¡sikko!

permies:

♡ content warnings! slow burn, a good amount of angst, yn is incredibly avoidant, fluff, profanities, kys jokes, suggestive themes (making out, kissing..), lowercase intended, about half of the fic has written parts (i got very invested in this storyline)

author's note: HI!!! i'm back with another smau <3 i really have enjoyed writing this one... eunseok has been very important to me lately, haha. warning.. a few characters are definitely more important than others.. like maybe i forgot to write in keeho and beomgyu... haha...

started: 06.10.25 completed: 07.18.25

🔖: @jaellymint @haruharua @banez @karebearyu @yoursyuno @rksbae @kamelyrics @kkunyangz @alwayswonbinning @ch2won @nujeskz @smiles4hyuck

(closed)

(w - written chapter)

i. profiles ii. profiles 2

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

There were a hundred little things you could say about Sunghoon—quiet, observant, annoyingly good at everything. But the thing you always came back to was this:

He made you feel safe.

It was an ordinary Saturday in your shared college town, the kind where the world moved a little slower and even the air outside smelled like laundry and soft light. And for once, you had nowhere to be. No assignments due. No club meetings. No drama. Just a long stretch of hours with the boy who’d somehow gone from your campus crush to the one person you couldn’t imagine a day without.

The two of you had fallen into a pattern over the past few months. Mornings at his apartment. Lazy breakfasts in mismatched mugs and chipped bowls. Quiet kisses between sips of coffee. His hoodie on your body. His mouth on your forehead. His name in your throat when you murmured good morning.

Today was no different. You were curled up on his bed in one of his old t-shirts, your legs tucked under a blanket, flipping idly through a campus zine. Sunghoon leaned against the headboard behind you, legs stretched out, one arm casually draped around your waist, thumb tracing slow circles just under the hem of the shirt. He hadn’t said much in the past few minutes—he didn’t need to. His presence alone was enough.

“Comfortable?” he asked, voice low, rough with sleep.

You smiled, tilting your head back against his chest. “I’m always comfortable with you.”

He hummed softly, like he liked hearing that. Like he was memorizing it. You felt the warm press of his lips against your hair, then the shift of his fingers slipping further under the fabric, inching just slightly up your ribs. Not possessive. Just reassuring.

“I could stay like this forever,” you murmured.

“You’d get bored,” he said. “You’d miss fighting with me over what movie to watch.”

“I don’t fight,” you said, grinning. “I make persuasive arguments.”

His laugh rumbled against your back. “You pout and give me that look until I cave.”

You turned a little in his arms, just enough to face him, your cheek brushing his collarbone. “And you love it.”

Sunghoon looked down at you then, something tender flickering in his eyes. His hand moved to cradle your face, thumb sliding gently along your jaw, the way he always did when he was fully present with you—when he wasn’t distracted, or teasing, or trying to be cool. Just there.

“I do,” he said simply. “I love you.”

Your heart skipped in the way it always did when he said it like that—no drama, no build-up, no games. Just the truth.

“I love you too,” you whispered, reaching up to hold his wrist where it cradled your cheek. “So much it scares me sometimes.”

His brows knit, just slightly. “Why does it scare you?”

You shook your head. “Because it’s real.”

Sunghoon was silent for a moment. Then he leaned in and kissed you, soft but deep, mouth warm against yours, thumb brushing the corner of your lip. The kind of kiss that says I hear you. I’m not going anywhere.

When you gasped softly into his mouth, he chuckled. Not mocking—adoring. “Still shy?” he murmured, pulling back slightly to look at you.

“A little,” you admitted.

“That’s cute,” he said, running his thumb over your lower lip again, this time slower. “You know you don’t have to be. I’ve got you.”

You nodded, breath catching when his hand slid from your cheek down to your neck, fingers resting there gently, like a promise. He leaned in again, kissing just under your ear now, lips trailing slowly, deliberately.

“Sunghoon…”

“Hmm?”

“I thought we were having a lazy day…”

“We are,” he said, voice low. “I’m just appreciating what’s mine.”

You shivered at the way he said it—not like a threat, but a vow. He never made you feel small. Only wanted. Cherished. His.

“I want to take care of you today,” he added, his other hand sliding down your thigh, squeezing lightly. “You’ve been so good lately. So patient with me.”

You felt your breath stutter, heat curling in your stomach.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he murmured, voice darkening slightly. “Just let me.”

He moved closer, mouth brushing the shell of your ear now, hand slipping under the blanket. You could already feel the warmth of him between your legs, the tension building. His body pressing into yours, slowly, deliberately.

And then—

The door rattled.

Not a knock. Just the sound of the handle being jiggled from the outside.

You startled, eyes wide. Sunghoon’s expression didn’t change. He just groaned under his breath.

“Locked it,” he said, barely phased, nuzzling against your neck. “Ignore it.”

You blinked. “What if it’s—”

“Doesn’t matter.”

But whoever it was gave up quickly. The sound faded. Silence returned.

You turned to look at him, slightly breathless now.

“Was that…?” you began.

“Probably Jungwon,” Sunghoon muttered. “He never texts first. Thinks everything in this apartment is communal.”

You started to giggle, but it died in your throat the second his fingers slid higher.

“We’ll deal with him later,” he said, dragging his teeth lightly along your shoulder. “Right now—”

You gasped as he pushed the blanket off your thighs, slow and controlled.

“—I’m busy.”

_______

“You’re already shaking,” he murmured, voice brushing your ear like silk. “And I’ve barely touched you.”

You didn’t mean to whimper—but the sound slipped out as his palm flattened against your stomach, fingers dragging lower. The blanket was gone now. The room was warm, but not as warm as him—Sunghoon, hovering over you, eyes half-lidded and burning, pupils dark and low. You could feel him everywhere—his body pressing you into the mattress, his scent, his breath on your skin.

“You’re always so fucking sensitive for me,” he whispered, thumb tracing the edge of your panties. “Letting me do whatever I want to you. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you breathed, arching under him.

“Good girl.”

Two words. Just that—and your thighs trembled.

He kissed your throat, slowly, open-mouthed, tongue flicking out to taste the heat of your skin before sucking a mark just under your jaw. Then another. Lower. One hand braced your thigh open, firm and commanding, the other pushing your shirt up and bunching it around your chest. He growled softly when he saw your bra.

“This in my way,” he muttered, fingers slipping under the band, tugging until your breasts spilled free. “Fuck, baby…”

You gasped when his mouth closed over one nipple, hot and wet and relentless. He sucked hard, tongue swirling, and then bit—just enough to make you cry out. Then soothed it with a kiss, palm cupping the other breast, thumb rubbing the nipple until you were panting.

“Sunghoon—”

“Say it again.”

“Sunghoon.”

He groaned into your chest, rutting against you now, slow and heavy, and fuck—he was hard. You could feel his cock straining through his sweats, dragging along the heat of your clothed core like he was teasing himself with how wet you already were.

“I can feel you through these panties,” he said, voice rough, hips grinding slow. “Fucking soaked for me. You’re making a mess, sweetheart.”

You whimpered, legs spreading instinctively, needing more. Needing him.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“Needy little thing,” he cooed, mouth sliding back up to kiss your lips—slow, deep, his tongue parting your mouth like he owned it. “You’re always like this when I get my hands on you. All sweet and shy until you’re dripping and begging to be filled.”

“Please…” you gasped, rutting against his thigh now, desperate, high off the attention.

“Please what?” he growled, grabbing your hips, grinding you harder into his thigh. “Use your words.”

“Touch me.”

He stilled. Looked at you.

“No.”

Your eyes flew open. “Wha—”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” he whispered darkly. “You just take what I give you.”

And then—fuck—he slid down between your legs, kissing along your inner thigh, licking softly just beside where you wanted him most. His breath ghosted over your soaked panties, but he didn’t pull them off.

Not yet.

“You gonna be patient for me?” he asked, nose nudging your clothed clit, making you twitch. “You gonna let me play with my pussy as long as I want?”

Your pussy.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You nodded frantically, back arching. “Yes, yes, please—just touch me, Hoon—”

His chuckle was low and wicked, and then finally, finally, he hooked his fingers in the waistband and dragged your panties down, slow and wet and humiliating.

He groaned when he saw you.

“Look at this fucking pussy,” he said, almost in awe. “All pretty and glistening. This is mine, yeah?”

You nodded, breathless.

“Say it.”

“It’s yours.”

“Fucking right it is.”

He licked a long, slow stripe from your hole to your clit, moaning into you, then did it again, tongue flicking, teasing, until your thighs shook around his head. His hands gripped your hips hard, holding you open as he lapped at your folds, tongue sliding in, out, in again.

Your head rolled back. “Oh—oh my god—”

“Keep those legs open,” he growled, licking your clit now, sharp and fast. “Don’t you dare close them.”

You tried—tried so hard—but he was too good. He knew exactly how to lick you, where to suck, how to fuck you with his tongue like he’d mapped your whole body out and memorized every weak spot.

And then—two fingers slid into your cunt, deep and fast. You cried out, walls clenching around them, thighs snapping together from the shock of it.

He immediately pulled back.

“What did I just say?”

You whimpered, tears pricking your eyes. “I—I’m sorry—”

He pushed your thighs open again, kissed your hip.

“No. You’re not.” He smirked. “But that’s okay. You’ll learn.”

And then he curled his fingers inside you—slow, strong, perfect—and you saw stars.

“Gonna make you cum on my hand,” he said, pressing deep. “Right here. Gonna ruin this pretty pussy before I even put my cock in it.”

Your nails dug into the sheets, body jerking, mouth open in a silent scream as he fingered you harder, faster, thumb on your clit now, rubbing perfect circles. His mouth was back on your breast, sucking bruises, breath hot.

“Come on, baby,” he growled. “Be a good little slut for me. Cum.”

You shattered.

Everything inside you snapped—your walls clenching, body trembling, eyes squeezed shut as you came hard around his fingers, dripping down your thighs and sobbing his name.

Sunghoon didn’t stop.

He fucked you through it, slowing only when your body went limp, twitching under him.

Then he leaned up, kissed your forehead, kissed your lips, kissed your thighs.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Took it so well.”

You were still panting, whimpering when he pulled his fingers out, wet and glistening.

He brought them to his mouth. Licked them clean.

“Sweet,” he said with a grin. “Like fucking strawberry cream.”

And just like that—your pussy clenched again.

He saw it. Of course he did.

He leaned in, whispering against your lips, “That was just the start. I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

_______

You didn’t know how long it had been. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

Your body was splayed across Sunghoon’s bed, half-naked, chest heaving, lips swollen from his kisses, thighs shaking from how many times he’d pulled you apart with his mouth, his fingers, his voice.

And now—now he was inside you.

Finally.

“Fuck,” he hissed, burying his cock into your soaked cunt inch by inch, jaw clenched tight, eyes fluttering shut. “You feel so good. So fucking tight, baby. Can’t believe this is all mine.”

You moaned—loud, desperate—hips jerking as the thick weight of him stretched you open, slow and unrelenting. His cock filled you completely, thick and heavy, dragging against every sensitive spot with maddening precision.

“You like that?” he gritted out, voice wrecked already, the tip of his cock pressed deep inside you. “You like being full of me?”

“Y-yes—yes, Sunghoon—please, move—”

He smirked—filthy, dangerous.

“Beg better than that.”

“Please,” you gasped, nails digging into his biceps. “Fuck me. Use me. I need it—need you—”

That was all it took.

He pulled out halfway—and slammed back in, hard. The force rocked the whole bed, made the headboard thud against the wall.

“Good girl,” he growled, pulling your leg over his shoulder and pounding into you, the wet slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the room. “Fucking take it. You wanted this, right? Wanted my cock deep in this messy little cunt?”

You cried out, head thrown back, vision white.

Every thrust was brutal—deep and punishing, cock dragging against your walls and hitting your cervix with every grind. You could feel his balls slap against your ass, heavy and tight, his abs tensed with every piston of his hips.

“You’re squeezing me so tight,” he groaned, sweat dripping down his temple. “Like your pussy never wants to let me go. You gonna cum just from getting fucked like this? Just from me stretching you out?”

You nodded frantically, moaning loud, your walls clenching around him with every word. His pace didn’t falter—he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand, the other gripping your jaw and forcing you to look at him.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered. “I want to see that pretty face when I ruin you.”

You tried—tried to keep them open—but then he angled his hips just right, and his cock hit that spot inside you that made you scream.

“There it is,” he grunted, fucking you harder now, hips snapping so fast the bed creaked under both of you. “Right fucking there. I can feel it. Gonna cum for me again, baby? Huh?”

“Yes! Fuck, Sunghoon—so deep—so fucking good—”

Your orgasm slammed into you like a wave—sharp, hot, overwhelming. You writhed under him, sobbing into his shoulder, cunt pulsing and gushing around his cock.

Sunghoon lost it.

He growled—fucked you harder, faster, chasing his own high, balls tight, breath ragged. You could feel him throbbing inside you, close.

Then—

knock knock knock

Both of you froze.

A voice.

“Hyung?”

Jungwon.

Sunghoon didn’t stop moving.

Instead—he leaned down, slammed his cock back in hard, and clamped a hand over your mouth.

Your eyes widened in shock, a moan caught in your throat as he kept fucking you, slower now but deeper—intentionally, almost cruelly controlled.

“Hyung?” Jungwon called again. “Did you finish the strawberry chocolate? I checked the kitchen and it’s gone.”

Sunghoon kept thrusting, sweat dripping down his back, breath heavy in your ear. His hand tightened slightly over your mouth as you trembled beneath him, whimpering against his palm.

You tried to stay quiet. Tried.

But he hit that spot again—and your moan slipped out, muffled, high-pitched.

Sunghoon paused for only a second before calling out—

Voice steady. Calm. So annoyingly casual.

“Yeah—sorry, I… I think I ate the last one.”

You could feel his cock twitch inside you. Still hard. Still deep. He grinned.

Outside, Jungwon was silent for a second.

“Oh. Okay. Cool.”

His footsteps faded.

Silence.

Then—Sunghoon looked down at you. Smirked.

“Guess he didn’t hear you moaning like a bitch in heat,” he whispered, pulling out just far enough to slam back in again. “Good girl. But next time?”

He kissed your cheek.

“Be louder.”

________

You didn’t get a break.

Not even after you came again, soaking the sheets, nails clawing down Sunghoon’s back. Not even when your body trembled, raw and overstimulated beneath him.

He didn’t let up.

He was still inside you—deep, hot, throbbing—his cock thick and heavy as it dragged against your walls with relentless, practiced rhythm. His hand was still over your mouth, firm but not cruel, fingers splayed across your cheek, muffling every messy sound spilling out of you.

“Fuck,” he hissed, watching your eyes roll back. “You’re taking me so fucking well. Look at you—body so sensitive, you can’t even stay still.”

Your thighs twitched around his waist, legs limp, fucked out completely. You were drooling now—slightly—and he wiped it away with the back of his thumb like it was nothing.

“You love this,” he growled, hips snapping forward, balls slapping hard against your ass. “Getting used like this. You love my cock so much you can’t even think.”

You couldn’t.

Your brain was gone. All you knew was Sunghoon—his voice in your ear, his body pressed against yours, his cock pulsing deep inside you with every brutal thrust. Your pussy clenched around him tight—so tight it made him groan like an animal, hips stuttering slightly.

“Shit, baby—fuck—you’re milking me.” He dropped his head, panting against your throat. “Wanna cum inside you. Fill you up. Would you like that?”

You nodded frantically against his hand, eyes glazed, tears on your lashes.

That’s when it happened again.

knock knock knock

“Hyung?”

It was Jungwon again. Voice confused. A little suspicious now.

“Didn’t you say you had another bar in your bag? You told me not to eat it last week—did you move it?”

Sunghoon didn’t stop.

He didn’t even slow down.

He reached up with one hand—still fucking you hard, balls slapping, your pussy so wet it was obscene—and calmly grabbed your jaw, holding it steady as he leaned down to whisper against your lips.

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, kissing your bottom lip, breath hot. “You’re gonna stay quiet for me, baby. Can you do that?”

You nodded. Tried.

He smiled—then shoved back inside you so deep, so sudden, it made your body jerk and your mouth fly open.

But his hand was already there—covering your mouth fast, smothering the broken scream that tore from your throat.

He waited one breath, then said—casually, like he wasn’t balls deep in your soaking cunt:

“Yeah—uh, check the desk drawer. I think it’s in there.”

You were barely holding it together.

Your legs kicked weakly, hands clutching the sheets, your cunt spasming around his cock with every merciless thrust. He kept his hand tight over your mouth, pushing your head into the pillow, fucking you so deep you could feel him in your stomach.

Jungwon rustled around in the outer room. Muffled sounds. Drawers.

Sunghoon kept going.

He angled his hips—slamming into your g-spot over and over again, his rhythm sharp and cruel.

Your scream came out broken under his palm.

Another knock.

“Uh—hyung?”

You both froze.

You could feel Sunghoon twitch inside you.

“Yeah?” he said again—this time with a little tremble in his voice. But not from guilt.

From how fucking close he was.

“I found it, but like… the bar’s already opened.”

Pause.

“It’s kinda melted.”

Sunghoon didn’t even skip a beat.

“…That’s your problem now.”

There was a long silence outside.

Then Jungwon muttered: “Weirdo.”

Footsteps. Door closing. Gone.

Inside, Sunghoon looked down at you—sweaty, flushed, soaked, eyes glassy with lust and laughter.

And then—he laughed.

Actually laughed. Soft and breathless.

“I can’t believe that worked.”

Then he gripped your hips and pulled you down hard onto his cock.

“Now…”

He leaned close, his voice pure sin in your ear.

“Where were we?”

And he fucked you straight through your next orgasm.

No interruptions this time.

______________

THANK YOU FOR THIS REQ I HOPE IT WAS UP TO YOUR LIKING 😤😤😤

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you stared at him, heart pounding against your ribs. moonlight sharpened his features—the stubborn set of his jaw, the dark intensity in eyes, his pretty moles. “you could’ve texted or just called me, this is so unnecessary and unsafe. you could’ve seriously gotten hurt.”

“necessary,” he corrected softly, stepping closer. the scent of night air and sweat clung to him as he closed the distance. “missed you,” his voice dropped, rough around the edges. before you could protest, he buried his face in the curve of your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. his arms slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him. you felt the hard press of his erection against your thigh, unmistakable even through layers of denim and cotton. a shiver raced down your spine.

“sunghoon—” you started, but his lips brushed your ear, cutting you off. “couldn’t sleep,” he murmured, the words vibrating against your neck. his fingers dug into your hips. “kept thinking about how sweet you taste,” you felt his heartbeat thudding against your chest, rapid and insistent. his hips shifted subtly, grinding against you with a low groan. the friction sparked heat low in your belly.

he lifted his head, eyes dark and liquid in the moonlight. “tell me you missed me too.” his voice was gravel, rough with need.before you could even answer, his lips are already on yours as he kissed you. hard, desperate. his tongue slid against yours. his hands slid under your shirt, palms hot against your bare skin. you gasped into his mouth, arching instinctively. he broke the kiss, breathing ragged. thumb circling your nipple through thin fabric.

his hips rolled against yours, the thick ridge of his erection grinding against your core. you could feel every inch through the layers. wetness pooled between your legs. his groan vibrated against your lips. “fuck, you feel that?” he whispered against your mouth. “what you do to me?”

you whimpered. he was everywhere—his scent, sweat and just him, filling your lungs. his hands slid down your back, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pajama shorts. he yanked them down your hips in one rough motion. cool air hit your bare skin. his palm slid over your ass, fingers digging in possessively.

sunghoon’s mouth crashed back onto yours. messy. hungry. his tongue pushed deep. you tasted mint and desperation. he walked you backward until your knees hit the bed. you fell onto the mattress. he followed, knees bracketing your thighs. his jeans scraped against your bare skin. he grinded down against your core. the thick ridge of his cock pressed exactly where you needed it.

he tore his mouth away, panting. “need you.” his voice cracked. fingers fumbled with his belt buckle as the metal clinked. he shoved his jeans down just enough to free himself. his cock sprang free, thick and flushed with precum glistening at the tip. he didn’t hesitate as he ripped your panties aside. the fabric tore with a sharp sound as you gasped. his fingers slid through your slick folds, spreading you open. he groaned. “so fucking wet for me.”

he positioned himself at your entrance. eyes locked on yours. moonlight caught the sweat on his brow. “look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough. he pushed in slow and deliberate. stretching you inch by inch. you cried out as he filled you completely. he paused, breathing ragged. “fuck. so tight.” he pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in hard. the bed frame slammed against the wall.

he set a punishing rhythm immediately. hips snapping forward. skin slapping skin echoing in the small room. his fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise. each thrust drove the breath from your lungs. he leaned down, teeth scraping your neck. “mine,” he growled against your skin. his thrusts grew erratic and desperate. you clawed at his back. nails digging into muscle. he groaned low in his throat. the sound vibrated through your chest.

“h-hoon, i’m close, nghh—”

“me too, fuck—” sunghoon’s voice shattered against your ear, his hips stuttering as he slammed into you one final time. his body locked, a low groan tearing from his throat as he spilled deep inside you, pulsing hot and thick. the sensation tipped you over the edge. your back arched off the mattress, a cry ripping from your throat as your climax crashed through you, white-hot and consuming. you clenched around him, milking every last shudder from his body as he collapsed against you, breath ragged and damp against your neck. 

for some moments, the only sounds were the frantic hammering of your hearts and your breathing. moonlight streamed through the open window, painting silver streaks across sunghoon’s sweat-slicked back. his weight was heavy, anchoring you to the rumpled sheets, the scent of sex and exertion thick in the air. slowly, his breathing began to even out, his fingers tracing idle, possessive circles on your hipbone where he’d gripped you hard enough to bruise.

he stirred eventually, lifting his head just enough to look at you. his dark eyes dazed in the low light. a stray lock of hair clung to his damp forehead. he didn’t speak, just watched you, his thumb brushing gently over your lower lip where he’d bitten it earlier.

you traced the line of his jaw, the question had been clawing at your throat. you took a shaky breath, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “sunghoon... what is this?” your voice was barely a whisper, raw from crying out his name. “are we... real? or am i just another one of your flings?"

his gaze sharpened instantly, the dazed softness vanishing. he pushed himself up on one elbow, looming over you. “you think this—” his hand slid possessively over your hip, thumb pressing into the bruise he’d left, “—is how i treat flings?" his voice was low, dangerous. “you think i climb through the windows in the middle of the night for anyone else? that i lose my fucking mind just by the scent of your fucking shampoo?”

he leaned down, his nose brushing yours as his breath hitched. “i don’t do relationships,” his voice dropped, rough and raw, stripping away all pretense. “but i can’t breathe right when you’re not near me. i see your face when i close my eyes. i crave your taste like its oxygen.” his thumb traced your swollen lower lip again “you’re not just some random fling. you’re the fucking exception that terrifies me.”

your eyes drift toward your front door.

you’ve lived in this apartment for a few months now, but you’ve barely spoken to anyone on your floor. your next door neighbor though, you’ve seen him a couple times in the hallway. tall, quiet. the kind of guy who seems to be living in his own world. 

you hesitate, then grab your empty measuring cup. desperate times call for desperate measures.

“it’s just sugar,” you whisper to yourself. 

the hallway is dim and quiet, the sound of rain muffled through the walls. you take a breath and knock on his door.

a few seconds later, it opens and you instantly forget whatever little pep talk you gave yourself. your neighbor stands there in a loose gray hoodie, hair slightly damp. he looks at you, a little surprised but not unfriendly.

“hey,” he says, voice low and calm. “can i help you?”

you swallow, clutching the measuring cup a little tighter. “uh hi. sorry to bother you i live right next door in 25 C, uh… do you, um, happen to have any sugar?”

his brows lift slightly, and a hint of amusement flickers across his face. “sugar?”

“yeah.” you gesture toward your apartment. “i was baking, and i just ran out. and it’s -well…” you glance at the window, where lightning flashes faintly. “pretty much a monsoon out there.”

he smiles, soft and easy. “you’re in luck. i’ve got plenty.”

before you can respond, he disappears for a moment and comes back with a bag of sugar in hand. “here.”

“oh thank you, really. i promise i’ll bring it right back.”

“no rush,” he says easily, then pauses. “you’re making cinnamon rolls, right?”

you blink. “h-how’d you know?”

he grins, tapping the side of his nose. “it smells like a bakery in the hallway.”

you laugh, a little embarrassed. “guess i got carried away.”

you clutch the bag of sugar to your chest, relief flooding through you. “thank you so much. seriously. i’ll find a way to repay you.”

he tilts his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “repay me?”

“yeah,” you say, nodding quickly. “it’s the least i can do. you just saved my night.”

he hums like he’s thinking it over, eyes flicking to the measuring cup in your hand and back to your face. “how about…” he says, voice light but teasing, “you let me try one of those cinnamon rolls when they’re done.”

you blink, caught off guard. “i- yeah i can do that.”

“perfect. see you in about, what? an hour?” he asks.

“give or take,” you say, smiling softly. “assuming i don’t burn them.”

he chuckles under his breath. “i’ll keep my fire extinguisher handy in case you do.”

you roll your eyes and back toward your apartment, your pulse doing a weird, fluttery thing you don’t care to analyze.

you step back into your apartment, closing the door behind you with your elbow. you set the bag of sugar on the counter, take a breath, and get back to work. the dough’s been waiting, and you’re determined to get these done.

the air is warm, heavy with the scent of cinnamon and butter. your sleeves are dusted with flour, your hair keeps slipping from its tie, and there’s a little smudge of dough on your wrist you don’t even notice. this is the part you love most; being completely lost in the rhythm of it.

you scoop, mix, measure, and knead, making sure everything feels right. you double check the recipe on your phone, reading each step twice because you want the rolls to come out perfect this time.

you roll out the dough carefully, spreading the cinnamon sugar in even strokes, pressing it down with the back of a spoon before rolling it tight. 

by the time the rolls are lined up on the tray, you can already imagine how they’ll look when they’re done golden, soft, warm enough to fog the windows. it excites you even more. 

you slide the tray into the oven and wipe your hands on a dish towel, exhaling as the heat fills the kitchen. the timer beeps softly when you set it, and you lean against the counter for a moment, feeling the calm settle in.

no distractions. no thoughts. just the smell of cinnamon and the soft putter of the rain.

the timer dings, and you jump slightly, heart racing with that little spark of excitement you always get when baking something new or something you’ve done a hundred times but still hope will turn out perfectly.

you slide on an oven mitt and pull the tray out, the warm aroma of cinnamon and butter hitting you instantly. the rolls are golden, soft, and perfect just like you hoped. the edges are slightly crisp, the spirals tight and even, sugar melted and glistening.

you set the tray on the counter and let the rolls cool for a few minutes, resisting the urge to grab one immediately. instead, you prepare a small plate, lining it carefully so each roll has its own space. you cut a piece of parchment to fit underneath, brushing off stray crumbs, arranging them neatly. your attention is entirely on the rolls, brushing a little extra butter on top so they shine and brushing away any last stray bits of sugar.

you scoop up one of the rolls carefully, placing it on a separate plate for yourself, just to taste. the first bite melts in your mouth, sweet and soft, with just the right amount of cinnamon spice. you close your eyes and let the flavor sink in, smiling at the simple perfection of it.

you set your plate down and grab the ones you planned to give away, tucking them carefully into a small container. the thought of sharing it isn’t distracting; it’s just part of the process, a natural next step after all the care you put into making them.

you take a deep breath, steady and calm, and walk toward your neighbor’s door, the container balanced carefully in your hands. your mind is clear, focused entirely on the cinnamon rolls, on making sure they’re presented perfectly.

you knock on his door, holding the plate carefully in both hands. before you can even speak, he swings the door open and looks at you.

“hey,” he says, smiling softly. “want to come in? it’s freezing out here.” 

you blink, a little surprised, but step inside. as you set the plate down on the small kitchen table, your eyes wander around the space. it’s impressively put together. for a man living on his own anyway. a few books neatly stacked on the shelves, a small plant in the corner, and kitchen counters free of clutter. even the couch looks like it’s in exactly the right spot, with a soft throw folded carefully over the back.

he disappears into the kitchen for a moment, returning with two steaming mugs. the warmth of the cup seeps into your hands as you sit down across from him.

“fresh tea,” he says, setting one in front of you. “i figured it’d pair well with these.”

“oh thank you,” you place the plate of cinnamon rolls on the table, arranging them carefully. “fresh out of the oven,” you say. “i hope they’re okay.”

he picks one up, inspecting the golden spiral before taking a bite. “wow,” he says, eyes lighting up. “these are really good. perfect, actually.”

you smile, brushing a stray crumb off the plate. “glad they worked. i was worried i’d overdo the cinnamon or something.”

he chuckles, taking another bite, then leans back slightly. “do you bake often?”

you tilt your head, thinking. “yeah… usually once this time of year hits. first week of october, i bake something sweet to welcome fall. it’s kind of a little tradition.”

he nods, smiling. “i like that. makes the season feel special, doesn’t it?”

“exactly,” you say, sipping your tea and letting the warmth seep in. “it’s just a small thing but it’s my favorite time of year.” 

he picks up the half bitten roll, eyes soft as he studies it. “well, whatever you did this time, it worked. these are amazing.”

you grin, breaking off a piece of your own roll and letting the warm, soft dough melt on your tongue. “glad you like them.”

he leans back in his chair, taking a slow sip of tea, and looks at you with a small smile.

“so,” he says, setting his mug down, “what do you love about fall?”

you pause for a second, trying to think of where to start. there’s so much. and once you open your mouth, it just spills out.

“honestly… everything,” you say, laughing a little. “like, the smells first of all. rain on the sidewalk, pumpkin spice stuff everywhere—it just smells like… comforting?”

he nods, listening, and you keep going. “oh and the clothes.. sweaters, scarves. it’s like you can wrap yourself up in the season.“

he smiles, eyes soft, still paying attention.

“oh, and the baking,” you continue, warming to the topic. “cinnamon rolls, pies, pumpkin bread… the kitchen smells amazing and it makes me feel cozy even if it’s storming outside. and the drinks. hot chocolate, cider, tea…  evenings, too. early sunsets, candles lit, reading or just listening to the rain. what’s not to love.”

you pause, cheeks warming a little. you realize you’ve been rambling, but he hasn’t interrupted once. he just sits there, smiling softly, clearly enjoying it.

“wow,” he says finally, taking another bite of a cinnamon roll. “you really love fall.”

“i do,” you say, grinning. “it’s my favorite. everything just… slows down for a bit. you notice the little things more.”

he nods slowly, chewing thoughtfully. “yeah… i get it. it does feel nice. cozy.”

you smile, taking a sip of tea, letting the warmth of the cup settle in. you take a bite of your cinnamon roll, chewing thoughtfully, and then set it down. “so… do you have a favorite season?” you ask, curious.

he leans back in his chair, thinking for a moment. “yeah,” he says finally, a small smile tugging at his lips. “i’d say winter.”

“winter?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “and why’s that?”

he chuckles softly, eyes distant for a moment. “i used to be a figure skater when i was younger. skating, ice, snow… it just stuck with me. there’s something about winter that feels… familiar, you know? the cold, the quiet, the ice glinting in the sunlight of those outdoor rinks. it’s kind of peaceful.”

you nod slowly, imagining it. “that actually makes a lot of sense. i mean… winter is beautiful. quiet, still, cozy if you’re inside.”

“exactly,” he says, taking another bite of a cinnamon roll. “it’s not for everyone, but… it’s my thing.”

you smile and take another sip of tea, savoring the warmth, and watch him as he chews, noticing the little details, like the curl of his hair falling over his forehead, the way his hoodie sits perfectly on his shoulders, the calm, easy way he exists in the space.

“figure skating, huh?” you tease lightly. “were you any good?”

he smirks, a little pride flickering across his face. “yeah… i was. not world champion level or anything, but i liked it. still do, in a way. just… from the sidelines now.”

you smile softly, taking another bite of your roll. “well, winter makes a lot more sense now. kind of poetic, actually.”

the conversation continues to easily,  but after a while, you glance at the clock and realize how late it’s gotten.

“oh… it’s getting pretty late,” you say, standing up and grabbing your empty plate. “i should probably head back.”

he shakes his head, a small, easy smile tugging at his lips. “hey… um did you maybe want to go to the farmers market tomorrow? it’s supposed to be really nice, and i think you’d like it.”

you pause, caught off guard, but you feel a little flutter in your chest. “tomorrow?”

“yeah,” he says, leaning casually against the counter. “nothing fancy, just wandering around, looking at the stalls, maybe grabbing something warm to drink. i thought… since you love fall stuff, it could be fun.”

you grin softly. “okay… sure. that actually sounds really nice.”

he lights up, eyes brightening. “perfect. then it’s a plan. uh… can i get your number? just so i can text you the time?”

you nod, fishing your phone out of your pocket. “yeah, of course.”

he takes your number carefully, glancing at it once, then tucking his phone away. “great. i’ll send you a message tonight so you know when to meet me.”

you nod, smiling, feeling a warmth that has nothing to do with the cinnamon rolls. “sounds good.”

he smiles softly. “alright, see you tomorrow then.”

you wave goodbye and step into the hallway, and back in to your apartment. a warm feeling in your chest that you aren’t quite sure whether it’s coming from the chunky cardigan you’re wearing, or the fact that you’re hanging out with your cute, kind neighbor tomorrow. 

as you’re pulling the covers over your frame, you hear a ping from your phone that’s laying on your bed side table. you take a peak to see it is in fact sunghoon confirming your 8 am trip to the farmers market. you smile and let the warmth of your duvet cover embrace you as you shift to sleep. 

⸻

you’re just slipping your phone into your bag when there’s a soft knock on your door.

when you open it, sunghoon’s standing there, hands in his jacket pockets, hair slightly tousled from the morning. he looks unfairly good for someone who probably rolled out of bed twenty minutes ago.

“morning,” he says, smiling. “you’re ready right on time.”

you laugh softly. “yeah, i didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

he lets out a small breath that almost sounds like a laugh, eyes flicking over you for a brief moment before he says, “you look really pretty.”

your brain stutters for a second. “oh—um,” you start, feeling your cheeks warm. “thanks. you look… nice, too.”

his smile widens, a little amused, but still gentle. “thanks. shall we?”

you nod quickly, stepping out into the hallway and locking your door behind you.

the morning air hits you the moment you both step outside. crisp, fresh, and filled with that earthy scent of damp leaves. the city’s still mostly quiet, kind of calm that only exists before everyone else fully wakes up.

as you walk side by side, he glances over at you. “so, do you come to the farmers market often?”

“not as much as i’d like,” you admit. “but i love it. everything all the stands and seeing what everyone has to offer.”

he smiles softly at that. “yeah. i get what you mean.”

the conversation flows easily after that. quiet laughter, little observations about the changing trees and the smell of coffee and cider drifting from nearby cafes. and even though it’s barely eight in the morning, you have a feeling it’s gonna be a good day. 

the walk to the farmers market doesn’t take long, and when you arrive, the market is already alive with quiet chatter.  rows of tents line the sidewalks, the air filled with the smells of baked goods everywhere you walked.

you slow down, taking it all in—the warm colors, the sounds, the way the sunlight filters through the awnings in soft streaks.

“it’s so pretty,” you say, smiling without meaning to.

sunghoon glances at you, his hands tucked in his pockets. “yeah,” he says, voice low. “it really is.”

you glance back at him, and for a second, you can’t tell if he’s talking about the market or you. your stomach flutters, and you quickly turn your gaze toward a nearby stall selling pastries.

“those look amazing,” you say, pointing.

he follows your gaze, then smiles. “let’s get some.”

you try to protest, but he’s already pulling out his wallet. “hey, you don’t have to—”

“i know,” he cuts in lightly, “but i want to. think of it as a thank you for the cinnamon rolls.”

you roll your eyes playfully. “you just want to keep the dessert trades going.”

“maybe,” he admits, grinning as he hands you a warm paper bag. inside are two small pastries dusted with sugar. “here.”

you take it, smiling softly. “thanks, sunghoon.”

“anytime,” he says, his voice gentle in a way that makes your chest tighten a little.

you walk a little more, nibbling on the pastries and stopping by a flower stand overflowing with sunflowers and dahlias. you pause, leaning in to smell the blooms, your fingers brushing a soft yellow petal.

“you like flowers?” he asks, watching you.

“who doesn’t?” you reply, smiling. “they’re just so pretty with all their petals and colors.”

he hums thoughtfully before saying, “pick one.”

you look at him, surprised. “what?”

“pick one,” he repeats, a faint smile playing on his lips. “i’ll get it for you.”

“sunghoon—”

“no arguing,” he says quietly, eyes crinkling a little at the corners. “just pick.”

you bite back a laugh and finally reach for one. a small, warm-toned dahlia. “this one,” you say softly.

he pays the vendor and hands it to you carefully, like it’s something fragile. “there. pretty flower for a pretty girl.”

you take it, smiling so wide you can’t help it. “you’re kind of ruining the bar for every other neighbor, you know.”

he chuckles. “good. that’s kind of what i was going for.”

and as you keep walking through the rows of stalls, everything settles. the pace at which you’re walking side by side, the light but comfortable conversation that’s so easy to indulge in.

after wandering through a few more rows of stalls, you both spot a small seating area tucked between two coffee stands.  wooden tables surrounded by planters filled with tiny pumpkins and herbs. 

sunghoon glances at you. “want to sit for a bit? i’ll grab us something warm to drink.”

you nod, smiling. “yeah, that sounds perfect.”

you find a table and sit, setting your dahlia down carefully. a few minutes later, he comes back carrying two steaming cups, his fingers pink from the cold.

“one hot apple cider for you,” he says, sliding it toward you, “and coffee for me.”

“thank you,” you say, wrapping your hands around the cup. “you’re really feeding into my fall obsession.”

he laughs softly. “i figured you wouldn’t complain.”

you take a sip, the warmth spreading through your chest. “this is the best way to start the morning.”

he leans back in his chair, watching you with a small smile. “are you usually much of a morning person?”

you grin. “only when there’s food involved.”

he chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee. for a few moments, the two of you sit quietly, watching people drift by. families with kids, couples holding hands, someone’s golden retriever carrying a pumpkin stem in its mouth. 

then he asks, “so, did you grow up around here?”

“kind of,” you say, tilting your head. “i was born in the city but moved to suburbs at 4. my parents live about an hour away now. i visit when i can.”

he nods, listening closely. “that’s nice. are you close with them?”

you smile faintly. “yeah. my mom calls me way too much, but… i think i’d miss it if she didn’t.”

he laughs softly. “sounds like my mom. she still leaves me voice messages just to tell me she bought new dish towels or something.”

you giggle. “that’s kind of adorable, actually.”

“don’t tell her that,” he says, mock-serious. “she’ll never let me live it down.”

the two of you laugh, and the conversation just keeps going. he tells you about growing up skating, how his dad used to take him to the rink before sunrise, how he used to hate it but now misses the smell of the ice. you tell him about baking with your grandmother every fall, how she’d hum along to old songs and always claim the first batch never counted because it was for “testing.”

itd a conversation that feels natural, like you’ve known each other longer than you have. 

you look at him for a moment, his expression soft as he listens, and something in your chest feels warm and still, like you’ve stumbled into a memory before it’s even finished happening.

“your grandma sounds sweet,” sunghoon says, smiling over the rim of his cup. “so that’s where the baking thing comes from, huh?”

you laugh softly. “yeah. she’d always say baking was her love language. i think i picked that up from her.”

“that’s a good one to have,” he says, nodding. “definitely beats my mom’s version, which was forcing leftovers on me every time i left the house.”

you grin. “oh, my mom does that too. it’s her way of making sure i don’t ‘starve’ in the city. i have, like, five containers of homemade soup in my freezer right now.”

he chuckles, eyes crinkling. “honestly? lucky you. i’d kill for some homemade soup.”

“you don’t cook?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“not unless you count instant ramen and eggs,” he says with a laugh. “my stove probably thinks i moved out.”

you laugh too, shaking your head. “that’s tragic. maybe i’ll have to drop off a care package one of these days.”

his smile softens, his tone dropping just a little. “you’d really do that?”

you shrug, trying to play it off even though your cheeks feel warm. “only if you promise to actually eat it and not let it sit in your fridge for three weeks.”

he laughs, leaning forward slightly. “deal.”

you just sit there, smiling at each other over your drinks. “you know, i’m glad you knocked on my door last night.”

you glance up, caught off guard by how soft his tone is. “yeah?”

“yeah,” he says, smiling faintly. “most people wouldn’t have been brave enough to knock on a strangers door just for sugar.”

you laugh lightly. “desperate times, i guess.”

he grins. “well, i’m not complaining. it worked out pretty well for me.”

you look down at your cup, trying to hide your smile, but it’s no use. the warmth in your chest feels almost too much for such a chilly morning.

you swirl what’s left of your cider, the warmth fading but the feeling between you still lingering. “i mean, i almost didn’t knock,” you admit. “i felt kind of weird bothering a neighbor that late.”

sunghoon smiles. “you didn’t bother me. i was just watching the storm, actually. kind of nice having someone interrupt that.”

“you like storms?”

he nods slowly. “yeah. they make everything quiet for a while. i don’t know, it’s weirdly peaceful.”

you hum in agreement. “i get that. i like when the power goes out for a bit. it’s like everything stops needing your attention.”

“yeah,” he says softly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “you seem like the kind of person who likes quiet things.”

you blink, caught off guard by the way he says it not teasing, just… noticing. “quiet things?”

“yeah,” he continues, smiling faintly. “you seem like you appreciate the small stuff.”

you pause, your lips curving into a shy smile. “i guess i do.”

he tilts his head a little. “that’s nice. not a lot of people do.”

the compliment settles between you, light but meaningful. you look down at your cup, smiling softly to yourself.

“what about you?” you ask after a moment, glancing back up. “what kind of stuff do you appreciate?”

he thinks for a second, eyes flicking toward the street, then back to you. “hmm. i guess… mornings like this. when everything’s kind of slow, and you don’t have to rush anywhere. when you get to just… be around someone who makes it feel easy.”

your breath catches a little, and you try to play it off with a small laugh. “that’s pretty specific.”

he grins, leaning back in his chair. “yeah, well. it’s a pretty specific morning.”

you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. your chest feels warm again. that steady warmth that’s been there since the moment you opened your door and saw him standing there.

he glances down at your flower, then back at you. “you should put that in a little vase when you get home,” he says softly. “it’ll last longer.”

“i will,” you say, voice quieter than you mean it to be.

after a while, the morning crowd starts to grow more people drifting in, the sound of chatter rising around you. you glance down at your empty cup and smile faintly. “i think that’s our cue to head back before the lines get crazy.”

sunghoon nods, finishing the last sip of his coffee. “yeah, good idea. let’s go home.”

you feel your stomach flutter at that, but you just nod, tucking the flower carefully into your bag before standing. the two of you start walking back through the winding rows of stalls, your shoulders brushing every now and then.

“i forgot how nice mornings like this can be,” you admit quietly.

“you’re saying that like you don’t usually get up before noon,” he teases.

you laugh. “hey, i do! sometimes.”

“sure you do,” he says, grinning.

you nudge him lightly with your elbow, and he laughs, the sound warm in the crisp air.

the closer you get to your building, the quieter it feels again. the city noise fades into a soft hum, and it’s just the two of you walking side by side down the tree lined street, leaves crunching underfoot.

when you reach your floor, you both stop in front of your door. he looks at you for a moment, that small, unreadable smile on his face again.

“thanks for coming with me,” he says. “i had a good time.”

you return the smile, a little shy. “me too. it was… really nice.”

he nods slowly. “we should do it again sometime. maybe next weekend? there’s supposed to be a fall festival a few blocks away.”

your heart does that little skip again. “yeah. i’d like that.”

his smile widens, a hint of something almost bashful in it. “cool. i’ll text you.”

you nod, trying not to grin too hard. “okay. and… thanks. for the flower. and the cider. and just… today.”

he chuckles softly. “anytime.”

for a second, it feels like he might say something else but he just gives you one last warm look before turning toward his apartment. you unlock your door, step inside, and lean against it for a moment once it clicks shut, the quiet of your place settling around you.

you take out the dahlia and set it in a small glass of water by the window. the petals catch the light, glowing faintly gold, and somehow, your whole apartment feels a little warmer.

-

it becomes a kind of routine after that.

you and sunghoon start running into each other more. sometimes on purpose, sometimes not. a quick wave in the hallway turns into chatting outside your doors, and those chats somehow turn into late night tea on his couch or baking experiments in your kitchen that always end with him stealing some to take back home. 

he starts showing up at your door with small things like a bag of roasted chestnuts from a street vendor, a playlist he made for “cozy evenings only,” a book he swears you’ll love. in return, you bring him things you bake; muffins, cookies, the occasional loaf of bread that never lasts more than a day between the two of you.

the fall days stretch into a soft pattern of little moments. walking to the market together on weekends. sharing takeout when you’re both too tired to cook. sitting on your fire escape with mugs of hot chocolate, talking about everything and nothing until your fingers go numb.

you start noticing things about him without meaning to. like how he always hums under his breath when he’s focused, how his laugh sounds when he’s genuinely caught off guard, how his eyes crinkle just a bit when he smiles at you.

and lately, he’s been smiling at you a lot.

it’s subtle. the way he leans a little closer when you talk, how he always seems to wait for you outside your door when you both happen to leave at the same time, how his texts have shifted from casual to something that feels a little like care.

you don’t talk about it. neither of you has to.

but one evening, you’re sitting at your counter, scrolling through your phone while a batch of pumpkin bread bakes in the oven. the apartment smells like cinnamon and pumpkin. the scent seeps into everything.

and right on cue, there’s a knock at your door.

you smile to yourself before even opening the door because honestly, who else could it be?

when you pull it open, sunghoon’s there, leaning against the doorframe with that familiar grin. his hoodie looks a little too big, sleeves bunched up around his wrists, and his hair’s slightly messy like he’s been running his hands through it.

“i swear i wasn’t stalking you,” he says, raising his hands in mock defense. “the hallway just… smelledreally good again.”

you laugh, stepping aside to let him in. “you have perfect timing, as always. it’s pumpkin bread this time.”

he grins, slipping off his shoes and wandering toward the kitchen like he’s been there a hundred times, which, at this point, he kind of has. “you’re seriously trying to ruin store bought desserts for me forever.”

“that’s the goal,” you tease, pulling the loaf pan out of the oven. “homemade only, from now on.”

“guess i’ll have to keep hanging out with you then,” he says casually, but his voice softens near the end, and when you glance up, he’s already looking at you.

you clear your throat, trying to hide your smile as you set the pan down. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“oh, it’s not.”

you meet his eyes for a second too long, and your chest feels warmer than the oven behind you. to distract yourself, you start cutting a slice of the bread, before pushing picking it up  toward him.

“you wanna try it?” you ask.

“obviously,” he says, grinning.

you hold up the slice, hesitating for a second before breaking off a piece. it’s too hot to hand over, so you blow on it lightly, then without really thinking, you hold it up to his lips.

he blinks, caught off guard, but leans forward anyway, biting the piece right out of your fingers.

“well?” you ask quietly.

he chews, his gaze never leaving yours. “it’s good,” he says after a beat. “like, really good. might be my favorite thing you’ve made so far.”

you smile, trying to ignore how close he is or how his voice sounds lower than usual. “you say that every time.”

“yeah, but i mean it every time.”

you roll your eyes, but the warmth spreading through your chest has nothing to do with the oven. “you’re such a flatterer.”

“how can i not be?” he mutters, still looking at you.

you clear your throat, turning back to grab two mugs. “cider? i made it” 

“i’m starting to think i’m getting special treatment,” he says, taking the mug and taking a sip.

“ mm maybe you are.”

his smile lingers, and you can feel his gaze on you even as you turn to rinse the knife in the sink. it goes quiet until you finally speak again.

“so… i was gonna put on a movie tonight,” you start, trying to sound casual. “if you don’t have any plans, you could stay and watch it with me.”

he looks up, eyebrows lifting a little, like he wasn’t expecting it but then that soft smile of his spreads across his face. “yeah? i’d like that.”

you shrug, trying not to seem too pleased. “ok. i’m picking though.” 

you grab a blanket from the couch and toss it over your legs before settling in. he sits down beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth from his shoulder. 

you scroll through the options until you find something familiar, hit play, and let the soft glow of the tv light up the room. the rain outside has slowed to a gentle drizzle, the kind that just barely taps against the windows.

after a few minutes, the silence between you fills the room. he takes another sip of his tea and leans back, his knee brushing yours lightly. neither of you moves away.

you try to hide your grin, focusing on the movie again, but your heart’s already beating faster. and when you shift slightly, your knee brushes his again and this time, he doesn’t even pretend not to notice.

the movie plays quietly in the background, and you don’t even realize how tired you are until your head starts to feel heavy against the back of the couch.

sunghoon glances over when you yawn, a small smile tugging at his lips. “you’re falling asleep,” he says softly.

“no, i’m not,” you mumble, even though your voice sounds half asleep already.

“you are,” he teases. “you’ve missed like the last ten minutes.”

you blink at the screen, then turn to look at him. “you’re exaggerating.”

“i’m really not,” he says, laughing quietly. “but it’s okay. the movie’s boring anyway.”

you make a tired sound of protest and shift a little, trying to get comfortable again. your shoulder brushes his, then your head tilts slightly close enough that you can feel his warmth.

“just… wake me up if anything important happens,” you mumble.

“sure,” he says, but his voice is soft, like he has no intention of waking you up at all.

the rain picks up again outside, tapping gently against the window. the glow from the tv flickers across the room, and before you know it, your eyes drift shut completely.

you don’t remember falling asleep.

but when you wake up, everything feels still.

the room is dim, filled with the pale light of morning. the tv is off, and the air smells faintly like tea and sugar. it takes you a second to realize the warmth beneath your cheek isn’t a pillow but rather sunghoon.

your head is resting on his chest, and his arm is draped loosely around you. his heartbeat is slow and steady against your ear, and his hoodie feels soft where your hand ended up resting near his side.

for a moment, you just lie there, frozen, your brain still catching up to the fact that you spent the night on the couch…with him.

he shifts slightly, still half asleep, his voice low and groggy. “morning.”

you tilt your head up a little, and he’s already looking down at you, hair messy, eyes heavy with sleep. it’s unfair how good he looks like that.

you shift off of him carefully, sitting up and rubbing at your face. “sorry,” you say, your voice still a little rough from sleep. “i didn’t mean to crash like that.”

he chuckles quietly, sitting up too. “you were tired. it’s fine.”

you look around the room, it’s a little messy now, blanket half on the floor, two mugs sitting forgotten on the table. the light filtering through the curtains is soft and golden.

sunghoon stretches, then stands, slipping his hands into his hoodie pocket. “i should probably head out,” he says gently. “i’ve got a few things to take care of today.”

you nod, trying not to sound disappointed. “right, yeah. totally. thanks for staying last night. it was… nice.”

his mouth curves into a small smile, the kind that makes his eyes soften. “yeah,” he says quietly. “it was.”

you walk him to the door, the air between you still warm from the night before. he slips his shoes back on, then pauses for a second, glancing at you like he’s trying to decide whether to say something else.

“i’ll see you later?” he asks finally, his voice low but hopeful.

“yeah,” you say, smiling a little. “definitely.”

he nods once, then opens the door. “don’t fall asleep on any more neighbors,” he teases lightly, and it makes you laugh.

“you’re the only neighbor i’ve done that with,” you shoot back.

his grin widens just a bit. “good.”

and with that, he’s gone, the soft click of his door echoing faintly down the hallway.

you stand there for a second, still smiling to yourself, before you shut your own door. the couch looks almost the same. the blanket rumpled, a faint indentation where he’d been. you sigh softly, brushing your hair back, and make your way back to your bedroom where you continue to sleep for a couple more hours.

—

the day passes, and you don’t think much of it.

sunghoon probably just got busy, you tell yourself. he’d said he had things to do, and you’d both only fallen asleep on the couch. it wasn’t weird. not really.

but then the second day comes, and it’s quiet. too quiet. no texts, no casual knock on your door, no sound of music or soft humming from his apartment. just silence.

by the third day, you start overthinking.

you’re standing in your kitchen, stirring honey into your tea, when the thought hits you. maybe he is avoiding you. maybe waking up tangled together on the couch freaked him out. maybe you crossed some invisible line you didn’t realize was there.

you sigh, leaning against the counter, staring out the window at the overcast sky. the leaves outside have started to fall faster, covering the sidewalk in patches of orange and gold. normally, it would make you feel calm. cozy, even.

but right now, it just feels a little lonely.

you glance at your phone again. nothing.

the text you drafted twice and deleted sits in your notes app . something simple like hey, haven’t seen you around. everything okay?

you almost send it. almost. but you stop yourself.

if he wanted to talk, he would, right?

so you spend the evening keeping yourself busy cleaning, baking another batch of bread you don’t really need, rewatching the same show you’ve already seen twice. but every quiet moment feels like space he used to fill.

what you don’t know or more like what you couldn’t possibly know, is that the next door down, sunghoon’s curled up on his couch under a blanket, voice hoarse, tissues piled on the coffee table beside him.

his phone buzzes once, lighting up with a message from his mom asking if he’s eaten. he groans softly, replying with yeah, soup, even though he hasn’t had the energy to make any.

he thinks about texting you too just a quick hey, sorry i’ve been MIA. i caught a cold,  but his head’s pounding, and even lifting his phone feels like too much.

so instead, he sighs, pulls the blanket higher, and thinks about the way you’d laughed that night, soft and sleepy, just before you’d dozed off against him.

and he tells himself that once he feels human again, he’ll make it right.

⸻

by the fourth day, you can’t take it anymore.

you’ve told yourself not to overthink it, that maybe he’s just busy but the longer the silence stretches, the more wrong it feels. sunghoon isn’t the type to just vanish. not after the way things have been lately.

so you stand in your hallway, arms crossed, staring at his door like it might give you an answer. after a full minute of debating, you finally take a breath and knock.

no answer.

you frown, hesitating, then knock again a little louder this time. “sunghoon? it’s me,” you call softly. “are you home?”

a few seconds pass, and you’re about to turn away when you hear it the faint shuffling from inside, then the sound of the lock clicking.

the door opens just a crack, and sunghoon appears, hair messy, eyes tired, voice rough. “hey,” he croaks, sounding nothing like his usual self.

your worry spikes instantly. “oh my god,” you breathe out. “you are here. i thought maybe—” you stop yourself, shaking your head. “are you okay? you look awful.”

he huffs out a weak laugh. “thanks. i’ve been better. just a cold.”

you blink. “a cold? you’ve been gone for four days because of a cold?”

“it’s a really bad one,” he says, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. “i didn’t want to get you sick.”

you roll your eyes, though the concern in your chest softens the gesture. “you could’ve texted. i was starting to think i’d done something weird.”

his eyebrows knit together. “weird? what do you mean?”

“you know,” you mumble, looking away. “falling asleep on you. maybe it made things awkward or—”

he cuts you off with a quiet laugh, the sound raspy but warm. “you think thats why i disappeared?”

you shrug, a little embarrassed. “it crossed my mind.”

“no,” he says, shaking his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “i didn’t text because i was coughing my lungs out, not because i didn’t want to talk to you.”

you let out a breath, half laughing now. “well, you could’ve said that before i went through all five stages of overthinking.”

“sorry,” he says softly. “guess i owe you one.”

you glance past him, spotting the blanket on his couch, the half empty tissue box, the general chaos of someone too sick to function. “you do,” you say, stepping a little closer. “starting with letting me make you something warm.”

his eyes widen slightly. “you don’t have to—”

“i want to,” you interrupt, smiling faintly. “besides, you look like you haven’t eaten anything but cough drops.”

he laughs weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. “you might not be wrong.”

“then it’s settled,” you say, already turning toward your apartment. “i’ll make you some soup. no arguments.”

he watches you for a moment, that soft smile lingering despite how tired he looks. “okay,” he says quietly. “no arguments.”

you stand in his doorway, taking in the sight of him again. his hair messy, blanket draped around his shoulders, eyes half lidded with exhaustion.

“you really shouldn’t be standing,” you say, already stepping inside. “you look like you could fall over.”

sunghoon lets out a weak laugh. “i’m fine. i really.”

“uh huh,” you mutter, glancing around at the tissues and empty mugs on the table. “sure looks like it.”

he watches you with tired amusement as you turn toward him. “okay,” you sigh, “sit down, and don’t move. i’m gonna grab some things from my apartment.”

“what things?” he asks, brow furrowing.

“soup things,” you reply, slipping your shoes back on. “if you’re too sick to cook, i’ll do it here. that way i can make sure you don’t pass out.”

he opens his mouth to argue, but you shoot him a look that shuts him up instantly. “…yes, ma’am,” he mutters, half smiling despite himself.

when you return a few minutes later, your arms are full with vegetables, noodles, broth, and a small pot tucked under one arm. sunghoon blinks as you step inside, setting everything on his kitchen counter like you’ve done it a hundred times before.

“you weren’t kidding,” he says, dragging the blanket with him to the kitchen doorway.

“told you,” you say, tying your hair up. “if you won’t take care of yourself, i will.”

he leans against the doorframe, watching as you chop carrots and celery. “you really don’t have to do all this.”

“and you really don’t have to keep saying that,” you reply, glancing at him over your shoulder. “just sit. or better yet, lie down.”

“what if i want to watch?”

“then watch quietly,” you tease, stirring the pot.

he grins faintly, voice raspier now. “you’re kind of bossy when you cook.”

“that’s kind of my thing.”

it’s quiet for a while the gentle simmer of broth filling the silence. when you sneak a glance over, sunghoon’s still sitting there, blanket wrapped around him, looking at you with that soft, unreadable expression.

you clear your throat, trying not to let it get to you. “you could at least sit before you fall over.”

he does, finally settling onto one of the stools at the counter. “smells good,” he says.

“it’ll taste even better once it’s done,” you reply, trying to sound casual.

after a few minutes, you ladle the soup into a bowl and set it in front of him. he takes a careful sip, the steam fogging up the edges of his lashes. his shoulders relax. “this might actually cure me.”

you smile, leaning on the counter. “yeah? maybe i should open a soup shop.”

“or,” he says, smiling back weakly, “you could just make it for me.”

you laugh softly, shaking your head. “yeah you’d like that wouldn’t you.”

he keeps eating quietly, and you find yourself just… watching him. there’s something nice about it. it all feels domestic in a way that does terrify you. 

and when he finally finishes, you take the bowl from him and say, “go lie down. i’ll clean up.”

he doesn’t even argue this time. just gives you that small, grateful smile and murmurs, “thanks, y/n. really.”

you shrug, pretending your heart doesn’t skip. “of course.”

he heads towards the couch and you tune back into the kitchen, gathering the dishes and heading for the sink. the sound of running water and the clink of ceramic, fills the silence; one you had even noticed too caught up in cleaning and storing the extra soup for him to have later. then you realize he hasn’t said anything in a while.

“sunghoon?” you call softly.

no answer.

you step closer, drying your hands on a towel, and peek around the corner of the counter. he’s slumped back against the couch, blanket pulled loosely around him, eyes closed, breathing slow and even. completely out.

a small smile tugs at your lips. “figures,” you whisper to yourself.

you set the towel aside and move a little closer, careful not to wake him. the sight makes your chest feel warm. his unfairly long lashes resting against his cheeks, hair falling over his forehead, that faintly peaceful expression like the world finally stopped spinning for him.

quietly, you reach over to adjust the blanket around his shoulders, tucking it in a little more securely. your fingers brush against the fabric near his collarbone, and you swear he exhales softer at the touch.

you stand there for a second, just watching him, before whispering, “sleep well, sunghoon.”

⸻

when sunghoon wakes up, it’s already dark outside. the rain has stopped and his head feels clearer, throat less sore, but for a second he wonders if he dreamed the whole thing. the soup, you standing in his kitchen, the sound of your voice breaking the silence of his apartment.

then he turns his head — and there you are.

you’re curled up on the other end of his couch, legs tucked under a blanket, a half finished book resting open in your lap. the lamp beside you casts a soft glow across your face, catching the tiny strands of hair that have fallen loose around your cheek.

he blinks slowly, almost smiling. “you’re still here?” his voice is low, groggy.

you look up, smiling softly. “yeah. figured someone should make sure you didn’t fall into a fever coma.”

he chuckles weakly. “how thoughtful.”

“you’re welcome,” you tease, closing your book. “how’re you feeling?”

“a little better,” he says, voice scratchy but sincere. “thanks to your soup. and, you know, your… supervision.”

you grin. “see? good thing i stayed.”

he leans back against the couch, his blanket slipping off one shoulder. “yeah,” he says quietly, studying you for a moment. “you really didn’t have to, though.”

“you’ve said that like ten times today,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “just admit you’re secretly glad i did.”

his lips tug into a smile. “i am.”

you laugh softly, shaking your head but when you glance at him again, his gaze lingers on you a little longer than before. it’s gentle, a little hazy, but sincere.

“what?” you ask, suddenly self conscious.

he tilts his head slightly, eyes soft. “if i wasn’t sick right now,” he says, voice low and honest, “i’d probably kiss you.”

your breath catches, the warmth from your cheeks spreading down to your chest. “oh,” you manage, blinking a few times. “that’s… direct.”

he laughs, quiet and rough. “sorry. fever’s lowering my filter, i guess.”

you shake your head, trying to hide your smile. “well,” you say after a beat, leaning your chin on your hand, “guess that means i’ll just have to try harder to cure you, huh?”

his grin widens, slow and lazy. “that so?”

“yup,” you say, pretending to focus on the empty soup bowl on the table instead of his eyes. “and lucky for you, i’m very determined.”

he chuckles, voice still hoarse but warm. “looking forward to it.”

he doesn’t say anything after that — just looks at you, eyes tired but a little dazed, like he’s trying not to drift back to sleep. the room feels still, the only sound the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.

you glance away for a second, then back at him. “come here,” you say quietly.

he blinks. “what?”

“just—come here,” you repeat, gentler this time.

he hesitates, but you can tell he’s too worn out to question it. you shift on the couch, opening your arms a little, and he leans in without much resistance.

his head finds your shoulder, his hair brushing your chin as he exhales slowly. you feel the weight of him settle, the tension in his body easing as soon as he’s close.

 one of your hands finds its way to his hair, brushing through it carefully, fingertips tracing slow lines against his scalp.

he lets out a faint hum, almost a sigh and you can feel the warmth of his breath through the fabric of your shirt.

“you should get some more rest,” you murmur.

he only nods, barely.

you keep your hand moving through his hair, slow and steady, until his breathing starts to even out. the blanket slips from his shoulders a little, so you pull it up again, tucking it around both of you.

his arm shifts weakly until it’s draped around your waist, loose but certain, and you stay like that the two of you quiet, close, sharing the same warmth in the soft comfort of his couch. 

it’s not long before your own eyelids start to feel heavy. your fingers slow in his hair, then stop, resting there as sleep starts to pull you under too.

⸻

sunghoon stirs slowly, the pale morning light spilling through the curtains. he blinks a few times, head resting heavily on your chest, and for a moment he just stays there, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath him. your heartbeat is calm, warm, and somehow grounding.

he shifts slightly, stretching a little, and realizes his throat doesn’t hurt as much, his head feels clearer, and the ache in his muscles has faded. he’s actually… feeling normal again.

he exhales softly, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. he glances up at you, eyes still half-lidded, and takes in the way your hair has fallen over your shoulder, the faint crease of your smile even in sleep.

careful not to disturb you, he lifts his head just enough to glance around the room, the blanket tucked neatly around both of you. he feels a little embarrassed — and more than a little warm at how close you are.

your chest rises under him, your hand resting lightly on his back. he lets himself relax fully, finally allowing the warmth and quiet of the morning to sink in.

he takes a slow, deep breath, noticing how good it feels to be upright and breathing without the fog of sickness. he nuzzles slightly against your chest again, murmuring softly, “thank you,” just for being here, for taking care of him.

you wake slowly, the light from the window soft and hazy. it takes a second to realize where you are — the couch, the blanket, and the steady weight of sunghoon’s head on your chest.

your breath catches when you feel his fingers brushing gently through your hair, tucking a few strands away from your face. he’s already awake, his breathing even, his touch careful.

“you’re awake,” you murmur quietly.

he hums in response, barely a sound, his hand stilling for a moment before continuing.

you shift just a little, glancing down at him. his eyes are open now, calm and soft.

“you’re feeling better?” you ask softly.

he nods once, slow, and you can see it. the color back in his face, the tension gone from his body.

you exhale, your hand brushing lightly against his back. “good,” you whisper.

it’s quiet again after that. his head stays on your chest, his fingers still tracing lazy, half asleep patterns in your hair. 

after a while, sunghoon shifts, lifting his head from your chest. the sudden cool air where he’d been resting makes you shiver a little.

“sorry,” he murmurs, voice low from sleep.

you shake your head. “you’re fine.”

he sits up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck before leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. the blanket slips from his shoulders, pooling at his waist. he looks more like himself again — steady, alert, the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“you really do look better,” you say, pushing yourself upright beside him.

he glances over, his eyes soft. “yeah,” he admits. “guess your cure worked.”

you smile faintly. “guess it did.”

you stretch a little, pulling your hair out of your face. “you should probably eat something,” you say, voice light. “want me to make breakfast?”

he shakes his head. “you’ve done enough. i’ll make coffee.”

“you sure?”

he nods. “yeah. sit down. i got it.”

you pull the blanket a little tighter around yourself as he moves into the kitchen, the faint sound of drawers opening and closing filling the room. it feels strange, how natural it all seems with the two of you existing in the same space. 

you watch for a moment before standing, padding softly across the floor to lean against the counter.

“you’re really feeling better?” you ask, your voice still low and rough with sleep.

he nods, not looking at you right away. “yeah,” he says, reaching for the mugs. “way better, actually.”

you hum quietly, eyes flicking to the coffee pot as it finishes brewing. he pours two mugs and slides one toward you.

“here,” he says.

“thanks.”

your fingers brush briefly as you take the cup from him,for a moment, neither of you says anything. he looks down at his mug for a moment, then back up at you. “hey,” he says quietly.

you tilt your head. “hm?”

“thank you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “for… taking care of me.”

you blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone.

“oh,” you murmur. “you don’t have to thank me. i didn’t do much.”

he shakes his head lightly. “you did more than you think.”

you look down at your coffee, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “well,” you say softly, “you’re welcome.”

⸻

after that morning, things started to change — not all at once, but gradually in ways that was hard to ignore. 

you and sunghoon stopped dancing around each other. the air between you wasn’t as uncertain anymore, not filled with the same nervous pauses or unspoken questions. instead, it felt right. 

you’d find yourselves holding hands often. when you watched movies, you started sitting a little closer until your shoulders touched. sometimes his arm would end up around you, your head finding its place against him like it had always belonged there.

it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t something you even talked about. it just happened naturally, quietly

and maybe that’s why it felt so right.

then one night, it’s raining again. you’re in his kitchen, sleeves rolled up, helping him dry the dishes after the dinner you both cooked up. the window fogs at the corners, streetlights painting everything in a warm, honey colored glow.

he passes you a plate, and when your fingers brush, neither of you move. 

you glance up, and he’s already watching you. the quiet stretches not awkward, not uncertain,

“youre always such a good helper,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with something unspoken.

you smile a little. “well you always make a mess..someone has to help.”

that earns a soft laugh from him, the kind that makes your stomach flip. he sets the towel down, stepping closer — slow, deliberate. your pulse quickens, but you don’t move.

“you really like teasing me, huh?” he says, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“maybe,” you say, barely above a whisper.

he tilts his head, eyes flicking between yours and your lips, and then finally, he leans in.

the kiss is soft at first, careful, like he’s trying to figure out if this is real. but when you reach up, fingers curling into his shirt, he deepens it just enough for everything around you to become invisible, 

the rain outside keeps falling, steady and gentle, as if time has slowed down just for this.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you catching your breath.

you smile, voice low but sure. “about time.”

he laughs quietly, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “yeah,” he murmurs, smiling back. “guess it was.”

he pulls you in again the kiss heavier full of want and need. all the built up tension finally starting to come undone. he pulls away only to trail tiny, soft pecks from the corner of your lips all the way down to the soft nape of your neck, your eyes flutter shut at the feeling.

“h-oon” you say in a whisper your voice threatening to give out

“yeah pretty?” he replies pulling away to look into your dazed brown eyes.

“want you” you say, and without another word he’s guiding you to his bedroom, that you’ve yet to be in, it makes it feel more intimate.

h hands, begin to move, roaming your back, learning the curve of your spine through the thin 

fabric of your blouse.

you moan into his mouth, your own hands sliding up his chest, feeling the muscles tense beneath your palms. You fumble with the buttons of his shirt, your fingers trembling. he helps you, his own hands covering yours, guiding them until the shirt is open and you can splay your hands against the hot, smooth skin of his chest. you feel him shudder.

“y/n,” he groans, his lips leaving yours to trail fire down your jaw, to the sensitive spot just below your ear. “I need to feel you baby. all of you.”

that is all the either of you needs. his hands go to the hem of your blouse and lift it over your head in one smooth motion. the cool air of the apartment hits your skin, followed immediately by the scorching heat of his gaze. he drinks in the sight of you in your simple lace bra, his eyes dark with pure, unadulterated want.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice full of awe. he reaches behind you, his fingers deft and sure as he unhooks your bra. It falls away, and his breath catches. he just looks for a moment, his gaze worshipful, before he lowers his head and takes one taut peak into his mouth.

the sensation is exquisite. the wet heat of his mouth, the gentle suction, the flick of his tongue. a sharp cry escapes you, and your knees buckle. he catches you, his arms strong around you, and walks you backward until the back of your legs hit the edge of his bed.

he lays you down, following you, covering your body with his. the weight of him is an anchor, holding you in this perfect, pleasure filled moment. he kisses you again, deeply, as his hand slides down your stomach, over the curve of your hip, and under the waistband of your slacks. he cups you through the damp silk of your panties, and you arch into his touch, a wordless plea.

“tell me you want this,” he whispers against your lips, his fingers pausing, applying the most delicious pressure.

“please, i want this,” you gasp, your hips moving restlessly. “i want you, sunghoon. please.”

that is all he needs to hear. his fingers hook into the silk and lace, and he slowly, so slowly, drags your panties down your legs. he kneels on the floor at the end of the bed, pulling them all the way off and tossing them aside. he holds your gaze as he unbuckles his own belt, the sound of the leather sliding through the loops obscenely loud. he stands just long enough to shed his pants and boxer briefs, and then he is back over you, his body gloriously naked, his hard length pressing against your inner thigh.

the anticipation is a live wire under your skin. He settles between your legs, his weight on his elbows, and looks down at you.

“look at me,” he says softly.

you open your eyes, drowning in the intensity of his gaze. ge holds it as he positions himself, the broad head of his cock nudging against your entrance. he pushes in, just an inch, a slow, stretching intrusion that makes you gasp. ge stills, his forehead beaded with sweat. “okay?” he breathes.

“mhm more than okay,” you whimper, lifting your hips, inviting him in completely.

he sinks into you with one long, slow, devastating thrust. it is a feeling of being utterly filled, of being completed. a perfect, tight fit. You both cry out, a shared sound of pure bliss. he stays there, buried to the hilt, letting your body adjust to his, his own trembling with the effort of holding still.

and then he begins to move. there is no frantic pounding, no race to the finish. it’s a deep, rhythmic rocking, a slow dance of hips. each withdrawal is an agony of loss, each thrust a shock of pleasure so profound it borders on pain. 

he kisses you, his tongue mimicking the languid thrust of his hips. you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting him thrust for thrust.

the coil of pleasure tightens low in your belly, a sweet, burning pressure building with every movement. you can feel the muscles in his back bunching under your hands, hear the ragged sound of his breathing in your ear. the world narrows to this: the scent of your skin, the sound of your bodies moving together, the breathtaking friction building between you.

“that’s it,” he groans, his pace increasing infinitesimally. “let go for me, baby. Come for me.”

his words, the raw need in his voice, push you over the edge. your climax crashes over you, a rolling wave of sensation that tears a sobbing cry from your throat. your inner muscles clench around him, milking his length, and you feel his own control shatter. 

with a guttural moan, he drives into you one last, deep time, his body shuddering as his own release claims him.

for a long moment, there is only the sound of your ragged breathing and the heavy, sated stillness. he collapses against you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, his weight a comforting anchor. you can feel the frantic hammering of his heart against your own, slowly calming.

he shifts slightly, still buried inside you, and brushes the damp hair from your forehead. He looks down at you, his expression one of dazed wonder. “you were so good baby,” he says, his voice rough. “you ok?” 

“i’m perfect.” you look down at him, and for a moment you just wallow in the silence. breathes becoming more even. 

“yknow..” he speaks, “i’m almost 100 percent sure i’ve been falling for you ever since you brought me that cinnamon roll…” 

that gets a soft laugh out of you, blush creeping up on your face after his sudden confession. “it was the cinnamon rolls that did it for you?” 

his eyes crinkle with his smile, “…and everything after, our little outings, you taking care of me when i was sick, and coming over almost every night to cook dinner with me. i’ve never met anyone like you.” 

you look him in the eyes foregoing words and going straight in for a soft peck on his lips. when you pull away his lips chase after yours. “i’m falling for you too.” 

he smiles at that, his grip tighting on your waist and his chin coming to rest on your bare chest while he looks up at you. “so can i make you mine?” 

your hand comes down to stroke through his messy, damp hair, “i already am yours.” 

"be loud for me," he grins, hand moving down to push your panties to the side. your eyes flutter as he drags the tip of his between your lips. "make sure everyone knows just how filthy you get for me," he angles his hips just enough to push his way into you, earning a soft whimper from you. followed by the loud gasp you let out when jay's fully pulling you onto his cock.

you try to kiss him to muffle the sounds, gloss smudging across his skin as he fucks deep into you. his thrusts growing rougher the more you try to mask your sounds, stuck on making sure everyone can hear you loud and clear.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ JAY ♡

jake's back flops against the couch, fighting to catch his breath and regain his eye sight. you're knelt down on your knees in front of him, cheeks flushed pink and hair falling from the ponytail you had just tied moments prior. you're so pretty. he'll never get over how good you look like this. reaching down, his hand lands on the side of your face - thumb rubbing the smeared gloss from your chin. you're leaning into his touch, a sweet smile on your lips.

he's just moments from pulling you into his lap when his gaze is dropping, nearly choking on his laugh when he's seeing the mess you made. glossy pink smears wrapped around the base of his cock, messy and shiny in the low light. "shit, princess." he chuckles, brushing a hand through his sweaty hair. "you really used me like a test strip, huh? matching your lipstick to my dick?" you're looking up at him from between his thighs, lips glistening and eyes glassy.

"don't act like you didn't like it," you tease, wiping at the corner of your mouth with your thumb. "like it?" he's letting out a laugh, a groan breaking through as his cock twitches. "i can't even look at the pretty prints you left behind without wanting your mouth on me again," he's teeth tug on his lower lip, watching as the grin grows on your features.

you don't hesitate to move forward, warm palm wrapping around his length as you plant soft kisses along his skin. his hips roll, eyes flutter while pretty moans fill the room. you're dramatic with the way you kiss him, sure to leave your lip stick stains all over his cock. and jake can't tear his eyes from you for a second.

fighting to keep his eyes open because he didn't want to miss a thing. you looked so hot, licking and sucking against him and making a huge mess without a care in the world. he doesn't think twice before he's reaching for his phone, quickly thumbing his passcode in before opening up the camera app. your eyes can his through the lens, he's grinning like a devil when you gasp.

"jake-" you start, but he's quickly cutting you off. "don't worry, babe. it's just for me. need a reminder of how good you look on your knees for me," your lips form into a pout, but before you can complain, he's reaching down, brushing his thumb over the smeared lipstick as he takes hold of his cock. "look at the mess you made..."

his eyes are dark as he brings it toward your lips, tapping against them gently. your tongue instinctively darts out to lick the tip and he's grunting. "need you to clean it up," he whispers, forcing himself to hold the phone steady as your tongue moves against him. "every smear, every stain. i'll sit here all night if that means your mouth stays on me. fuck."

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ JAKE ♡

you let out a soft giggle as you pull back, the corne4s of your mouth shining with spit, sunghoon's cum, and your strawberry pink lip gloss. his cock glistens with the same pink rings you've left behind. he's staring down at the sight, chest rising and falling like he can't catch his breath. his hand immediately comes up to cup your face, every intention to wipe the gloss smeared around your lips. but instead of wiping it away, he just stares, like the mess only makes you prettier.

"baby," he groans, voice shaking with nothing less than pure admiration for you. "do you even know what you're doing to me?" his free hand combs through his hair, dark eyes greedily taking you in. he watches your tongue dart out to taste the shine on your lips and his body jerks like he's wired to you. the feeling of that same tongue on his skin clouding his senses.

"you look so good like this," you tease softly, leaning into his touch, lips brushing against his palm. "covered in me," you loves the cute grin that breaks onto your features. it makes his heart swell.

sunghoon laughs, it's breathless but still the prettiest sound you've ever heard. his hips shift forward, like he's chasing your mouth, as if he can't help himself. and you don't tease or hesitate, leaning down without a word to press wet kisses against his hipbones. your hand wrapping firmly around his length, stroking him slowly and further smearing your lip gloss against his hot skin.

he groans, eyes fluttering as his back rests against the cushions of the couch. "you're ruining me," he sighs, teeth tugging on his lip to mask the needy groans that'll otherwise slip. "my perfect girl, painting me up like you own me." his words come out between gasps and pride blooms in your chest, guiding your movements. it's not long before your mouth is wrapping around him again, sucking gently on the tip and he flinches from the sensitivity.

you're not even doing much and it has him genuinely falling apart. fingers knitted in your hair, holding your head steady as you leave kitten licks against his tip. he had just came not even ten minutes ago and here you were riling him up again, it was all too much but at the same time not enough. "fuck," he whispers, head falling back as if the ceiling might hold him steady. your mouth slows, his cock falling from your lips and landing against his lower stomach with a light thud.

you can't help but smile up at him, smug and sweet, leaning down to leave another glossy kiss at the base of his stomach - right beside where his cock lays. faint marks form against his milky skin, smudges from your lip gloss mixed with the small love bites you've left behind. he groans, grip tightening in your hair as his hips lift - begging for any type of friction.

"don't stop, baby. want you to make a mess all over me so they all can see." it's a subtle reminder that he's sat in his very shared, very public living room. had been innocently cuddling just moments before his sweats were pooled around his ankles. and despite the fact that you both knew the house was empty, it didn't take away from the sneaky excitement of potentially getting caught, "i'll cover you in twice as many too. your throat, your chest, everywhere.. until you're as ruined as me," he groans, hand dropping from your hair to cup your neck gently.

you're moaning out, head lulling back slightly as he gives you an experimental squeeze; chuckling at the way your eyes roll. sunghoon is easily using his grip to pull your body up toward his, not wasting a moment before he's covering your mouth with his.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ SUNGHOON ♡

sunoo blinked down at himself, lips parting as he caught sight of the glossy red stains streaking along his cock. his face breaks into a crooked grin, cheeks flushing red. "you..." he laughed, breathless. "you covered me in your lip gloss," your giggling at his reaction, leaning back on your hands with a satisfied smirk. "guess i wanted to leave my mark," you say, dramatically blowing a kiss up at him.

he can't tear his gaze from his cock and how cute you look knelt between his legs. your hair framing your face messily, makeup long since ruined, lashes wet with tears - but you still wear the prettiest of smiles. he's letting out a groan as you reach for his cock once more, dragging a hand over his face before letting it fall against your cheek.

"you're so perfect for me," he mumbles, thumb brushing over your swollen lower lip. he watches carefully as he pushes the digit past your plush lips - loving the way your lips instinctively wrap around it. you hold his gaze the entire time, sucking gently on his finger at first before you're slowly picking up the pace. pretty moans falling for your lips as you move your mouth the same way you would on his dick and he can't help but grunt along with you.

his eyes threaten to close, but he fights through it - not wanting to miss a second of the show you're putting on for him. only him. "you look so pretty like this," his voice cracks just a little, boyishly flustered, but his eyes never leave yours. and you can't help the way the corners of your lips lift in a smirk at that. you're whining, tongue rolling, sucking kisses all on his thumb and you don't miss the way his cock jumps - clearly feeling neglected.

but you don't move. you think it's cute how easily you're able to get him like this, even when leaving his cock untouched. "baby," he's gasping, feeling the sharp bite of your teeth. sunoo is quick to tug you closer, easily lifting you from your knees until you're seated in his lap. a leg on either side of his body. his arm wraps tight around your waist, face nuzzling itself into the crook of your neck and you feel how uneven his breathing is against your skin.

the tip of his cock is red, wet from your mouth and his precum. you're reaching down without a second though - handing wrapping around his length and you love the way his hips jump. "you're so needy, baby. leaking already too." you giggle, lifting your hips just enough to guide his cock toward your dripping pussy. but you don't put it in, not just yet. slowly dragging his cock between your folds and sunoo squirms in anticipation, soft whines falling from his lips.

"be good," you warn when his hips start to move on their own. he's scoffing, eyes rolling and you're planting a wet kiss to his shoulder despite the attitude. leaning back to admire the kiss mark you've left behind. "you're so lucky i love you like this," he mumbles, hands tight on your waist but not moving you, even though he easily could. his head is tilted back now, just slightly so he can catch the way you look down at him. "so lucky i want every little stain you leave on me,"

you smile, leaning forward so your lips are able to brush against his ear as you whisper, "need you to mark me up too, fill me up - make me yours," you leave another sharp bite behind and that breaks him, his soft laugh melting into a hungry kiss, his hands fleshing to guide your body down.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ SUNOO ♡

jungwon can hear the muffled roar of the crowd through the walls, the baseline of their vcr vibrating throughout the stadium. he should be getting ready, using the last fifteen minutes before the show to hang and joke with the guys - that's what it was for in the first place. but he couldn't resist when you were looking up at him with those doe eyes are you, smiling sickeningly sweet as you wrap your arms around your neck, mumbling something about helping him destress before the show.

you lead him away effortlessly, he'd follow you into hell with the way you were looking up at him. you're on him as soon as the door of his dressing room clicks shut, he loses track of time the moment your lips are on him. the show he's meant to be putting on taking a backseat in his mind as your hands dip below his waist band. your hand is cool around his cock and your pleased to find him already half-hard, it takes just a few tugs before he's stiffening in your hand.

heavy breaths rattles his chest, as he leans against the dressing room counter, head tipped back and the buttons of his silk black stage shirt already tugged open to reveal more of his chest. "baby," he warns, but his voice breaks when you kiss down his throat, leaving a glossy red print just under his jaw. you hum against his skin, hand moving steadily over his length. lips dragging lower, dotting messy marks all the way down his chest until you're on your knees between his legs.

"you need good luck before the show, right?" you grin, blinking up at him feigning innocence in your gaze. jungwon groans, his fingers knitting themselves in your hair as you take him into your mouth, his cock twitching when he sees the ring of lipstick staining the base. "fuck, yn." he hisses, hips jerking forward before he can stop himself. you swallow him whole, hands braced on his hips as your head bobs.

you're setting a pace that can only be described as brutal, he fights to keep his groans quiet. "you... you're insane." he sighs, fingers tightening in your hair as his hips rock forward. he can only imagine how he looks right now, can feel the sticky gloss on his neck and chest and the same stickiness coats his cock. his eyes threaten to close as pleasure ripples throughout his body, teeth cutting into his lip to keep him from being too loud.

you don't have a care in the world, cheeks hallowed and hand cupping his balls - loud sucks filling the room as you moan against him. and just when he's about to fall apart, you're pulling back with a wet pop, lips shining, lipstick smudged at the corners of your mouth. you stand before he's able to protest, hand wrapping around him as you suck wet kisses into the skin of his neck.

jungwon lets out a humorless laugh, hands settling on your hips. "you want them all to know i'm yours, huh?" you're nodding before he can even finish his sentence. "want the world to see their perfect leader all marked up and needy before he even steps on stage." he's actually laughing now, the sound being cut short when your hand strokes him a bit faster - spreading his precum and your gloss down his shaft until the red of your lip gloss clings to his tip.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ JUNGWON ♡

riki's still slouched against the wall of the beach bathroom, chest rising and falling quickly, hair wet and sticking up in every direction, when his eyes drop down they widen a smirk taking over his features. "holy shit..." he mutters, his hand dragging down his lower belly and across his v-line - brushing over the smeared lipstick stains you left. "look at me, baby. you got me all marked up," he says through a laugh.

you're giggling, reaching up to wipe at the corner of your mouth. you feel your cheeks heat up under his gaze, pure admiration in his eyes as he looks between you and the mess you made. "stop staring like that," you whine, leaning forward to hide your face in his hip. his laugh grows, hand coming down to grip your chin and pull you back so he can see you, easily tilting your head up.

"nah, look at this." his free hand is wrapped around his cock and he lifts it slightly so you can see the glossy pink rings clinging to it and your eyes train up to the bruises hickeys along his stomach. "you really didn't leave an inch untouched," he grins. your lips curve into a shy smile, "maybe i like seeing you all messy cause of me," his brow arches at your words, a soft chuckle escaping.

his thumb brushing across your swollen bottom lip. "messy? you branded me, babe, fuck. look-" he pushes a finger against one of the darker hickeys by his waistband, lipstick marks surrounding it. you can't help but gasp at your work. "they're practically permanent," he says. "you like me that much, huh?"

the look on his face has your thighs pressing together, cheeks flushed. "don't say it like that," you murmur, wanting to hide your face. riki leans down closer, smirk widening. "why not? i'm yours and you're obsessed with me. and look at you squirming, you're proud of it, huh?" your hips had been rolling slightly, you didn't think he would've noticed. "i like knowing you're mine," you whisper.

"do you?" his grin turns wicked. "should i get this tatted then?" his head tilts to the side, hand dropping down to point at the almost perfect kiss mark you left on his v-line, just above the bone. "right here, your lips. permanently." your jaw drops, eyes going wide. "riki, you wouldn't!" you say through a laugh but genuinely, you know he would.

"i would." he soots back instantly, cocky. "imagine everyone seeing it when i take my shirt off," out of all the guys, he walked around shirtless the most - constantly flashing his abs during shows. there was no way your mark would stay hidden. "they'd go crazy knowing you're the only one that gets to put those marks on me,"

your stomach flips, heat pooling between your legs. "you're insane," you breathe and you don't miss the way his cock jumps at the thought, slowly becoming harder. he laughs again, gently pulling you to stand - his arm wrapped tight around your waist and chest pressing against yours. a soft kiss lands on your lips and you feel his cock pressed against his chest.

"i'm yours, babe. i should get the mark to prove it, no?"

you can do it. just say it. he won’t ridicule you… hopefully.

“hoon?” you softly say, voice barely above a whisper, before his eyes dart from his phone to you—raising an eyebrow as he notices your fingers fiddling with each other and your heated cheeks.

he sets his phone on the cushion beside him, then puts his hands behind his head to rest on them. “hm?”

wow, real touché, sunghoon. flexing those biceps you wish could choke the literal shit out of you—he really doesn’t have a clue at what he’s doing, and it makes your head spin just watching him.

“can i try taking control tonight?” finally, that sentence escapes from your throat after being trapped all day. you notice a subtle smile tugging at his mouth, flashing his fangs before answering, “my princess wants to ride me?”

you roll your eyes at his teasing retort, typical. though, he seems oddly content with the idea, and the heat pooling between your thighs reminds you just how badly you want this.

“think you can handle that?” he adds, and you can already see his length straining his sweatpants from the corner of your eye. oh, he’s so down.

“just… let me try.”

“mmm, show me what you’ve got.”

he’s quick to pull his sweatpants down just enough for his aching cock to hit his abdomen. you almost forget how huge he is every time—his girth and length slightly intimidating you, a few veins popping through the pink skin, his tip already glistening with precum.

you gulp before straddling his lap, adjusting your oversized tee to expose your pretty laced panties, looping your finger around the fabric to tug it to the side. your heart begins to flutter as you settle onto him, feeling him twitch under you.

one of your hands rests on his shoulder for support as your thighs hold you up, your other hand reaching down to wrap around his length to align it with your soaked core. just the mere feeling of his tip pressing against you, not even inside yet, makes you eager.

you start to sink down, your cunt enveloping him in a warm hug as your eyes flutter closed when you feel the stretch. it’s overwhelming at first, but it turns into the best pleasure you’ve ever felt. not even your vibrator can compare.

his jaw tightens when you bottom out, a low groan trapped in his throat that he successfully suppresses, though you can feel the shudder beneath you.

because it’s your first time taking control, this all feels foreign and unfamiliar. your rhythm is slightly awkward, pace stuttering as you take an extra moment to adjust to his size. it really never gets easier, yet you can’t deny the adrenaline rush it gives you.

his hands move from the back of his head to your hips, gently grabbing them to guide your movements, giving you more confidence. the slick sounds of your pussy along with his cock dragging against your tight and sensitive walls have you dazed, even gasping.

your hands move back to grab your ankles before his hands let go of your hips, letting you bounce freely without assistance, hips rolling and core tightening with every movement.

“you love bouncing on this cock, yeah?” he mocks, eyes hazy as he watches you ride him, head thrown back, tits jiggling, whines and moans slipping past your lips.

“s-shut up!” you whimper, trying your best to ignore his cocky remarks as his tip drags against your g-spot when you slightly angle your hips back. it undoubtedly brings the most drool-worthy, eye-rolling sensation ever. your body aches everywhere you need it to, wholly lost in him.

you glance down to see the mess on his pelvis and the fabric of his sweatpants, continuously dripping with your wetness.

“oh—fuck, yeah. right there, baby,” he groans, hands digging into your thighs. the view—him under you, head tilted back against the pillows, adam’s apple prominent, glistening with sweat, chest rising and falling—is utterly addicting, making your bounces become harder and quicker.

his words boost your confidence, giving you more power as one hand reaches down to rub fast circles on your clit. the deliberate motions immediately tighten the knot in your stomach, bringing you both closer and closer to the edge.

just as he feels your core tighten around him, engulfing him in pure warmth and bliss, he grabs your hips again, this time with more force. like he’s the one who wants to be in control now.

“you gonna cum on me, hm? make a mess while i fuck you stupid?” he retorts, thrusting his hips upwards to sync with your movements. his tip hits your deepest spots, pushing you closer and closer to orgasm, your body trembling.

“h-hoon, shit!” you cry out, and the next few seconds are complete and utter bliss, your body buzzing with sensation.

your core clenches tight, loud moans echoing through the room, only filled with sunghoon’s groans and the messy sounds of your wetness.

you come undone with a shaky moan, thighs burning as your bounces come to a stop, juices making a mess on the fabric of his sweatpants, your body trembling in overstimulation.

he follows just after you, thrusting up into you once more before pulling out just in time, quickly stroking his length as warm spurts shoot up, landing on the plush of your ass, dripping down your skin, the sticky heat clinging to both of you.

your body gives out, collapsing on his chest as you both pant, sweat-slick but satisfied. he kisses your hairline, still as smug and cocky as ever. “there’s my good girl…”

“you didn’t even let me take control,” you complain against his chest.

“i’ll always be in control. but fuck, you looked so good trying,” he rasps, making your tummy flutter as your bodies press impossibly closer, basking in the intimacy.