’t even give a fuck, really. It’s the principle of it—the way she thinks she can talk like that, like she’s the one standing on higher ground. Especially after the day you’ve had.

You smile sweetly at her. “He’s full of surprises,” you say.

You’re fucking tired, you think again. That’s what this was about. No fucking way are you taking this from her, too. Though honestly, maybe you should. Poor girl. Maybe you should let her have it. Let her hold onto whatever scraps she’s grasping for. Because that’s all this is, isn’t it? A sad little reach for something that doesn’t exist anymore. You all left that behind a long time ago.

“Not that surprising, honestly,” Sooha murmurs almost to herself, swirling the champagne in her glass.

Just about why was she still here, exactly? 

It’s hard to tell if she meant that as a compliment or a dig, but at this point you don’t care enough to figure it out. Your head is pounding, your toe’s throbbing in your heel, and you’ve been so good all fucking day. 

You’re allowed one slip.

“Ah—we have a busy night ahead,” you coo softly, turning to Sunghoon. “We should get going. Haven’t even had the chance to freshen up upstairs yet, right, Hoonie?”

The nickname drips from your tongue like venom dressed as sugar, and it takes everything in you not to burst out in laughter at the way Sooha’s expression twists—and just how silly you actually felt—and you feel Sunghoon tense beside you.

You turn to look at him and he’s already looking at you like he’s trying to figure something out.

He licks his lips. “Right,” he says and smiles mockingly at you—which, to Sooha might seem genuine, but you know it too well to mistake it for anything sweet—then his eyes flick over to Sooha and he tips his head towards you, “She gets cranky if I keep her waiting too long,” then he looks back at you. “Wouldn’t want that, would we, sweetheart?”

Piece of shit. (To be fair—again—you started it.)

You turn back to see Sooha’s smile gone entirely as her eyes flicker between the two of you. A win is a win.

“Of course,” she says, stepping back. “Don’t let me keep you. It was… nice seeing you both.”

You hum, lips curving into a tight smile. “Oh, it was so nice seeing you.”

Sunghoon nods once, gaze flicking between the two of you. “I’m sure I’ll see him later—but send your father my regards,” he says. “It was good seeing you.”

Sooha reaches out again, resting her hand on his arm—slower this time. “You too. Really.” Then her eyes cut back to you and her smile is syrupy-sweet and all too fake. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Y/N.”

This time, Sunghoon shifts away from her touch.

You mirror her smile and take a sip from your champagne. “Oh, we will.”

The second Sooha turns her back and disappears into the crowd, you move without thinking. You grab Sunghoon’s hand where it’s still resting at your waist—and this time, you don’t care who’s watching—and shove it off.

He barely flinches, but when you look up at him, his expression is… unpleasant. His nostrils flare once, and you can tell he’s pissed. 

Good. That makes two of you.

Though pissed doesn’t even begin to cover how you’re feeling right now.

“Don’t ever,” you start, voice just low enough for only him to hear, “fucking touch me again.”

You don’t wait for a response. You just turn on your heel and start walking. You can hear him follow almost immediately, his shoes clicking against the marble floor just behind yours.

“Y/N,” he says roughly.

You don’t turn around. You don’t even slow down. You just keep walking.

“Y/N.”

This time it comes out even sharper, and you’re just about to turn and tell him to fuck off when a voice distracts you again—though this time it’s the hotel director, and he’s coming toward you.

“Ah! There you two are! Mr. Park, Miss Y/L/N—everything’s been arranged upstairs,” the hotel director says as he steps forward, bowing politely with a nervous smile. Ningning is right beside him, tablet in hand, eyes darting between you and Sunghoon. “The staff will begin closing preparations here soon, so you’re welcome to head up and rest before the event. We’ll notify you once the final checks are complete and preparations start—we will be on standby should you need any assistance in the meantime.”

Ningning smiles and adds quickly. “The event starts in five hours, so you’ll have some time to rest before then and before the photographers arrive.”

You force a small smile that doesn’t touch your eyes. “Perfect,” you say. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” The director bows slightly, then gestures toward the elevators. “Please—this way.”

HOTEL ROOM

The suite is bright and cold and perfect.

Of course it was. Everything under the Park name always was. 

Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the city, the skyline glinting beneath the faint layer of rain that had started to fall. There was a long couch by the window, beige and perfectly arranged. A tray on the desk held a bottle of champagne in ice, with two glasses neatly and beautifully placed next to it like it was waiting for someone to celebrate something worth celebrating, and a folded card with Park Group’s crest embossed in gold.

And then there was the bed.

It looks like a goddamn honeymoon spread. Ridiculous rose petals are carefully scattered — though still elegant and simple — across the blanket, and there are two perfectly folded robes waiting on the armchair.

You can almost hear the universe laughing at you.

You stood still for a second. “There’s one fucking bed,” you huff to no one in particular.

Sunghoon barely glances at you. “Yeah?” He sounds bored. “So?”

What the hell does he mean by that? So? So?

You glance at the couch by the window. It’s long, sure, but not long enough for a man his size. A part of you almost wants to tell him to enjoy breaking his neck trying to fit on it.

You scoff. “So, you’re sleeping on the couch.”

He follows your gaze. He seems to have come to the same conclusion as you, because he lets out a short, humorless laugh. “No, I’m not.”

“You are,” you snap.

“I’m not.”

You ignore him and walk over to the bed, staring at the stupid petals lined up on it. “Actually, no, forget it. I’m getting another room.” You turn toward the door again, because there’s no way in hell you’re sleeping on that bed in the same fucking room as him. “You can enjoy your lover’s suite or whatever the hell this is—”

“And how the fuck do you think that’s gonna look?” he cuts you off. 

You turn around with your brows furrowed. “Like I want another fucking room!”

He leans against the desk and rolls his sleeves up. “You really think you can walk up to the front desk and ask for another room when half the staff already thinks we’re married, Mrs. Park?” He tilts his head, voice low, and you flinch at the way he called you that. “You want that story getting around before they’ve even finished setting up the ballroom downstairs for tonight? Huh?”

“I don’t care how it looks,” you sneer. “And don’t call me that.”

He huffs a small laugh. “Yeah. You say that now.”

See, the thing is, you wanted to argue. You really did. But you couldn’t. Because you knew he was right. And you obviously weren’t going to get another room… you just— you just… you don’t know anything anymore.

You swallow back the first response that comes to mind. But then you remember you don’t have to pretend anymore. 

“You’re such a dick,” you mutter.

He hums. “You’ve said that before.”

“Yeah, well,” you shoot back, "I'll say it again. And again. And again. You’re a dick.” you glance at the bed again and then point to the left side of it. “You’re a fucking dick, and you’re staying on your side of the fucking room.”

He lifts a brow. “Wasn’t planning otherwise.”

“Good,” you bite.

“Great,” he huffs back.

Then he shrugs off his jacket, and the mattress dips under his weight as he sits down on the bed—the petals shifting slightly where he leans back on his hands.

You stand there for another few seconds, watching him, and then you raise a brow.

The hell is he playing at?

“Get the fuck out,” you hiss.

Sunghoon groans and drags a hand down his face. “Jesus fucking Christ, will you just shut up for one second?”

“I’m serious,” you say, “Get the fuck out of this room.”

He looks up at you slowly, like you’re being ridiculous. “I’m not getting out.”

Your nostrils flare. “I’m not joking, Sunghoon.”

He clicks his tongue. “Think I’m joking?”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath, pacing a few steps away just so you don’t throw something at him. You stop by the window, breathing hard, trying to remember the last time you didn’t feel like you were about to explode. Then you turn back to him. “I want to shower.”

He finally looks up properly, an eyebrow raised. “So?”

“So?” you mock him. “So! stop saying so, you bitch! so get the fuck out, that’s what! You’ve lost your damn mind if you think I’m showering with you in here.”

He grins faintly. It’s nothing short of twisted. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

You let out a sharp laugh that doesn’t sound like one at all. “Oh, go fuck yourself. Do you think this is funny?”

He finally looks at you properly then—really looks. His head tilts, eyes narrowing a fraction, voice calm in that infuriating way of his. “I think you’re losing your shit over a hotel room.”

Oh, okay.

You feel something in you start to snap — that thin thread you’d been holding onto all day, through the flight, through the car ride over here, through Sooha and her smug little smile, the exhaustion, the demeaning conversations, the pretending, and the way he gets under your skin so easily. The whole fucking day. The whole fucking year. 

It all spills out at once. 

“Over a hotel room?” you repeat, disbelief twisting your mouth into something that’s not quite a smile. “You—” you take a step closer, jabbing a finger toward him, “—don’t get to tell me what I’m losing my shit over, do you fucking understand? you have no idea how I’m fucking feeling—you’re just—” You stop, breath catching halfway through, hands trembling at your sides. “You’re just—”

He rises slowly from the bed, and that stupid, unreadable expression drops from his face. He’s looking at you now, properly looking, and it’s infuriating—because he’s looking over your shoulder like he’s bored.

“Go on,” he says quietly, and the calm in his voice is the kind that makes your teeth grind. “Finish it.”

“Forget it.”

He takes a step closer. “No. Say it.”

Your pulse thuds in your throat. “I said forget it.”

Another step. He is close enough that you can see the faint line where he pins his tongue to the roof of his mouth when he thinks. “You don’t get to start and not finish,” he says.

His face is so blank, so infuriatingly composed. That smug, patronizing calm of his. That same look he wears when he thinks he’s right. You feel heat rush up your neck. You want to scream. You want to slap it off his fucking face.

“You think I’m losing my shit over a hotel room?” you say, voice rising. “You think this is about a fucking bed?” you shove him very hard then, and the contact jolts through your arm. “You want me to fucking finish it?” you spit. “Fine. I’ll fucking finish it.”

You don’t even give him time to react.

“I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be in this room with you. I don’t want to be doing this fake—whatever the fuck this is. I don’t want any of it. I don’t want to keep pretending like everything’s fine when I feel like I’m losing my mind every time you so much as look at me!”

He shakes his head and clicks his tongue, and for a second he looks almost bored.

Then he gestures with the faintest lift of his chin at the bed, at the ridiculous petals, at the robes folded like an invitation. “You think I wanted to do this?” he snaps, and the vein in his neck ticks. “You think I signed up for this bullshit so I could spend a weekend in a honeymoon suite getting bitched at every ten seconds?”

“I don’t give a fuck what you want and don’t want,” you bite back, and your throat burns. You don’t even know if you’re making sense anymore, but the words keep coming, tumbling out before you can stop them, then you jab a finger at him, “And you shut the fuck up. I’m talking.”

He clenches his jaw. “Don’t fucking tell me to shut up.”

“I just did,” you scowl. “Shut. Up.”

“Y/N,” he warns.

You step forward, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Shut up.” Another jab. “Shut up.” One more, harder this time. “Shut. Up.”

“Stop it—”

“No, you stop it!” you snap, and it’s even louder.  “I’m so tired of pretending! And it’s only… This is our first fucking bullshit trip together! I don’t want to sit next to you and smile and act like everything’s fine when it’s not. I don’t want to do it anymore. Today was… Do you have any idea what it’s like to walk into a room and feel people sizing you up like you’re not even a person?”

You press your palms flat to your thighs because you cannot keep your hands still. “I don’t want to step inside a room where I feel so fucking uncomfortable I can’t even breathe. Where people look at me like I’m just a body to stand beside you. Like I’m not—” Your voice shakes, and you force the last word out. “Like I’m not me.”

For a second, all you can hear is the sound of your own heartbeat.

He closes his eyes for a fraction of a second, and when he opens them there is an expression you have only seen a few times before—an unimpressed amusement that looks exactly like someone watching a child have a tantrum. It makes something ugly crawl under your skin all the more.

“Done?”

You stare at him, shaking. You can’t tell if you want to laugh or scream. You let out a sound that’s somewhere in between, shaking your head because—really? That’s still all he has to say?

You shove him again without thinking. This time you put everything into it and he actually really stumbles back and his foot catches on the edge of the rug. He blinks—looks surprised—then annoyed, then the annoyance melts into something small and close to a smile that he poorly tries to hide.

“You’re such a fucking dick,” you spit, chest heaving. 

His voice drops to a whisper so low you almost miss it. “You’re so angry you don’t even know what you’re angry at anymore.”

You glare at him.

“You.”

A beat passes.

“You. Always you,” you huff.

“Then get it out of your system,” he says. 

You scoff. “What?”

“All of it,” he shrugs, tone maddeningly calm. “Say everything else. Go on. There’s more.” 

For a moment you wonder if he’s fucking serious, and anger floods you again, hotter and more precise—and your hands ball into fists so hard your knuckles whiten. Your nails dig into your palms and the sting grounds you for a moment. 

“You’re not worth the fucking breath anymore,” you snap, because if you keep going, you’re going to spiral, and you know it, and if you spiral, you’re going to do something very fucking stupid, and you can’t—

“Oh, really?” he cuts in quietly. “That why you played house so well downstairs? Acting like some clingy little girlfriend in front of—”

“Acting!” You cut in before he can finish. “Yes! Acting!” You shove him—hard, all over again—because you can’t stand his face for another second. He barely stumbles this time, and it pisses you off even more. “Because I have to act! You said it yourself—we have to keep up appearances. We have to sell the fucking story.”

You can hear yourself getting louder, but you can’t stop. “But the second it’s not some old man eyeing me like he wants to fuck me—” you jab a shaking finger into his chest, “—the second your dick gets wet, I’m wrong? That’s where you draw the line? Why the fuck are you angry?”

“Maybe I am angry,” he spits. “Maybe I’m fucking furious. Maybe I want to shake you until you get it through your thick skull that none of this matters. That none of them matter. That you—” He stops, veins ticking in his neck. “God, you make me so fucking mad.”

Before you can shove him again, he grabs your wrists—both hands locking around them tight. The sound that leaves you isn’t quite a gasp, not quite a curse, just something raw that dies halfway in your throat. You look down at his hands around your wrists, then up at him. 

And it’s stupid how close you are. 

And it’s even more stupid how the room instantly shrinks down to the two of you and the rain and the stupid spread of rose petals on a bed neither of you will sleep on, and a simmering heat pooling in your chest since God knows when.

You can feel his breath. You can feel your pulse in your throat and in your wrists and under your skin, pounding loud and fast. And for one dizzy second, you can’t tell if you want to hit him or just—

You want to. God, you want to—

You wrench your hands out of his grip and reach for his shirt. He startles, glancing down at your fingers fumbling at the first button, then back at you with his brows knit together.

His eyes drop to your hand, then back up to your face. “What the fuck are you doing? Stop—”

“Shut up,” you hiss, still pulling at the button. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Y/N—”

“Shut up.”

He grabs your wrist again, tighter this time, like he’s trying to get control of the situation before it slips entirely out of his hands, but you’re done playing this game by halves, and you don’t stop. You yank back, teeth clenched, and the button snaps clean off and hits the floor somewhere between you.

“You don’t want this,” he says.

You don’t think. You just try to move. 

You twist out of his hold completely. “Don’t fucking tell me what I want.”

And before he can say anything, before he can do that thing he always does where he looks at you with that goddamn expression like you’re a child losing control, your hands move again and you grab at the rest of the buttons and RIIIIIIIPPPP—the fabric splits under your hands, buttons flying across the carpet. His shirt hangs open, his chest rising hard under the mess of it, and your hands are still trembling where they hover between you.

You grab the shirt again, this time just to hold on to something, but he moves faster and grabs you back — both hands wrapping around your arms and holding you in place.

And then he pushes you.

Not gently, not playfully, not like he’s teasing—no. He drives you back with force, and your shoulders hit the wall behind you, a thud echoing through the room as you suck in a breath and gasp from the impact—and you just stare at him, and the way he’s looking at you now with his gaze so dark and unreadable feeds into something simmering low and hungry in your chest. 

His eyes drag down once, taking in his shirt and your furious expression, and then back up to your face. 

He clicks his tongue and his voice drops just enough to make your skin crawl. “Fucking brat.” 

His breath fans hot across your skin. “Go shower,” he mutters after a beat, and his grip loosens on you. “We’re done here.”

Done? Right.

You breathe out a bitter, humorless laugh, because you just can’t help it. Your whole body feels like it’s about to snap in half from the tension. “What?” you push, and his own words tumble out of your mouth before you can think better of it. “Afraid to blow off some fucking steam? Think it might mean something?”

He exhales hard and finally lets go of you, and his jaw is clenched, and it looks like he’s trying not to say something he’ll regret. You can hardly breathe anymore, but you laugh again — lower this time, and you shake your head.

“You’re so fucking soft and pathetic.” you huff, “Go then. Get the fuck out.”

That’s when it happens. 

His whole face stills. His expression doesn’t change right away, not completely — just a flicker of something in his eyes, something dark and dangerous, and then everything in him shifts. 

His gaze drops to your lips again, but this time slower. Then to your throat. And then his own bare chest where his ruined shirt still hangs open.

He looks back up at you and you don’t even give him a second to think about it (like everything else that has happened in the last few minutes); (you don’t even think of it yourself, really.) 

You just want somewhere to put all of this anger—you just need—

You grab a full fistful of his hair roughly and yank him closer, dragging his mouth down toward yours like you’re daring him to do something, anything, just react, just stop pretending he doesn’t want to tear this entire room down.

But he doesn’t kiss you.

He grabs your face and keeps you from moving another inch.

He cups your cheeks, fingers splayed wide, firm but careful—careful like he’s trying not to hurt you or something and it only makes you angrier, more desperate, because he always does this, always pulls back right when you need him to break.

He holds you there and keeps you still, staring at you, and your breathing is uneven while his chest is also rising fast—his hand tightening a little where it cradles your jaw. 

Your lips are so close they’re practically touching. 

You could lean in the smallest bit and close the distance. 

You could ruin everything.

So you do.

You lean in — you’re right there, so close you can feel his hot breath — but before you can actually close the distance, his grip on your jaw tightens even further, and he stops you with nothing more than that — his fingers pressing into your cheeks, his thumb under your chin, forcing you to look at him. You can feel the tremor in his hand as his gaze burns into you, and for a second neither of you move.

Then—

You don’t even know who moves first. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it was both of you at the same time… But suddenly—

You’re kissing.

It’s not sweet. It’s not soft. No, it’s anything but soft. It’s not the kind of kiss you ease into slowly. It crashes into you like a fucking truck, all teeth and breath and heat and hands. His mouth slants over yours like he’s trying to prove something, and you kiss him back like it’s the last goddamn thing you’ll ever do. Your hands go to his shoulders, his neck, his arm, and his chest—clawing, grabbing, grounding. His hands drop to your waist and he pulls you closer, his fingers twitching and splaying out across you like he doesn’t know what to hold onto first.

You gasp into him and he groans against your mouth—a filthy sound that vibrates through your whole body, and it only makes you want more. His teeth graze your bottom lip, and then you nip back at his—harder, and he just groans again and pushes you harder into the wall.

It’s too much.

And not even close to being enough.

You tug at his hair and drag his head back with your grip so he’s forced to look at you, and his eyes are heavy-lidded and hungry. His chest heaves once, twice, and for a split second, neither of you move as you look at each other through your heavy breathing… It’s all so… The way he looks… His mouth is parted, his breath is hot, and he’s staring at you like he’s about to do something stupid.

So he kisses you again, and somehow, it’s messier than the first.

It’s even rougher, more desperate, and you’re barely holding yourself upright with how fast it’s all happening, hands roughly clawing at his shoulders to stay grounded again, to keep him close, pull him in closer until you’re practically one, and then suddenly he’s also properly grabbing you. His hands slide down your waist — rough and very fast — until he grips the backs of your thighs, then your ass, and he hoists you up like you weigh absolutely nothing. Your back hits the wall again—harder this time, and you wrap your legs around him to lock him in place.

You’re not thinking.

You moan into his mouth before you can stop yourself, the sound sharp and high and embarrassingly fucking loud—and he responds with a groan so deep in his chest it rumbles through both of you.

“Fucking slut,” he groans against your mouth, “Couldn’t even hold this in, huh?” His hand shifts lower and grips tighter at your thigh—hard enough to make you hiss out of pain—and his lips brush messily along your jaw, right up to your ear. “We just got into the fucking room. This what all that was about? The screaming, the shoving, the bullshit? You’re needy?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you pant, and drag his hair again and pulling him in until his mouth is on yours again. “Stop talking.”

You bite down on his bottom lip hard enough to make him grunt, and you feel the sound vibrate through his chest and into your mouth—so rough and low and so fucking good you want to do it again and again and again. Then he pulls back just a few inches and his lip is still caught in between your teeth—and you drag it out slowly until he shoves you back and slips it free.

“No. You stop talking. You’re fucking done with your cute little attempts of telling me what to do,” he growls. “You listen to me now.”

You’re not proud of it, but you actually almost moan at the sound of his voice when he says it and how he says it. It’s like… you almost feel giddy? What the fuck is happening?

And fuck… he looks infuriatingly fucking good like this. Face flushed. Hair absolutely ruined from your hands. Muscular chest rising hard beneath the wreck of his open shirt. His lips are so, so red and wet.

You manage to slide (well, not exactly slide… really, you shoved it off very hard) his shirt off before he can stop you, your hands rough and clumsy, pulling it down his shoulders until the fabric slips off completely and lands somewhere on the floor. His skin is hot under your palms—chest muscular and bare—and you barely have a second to breathe before you’re reaching (or trying) for his belt even quicker, angry fingers.

But before you can properly even touch it, he drops you and you yelp.

His fingers wrap around your wrists and he shoves them up above your head, pressing them flat against the wall.

“You really think you get to do that?” he practically growls. His grip tightens when you try to wiggle free. “Think you can touch me whenever you want?”

You whine—terribly frustrated because your body is lit up and aching and you don’t know what to do with all of it. “Just take your fucking clothes off,” you snap, and it comes out almost like a plea, but you refuse to let it sound like one, so you quickly add, “Don’t be fucking boring. You know what I want.”

He laughs under his breath. “Ask nicely,” he whispers, slow and taunting. “And I’ll think about it. Think.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. You just want to get fucked.

“Don’t fucking start this bullshit with me again.” You try to yank your wrists down, but he’s stronger and you know it and that only makes you angrier and hornier. “I swear to god, Sunghoon, if you turn this into some stupid power trip—”

He cuts in with a low laugh. “Power trip?” His breath brushes your mouth just enough to make you chase his lips without meaning to. “You think you’ve had a single second of control since you walked in here? Since anything?”

You don’t say anything. Can’t, really. 

He leans even closer—lips hovering just shy of yours—eyes half-lidded. “Go on then,” he murmurs. “Keep talking. You like running that mouth? Use it properly. Let’s see if you can still talk when I’m done with you.”

It’s kind of embarrassing how close you are to whimpering, how your whole body is already leaning toward him like you’ve forgotten how to stand on your own. Every inch of you feels wired, hot, and restless—your pulse loud in your ears—and the thought of him finally touching you just makes it worse.

“You’re all talk,” you finally bite out and click your tongue. “You’re gonna bore me to death before you even manage to make me come or something.”

His jaw twitches. “Say that again.”

You roll your eyes, tilt your chin up, and let your head fall back against the wall just enough to look up at him through your lashes, so careless and cocky you can see the way it sets him off even before you open your mouth. “Oh my god,” you scoff. “See? All talk again. You actually are gonna bore me to death before you—”

It happens so fast you don’t even finish the sentence.

He releases your wrists and grabs your face with both hands in one fluid, rough movement — fingers digging into your jaw, forcing your head to tilt the way he wants it, and then he’s on you — mouth dragging down, and then lower — finding the curve of your neck with his lips parted and breath ragged. And then he bites your fucking neck hard enough to make your knees buckle, and everything inside you short-circuits like someone pulled a plug. 

“You asshole—” your moan punches right out of your throat before you can stop it and your body arches into him; then he bites you again and you rake your nails down across his back hard enough to make him hiss—shit—against your throat. “Fuck!”

His mouth is all over your neck now, sucking and biting and mouthing wet and sloppy trails with his tongue so slowly and messily. And you… you’re not thinking. You’re dizzy with how much you want to feel something—with how hot your skin feels where he just bit you (and how good it felt, and how you want him to keep doing it; but you’d never tell him that.) Most of all you’re dizzy with the ache that’s been clawing at your chest and your stomach and between your legs since the second you stepped into this room—or maybe even longer than you’d want to admit.

You grind up against him without thinking just to feel him. And he’s so fucking hard against your center—thick and once again, unmistakably large through both your clothes. You just want to feel it. Anything. Him. You move again, slower this time, dragging your hip against his cock in his pants just enough to make him groan low in his chest.

But then he stops and pushes you back, and he places his hand flat against your stomach and holds you right there against the wall.

He leans in—mouth brushing your collarbone—and his tongue flicks over the mark he just made. Then he licks slower, up the side of your throat, and murmurs against your skin.

“The more you try to rush this, the longer I’m going to make you wait.”

His tongue drags higher, tracing your jaw, and you actually have to fight the urge not to moan (when he hasn’t even touched you) — because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction — then his lips hover just beneath your ear. “You want it?” He nips at your ear. “Then fucking beg for it. Otherwise, I’m going to spend this whole trip making you wish you had.”

Is he out of his fucking mind? Cause you definitely are. Your thighs clench around nothing and it’s almost humiliating how fast you try to move again and chase the feeling, but he presses you firmer against the wall like he already knew you’d try.

“Tsk,” he groans. His hand is still gripping your jaw, the other sliding down your side to your hip, holding you still. “Keep doing that and you’re gonna regret it.”

“Maybe I don’t care.”

His thumb digs into your hip. “Yeah?” he huffs. “You don’t care?”

You shake your head and shrug. “No.”

You can feel the smile in his voice, feel it when he licks a slow stripe up your neck and hums against your skin. “Fine. You wanna grind like a needy little bitch? Go ahead. Just know every second you do, I’m keeping score.”

He adds, “So be a good girl and answer me, hmm? What do you want?”

Then—you huff a laugh and manage to shove him back a step, just enough to get a sliver of space. 

He doesn’t even get to blink before you’re yanking your top off over your head and letting it drop to the floor, standing there in your bra and skirt, flushed and breathless and entirely too horny to back down. “Is this an answer for you?”

His eyes drop to your chest—to the curve of your breasts spilling over the black lace bra you’re wearing—and you don’t miss the way his jaw clenches. Then you start sliding one strap off your shoulder slowly, just to see how far you can push him. (Apparently, not far, because he immediately steps in and grabs your wrist hard enough you feel it to your bones.)

You grin at him. “Either fuck me right now, or I’ll go lock myself in that shower and make you listen while I finger myself.” 

His nostrils flare. “You think I’d let you?”

You shrug and bring your other hand up to pull the other strap off just as slowly. “Guess you better stop me, then.”

That’s all it takes.

He grabs your ass and lifts you up so fast you gasp and wrap your legs around his waist—and you dig your nails right into his muscular bicep. He’s so fucking strong, every muscle in his arms straining as he holds you up and presses you into him, and for a second you can’t even think about anything except how stupidly massive his arm is—how you want to lick a line down it bite, suck, leave bruises just to see if it actually leaves a mark on him—but you wouldn’t tell him that, not ever.

You squeeze tighter with your thighs, your hands clutching his bicep just to feel the way it bulges beneath your fingers, and you actually feel insane. You roll your hips right against the head of his cock from where he’s holding you up, and then he laughs lowly under his breath and mutters. “That’s three,” then he slaps your ass so hard you jolt.

“Fucking bitch!” you yelp in pain, and then with one hand—while still holding you up—he finds your bra clasp, flicks it open with ease, and throws you onto the bed. You land hard—so hard your breath gets knocked out of you—and then he crawls up onto the mattress slowly, the way a predator stalks prey. 

He stops and kneels between your thighs, then he slides the bra down your arms slowly, and just watches your breasts spill out—heavy and so flushed—and you catch his gaze right as his lips part and he flicks his tongue out to wet them, hungry and desperate like he’s actually losing his mind or something. Good. You were too.

He just stares for a second, and you swear you see his cock twitch against his pants.

“Fuck,” he breathes, almost to himself — then he licks his lips again as he takes you in longer. “Could just fuck your tits alone.”

Your mouth waters at the thought, and a shiver may or may not have just rolled down your spine. You don’t want to admit that.

You keep your chin up and try to act like you’re not picturing having his cock between your tits right now. “And what do I get out of that exactly? You get to get off, but I don’t. What’s in it for me?”

You’re still catching your breath when he smirks and bends his head down. Then—before you can even process it—he opens his mouth and spits. It lands right between your tits, and you don’t have time to say a word before his tongue is there, licking it up and spreading it—wet and messy and oh so loud, tongue circling your nipples until you whine. “You get to be my whiny little fucktoy; that’s what you get,” he says around your nipple.

Then he lifts his head and grabs both of your tits in his hands, pushes them together and stares at them for a moment, before he leans down again and—

He bites the swell of your breast so fucking hard you don’t recognize the sound of your own voice when you scream.

“Ahh—SHIT!” you cry out despite how badly you don’t want to react, and you arch your back and shove your chest deeper into his mouth. The feeling of his teeth on your breasts while he circles your nipples with his fingers is so sharp and dizzying and so new you almost get mad all over again, because it’s him making you feel this good—and because you never want him to stop. 

But he stops.

He looks up at you, and his other hand comes up just to slap your tits, one after the other. “You like that? Huh?”

Well, obviously you did. But were you gonna make it easy for him? No.

So you don’t say anything—instead, you reach down to grip his wrist, or something—grinding your hips up into him like you’re about to lose your mind. 

He clicks his tongue and presses into you to still you, but you feel his cock against the fabric of his pants, and you moan. “That’s four,” he mutters.

Then he’s on your tits again — He takes one nipple in his mouth and sucks on it harshly and lets go with a wet pop — then he trails his mouth lower, and starts licking a filthy path down your stomach. His tongue drags over your belly button, lower and lower, never breaking eye contact. When he reaches the waistband of your skirt, he pauses, glances up with that stupid cocky smirk of his, and then hooks his fingers in the fabric and pulls it down excruciatingly slowly. 

When he finally gets it off, he tosses it aside, and now you’re left in nothing but your tiny black lace panties. 

For one blinking second — just one — you realize what you’re doing. And who you’re doing it with. But just as fast, you shove the thought down, and for the first time you actually succeed in doing so.

You get to feel good. That’s all. 

None of this means anything.

“Now,” His thumb brushes teasingly along the waistband of your panties, and his voice drops low and filthy. “Be a good girl and tell me what you want.”

You think of a hundred different snarky things to say, maybe even get up and spit in his face, but instead you just stare at him and bite your lip. 

He arches a brow, and his fingers drag lazy little circles over the damp lace of your panties. “Come on, say it. You’ve got such a big fucking mouth; use it for something useful.”

You weigh it in your mind for a second. It being your pride versus the ache to be fucked. Unfortunately for your dignity, the latter wins.

You almost choke on the words. “I want your dick, asshole,” you breathe out.

He grins. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You’re about to tell him to just shut up and take it out, but then he hooks his fingers under the edge of your panties — nails roughly grazing your skin when he does it — right where your thigh meets the lace, and he doesn’t break eye contact when he leans down, and then—fucking hell—he takes the panties in his teeth and pulls them down, slowly, making sure you see every filthy second of it.

You truly can’t help the way your mouth falls open, and you just stare as he drags them all the way off with his fangs and tosses them away onto the floor.

He sits back for half a second, and for once, he doesn’t say a word. He just looks and lets his gaze devour every slick inch of you—tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip again like he can already taste you. There’s something almost exciting to you in the way he stares—his fists balling in the sheets like he’s holding himself back from just wrecking you right there. 

Then his gaze flicks up to meet yours again, and his mouth twitches into the ghost of a smirk. “Shit.” He almost sounds awed, though his voice is rough and low. “Spread your legs for me. Let me see you.”

“Just take your fucking pants off,” you demand (it was kind of a whine, to be honest with yourself), even as you slowly spread your legs for him.

He raises a brow again. “Tsk. Just because you finally said what you want doesn’t mean I’ll give it to you,” he cocks his head. “I just wanted to hear you beg. You’re still not doing a good job.”

Before you can say anything, he leans forward and spits right onto your pussy—the wet heat landing right on your clit—and you can’t do anything but watch as he slowly slides a finger between your folds and spreads you open, just to feel how fucking wet you are. “Fuck, you’re soaked,” he mutters, staring between your legs as he drags his own spit up and spreads it lower and into your folds, “I haven’t even touched you properly and you’re already dripping. What, you like running your mouth that much? Huh?

At this point, you’ve stopped trying to hold your moans back. You jerk your hips up, but he presses his other hand down and keeps you still. 

“Didn’t I tell you?” his voice is so low it’s almost a snarl. “The more you grind, the more you try to rush me, the longer you’re gonna wait. You remember the count?”

You try to glare at him. You try. “Fuck off, Sunghoon, just touch me already—”

He slides two fingers over your clit, and then in one quick, ruthless thrust, he pushes one finger deep inside your pussy. Your back arches off the mattress and a strangled scream punches right out of you. “Sunghoon—FUCK.”

“That was five,” he growls, and you don’t even get a second longer to feel it before he pulls his finger right back out, leaving you empty and throbbing. “You just don’t fucking learn, do you?”

He smirks and licks your wetness off his fingers slowly, his tongue dragging along his knuckle in such a cruel way—like he wants you to watch. And you do—God, you do. Your eyes are locked on his mouth as he sucks his own fingers clean and finally lets go with a filthy little pop. Your body actually burns at the sight, so close to the edge that you almost bring your hand down to touch your own clit just to get some relief.

He hovers over you again, his palm sinking deep into the mattress by your head, his body caging yours in completely. You can feel the heat of him, the weight of him, and the way his bicep bulges right by your face, and your mouth waters all over again at the sight. “If you want it that bad, you'd better learn to be patient, sweetheart. Or maybe I’ll just keep counting and see how many times I can get you to fuck yourself on nothing.”

He actually talks too much, you think. You almost miss when men did not even care enough and immediately got to the point.

You scoff, though it’s weaker than you wanted it to be. “Shut up,” you jerk your hips up again and reach up with both hands, grabbing at his shoulders—nails raking down his bicep, trying to pull him in. But he just laughs, pulling back so your fingers catch uselessly in the air.

“Six.”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” you spit, voice shaking from how wound up you are.

“Keep going, brat. I can do this all night,” he tongues his cheek and grins.

All night? Oh, you need it now. 

You push yourself up, and this time, you actually get a good grip on him. You grab his jaw hard and yank his face down to yours, and you kiss him hard.

You bite at his lips just to hear that sharp groan that ripped out of his throat again before — and he tries to pin you down but you’re faster — you slide your hand into his hair and yank it back so you can lick a filthy, wet line down his jaw, your lips finding his throat and sucking hard enough to leave a mark. He groans again, this time even deeper, and you can feel the sound vibrate against your tongue. You moan right back because you’re too fucking needy and frustrated, and you grind yourself against the bulge in his pants one more time. 

You want to make him snap, want to make him lose it, and just fuck you already. 

There’s just no way he can drag this out any longer, right?

He snaps just for a second. 

His grip on your hips tightens, and he presses down, grinding his cock against you, rolling his hips into yours until you both gasp into each other’s mouths, and the friction of his cock pressing up against you feels so fucking good you whimper right into his mouth again. You can feel just how hard he is, and you want more, want all of him—just to feel good, you think—and you dig your nails into his back, dragging them down hard to the point where you think one of your nails may have snapped off.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grits through his teeth, hands digging into your waist as he rolls into you, his cock rubbing against your bare cunt from his pants. “So desperate you’re grinding on my cock like a bitch in heat. Can’t even behave for five fucking seconds. You want to come so bad, you’re going to embarrass yourself like this?”

Your face burns at his words, but you snap back at him because he’s the fucking one being ridiculous. “Maybe if you’d stop being a little bitch and fuck me, I wouldn’t have to embarrass myself. I’m naked and in front of you, and you’re not fucking me, who is the pathetic one?”

He laughs and presses you down even harder. “You want to act like a brat, you get treated like one. I told you, I’m counting. Every time you act up, you’re waiting even longer to get what you want.”

“God, you’re such a fucking tease—”

He pulls your face to his and kisses you messily and deeply, sucking on your tongue until you moan into his mouth. Then he shifts, spreading your thighs and sliding one of his own between them, so you’re straddling him now, his thigh pressed hard against your bare cunt. Then he growls, “Keep grinding, sweetheart. Rub yourself all over me—I’ll let you make a mess on my thigh if you want to be a needy little slut so bad. But that’s all you’ll be getting.”

You ignore him. “I’m saying this one last fucking time. Either fuck me or get the fuck off,” you sneer, barely above a breath. “We don’t have time to be doing all this shit.”

“Time?” he repeats, voice dripping with disbelief. “Time? You think I give a fuck about time?”

His hand slides up your thigh, fingers pressing into your skin, “I could keep you here all fucking night if I wanted. No one’s gonna bother us, cause I could tell them not to. You’re not going anywhere until I decide you can, so you better start behaving, or I’ll drag this out for the next three days if I have to.”

He grinds his thigh up, testing you, eyes dark and daring. “But go on. Tell me again how we don’t have time.”

The way he’s looking at you now, you know he could keep you here under him, pressed into this bed for hours…. And for all your bravado, for all your threats— Yeah. No, actually. What the hell. You like this back and forth. Plus, you’re not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break that easily. This is… Sunghoon, after all. 

You shake that thought away again.

So you lean in and run your hand up his chest slowly, fingers dragging across the muscle on his chest until you’re right at his ear. “You wanna know what I think?” you whisper, letting your voice curl into something wicked, just to rile him up, then you go on before he can speak. “I think you’re scared you can’t satisfy me. Maybe you’re stalling because you know you’re all talk.” You pout at him—slide your palm over his chest and pinch his nipple for good measure. “All that control, and for what? You're scared you’ll come before I do? 

The muscle in his jaw tenses so hard, and you almost flinch at the way his gaze darkens, but you keep going because you fucking love seeing him angry. “Y’know, if you ever even get me there.”

That does it.

Finally.

“Have it your fucking way then,” he bites out, and before you can even think of smirking, his hands are on your waist and he’s shoving you back down into the mattress so hard your breath stutters. 

He spreads your thighs wide, pushing your knees up until you’re completely open for him, and then he’s right there—kneeling between your legs.

He drags his hands up your thighs, all the way to your hips, thumbs pressing in so hard it almost hurts, and you whimper and arch up for more. 

“You want to be a brat? Fine. But you’re going to fucking take it. Don’t cry about it,” he growls, then he grabs your thighs, spreads you wider than you thought was possible, and settles lower right between them. His palms slide up, thumbs digging into the soft inside of your thighs until he’s got your legs high up on his shoulders, pressing you flat against the mattress, and when he squeezes the flesh there—so fucking hard you actually scream—he grins.

Then he bites the inside of your thigh—fuck, it’s turning you on so much—and you think that’ll surely be leaving a bruise. 

You want to snap—rile him up even more, some half-formed curse already spilling from your lips—but his head drops and you feel the first hot breath against your cunt. Then he licks up so close to your pussy you almost buck right off the bed.

“Hold still,” he growls, and you feel his fingers flex, pinning your thighs wider, spreading you even more, just so he can stare. “Look at this. All wet and needy, and all for me.”

“Fuck you—” your voice gets lost in a gasp as he suddenly, finally, sucks your clit into his mouth. He’s rough and messy—his grip on your thighs tightening as he alternates between sucking and flicking your clit with his tongue.

The sound that rips out of you is so fucking raw, so insanely filthy and loud, you clap a hand over your own mouth to muffle your moan.

But Sunghoon, of course, isn’t having any of that. 

He stops instantly and lifts his head. “Hands where I can see them,” he snarls, then he catches your wrist with one hand and pins it to the mattress. “Don’t hide those fucking noises from me. I want to hear you fall apart.”

Then he dips his head back down. 

He starts slower this time, licking a thick wet stripe up your slit, teasing at your clit just with the tip of his tongue, breathing hard against your skin. “I could do this all night, keep you right here, legs open, crying on my tongue until you learn how to fucking behave.”

Then he goes faster. Your legs tremble on his shoulders as he licks and sucks and flicks his tongue over your clit until you’re babbling his name over and over again—you’re too high on the feeling of how fucking good it feels to care anymore. 

“Fuck—Don’t stop, you bastard—SUNGHOON—” 

His tongue is swirling and flicking in filthy circles that make you see white behind your eyes, and you feel his nose rub against you every time he moves—and the wetness and the sound of his sucking are so absolutely pornographic they bring you even closer to the edge.

Then—without warning—he pushes two thick fingers inside you all at once, and you clench so tight around him it actually hurts—your body is practically trying to force him out. “Fuck. My fingers barely fucking fit,” he grits out, “Such a tight fucking slut.” 

The stretch is so overwhelming it burns, and you choke on a moan, then try to arch your back off the mattress to try and give yourself some way to adjust — or move away — but he pins you down with one heavy arm thrown over your stomach, holding you in place so you can’t do anything but take it. “Don’t run, brat. Thought you wanted me to touch you?”

God. You can’t be bothered to speak anymore. 

He curls his fingers inside and pumps slowly, then faster, filling you so good it makes your eyes roll back. It’s so fucking thick, Honestly—his two fingers alone are thicker than everything you’ve had in your entire life. You’re not sure if you’re angry about that—but you moan all the same. and his mouth never lets up on your clit, sucking and licking, tongue flicking until your whole body shakes.

You reach down frantically and grab a fistful of his hair very hardly to have something to hold onto—and he groans into your pussy again in response, and the vibration nearly rips you apart. 

You’re so gone, shaking so hard you can barely keep your eyes open. “Sunghoon, shit—” You babble his name because it’s the only thing you can manage despite how badly you don’t want to be saying it, and he licks even harder somehow when he hears the way you moan his name — sucking your clit between his lips and sending vibrations up through your whole body as he hums into it.

“That’s it. Louder. Who’s making you feel this good, huh? Tell me. Say my name.”

You whine, head thrown back, voice breaking, “Shut up—fuck, Sunghoon, it’s you, you fucking bitch—”

You’re clenching around his fingers and soaking his hand, and when he moans into you after you scream his name—it’s so filthy, so hungry—you know you’re about to break apart right there on his tongue.

You’re already too close, and some part of you, the petty stubborn part, thinks for half a second about not giving in, about not letting yourself come just to spite him—but he senses it, the way you try to squirm away from the edge, and he snaps his teeth lightly at your clit in warning. “You try to hold back, and I’ll keep you like this all night.”

You watch as he slips his fingers out and spits on your clit again—making everything slicker and dirtier, and suddenly his mouth is everywhere—tongue pressing flat against your dripping slit. He licks into you, tongue fucking you deep as he groans, the sound low and hungry like he’s the one fucking getting off on it.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, mouth shiny and swollen as he grins and licks his lips. A tiny part of you twists at how devastatingly beautiful he looks like this—hair messy, jaw sharp, face wrecked and flushed, and all of it just from being between your thighs. It almost makes you ache even more, and you’re not sure in which way—and then his thumb finds your clit, rubbing rough, furious circles over it, so aggressive you jolt under the touch.

Then he plunges his fingers back inside you, and your hips buck out at how deep they are and how badly they stretch you. You can barely even fucking take two of his fingers. 

“Asshole—fuck, slow down, I’m gonna—” You can barely even speak. 

He hums, low and taunting, not stopping for a second. “You’re gonna what? Come all over my mouth? Yeah, that’s the fucking point.”

You’re so close, so fucking close so fast, and he only just started; it’d be embarrassing if you weren’t so fucked out right now. You just grind up onto his face and scream, and he keeps pumping his fingers, faster, harder, mouth never letting up, tongue punishing your clit while his nose brushes right into it too, until you finally snap. 

You shut your eyes so hard it genuinely hurts—and you scream so loud you think that the whole world could hear you—let alone the entire fucking hotel. Your body spasms and your cunt clenches tightly around his fingers, soaking his hand and mouth completely.

But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even say anything.

He just keeps sucking, keeps fucking you with his fingers, lapping up everything you give him, and groaning into you obscenely.

You manage to shove at his head; you feel so fucking sensitive it hurts, even though it feels so good. “Are you crazy—stop, fuck, I can’t—”

He lifts his head just for a second, and the asshole fucking grins, lips and chin shiny with your slick, while his fingers rub aggressively over your overstimulated clit. You’re not sure how you’re looking at him right now.

“You can take it. You can take all of it. You wanted to come, No? You’re gonna come again and again until I say you’re done.” His mouth latches to your clit again, even rougher—while his fingers go so deep it makes your vision go black at the edges. 

The stretch, the heat, the filth pouring from his mouth, the way he keeps fucking his fingers into you, the way he just made you fucking come in under a minute—your head spins, and somewhere inside you, despite the fact that you can barely even think, you still manage to wonder, where the fuck did he learn to do this?

You can’t even get words out anymore—just broken, desperate moans and halfway curses as he pumps his fingers in and out. You feel your body seize, your legs shaking so bad your calf cramps up, but you can’t stop, can’t breathe, and you’re—fuck, fuck—you’re fucking coming again— 

“Look at me. Look at me when you come.”

You shake your head, eyes squeezed shut, half sobbing. “I can’t, fuck, I can’t—Sunghoon, I fucking hate you—”

“Yeah? Good,” he huffs and shoves his fingers even deeper, curling them up so you scream. “Say it again.”

You gasp for breath, the pleasure burning through you so hard you feel like you might break apart right there. “I hate you—” it rips out of your throat, high and ragged, your whole body trembling as his fingers curl deep and hit that perfect spot so hard your back arches right off the bed, making you see white. You can barely hold on; you’re clenching around him so tight your muscles ache.

“Again. Louder. Scream it for me.”

Your back arches off the bed, hands fisting aggressively in the sheets, and you scream it so loud you’re past the point of caring who hears, “I fucking hate you, Sunghoon—fuuuuuckkkk—I HATE YOU.” The words stutter out, twisted in a sob as you come again, cunt spasming around his fingers.

You barely know where you are, your vision still flickering at the edges, and every inch of your skin burning under his touch. Your thighs are trembling, slick and sticky and bitten and bruised, and his hand is still between your legs—thumb rubbing lazy circles over your clit. 

It makes you twitch, makes your hips jerk away, too much—you’re so fucking sensitive you feel like you’re about to die. And you love it.

Then—

Sunghoon leans in and grabs your jaw hard enough—and you have to force yourself to look at him—even while your gaze is all glassy and unfocused.

“Satisfied?” he purrs.

Asshole.

You try to smirk, try to sass him, but your voice is ruined, so raw and thin it’s barely there when you speak. “You wish. Could barely even feel it—”

He cuts you off by shoving his slick fingers into your mouth, filling it until you have to choke around them. “Tsk. You never were a good liar,” he hisses. “Open wider,” he commands, and you immediately obey because you can’t even think straight with him hovering over you like this—you slightly choke, but you suck on his fingers anyway and glare up at him while he watches, eyes dark as sin. You taste yourself and you moan around his fingers, and his mouth drops slightly open at the sight, and he pants and forces them deeper. “Good fucking girl.”

He finally lets go of your face and sits back on his heels.

Then he looks at you.

“Show me how you touch yourself,” he says. “Now.”

You blink, still dazed, a little defiant—because fuck him, you’re not some performing doll—and he notices the hesitation and grabs your wrist and presses your hand down right on your clit.

He raised a brow. “Don’t make me wait. You were so eager before, bragging about how you’d finger yourself and make me listen. Do it now. I want to see.”

You want to laugh in his face.

Instead, your fingers ghost over your clit, and everything is so sensitive it almost hurts. You try to pull away to spite him, but he grabs your hand and makes you rub slow, torturous circles.

“Go on. Just like that—If you stop, I’ll leave,” he mocks, dragging his words out just to taunt you. “I’ll go fuck my own fist in the shower, let you listen to me, and you’ll have to touch yourself and think about how you can’t take my cock anyway.”

“You’re fucking sick,” you manage—voice hoarse, but you don’t stop. You’re entirely past the point of feeling any sort of shame or whatever, so you grind down into your palm.

He shrugs. “You want me to fuck you? Then you do what I say. It’s not that hard.”

And then—finally—he reaches down, the leather of his belt hissing as he unbuckles it. He takes his pants off slowly, and you can’t help but stare. The outline of his cock is straining so hard against the fabric of his boxers that it looks painful, the head leaking through—your mouth waters at the sight.

He shoves his boxers down just enough to free himself, and when he pulls it out, you genuinely forget how to breathe for a moment. 

God—you’ve felt him before, you knew he was big, but actually seeing it… It’s ridiculous, really.

It’s angry red at the tip, flushed all the way up, with big veins throbbing up the shaft, the head slick with precum to the point where it’s actually dripping and swollen; and it hurts your clit to look at. Your pussy clenches just at the sight, and you rub faster circles into your clit unashamedly as you watch the way he adjusts himself in his hand.

And shit—his hand… his hands have always been big—cartoonishly big, stupidly strong, the kind of hands that make you feel small just by being near them. You’ve seen his hands look ridiculously large while wrapped around a steering wheel, a beer bottle, or even your wrists. But now, for the first time, his hand actually looks…normal while it’s wrapped around his cock. Almost small. That ridiculous length and girth… You almost can’t believe it.

For a second, you’re genuinely worried it won’t even fit. It’s so long, so fucking thick, you can barely wrap your head around it. You could barely take his fingers, how the fuck—then, you see the half smirk on his face as he’s eyeing you through his half-lidded eyes.

You’re not about to give him the satisfaction. 

“I’ve had bigger,” you sneer, though with the way you’re clenching around nothing and how desperately you’re touching your sensitive self… yeah. Obviously, you’re fucking lying.

He just laughs lowly and spreads his precum all over the head of his cock with his thumb. 

It angers you that he doesn’t even bother responding to that taunt. God. Your fingers keep moving, even as you glare at him, and you’re so fucking wet it’s… You don’t know if you’ve ever been this wet before.

“Stop just—touch yourself too, asshole.” you snap, voice hoarse as hell, “Or are you just gonna sit there and watch like a pervert?”

He smirks and shakes his head. “No. That’s not how this works.” He strokes himself, but slow and lazy—just enough to tease you, not to actually chase his own release.

You rub circles even faster, spreading yourself with your other hand. “I’m starting to believe—mmpphh—you’re actually scared you’ll finish before you even get inside.”

He huffs a laugh and clicks his tongue.

Then he finally lets his hand tighten around the base of his cock. “You want this?” he strokes himself slowly—more properly now—clearly showing off, and his precum is dripping onto his thigh and onto the sheets. His eyes are glued to your cunt, watching every shaky circle of your fingers. “If you stop for a second, I put it away. You keep going, maybe I’ll fuck you. If you’re good. Otherwise I’ll just make you come on my tongue again and again.”

Your mind is finally starting to clear, just enough to feel the anger and want bubble back up under your skin. You’re so sensitive your thighs are shaking, but the sight of his cock has your mouth watering… so without thinking—fingers still rubbing messy, desperate circles on your own clit—you push up off the bed on shaky elbows and practically throw yourself at him. 

You straddle his lap, his cock standing thick and slick right between your thighs—your lips catching his jaw—and you grind down on his thigh because you just can’t take another second without feeling him.

He grabs your hips and tries to shove you back. “I said, don’t fucking stop, brat.” But you only smirk and meet him eye to eye—then you drag your hand up into his hair, fist a handful, and make him look at you.

“I heard you,” you pant, lips almost brushing his. “You said if I stop touching myself, you’ll put your dick away or whatever.” You squeeze your thighs around him, feeling the heat of his cock and the way it throbs against your inner leg. Then you don’t look away from him as your other hand drifts further down between your legs, and you push a finger into your own pussy right there as he watches. His jaw clenches. “You never said I couldn’t move.”

Your lips part, and you moan low and shameless, hips rocking against your hand. “You gonna punish me for that, too?”

He pumps his cock faster, precum smeared everywhere. “Fuck, you’re asking for it,” he growls.

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping you upright at this point—you’re also so high on wanting him it’s like you’ve left your own body. You pull your wet finger out of your cunt and bring it up to his mouth.

“Spit,” you order—filthy and sweet and bossy all at once.

He scoffs, looking at you like he’s about to bite your hand off. “Think you can tell me what to do?”

You let out a little whine and rock against his thigh. “Mmhmm, just wanna fuck myself properly, isn’t that what you want, Sunghoon? M’being good.”

You’re so wet, you don’t even need his spit. But you need his spit. You also like it when he’s angry. So you add, “Or are you scared I’ll do it better?”

His gaze flickers for a second before he leans forward and spits—hot, wet, filthy—right into your palm. “Tsk. Show me how desperate you are for it. Go on.”

You hum, satisfied, and press your finger back into yourself, moaning as you rock onto it. You bite down on his shoulder and start fucking yourself on your own fingers—hard and loud, body arching, hips grinding shamelessly.

You watch the way he’s pumping himself, and you clench around your own finger at the sight. “Wish this was your cock, don’t you?” you breathe, then you let your head fall against his shoulder, lips brushing the curve of his neck as you moan, your own fingers moving faster. And then you drag your tongue up the side of his throat, licking a slow stripe from his collarbone all the way up to his jaw. You taste the saltiness of his sweat, hot and wet and so him it almost makes your head spin. He shudders under your mouth, his cock jerking in his hand.

To be honest, you did that out of pure self-fulfillment cause you were enjoying this a little too much, but—

Sunghoon’s control actually slips, because he grips your hips and shoves you back down flat onto the bed, manhandling you so roughly you gasp.

“Don’t fucking move,” he snarls, voice ragged. “Don’t you dare touch yourself again.”

“Or what? You gonna keep standing there and jerk yourself off like a pussy?” you huff, frustrated, trying to reach for him, but he just pins your wrists over your head with one big hand and sits up, his cock hanging heavy and wet. 

It looks like it’s going to fucking explode.

“Don’t move.” he warns.

He moves over to the desk, muscles rippling, sweat slick on his skin, and grabs his wallet. He pulls out a condom and then turns back to face you, and then he tears the wrapper open carefully with his teeth. You watch the way he rolls it down, the veins on his massive cock so prominent it’s actually insane. 

Your stomach twists. You’re on the pill—you’d never let him fuck you raw, not in a million years—but there’s this tiny, traitorous voice in your head, sick with want, whispering to fill yourself up with him, take every fucking drop he has — and you snap at yourself. Get a fucking grip. (though, at this point, what grip?)

Then he’s crawling back over you with his cock heavy in his hand and for a moment, he just looks at you. And you look at him.

And it hits you all at once. This is happening. 

The only boy who’s ever made you feel anything real at all, the one you’ve liked, hated, and wanted in every possible way. The first boy you ever loved. The only—

You don’t let yourself finish the thought before you’re moving.

You grab him, wrap your arms around his neck, and drag him down until your mouths meet in a brutal, teeth-clashing kiss. Your thighs fall open, and you can feel his cock pressing up against your soaked cunt, briefly grinding up into your folds, and you gasp right into his mouth.

He moans—actually moans into your mouth. “You want it so fucking bad, don’t you?” he snarls against your lips. “Filthy little brat.”

You bite back, teeth dragging down his bottom lip, pulling again until he hisses. “You’re the one moaning like a dog, Sunghoon. Maybe you should be begging me to let you fuck me.”

He leans in and drags his tongue up the side of your neck and stops at your ear, “Why would I beg for something that’s already mine?” he whispers.

Your breath stutters at the way he says it.

You dig your nails into his back—hard enough to make it sting—but he just grins against your skin and bites down on your shoulder. Then his hand is everywhere—palming your tit, squeezing, rolling your nipple between his fingers, then sliding down until he’s rubbing the head of his cock against your clit, smearing your wetness everywhere. “Look at you,” he grits out, eyes glued to how you’re spreading your legs for him. “So fucking greedy. I can barely get my fingers in you, and you want me to stretch your pussy out with this?” he leans in, tongue dragging up the side of your neck, biting your jaw, “Maybe I should just jerk off on your tits and leave you crying for it. Maybe you’d finally learn how to ask nicely.”

Was he still on about that? 

Before you can think of something to bite back with, he presses his cock harder against your slit—but he doesn’t push in. He just slides the head up and down, catching on your clit, making your back arch and your voice break into a filthy, desperate moan.

You buck up and try to force him in, but he’s relentless—he drags it out, dragging the tip up and down your slit again. “That’s seven, you needy whore.”

“Come on, are you scared?” you tease, voice breaking on a moan. “What, you worried you really, truly won’t last long and live up to the talk?”

He huffs a laugh—then he shoves the tip in just a little more, making your whole body arch off the bed. “Tsk. You think you can handle it?” he says, and you’re not entirely sure if you can—you’re actually almost certain you can’t, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of saying it. 

Instead, you bite his shoulder hard.

“Shut the fuck up and fuck me already, Sunghoon.”

He growls, and presses his forehead against yours as he properly pushes in—and fuck.

The first inch feels like it’s actually fucking tearing you apart, a thick, burning stretch that makes your mouth fall open in a silent gasp because your scream dies in your throat. You grip his shoulders harder, nails digging into his skin, trying to breathe, trying not to let him see how much it hurts, how much you’re actually struggling to take him.

You try to squeeze your eyes shut against the sting, but he grabs your jaw. “Look at me,” he breathes. “Keep your fucking eyes on me. I want to see you take it.”

So you open your eyes, even though they’re already welling. You moan the second you meet his gaze, breath tangled with his as he inches in deeper, filling you in ways you’ve never felt, stretching you so wide you swear you’re going to split.

“Fuck, you’re tight—shit—” Sunghoon hisses between his teeth, his grip so punishing on your waist you feel it sting. For just a second, his brows furrow when his eyes flick over your face as you wince, but you’re too focused on the feeling of being stretched out so roughly to say anything—his grip eases just a little, and his thumb rubs a rough circle over your hip. “Relax. Breathe. I know you can take it. You want to, don’t you?”

You gasp and cling to his shoulders. See, there’s sex, and then there’s this. The pain was entirely too fucking much. 

It’s too much and still not entirely even close to being enough to satisfy you. 

Your cunt flutters, trying to accommodate the thick head of his cock, and every inch he pushes in feels like your body’s actually being forced open and reshaped to fit him. “Wait—WAIT—fuck, just—S—Hoo—”

He cuts you off with a roll of his hips and goes a bit deeper. “You want to stop now? After all that talk?” He bites at your jaw again, lips hot against your skin. “No. You can take it. I know you can. Be a good fucking slut and take my cock.”

You’re barely holding on, and you can hardly breathe—but it pisses you off how much it hurts and how slowly you’re taking him and how he’s actually dragging it out.

He needs to get to the fucking point.

So you snap, “So fucking slow—What, you going soft now?”

He scoffs.

And before you can even take another breath, he slams all the way in, burying his cock to the hilt in one brutal thrust. 

The stretch is just painful, so much you can’t even think—your scream rips right out of your chest, nothing but pain and shock and your nails clawing desperately and maddeningly at his back. You’re so full it’s terrifying, so full it feels like he’s punched the air from your lungs.

He barely gives you a second to breathe. 

Sunghoon draws back just enough for you to feel him again, then slams right back in, rough and brutal, and sets a punishing pace. It’s like he’s trying to fuck you through the mattress, like he’s trying to fuck you until you can’t walk or think or do anything except scream for him. 

“What?” he whispers after a beat, the tip of his cock grinding deep and slow and filling you to the brim. “Pussy too full to talk back now?”

“You’re not even that big,” you lie through your teeth.

He laughs again, the sound shredded by a groan as he fucks harder into you. “God—fuck—you were clenching around me so fucking tight when I put the tip in. Like a virgin—” his voice breaks on a moan, hips rolling harder,  “—couldn’t stand not having my cock, could you? Had to start a fight just to get fucked, huh?”

You try to say something back — really, you do — but he thrusts again and it knocks the sound right out of your throat.

You’ve stopped trying to dignify anything in your mind at this point — you arch up and drag your nails down his back again violently —and he hisses — then your legs wrap tight around his waist, locking him in place as if you never want to stop him from fucking you like this. He says something against your mouth and his voice is a ruined rasp—something you can barely make out over the filthy, wet sound of skin slapping against each other and your own desperate cries.

“Fuck—FUCKKKK, Sunghoon, oh my GOD—” It’s half a sob, half a moan… you don’t even know.

“That’s it, say my name,” he growls into your ear, one hand pinning your thigh up so he can fuck you even deeper, “Shit—so tight—can barely fucking move.”

He’s too fucking big. You can feel everything—the head of his cock dragging over every spot inside you, the stretch at your entrance, the way your pussy tries to clamp down and push him out, but he just holds you there and keeps fucking you harder.

You’re shaking. The pain is blurring into pleasure until you’re not sure which is which. “Harder. Don’t fucking stop, I can take it—need you—, fuck, just—”

The bed creaks violently under you two. “Yeah? You want harder? Want me to fuck you so deep you feel me in your fucking throat?

You nod frantically. “Sunghoon—oh, fuck, fuck, don’t stop—please—” You’re so gone you don’t care about begging anymore, you just need him to keep fucking you, need him to make you come, need him to never, ever stop. “FUCK—”

Then he slows, and his hand presses down onto your lower stomach. The pressure is so much it makes you gasp, but he presses down harder, eyes fixed where his cock is splitting you open, “Feel that? I’m so deep you can feel me here—fuckk. You’ll never take anyone else after this. I’m gonna ruin you.” His free hand grabs your chin and forces your gaze down. “Look. Look at how fucking full you are.”

You blink and actually look—and fuck, it’s… it’s insane. You’ve never been this full in your life, not even close. 

“Shut. up—GOD—”  you lose your grip on the sheets and reach for his face and drag his mouth down to yours. Then you kiss him like you’re trying to swallow every moan out of his mouth, and he meets you with the same messy and filthy desperation, tongues tangling, teeth knocking, both of you moaning so loud it vibrates right into your bones. 

His hips slam out and then slam back in with one harsh thrust that knocks the wind out of you. 

“Fuck, you sound so good when you’re like this,” he groans into your mouth, “Too stupid to —fuckk—to run your mouth. Just—clenching around my cock like you’re trying to milk me.”

You just scream.

“Listen to you,” he snarls. “All that mouth earlier just to end up whimpering under me. You gonna cum again? Huh? Wanna soak my cock like a fuckin’ slut?”

Yeah. You’re so close you’re almost delirious, hands clutching at his hair now, your legs trembling as you grind up to meet every thrust. “I’m—fuck you, Yes! Yes—I’m gonna come—don’t you fucking stop—”

He pounds into you, unrelenting, and then his thumb starts rubbing furious circles on your clit—and you know you’re fucked. 

His cock is hitting so deep you see stars, and all you can do is scream his name as you break apart for him. Your orgasm rips through you so hard your vision whites out and your voice breaks on a ragged, guttural scream that barely even sounds like you—your cunt clenching so hard around him you nearly push him out—so full, so fucking full. 

But Sunghoon doesn’t let up. If anything, he starts fucking you even harder somehow, his grip bruising your hips as he pounds into you, making the whole bed shake. You barely got a second to breathe—your body is still trembling, and the aftershocks are almost violent, really.

“Sunghoon—Are you insane—” Your voice is just a gasp, but you’re not even sure if you’re begging him to stop or begging him for more. 

He snarls, “No. You’ll take it. You’re gonna take every fucking thing I give you.” His thumb keeps circling your clit relentlessly, and you try to push his hand away but he just grabs your wrist and places it right above your head. “I know you can take it.”

Then he lets your wrist go, only to reach up and grab the top rail of that heavy, wooden headboard—his knuckles going white, muscles flexing, his cock somehow driving even deeper—and he looks so focused. His brows knit together, and his mouth is parted with shaky groans and pants escaping it. God, he looks so… 

You feel another orgasm building up so quickly—if you even came down from your last one—and your vision blurs out, then Sunghoon growls into your ear, hand moving from your clit to grab under your thigh, shoving your leg up higher so he can fuck you even deeper. “Come again. Now—fucking come on my cock, let me feel—shit.”

Stars explode behind your eyes as another orgasm rips through you like an out-of-body experience. 

You can barely breathe, let alone form words, but you manage to spit out, “Fucking—god, fuck you, Sunghoon—shit—don’t stop—fucking—asshole—” but they just dissolve into raw moans, and your body spasms so violently it feels like you might actually break.

“That’s it, take it—good fucking girl. That’s my good girl.”

“Not your—not your fucking girl—” you pant, and rake your nails down his back again and again for the hundredth time, and he groans—actually, he moans—and his hips stutter for a second, so out of control you almost want to laugh.

“Fuck, keep doing that,” he moans, and you do it again, “God, you’re so fucking tight—Shiiiiit.” 

The whole bedframe rocks, the headboard groaning under his grip—until suddenly—CRAAAACKKK.

The wood gives away—he rips the whole headboard right off the frame. But he doesn’t stop… the bastard barely even glances at the wreck, just tightens his hold on your hips and keeps fucking you like nothing happened.

But the splintered wood is nothing compared to the way your body’s splitting open on him. 

Then—he grabs you beneath your thighs and yanks you up as he gets up, still buried deep inside you. He palms your ass then brings his hand down in a hard slap that makes you whine—moan—gasp—scream, you don’t even know anymore—you’re just nearly sobbing, at the sharp sting and the overstimulation—and then he moves.

You’re so fucked out you hardly notice you’ve left the bed until your back slams into something cold and hard—the desk. 

The bottle of champagne, the glasses, whatever is on there—he swipes them all to the floor with a harsh sweep of his arm, and it barely registers over the sound of your moans. 

And this fucking angle…

His arms are under your knees, spreading you wide right there on the desk, your body shaking with the aftershocks. 

The thick drag of his cock as he stands and sinks in deeper—his mouth parting on filthy moans—going deeper than you ever thought possible, filling you in a way he never could on the bed. 

He thrusts up into you, the force of it making your head fall back—then he leans down and his mouth latches onto your tits, biting and sucking so hard your whole body arches up again when his teeth graze your sensitive nipple— and your  hands shoot out to tangle in his hair.

“Can’t—can’t—oh my god—” you sob, but your hips are meeting his every fucking thrust, because you’re greedy and ruined. “Too much—”

“No such thing.” He finally lifts his head and grabs your jaw and forces you to look at him. “Keep those eyes on me. Wanna see you when I come—”

You’re barely there, fucked out and shaking, and you’re not sure if your orgasm ever even stopped. “SUNGHOON—” 

“Fuck, that’s right,” he snarls, rutting harder. “Say my name—look at me and fucking say it—”

You purse your lips together violently and try to hold back, but a moan slips out. “Fuck you—” 

He grins—then pulls all the way out and slams back into you, making the desk rattle as he tightens his grip on your jaw. “Say it—now.”

You cry out, the sound torn from your throat before you can even stop it, “Sunghoon—fuck—Sunghoon—”

He growls. “That’s it—good fucking girl—fuckfuckshit—”

And then you feel him come, cock pulsing so deep inside as he spills his hot load right into the condom, his whole body shuddering as he keeps thrusting into you, drawing every last bit out.

You press your forehead against his—you’re both shaking, flushed, panting, and soaked, and you barely feel anything other than how his cock still feels inside you, and you’re clenching so hard, shaking through another aftershock, that you don’t even realize what’s happening until he pulls back a bit.

He hisses, “Fuck—wait. The condom—shit, hold still.”

Your heart skips, and it jolts you out of your haze. “What? What do you mean—” 

You try to sit up, but he grabs your hips and pushes you back down, then he pulls out a little, just enough for both of you to look down. 

And… The condom—well, there’s no easy way to put this. 

It’s not there.

There’s a sudden rush of fear rushing through your body at the thought of it being stuck inside you. “Get it out—fuck, get it out, Park Sunghoon—”

He leans over you, still panting. “Shut up. Relax.” Then he slides out slowly, and you feel the condom still inside you, the ring barely at your entrance. “I’ll get it.”

Did he just… say… Relax? Relax? 

You swat at his chest. “Don’t tell me to relax, that shit could get stuck, and—”

He interrupts. “You on the pill?”

You glare up at him breathlessly. “Are you stupid? Yes, I’m on the pill—But it’s—” you go to reach for it, but he catches your wrist and pins it to your side.

“I said I’ll do it,” he growls, and then he slides his fingers between your thighs. “Spread.”

You hesitate, and he arches a brow. “I said spread your legs.”

So you do. You spread wider for him, and then he reaches down, and you feel his finger curl inside you, hooking the rim of the condom. 

Except he doesn’t pull it out—he pushes it in deeper with his finger. 

You whine, back arching off the desk as your head tips back at how he curls his finger inside you, “Asshole—what are you—”

Sunghoon groans. “Look at me. Don’t even think about looking away,” he says, and you find yourself doing it, meeting his gaze through half-lidded, fucked-out eyes.

“Your pussy is so fucking tight. Shit,” his words come out in little pants and moans as he keeps fingering you, working you open even more. “Squeezed the condom right off my cock—practically milked it off—so fucking greedy, aren’t you?”

Your body is so sensitive, you’re twitching and gasping at every single push of his finger. “You’re sick,” you manage, but your voice is barely a breath.

“Yeah?” He curls his fingers up just right. “You’re even sicker. Look at you, letting me finger you with my cum inside you.”

Then the fucking asshole moves his thumb down and starts pressing small, relentless circles against your insanely sensitive clit, making your hips buck. 

“Fuck—Sunghoon, I can’t—you dick, Slow down—”

But you still arch into his touch, and you pull him even closer—digging your nails into his biceps and feeling him up.

He smirks when he feels your nails drag down his arm, and he flexes his bicep under your touch like he’s showing off on purpose. “Look at you, can’t keep your hands off me even when you’re falling apart. What, you gotta thing for ‘em? You gonna start begging to be choked next?”

You glare up at him, breathless and pissed and still rolling your hips helplessly against his hand. “Shut the fuck up—cocky bitch—” you spat, but… God. The thought of his biceps around your throat… You clench around his finger at the thought.

He leans in, mouth right by your ear, “That’s it, squeeze my fingers, slut. You wanna come like this? Just from this?”

You don’t even bother trying to cuss him out, not when you can feel how close you are again — the filled condom inside you only adding onto the sensation. You don’t care, you don’t fucking care, you just need to come again, need him to ruin you all over, need—

He doesn’t take his eyes off you for a moment. “Shit—How are you—You’re so fucking cock-drunk you can’t even talk, huh?” he taunts. “Fucking perfect. That’s how I want you.”

He pushes another thick finger in and the sensation burns all the more. 

“Sunghoon—fuck, that’s—shit—” your voice breaks, and he clamps his big palm around your throat. 

“You’re really gonna come all over my fucking hand again, aren’t you?” he rasps, and you nod, just desperate, the pressure so much you can barely stand it. “With my cum inside you? Filthy girl.”

Then he leans in and trails his mouth down your neck — sucking harsh marks into your collarbone and tits, all the way down. 

Then he drops onto his knees in front of you, and it’s the most cruel sight you’ve ever seen, and you can’t look away.

He spreads you open wider, and then his mouth is on your clit, sucking it between his lips, while his fingers continue pumping in and out of you. You buck up so hard you nearly throw yourself off the desk, and he just growls, holding you still, staring up at you the entire time.

“Come,” he snarls. “I’ve been fucking nice to you all day—let you run that bratty mouth, let you come as many times as you wanted—so come on, show me how grateful you are. Make a mess all over my mouth. Know you got one more in you.” 

You’re losing track of your own words, your hands scrambling uselessly on the desk for something to grab that isn’t his hair, which you’re already clinging to for dear life. “I’m gonna die. I’m literally going to die—you idiot—oh my god, Sunghoon, don’t stop—too much—” and your legs are actually shaking, your hands trying to push him away even as you’re grinding your hips up into his mouth, because your body doesn’t know what the fuck it wants.

Your orgasm hits you so violently it’s almost unfair to the previous ones you’ve had. 

He’s still licking you, still sucking your clit, still drawing out every last twitch of pleasure—honestly, what more does he want from you? “Sunghoon—stop—stop it, oh my god, you freak!”

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug on it harshly, and he actually finally pulls away, mouth wet and shiny. “Since you were so good for me…” he says, licking his lips.

Then he dips his head back down and sinks his teeth into the rim of the condom hanging barely inside you—and you watch, half in disbelief, as he pulls it out with his mouth, and he presses his tongue right against your swollen, fucked-out cunt—and you immediately gasp, legs jerking, and he grins up at you with the condom clenched between his teeth—so filthy, so fucking cocky, your body betrays you and you clench around nothing. God—Honestly, woman, what more do you want?

He spits the condom out onto the floor, wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist, and smirks at you. “Didn’t think you actually had it in you to be such a good little slut.” 

You glare down at him, and even though you’re breathless as hell, you manage a shrug. “Didn’t think you actually had it in you to fuck me good… enough.” 

He tongues his cheek — then suddenly brings his palm down in a loud slap right over your pussy, making you jolt and hiss, the sting shooting straight up your spine. “FUCK—Are you stupid in the head?” you bite.

Then your breath stutters as you watch how he leans in and presses a slow kiss right against your swollen, ruined cunt. He flicks his tongue out, tasting you one last time—humming low in his throat before he gets up again. 

And—Sunghoon stands over you, fingers glistening, then he brings his fingers up, holding them just in front of your lips. “Open,” he commands.

You glare at him, lips parted from how you’re still panting, but your mouth still kind of twists into somewhat of a smirk because you have an idea. 

“No.”

His brow lifts. “No?” He looks genuinely thrown, just for a second, but his cock twitches, hard and heavy between you—Christ.

You shrug even as your heart’s pounding. “No. You wanna see me suck your fingers?” you weakly jerk your chin at the floor, “Pick up the the condom.”

For a second, he just looks at you like you’re insane. But you watch his throat bob, and you watch the way his cock jerks at the idea. God, he’s so fucking easy, it’s honestly embarrassing for both of you.

“Go on,” you coo, “Be a good boy. Collect your mess and bring it here. I’ll suck you clean. Isn’t that what you want?”

His jaw clenches. “Nasty fucking girl,” he mutters, then—while still holding your gaze—he briefly bends down to grab the spent condom from where he spat it on the floor, tying it off and squeezing until the milky fluid gathers in the tip. 

His jaw is so insanely clenched you think he might shatter a tooth, but he does it anyway, and you watch eagerly — biting back a mean little smile, maybe even a whimper — as he still holds your gaze and works his thumb along the slippery latex, gathering his own cum on his thick fingers and there’s so much of it, more than there should be, you think, but it just makes you giddier.

Then he towers over you again, fingers gleaming with his own mess, and you don’t even wait for him to speak this time. You just part your lips and pull his hand to your mouth, tongue flicking out to taste, and the look on his face is pure disbelief and dark, like he can’t believe you’re actually doing it — or maybe even how easily he’d just listened to you. You suck, slowly at first, and you let your tongue swirl around his fingers — tasting him and you and the mess you’ve both made, and you hear the way his breath catches, and you see the way his big cock twitches against his stomach when you hollow your cheeks, moan around his fingers and swallow him down.

He looks nearly pained.

His free hand goes to your jaw, and he digs his thumb into your cheek to keep your mouth wide open for him. “Jesus fuck, you’re insane,” he practically growls. You don’t break eye contact, just hum around his fingers—letting his cum slide down your throat, eyes fluttering just a little because it’s so much, salty and hot and his, showing him your tongue as you let him go with a wet pop.

You try to reach down to wrap your hand around his dick—God, he’s so hard, and you’re kind of baffled at how you still haven’t felt him properly—but he immediately clicks his tongue, and his hand darts out to swat your wrist away. “No,” he snaps. “Did I say you could touch? Fuck, you’re never satisfied, are you?”

You actually whine. Your hips lift off the deft and your cunt clenches uselessly around nothing — like it wasn’t just stretched to its limits — clit throbbing, and you glare up at him, spit and cum smeared all over your lips and so, so empty.

You pout. “You’re no fun.”

“Fuck. Filthy, dirty girl,” he rasps, but it comes out as a whine. “You really want it all, huh?”

You barely register the broken glass on the floor or the champagne bottle rolling under the desk. 

No, the only thing you register is the throbbing ache between your legs, the taste of his mouth still lingering on your skin, and especially how Sunghoon is so hard. 

Like extremely fucking hard. His cock is heavy and hanging like he didn’t just fuck you stupid. And then he glances up at you, and the look on his face is so fucking smug you want to claw his face off.

Then you watch as he looks around the room, and you do the same.

The sheets are in absolute ruins, the headboard is snapped in half, there are broken shards of glass on the floor, water is pooling under the desk, and petals are… clinging to your skin?

You almost throw up at the thought of the staff or literally anyone seeing this mess… you don’t think you can live down the humiliation of asking for a new room because you and your… your? 

You shake your head. 

Before your mind can catch up — before you can think about what the fuck you just did, before the idea of it all can hit you, before you can even blink — you’re off the desk and lunging for him, shaking legs be damned.

You grab him by the jaw and crush your mouth to his, not caring if you’re too desperate or too fucking obvious. He groans into your mouth, and he tastes like you, like sweat, like salt, and he kisses you back just as rough. “You’re—fuck—” he hisses as you bite his lip and drag it out, “Shit—fucking needy whore—”

His hands fumble on the floor for his wallet, never breaking the kiss, and when he finds it, he pulls out another condom—doesn’t even look at you, just rips it open and rolls it down, his cock so hard it’s almost angry, the tip swollen and flushed.

You lean against his chest to stay upright, and then you glare at him and scoff. “How many condoms do you even have in that thing?”

He doesn’t answer. Just meets your eyes and jerks his chin at the window. “Bend over,” he growls.

You blink, taken aback, and your whole body buzzes with something like adrenaline and giddy panic. “Huh?”

He grabs your hips and spins you around, pushing you toward the window, his palm flat and rough on your lower back. “I said bend over. Now.”

You shiver, but God, you fucking love it. You brace your hands on the cold glass and arch your back—wiggling your ass out towards him. You can see both your reflections in the window—him behind you, hair a mess, scratched and marked and sweaty, and it only turns you on even more.

He presses up behind you, crowding you into the glass, and you barely have time to think before the thick head of his cock is nudging your entrance, and he leans down, voice right at your ear. “Still want it?” he grits through his teeth with a tone, “Tell me how much you want it, sweetheart. Or I’ll stop right now.”

You roll your eyes, grinding your ass back against him, and spit, “Just shut the fuck up and put it in.”

His hand comes down on your ass, hard, and you gasp, the sting blooming through your skin. “Wrong answer,” he growls. “Think you can touch me and kiss me like that and get away with it? Tsk. I should just walk away right now.” 

You try to grind your ass back into him again, desperate for any friction even after everything, but Sunghoon just pushes you harder into the window, pressing your chest and cheek to the cold glass. 

He brings his hand down on your ass again—SMACK—harder this time, and you hiss a curse under your breath. “You really don’t fucking listen, do you?” he says. “That was seven. Keep wiggling like that, and I’m just going to have to spank you until you beg me to stop. That what you want?”

Your lip almost curls at the thought. Why is he threatening you with a good time? “Oh no… I’m falling asleep,” you pretend to yawn instead, though it kind of comes out as a whimper, “I’m soooo bored.”

He laughs—and you can hear how wrecked he is, how much it’s taking for him not to just slam into you right then and there. “You’re lucky I like it when you’re mouthy,” he says, gripping your hips even tighter, keeping you right where he wants you. He leans in—God—biting at your shoulder, his cock pressed between your thighs, but not giving you anything. “Say please,” he whispers, his voice nothing but hot filth right at your ear.

You scoff, and your voice is mocking, but it comes out as a whine when he rubs his tip against your clit. “Please, Sunghoon, fuck me. Is that what you want to hear?”

His grip tightens on your hip as he lines himself up better and drags the thick head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing you with it. “We’re getting there. That’s more like it,” he murmurs, and then—finally—he pushes the tip in.

Sunghoon groans from behind—and you moan at the sound and also at the feeling of being stretched to oblivion again—your breath fogs up the window as he starts to push in deeper, filling you up so slowly it’s torture. 

“Fuck, you’re still so tight. How—” he groans, and his hand slides up to grab a fistful of your hair, forcing you to arch your back even more for him. “Look at yourself,” he says, eyes flicking to your reflection in the window. “Look how desperate you are. City out there has no fucking clue what a needy slut you are for my cock, do they?”

“Shut up, you’re just as needy—JESUS—”

He slams in the rest of the way, bottoming out with one brutal thrust, and you scream—so fucking loud—your body clenching around him so hard you both have to stop and breathe for a second. But it’s not long before he’s fucking you hard, his hips snapping into your ass, making the whole window rattle in its frame.

You barely recognize your own voice when you moan out, “Harder—harder, fuck—show me you can actually fuck me properly.”

He laughs and yanks your hair so your back is flush to his chest as he fucks you harder, and then his other hand slides up and grabs your tits, kneading them roughly, pinching your nipples until you arch and whimper and burn under his touch, nipples already too sensitive and tender from before.

He bites down on your shoulder and then licks the mark. “Bet the whole fucking city would pay to see you like this, Mrs. Park,” he taunts with a shaky moan, “So desperate and too drunk on cock to—fuckk—to speak.”

Bastard.

You snarl, head lolling back against his shoulder as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “Don’t call me that. I’ll jump out t..this window.”

He just ruts into you deeper and harsher, his fangs scraping up your neck. “Yeah? You don’t want everyone knowing you’re mine now? Gonna have to get used to it, sweetheart.” his mouth finds the soft skin beneath your jaw and he sucks hard and wet — leaving another angry, blooming mark. “You sound so pretty when you whine. Say it again. Tell me not to call you that while I stretch you out.”

Well. You try. Or maybe you don’t, you’re not entirely sure with the way he’s fucking you—It’s gotten to that point again where your only answer is a breathless moan as his thumb circles your nipple and his cock hits so deep you see white. 

“Sunghoon—just—fuck me, don’t fucking stop—”

“That’s it,” he groans. “Taking me so well,” he punctuates it with a deep thrust, cock buried to the hilt, and when you scream, he grins into your skin and pounds into you even harder. “You want them to hear you? Want my father’s entire staff to know how desperate my pretty little fiancée is for me?”

You shake your head frantically, but you can’t stop the moans that spill out of you. Not when the bastard is so deep you can feel him in your guts. Not when you can feel yourself close again already—God, how is he fucking doing this?

His hand slides back down, fingers rubbing your clit rough and fast. “Oh, and if you come without me telling you to, I’ll fuck you against every window in this fucking hotel. You got that, Mrs. Park?”

Well… too bad, you think. Or maybe too good.

Your thighs start to shake, your stomach tightens, all your muscles lock up around his cock and his hand, and you know—fuck—you know you’re going to come if he keeps it up for another second. You open your mouth and moan, “Sunghoon, I’m—”

But suddenly, he fucking stops. Everything. 

His hips go still, cock buried as deep as he can get, and his hand leaves your clit—and the only sound in the room is both of you panting. You whine—hips pushing back, trying to get anything—but he tightens his grip, holding you in place so you can’t even rub yourself against him.

He scoffs, and it comes out as a growl. “What did I say? Did I say you could come?” He draws his hips back, just enough to tease, and you feel furious and so fucking close you could sob. Maybe you were sobbing.

You whine. “Are you fucking serious? Don’t play. Sunghoon, I need—”

He slaps your ass. “No. Not until you ask me like you mean it,” he growls, “Beg.”

Your pride flares up, but your body is shaking, aching for him, for anything. You choke out, “I’m not begging. Just fuck me. Finish what y…you started, asshole.”

Another slap. “Not begging? Tsk. Guess you don’t want it, then.” then he pulls out halfway, making you feel every single inch leave your body—leaving you so empty you gasp and clench down on nothing. 

God, the things you do for pleasure. You’d rather die than beg—seriously, you would rather throw yourself out this fucking window—but some sick, twisted part of you also realizes you’ve never had dick this big in your entire life, and then suddenly your body is betraying you—willing to say anything just to feel full again. You're so, so close you’d say almost anything. And so you do.

“Just—fuck, just give it to me, please—” It slips out, more of a sob than a plea.

He clicks his tongue again. “Hmmm… I don’t know… wasn’t very convincing.” He drags the head of his cock over your clit, rubbing circles, making you jerk and moan. “You gonna do better, or do I have to teach you how to beg?”

Thank God you’re too fucked-out to think better of this right now. “Please, Sunghoon. Please—fuck me. Need you to make me come, please—” 

He doesn’t even let you finish. He slams back into you so hard you nearly hit your head on the glass, but his hand catches you by the throat and he yanks you back into him. His mouth finds yours, practically swallowing your scream, and he kisses you and moans right into your mouth. “That’s it. Good fucking girl—finally learned how to ask for it,” and then he pulls away just enough to watch your face.

“Come for me,” he hisses. “Fucking come all over my cock.”

You’re gone again—completely, totally gone. All you can do is sob his name (unfortunately), claw your nails at his hand on your throat, and lose every shred of control and strength as your orgasm crashes through you. 

Then he grabs your hips and spins you around—and he barely gives you a second before he’s in you and fucking you stupid again, chasing his own release while you’re still shaking.

Sunghoon is saying something, growling and all, but your vision actually blurs and your legs buckle and nearly give out — but he holds you up — you swear you blackout for a second — but  he still doesn’t stop, not for a second, driving you through it, over and over. You’re still spasming around him, and you feel him chase his own end, hips snapping harder, faster, sloppier, and messier now—until he finally buries himself to the hilt and you feel him throb inside you and fill the condom.

For a second, it’s just the sound of both of you breathing again, and nothing else.

Your vision is… well, not quite good. Don’t have rough sex with contacts on, maybe? Your brain is a fried livewire—and then you look at Sunghoon.

God. His forehead is slick with sweat, his hair is a complete disaster, and for some reason, he’s never ever looked better. It actually makes you angry somehow. He leans his head back with his chest heaving, mouth dropped open because of how hard he’s panting—and he is still inside you. He doesn’t even bother to move.

You just… look at him. 

You bring your hand up to his chest and drag your nails down—like you’re marking him up for fun, or just to make sure he’s there—not even thinking about it. He hisses, but it comes out all fucked up and like a whine.

Then he glances down between the two of you.

And he gives you a lazy, evil thrust, rolling his hips ever so slowly (Somehow, impossibly, he’s still half-hard inside you, which should be physically impossible, but apparently, not for him)—making your mouth let out a noise you hope to God you never hear come out of you again. And you watch with your mouth dropped open as he spits between your bodies and then drags his thumb through it, rubbing it right into your clit—you twitch violently, but you both just moan as he slowly starts thrusting again.

You want to tell him to stop. You really do. You want to say, “That’s enough, I can’t, I can’t,” because you’re “sore” all over and everything hurts, but the truth is you don’t want him to stop, not at all, not ever—and it’s always been like this for you—with your stupid, embarrassing, insatiable sex drive, always the one with the higher sex drive, always left off after one, maybe two average rounds at best, forced to fake it, pretending you’re satisfied, laughing it off and saying, “No, I’m fine, I’m good, I’m tired,” when really you were just wired and frustrated and thinking about getting yourself off in the bathroom ten minutes later.

And now it’s him—of all fucking people, it’s him—It’s infuriating, actually. Completely humiliating. Why does he get to be the best you’ve ever had? No. You refuse to admit that. Even in your own head. You’re not giving him the satisfaction. 

“Insatiable,” he mutters, mostly to himself—and it’s mean, but his hands are soft when he slides them down your waist. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you? Greedy fucking thing,” he drags his thumb back to your clit, rubbing slow circles, watching the way you arch for it, watching your mouth drop open. “Look at you—still want more? You want me to keep going, pretty girl? I can do this all night.”

You grit your teeth. You do. You really fucking do. But you still moan all the same.

And then, because the world is sick and you’re in hell, the doorbell goes off.

RIIIIIIIINGGGGGG.

For a second, neither of you moves. You shut your eyes tightly and actually start praying.

Then another second. 

Then—knock knock knock—followed by a voice, high and nervous and guttingly familiar, through the heavy hotel door.

“Um… hello? Y/N? Sunghoon?” It’s Ningning. Why? God? Why? Must you make this poor girl suffer? “You guys in there? They need you for photos—like, now. Like, actually now. The stylists are—um—freaking out. Are you decent?”

No, Ningning. Oh, dear sweet girl. You’re not decent. Oh… you’ve never been less decent in your life.

Then you stare at Sunghoon—and he just stares at you, breathing hard, like you’re both waiting for the other person to say something, but nothing comes out.

“Don’t answer,” he mutters. “Let them wait.”

Another knock. More urgent. “Hello? Please? You’re not answering your phones—the staff are panicking, the event is in two hours—please don’t make me open this door. Are you in there?”

Sunghoon thrusts once, and you bite down on his shoulder not to moan.

“Stop it,” you hiss and try to glare at him, but your face is all wrecked, and his mouth just quirks up in this infuriating, smug, absolutely smiteable smile.

Sunghoon raises his brows at you—he has the most annoying glint in his eye, and you could kill him, honestly; you could murder him right here and now and feel absolutely nothing except justified.

You groan, flop your head against his shoulder, and try to shove him away (he does not budge, obviously, because he’s a fucking mountain), and then you slap your palm weakly against his chest, nails dragging down the sweat-slick muscle just to make him flinch. He does not. Instead, the sick freak’s cock twitches inside you, and you both feel it, and then he rolls his hips—and you both whine, and it’s almost funny, really.

Outside, Ningning’s voice climbs another octave, and she sounds so sweet and oh so oblivious to what’s going on, it makes your insides twist. “Y/N? Sunghoon? Please—if you guys don’t come out in the next two minutes I’m—um—supposed to use the master key and—oh my god, please don’t make me do that.”

Your eyes widen.

The fucking room… if anyone sees this…

You pinch his bicep and manage to gasp out, “You better pray she doesn’t walk in, Park Sunghoon, or I swear to God I’ll kill you, and then myself, and then you again somehow for good measure.”

“She’ll go away,” he shrugs, then he fucking thrusts again. “Or maybe not.”

“You’re actually insane. She’s right there. I’m—oh my god—get out, get out—” but your voice is all basically half a whine and not convincing at all.

Sunghoon leans in and bites your jaw, right under your ear, and you hiss and swat at his chest again, but he grins against your skin. “Let her wait. You think I give a fuck about some stupid event? They could set this whole fucking hotel on fire and I’d still keep you here. I’ll fuck you all year if I have to.”

And for some fucked-up reason, you almost whimper at that, which is the final, humiliating straw, you think.

“Y/N? SUNGHOON?” Ningning just sounds like she’s about to lose it. “Please, are you—are you okay? Please just answer me—say something—I’m coming in—”

Oh hell no.

You quickly manage to choke out, “We’re fine! We’re—just—” and you can hear your own voice, breathless, weird, totally suspicious. And what’s worse is you don’t even finish your sentence.

You hear Ningning sigh and say something in relief outside, but Sunghoon… actually laughs. And you hate him so much you might actually kill him. 

“You think this is funny?” you hiss, jabbing a finger at his chest, “Get out of me—”

“You’re pathetic. It’s a little funny,” he shakes his head — the bastard — still buried inside you, still so fucking hard it’s actually criminal. “Come on, say please.”

Not this shit again. 

You stare at him, and consider actual, legitimate murder. “I will bite your fucking nose off, Sunghoon, I’m not joking—” you muffle your voice before you can moan, because he rocks into you again, so slow, so goddamn deep, and you can feel your brain short-circuiting with every inch.

“You’re done! You’re done! MOVE—oh my god, if she comes in here and sees—” you start to laugh, but it sounds a little too close to a sob.

He finally, finally pulls out—slow, way too slow, and you almost sag to the floor with relief and frustration and God knows what else. Then you carefully step around the glass on the floor and try to stumble for your robe (where even is that robe? Did you ever even put it on?) but Sunghoon yanks you back in—then he grabs your jaw and kisses you filthy—nothing gentle, nothing sweet, just tongue and the taste of both your ruined pride. He groans into your mouth, palm sliding between your legs one last time—just to feel how wet, how fucked-out he’s left you. 

“This—” he mutters against your lips between kisses, “didn’t—” kiss “—mean anything.” kiss “You get that?”

You huff a laugh against his mouth and grip his cheeks. “I just wanted a good fuck,” you shrug—and then you bite his lower lip hard enough to make him grunt (one last time.) “And you barely managed that.” You lie.

His hand comes down across your ass in one last, stinging SMACK—and you hiss—but you shove him away and grab whatever clothes are closest (you honestly hope it’s not his shirt, but you literally can’t tell anymore) and throw yourself into the bathroom without another thought.

You slam the door behind you and lean against it for a beat—heart pounding, body wrecked, legs shaking and barely holding you up—and try to remember how to breathe. Or walk. Or exist. Or, god forbid, face a camera after this. Uh… Maybe you could fake your death?

Outside, you hear Sunghoon’s voice—calm, almost infuriatingly bored, as if he wasn’t just trying to fuck you through the glass two seconds ago, “We’re coming, Ningning. Chill.” he pauses. Then he adds, “And let the front desk know this room is… just tell them we need a new suite.”

Then you finally catch sight of yourself in the bathroom mirror—and for the first time in a long, long time, you recognize the girl staring back at you.

And you really wish you didn’t.

FEEDBACK & REBLOGS ALWAYS APPRECIATED ( ˘⌣˘)♡(˘⌣˘ )

𝓝 ⟢ legend says they would’ve fucked forever if they hadn’t been interrupted 🥱🥱 this might actually be the most Insane chapter (TUMBLR YOU WILL NOT SILENCE ME) i’ve ever released and it’s not just because there’s 17k words of absolute filth (address me 🐘 🐘 🐘 ) but because this is genuinely the chapter where they’ve both been themselves the most mamas…. and AGAIN, I KNOW i say this at the end of every chapter BUT!!!! i mean it a thousand times over this time. i really mean it. i blacked out writing this. and WHEW i went all out with the smut LOL. They’re too freaked out don’t look at me like that…. thank you so much for reading AAAAA i would genuinely pay to hear every single one of your thoughts and all your favorite parts and opinions . i love you. i love you. i love you. ♡:(；ﾞﾟ'ωﾟ'): 🌷

And you hadn’t—unless, obviously, you had to. For the sake of the public or whatever.

Because there’s only so much you can say to someone you’re legally bound to pretend to love when you can’t even look at him without wanting to punch him or throw up or cry or maybe do all three and then some more, and you haven’t decided which one would feel better yet. If at all.

You’d barely even gotten any sleep last night because you couldn’t shake a terrible feeling you had—though it wasn’t anything related to what you’d texted Sunoo about. No, your mind was quite made up on that matter.

You’d called Riki yesterday—just to make sure—and he’d said yeah, he was the one who took you home that night. So that should’ve been that. Except… it didn’t feel like that. But whatever. You had bigger things to worry about this morning.

When you got to the airport this morning, you did what you’ve always done; you schooled your face the way you’ve known your whole life—chin up, smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, turn towards the best lighting angle, and give them something pretty to photograph. You’d actually thought to yourself for a second that this might be easy if you just do the thing where you step outside of yourself and pretend you’re also watching it happen from somewhere in the crowd. 

And then he’d touched you.

He slid his hand around your waist—his palm flat and warm against the dip of your waist, and for one stupid second, your whole body had gone absolutely rigid. 

Smile. Just fucking smile—you’d thought to yourself.

And then you leaned into him like you’d done it a hundred times before—because you had, in another lifetime. Because pretending is the only thing you’ve ever been good at your whole life.

Someone had yelled both your names, and he must have noticed how tense you’d physically been because at one point he’d dipped his head close enough that his mouth almost brushed your ear, and he whispered, “Relax, darling.” Just to taunt you.

You wanted to elbow him in the ribs. You wanted to grind your heel into his stupid, polished shoe and to keep walking and let the whole world watch him flinch like an idiot.

Instead, you’d breathed through your teeth and kept smiling until you were finally through the sliding doors and the noise of the crowd had faded behind the glass.

And then you went back to keeping your distance—because the hardest part was done. You hovered near him just enough for it to seem believable, and after a while, once you were inside the gate, he slid his hand around your waist again, ever so casually.

You stopped dead. “Don’t.”

He didn’t even glance at you. “Don’t be a fucking brat.”

You blinked. “The hell did you just say?”

“People talk.” He smiled simply and jerked his chin forward, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Behave.”

You stared at him for a long second, then looked around. “There’s no one here, you dick.”

“There’s always someone here, sweetheart,” he said with that mocking kind of smile of his that made your blood boil, and then tilted his head toward the corner where two assistants were whispering behind their tablets, pretending they weren’t watching. 

You had dug your nails into your palms so hard that the crescents stayed there for several minutes afterward.

By the time you got on the plane, you were seconds away from fully losing it. Maybe it was the fact that you were heavily sleep deprived, or how your head still had a faint ache to it, or maybe, just maybe—crazy—the fact that this… this is actually your life now. But anyway, you didn’t wait for him to say a word—just immediately slid into the window seat and turned your face away like the sight of him would physically burn you if you stared at him a second longer.

He sat down beside you, of course. Because of course he did. Because where else would he sit?

“Don’t start,” you said under your breath without even looking at him.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, well, don’t.”

He leaned back in his seat, and his voice was low. “You always this pleasant in the mornings?”

You turned your head just enough to glare at him. “You wanna die?”