the first time he was exposed to the idea was when he was a young teenager alone in his room. he was playing an online game when he accidentally clicked a shady advertisement that brought him to another website—a hentai website. 

curious, adolescent, and horny, sunghoon clicked on a particular video that stood out to him. it was about a shapeshifter who fucked his lover, then got overstimulated and shifted into a big, heavy bear before biting off the head of the woman. that scene stuck and buried itself deep in the crevices of sunghoon’s mind.

how powerful, sunghoon thought; to love someone to the point of aggression.

from then, he began to believe that love is meant to be devoured and devouring. even the bible itself is full of consumption when it says—the holiest act of devotion is the ritual of eating the christ’s flesh, to drink his blood—because to love God is to consume him. 

love is consumption, and faith is flesh, and it is all intertwined. 

the boy also knew that in ancient greece, lovers would bite each other until they bled, which quickly became the proof of passion marked by bruised skin and torn lips. the king and queen of gods—rhea and cronus—were no strangers to hunger either. cronus swallowed his own 5 children whole as soon as rhea delivered them in fear that his newborns would one day overthrow him. there was also zeus, who swallowed metis for his own benefit—but sunghoon liked to think it was so that she could never leave him.

love was never gentle, and it was apparent in folklore too. sunghoon didn’t understand it back then why the witch fattened children before the feast, the vampire draining his lover dry, the wolf licking his sharp, fangy teeth before sinking it deep into the plush flesh of little red. 

but that was years ago, he was a child back then, he screamed and cried when his little sister bit his finger. sunghoon understood it now—love was to take. love was to consume. love was to destroy.

while they were not romantic by any means, there’s a similarity, a fine line barely blurred between cannibalism and wanting to have someone be as close to you as possible, physically. both are driven by an insatiable need, an urge—although once devoured, what else is left? even then, it’s still not close enough.

——

sunghoon had seen your stuff before he saw you. 

his neighbour moved out a few months ago from a job offer in another state, and for 4 months, the room was left vacant. not that he was complaining—it was better for him that way. he could play his instruments, games, have friends over, and blast music as loud as he wished to without having someone pounding on his door, telling him to shut the fuck up. for four months, he was in heaven.

but heaven on earth doesn't last forever.

and this was better than any heaven could offer.

he wasn’t curious in any way so neither him, nor you, ever introduced yourselves to one another. there was no housewarming party from you, and sunghoon didn’t bother showing up with fruitcakes.

but slowly, he started noticing. not in a friendly or neighbourly way of exchanging polite nods of acknowledgement or holding the elevator door open—hell, he didn’t even bump into you or cross paths.

no, sunghoon noticed you in the way a shadow notices the body it follows. 

it started with the small things. the cardboard boxes stacked in front of your door from your move a couple days ago (that were still there, even after weeks), labeled in rushed neat handwriting, a packed delivery food hung on your doorknob, the perfume scent of white flower lingered in the air when he exited his door for morning classes. 

you, to sunghoon, were just a collection and fragments of objects and moments.

then, he started noticing more than just things.

sunghoon started listening too. 

the wall that separated the two rooms was thinner than anybody would like to have. so thin he could hear the sneeze you held back, your conversations with your parents, the refrigerator noise when you didn’t fully close it, your dryer signalling the end. so thin he could hear your humming to your favourite song while you were showering, the blurred and incoherent dialogues from late–night sitcoms you’d left turned on the whole night. 

so thin he prayed you wouldn’t hear the things he did in the dark. 

soon, sunghoon found out that you attended the same university as he did—your name printed among the rosters as his. fate hadn’t been kind to him often, but now it seemed and felt like it was cradling him. 

he took forensic science, while you took education. it fits you, sunghoon thought—you were soft-spoken in the hallways when you thanked the other neighbour for leftovers, or when he had overheard you scolding your little brother for something, and sunghoon couldn’t tell if you were mad, or disappointed. 

you’d make a great mother.

the first time sunghoon properly saw you, he was alone on the complex’s rooftop. a cigarette smoldered between his lips, the night sky cracked open above him. you weren’t occupied in his mind nor was he searching for you, yet there you were. 

like a sacrament being offered—body and blood disguised in soft skin and breath.

walking along the entrance with your cardigan clutched tight around your frame, tote bag hanging loose off your shoulder. your steps were small, unhurried, the rhythm that told him you probably thought you were safe since you were already in the area. the cold breeze caught in your hair and pulled strands across your cheek.

sunghoon’s chest cinched tight. you’re adorable, he hummed. taking another drag of his cigarette. no, adorable is an understatement. there was something soft about the way you move, the innocence swimming in your eyes, the little push of your lip against your cheek. 

how unfair, he exhaled slowly. feeling the smoke escaping his lungs. someone like you existed in the same world as him. 

he watched—you were so far below despite living right next his door. sunghoon watched as your figure slipped into the building and out of sight, and he realised he was holding his breath—lungs aching not from the smoke, but from something more, something’s missing.

the ember at the tip of his cigarette had burned out completely, leaving only the taste of ash in his mouth.

the taste… so familiar—so close to what he felt when he came to the hentai he watched when he was younger. 

——

you were like a disease—and sunghoon the host. it began with a single spore in his lungs that went unseen but felt–able, then multiplied with each breath until he was drowning, and all sunghoon could feel was raw ache.

you curled into his veins until every beat of his heart pumped you deeper and deeper. his body became a chamber of contagion, gnawed hollow by desire.

 “—hoon, sunghoon!” 

his head jerked up, thoughts breaking like glass. jake was staring at him across the cafeteria table, brows slightly furrowed. sunghoon blinked and brought his latte to his lips, snapping out of it. “you spaced out again, man. what’s gotten into you?”

sunghoon licked his lips, wetting it before shaking his head. “nothing,” he murmured, setting his cup down. “what were you saying?” 

jake studied him for a moment longer, then shrugged it off. “the communication department is holding a festival this weekend for every major. there’ll be food stalls and booths and we’re all going to support sunoo. figured you might want to tag along.”

sunghoon pursed his lips, stirring the liquid in his cup with the flimsy wooden stirrer. yeah—he had no plans for the weekend except bedrotting and completing the endless tedium of reports. his professors were merciless with deadlines and memorising blood samples and decomposition stages—but he figured he could make time for some fun.

“sure,” he gave a small, practiced nod. jake smiled, already leaning back in his chair to ramble about his days. sunghoon let the words wash over him, feigning interest with the occasional hum. his mind was elsewhere but here.

sunghoon wondered what you could be doing right now. it’s lunchtime. do you have lunch in the cafeteria? crossed legs and stirring your juice and laughing with your friends? he tried to picture what you’d order. you didn’t seem like someone who’d for anything greasy—maybe something light. like a sandwich, or pasta.

what kind of meat do you like? sunghoon wondered, eyes drifting toward the untouched food on his own plate. what do girls as pretty as you even eat?

beef, maybe—rich and dark, the kind that melts apart in your mouth if cooked just right… tender, but tough if overcooked. sunghoon hated that the most. maybe chicken, simple and clean and hard to mess up. he could picture you chewing slowly, suppressing a smile. pork, though—he thought of the sweetness of it, the glaze, the stickiness that would cling to your fingers. but pork carries pathogens and parasites that are hard to kill despite being cooked. 

you wouldn’t like that. 

again, sunghoon imagined you savouring it—taking small bites politely, licking the sauce from your thumb—unconscious, devastating. you never realised that someone out there would’ve given anything to taste you.

“—jesus, hoon,” jake waved a hand in front of sunghoon, knocking reality into him. he blinked, swallowing the saliva he didn’t realise was pooling in the back of his throat. he straightened up, looking at jake. “yeah?”

“what time are you free this saturday?” 

——

“i’ll just takeaway a salad, thank you.” 

you’re a vegetarian ever since you could remember. you didn’t eat meat by choice, lived untouched by blood and bone and filth. your meals were soft in colour, greens, steamed broccoli, grains, nuts. 

you preferred knowing nothing died for your sake—food that never screamed, never struggled, never bled. you ate gently, every bite was an act of mercy. 

“just that?” wonyoung asked, thanking the cashier as she tapped her card on the terminal. you nodded, taking the bag from the waitress. “yeah, this is enough,” you hummed, smiling. “i really can’t afford eating too much and puking later.” 

your friend nodded, linking her arm around your wrist as the two of you made your way out. “is sunoo already there? has he texted you yet?” she asked, peeking slightly from your shoulder as you fished your phone out. 

“mm, hold on,” you murmured, thumb swiping across the screen. “he’s already there,” you said, glancing up at her. “he said he’d told jiwoo that we’ll be a little late.” 

wonyoung grinned. “thank god. i don’t want her to nag in our ears later.” 

“no one dares to nag at you, wony!”

the air was already beginning to be filled with chatter and sizzles from the food stalls lined up beneath unlit string lights. the scent of oil and spice hung heavy. you, wonyoung, and sunoo sat crowded around a small metal table, your takeaway salad box nearly empty, spork resting on the rims of your bowl. 

“god, this was so good,” wonyoung sighed, leaning back in her chair. “now i have some energy to serve for the next seven hours.” 

sunoo laughed, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “thanks for the meal, wony. i didn’t have time to drop by to get breakfast.” 

wonyoung waved a dismissive hand. “it’s fine, don’t mention it! we prefer not rushing anyway.”

before you could respond, a voice cut through the din. 

“kim sunoo!” 

the three of you looked up. jake was grinning, waving as he made his way over with heeseung and sunghoon trailing behind him. 

“oh, you guys are here so early!” sunoo perked up, waving them over. “yeah,” heeseung said, still standing beside jake. “we figured we’d check out the other booths before the crowd gets worse.” jake nodded, “yeah, then we’ll come back for you again during lunch.”

then, jake leaned forward slightly, eyeing your table. “man, this looks good. you got food without us, sunoo?”

“you were late,” sunoo teased, nudging his forearm playfully. “anyway, this is wonyoung, and—” he turned toward you with an easy smile. “—this is yn. my friends from the education department.” 

wonyoung gave a polite wave, and you just smiled, murmuring a quick hello. 

sunoo then gestured to the three boys. “and these are my high school friends—jake, heeseung, sunghoon.” 

you looked up at the name, eyes briefly meeting sunghoon’s but staying the longest as he was the last one to be introduced. there was a flicker of recognition—or something close to it—but you brushed it off just quickly. 

“nice to meet you,” you said softly.

sunghoon’s lips quirked into a polite half–smile. “yeah,” he murmured, voice low enough that it nearly disappeared under the hum of the crowd—meant only for you. “you too.” 

like a blooming flower in rot, something unfurling where it shouldn’t. that quiet sickness—nourished by the ghost of your gaze—spread slow beneath his ribs.

he saw the crumpled paper bag from the restaurant, half–buried in the trash beside the booth. his friends were already walking ahead. “go on, i’ll catch up,” sunghoon called, forcing a small smile.

they didn’t think much of it.

when they turned the corner, sunghoon stood before the bin, his shadow looming across the metal. his fingers brushed against the paper. it still held the faint scent of greens. opening it, the container inside was empty except for smudges of sauces.

sunghoon stared for a moment too long. then, as though he couldn’t control his body, he peeled open the plastic container—and slipped the spork you’d used into his pocket.

pulse thudding in his throat—something sweet and rotten bloomed quietly in his chest. 

——

sunghoon didn’t talk to you for the rest of the festival—not like there was a reason to in the first place. you were with your friends, and he was with his’. while you were doing your task in your little food stall both, he lingered somewhere in the periphery, eyes observing you handling the food.

it’s alright, he reassured himself. the two of you are neighbours. for any time sunghoon decides that he wants to talk to you, he can just knock on your door. simple. easy.

the day ended like any other.

that night, sunghoon set the spork on his desk. unwashed. the faint smell of vinaigrette still clung to it, sweet and sour. was that the flavour you liked? sunghoon thought you’d prefer something more umami. 

he placed it neatly beside his keyboard, the plastic catching the lamplight.

it’s weird. it definitely was. no sane person would rummage through the bin and take a used item. especially one that had entered someone’s mouth. that’s disgusting—unsanitary, even. 

sunghoon knew that. he wasn’t stupid.

but there was something about it—the evidence that you had touched something he could hold. disgusting, he thought. then again, he didn’t put it back. 

in fact… he wanted to do it again. 

“later?” you talked over the phone, the device pressed between your ear and your shoulder as you washed the dishes. you glanced at the clock on the wall, chewing the inside of your cheek. “no, i can’t… sorry. i promised jin–sol i’ll come over tonight to study.”

the plates made a slight clinking noise when you placed them on the dish rack, wiping your hands dry. “maybe tomorrow? it’s been almost two weeks since the festival and the data team still hasn’t sent their analysis anyway.” 

“yeah, tomorrow i’ll come over. sorry, toni.”

this was it—you weren’t going to be home for a few hours. sunghoon heard it all from his room as he pressed his ear against the wall, eavesdropping. his pulse quickened when he heard the sound of your footsteps, the jingle of your keys, then the soft click of the door closing—each detail carved into his nerves.

fuck, he’s really going to do it. 

sunghoon sat still for a moment before slowly creeping out of his apartment, peeking from the hallway balcony to make sure your silhouette had disappeared from turning the corner. the air outside felt heavier somehow—maybe because of what he was going to do.

he stood in front of your door. sunghoon knew where you kept your emergency key—buried beneath the wilted soil of one of the flower pots, tucked away like a secret. his fingers brushed against the damp earth, searching, soil stuck beneath his fingernails, and sunghoon only stooped when the cold metal finally kissed his skin. 

the lock clicked open with a soft sound—almost too easy, he thought. sunghoon didn’t wait a second lingering there as he immediately slipped inside, not wanting to get caught by the other tenants. 

your apartment was clean, smelled faintly of your detergent and something floral. a pair of cat slippers sat neatly by the entrance, an umbrella leaned against the wall. everything had its place and purpose. 

he trailed his fingers along the edge of your counter. there was a mug in the sink, lipstick–stained on the rim, the water inside was just tap. your living room was small, a folded blanket on the couch, book facedown, faint indentation on the cushion where you sat.

sunghoon then took a slow step toward your bedroom door. this was the closest he had ever been to you in terms of intimacy. he’d seen you before, of course—at the festival—but this was quiet, private. 

this was you with the things you left behind. 

his breath caught as he turned the knob, the faint creak of hinge slicing through. the scent inside was different—warmer, more personal, it smelled like your honey shampoo, your vanilla lotion, your mist. yeah, all of those belonged on your skin, didn’t they? 

sunghoon’s gaze darted across the room: your bed, slightly rumpled, cardigan draped over the chair; a bottle on the nightstand. 

but it wasn’t your bedroom that he was interested in—the fridge hummed softly. that’s what he wanted to know. what you ate. what kept you alive.

“let’s see…” sunghoo crouched, fingers curling around the handle as he pulled the door open. cold air washed over him, sharp and clean, and inside—neat rows of containers, fruits sealed in public, half–finished salad bowls. your world was colourless. green and yellows, nothing red,

nothing raw. 

your fridge had not a single meat to it.

his gaze lingered on a jar of olives and pickles, a small tub of hummus and greek yogurt. these food that don’t bleed when bitten into. sunghoon tilted his head. “you eat clean, huh,” he muttered, studying the paper bag of wrapped sweet potatoes. 

he imagined you eating it—your tongue brushing over vegetables, your teeth never knowing what it's like ripping apart fleshes. then, sunghoon wondered what you would look like tasting something heavier, darker. filling your mouth with warmth and iron—because there was no way greens would taste good hot. 

sunghoon turned away from the fridge, shutting it as his eyes drifted to the small bin beside the counter. heart pacing quick and uneven as his fingers dipped into the pile. “god…” every sound in the apartment seemed to grow louder as he rummaged through the trash bin.

pushing aside fruit peels, paper towels, plastic wrappers—sunghoon’s hand came in contact with a plastic cup. a paper straw. faintly bent, slightly wet, the tip stained a soft shade of pink. your lipstick.

the proof that your mouth had been there made his stomach twist. lifting it to his nose, sunghoon inhaled the tip of the straw—very faintly sweet of your matcha, artificial lipstick scent but you, nonetheless. 

what the fuck am i doing…? the thought occurred to him as he tucked the straw into his pocket, flattening the limp paper straw.  sunghoon moved through your apartment like a shadow without its owner. 

the next door he opened was the bathroom—small for two, tiled, faintly damp and still wet. the mirror was fogged at the corners, toothpaste crusted by the sink. your toothbrush rested in a cup, pale bristles worn from daily use.

sunghoon’s throat felt dry as he stood before the mirror, looking everywhere but his reaction. he was ashamed, humiliated, disgusted—but fuck, he couldn’t help it. his fingers curled around the small handle, staring at it—the soft drag of bristles against your gums, pressed into your tongue—how it must’ve tasted like peach mint and saliva and you. 

slowly, sunghoon brought his head up—his reflection looked wrong and calm—eyes hollowed with want as he brought the brush to his lips. the bristles grazed his teeth. it was an absurd imitation of closeness, he knew, yet something in him swelled with a trembling sort of pleasure.

is this how you taste like? part of you? the sound of bristles dragging faintly against his teeth filled the silence. sunghoon pressed it harder, dragging them across his enamel until the flavour bloomed into something he swore tasted like you and him at once. 

saliva pooled, thick and warm, he swallowed alongside the leftover dried paste. 

his tongue found the bristles next—slow—searching the places your tongue had pressed, the grooves where you spit had dried. each stroke only aroused his curiousity—is this the curve of your gum? is this the soft underside of your lip?

the toothbrush was making a map on sunghoon’s tongue. a low sound escaped him—half groan, half moan—when he tasted the faint iron of his own blood mixing with the mint from brushing too hard. the bristles were soaked now, darkened with the pink of his gums but still he dragged them back and forth, back and forth. 

look at you, his reflection stared back at him. look at what you’re doing. sunghoon watched his mouth open, watched the toothbrush disappear between his lips like a lover’s finger. his thighs pressed together against the sudden ache, fuck, this was giving him a hard–on.

when he pulled the brush free, strings of saliva stretched and snapped. sunghoon rinsed the brush under the tap, watching the swirl down the drain like a secret. then he placed it back in its holder, bristles up, exactly where you’d left it.

sunghoon by no means is religious—but in christianity, as what he was taught when he attended a christian kindergarten and sunday churches, saints’ relics were kept, and sometimes ingested. holy fragments of the divine sealed in boxes for believers to kneel before. 

a way to keep faith close, to let holiness rot beautifully in glass.

he supposed he was a devout now if you were a religion.

in the ritual of his own making—the straw, a single sock, a strand of hair snagged in a hair tie he’d found in the bedroom, a discarded band–aid carefully in tissue. small things you would never notice missing anyway.

next time, he’ll be bolder.

——

“kim sunoo!” jake’s voice cut through the chatter of the restaurant, loud enough to turn a few heads. he waved from across the table, grinning. sunoo smiled, waving back. “i brought wonyoung and yn too. figured it’d be nice.” 

“that’s alright, the more the merrier anyway.” heeseung smiled, greeting the two of you. you and wonyoung sat opposite of sunoo, quietly placing your respective orders. the table got lively quickly with jake’s cheerful demeanor, and heeseung’s outgoing personality. sunghoon though, sitting at the far end, hadn’t said much, just the occasional nod and hum. 

but you supposed you too, content with listening to their stories. to anyone else, sunghoon looked indifferent, disinterested. but every now and then, his eyes flickered toward you. he watched the way you gathered your hair in one hand (was it because he took your hairband?) to sip your soup, the way you laughed and leaned to everything wonyoung said. 

everything you did was small and nothing remarkable, yet it caught him like static. 

watching you now was strange. weird, even. sunghoon had been inside your house more than once after that night. had touched your things, had used your toothbrush and lotion, laid on your bed, pressed his palm against the hollow your body left on the sheets.

and yet, the real thing was here. so oblivious to the things that were happening to you—your apartment while you were gone. so oblivious that he was your neighbour eavesdropping to your everyday life through the thin wall. so unaware that your nail clipper and earpick had been used, shoes had been sniffed, spoons had been licked. 

yeah. as long as you had zero idea about it, sunghoon should be alright. 

he might be disgusting, but you’re a plain idiot.

“i’m so sorry i can’t send you back tonight, yn,” wonyoung frowned, glancing at her phone. “my sister needs me to pick her up from the station.” 

you waved her off with a small laugh. “it’s fine, wony. i don’t live far.” 

“still. text me when you get home, okay?” wonyoung pressed, already half turned toward her parked car. “mmhm,” you nodded, giving her a quick hug before stepping into the night. 

you didn’t notice him at first. sunghoon walked a few paces behind. everyone left almost at the same time—pretending to check his phone, pretending he didn’t see you in front or the fact that he knew you guys were neighbours. 

it wasn’t until you turned a corner that you caught the faint echo of footsteps matching yours. you slowed down, so did he. your fingers curled around your strap tighter, when you glanced back, you saw him—tall, eyes downcast. 

sunghoon looked up then, caught your gaze—your steps faltered—and for a brief, awkward moment, the silence stretched. 

“...uh,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “sunghoon, right?”

sunghoon’s lips twitched into the faintest smile, almost polite. “yeah,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “hey.”

you nodded quickly, slightly relieved that at least it wasn’t some creep or pervert or rapist. that it was a mutual… friend? someone your bestfriend knew. “do you live around here?” you asked softly, coming to a stop.

sunghoon took a few steps closer, it didn't bother you. “yeah,” he replied, gesturing with his hand toward the building across the street. “i live in that one.” 

you followed his gesture, letting your gaze travel to the familiar shape of the apartment. that’s where you lived too! “what, really?” a small laugh escaped your lips. “that’s… i live there too.” 

he raised his eyebrows, lips parting slightly. “you serious?” he chuckled, feigning confusion. “that’s a crazy coincidence. what room?” he added. sunghoon looked like he was genuinely curious in your eyes. 

“33A, and you?” 

you watched as his eyes widened just a fraction. “...32A,” he said, voice low, a shy laugh escaped him. “right next door, huh?” you blinked, a little startled by the coincidence. “yeah… oh wow—we’re literally neighbours…”

he nodded slowly, as if letting the reality settle. “that’s… uh, crazy,” he murmured, brushing another hand over the back of his neck. there was a pause, a strange tension in the air. you smiled nervously, finding yourself walking alongside sunghoon.

“how come i never noticed you?” you broke the silence, looking up at him. sunghoon glanced down at you. your eyelashes are really pretty, aren’t they? long, curved, brushing against your cheeks… your mascara sure is lucky, pressed so close to the wet shine of your eyes, kissing the thin skin every time you blink, drinking in the salt of your tears and running down your cheeks when it’s wet.

“...not sure,” sunghoon finally replied, swallowing the lump in his throat. he broke his gaze, looking forward. “i’m not home often, so…” he murmured in reply, shrugging. “how come i never noticed you?” 

lies after lies.

you smiled, now it was your turn to shrug. “i’m not always home either,” you replied, tilting your head just enough for the streetlight to catch the gloss on your lower lip. “and i just moved so maybe that’s why.” 

sunghoon couldn’t focus on what you were saying, his gaze snagged at the plump, shiny, imprint of your teeth where you’d bitten down earlier when you probably thought you were being followed. oh yn, the danger is closer than you thought it is. 

that lip gloss, was it the one he saw on your vanity? the one he wanted to take, but it’d probably be too obvious, he thought.  cherry, maybe. or vanilla, if lip gloss had scents. 

sunghoon wanted to lean in, wanted to drag his tongue across that shine and taste the wax and heat and your lips. he wanted to kiss you until the gloss smeared across his mouth, until the flavour was indistinguishable from the salt of his skin. he wanted to bite down your lower lip, to hear the small startled moan you’d make when his teeth met flesh.

but of course, he didn’t. he looked away before you noticed. 

“sunoo will be so surprised if he knew we were neighbours.” you giggled, a smile etched across your face. “then he’ll come over more often, just so he can hang out.” you continued, running your hand through your hair.

sunghoon just managed a soft yeah, swallowing the urge. his tongue pressed to the side of his cheek. if i take it now, you’ll know. if i take it now, you’ll run, the thought hissed. 

by the time you knew it, the two of you were in the elevator heading up to the third floor.

“oh we’re here,” you said, stopping in front of your door. the old hallway light flickered once, then twice before steadied. you turned the key and the door sighed open. did you know sunghoon know where you kept your extra key? 

sunghoon unlocked his door too, waiting for you to step inside first. “that didn’t feel like a long walk.” he chuckled, smiling. you smiled, leaning against the frame. “well,” you hummed, eyelashes fluttering prettily. “night, neighbour.”

he nodded, throat dry. “night.”

you hesitated then lifted your hand in a small wave. the door shut with a soft thud, then the lock slid home.

sunghoon stayed in the hallway, staring at the 33A number until it felt like they blurred. just three steps from his own door. his key scraped the lock, inside, the dark greeted him. 

tomorrow, he decided. tomorrow he’d borrow sugar. tomorrow he’d stand closer. and soon, he’d taste the gloss for real. the obsession settled in his chest, it was still something he couldn’t quite name, but it had teeth now, still small but growing.

only hunger had a name, and it wanted you. 

——

ever since that night, things had… shifted. subtly at first.

like magic, you and sunghoon started running into each other more often—sometimes at the garbage disposable downstairs, sometimes at the lobby mailbox, sometimes the two of you left your rooms at the same time. he’d always smile, small and reserved while you were always embarrassed to be caught at the same time.

it became a quiet routine. you’d wave when you saw him through the balcony smoking, he’d greet you in the morning, and before long, it felt strange not to see him around after… practically never seeing him at all since the past few months. 

you supposed it’s true—that once you become aware of someone, you can never stop. 

“hngh, fuck, fuck, fuck,”

sunghoon’s forehead rested against the thin wall that separated your apartment from his’, big hand clamped around his bigger cock as he jerked himself off. he was on his knees, legs splayed just enough for balance. 

“i’m making dinner, right now,” you said, phone pressed between your shoulder and your ear. on the other line that only you heard, wonyoung asked what you were doing. it’s a friday night, and everyone was apparently too busy for a hangout. 

“gym? you’re going to the gym right now?”

he let out a soft, inaudible groan under his breath silently as he pressed the palm of his hand against the hardening cock, pumping his cock back and forth with his eyes shut tightly. if he tried hard enough, he could imagine you splayed underneath him, legs spreaded—showing that pretty, meaty pussy that was all his to devour. 

gym—hah, fuck, sunghoon thought. you didn’t need that. you didn’t need to lift or sweat or burn away the softness that made sunghoon so captivated to you. you were already perfect—so tender in all the right places, so soft it made his jaw ache and teeth sensitive just thinking about it.

it’d be so nice to bite you, flesh between his teeth as he grinded and dug his canines inside… 

his cock throbs in his hand at the mere thought, the length of it bobbed and seemingly increased. the head of it was red and flushed, oozing out beads of precum that trailed over his hand. 

“ngh, f—fuck, yn, keep talking,” he moaned softly, chest heaving, the sound barely audible against the quiet hum of his room. his breath was uneven, quick. every inhale trembled, every exhale came out in a low, broken sigh.

his cock was so achingly painful. 

“he’s still bothering you? using a new number?”

his hips twitched as he began thrusting his cock in his fist like cunt, his wet cum making it easier for sunghoon to glide his cock back and forth, his other hand braced against the wall, palm pressed firm. something needed to keep him grounded as his body trembled, his forehead rested close to his wrist.

in short, hot bursts of breath, spine arched with each staggered breath as he fucked his fist. squelching noise filled the room from where his skin met the base of his cock. he wanted to sink into the thought of you, chew through the distance until there was nothing left between your body and his need.

“men are shit, anyway… did you report him to the professor?”

sunghoon increased his pace in stroking his cock, his thumb rolling around the tip of his flushed head, suppressing from cumming—he did not want to cum just yet. sunghoon was so hungry. the kind of imagination sunghoon had was not like the other guys when they jerked off to the girl they liked. 

he didn’t just want to make love to you, he wanted to consume you. he wanted to more than just lick your pussy, he wanted to eat it. press his teeth on the flesh, tug on your little clit. sunghoon didn’t want to just fondle your tits, he wanted to squeeze those boobs until the flesh spilled between his fingers.

it was more than lust—it was appetite. 

“oh, i cooked extra—should i send some to sunghoon? did you know he’s my ne—”

sunghoon groaned softly, painfully suppressing his moan in his stomach as he tipped his head back. “oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, ‘m cummin yn, ‘m cummin for you,” his entire body tensed, his huge cock jumped in his hand as he came, cum spurting all over his wall. he panted, shoulders dropped as the semen trailed down slowly like waterdrop.

that concluded it. sunghoon didn’t just want you—it was clear now. 

he wanted to live inside your skin and be your birth and death and your beginning and end and your undoing and betterment. he wanted to eat you whole, to tear flesh by flesh, chew your skin between his teeth, grind your strands of hair, bite off your fingers and toes, and to suck off your tender meat off your bone like marrow.

sunghoon’s eyes widened, and he spiraled, eyes spinning, head gyrating. he needed to ingest you, to metabolise you in him. 

you too—yeah. you can have sunghoon’s heart, if you can stomach it.

sunghoon looked down on his cum covered hand, strings of semen dripping down his digits and onto the floor. he’s ashamed and humiliated at himself, but there was nothing he wanted to do to fix it. 

“—hoon? sunghoon?” 

his head snapped towards the door, eyes wide and panicked, heart hammering, he scrambled, jerking his pants up and fumbling with the waistband, hands shaking as he tied the ribbon. the sound of the faucet splashing echoed through the small kitchen as he hurriedly washed his hands, water running over his skin and washing away his sins.

sunghoon opened the door before you could knock for the second time, leaning against the frame. “hey, sorry,” he tried controlling his breath, chest rose. “i was… in the bathroom.” 

you smiled, shaking your head dismissively. “it’s okay, i should’ve texted. i made too much food. thought you might be hungry.”

yeah. his eyes flicked to the container in your hands—japchae. but with mushrooms and tofu instead of meat. he swallowed, forcing a casual nod. “ah… yeah, i haven’t had dinner yet anyway,” he said, stepping aside lightly.

“if you haven’t either, do you wanna eat together?” 

you blinked, slightly taken aback at the offer. the thought of eating together, especially one that’s invited, almost made your stomach flutter. after a brief pause, you nodded shyly. “mmhm… sure.”

he gave a faint smile. letting you slip past him, sunghoon shut the door close, taking the container from you to place it on the dining table. 

you sat across sunghoon, unpacking the japchae. “so…” you began, reaching for the chopsticks. “just what were you up to, today?” sunghoon lifted a small bundle of noodles to his mouth, looking at you from his bangs. 

today? today i cum to you. 

“nothing much,” he shrugged. the flavours were simple and clean. “just completed some reports and… yeah, that’s pretty much all.” he glanced as you ate, trying not to stare, yet stealing glimpses when you weren’t looking. “what about you?”

you hummed, chewing and swallowing. the munched noodles bobbed from beneath your throat. “also nothing interesting,” you chuckled, pressing your lips together. “except i just learned how to make japchae so… you’re like the first one to try.” 

sunghoon let out a soft, amused hum, the corner of his lips twitching. “so i’m your test subject?”

“mm, yeah, i guess you could say that,” you replied, smirking. the tension that had hung in the room since he’d opened the door eased just a little. sunghoon tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity. 

“it’s really good. but… you don’t eat meat, yn?” 

you shook your head, fingers pausing. “no, ever since i can remember. i just… can’t.” your tone softened, almost apologetic, though not ashamed. “i can’t handle the blood, the… killing. knowing they suffer for me, for my own hunger—i can’t eat something that’s been hurt. it makes me feel… guilty.”

sunghoon’s gaze flickered down to his plate. of course, he thought, you were gentle, careful, soft in all the ways he wanted to consume. and yet, here you were, refusing the very thing that sunghoon might have wanted to offer—the rawness, the bite, the blood.

he forced a small nod, swallowing the strange curl of disappointment and fascination that pooled in his stomach. you didn’t want to eat living beings, yet here sunghoon was. “i… see,” he murmured, looking up at you with an understanding smile. “you’re just kind like that, yn.”

you giggled, shaking your head. “nooo, please, i’m not,” you took a sip of your drink. “besides, i didn’t grow up in seoul but in the countryside, so seeing my chickens and sheep being… a meal kinda gave me the ick.” you continued casually.

“ah,” sunghoon nodded slowly, watching the way your lips curved between words, the faint gleam of moisture on your lower lip after you took another sip. “that makes sense.” 

you laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair. “yeah, i mean… i used to name them, so it felt wrong when they ended up on the table the next day.”

he smiled faintly, wrong when they ended up on the table. 

you went on, oblivious to the way his gaze lingered. your attention was on your dinner, anyway. “so i just stopped eating meat. it’s easier and better that way. people claim they love animals, but how could they—” you paused, twirling a few noodles around your chopsticks. 

“—love something and still hurt it?”

you looked down, shrugging, expression softening. “i don’t know. maybe i’m too sentimental.”

sunghoon’s gaze sharpened on you. he had long paused from eating. one hand flexed and twitched against his knee, jaw tightened. the words distorted and sweetened in his head. how could they not? he thought. how could love exist without wanting to consume and make it a part of you?

if you really love someone, don’t you want to be with them all the time?

he watched as you lifted the mushroom to your lips, eyes half–lidded as you chewed, and something inside him twisted into something more than hunger. 

you didn’t get it. you could never understand the depth of what he felt for you—love, to you was soft, gentle, harmless—all sunshine and rainbows and everything good in life. but to sunghoon, it was the bite and the swallow.

the meal dwindled to silence and you dabbed at your lips with a tissue, sunghoon watched as you set it aside. when you stood to put your cups in his sink as he insisted, sunghoon slid the crumpled tissue into his pocket. 

the boy thanked you for the dinner, sent you back next door, and wished you goodnight. 

when the latch clicked shut behind him, sunghoon looked down at the tissues folded neatly in his palm—his little souvenirs from the evening. 

——

slowly, the friendship between the two of you began to bloom—almost without you noticing. it wasn’t sudden, just small things that fit together like puzzle pieces.

sunghoon was attentive. not in the loud, overbearing way most boys tried to be, but he was gentle, calm. he remembered tiny passing details you thought no one really heard, or cared. in fact, he knew things you were pretty sure you never told anyone.

and he listened. really listened. when you spoke, sunghoon’s gaze stayed fixed on you, his replies thoughtful and quiet, almost like he was careful with what he was saying which was something you appreciated. 

sometimes, when you caught him staring, you’d laugh and ask what he was thinking about—but he’d just smile, shake his head, and say, “nothing.” 

it felt easy with him, somehow. like right now.

“you’re spacing out again.”

sunghoon blinked, his pupils refocusing as your voice broke through his daze. he shook his head slightly, caught off guard by the teasing in your tone. 

“sorry—” he murmured, a small sheepish smile tugging at his lips. his voice was soft. “just… thinking.”

you tilted your head, a playful glint in your eyes. “about what?”

his fingers tapped lightly against the table, as if buying time. you, he thought. always you. only you. but instead he just chuckled under his breath. “how you just have a basket of fruits, but never offered me some.”

your eyes widened a fraction, before a grin etched across your face. “really—?” you chuckled, brows knitting in slight confusion. “i didn’t know you wanted some. you should’ve said so.”

sunghoon shrugged, lips quirking. “didn’t want to impose.”

you smiled, shaking your head as you got up towards the kitchen. picking up a peach, you placed it on the cutting board. “please, you’re practically a regular guest at this point.” the knife scraped softly against the board as you sliced.

sunghoon watched as the blade was just a fraction away from the tips of your fingers—close enough to nick the skin. he wished bones were that easy to slice through. wished he could part the metacarpals with the same clean whisper the knife made through peach flesh. 

“see?” you broke his train of thought, holding up a neat smile. “there’s no need to shy about it.”

but then—slip. 

the blade caught the pad of your finger, a quick sting blooming before the bead of red followed. “ah—” you gasped and hissed quietly, instinctively pulling your hand back.

sunghoon got up from the carpet, his expression shifting in an instant. “you’re bleeding,” he said. you just awkwardly chucked it off, bringing your finger to your lips. “yeah, it’s fine. just a little cut.”

your lips closed around the cut, tongue curling to lap the blood in one slow swipe. sunghoon’s pulse stuttered. the wet shine of your mouth, the faint smear of red left behind, the soft suction as you drew the taste of yourself in. 

mine, he absentmindedly thought, raw and sudden. i could take that finger, keep it warm between my teeth until the marrow cooled.

“ugh,” you mumbled, pulling it free with a soft pop. a final crimson bead welled up. you turned to the sink, cold water hissing over the wound. sunghoon just stayed by you, sighing. “that won’t do,” he stepped closer, “where do you keep your band aid?”

you pointed at a drawer. sunghoon reached for the small box, fumbling a strip free. “let me…” he trailed, gently taking your hand in his, turning it palm–up so the cut faced the light. the blood had slowed to a lazy seep, a single drop sliding down the curve of your finger.

sunghoon pressed the pad to the wound, smoothing the edges with his thumb. the gauze drank the red instantly. “there,” he said, voice low. “better?” he didn’t let go.

you shyly nodded, not bothered pulling it away. 

“mmhm,” you looked up to him from underneath your lashes. “better.”

with sunghoon, the world felt like it was moving slower and quieter. when he laughed, he did it with his whole body—leaning forward slightly, covering the bottom half of his pretty face with the back of his hand, eyes crinkling faintly. 

and in the best way possible—maybe because of the calmness he carried, it made you sleepy. not one that came out of exhaustion, but safely. 

like right now.

your eyes fluttered shut, still sitting on the floor with your back against the couch, the hum of his voice and the tv slowly fading. sunghoon glanced at you, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his lips. 

you looked peaceful, head tilted slightly, hair brushing against your cheek. carefully, sunghoon crawled towards you and crouched, slipping one arm beneath your knees and the other behind your back.

your body fits nicely in his hold. would you melt if he hugged you?

you stirred a little when he lifted you, murmuring something incoherent that sunghoon hushed you under his breath. he carried you to the bed with slow steps as he didn’t want to wake you up if he wasn’t gentle enough.

“...there,” he muttered softly, laying you down and tucking the blanket up to your shoulders. sunghoon stood there for a moment, watching the rise and fall of your chest. the faint scent of your shampoo clung to his sleeve. 

then, quietly, his gaze drifted to your hand—the one with the cut from earlier. reaching for it, his fingers ghosted over yours, before peeling the edge loose.

the band aid came off easily, leaving your skin bare. he folded the used sticker, blood–side in, and slipped it into his pocket. 

you looked so peaceful amidst the chaos in sunghoon’s mind. if only you knew a fragment about what he was thinking about you, you would be horrified to death. you would hate him. loathe him.

without realising, sunghoon leaned over you, getting a closer look at your features and your tiny details. your lashes cast shadows, your lips slightly parted, breathing. he hovered, breath ghosting the corner of your lips.

one kiss. just one, you’ll never know. 

his hand found your jaw, thumb setting in the hollow beneath your ear. 

the kiss was barely contact, lips to lips, yes, but a little dry and quick. warmth flooded his mouth, letting the lower one graze the same of yours, tasting faintly the peach you had. the kiss was feather–light, but his teeth ached more.

just a nip, it purred. just enough to feel… 

sunghoon traced the shape of your mouth with his own, mapping the bow, the dip, the plush at the center. he pecked, imagining how your lower lip would brush purple before bleeding if he’d bite it down.

the thought alone flooded his mouth with saliva that slipped in yours. 

your breath hitched, and he froze. tongue moved behind your teeth, sunghoon didn’t pull back. instead, he pressed harder, dragging his mouth over yours. his hands slid from your cheeks down to the sides of your neck where he he cradled the fragile columns of muscle and tendon, thumbs settling beneath your jaw. 

sunghoon could feel the flutter of your pulse against his fingertips, like a morse code saying: alive, alive, alive.

lips parted, a soft exhale escaped your lips as he drank it in, the tip of his tongue dragging across your teeth where he felt every ridge, every little mamelon. this is the map, he thought. this is the place i’ll open first. 

when sunghoon finally pulled away, your lips were slightly swollen, glistening with saliva. a single thread of it stretched between you, snapped, and clung to his lower lip. sunghoon licked it clean. 

“hah…” he breathed, your head lolled to the side, exposing the full column of your neck. sunghoon started, thinking of the painting where wolves bit the sheep as the little white animal had its eyes closed peacefully. 

you were the little white.

sunghoon leaned in, pressed his open mouth to that spot—no teeth, just heat from his breath—and felt the thrum of your life against his lips.

then he let go. 

when he finally turned to leave, sunghoon fiddled with the band aid in his pocket, thumb brushing over the faint trace of your skin into the adhesive. later that night, sitting on the edge of his bed in the dim light of his room—

sunghoon sucked the band aid into his mouth, tongue tracing the taste of your sweet, metallic blood on the dressing—his eyes fluttered shut and rolled behind the thin skin, savouring it like a secret snack.

——

“so… you and sunghoon?” 

you blinked, looking up from the laptop screen. “what?” you raised an eyebrow, darting your eyes back to the screen. “what about us…?”

sunoo raised his brows, a teasing lilt in his tone. “you guys go home together and come together and eat together and have inside jokes together and—”

you let out a soft, awkward chuckle, waving your hand dismissively. “oh, that’s just because we live in the same building. it’s… convenient.” 

“convenient,” he repeated, smiling knowingly, pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “riiiight. and the same lunch boxes?”

your mouth fell open slightly. “what—how do you even notice those things?”

your friend shrugged, scoffing playfully. “hah—you should see his face when you talk to other guys too.” you rolled your eyes, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your neck. “he’s just… protective, i guess. he’s nice.”

sunoo leaned back in his chair, smirking. “yeah, he is. but y’know—guys don’t just look at their friend, especially one that’s supposed to be just neighbours like they like them.”

your eyes widened, unsure whether to laugh or deny it. “w—what? no, it’s not like that,” you stammered, the corners of your lips twitching. “we’re just… friends, really.”

sunoo gave a small hum, not quite convinced. “mm. if you say so,” his tone was light, teasing. “just… be sure with what you feel. as both you and sunghoon’s friend, i can tell you—sunghoon’s a lot of things, but he’s not the one to play around.”

“so if you don’t like him, just tell him. he’ll understand. he can be intimidating sometimes, but he’s not cruel.”

you bit the inside of his cheek, gaze falling to your hands. the words stuck somewhere in your throat—because the truth was, you did like sunghoon. probably more than you should. 

“so you think i should just tell him?”

sunoo looked up from his screen, tilting his head. “do you like him?”

you nodded, lips pressing into a thin line. “yeah,” you admitted softly, almost embarrassed by the way your chest fluttered around it. “i do… he’s just so easy to be around. not like i planned it or anything.”

his expression softened, the teasing in his eyes faded into an understanding. “aw, then tell him,” he said simply with a shrug. “it’s probably mutual, anyway. i can feel it.”

you laughed under your breath, tapping your fingertips against your laptop’s palm rest area. “right… i don’t want to keep wondering if he feels the same either,” you sighed, shoulders dropping. “i just don’t wanna make things weird between us if it goes south,” 

“he’s… important to me.”

sunoo leaned back, nodding. “if it’s real, it won’t get weird. and even if it does, sunghoon will make sure it isn’t.”

you didn’t know why—but that gave you the little boost you needed to let sunghoon know how you felt that night.

“—sorry, that was probably so sudden,” you said quickly, words tumbling out before you could stop them, “i just—ugh, this is embarrassing.” you fingers twisted the edge of your sleeve, and you looked everywhere but at him. “you don’t have to say anything. i just didn’t want to keep it in anymore, and i’m sorry if this makes things weird—”

“wait, wait wait wait,” 

sunghoon’s eyes widened in disbelief, his lips parted slightly. “wait,” he said again, letting out a breath of chuckle. “you’re serious?” 

you nodded, cheeks warm. “yeah,” you managed, trying to laugh, though it came out shaky. “i know it’s stupid, i just—”

“it’s not stupid.”

sunghoon leaned closer, the corners of his mouth twitching like he couldn’t decide whether to smile or not. his heart felt like it was beating everywhere—in his throat, his hands, his skull. “yn,” he said, swallowing the hunger in his throat.

“i feel the same way.” 

you blinked, caught off guard by his answer—and the way his voice trembled ever so slightly. “you… what?” you asked, half laughing in disbelief. 

sunghoon’s lips parted, his chest rising. “...yeah,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “for a while now, actually.”

your heart felt like it might burst out of your ribs. “why?” you asked suddenly without thinking, still dazed, a nervous grin tugging at your lips. “why do you like me?”

he huffed a soft laugh, his eyes darting away as if the question embarrassed him. “that’s—you first.”

you groaned. “what? nooo, you can’t just deflect like that.”

sunghoon shrugged, smiling faintly. “i asked second. besides, i probably like you first than you do me.”

“fair,” you rolled your eyes playfully, looking down at your bowl of rice. “honestly… you’re just so easy to be around. i’m comfortable, and you’re—kind… and quiet, in the best way possible…”

his eyes softened as he watched you, propping his chin on the heel of his palm. “that’s all?”

“what do you mean that’s all!” you laughed, throwing him a look.

“i don’t know,” sunghoon said, grinning now, shrugging as he pulled his chair closer. “just thought you’d say something about how good–looking i am too.”

you let out a small snort, resting your cheek on your palm on the table. “fine. you’re handsome too. but that’s just a bonus.”

he laughed, his eyes crinkle like crescent moon. “your turn,” you said, nudging your chin playfully. “why do you like me?”

sunghoon tilted his head, considering. “aside from the obvious—how pretty you are,” he began, voice light but eyes sincere. “i think it’s just who you are. you’re… soft about life, but not weak. you care about the small things, so caring, considerate, lovely,” 

he laughed a little under his breath, tilting his head slightly like he’s in awe. “when i’m with you, it’s… quiet in my head, but i also just can’t stop thinking about you.” 

you blinked at him, caught between smiling and forgetting how to breathe. “that’s…” you trailed off, searching for words. “probably one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.”

sunghoon’s lips curled, shy but sure. “then i’ll keep saying them, if it means you’ll keep looking at me like that,”

“but before i do all that… can i be your boyfriend, yn?”

——

one would think that sunghoon would settle after this—after getting what he’d wanted which was you. after being allowed closer, after becoming yours in a way he used to only fantasise and dream about. 

one would think he’d calm down. be normal. relax now that he didn’t have to secretly snoop into your apartment or eavesdrop to your conversations just to know how your day was going. now, you were the one who told him everything—gave him your spare key, let him borrow your stuff and even let him put his toothbrush in your bathroom just incase. 

but the truth was—dating you only made it worse for him.

because before, he had to imagine which could only go so far.

but now he got to see. 

now you waited for him on your couch in tiny tank tops without overthinking if sunghoon thought you were seducing him, now you tied your hair up in front of him and exposed the slope of your neck without a second thought. now you sit between his legs on the floor while you fold laundry—his jaw clenched because your back, the curve of your spine was all his to view. 

when before you hid your softness around him—now you trusted him with it.

and sunghoon didn’t know how to handle that.

being allowed to love you didn’t soothe the obsession. it only fed it, watered it, growing it into something even bigger, heavier, and hungrier. the closer you got, the more it was clear to him: sunghoon needed you inside him. not in that way—but you needed to be beneath the layers of his skin, threaded through the muscle, fused to the marrow of his bones. 

sunghoon loved you, but not in the gentle way you wanted. 

“o—oh god, hoonie, your mouth,” you gasped, arching your back against his mattress as your grip tightened around his locks. sunghoon’s dick twitched at your moanings, his hand travelled up to cup your soft tits in his large palms, the flesh spilling from between his fingers. 

sunghoon kissed and nibbled the outline of your panties and your inner thighs, his sharp canines tugging at your skin and leaving teeth marks on it. his thumbs grazed and flicked your perky nipples. he’s such a tease—purposely avoiding the wet patch on your panties just centimetres from his lips. 

your pussy twitched and pulsed, and if it wasn’t for sunghoon’s arms pinning your folded thighs down, they would've started trembling from how needy you were getting. “baby please, don’t tease me,” you whined, breath hitching in your lungs.

your boyfriend smirked and nuzzled his face into the warmth of your inner thigh, darting his tongue out to finally give your clothed entrance kitten licks. god, you tasted so sweet, so wet for him, so desperate. 

and just finally, he plated a kiss on your cunt. you whimpered, hips jerking up slightly. sunghoon pinched your nipples like a warning to stay low—your fingers curling around his locks. “calm down, baby, let me enjoy this,” he murmured against your pussy, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. 

sunghoon gave your kitty a few more kisses before hooking his finger beneath the waistband, sliding it down and bunched loosely beneath your knees, caught around both legs. you shivered at the cold air hitting your slicky cunt, sunghoon’s warm breath against it not helping at all either. 

“whoa,” he took a long, nice inhale of your natural scent, saliva pooling in the back of his throat. fuck—not only did you look good, but you smelt good too. sunghoon wondered how you tasted like—though he’d rather take his time with you, savouring every inch instead of rushing a single bite.

“my honey’s so gorgeous,” his breath was heavy as he licked his lips, salivating with the way your hole twitched, walls clamping around nothing. “all this for me.” 

you squirmed, heat rushing to your cheeks as sunghoon took his time enjoying the view—all self–conscious and horny. your hips trembled as they tried to shut, but sunghoon’s wrist anchored it down as he played with your nipples. “don’t… don’t look at it like that…”

disregarding you, sunghoon leaned and darted his tongue to lick at your needy cunt, all wet and dripping. he licked long strips between the lips before the shorter ones, the tip of his tongue tickling and flicking your little pea of nerves. 

you gasped softly, lips parted, tipping your head back against the mattress. “hngh! sunghoon—!” you squirmed, toes curling in the air as sunghoon began french–kissing your cunt, molding and moving his lips against the labia like it’s your lips. the tip of his nose kept brushing against your sensitive clit. 

shit felt so, so, so good. both for you and for him. sunghoon’s long, skilled tongue and mouth that made out with your cunt, his soft palms that tugged, pinched, and flicked your pretty perky nipples, his occasional soft moans, grunts, groans, and breath hitting your naked pussy.

and of course, for sunghoon—this was heaven. the ravenous kind of paradise. no wonder why adam and eve did what they did to the apple—when something looks that forbidden, that soft, that sweet, that appetising, how could anyone resist sinking their teeth in?

your pussy was so meaty, so fleshy. it felt like eating and biting into a really, really juice steak with juices dripping out. shit, sunghoon could devour this cunt all day and night long. with your sweet, honey dripping moanings and whimperings too. 

nibbling here and there, sunghoon ran his tongue up and down, back and forth, lapping, slurping your folds before attaching himself to your clit where he sucked and tugged it. your moans grew louder, and you could only pray to god that your neighbours were out. 

“oh god, just like that, hoonie, just like that,” you cried out, bucking your hips with your limited movement against sunghoon’s handsome face. he grunted, the vibration from his voice sending shivers through you. “so needy,” he chuckled, plunging his tongue into your throbbing hole, nose pressed against your clit as he practically shoved his face into his meal.

running your hand through his hair, you tangled them again, giving it a tug forward. your boyfriend picked up his pace, thrusting his tongue in and out of you like it’s his cock, curling the muscle to press on that soft, gummy spot in your cunt. 

you tensed up, shivering, legs trembling in the air as your breath hitched. “hngh—! hoonie! there, there, there, oh god, there, baby,” you pleaded, writing beneath his grip on your boobs. his lips never stopped working either—it slurped and sucked your cunt noisily, tongue exploring the domain of your cunt. 

trembling, you began suppressing your moans by biting the back of your hand, tears welling in your eyes as the pressure began to build up—overstimulation washing over you. “uh—fffu, hnghh…” you whimpered, incoherent words spilling from your lips. 

sunghoon didn’t care that he practically couldn’t breathe properly from being suffocated by your sweet pussy—he loved the feeling, more than anything he’s ever felt before. 23 years of being alive, and nothing could ever top this high. 

“fuck, mhh,” he muffled in your cunt, your walls spasming around his tongue. you gyrated against sunghoon’s mouth, rubbing your wet pussy on his face—making a mess. he thrusts and curved his tongue along your walls, dragging the tip of his tongue as his loops made sloppy wet sounds. your walls contracted and pulsated. 

“hoonie—!” you cried out, back arching, legs tensed in the air. you’re so close to cumming it’s crazy—your whole body quivered, tingling, quaking, toes curling, hand tightened around his hair while the other biting down on your skin hard. 

feeling you getting close, sunghoon grazed his teeth on your pussy, making your stomach pulsate at the sensation. your breath stuttered—shallow and uneven and heavy and short—each exhale catching on the rise of the heat building in your belly.

sunghoon slid one hand from your tit down to your abdomen where he pressed his palm flat on the flesh, pressuring into the soft give of your stomach. your stomach fluttered under his palm, a tight, hot pull low in your belly made your breath stumble. everything felt too close, too overstimulating, too much. “n—not there, ‘m gonna cum, hoonie, i’m gonna cum—!” 

throwing your head back, a silent cry left your throat. you clamped down on your bottom lip to keep any noise from leaving your mouth—quickly reminding yourself that you don’t live by yourself. “mhh!” an intense wave rushed through your entire body, arching your back in pleasure—you release both your creamy orgasm and squirt on your boyfriend’s face. 

your thighs trembled as sunghoon pressed your abdomen harder, forcing all liquids to come out of your body. sunghoon continued fucking your cunt with his tongue, slurping, sucking, gulping down straight down his throat. 

his adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped down. 

“hnghh, mhh—! sunghoon!” you whimpered, crying out. your legs threatened to squeeze around his head, hips bucking against his face as you chased your high. his nose brushed between your folds.

everything dripped down his face to his chin, sunghoon pinched the fat on your stomach to ground himself as he lapped his tongue flat on your pussy. you tasted so, so, so fucking good—sweeter than any fruit he’d ever bitten into, sweeter than any dessert he’d tasted. your liquid kept sliding down his throat like it never ended as he drank it all—he swore his eyes went crossed. 

like a starving animal getting a mouthful yet still not satisfied, sunghoon did something no creature of instinct ever could—he hungered past your body, craving the soul beneath the skin. 

sunghoon bit down—clamping his canines and row of perfect teeth into the meaty flesh of your cunt. it bit down sharply, the way one would bite down their steak, hard enough for the skin to split with a wet squelching noise. he held the bite, jaw locked, feeling the pulse beneath the meat throb against his tongue.

alive, alive, alive.

sunghoon pulled back an inch where the wound yawned open before him—the muscle dark and wet, a ribbon of blood spilled free, thick and crimson metallic, tracing the curve of his lower loop before dripping in a slow, deliberate line down his chin. your blood clung to the sharp line of his jaw, then fell in a perfect scarlet bead onto the sheet between your thighs.

oh this was it—sunghoon savoured it, tilting his head up so the blood would slide along the hollow of his throat, pooling at the notch of his collarbone. the taste coated his tongue: iron and salt and sweetness, with your chunk of flesh in his mouth, where he bit, chewed, grinded it against his molars like a really, really chewy meat. 

the first mouthful was revelation: warm, velvet muscle parting under his teeth. sunghoon leaned to drag his tongue over the open wound, slower time time, savouring the layers of your flesh beneath your skin. 

sunghoon pressed his face into the wound, nose buried in the open wound, and inhaled. this scent—sex, blood, and you—he wanted to bathe in if it was possible. sunghoon wanted to open you up, crawl inside like a reversed baby coming out of their mother’s womb—he wanted to live there and live under your skin. 

another lick, a gush of blood escaped and spread on his tongue, clinging to his teeth like syrup. sunghoon sucked gently while he munched down on your flesh, breaking nerves and venules apart with a grind of molars. your muscle fibre tore like silk. 

ah, so this is what you taste like.

he bit again, teeth scraping your skin where your inner thigh met. the skin here was thinner; it parted like how you would tear a paper—a new river of blood spilled free, tracing the corners of his mouth, hollowing his collarbone. 

he didn’t immediately swallow, letting the flesh sit on his tongue warmly. 

he would never be hungry again, he would never be empt—

“sunghoon—?” 

you panted, your eyes glistening with tears, wide and glassy, pupils blown from the aftershock of your climax. your thighs trembled, the sheets beneath you were soaked—not with blood, but with the slick of your release. 

your fingers were still clawed at his hair, trying to pull him up, but he stayed buried between your legs, mouth still latched to the soft inner fold of your thighs where the skin was flushed crimson.

not from the bite marks where he’d bitten, but from the bruising suction of his lips, the scrape of his teeth, and the relentless drag of his tongue.

the fantasy had bled so deep into reality that when sunghoon finally lifted his head, his lips were swollen and wet, shining with your juices, his saliva. a thin string of saliva and arousal stretched from his mouth to the tender spot he’d been devouring, snapping only when he blinked, like waking from a fever dream. 

“it… it hurts,” you whispered, voice cracked and trembling. “can you… come here… please?”

sunghoon’s breath hitched and he couldn’t even mutter an apology as much as he wanted to. he crawled up your body on shaky arms, and when he hovered over your face, you saw it—that feral glint flickering in his eyes, the way his tongue kept darting out, licking his lips.

you cupped his jaw with trembling fingers. a tear slipped down your cheek. this was the first time he looked like someone else. “you okay?” you breathed.

your boyfriend leaned in, pressed his forehead to yours, and said the truth with the softest smile.

“never better.”

——

you can be on a diet for only so long before you get really, really hungry again.

if you never confessed to sunghoon (months ago), you’d never know that he was so… clingy. he got that cute, shy–boyish way about him, sure—but he also couldn't just stop touching you. always tugging you closer by the hem of your shirt, always slipping his fingers between yours even when you were just walking to take the trash out, always resting his chin on your shoulder.

sunghoon’s favourite thing to do was pressing his fingers against your pulse. 

sometimes on your wrist to check if you were real and alive. sometimes under your jaw where the sudden movement made your breath catch. sometimes against the inside of your thigh when he thought you wouldn’t notice, waiting for that jump under his fingertips.

sunghoon swore your pulse gave him morse code that told him you’re—alive, alive, alive.

he liked knowing you were alive under his hands.

he liked knowing you were still alive because of him.

sometimes it creeped you out, but lately…. it’s been a lot.

you can hold your breath for a while, but eventually your lungs will start begging for air.

“sunghoon,” you said, mumbling against his bare chest as he held you in his arms. your boyfriend replied with a soft hum, fingers playing with the lock of your hair. “...i think we need a break,” you said—quiet, careful, distracted. 

sunghoon blinked. a little crease forming between his brows. he pulled back, immediately propping himself up on his elbow so he could see your face better.

“what… break?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper like he was afraid he’d misheard you. 

you swallowed, looking away. “just some space… just—just a little. we’re not breaking up, i just need some—”

“space? from me?” he even points to himself. wishing there was someone else you’re talking about. “but… why? did i do something?” 

you opened your mouth, but the words tangled on your tongue. you could feel his eyes on you—almost frantic. you didn’t want to tell sunghoon he’d been clingy, too much. you didn’t want your boyfriend to change himself… but then again, you didn’t feel good about lying.

“i just…” you tried again, an uneasy gut forming in your stomach. “hoonie, you’ve just been all over me lately. i just need to breathe a little.”

sunghoon’s shoulder stiffened. his fingers, which had been resting lightly on your waist, curled in resistance from grabbing you and holding you in place. “all over you?” he echoed, disbelief laced in his tone. “i am all over you. i love you, isn’t that what i’m supposed to do?”

his eyes searched your face like he was trying to find the part where you were joking. space shouldn’t be a word that applies to him. when you didn’t respond, sunghoon let out a weak laugh. “baby, i don’t… understand,” he admitted, voice softening. 

“how can you need space from me? we’re finally together, we finally get each other.” sunghoon sat up straighter, leaning against the frame. “i’ve waited for us for so long. why would you want distance now? what do you mean i’m all over you?”

“if i’m being too much, you can just… tell me. i’ll fix it. i’ll be better. i’ll do anything. just don’t—” his voice caught, barely. “don’t pull away.”

you felt the weight of his desperation settle thickly. his need wasn’t loud or violent; it was quiet, pleading, woven into every tiny movement he made. his thumb brushed over your shoulder like he was trying to reassure himself you were still there.

he didn’t need to fix himself. he didn’t need to apologise or shrink or adjust anything just to accommodate you. you weren’t asking him to be smaller or softer or different. but god, the way he looked at you made the guilt bloom sharp and sour in your throat. 

“hoonie…” you murmured, sitting upright. “you don’t get it…” you tug on your bottom lip, finding the right words to tell him. “i need time to get my head straight. i don’t want these thoughts—that you’re being too much to take a toll on me.”

his expression twitched, not with anger, but confusion. “then i just stop being too much, then.” he shrugged like it was that simple. was as easy as flipping a switch. you frowned, feeling almost disrespected. “sunghoon,” you murmured—but he leaned forward.

“i can tone it down,” he insisted. “i won’t hold you as much, won’t cling, won’t—” his voice cracked for just a fraction. “won’t touch you, if that freaks you out.”

“no,” you exhaled, heat rising in your chest. “you’re hearing what you want to fix. not what i’m saying.”

“how is that wrong? i’m trying. what am i supposed to do?”

just like that—? “you’re ignoring how i feel,” you shot back, fingers curling the blanket. “i’m telling you i need space, and the first thing you say is that you’ll change for me. i’m not trying to ask you to be a different person.”

his jaw tensed, frowning deeper. ”well—what am i supposed to say? okay, go ahead, leave me alone? that’s insane.”

you blinked, stunned. “so my feelings are insane now?”

“that’s not what i said.”

“but that’s how it sounds.” you countered, heart pounding against your chest. “you make it feel like what i need doesn’t matter unless it lines up with what you want.”

sunghoon’s eyes widened. “that’s not fair. i always think about you.”

“exactly!” you said, voice cracking. “you think about me so much you don’t leave any space for me to think about myself.” 

his lips parted, breath catcing—because he hadn’t expected that from you. he didn’t expect you to raise your voice, or be so angry about what he think he did right. 

you dragged a hand through your hair, visibly frustrated. “it makes me feel disrespected when you say things like that. like my boundaries don’t matter.”

sunghoon shook his head quickly. “what—? no, that’s not tru—”

“then listen,” you said firmly, removing the covers off your body. “i’m asking for a break. not a breakup. i need it, and you need to respect that.” getting off his bed, you take your items—phone, bracelets, and glasses—from his bedside table. 

your boyfriend swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “i don’t know how to do this,” he murmured, voice breaking. “i don’t know how to be away from you.”

the front door slammed shut, the sound ricocheting through the apartment. 

you had actually walked away from him.

——

“you did what you gotta do,” wonyoung said, tossing you a towel as she settled beside you on the couch. her apartment was the embodiment of her, all soft and warm. 

you sighed, groaning as you stretched your limbs above your head. “i know, i know… i just—”

the guilt swelled up in your chest, thick and heavy. “i feel awful, wony. he looked so… wrecked. it felt like i kicked a puppy.”

she chuckled softly, shaking her head. “yeah, a very clingy, tall, big puppy who doesn’t understand boundaries.” she leaned her head back, eyes narrowing slightly. “it’s been weeks, he’ll come around.”

you frowned, leaning your head back as well on the backrest. “he didn’t take it well,” you murmured, staring at the ceiling. “i’ve never seen him look like that. wonder what he feels now…”

your friend let out a slow exhale. “yeah, but you needed the break. i mean… you know i’m not his biggest fan.”

you hugged the towel around your shoulders. “i know that. he’s not bad—”

“i didn’t say he’s bad,” she cut in gently. “i’m just glad you decided to draw some line. he’s so intense and possessive sometimes. you’ve been stressed for weeks before this. that’s not normal.”

you sunk deeper into the couch. yeah—it wasn’t just you who noticed how sunghoon changed after getting together with you. wonyoung, sunoo—his friends did too. 

wonyoung noticed it first. she’d give you little looks when she saw the marks on your skin that you failed to cover up. not hickeys—those are still considerably normal. bite marks. actual teeth marks. sunoo’s brows knitted so tightly you thought they’d fuse together when sunghoon had gotten up to follow you to the bathroom. even heeseung—who you would assume wouldn’t care so much once said with an awkward laugh, “he’s… really into you, huh?”

you had brushed every comment away then. it was just young, new, eager, overwhelming love. but now, sitting on wonyoung’s couch with guilt sitting like a stone in your chest, you wonder why you didn’t acknowledge it sooner. 

he wasn’t just clingy.

he was spiraling, and you’d gotten caught in the center of it. 

——

have you ever had something so good you couldn’t stop thinking about it after?

you were like one of those rare delicacies one would stumble upon once in their life, the kind that ruins everything else—because after having it once, nothing else compares. nothing else satisfies. 

sunghoon stuffed himself full with all kinds of sweets, spice to numb his tongue, salt that gave him migraines—jerk himself off that he swore he’d nothing left inside, grind against his bolster, fucked his fist, folded his pillow into two and fucked the hole it made—to your voice, your clips, your face, your stuff that he stole—cum on your shoe outside your door, on the cookie you baked that’s been in his fridge longer than it should. 

he’s still hungry. 

the more distance you put between you and him, the more violently he remembered. like hunger after a long journey, teeth aching for something familiar again. you weren’t just someone he loved, you were the first thing that made him understand obsession. 

you were the person who made sunghoon the way he was. you were the person who made sunghoon realised he might be a—

cannibal. 

it speaks to the carnal human desire to be touched and remain impossibly close to another person.

“hoonie?” 

sunghoon shuddered at your soft voice. you’re still alive—his lips trembled as tears welled in his eyes. “yn,” he swallowed. “i—i missed you,” he choked, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt. “i really can’t… i really, really, can’t do this anymore.” 

“i feel so sick without you. i can’t eat, i can’t do sleep, i can’t do anyt—”

his voice dissolved into a harsh exhale, his chest rising and falling with the frantic rhythm of someone who’s trying not to break down. 

something about him made you open the door wider, taking his hand in yours. “hoonie…” your other hand rose to cup his cheek, always so gentle. you knew it must’ve hurt him, but you didn’t know it was to this extent—he looked so… devastated. 

sunghoon looked like his world crumbled apart. 

“come inside.” you murmured, gently tugging him in. your boyfriend stumbled inside, eyes glassy and wild. as the door clicked shut behind him, he felt it settle into his bones—he would never be able to let you go.

you should never feed the hunger that was supposed to just starve and rot.

“‘missed you so much,” 

“i missed you so fucking much,” sunghoon nipped the shell of your ear, lifting your hips up to tug you closer, drawing your bodies together. you let out a soft yelp, wrapping your arms around his heck. “mh—!”

your boyfriend darted his tongue out to lick the curve of your ear, tracing the delicate shell—the triangular fossa, down to your concha and just flicking the inside—you squirmed, tilting your head away but sunghoon caught it, squishing your cheeks to keep your head still. 

“it tickles—!” you gasped, the laugh breaking into a breathy moan as his sharp teeth grazed the love, not biting, just holding. his tongue followed the path again, wetter and slower this time, mapping the ridge and hollow. 

this cartilage, this pulse—mine to keep. 

sunghoon’s warm breath entered your ear as he kept grinding his cock between your clothed pussy lips. the two of you were so dying to fuck—but sunghoon wanted to foreplay first. “stay still baby,” he rasped, sucking the antitragus—the pointed cartilage bump on your outer ear. 

his mouth travelled down to nip at the soft hollow just beneath your ear, that fragile cradle where your pulse beat visibly if sunghoon squinted his eyes. his teeth closed gently, the skin dimpled, then released with a soft, wet pop; he chased the spot with his tongue, flicking the tip around it, lapping at the warmth as he darkened the mark.

yeah—this too, his pulse.

sunghoon nudged your panties aside with the head of his cock, rubbing the mushroom head between your labia, rubbing it up and down your pussy lips. he dipped his head just enough to stretch your cunt before pulling it out, smearing your juices all over your cunt.

you whimpered in frustration as your breath hitched, “hoonie, please—please fuck me right now baby,” your back arched in desperation—needy for his cock that you’ve longed for for weeks. “need your cock inside me, please,” you pleaded desperately.

not sure if it was your fervent begging, or sunghoon’s meal time that grumbled, but he obliged. sunghoon slid his cock inside, stretching your pussy with the best kind of burn sensation. he buried his face into the crook of your neck as he groaned, the warmth of your cunt engulfed his throbbing cock. 

“fuck, you’re s’tight,” he murmured, tugging on your skin with his canine. you moaned out, tightening your grip around his neck as the discomfort emerged. “h—hngh! wait, wait,” you gasped, mind fumbling to focus on his cock or his lips. “you’re so big, fuck,”

slowly, sunghoon began to pull his hips back, then thrusted forward as gentle as he could. the pain subsided as he continued to move, and it started to feel good—like how it’d been feeling at this while. 

you missed your boyfriend so much. 

sunghoon raised his head from your neck, the other hand that’s not propping himself beside your head played with your tender tit, fondling, squeezing, squishing the flesh. “you feel so amazing.” he murmured, leaning to kiss you again. kissing might be his favourite thing to do, afterall—

a kiss is the beginning of consumption.

sunghoon moved at a pace where it’s pleasurable for the two of you, his hips pressed to your pelvis. he’s breathing deep, hurried breaths, sweat began forming at his temple. “s’deep hoonie, hngh,” you grasped his shoulders, clawing your nails into him. 

“yeah?” a guttural moan escaped him, head thrown back in a second as he picked up his pace, intensifying his rhythm. “i’m about to give you more pretty girl,” the corner of his lips twitched into a smirk, leaning to feast on your neck once again. 

his favourite altar. sunghoon imagined the give of it—how the thin layer would split like wet parchment, how the blood would flood his tongue, how the flavour would be richer than anywhere else—he kissed harder at the thought.

and so did his cock. the head slammed and knocked against your cervix, quicker and more insistent—the bed beneath shook under the combined weight. “hngh, fuck, yn, i—” he winched at how tight your pussy clamped him down. 

your muscles clenched and released, the remnant of his cock shoved inside, balls deep and slapping against the curve of your ass. “hoonie, hoonie, t’deep, too deep—” you arched your back, turning your head to nibble your bedsheet beneath. 

sunghoon dismissed your pleadings, dragging his teeth along the tendon again, counting heartbeads like rosary beads with the tip of his tongue. every throb of his cock: your vein, this life. his hips stuttered as he buried his cock deeper. 

do it, the hunger hissed. do it now. 

do it sunghoon. do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it 

do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it 

he did it.

sunghoon’s jaw snapped shut like a trap.

his sharp teeth and canines punched through your skin with a crack, the carotid parted under his canines like an overripe peach, a soft hiss of surrender broke apart as the artery split and the blood surged and squired all over.

the copper iron taste hit his tongue in a scalding flood, sweeter and alive, and real with the frantic drum of your pulse—before your screams did. 

“ahh—!” your body jerked beneath him in a single, shocked spasm, and the motion only drove his teeth deeper until his upper molars kissed the bottom ones. a sudden, scalding gush flooding the hollow of your neck, spilling down your collarbone in thick waves. you felt it leaving you and straight being sucked into his mouth into greedy, rhythmic pulls—

much like the rhythm of his hips rocking against yours.

your vision tunneled, the ceiling blurred. “sunghoon! sunghoon—!” you cried out, body thrashing, fingers clawing at his shoulders, nails dragging his skin red and drawing blood, but your limbs were already going heavy, agonisingly slow.

this isn’t real, your mind screamed. 

“fuck, mmh, fuck,” sunghoon moaned as he lapped his tongue over the open wound, sticking the muscle inside where it wriggled around your flesh. he collected drops of your blood like communion.

his cock grew at the taste—he couldn’t even move anymore, just kept it buried warm and comfy around your warmth, throbbing and pulsing each time a gush of your blood entered his stomach.

your boyfriend pulled back slowly, like a man surfacing from deep water. 

his face was ruined. horrific. 

blood coated in his mouth in a glossy, obscene mask—dripping from his chin in slow ropes that splattered onto your chest, trailing down the side of your tits and landed on your collarbone. it streaked his cheeks in wild, smeared acts, clung to his lashes in clumps, painted his sharp jaw in dripping crimson. 

“yn…” his lips were swollen, split at the corner from the force of the bite. when he smiled, his teeth gleamed red. “you taste fucking amazing.”

his eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing the brown, reflecting the lamplight like a… like a madman. a low, guttural laugh rumbled in his chest as he dragged his tongue through the blood. 

you were raggedly, shallowy breathing—still alive. 

your hand fluttered weakly to your neck where your fingers brushed the wet, pulsing ruin that left a hole of the bite. white–hot pain exploded behind your eyes. “sunghoon—” your voice cracked, barely a whisper. “what… why did you—”

your pussy twitched, unintentionally clamped around him. sunghoon winched, tilting his head before leaning in. his forehead pressed to yours as he brought his hand to squish your cheeks, smearing crimson across your skin like paint. 

“shhh,” he murmured, “you’re okay.” 

sunghoon kissed you, his balls smacked against the curve of your ass with powerful thrusts, the tip of his cock delved so deep you swore it went past your womb. “hngh—!” you whimpered, his mouth crashed over yours. the taste exploded across your tongue and went straight to your brain.

so dizzying you felt the room spinning. all of it you, all of it his. his lips were swollen, warm, sticky, thick from the mess of your neck, and when he pressed harder, slipping his tongue inside—the wound on your throat throbbed in pain.

your hands weakly tried to push him off—digging your nails into his flesh, but it was nothing compared to the impact he had on you. it’s so painful, it’s crazy—

sunghoon’s teeth caught the corner of your mouth where he bit down again, sharp and sudden, the soft flesh of your lower lip splitting under the pressure. your eyes widened in horror as fresh bead of blood welled up down your chin.

“this is it,” he moaned, rasping as he sucked it cleaned, tongue curling around the flappy skin where he tore a piece off, munching on it. so… chewy, so porky… “‘this is t’taste,” his tongue traced the path of the tear he’d shed. 

even whimpering felt weird—your mouth opened a little wider at every attempt that you realised shutting up might just be better. tears escaped your eyes, mixed with the blood smeared on your face. salty and irony, salty and irony—it’s painful.

everything’s painful. your neck’s throbbing and hissing, your mouth felt weird and swollen, the corner of your lip stinging where his teeth had split it open, you’re so horrified and aghast your pussy squeezed his growing cock. 

a broken sob tore from your chest. tears spilled hot and fast, cutting clean tracks. your hands shook as they flew to your neck, putting pressure on the wound where you tried to stop the bleeding and the pain surging. 

“it hurts—” you choked, body heaving and jerking and shivering. “it hurts s’much,” another sob, louder, wetter—you hoped the neighbours were here this time, shoving and forcing themselves inside your apartment and save you. your body curled in on itself, shoulders shaking, painful breath hitching in sharp, panicked gasps. 

sunghoon’s eyes twitched, his spine straightened, looking down on you wrecked. split mouth, blood–slick chin. your sobs grew louder as your chest heaved in pain, exhaustion dragging you under. your fingers even inserted themselves into the wound because blood just won’t stop spilling.

“just a little,” your boyfriend dug his nails into the soft part between your ribs, burying his nails until the skin split with a wet ripping sound. “it won’t hurt,” the flesh parted like warm butter, a line of blood welling up. he pressed deeper, the heat of peritoneal cavity just beneath,

his fingers curled, hooked, and pulled.

your skin tore like a peeling fruit. warm viscera spilled into his palm. the small intestine glistened, pearlescent and alive and warm, steaming. sunghoon’s salvating—he swallowed the lump in his throat as he lifted it to his mouth like a newborn. 

sinking his teeth into the delicate wall of your intestine, the taste was obscene—the faint sweetness of bile, the tang of blood, the earthy warmth of your core that had never seen light. that part that held your breath, food, and life. 

sunghoon chewed slowly, reverently, blood dripping along his chest and stomach and abs and abdomen, down to your cunt—where his dick disappeared inside your tight hole. the tissue burst between his molars, the fluid flooding his tongue in sweet rush.

he bit it like steak pieces, swallowing. 

cannibalism is the most stomach-churning version of possession.

“won’t hurt you,” your boyfriend murmured, pupils blown wide. he leaned to press his blood slick mouth, giving your wound open kisses. his tongue delved into the wound of your stomach, lapping at the slick walls, the coiled organs,

everything that had once been you—

“inside me now,” he whispered, burying his face between your torn ribs. “forever.”

the hunger had been appeased.

there was no desperation claiming at his ribcage now. no frantic ache in his chest. no restless, twitching need to hold you closer until he couldn’t breathe. consuming you—talking all of you into him—he had become calm. 

anchored.

peaceful, even. 

your body laid open beneath him like a split, overripe, ruined peach. 

your eyes were wide and lifeless, soulless as death claimed you—matte pupils fixed on the ceiling. the wound in your abdomen yawned wide, intestines spilled out like how a cotton would when the plushie is torn, pooling across your tummy and bedsheet. 

sunghoon pressed a trembling hand to his chest, right over the heart.

beat–beat.

beat–beat.

that rhythm—your rhythm, now his as well. 

that long, dragging craving that had haunted him worse than devils and ghouls, the rabid need that made him shake—all of it had dissolved into this fullness. that blissful numbness. 

if hunger was a torment, then this was salvation.

he had eaten you whole.

in his imagination.

“hoonie…?” you whimpered softly, squirming beneath him as you put your hands on his chest to create some distance. sunghoon blinked himself to reality—pupils going back to normal size, lips parting open with saliva pooling at the back of his throat.

he looked down on you, your eyes glassy, cheeks puffed and flushed, eyelashes wet with tears clumps—he’d long cum inside of you, cock still buried like he wasn’t letting any of his lovemilk oozing out. 

you came as well—orgasm drowned and rushed you like a waterfall, squirting and wetting your mattress. your chest heaved for air, panting, chest rising 

sunghoon’s eyes darted towards your neck—the skin flushed rose, full of his lovebites and marks but nothing wounded. no blood, no bite… he swallowed hard, throat clicking. then his eyes darted towards your lips, no tear, no split. just your perfect, lovely lips—glistening with shared saliva from kissing.

then under your chest. still intact, still sewn together, rising and falling in soft, exhausted waves.

he exhaled slowly—the sound trembling in the quiet.

you were still alive. you were untouched in all the ways his mind had ravaged you just moments before. “hah—” he chuckled dryly, running his clean hand through his face where wiped down his sweats. 

in the back of his throat, he could still taste your flesh between his teeth.

you reached out to brush his strands sticking onto his skin. how lonely your boyfriend must’ve felt throughout the break period—how could you ever do that to him?

swallowing the guilt in your throat, you sucked the inside of your cheek, thumb caressing the apple of sunghoon’s flushed cheek. a low, rumbling sound vibrated in your tummy.

“i’m hungry…”

Two thick fingers slide into you without warning, curling instantly against that spongy spot that makes you see stars. Your thighs start shaking violently around his head as he pumps them slowly, scissoring you open while his tongue flicks relentlessly over your clit.

“Oh my god—Hee—Heeseung—!” Your voice cracks into a high, sweet whine as another orgasm crashes into you. Your pussy gushes around his fingers and tongue, soaking his chin, his lips, dripping down to the sheets.

But he doesn’t stop. He never stops.

Heeseung moans like a man starved as he drinks every drop of your release, tongue lapping messily, fingers thrusting faster to draw it out longer. His eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide when he glances up at you from between your legs, hair messy, cheeks flushed, mouth and chin shiny with your slick.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groans, almost whining. “Sweeter every time you cum for me. I’m addicted, baby. I need it. Need your pussy on my tongue all the time.”

He pulls his fingers out only to spread your folds open with his thumbs, staring at your clenching, dripping hole like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Then he leans in and licks a long, slow stripe through your sensitive folds again, humming happily when your hips jerk.

“Hee—please— I can’t— I’m so sensitive—” you sob softly, trying to close your legs, but his grip is iron.

“Just one more,” he lies sweetly, pressing a tender kiss right on your clit that makes you twitch. “Just let me have one more. Please, baby. I’ll die if I don’t taste you again.”

You’re a trembling, overstimulated mess, but you nod shakily because the way he begs for your pussy is too hot to deny.

Heeseung dives back in like a man possessed. This time he’s even messier. Sloppy. Desperate. His tongue laps at you like he’s trying to memorize every fold, every twitch, every taste. He sucks your clit, then moves down to push his tongue as deep inside you as it’ll go, fucking you with it while his fingers rub tight, fast circles on your clit.

Your moans turn into broken sobs and whimpers. “Nnghh— Hee—! Feels too good— gonna cum again—!”

“Yes— fuck yes, give it to me,” he growls into your pussy, the vibration sending you over the edge again.

You cum hard, thighs clamping around his head, hips grinding against his face as you ride it out. Heeseung moans loudly, happily, drinking everything you give him like it’s nectar. His fingers keep moving, prolonging it until you’re shaking and crying his name.

Even then, he keeps going, gentler now, but still obsessed. Soft, loving licks through your soaked folds, kitten licks on your clit, pressing slow kisses all over your pussy like he’s worshipping it.

“My favorite thing in the whole fucking world,” he murmurs, voice thick with lust and affection. “This pretty pussy. So wet… so warm… clenching around my tongue like you want me to live here.”

He slides three fingers back inside you slowly, watching with dark, hungry eyes as your walls suck them in greedily.

“Look at that,” he whispers in awe. “She’s hugging my fingers so tight. Greedy little thing. Just like you, baby.”

You’re nearly delirious at this point, body limp and glowing, but Heeseung still looks like he could eat you for hours more.

He crawls up your body eventually, but only after one last long, possessive lick from your entrance to your clit that makes you jolt. His face is glistening, lips puffy, eyes half-lidded with pure satisfaction and need.

He kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, grinding his painfully hard cock against your thigh.

“I’m not done,” he breathes against your mouth, voice rough. “I’m never gonna be done with this pussy. Gonna eat you every single day until you understand how fucking obsessed I am.”

He slides back down your body again, already hooking your trembling legs over his shoulders.

Because Heeseung is completely, utterly pussydrunk.

And he has zero plans of sobering up anytime soon.

[Masterlist]

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you swallow, cheeks warm. “um—,” you say softly, voice a little shaky. “i actually came today because… something feels weird with my breasts.”

he pauses. his eyes slowly travel up your body until they meet yours. “weird how?” he asks. he doesn’t pull his hand away, but instead sits back with his hand still resting just beside your thigh.

“they’ve been… tender lately. and i felt a small lump? or maybe i’m just imagining it. i don’t know—i’m sorry, i’m not sure.” you reply, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. 

your doctor stays quiet for a second, then slowly pulls his hand away. the latex gloves make a soft snap as he adjusts them tighter around his long, slender fingers. “don’t be sorry, yn—this is what i do,” he hums, getting up. “we should do a check up then. take your top and bra off for me.”

you do as he says, heart racing. you hook your fingers beneath your top before sliding it up past your head—then unbuckles your bra. naturally, your hands come to cover up to cover your bare breasts as soon as the fabric falls away.

he watches you try to hide from his for a moment, the corner of his lips twitching. 

“hands off, yn,” he chuckles softly—it almost sounds like a scoff. “how am i supposed to see if you’re fine if you keep covering them?” 

his voice is almost teasing, with that hint of amusement. he reaches forward and gently but firmly pulls your wrists down, pinning them to your sides for a second longer before letting go.

“there we go. good girl.”

now fully exposed, the cool air of the room hits your skin. sunghoon’s raise his eyebrows momentarily as his eyes rake over your chest openly, no longer pretending this was clinical. when he moves his hands, the latex crinkle softly.

sunghoon cups your breasts fully, weighing them in his palms before fully squeezing. “mmm… look at you,” he murmurs, the corner of his lips twitching into a smirk. he starts kneading them firmly, gloved thumbs dragging over your nipples in repetitive strokes. 

the latex slides against your buds, making them harden instantly. he pinches both nipples at the same time, rolling them between his fingers while watching your face closely. your lips part in pleasure, soft moans escaping your lips. 

“hah…”

sunghoon hums. “these feel heavier than last time,” he says, pretending to be professional, but his tone is everything but. he squeezes harder, pushing your tits together, then lets them bounce back in his hands. the latex crinkles. 

“you’ve been playin’ with them, haven’t you?” he asks, glancing up at you before his eyes fall back on your pretty nipples. “playing with these beauties will make ‘em bigger, you know?” he teases. not like sunghoon has complaints—your tits are the nicest, prettiest he’s ever seen.

you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. his fingers feel crazy on your tits. they’re slender, long, and the thin rubber gloves only make every touch feel so intricate and obscene. 

“that’s not so good, yn. i told you you shouldn’t touch ‘em without telling me.” 

 “how do you play with them? like this?” his gloved thumbs start pressing and circling your nipples again, flicking the sensitive buds repeatedly. he works your tits harder, kneading and massaging them with greed now.

“or do you squeeze them like this?” sunghoon demonstrates—rolling both nipples between his latexed fingers, pinching and tugging them repeatedly, stretching your tits. he then pushes your breasts roughly by your nipples. 

his breathing is noticeably heavier as his eyes fixed on your tits, watching as they move in his bigger hands. the bulge in his slacks is even more obvious, straining hard against his slacks. 

“ugh, fuck,” he mutters, jaw clenched tight as his cock throbs visibly beneath the fabric. 

you can’t help it either—your thighs rub instinctively, trying to ease the aching heat and twitch between your legs. sunghoon notices immediately—then back up to your flushed face with a knowing smirk.

“can’t even keep still anymore, huh?” 

without another word, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants and panties—tugging them all the way down your legs and off your ankles, dropping them onto the floor.

now you’re completely bare from the waist down, legs still spread open on the patient bed, pussy fully exposed under the exam light. his gaze drops straight between your thighs. “fuck, yn…” he groans, his cock now painfully aching. “you’re dripping all over my paper sheet.”

sunghoon stares at your glistening cunt for a long moment, his throat bobs. 

“i need to examine you more thoroughly,” he says, voice husky but still somewhat professional. “these juices… and your tissue look quite swollen. i should check for sensitivity and any irritation, hm?”

he rolls his stool closer, then leans in between your spread thighs. his large hands grip the back of your knees, pushing your legs wider apart. 

you bite your bottom lip, sucking the inside of your cheek. you’re twitching and spasming around nothing. 

“this is a standard procedure only for you,” sunghoon murmurs, hot breath ghosting over your wet folds. “i need to assess taste, texture, natural response… then i gotta fuck you good.”

before you can even process his weak excuse, sunghoon leans forward and drags his warm, wet tongue up your slit. a deep, satisfied groan vibrates through your core. 

“fuck… so sweet,” he mutters, almost to himself. then louder against your pussy. “seems normal… but i need to go deeper.”

his tongue flattens and laps at you again, slower—like he’s fully indulging the taste, savouring every drop. he circles your sensitive clit teasingly with the tip of his tongue, flicking, before closing his lips around it and sucking, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet exam room.

“oh gosh, d—doctor park…” you moan softly, tipping your head back. 

one of his bare hands slides up to your tits again, groping and squeezing while his mouth works between your legs. he pulls back just enough to speak, lips shiny with your wet juices.

“does this area feel more sensitive than usual?” he asks, voice rough before diving back in. his tongue pushes inside you, fucking you with it while his nose nudges your clit. “mm—hngh,” 

sunghoon eats you out like a starving man—messy, greedy, and hungry—but keeps murmuring fake clinical observations and excuses between licks and sucks. 

“nice… it’s so wet. your pussy walls are contracting so strongly.”

lick.

“ugh—and this little clit is so responsive…”

suck.

his other hand grips your thigh hard, holding you open as he buries his face deeper, tongue thrusting in and out before focusing on your clit again with fast strokes. your hands grip around his pretty hair, holding him ground against your puffy cunt.

sunghoon glances up at you between your legs, eyes dark with list, lips glistening. 

“yn, be honest with me,” he rasps, voice muffled against your soaked pussy. “has it been this wet every time you think about me?” 

his tongue flicks your sensitive bud, the tip dragging between the small folds. 

you whimper, hips twitching, and breathe out a shaky—

“mmhm,”

the second the word leaves your mouth, something in him snaps. 

“fuck yeah…” he groans deeply, almost relieved. his cock twitches. “good girl—finally admitting it.”

he presses one last messy, open–mouthed kiss to your entrance before pulling back. he rises from the stool, towering over you as he stands between your spread legs. his chest is rising and falling—his hair sticks on his forehead, his lips shiny.

“you have no idea how long i’ve been holding back,” he mutters. “every time you come here, lookin’ so pretty for a patient… drives me fucking insane.”

his hands move quickly to his belt. the sound of the buckle opening and his zipper going down fills the room. he pushes his slacks and boxers down to free his cock—hard, throbbing, flushed, leaking at the tip.

right in front of you, sunghoon wraps his long fingers around his cock and starts stroking himself. his eyes locked on your naked body—your tits flushed from all the gripping and groping, your soaked pussy glistening under the light…

“fuck—look at you,” he breathes out, tightening his grip as he pumps his cock. “so wet—c’mon, touch yourself for me, pretty.”

your hand instantly slides down your tummy. the moment your fingers reach your puffy pussy and start rubbing your swollen clit, sunghoon lets out a groan. he stands tall (both), white coat still on but open. his strokes are deliberate before he picks up the pace.

“that’s it… just like that,” he rasps, jerking himself a little faster. “rub that pretty clit while i watch. fuck, you’re even wetter than i imagined.”

his eyes flick between your pretty flushed face, your tits, and your fingers playing with your wet folds. he squeezes his cock faster, thumb brushing and pressing over the leaking tip, spreading the precum.

“you have no idea how many times i’ve jerked off after you left this room,” he confesses. 

sunghoon steps slightly closer, still stroking himself. his free hand reaches down and gropes your tit again, squeezing it roughly before he caresses your cheek. 

“put two fingers inside,” he orders, breathing heavier as he nudges his chin up. “i wanna see how desperate that pussy is for me.”

his hand moves faster on his cock, the wet schlick sound mixes with obscene noises coming from your fingers. he looks completely wrecked—flushed cheeks, messy hair, groaning every time his cock twitches.

gosh, that white coat really gives him permission to be this perverted.

“yn…” he groans, eyes half–lidded. “keep going… show how you fuck yourself when you think about me…”

he’s breathing hard, clearly getting closer, but he’s holding back. 

you begin fingering yourself—pumping two fingers back and forth, spreading your tight cunt apart. you rub your clit with your other hand—lips never stopping from moaning out his name prettily. sunghoon’s hand moves quicker on his cock, stroking himself hard.

“fuck, that’s it… such a good girl,” he rasps. “i’m close—shit—”

his breathing turns ragged. he steps even closer, aiming his cock at your tits while still caressing your cheek lovingly. his thumb comes to press against your bottom lip, spreading your lips as you suck around his thumb.

with a deep, guttural groan, sunghoon cums—hard.

thick, warm ropes of cum shoot across your tits, painting your flushed skin and hard nipples in messy streaks. he keeps stroking himself through it, milking every last drop onto your chest—his cum hanging from your sensitive nipples.

“ah… shit,” he breathes heavily as he watches the sight with satisfaction. “my gosh—look at that.”

before you can catch your breath, sunghoon leans down, grabs the back of your neck, and pulls you into a deep, hungry kiss. his tongue slides into your mouth instantly, claiming you as his bare cock rests against your cum–covered tits. the kiss is messy and desperate—all tongue and teeth—like he’s been dying.

he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he murmurs against your lips, voice still rough. he kisses you once more, softer this time, before slowly straightening up. 

“i’ll pick you up this weekend for a personal check up,” he says, running his fingers through his sweaty hair. sunghoon’s lips twitch into a charming, doctor smile. “we need to monitor these symptoms very carefully.”

he leans in one last time, pressing a kiss on your cheek. 

“and yn?”

you hum, looking up at him, 

“next time… don’t even bother wearing panties.” 

Jungwon

✶⋆.˚ how does Jungwon fuck? Fast and hard. Jungwon isn’t really the romantic - type in the sheets, I’m sorry to disappoint you. I’ve said this before: he is a driller. Very skilled with his movements, very quick and deep thrusts. He loves the position where you’re on top and he can put his feet on the mattress and thrust into you from below, because that position allows him to go very, very fast. And on top of that, he can watch your every reaction. Like the way you press your eyes together and struggle so bad at holding yourself up :( sometimes you even collapse onto his chest when he fucks into you like a rabid animal.

He’s also a little cocky about it. Like he just enjoys to see what he’s doing to you. He’s proud when he sees you struggle to walk afterwards and he’s super shameless about it too. Like if another member pointed out how loud you two have been and how everyone had heard you or how obviously you’re “limping”, you can bet Jungwon is just smirking proudly while you’re so embarrassed.

Random thoughts

✶⋆.˚ Jungwon and a breeding kink???? I kept thinking about this over and over again cause I was like: hmmm.. Jungwon is very responsible usually and I don’t think that he’d REALISTICALLY want kids, but why does it lowkey still get him off? We all know he’s possessive as fuck, so him lowkey having a secret breeding kink makes so much sense.

“Gonna knock you up, y/n.”, “yeah, you’re gonna have my babies. Gonna give you my babies.”

Yeah makes sense in my head i don’t care.🤷🏻‍♀️

✶⋆.˚ also a praise kink guy, but he takes his praises in form of your REACTIONS. He needs you to scream and squirm and beg him to stop or go slower, he needs to SEE that he’s the only one who can fuck you like that and he wouldn’t be too mad about hearing you say that too.

✶⋆.˚ leaaaassstt likely to engage in threesomes / anything involving another person / more people. He’s too possessive for that. He couldn’t stand the thought of someone else touching you like that or even looking at you like that.

✶⋆.˚ opposed to his cocky character during sex, Jungwon is actually a very devoted guy. He doesn’t share, he doesn’t make compromises: you’re his and he’s yours and he wouldn’t like any jealousy - plays. Like yes, I know, the thought of jealousy - sex with Jungwon is really hot, but I actually think that acts of making him jealous on purpose would only turn him off. Like he wouldn’t like to “remind you that you’re his” - he expects you to be as devoted as him and thus, you don’t need to be reminded of that.

✶⋆.˚ despite his “reputation” of having quite the high sex drive - ok who am I kidding, this guy is a freak because sex is his solution to everything. He’s happy? Sex. He’s sad? Sex. He’s angry? Sad. He’s bored? Sex. He’s anxious? Sex. So like— you get what I mean. BUT despite all that, I don’t think he’s overly experimenting. He enjoys staying in bed - like he think at most he’d take it to the shower or the bathtub, but bed is still still his first choice. He also rotates between the same positions, just the ones you both enjoy the most. He is open to try new things but usually sticks to the ones that just feel the best.

Heeseung

✶⋆.˚ how does Heeseung fuck? Maturely (?). For lack of better words haha. But it truly summarises all my thoughts on how he fucks. Like he’s someone who’s very responsible I think, so I believe he also takes sex very seriously. Not the type for one night stands, not the type for quickies either. He takes his time and he likes to do it the whole night haha. There’s no rush in anything he does. Sometimes the two of you go an hour without even removing your clothes. Passionate kisses, your hands all over each other, but again, no rush to it. Once your clothes are off though, he is super precise and just very intimate with his touches.

His hands skilfully run down your body, right inbetween your legs that he parts with a grip around your thigh and he caresses your wet pussy with delight, like it’s a game to him. And he also likes to BE TOUCHED, like he’s not someone who appreciates someone who lays around like a passenger princess and lets him do all the work. Worship his body and he’ll worship yours. What also makes him super mature in my mind is the fact that I’m convinced he’s very vocal during sex. He praises you A LOT, lets you know where he likes to be touched. “Just like that, that’s right, y/n.”. That’s mature, you know? Communication!

Random thoughts

✶⋆.˚ this is so fluffy but I feel like Hee gets very sleepy after sex haha, it’s lowkey cute. I do see him also leaning more towards dom, but not in a controlling but more guiding way, but he turns super super soft after you’re back, still naked, cuddling in his bed. He tug his head into the crook of your neck and nuzzle his nose against your skin and hum something sweet into your ear. It’s really cute.

✶⋆.˚ he’s also team low and deep thrusts over drilling. But his thrusts are EXTRA DEEP, like you feel like he’s splitting you in half on his cock damn

✶⋆.˚ eye-fucks you VERY intensely. You’ll be dripping wet even before he’s laid a hand on you just from staring into his eyes for a bit too long. He also likes to shamelessly check you out in front of others.

Jay

✶⋆.˚ how does Jay fuck? Passionately and lovingly.☹️🫶🏻

I lowkey always think Jay is the romantic type. Like, hell yeah, yes so attentive. He watches for your reactions, studies the way you react to things he does, like he’s just very sweet. He CAN however, totally wreck the fuck out of you IF THATS WHAT YOU WANT ( and I know you do. 🥴). He’s also more skilled than some people would think. Like I can totally picture him holding your hands together above your head, your legs spread wide open as he fucks into you, missionary, while he circles your clit with his thumb, because he knows how overstimulating that feels. He also knows exactly what angle is best to fuck in you to hit your g-spot with the tip of his cock. Like he’s just educated like that I don’t know.

Random thoughts

✶⋆.˚ I think Jay is kind of open to experimenting a lot. But usually it has to be you who suggests the things and he usually agrees, so if you’re more of the adventurous type, you found your match. I think he would enjoy some kind of bondage? I can’t explain why but it makes sense in my head I don’t know. Like both you being restricted but also him. Tie him to the bed idk girl.

✶⋆.˚ I picture your first time with Jay as being super romantic. Like rose petals and candles - level romantic. He even put on a vinyl or whatever it’s called.

✶⋆.˚ Jay’s touches are so gentle, you can literally feel your skin melting in his hands. It’s like impossible to feel uncomfortable with him, he’s so gentle but so precise too, like he knows what he’s doing and ugh, just the way he flicks the tips of his fingers over your hardened nipples is just so DELICIOUS, I can’t even explain it.

✶⋆.˚ my aftercare king fr fr. It’s not over til it’s over, truly his motto. Like he could be shaking and exhausted from his own orgasm and yet he’d still make sure to please you in any way you’d like.

Jake

✶⋆.˚ how does Jake fuck? Desperately.

Jake is lowkey pathetic but I love it. Like he’s so down bad for you babe, it’s kind of funny. There is NOTHING Jake wouldn’t do for you and I mean that in an absolutely explicit, spicy, NASTY way. Once you’re bouncing on that cock, there’s nothing he wouldn’t let you do. You could slap him, scratch his chest, and I bet you it would only make him cum faster. Like you’re a goddess in his eyes, he is SO DOWN BAD. And any time you allow him to take some power, he’s going to make the best out of it. Like that’s what I meant when I said “desperately”, he’s so desperate to make you feel good. Pleaseeeee sit on his face, he’s going to literally cum in his pants before you even touched him properly. Like this man is CONVINCED he was made to pleasure you and he only ever gets off truly if you’re as well, you get what I mean? Like please also praise the hell out of him cause Jake lowkey has a praise kink and he needs to hear what a good boy he is (mommy kink Jake hello).

Random thoughts

✶⋆.˚ yeah so the thoughts of jerking Jake off under the table while other people are present - or during a movie night is VERY VERY hot to me. Because it’s a form of degradation (?) like a punishment. Just to tease your cute boyfriend because you know he can’t say no to you. At first you just try to tease him by running your hand up and down his thigh and he’s already CHEWING at his lower lip. It’s so cute how he still tries to focus on his surrounding while the tip of his cock is already exposed and rubbing against the fabric of his underwear. And once you sneak your hand right past that, it’s over. And then you signal him to “be a good boy and stay quiet”, as you start jerking him off. Hihihi.

✶⋆.˚ surprisingly high sex drive (or is it really that surprising?) but yeah, puppy boy needs it often I said what I said. He’s very needy and very horny, but for him it’s not about just trying to get himself off, it’s the closeness you two share during sex what really matters to him. He wants you close like all the time, feel your skin, see you naked, kiss you, EVERYWHERE.

✶⋆.˚ he always feels almost REWARDED when you go down on him. Like UGH he can’t believe his luck when you’re ever on your knees for him, he almost wants to pick you up so you wouldn’t have to kneel there but then it just feels to good. He’s obsessed with the way your lips part and wrap around his cock. Or the way your eyes widen a bit as you push him down your throat like that. He even has to hold onto something or else he fears he might collapses.

Sunghoon

✶⋆.˚ how does Sunghoon fuck? Dominantly and lowkey mean(?). If that makes sense? Sidenote: I lowkey love how different they all are haha. I think Sunghoon is probably the most dom of them all. He likes to be in control, like, in total control. I think he would love control-based games. Stuff like “stay quiet or I won’t allow you to cum” or “if you touch yourself without permission, I won’t touch you tonight”, and then he undresses in front of you and starts jerking him off while looking into straight into your eyes, or something like that. So if you’re leaning sub, he’s absolutely PERFECT for you.

I’ve said this before too, but Sunghoon is a sucker for overstimulation and that’s what I meant when I said “lowkey mean”. He wants to drive you over the edge every single time. He isn’t someone who sticks his cock in you, thrusts a few times and collapses next to you. Sex is an event for him and he is super competitive, so he HAS to make sure hes going to be the best guy you’ve ever fucked. Just for his ego.

Random thoughts

✶⋆.˚ even though I just had a whole rant about how much of a dom Sunghoon is, I do think he kind of likes a more “rebellious” sub? Like someone who challenges him a bit, someone who WANTS to be “put in their place”. And he gladly does so. He wants to fuck you stupid until you admit what you tried to deny before: that you only belong to him and that only he’s allowed to touch you like that.

✶⋆.˚ remember what I said about Jungwon not being someone for jealousy - Sex? Yeah, it doesn’t apply to Sunghoon AT ALL. Rile him up, babygirl. Get all flirty and laughing with the bartender, I don’t care, you can literally watch the light fade from his eyes as he watches you. And he won’t even wait until you’re him, he will pull you into the next corner, bend you over and fuck the brains out of you until there’s nothing left to laugh about (ok I need to calm down 😭🤣).

✶⋆.˚ still can’t get over Mirror-sex with Sunghoon. He’s obsessed with watching you watch yourself. He wants you to SEE how he’s ruining you. “Look at yourself, so desperate for my cock, huh? Look at the way your pussy is clenching around it. You want this so bad, I know you want this so bad.” Even though you try to deny it. Actually it turns him on even more if you try to deny it or he can even sense a hint of embarrassment.

Sunoo

✶⋆.˚ how does Sunoo fuck? Precisely

Sunoo has studied the human body. Like Jay, I think he likes to educate himself on how to properly please their partner. Fuck, I think he even watches freaking tutorials on, for example, how to properly eat someone out or make them squirt and the funniest part is, I think it just genuinely interests him. Like he would just call you over cause “I have something I wanna try out!” And the next thing you know, you’re on his bed, legs spread wide open as sunoo thrusts his fingers into you. “Ok, I think this must be the spot. The tutorial said it’s supposed to feel a bit rigged, about 2cm past the entrance so hereeee—“ and he had his tongue stuck between his teeth, deep in thought and you’re already GONE. Like hell yeah, keep watching those tutorials because FUCKKK.

He just knows how to treat you well during sex, he knows how to go slow in the beginning so you can get used to it, but he also knows what it means when you start to pull him closer, when your eyes beg him to go faster and that’s what he does then, immediately.

But sunoo isn’t the type to just thrust mindlessly into you, no, he’s either always playing with your clit too or licking and sucking at your nipples or neck, or all of it, all together. He just knows. You get me?

Random thoughts

✶⋆.˚ now all of that just made me want to write a oneshot about best friend Sunoo who wants to test out all these methods to see if “he can make a woman cum with his fingers / his tongue alone”. And at first you’re hesitating cause you know, he’s your best friend, but then also you want to be a good friend to him and you haven’t been touched in so long. And then he absolutely RUINS you “accidentally”, because it was supposed to be just a test. 😋

✶⋆.˚ he’s super clingy in public and he acts like a total sub too. I think he also issss technically a sub, but less than you would expect. The way I see sunoo is that I know he likes to be in control of things and can get very petty when he gets teased, so I can also see him wanting to take control during sex. Like call me crazy, but Jake gives more sub to me than Sunoo does actually.

Riki

✶⋆.˚ how does Riki fuck? Teasingly. I feel like his number 1 move to tease you is switching randomly between paces. Like he starts slowly thrusting in and out of you at first, his big cock carefully gliding in and out of you and once he notices you’re comfortable, he starts pounding into you, just to hear you scream out of shock. Then once he’s gotten you all used to his inhumane speed and sees the way you’re enjoying the way he’s fucking into you, he suddenly stops. Like just stops. You grunt in frustration, you even beg him to keep fucking you, but he waits. Then, once you start trying to grind yourself against his cock, he starts pushing into you again. Slooooowwwlly, like painfully slow, actually. Then he pulls out again.

Isn’t that fucking annoying?

But he loves it. He absolutely loves the way he’s got you begging for his cock. And only once you’ve completely given yourself to him, that’s when he gives you what you need and continues to pound you properly.

Random thoughts

✶⋆.˚ he’s an ass guy, I said what I said. He loves to grab it and slap it and he doesn’t care if it’s in public or not, clothes on or off, he’s always all about your ass. He loves the way it jiggles, he loves how it looks in your tightly fitted pants, he loves how he can slap it repeatedly while he fucks you doggy-style. I also believe that’s one of his favourite positions just because he gets to see your ass 😂.

✶⋆.˚ his low and deep groans are so deliciousssss. He also repeatedly groans your name in your ear. Like truly, over and over again, like it’s the only word he’s still able to form in his mind.

✶⋆.˚ he’s very much dom-leaning, but he also enjoys a good riding session. Reversed cowboy for that, for obvious reasons (your ass), especially when you’re leaning forward, your upper body pressed down so he can just see your ass twerking up and down his cock.

✶⋆.˚ will def wanna try anal some day. 👀

✶⋆.˚ balcony sex with Riki will ruin you for good. And him too. I think I’ve said this before but Riki is such a freak, like it’s actually insane. Cum play, spit play, he’s all of that so you really gotta match his freak I fear.

Alright guys! That’s it for today heh. It’s been a while, I know.

Hope you liked it.

Love,

The bass thrums through the soles of your sneakers, a rhythmic heartbeat that vibrates in your teeth and rattles the cheap frames of the windows.

The air in the house is a thick, humid soup of spilled Natty Light, overly sweet vape clouds, and the metallic tang of too many bodies pressed into a space designed for four people, not forty.

You lean against the peeling wallpaper of the hallway, your shoulder brushing against a stranger who smells like citrus cologne and desperation, but your eyes are locked on Jake.

He is in his element, centered in a circle of guys in oversized jerseys and girls with glitter on their cheeks.

His backwards cap is tilted slightly, a few stray dark hairs poking out from the brim. He's laughing so damn loud, the kind of loud, booming sound that always seems to carve out a space just for him, but his gaze flickers to you every few seconds.

It's a magnetic pull, really, a tether that has been tightening for months.

You take a long pull from your red solo cup, the lukewarm beer tasting like tin.

You catch his eye, and for a split second, the frat-boy mask slips. The confidence vanishes, replaced by a raw, hungry sort of longing that makes your chest do a somersault. Then, a girl in a tiny navy blue dress leans into him, her hand sliding up his chest, and the mask snaps back into place.

He grins at her, but he doesn't move closer. He stays rooted, his eyes still searching for yours across the crowded room.

"You're doing it again," a voice shouts in your ear.

You blink and look at Jihyo, who is grinning mischievously, her eyes darting between you and Jake.

"Doing what?"

"The longing look. The 'I want to rip his clothes off' stare. Just go over there and kill him already, you pussy."

You scoff and roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks isn't just from the alcohol.

"We're just friends, Jihyo."

"Uh-huh, and you're still a virgin," she cackles, disappearing back into the fray.

You try to ignore the tightness in your chest, but the party seems to shrink around you. Every time you move, you feel him tracking you.

When you go to the kitchen to refill your drink, he is suddenly there, blocking the path to the fridge.

He literally smells like laundry detergent and beer, a scent that has become your favorite thing in the world.

"You're avoiding me," Jake says. His voice is a low rumble, slightly slurred but still carrying that effortless edge.

"I'm not avoiding you. I'm hydrating right now, see?"

He chuckles, stepping closer. The space between you vanishes, and you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your forearm. His hands are always warm, a constant heat that seems to sear through your skin.

"Liars get punished," he teases, his grin widening, though his eyes are scanning your face with an intensity that feels like a touch.

What the actual hell, you think. How many cans of beer has this bitch downed already?

Before you can respond, a guy from the rowing team, some blond specimen named Mingyu, slides in beside you. He puts a hand on the small of your back, leaning in close enough that you can smell the mint on his breath.

"Hey, I haven't seen you here before," Mingyu says, his voice a smooth, practiced drawl. "I'm Mingyu. Kim Mingyu."

You start to offer a polite smile, but you feel Jake stiffen beside you. The air shifts instantly. The playful energy vanishes, replaced by a sudden, sharp tension. 

Jake doesn't say a word, but he shifts his weight, stepping into Mingyu's space and effectively cutting him off. He doesn't push him, but the sheer physicality of his presence is a warning.

"Calm your dick down buddy, she's with me," Jake says.

It isn't a question or a suggestion. It lands like a claim.

Mingyu blinks, looking from Jake's hard expression back to you. He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender and slides away into the crowd without another word.

You stare at Jake, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"Since when am I 'with you'?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper over the blaring music.

Jake doesn't look at you. His eyes stay fixed on spot where Mingyu had been standing, his jaw tight.

"Since I decided I didn't like the way he was looking at you," he mutters.

He reaches out and grabs your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. He doesn't explain. He just pulls you away from the kitchen, navigating the sea of bodies with a focused determination. 

“Hey, Jake,” you start, stumbling slightly as you follow him. “Where the fuck are you—”

“Just come with me,” Jake says over his shoulder, tone flat, leaving no room for argument.

You follow him, the world blurring into a smudge of neon lights and shouting voices. He leads you up the narrow staircase, the noise of the party beginning to muffle as you reach the second floor.

“You’re not answering me,” you mutter, trying to catch your breath.

“Am I obligated to? I don’t think so,” he says simply.

The hallway upstairs is dimmer, the air cooler. A few people are passed out on the oversized beanbags in the lounge, but otherwise, it is quiet. Jake stops in front of a door with a faded sports poster taped to it. He pushes it open and pulls you inside, clicking the lock shut behind him.

The silence of the room hits you like a physical weight. The bass is still there, a distant, rhythmic thudding from downstairs, but it feels like you've stepped into another dimension. The room smells of old gym socks and expensive cologne. A few empty beer cans sit on the nightstand next to a cluttered desk.

“Seriously,” you say at last, turning to him. “What is this? Are you kidnapping me now?”

Jake finally looks at you then. Slow. Unbothered.

“If I was kidnapping you,” he says, voice lower now, “you wouldn’t still be talking.”

Jake lets go of your wrist and leans back against the door, his chest heaving. He looks at you, and the confidence is gone. 

He looks absolutely terrified.

"My god, what even is this about, Jake?" you ask, your voice trembling. "You can't just drag me up here because you're feeling territorial."

"I'm not," he lies, though his eyes are wide and frantic. "I just... I needed to… you know, talk to you. Away from everyone. Away from whatever tornado is stirring downstairs."

"Talk about what?"

He takes a step toward you, his movements clumsy. He reaches up and rips the backwards cap off his head, tossing it onto the bed.

"About how I can't fucking stand it," he says, his voice cracking.

"Stand what?"

"This! This thing we do!" He throws his arms up, his voice rising. "The movie nights where we're sitting so close I can feel your breath on my neck. The way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention. The way I spend every single fucking party wondering who the hell is talking to you and why they're touching you."

You stand frozen, your breath catching in your throat.

Your thoughts don’t quite line up, like they’re slipping through your fingers before you can grab any of them properly. The beer doesn’t help either; everything is a little too soft at the edges, a little too loud in your chest. 

"You... you feel that too?"

Jake lets out a harsh, jagged laugh. He closes the distance between you in two long strides, pinning you against the wall. He doesn't touch you with his hands, but his body is a warm wall pressing against yours.

"Feel it? I'm dying over here. I've wanted to do this for six months."

"Do what?"

He doesn't answer with words. He crashes his lips against yours, and it is not a gentle kiss. It is a collision, to say the least.

The kiss is messy, desperate, tasting faintly of beer and everything he hasn’t said out loud until now. 

You groan into his mouth, your hands flying up to clutch at the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as if you could merge your bodies into one.

He tastes like a fever dream. His tongue slides against yours, searching, demanding, pushing deep into your mouth with a hunger that leaves you breathless. You can feel the heat of him everywhere, the press of his thighs against yours, the hard line of his chest against your breasts. He makes a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat, a sound of pure frustration and relief.

Then, as suddenly as he started rough, he softens. His hands come up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, gentle and reverent. The kiss slows, becomes tender, exploratory. He tilts your head, licking into your mouth like he's memorizing the shape of you, the taste of you.

"God, you have no idea," he whispers against your lips, his breath hot and erratic, his forehead resting against yours. "No fucking idea how much I've wanted this."

He breaks the kiss just long enough to bury his face in the crook of your neck. His lips press soft, open-mouthed kisses along your pulse point. 

Then his teeth graze your skin, a gentle scrape that makes you shiver. He sucks a bruise into the curve of your throat, his tongue soothing the spot after, and you arch your back, a moan escaping your lips.

"Jake," you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

"I've got you," he whispers, his voice thick. "I've finally got you."

He lifts you up, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, the denim of your skort grinding against the rough fabric of his jeans. He carries you the few steps to the bed, but instead of dropping you, he lowers you slowly, carefully, onto the tangled sheets. The mattress groans under your combined weight. He follows you down immediately, his weight a welcome pressure that pins you into the cheap polyester comforter.

But his hands are slow, deliberate, as he pushes a strand of hair from your face. His eyes search yours in the dim light from the window.

"You're shaking," he observes, his voice soft.

"I'm nervous, dummy," you admit, a flush creeping up your neck. Your thoughts feel slightly delayed, like they’re catching up to everything that just happened. "I’ve never… I mean, this is my first time,” you say, swallowing hard.

“I’m a virgin, Jake. You know that, right?”

His eyes widen slightly, and you see a flicker of something, surprise or maybe tenderness, cross his face. He kisses your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose.

“Man, me too,” he whispers, and there’s a vulnerability in his voice you’ve never heard before. “I’ve never done this either. Not really. Not like this.”

“So we’re both just clueless drunks,” you say, a nervous laugh slipping out before you can stop it.

He grins, crooked, boyish, softer than before, and it makes something in your stomach flip.

“The best way to be,” he says.

He leans down and kisses you again, slower this time, more deliberate. His tongue slides against yours, still tasting of beer and something sweet. His hands wander down your sides, tracing the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips. He takes his time, like he's mapping every inch of you through the fabric of your clothes.

Then he breaks the kiss and sits up, looking down at you. His fingers find the buttons of your blouse. He fumbles with the first one, his drunk fingers sliding off the plastic twice before he gets it undone. You laugh, a breathless, giddy sound, and reach up to help him.

"I’m sorry," he mutters, a flush spreading across his cheeks. "I'm a little buzzed."

"It's okay," you say, your voice soft. "We've got time."

He gets the rest of the buttons undone, pushing the fabric aside to reveal your bra. His breath catches. He runs his thumb over the lace edge, tracing the curve of your breast.

"Fuck," he breathes. "You're so beautiful."

He leans down and presses a kiss to the swell of your breast, just above the bra cup. Then he hooks his fingers under the strap, pulling it down your shoulder. He does the same with the other side, and you reach behind to unhook the clasp, letting it fall away.

He looks at you, his eyes dark and hungry, but his hands are gentle as he cups your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, which have peaked into hard points from the cold air and the heat of his gaze. He watches his own hands, transfixed, as he traces the curves.

"Can I...?" he asks, his voice hesitant, his eyes meeting yours.

You nod, and he leans down, taking one nipple into his mouth. He's careful at first, licking around the areola in slow, deliberate circles, his tongue flicking the tip. You gasp, your back arching, your hand coming up to cradle the back of his head. He takes it deeper, sucking gently, then harder, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak.

"Shit," you moan, your hips rocking instinctively.

He switches to the other breast, giving it the same slow, worshipful attention. His hand kneads the one he just abandoned, palming the soft weight, squeezing just enough to make you moan. The wet sounds of his mouth on your skin fill the quiet room, mixed with your soft cries.

When he pulls back, your nipples are glistening, stiff, and pebbled from his attention. He traces a finger down your sternum, over your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your skort.

"Can I take these off?" he asks, his voice low, almost shy.

"Yes," you whisper. “Please do.”

He unbuttons your skort, his fingers fumbling with the zipper. He tugs them down in one rough motion. The cold air hits your exposed skin, and you shiver, watching him as he sits back on his heels, his eyes fixed on the damp spot darkening the fabric of your undergarment.

"God," he breathes, his gaze raking over your body. "You're so fucking pretty."

He doesn't dive down to taste you. 

Instead, he lowers himself over you, his body pressing against yours, the rough denim of his jeans grinding against your bare thighs. The friction is electric, the seam of his pants rubbing against your clit through the thin cotton of your panties. He rocks his hips, a slow, deliberate grind, and you feel the hard line of his cock pressing against your center through the layers.

"Fuck," he mutters against your neck, his breath hot and uneven. "Just wanna feel you for a second."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he groans, his hips picking up a steady rhythm. The dry humping is maddening, the pressure, the heat, the way he grinds against you like he can't get close enough. His hands slide down to grip your ass, squeezing, pulling you tighter against him.

But then he stops. He pulls back, his chest heaving, and looks down at where your bodies meet. His fingers find the waistband of your panties, and he pushes them aside, exposing your slick, glistening folds.

"God, you're so fucking wet," he says, his voice thick with want. "Is this all for me, pretty?"

"Hell yes," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He slides a finger through your folds, gathering your wetness, and then he pushes it inside you, slowly and deliberately, watching your face as your lips part and your eyes flutter.

"Fuck," he breathes. "You're so tight."

He adds a second finger, stretching you, and you gasp, your hips bucking against his hand. He curls them, pressing against that rough spot inside you, and you cry out.

"Tell me you want this," he says, his voice low, firm. "I need to hear you say it."

"I want this," you say, your voice breaking. "I want you, Jake."

He doesn't let up. He starts pumping his fingers faster, harder, the wet squelch of your arousal filling the room. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles, and you arch off the bed, your hands fisting the sheets.

"Yeah? You want me to fuck you with my fingers?" he asks, his voice a low growl. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

"I want—" you start, but the words get lost in a moan as he curls his fingers again.

"What do you want?" He presses, his thumb grinding against your clit. "Say it."

"I want you inside me," you gasp. "I want to feel your cock so, so bad."

He groans, his fingers plunging deeper, faster, a relentless rhythm that has you climbing higher, your thighs trembling around his hand.

"You want me to fuck that tight little pussy?" he asks, his voice rough. "Make you feel good?"

"Yes," you moan. "Please, Jake."

"I want to hear you say it again," he says, his fingers never stopping. "Tell me what you want me to do."

"I want you to fuck me," you cry out, your voice desperate. "I want your cock inside me. Please."

"That's it," he murmurs, his fingers curling, pressing, pushing you over the edge.

Your orgasm crashes through you, sudden and sharp, your pussy clenching around his fingers. You cry out, your back arching, and he keeps pumping, working you through it, his thumb still circling your clit until you're a trembling mess beneath him.

He pulls his fingers out slowly, and you whimper at the loss. But he doesn't give you time to recover. He grabs your hips, flipping you onto your stomach, and you hear the rustle of his belt buckle, the unzipping of his jeans.

He straddles your thighs, his knees on either side of your head, and you feel the head of his cock brush against your lips. He's thick, hard, the tip slick with precum.

"Open your mouth," he says, his voice low, commanding but not harsh.

You obey, and he guides himself inside, not all the way, just the head past your lips. You taste the salt of his precum, the warmth of his skin.

"Take it," he says, and he pushes deeper, filling your mouth, not stopping until the head hits the back of your throat.

You gag, your eyes watering, but he holds there for a moment, letting you adjust. His hand comes to rest on the back of your head, gentle but firm.

"I know," he murmurs. "I know. Just breathe through your nose."

He starts to move, slow thrusts, shallow, finding a rhythm that doesn't choke you. His cock slides over your tongue, the taste of him spreading across your palate. The room is quiet except for the wet sounds of his movements and your muffled moans.

"That's it," he breathes. "That's so fucking good. Your mouth is so warm."

He picks up the pace, his thrusts deeper now, his hips meeting your face with a wet slap. You take him as best you can, your hands gripping his thighs, your jaw aching, but the sound of his groans, the way his fingers thread through your hair, makes it worth it.

"Fuck, I'm close," he warns, but he pulls out before he can come, a string of saliva connecting his tip to your lips.

He flips you onto your back, positioning himself between your legs. He looks down at you, his cock slick and glistening, his chest heaving.

"Now," he says, his voice soft again, almost tender. "I want to feel you."

He guides himself to your entrance, the head pressing against you, just barely. He looks into your eyes.

"Tell me if it's too much," he says.

You nod, and he pushes in, slow, agonizingly slow, inch by inch. The stretch burns, a fullness that makes your eyes water. You gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders.

"Okay?" he asks, his forehead beaded with sweat.

"Just... give me a second," you manage.

He stops, buried halfway, and presses soft kisses to your shoulder, your neck, murmuring quiet reassurances.

"Take your time. I've got you."

When the burning fades, replaced by a deep, aching fullness, you nod. He pushes the rest of the way in, a slow, heavy slide that fills you completely. You both let out a synchronized moan as he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours.

"Fuck," he whispers, his eyes wide. "You feel so tight. So wet."

He starts to move, slow and deep thrusts, his hips rolling against yours. The pace is languid, almost lazy, each stroke burying him to the hilt. He watches your face, your parted lips, your fluttering eyes.

"Look at me," he says softly.

You meet his gaze, and he thrusts deeper, a slow grind that hits somewhere deep inside you.

"Like this," he murmurs. "Nice and slow. I want to feel every inch of you."

The room is filled with the wet sounds of your bodies meeting, the creak of the bed frame, your soft moans mixing with his heavy breaths. The bass from downstairs is a distant thrum, barely audible over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears.

He keeps the pace slow, deliberate, each thrust a measured, deep invasion. His hand slides down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow circles in time with his movements.

"You feel that?" he asks, his voice low. "Feel how deep I am?"

"Yes. God, yes, I do," you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He speeds up just slightly, his thrusts still deep but with more urgency. The wet slap of his hips against yours fills the room, obscene and rhythmic.

"I'm close," he warns, his voice strained. "Where do you want it?"

"In me, please," you breathe, the words tumbling out before you think.

But he shakes his head, a soft, drunken smile on his lips.

"Not this time," he says. "First time. I'm pulling out."

He picks up the pace, his hips slapping against yours, his breathing ragged. You feel the pressure building, your own climax coiling tight in your belly.

"Come for me," he says, his voice a low command. "I want to feel you come around me."

His thumb presses harder on your clit, and that's all it takes. You shatter, your pussy clenching around him, a cry ripping from your throat. He groans, pulling out in one swift motion, and you feel the hot, thick pulses of his seed spilling across your stomach, your chest, the warmth spreading over your skin.

He collapses beside you, his chest heaving, his eyes closed. For a long moment, neither of you moves. The room smells of sex and sweat, his cum cooling on your skin.

He finally opens his eyes, turning his head to look at you. A lazy, drunken grin spreads across his face.

"Holy shit," he breathes.

You laugh, a tired, giddy sound. "Yeah."

He reaches out, his fingers tracing a line through the cum on your stomach, smearing it across your skin.

"That was... I don't even have words," he says.

He props himself up on an elbow, looking down at you. His eyes are soft, hazy.

"I love you," he says, the words slurred but heartfelt. "I've loved you for so fucking long."

You reach up and cup his cheek, feeling the stubble on his jaw.

"I love you too, you idiot," you whisper.

He leans down and kisses you, slow and sweet, his tongue sliding lazily against yours. When he pulls back, his eyes are already drooping.

"Tomorrow's going to be awkward," he mumbles.

"Probably," you agree.

"We should shower. And maybe burn these sheets."

You laugh softly. "Definitely."

But neither of you moves. He settles beside you, pulling you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin. His hand rests on your stomach, his fingers tracing lazy patterns through the cooling cum on your skin.

"Best fucking party ever," he whispers.

You smile, your eyes drifting closed.

"Best fucking night ever." 

⭐ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

tags: @simsimluver @maishee @grdientlips @psychicdazestrawberry @kristynaaah @heesroses @vmpiricou @seungiesdoll @malibluess @stwryun @hooniluhv @rikisn @hazeheart12 @exclipszz @melancholatte @bluepains @gojopolo @jasmineeee1009 @ming1luvr @ni-k1ttie @enzsstuff01 @ixnotmee @emvss @simjaeyunslut | send an ask if you’d like to be added ˙𐃷˙