accidentally booked! 🔞
- Two best friends go on a budget trip to Japan, only to accidentally book a love hotel for their entire stay. What starts as laughter and harmless fun slowly turns into lingering touches, stolen glances, and undeniable tension—until one night changes everything, and they’re forced to confront feelings they’ve been hiding for far too long.
tags: explicit sexual content, consensual sex, multiple rounds, oral sex (f receiving, m receiving), filming with consent, mirror sex, semi-public setting, overstimulation, light possessiveness, dirty talk, praise kink, body worship, breast fixation, shower/jacuzzi sex
wc: 11,900
rie's note: this was from last year>< so expect errors ahead! enjoy the ride! like,reblogs, and FEEDBACKS 👉🏻🥹👈🏻are highly appreciated :3 added more scenes hence the lil different writing style heh
You were halfway through your iced americano when Park Sunghoon slid into the seat across from you with the kind of urgency only someone who forgot to buy concert tickets would have.
“I did it,” he said, slightly breathless. “I found the cheapest possible hotel in Tokyo for five nights. I’m talking dirt-cheap.”
You raised an eyebrow. “And by ‘cheapest’ you mean we’ll be sharing a closet with a raccoon family or—?”
“No, no. This place looks fine. Clean. Themed. Cute. I think the rooms are based on trains or something.”
You blinked at him. “Trains?”
“Yeah,” he shrugged, like that explained everything. “It’s called ‘Fantasy Express.’ Kind of a vibe, right?”
“…Doesn’t that sound like a porn parody of the Shinkansen?”
Sunghoon gave you a blank look. “You said budget. I delivered. Be grateful.”
You snorted and took a sip of your drink. “Right. This better not end with me cuddling you for warmth in a windowless shoebox.”
He grinned. “Is that a threat or a promise, bestie?”
You flipped him off, laughing. But deep down, you were buzzing with excitement — not just because of the trip, but because it had been years since you and Sunghoon got away together.
After college, everything changed. Jobs, time zones, relationships that fizzled out before they even began. But Sunghoon was constant. He was the one person who could make you laugh even when you were crying into your broken laptop at 2 a.m. He was the voice note at midnight, the “I made too much ramen, come over,” the comfort in chaos.
So when the two of you finally managed to book this long-overdue trip to Japan, it felt like pressing pause on real life. No deadlines. No drama. Just the two of you, trains, street food, and maybe — if the stars aligned — a little karaoke.
You’d been talking about it since your second year in college. A pinky promise made over shared takoyaki from a food stall on your campus lawn.
“One day, we’ll go. Just you and me. Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka. A no-plan plan.”
You remembered that promise because Sunghoon never broke his.
Which is why you didn’t question it when he said he’d handle the hotel. And flights. And a few “must-see” locations, because even though you called it a “no-plan plan,” you both knew you were the chaotic one.
The night before your flight, Sunghoon came over to help you pack. In reality, he just sat on your bed, eating your snacks and judging your underwear choices.
“Why do you need seven pairs for five days?” he asked, mouth full of chips.
“In case I fall into a river. Or sweat. Or get possessed and pee myself. I don’t know, leave me alone.”
He laughed and reached over to zip your suitcase, fingers brushing yours for a second too long.
Neither of you mentioned it.
The flight was smooth. You watched a rom-com, he watched anime. You fell asleep on his shoulder. He didn’t move.
When you landed in Tokyo, everything felt surreal — the bright signs, the clean air, the sense that something new was about to happen.
The train ride to the hotel was quiet. You scrolled through Instagram while Sunghoon triple-checked the hotel address on Google Maps.
“We’re almost there,” he said, pointing to a small tucked-away building near the corner of a quiet street.
It looked decent. Small. Cozy. A glowing pink sign above the entrance read:
“Welcome to FANTASY EXPRESS — All Aboard the Love Line!”
You stared at it. Then at him.
“Hoon.”
“Yeah?”
“…Did you just book us into a love hotel?”
Sunghoon blinked. Looked back up at the sign. Back at you. “…No?” he tried, voice cracking halfway through. You deadpanned. “This is literally vibrating with sex energy.”
“I thought it was themed!”
“It is. The theme is fucking.”
He dropped his suitcase. “I swear on everything holy, I didn’t know. I just thought it was quirky. It said ‘train carriage rooms’ and had cute colors!”
You stared at him, unblinking. “You booked us into a love hotel. For five nights.”
A silence.
And then, slowly, the two of you burst into uncontrollable laughter — loud, ugly, bent-over laughter as passersby gave you weird looks.
Sunghoon wiped a tear from his eye. “Guess we’re really going on a ride.”
You shoved his shoulder, still laughing. “Idiot.”
The door slid open with a hiss, revealing the room Sunghoon had confidently reserved for five full nights.
You took one look inside and immediately stopped.
“…You’re joking.”
“Nope,” Sunghoon said in a flat voice, already sounding like he regretted every choice he’d ever made.
There were train handles hanging from the ceiling.
The walls had digital screens showing looped footage of Japanese countryside rolling past at high speed.
A faux train announcement played in the background every few minutes: “Next stop… pleasure.”
You turned slowly toward him. “Sunghoon.”
“Okay, wait—just hear me out.”
You stepped in and did a slow, horrified turn.
There was a chrome pole right in the middle of the room.
The bed looked like it was upholstered with actual train seats, complete with seat belts and tray tables. And worst of all, the mirrored ceiling had a blinking LED banner that read:
🚨 “ALL ABOARD — NONSTOP EXPRESS” 🚨
You gaped. “So its really is a love hotel.”
“No it’s not! …Okay maybe. Technically. But—look, I didn’t know! I thought it was just themed!”
“You thought this was a railway-themed budget capsule, and not a sex train hotel?!”
“I didn’t read that far down the listing, okay?! It was cheap and looked… clean! Plus the review said ‘lots of amenities!’”
“Sunghoon. There’s a vending machine for underwear's and condoms next to the door.”
He paused. Looked. “…Okay, I’ll give you that one. You sighed, dragging your suitcase in anyway. “We are going to get diseases just by existing here.”
Sunghoon followed behind sheepishly, dragging his bag. “You know, in a different light, this place is kind of hilarious.”
You turned to him and blinked. “We’re literally sleeping in a porn set.” “A very affordable porn set.”
You flopped dramatically onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling mirror.
He was right. It was funny. And the more you looked at the blinking lights, the mood lighting, and the suggestively placed towel basket beside the bed, the harder it was to stop laughing.
You both ended up bent over, wheezing from laughter as the fake train announcement repeated:
“Passengers, please hold on… for your own safety.”
Ten Minutes Later
“…Wait,” you muttered from the bathroom doorway. “Is that a jacuzzi?”
Sunghoon looked up from his phone. “A what?”
You pointed. “There’s a jacuzzi in here. And… no way. Is that a sauna?” He came over and peeked in. Sure enough, tucked behind the ridiculously clean glass partition was a legit two-person jacuzzi tub with sleek jets, LED lighting, and a discreet shelf of complimentary scented oils. And beside it? A cramped but actual mini sauna, already set to a cozy 45°C.
“Oh my god,” you whispered. “They really want people to… marinate before they—”
“Okay! I’m not letting this place win,” Sunghoon cut in. “We are taking full advantage. This shit is expensive in normal hotels.”
You looked at him in disbelief. “You want to use the sex jacuzzi?”
He shrugged. “It’s just a tub. The jets don’t know what’s going on. You want to spend the night pouting, or do you want a hot bath with free tea tree oil?”
You groaned. “I hate that you’re making sense.”
Twenty Minutes Later
You were in the tub first — submerged in warm water, hair tied up, sighing as the jets eased the travel ache out of your spine.
“I feel gross about how good this is,” you mumbled.
Sunghoon was sitting just outside the sauna, half-wrapped in a towel, drinking water. “Don’t get used to it. This is our peak. We’re about to suffer in a train-themed sex chamber for five nights.”
“You say that like it’s not your fault.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Fair.” You watched as steam curled off his shoulders, his skin flushed slightly pink from the sauna. He looked good. A little too good.
You quickly looked away and sank deeper into the water. Nope. Not thinking that.
You were best friends. The kind who shared hoodies and bitched about exes and had matching pajamas from a failed couples Halloween sale. You weren’t supposed to be noticing how broad his chest was, or how low his towel sat on his hips.
He caught you looking. You snapped your head the other way.
A pause. “You okay?” he asked, voice lower.
“Yup,” you replied, too fast. “Just tired.”
You heard him chuckle under his breath. “You’re a terrible liar.”
You splashed water at him. “Go back to your sauna.”
But the heat in your chest had nothing to do with steam.
You both climbed into the ridiculous velvet-upholstered bed and laid side by side, limbs awkwardly angled to avoid touching too much.
The train screen looped soft countryside visuals.
The LED sign above the mirror blinked softly:
“Don’t miss your stop…”
You stared at the ceiling. “Why does this feel like the foreplay part of a drama?”
Sunghoon’s voice was low. “Because everything here is designed for people to fuck.”
You both went quiet. Too quiet.
Then he added, a little too casually. “If you get cold tonight, just say something.”
You turned your head slightly. His profile glowed in the soft red light. “I won’t.”
“I know.” But neither of you moved. Not yet.
You woke up to the smell of grilled fish and miso soup.
Blinking groggily, you turned your head to find Sunghoon already sitting up in bed, hair messy, skin flushed from sleep, and a gleam of childlike wonder in his eyes.
“Room service,” he said simply, holding up a laminated card with neat checkboxes. “And it’s actually good. Like. Too good for this place.”
You sat up, blinking blearily at the silver-domed trays on the fold-out tray table. “Wait—this place has room service?”
“Apparently. I checked last night before sleeping. They serve breakfast to the room for ‘maximum comfort and pleasure.’” He did finger quotes around that last part. “Very suggestive. But also… delicious.”
He peeled the lid off one tray, and the smell immediately hit you: steaming rice, grilled salmon, soft tamagoyaki, pickled vegetables, and even a little matcha jelly cube for dessert.
Your stomach growled audibly.
“Oh my god,” you mumbled, crawling across the bed like a zombie. “I’m never leaving.”
He passed you chopsticks. “See? You talk a big game, but deep down, you’re just here for the perks.”
You dug in. “Mmf—if you booked this place on purpose for this breakfast alone, I forgive you.”
“I’ll take that as my official pardon,” he said, chewing on a piece of miso-glazed eggplant.
For a moment, the room was quiet — just soft clinks of chopsticks, muffled chewing, and the fake train sounds looping in the background.
And then, as always, came the banter.
“So,” you said, mid-bite, “you gonna keep walking around in that towel all morning or…?”
Sunghoon glanced down at himself — still shirtless, his towel hanging loose around his hips as if he were starring in a shampoo commercial. He smirked. “Jealous?”
You scoffed. “Of what? Your man boobs?”
“First of all,” he said, popping a grape into his mouth, “these are pecs. Try not to cry when you see me in real lighting.”
“I’ve seen you in fluorescent kitchen lights eating ramen at 2 a.m. I’ve survived worse.”
“I’ve also seen you drunk with a sheet mask on and mismatched socks, so don’t act superior.”
“Those socks were a fashion statement.”
He snorted. “A cry for help.”
After breakfast and a little too much matcha jelly, the two of you finally started getting dressed.
Or trying to, anyway.
You were standing at the small mirror near the door, brushing your teeth and fussing with your hair when you heard Sunghoon behind you, grunting in frustration.
“What’s your problem?” you asked, spitting out toothpaste.
“Where the hell is the other sock I packed?”
You glanced over and nearly choked — he was half-dressed, hair still wet from the shower, towel hanging on the rack, shirt hanging off one shoulder like a K-drama lead in distress.
You raised a brow. “Check your suitcase. Or maybe the laundry bag?”
He groaned dramatically and flopped onto the bed. “Why does this always happen to me?”
“Because your packing skills are trash.”
“You packed seven pairs of underwear for five nights!”
“Prepared. Not chaotic.”
“Psychotic.”
You tossed a sock at his face. “Shut up and wear this.”
He caught it, looked at the pattern — pastel pink with tiny peaches on them — and grinned.
“Wait… these are your socks.”
“They’re clean. Be grateful.”
He gave you a playful look. “If my feet feel too soft and feminine later, it’s your fault.”
You rolled your eyes. “You could use a little softness.” There was a beat of quiet as you both finished dressing.
And then, almost too casually, Sunghoon asked, “You good with the plan today? Shibuya, food, maybe teamLab Planets?”
You smiled. “Hell yeah. Let’s go get blinded by LED art and overpay for strawberry mochi.”
You grabbed your tote bag, he slung his camera over his shoulder, and together you stepped out into the Tokyo sunlight — blinking against the sudden warmth, the city buzzing with life all around you.
The love hotel’s sliding door closed behind you with a soft mechanical hiss.
“God, being outside feels illegal after that room,” you muttered, stretching.
Sunghoon yawned beside you. “We need to get out as much as possible. If we spend too long in there…”
“…we’ll end up using that pole, and not ironically.”
You said it jokingly, but the second it left your lips, you realized you were both thinking it.
You looked at him. He looked at you.
You both looked away.
Sunghoon cleared his throat and started walking. “Right. Food. Vibes. Let’s pretend we’re not staying in horny train hell.”
You followed, heart doing weird things.
By 10:30 a.m., you were already on your second iced drink and your fifth photo taken by Sunghoon.
"This one’s blurry,” you said, looking over his shoulder as he flipped through the camera roll.
“You moved,” he replied, flicking to the next one.
“I was mid-chew.”
“Exactly. Candid.”
“You got my molar in HD.”
He laughed, slinging the camera back over his shoulder. “You’re welcome. That’s raw content.”
You stuck your tongue out at him and tugged him toward the next street corner, where a little taiyaki cart was steaming golden fish-shaped cakes onto paper trays.
He bought one with custard and one with sweet potato, handing you the first without asking — he always remembered your favorite.
The day passed in a colorful, unfiltered blur.
From Asakusa’s temple streets to Ueno Park’s shaded paths, you strolled through the buzzing city under soft summer clouds, sharing bites of grilled yakitori, stopping at claw machines, and laughing until your stomach hurt every time Sunghoon got scammed by a vending machine.
“Bro,” he groaned as his Pocari Sweat got stuck halfway. “I just wanted electrolytes.”
“That’s what you get for bullying me about my socks.”
“They are ridiculous.”
“And now they’re your lucky socks, so shut up and suffer.”
He grinned, defeated, as you shook the machine for him until the drink finally dropped.
He brought the good camera — the one he only took out during special trips or when he really wanted to remember something.
At first, it was just the usual:
Colorful alleyways, Vintage signs, Cats in front of bookstores and Neon billboards starting to glow as dusk rolled in
But then the lens kept shifting toward you.
He’d tilt the viewfinder just slightly to the left whenever you were sipping your drink, or smiling up at a paper lantern, or holding up a peace sign in front of a giant tanuki statue.
He didn’t make a big deal out of it.
He never did.
Just snapped quietly, a small smile on his face, pretending to be adjusting settings every time you caught him in the act.
“Stop taking pictures of me looking ugly,” you said as you leaned against a vending machine at golden hour.
“You never look ugly,” he replied without thinking.
You blinked. He clicked his shutter.
You smacked his arm. “Flattery gets you nowhere, Park.”
“I was talking about the vending machine, actually.”
“Oh, screw you—”
By late afternoon, the two of you were barefoot, wading through glowing water and walking across mirrored floors.
The floating flowers, the endless lights, the reflection of stars above and below you — it all felt surreal.
Sunghoon was quiet most of the time, too busy adjusting focus, waiting for the exact second a projection shifted, or the water stilled, or your silhouette lined up against the light.
“Stay right there,” he murmured, crouching low.
You stood still, bathed in blue and purple.
A single glowing lily floated past your ankles.
Click.
When he finally looked up from the lens, his expression was soft, like he’d forgotten where you were — like the whole room was quiet just for a second.
You waved your arms. “Earth to perv?”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, standing up and brushing dust off his knees. “Just… this lighting’s good.”
“Mm-hmm. You’re not slick.”
Dinner was ramen from a tiny shop hidden in an alley where no one spoke English and the broth was so rich it felt illegal.
You walked off the food through quiet backstreets, with neon signs humming above your heads and laundry flapping on upper balconies.
Sunghoon carried your bag without saying anything.
You bought him an ice cream without asking.
It was so easy. The kind of night you wanted to fold up and keep in your pocket forever.
At one point, you stopped to take a photo of your own — just a snapshot of him in the warm city light, licking ice cream and grinning.
“Got you,” you said, triumphant.
He raised a brow. “You finally captured my beauty?”
“No. I finally got proof you like vanilla.”
“You said you wouldn’t judge.”
“Too late.”
The fake train ambiance greeted you again as you entered the room — soft station chimes, muffled track sounds looping on the hidden speakers. You kicked off your shoes with a groan and threw your bag down like it betrayed you.
Sunghoon collapsed face-first on the bed. “We’ve walked 23,000 steps. I checked.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“My knees are 47 years old now.”
You laughed as you peeled off your socks. “Okay, Grandpa. Want me to book us an onsen for tomorrow?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he lifted his head slowly, eyes narrowing at the frosted-glass door in the corner.
“…wait. We still haven’t used the sauna together.”
You followed his gaze.
The in-room sauna and jacuzzi setup was tucked into the corner like an afterthought — sleek, surprisingly clean, and wildly over-the-top for the price. You hadn’t dared touch it yet.
You raised a brow. “You serious?”
He was already standing.
“I’m not walking like a gremlin tomorrow. Sauna it is.”
The small wooden sauna heated up quickly — enough for the two of you to sit side by side, towels wrapped around your waists, foreheads already glistening.
It smelled like cedar and something citrusy.
“I feel like we’re in a rich person’s armpit,” you muttered.
Sunghoon cracked up, head tilted back, eyes closed. “I feel like we’re about to get a motivational TED Talk from a man named Daisuke about financial freedom.”
You snorted. “We are literally boiling ourselves in a love hotel sauna. What freedom?”
There was a pause.
Then—
“This is nice though,” he admitted. “Like… surprisingly.”
You hummed, wiping sweat from your brow. “We deserve it. That yakitori hunt was a whole workout.”
A beat passed.
“Also, you were sweating this much at the gacha machine, so I feel like this is just your brand.”
“Don’t come for my capsule toys. They bring me joy.”
“Your suitcase is full of tiny plastic sushi. Let that sink in.”
After the sauna, you both flopped into the jacuzzi — towels still on, bubbles swirling lazily, the overhead lighting dimmed to a soft purple glow.
You leaned back against the edge and sighed so dramatically that Sunghoon mimicked it seconds later.
“Haaaaa~”
“Haaaaa.”
“…Why do you sound like a dying anime girl?”
“Why do you sound like a wounded elk?”
You flicked a handful of bubbles at him, and he retaliated by splashing water into your face.
By the time you both settled down, your cheeks hurt from laughing.
He nudged your foot underwater. “Hey. For real.”
You looked over.
“This whole day was perfect. Thanks for not letting me book some sad capsule hotel instead.”
You smiled softly. “Thanks for accidentally giving us the weirdest five days of our lives.”
A pause.
You both sank a little deeper into the water, the bubbles rising quietly between you.
Nothing else needed to be said.
Not yet.
After the sauna and jacuzzi, everything felt heavier — your limbs loose, your muscles relaxed, your brain pleasantly fuzzy in the best way.
Sunghoon handed you your toothbrush like always. Same side of the sink. Same rhythm. You brushed shoulder to shoulder, bumping elbows whenever one of you leaned over to spit.
You wore your oversized shirt — the one with faded cartoon prints and sleeves too long for your arms.
He wore a black tank top and gray sweats, his hair still damp and curling a bit at the nape.
It looked domestic.
Dangerously so.
You didn’t comment on it.
The sheets were still warm when you both flopped down again — you on your side of the bed, Sunghoon sprawled diagonally, legs halfway off the edge like a kid after a sugar crash.
"What do we watch?” you mumbled, tugging the blanket over your legs.
“I found a channel earlier that only plays weird food documentaries,” he said. “One of them was about a guy in Osaka who makes noodles with his feet.”
You blinked.
“That sounds unappetizing.”
“And yet I couldn’t look away.”
He flipped on the TV, and soon enough, soft narration in Japanese filled the room. Onscreen, a slow montage showed close-ups of dough, broth, and a man lovingly caressing noodles like they were his own children.
You both stared.
Then:
“His foot game’s strong,” Sunghoon muttered.
You snorted, smacking his arm. “Stop.”
A second later, he tilted the screen toward you and snapped a photo of your mid-laugh face.
“Delete it,” you said.
“Nope.”
“Sunghoon—”
“That’s a top-tier smile. Archive-worthy.”
You reached for the camera.
He held it just out of reach, laughing as you tried to climb over him, only to lose your balance and flop onto his side of the bed.
He oofed softly as your elbow landed against his stomach.
And then…
You didn’t move.
Neither did he.
You were both breathing, barely, quiet again except for the soft murmur of the food show and the faint rumble of train sounds from the wall speaker — still looping, still somehow comforting.
Your head rested near his shoulder. His arm lay beside you, palm up.
You didn’t think about how easy it would be to lace your fingers through it.
Because that wasn’t the point.
Not tonight.
Eventually, you mumbled, “I’ll fall asleep right here.”
“Good.”
“Then you’ll complain that I drool.”
“I always do. Doesn’t stop you.”
“…True.”
A beat passed.
Then Sunghoon shifted slightly, pulled the blanket over you too, and said, soft as a sigh:
“Night, dummy.”
You smiled into the pillow.
“Night, Hoon.”
You both woke up later than planned.
To no one’s surprise, the blackout curtains plus the post-sauna coma plus the gentle train track sounds had knocked you both out cold.
When you opened your eyes, Sunghoon was already awake beside you, scrolling on his phone with bedhead and one eye squinting at the light.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he greeted without looking.
You groaned and threw the blanket over your face. “Why are you always so chipper in the morning?”
“I already ordered breakfast. It’ll be here in ten.”
That made you peek out
“Pretty good options. Surprisingly tasty too.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Did you ate already?”
“I may have had a mini croissant. For science.”
The tray rolled in like a hotel drama — miso soup, boiled eggs, tamagoyaki, rice, fruit, juice, and coffee, all neatly arranged in little porcelain dishes.
“This is way too fancy for a place with a pole in the corner,” you whispered.
Sunghoon burst out laughing. “We should eat on the pole.”
“Try it. Break your back.”
You sat cross-legged on the bed, carefully pouring soy sauce into the tiny saucer while Sunghoon buttered his toast like an old man at a countryside inn.
It was… cozy. Stupidly cozy.
He took a photo of the spread — and then one of you holding a strawberry between your lips.
“You’re so annoying,” you said.
“Smile,” he replied.
And you did.
You both dressed quickly — jeans and sneakers, matching windbreakers by accident (he insisted you copied him), camera packed again.
The plan today was Shimokitazawa, the artsy thrift-store-filled neighborhood that smelled like espresso, vinyl records, and dreams of quitting your job.
You wandered between secondhand shops and cafés, trying on sunglasses, picking up ugly mugs, posing in front of graffiti.
Sunghoon’s camera was out the entire time — and even though he pretended he was just testing settings, you saw how he always pointed it at you when you weren’t looking.
You caught him once.
He didn’t deny it.
“I like how you look when you’re not trying.”
You blinked.
He looked away, adjusting the lens. “Lighting’s better.”
“…Right.”
It was small.
You reached for a cold canned drink at the exact same moment.
Your fingers brushed his. Barely. Briefly.
But it lingered — just a half-second too long.
You felt it. So did he.
Neither of you said a thing.
You were sitting on a bench outside a vintage bookstore, sipping soda while he reviewed the photos on his camera.
“What are you deleting?”
“Blurry ones.”
“Let me see.”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
“Because some are mine.”
“…Some?”
He paused.
Then smiled a little — not in a teasing way this time.
“Some are just for me.”
You didn’t ask what that meant.
You just let it sit there between you.
Warm. Quiet. Weightless.
But not really.
You returned to the hotel a little earlier than Day 1, shoes dusty, legs tired, hands full of little finds — enamel pins, a thrifted shirt, a random keychain he insisted matched your vibe.
In the jacuzzi again. This time quieter. You both leaned back and let the water do the talking.
Later, you brushed your teeth side by side again, yawning into your sleeves, shoulders bumping gently.
You climbed into bed first. This time, when he laid beside you, you noticed how close your hands were on the blanket.
Not touching.
Just… close enough. You didn’t pull away.
Neither did he. It started small.
Just a joke, really. After another long day out — this time at the Shibuya Sky deck and walking through Harajuku — you’d peeled off your jacket and complained about how sweaty you were.
“You’re melting,” Sunghoon commented, flopping dramatically onto the bed while you stood near the mirror, tying your hair up.
“You’d melt too if you had boobs trapping heat.”
He snorted. “Do you want me to confirm that or—” You threw a pillow at him.
“Okay, but real talk,” Sunghoon said as the door hissed shut behind him. “This sauna is saving my life. I’m starting a petition to install one back home.”
You chuckled, stepping inside after him in your towel, feeling the warm steam immediately cling to your skin.
Tonight felt hotter somehow — and not just because of the temperature.
Maybe it was how Sunghoon looked right now. Hair swept back slightly damp, skin already glowing, the soft edge of his collarbone visible. His towel was secure but low, and he sat with one arm resting over the wooden bench behind you, casual, almost… cocky.
“So,” he started, turning slightly toward you. “You gonna keep avoiding the fact that you made a noise when you sat down yesterday?”
“I did not.”
"You groaned like you were starring in a drama.”
You blinked at him. “Are you being flirty right now?”
He smirked. “Would it work?”
You gave him a look.
He laughed, leaning his head back against the wall. “Relax. I flirt with everyone.”
“…No, you don’t.”
He looked at you again, slower this time.
You felt it — that shift.
The quiet drawl in his tone when he said, “Right. I don’t.”
Ten minutes in, the steam got thicker.
You leaned forward to reach for your water bottle, not realizing your towel had come a little… loose.
You tugged it quickly and pressed it tighter to your chest, but the damage was done.
Sunghoon’s eyes had flicked down.
And then—back up.
He cleared his throat and smirked. “…Nice catch.”
You threw him a glare, cheeks hot, but not from the heat.
“Don’t be gross.”
“I’m not being gross,” he said, tilting his head lazily. “I’m just observant. It’s part of my charm.”
“Your charm is a menace.”
“Yeah?” he said, voice dropping just enough to make your skin prickle. “Still keeping me around, though.”
Later, while drying off, you were both laughing over a dumb quiz show playing on the love hotel TV, towels replaced with your usual comfy clothes. But the air still hadn’t gone back to normal.
You sat on the bed, brushing your hair.
He sat behind you, watching something on his phone, absently letting his fingers toy with the end of your shirt hem.
You didn’t realize he was doing it until he stilled.
Then—
“You always wear this one,” he said softly. “It’s got a little hole in the back.”
You turned to look at him.
“You’re really paying attention, huh?”
His gaze didn’t waver.
“I always do.”
There was no laugh this time. No grin. Just the warm glow from the room lamp and the way his eyes dropped for a second — from your face, to your lips, to your collarbone — before he looked back up.
You swallowed.
He looked way too close all of a sudden.
And yet, not close enough.
You stood up.
Quickly. Casually.
“I’m brushing my teeth.”
“Okay,” he said behind you, quiet… amused. “Run away, then.”The night settled in earlier than usual — maybe because you both agreed your legs needed a break, maybe because the city lights felt better admired from the bed with snacks and cold drinks.
You kicked your feet up, pulling the blanket over your lap while Sunghoon scrolled through the hotel TV’s library.
"We’re not watching something sad,” you warned.
“Why not?”
“Because every time we do, you start doing that emotional whisper voice after.”
He raised a brow, amused. “‘If I die, tell my cat I loved her’ isn’t emotional. It’s factual.”
You snorted and popped a grape into your mouth.
He settled on a coming-of-age romance film — something soft, slow, with golden lighting and friends-to-lovers tension that hit a little too close.
You didn’t comment.
Thirty minutes in, the movie faded into the background. You were half-focused, shoulder-to-shoulder with Sunghoon beneath the same blanket, a bowl of chips between you.
He reached over to grab one, and his fingers brushed yours again.
This time, you didn’t move away.
Neither did he.
You felt him glance at you — not a quick flick, but a lingering stare.
“…What?” you asked, not looking at him.
"Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m admiring.”
Your heart thudded once.
“…What?”
He smiled slowly, eyes dropping to your mouth. “I said nothing.”
Somewhere between the third snack break and the movie credits, Sunghoon nudged your leg.
“Truth or dare?”
You looked at him sideways. “What are we, twelve?”
“Pick.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Truth.”
He leaned back against the headboard, one arm behind his head.
“Have you ever thought about kissing me?”
Your breath caught
He didn’t laugh this time. He didn’t smirk.
He just watched you — calm, unreadable.
You stared at him, pulse ticking louder.
“…Is that a real question?”
His voice dropped lower. “You chose ‘truth.’”
The silence stretched. You felt it thick in your throat, in the space between your knees touching beneath the blanket.
Then, softly—
“Once or twice,” you admitted.
His lips curved, slow and smug.
You shoved his shoulder, embarrassed. “Okay, your turn.”
“Dare,” he said immediately.
You blinked. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to lie.”
You stared at him.
“…Fine. I dare you to—”
“Kiss me.”
Your breath stalled.
“What?”
“I dare you to kiss me.”
He said it casually, but you saw the way his hand gripped the blanket — the slight twitch in his jaw, the sharp inhale he tried to hide.
You licked your lips slowly.
“Sunghoon—”
"It’s just a game, right?” he said, voice velvet-soft.
You looked at him.
At his eyes. His mouth. His flushed cheeks and the way he was so close but not making a move.
Like he was giving you control.
And that scared you more than anything.
Because suddenly, the game didn’t feel like a game anymore.
You leaned in.
Just a little.
Just enough that he felt your breath.
But before your lips touched, you pulled back and whispered, “Next round.”
He exhaled sharply, a chuckle slipping out — part relief, part frustration.
“You’re evil.”
You smiled.
“Just playing the game.”
“I’m sleepy,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.
The tension from the game still clung to your skin, warm and heavy. Your heart was doing too much—pounding like you just ran up a hill instead of almost-kissing your best friend.
You tugged the blanket up and turned on your side, facing away from him.
Or so you thought.
Because as you lay back on the pillows, eyes half-lidded and breath evening out, your gaze landed somewhere else.
Above you.
The mirror on the ceiling.
You blinked.
It was such a stupid, love-hotel thing to have, and you hadn’t even paid attention to it since the first day. But now?
Now you saw everything.
You.
Sunghoon.
Lying side by side, under the same blanket, bodies close enough to share heat.
His head tilted toward you slightly, lips parted like he was going to say something—but didn’t.
Your breath caught.
The image in the mirror wasn’t what friends looked like.
It wasn’t casual. It was intimate.
Too much.
Not enough.
You shifted, just barely.
And in the reflection, you watched Sunghoon do the same.
His hand moved above the blanket.
Closer.
Not touching you—but hovering near your waist.
You felt his knuckles brush the hem of your shirt, barely there.
Goosebumps rose instantly.
Your eyes flicked up again—to the mirror.
He was watching it too.
Watching you.
“…Sunghoon,” you said, barely audible.
He didn’t move his hand. Didn’t blink.
“I know,” he said softly, like he already knew what was in your chest. “You’re sleepy.”
But he still didn’t pull away.
Instead, he let his fingers rest lightly against your side—just enough pressure to make you feel it.
His voice dropped, rougher now.
“But if you weren’t…”
Your stomach twisted.
“If I wasn’t?” you asked.
He met your eyes in the mirror.
“I’d kiss you,” he murmured. “And this time, you wouldn’t stop me.”
You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
The air between you was thick. You felt the heat from his body, the blanket suddenly too warm. His words echoed, burning a hole into your chest.
Still, you didn’t move.
Not away.
Not toward him.
Just… there. Caught.
Heart racing.
Eyes locked in the reflection.
And then—
He pulled his hand away slowly.
A soft breath left your lips.
“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered.
You closed your eyes.
But you didn’t sleep for a long, long time.
Not with his voice still in your ear.
Not with his hand still ghosting your skin.
And not with that mirror burning above you, showing you something you couldn’t unsee.
“C’mon,” Sunghoon said, tugging your wrist gently as you both stepped out of the taxi and into the Tokyo night. “We’re not leaving Japan without at least one club night. Live a little.”
You gave him a look. “You’re the one who googled ‘clubs that don’t have a cover fee’ and filtered by ‘low noise.’”
“Exactly,” he grinned. “I’m a responsible party animal.”
You snorted, but let him guide you in.
The club was tucked away under a neon sign and a set of stairs, with a cozy, crowded feel—dark corners, glowing drinks, and music that thudded deep in your chest.
He ordered you both something sweet and sparkling. The kind of drink that made your lips sticky and your smile looser.
It was supposed to be harmless.
Just a night out.
You wore a black dress—Sunghoon’s pick, actually, from earlier that day.
“I’m not letting you pack a bunch of oversized hoodies for a night out,” he said back in the hotel. “Show some skin. It’s Japan. Everyone’s hot.”
So you did.
And now?
Now you were paying for it.
Two drinks in, you danced near the edge of the floor, swaying with the beat, laughing with Sunghoon beside you. His hand hovered low on your back—not touching, but close enough to be there if you stumbled.
Until he stepped away for a second to use the bathroom.
And they showed up.
Two guys—tall, confident, clearly a little tipsy.
“Hey, you alone?” one of them asked, smiling too much, eyes dipping low.
You smiled politely, shaking your head. “I’m with someone.”
“Oh?” The second guy grinned. “Boyfriend?”
Before you could answer, you felt it—a hand on your waist. Warm. Familiar.
Sunghoon.
“No,” he said smoothly, his voice sharp behind you. “She’s with me.”
You blinked, surprised by the edge in his tone.
Sunghoon wasn’t the jealous type. Or at least, he’d never acted like it before. Not when guys checked you out. Not when they flirted harmlessly.
But tonight?
He wasn’t joking.
One look at his face and you knew.
The guys backed off, muttering something in Japanese you didn’t catch. But you didn’t care. Not when Sunghoon’s fingers stayed on your hip even after they were gone.
You turned to him.
“…You okay?”
He stared at you for a second.
Then he laughed—short, breathless.
“You have any idea how you look tonight?”
You blinked. “Sunghoon—”
“No,” he said, pulling you gently toward a quieter corner of the club. “I let you out in that dress and thought, yeah, sure, I’ll be normal about it. But then I see guys eyeing you like they have a shot and suddenly I’m—”
He cut himself off.
You stared.
“Suddenly you’re what?”
He looked at you. Really looked.
And for the first time tonight, there was no filter.
“I’m not normal about you,” he said simply. “Haven’t been for a long time.”
Your heart stuttered.
The music faded into nothing.
“…Sunghoon.”
“I know,” he said, eyes flicking to your lips. “We’re best friends. This whole trip’s been fun. Flirty. Safe. But tonight?”
He leaned in.
“Tonight, I want to make it clear.”
Your back hit the wall, gently.
Not rough.
Not rushed.
Just enough to make your breath hitch.
“You’re with me,” he whispered, lips barely brushing your jaw.
And you didn’t move.
Not away.
Not at all.
The cab ride back to the hotel was dead silent.
Not because there was nothing to say.
Because everything had already been said — in the way Sunghoon looked at you when those guys tried flirting at the club, in the way his hand gripped your waist like it belonged there.
And in the way he whispered, low and rough:
“You’re with me.”
The words looped in your head the whole ride. And when you stepped into your room — the one with the ridiculous train-themed decor, mood lighting, and giant mirror above the bed — it was over.
The second the door clicked shut—
He kissed you.
Not like a friend.
Not like someone testing the waters.
Like he knew what you tasted like.
Like he needed it.
His hands were everywhere — cupping your face, sliding down your waist, pressing into your lower back until your bodies were flush. You were barely able to keep up with his mouth — all tongue, teeth, urgency.
You gasped when his lips left yours to nip your jaw.
“Sunghoon—”
“I told you,” he growled, voice wrecked. “I’m not waiting anymore.”
He walked you backward toward the bed, kissing you between every step.
You fell onto the mattress, breathless, heart racing. The mirror above showed your reflection — the two of you tangled in shadows and heat, your thighs parting instinctively as Sunghoon leaned over you.
“You don’t know,” he whispered, nose brushing yours, “how many nights I’ve watched you sleep in this bed.”
His hand slid under your dress, fingertips grazing your thighs.
“Thinking about this.”
You gasped when he squeezed your leg, his eyes never leaving yours.
“You’re soaked through,” he murmured.
“I’ve been—thinking about it too,” you admitted, cheeks warm.
That was all he needed.
Sunghoon yanked off his shirt, revealing the hard lines of his chest, the trail of muscle down his abs — you stared shamelessly.
He noticed.
“Like what you see?”
You nodded.
“Use your words, baby.”
“I like it,” you whispered, eyes blown wide. “I want all of you.”
He groaned. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”
Then he was kissing down your neck, tugging your dress off slowly, his mouth dragging over every new inch of skin.
“No bra?” he murmured against your chest.
“You told me to wear something easy to take off,” you whispered.
His eyes burned.
“I was joking,” he growled, “but fuck, that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said.”
His tongue circled your nipple before sucking hard, making your hips buck.
“Sunghoon—”
“Be patient,” he said, sliding your panties off. “I’m going to make you cum on my tongue first.”
Then he was kneeling at the edge of the bed, pulling your legs over his shoulders, and diving in.
You cried out.
He licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit, groaning like he’d just tasted heaven.
Then again. Slower.
His fingers gripped your thighs, keeping you open as he licked you deep — tongue teasing your folds, swirling around your clit, then flattening with just enough pressure to make your legs shake.
You tangled your fingers in his hair. “Sunghoon, please—please—”
He paused, pulled back just enough to speak.
“Say it again.”
You moaned. “Please, Sunghoon—make me cum—please—”
“Good girl.”
He dove back in, and you were gone.
Your orgasm ripped through you, thighs clenching around his head as you came with a broken moan of his name.
He didn’t stop — he kept licking, slow and lazy now, lapping up everything you gave him until you were panting, trembling.
He crawled back up your body and kissed you — letting you taste yourself on his lips.
Then you felt him.
Hard. Heavy. Pressing against your thigh.
You reached down, wrapping your hand around him, and his head dropped to your shoulder with a groan.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “If you touch me like that, I’m gonna lose it.”
You smirked, kissing his jaw. “Then lose it.”
He laughed — low and rough — then pulled back to line himself up.
You were still soaked. Still twitching from your first orgasm.
He met your eyes, voice hoarse.
“Tell me you want this.”
“I want this,” you whispered. “I want you.”
He slid in with one deep thrust.
His hips rolled into you, slow and deep.
One thrust — thick, stretching, deliberate.
You gasped, hands gripping his shoulders as he filled you to the hilt.
“Fuck, Sunghoon—”
“I know,” he murmured, mouth brushing your ear. “You’re perfect like this.”
He stilled inside you, chest heaving. You could feel how hard he was — how much restraint he was using just to not lose control.
Then he pulled back.
And pushed in again.
Deeper.
Your breath hitched.
Above you, the mirror reflected everything — the way your body arched into him, how your mouth parted when he bottomed out, the tension in his jaw as he watched you take him like you were made for it.
You whimpered.
“Look up,” he said softly.
You did.
And your entire body shivered.
The sight was unreal.
His body between your legs.
The way your back curved.
The way your nails pressed into his skin.
Sunghoon leaned in close, lips dragging across your jaw.
“Now imagine if you could see this again.”
You blinked, dazed. “What?”
He reached for his phone.
Tossed a look toward the dresser, a sly smirk playing on his lips.
“I brought the tripod.”
Your stomach flipped.
“You’re joking—”
“Nope.” He was already sliding the legs out, adjusting the angle toward the bed. “Consent. One hundred percent. Just for us. Just for tonight. I want to remember everything.”
Your thighs instinctively squeezed around his waist.
He placed the phone on the stand, hit record, and returned to you.
Settled between your legs again.
Caged you in with his arms.
Kissed you like it would never be enough.
“This okay?” he whispered against your lips.
You nodded, eyes wide, chest rising.
“Say it, baby.”
You swallowed. “Yes. I want it. I want you.”
He groaned — guttural, raw.
Then he started moving.
Long, slow strokes at first.
His hips grinding into yours, dragging over every sensitive spot with maddening precision.
His hand slid under your lower back, lifting your hips slightly — angling you better, deeper — until you were gasping his name.
“God—Hoon—”
“You hear that?” he rasped, breathless. “That sound you make when I hit here—”
Thrust.
You cried out.
“—that’s going to ruin me.”
His thumb brushed your clit in tight circles while he fucked you, rhythm getting messier — your thighs slick, sheets twisted, the air thick with skin and heat and moans.
“Look at you,” he whispered. “Look at how fucking pretty you are when I’m inside you.”
You forced yourself to glance up at the mirror again—
And it was filthy.
Your eyes glassy.
Your body bouncing gently with every stroke.
Sunghoon — hair messy, jaw clenched, sweat slicking his chest — completely lost in you.
His thrusts got faster.
Your fingers clawed at his back.
You were getting close again. Too close.
“Sunghoon—Hoon—I’m—”
“Let go,” he growled. “I want to see it. Want to see you cum all over me.”
His hand gripped your thigh tighter, holding you in place as he slammed into you, dragging your orgasm out until you were moaning shamelessly, your body shaking under him.
You came hard.
Eyes rolling.
Toes curling.
He groaned loudly, head dropping to your shoulder.
Then he pulled out suddenly — tugged his cock in his fist once, twice—
“Where?” he panted.
“Stomach,” you gasped. “Please—”
And he spilled with a sharp grunt, hot ropes across your skin, your belly, his hips still twitching from the force.
The room was silent except for your panting.
You both stared at the mirror.
Then each other.
Sunghoon let out a soft, broken laugh.
“...We’re fucked.”
The room was still warm.
The soft buzz of fake train sounds from the speaker had long since faded into the background, replaced by only your uneven breathing and the low whirr of the air conditioner above the bed.
Your body was still tingling.
Muscles relaxed, core aching in the best way, thighs sticky with the aftermath of everything you just shared.
Sunghoon was lying beside you — one arm tucked under his head, the other draped lazily across your bare stomach. His fingers traced little, absent-minded shapes there, gliding through the mess he’d left on your skin like he couldn’t bear not to touch you.
He looked wrecked. Hair messy. Eyes soft. Lips red from kissing too hard.
But the way he was looking at you now?
Completely different.
Like the teasing and jokes were stripped away.
Like he was finally seeing you.
And maybe for the first time—you were really letting him.
“You okay?” he murmured.
His voice was soft, a little hoarse.
You turned your head slowly, looking at him. “Yeah. More than okay.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Good.”
Then, quieter, “Because that... wasn’t just for fun.”
Your heart stuttered.
“I mean—” he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, looking up at the ceiling. “I know we’ve been friends forever. I know this trip was supposed to be, like, low-budget ramen and chaotic sightseeing and those vending machines you’re obsessed with, and I definitely didn’t mean to—book a fucking love hotel—but—”
You cut him off with a quiet laugh, rolling over to face him. “Hoon.”
He looked at you, eyes wide.
Your fingers reached up, brushing his hair from his forehead.
“I know it wasn’t just for fun.”
You paused.
“...Did you really mean everything you said tonight? At the club? Back here?”
His gaze didn’t flinch.
“Every word.”
Your breath caught.
“You’ve... thought about this?” you asked, almost shy. “Us?”
He nodded slowly, like he was afraid he’d scare you off. “For longer than I should have.”
You swallowed, heart thudding.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
He smiled, soft and bittersweet. “Because I didn’t think I had a chance. You’re...you. You flirt with ramen vending machines.”
You laughed, burying your face in the pillow. “I do not.”
“You do,” he teased. “You called that one in Shibuya a good boy.”
You giggled.
Then his fingers stilled on your stomach.
“But the second I saw that guy at the club looking at you like you weren’t the most precious thing in the room... I snapped. I couldn’t keep pretending.”
You looked up at him. “And now?”
He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours.
“Now I want to be the only one who gets to touch you.”
Your breath caught.
“I want to take you on real dates. Hold your hand in public. Make you breakfast. Wake up beside you without wondering if I crossed a line the night before.”
Your chest ached — in the best way.
You wrapped your arm around his neck, pulling him closer.
“Then let’s do that.”
His brows lifted slightly.
“Yeah?” You nodded. “You idiot. I’ve wanted this too.”
He smiled — slow and real, the kind that reached his eyes.
And then? He kissed you again.
Gentle this time. Lingering. No rush.
Just the start of something real.
When you finally broke apart, curled in the sheets, your limbs tangled—
Sunghoon rested his cheek on your chest, humming softly.
“We’re kind of gross,” he mumbled sleepily.
You blinked. “What?”
He pointed up lazily.
You looked. And laughed. The mirror.
Still foggy. Still showing your bodies — flushed and messy and completely tangled up in each other.
“Let’s clean up,” you whispered.
Sunghoon groaned dramatically. “Can’t move. Dead. Died from your pussy.”
You smacked his arm with a pillow. “Romantic.”
He grinned.
Then he sat up—still shirtless, still glowing—and stretched.
As you slipped off the bed to grab your robe, something caught your eye.
That little panel near the bathroom. The one that looked just a little too clean. Too new.
You padded over, curiosity tugging.
Pushed it open— And found the train.
“Sunghoon…”
Your voice was breathless, laced with awe and disbelief as you stared into the hidden room tucked behind the bathroom mirror.
He came up behind you, still shirtless, eyes scanning the strange, atmospheric glow pouring out of the secret space.
“…What the hell?” he murmured, stepping in beside you. The small room looked exactly like the interior of a luxury train car.
Gold-trimmed velvet seats lined both sides.
The projected windows showed nighttime scenery rushing past, as if the whole place were actually moving.
And above it all? Mirrors. Full-length. Perfect angles.
“Did you book this on purpose?” you whispered.
Sunghoon laughed quietly, slipping his arm around your waist. “You’re giving me too much credit.”
You turned to look at him, still flushed, still warm and full from earlier.
He stared back at you—his gaze darker now, hungrier.
“You know,” he said, voice low, “we can’t just find a secret room like this and not do something stupid.”
You shivered.
“Define stupid.” His lips ghosted your neck.
“Take off your robe,” he murmured.
You blinked. “Here?”
“Here,” he said, nodding toward one of the seats. “There.”
Then he tilted your chin toward the mirror above.
“So you can watch.” Your stomach flipped.
He pulled you inside gently, guiding you toward the plush velvet seat like it was a throne.
“Sit,” he said, voice deeper now. “Right here. Legs open.”
You did. Robe sliding down your arms, bare underneath.
The second you sat, the coolness of the velvet against your thighs made you gasp.
Sunghoon dropped to his knees between your legs, spreading them wider, mouth just hovering over your center.
He looked up at you once—dark eyes, flushed cheeks, messy hair. Yours.
“I didn’t get enough of you earlier,” he murmured. “Wanna taste you right. Wanna take my time.”
You whimpered.
Then his tongue was on you. Sunghoon devoured you.
Tongue slow and firm, licking up every drop, nose pressed into your folds, mouth working you open until your head fell back and your hips jerked against his mouth.
You glanced up, dazed—and moaned when you caught the mirror reflection.
Everything. Your legs trembling. Your hands gripping the seat. His messy hair buried between your thighs.
He glanced up mid-lick, locking eyes with you through the mirror.
“Keep looking,” he said, mouth shiny. “I want you to see what you do to me.”
He sucked your clit into his mouth then—hard. You gasped, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
“Oh my god—Sunghoon—!”
“You gonna cum again, baby?” he whispered, licking slow circles again. “Right here, in this fucked-up train fantasy room?”
You moaned—loud, desperate.
“Say it.”
“Yes—please—yes, I’m gonna—fuck—”
He flicked his tongue in a perfect rhythm, and when his fingers slid inside you—two, slow, deep—you shattered.
You came on his tongue, thighs shaking around his head, crying out as he licked you through it, swallowing everything you gave him.
When you finally stopped shaking, he kissed the inside of your thighs, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked up.
Still on his knees. Still hard.
But now? Smiling. Smug. Possessive.
“Still alive?” he teased. You gave a breathless laugh. “Barely.”
“Good,” he said, standing. “Because I’m not done with you.” He pulled you up to your feet and spun you to face the mirror.
Your reflection was glowing—lips parted, chest heaving, legs weak.
Sunghoon pressed up behind you, cock dragging along your ass as he leaned in to whisper:
“Bend over the seat.”
You obeyed—bare hands gripping the backrest, legs shaking as he kicked your feet further apart.
He stroked himself behind you, tip brushing your folds.
“Look how ready you are,” he murmured. “Already dripping again.”
He slid in with one thrust. You both moaned. You watched in the mirror as he grabbed your hips and began to move—slow at first, letting you feel every thick inch inside.
Then harder. Faster. Filthy.
The sound of skin slapping, your breathy moans, his rough grunts—it was insane. His hand slid around to grip your throat gently, tipping your face toward the mirror again.
“Watch, baby. Watch me fuck you.” You did.
And it was the most erotic thing you’d ever seen.You—bent over, mouth open in shock. Him—behind you, wrecked, hips snapping, muscles straining.
And you couldn’t last. You were already so full. So overstimulated. So his. “I’m—gonna—again—”
“Do it,” he panted. “Cum for me. Make a mess. I’m right behind you.” You came again—harder this time, louder, a cry ripped from your throat as your body clenched around him.
And with a final groan—“Fuck, yes”—he came too, spilling deep inside you, his hips twitching, hands gripping your waist tight as he gave you everything. You collapsed onto the velvet seat, breathless, shaking.
Sunghoon leaned over you, arms wrapped around your waist from behind.
You both stared into the mirror. Sweaty. Marked. Ruined.
“…Best love hotel ever,” you mumbled.
Sunghoon laughed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
“Welcome to the last stops, baby.”
The water steamed around you, warm and humming, tiny waves lapping at your sides as you sank back into the love hotel’s private jacuzzi.
The bathroom light was dim, glowing low and amber, reflecting off the tiled walls like candlelight.
You barely had time to close your eyes before a pair of arms slipped around your waist from behind.
“Round three,” Sunghoon murmured into your shoulder.
“Already?” you whispered, dazed. “You’re serious?”
“You’re mine now,” he said simply. “I’m never gonna be done.”
You moaned as he pulled you back into his chest, your legs floating around his hips, his hands sliding across your stomach beneath the water.
Then higher.
Until he had your breasts cupped in both palms.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “I’m obsessed.”
You bit your lip, gasping as he started to play with them — thumbs brushing your nipples, squeezing gently like he’d been waiting to get his hands on them all night.
“I always noticed,” he confessed, pressing kisses to the back of your neck. “Every time you stretched in front of me, every time your shirt clung to them when it rained—"
“Sunghoon—”
“—and now they’re mine,” he said, voice rough with need. “So I’m gonna touch them whenever I want.”
His mouth trailed down your neck, then he reached around, shifting you to straddle his lap in the water.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he muttered, lowering his mouth to your chest.
Then he kissed your breasts—slow, wet kisses, tongue flicking across your nipple before he sucked it into his mouth.
You let out a soft moan, your hands burying in his wet hair. He groaned into your skin, pulling your body even closer until your tits were pressed to his face. His voice was muffled. “I could live right here.” You giggled breathlessly. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m obsessed,” he corrected, licking again. “Let me worship you.” You felt his cock harden again beneath you, hot and heavy in the water.
“Sunghoon…”
“I’ll be gentle,” he whispered, mouth brushing your chest. “One more. Just one more.”
He reached under the water, lining himself up, and slowly eased you down onto him — warm water swirling around your waists as you sank onto his cock, inch by thick inch.
You both groaned. It felt so full like this. So warm. Slippery. Intimate. His forehead pressed to yours, hands gripping your waist.
“Move for me, baby,” he whispered. “Nice and slow.”
You rolled your hips, riding him gently in the water, the movement easy and fluid with the water supporting your weight. And he couldn’t stop watching your chest.
“Fuck,” he moaned. “Bounce for me, just like that. Look at them—"
Your tits bounced with every movement, droplets clinging to your nipples, glistening under the soft light. His hands returned to them again and again — massaging, squeezing, sucking one into his mouth as you moved on him.
You whined. “You’re too into this—”
“I warned you,” he growled. “They’re mine now.”
Then he grabbed your hips, took over the pace, thrusting up into you as the water splashed gently around you. Slow, deep strokes. His cock dragging against your sensitive walls, your body already so used to him but still twitching at the stretch. You clung to him, lips brushing his. “You feel so good.”
“I want you to cum on my cock like this,” he breathed. “Wanna feel you clench around me again.”
His hand slid between your bodies, thumb brushing over your clit under the water — slow, tight circles until you were gasping again.
“Cum for me, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “While I’m buried inside you. I want to feel it.”
You did. With a broken gasp, body trembling in the bubbling heat, your walls tightened around him, clenching so hard he swore under his breath—
“Fuck—yes—fuck, you’re perfect—”
And then he came too, moaning into your mouth as he spilled inside you again, his arms tightening around you as if he couldn’t let you go. You stayed there, clinging to him, your body spent and warm, water lapping gently against your skin.
He kissed your forehead. Then your nose. Then your boob. Again.
“Seriously?” “What?” he said innocently. “They’re the love of my life now.”
The water steamed around you, warm bubbles churning against your skin as Sunghoon's hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you flush against his hard body. His lips trailed hot kisses down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to send shivers racing through you despite the heat. "Mine" he growled low, voice rough with need, his cock already throbbing against your thigh, slick with the jacuzzi's warmth and his own arousal.
You arched into him, fingers digging into his shoulders as he lifted you slightly, the water sloshing around your waists. His mouth captured yours in a fierce kiss, tongue plunging deep, claiming every inch while one hand slid between your legs. Fingers parted your folds, stroking your clit with firm circles that made you gasp into his mouth. He didn't tease for long—Sunghoon never did when possession burned this hot. Two fingers pushed inside you, curling to hit that spot that had your walls clenching around him.
"Fuck, you're still so wet for me," he murmured against your lips, pumping his fingers faster, thumb grinding your clit. The water made everything slicker, hotter, your body responding with desperate bucks against his hand. But he wasn't done worshipping yet. Withdrawing his fingers, he brought them to your mouth, pressing them past your lips. "Taste yourself. Taste how much you want this." You sucked eagerly, tongue swirling around his digits, eyes locked on his darkened gaze.
Satisfaction flashed in his eyes as he pulled his hand away, replacing it with the thick head of his cock nudging at your entrance. But instead of thrusting in right there, he stood fully, water cascading off his toned chest and abs, muscles flexing as he hauled you up with him. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, the jacuzzi's edge pressing into your back for leverage. "Not like this," he said, voice husky. "I want to fuck you standing, feel every inch of you gripping me while I hold you open."
He shifted, one arm banding around your back to support you, the other guiding his cock. The tip breached you slowly at first, stretching your pussy with that delicious burn as he sank in inch by inch. You moaned, head falling back, the steam-filled air thick with the scent of sex and chlorine. Water lapped at your joined bodies, but it was nothing compared to the heat building where he filled you completely, balls pressing against your ass.
Sunghoon groaned, hips snapping forward in a sharp thrust that buried him to the hilt. "God, yes—tight like this, just for me." He started a rhythm, powerful and unrelenting, each drive lifting you slightly against him, your breasts bouncing with the force. His free hand roamed, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you cry out, then soothing it with his mouth, sucking the peak between his teeth. You clung to him, nails raking down his back, urging him deeper.
The standing position let him angle just right, his cock dragging along your inner walls, hitting your g-spot with every plunge. Water splashed around you as he fucked harder, possessive grunts escaping him. "No one else gets this. No one else fucks you like I do." His pace quickened, hips pistoning, the slap of wet skin echoing in the steamy enclosure. Your pussy fluttered around him, building toward that edge, clit grinding against his pelvis with each thrust.
He sensed it, shifting his hold to free a hand, fingers finding your clit again. He rubbed in tight, fast circles, matching his brutal rhythm. "Cum for me. Milk my cock while I fill you up." The command pushed you over, orgasm crashing through you like a wave, walls spasming as you screamed his name. Sunghoon followed seconds later, thrusting deep one last time, hot cum flooding your pussy in thick spurts. He held you there, both panting, his forehead pressed to yours as the aftershocks rippled through.
But even spent, his grip didn't loosen. "We're not done" he whispered, already hardening inside you again. "I want more".
Sunghoon's cock twitched inside your still-pulsing pussy, the mix of his cum and your juices leaking down your thighs into the bubbling water. He didn't pull out yet, instead rocking his hips in slow, deliberate grinds that kept the friction alive, his mouth crashing back onto yours. The kiss was messy, tongues tangling with renewed hunger, his teeth nipping at your lower lip as he swallowed your whimpers. "You feel that?" he rasped between breaths, one hand cupping your ass to tilt you higher on his shaft. "I'm gonna fuck you until you're ruined for anyone else."
He thrust up again, harder this time, the water churning wildly as he bounced you on his length. Your oversensitive walls clenched around him, every slide sending sparks of pleasure-pain through your core. You gasped into his mouth, breaking the kiss to beg, but he silenced you with another deep plunge, his free hand tangling in your wet hair to yank your head back. His lips attacked your throat, sucking marks into the skin—dark bruises that would linger as proof of his claim.
The rhythm built fast, his hips snapping with possessive force, cock stretching you wide with each entry. Your clit rubbed against his base, the pressure coiling tight despite the fresh ache from your first climax. "That's it, take it all," he growled, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to bruise. You shattered again sooner than expected, body trembling as another orgasm ripped through you, but he didn't stop. Sunghoon kept pounding, chasing his own release while your pussy fluttered helplessly around him, overstimulated nerves firing wildly.
"Fuck, yes—squeeze me like that," he grunted, finally spilling inside you with a guttural moan, hot ropes of cum painting your walls anew. He held you impaled, panting against your shoulder, but his cock stayed buried deep, semi-hard and insistent. Slowly, he lowered you both back into the jacuzzi, the warm jets massaging your joined bodies as he pulled you onto his lap facing him.
His hands roamed your back, tracing the scratches you'd left earlier, before cupping your face for a slower makeout. Lips brushed softly at first, then deeper, his tongue exploring lazily while his hips shifted beneath you. You felt him thickening again, the third round stirring as he broke the kiss to murmur, "On your knees. Show me how much you need my cock."
You slid down eagerly, the water lapping at your chest as you positioned yourself between his spread thighs. His erection stood proud, veined and glistening with your combined fluids. Wrapping your hand around the base, you leaned in, tongue flicking out to lap at the slit, tasting the salty mix of cum and arousal. Sunghoon's fingers threaded through your hair, guiding you gently at first. "Suck it. Take me deep."
Your lips parted, sliding over the head, hollowing your cheeks as you bobbed down, taking more with each pass. The jacuzzi's bubbles tickled your skin, adding to the sensory overload as you worked him with your mouth—tongue swirling along the underside, hand stroking what you couldn't fit. He groaned, hips bucking slightly, fucking your face with controlled thrusts. "God, your mouth... so fucking good. Look at me while you do it."
Eyes locked on his, darkened with lust, you hummed around his length, the vibration drawing a hiss from him. Saliva dripped down your chin, mixing with the water, as you deepthroated him, throat relaxing to accommodate his girth. His grip tightened, possessive, holding you there for a moment before letting you pull back for air. "Enough." he said hoarsely, hauling you up for another searing kiss, tasting himself on your tongue.
He spun you around then, pressing your back to his chest, legs draped over his as he positioned you. One arm locked around your waist, the other parting your thighs wide. "Spread for me," he commanded, fingers dipping into your soaked pussy, scooping out some of his cum before rubbing it over your clit. You moaned too cock drunk to speak, arching into his touch, but he was already lining up his cock, slamming home in one fluid motion.
This angle let him go deeper, the head of his dick battering your cervix with every upward thrust. Water splashed over the jacuzzi's edge as he fucked you relentlessly, his mouth on your neck, biting and licking. "You're mine to use"he whispered hotly, fingers returning to your clit, pinching and rolling it until you were sobbing with overstimulation. Your body betrayed you, hips grinding back despite the intensity, chasing the building pressure. "Yours only-fuck— yours." You managed to replied back.
He didn't let up, pace brutal, cock dragging against your g-spot with precision. The coil snapped violently—your pussy gushed around him, squirting in forceful arcs that mixed with the jacuzzi water, soaking his thighs. "Fuck, yes—squirt for me, baby," he praised, thrusting through it, prolonging the waves until you were a trembling mess.
Sunghoon came with a roar, flooding you once more, his body shuddering against yours. He held you close through the aftershocks, kisses turning tender, lips brushing your temple, your jaw. "All mine,"he murmured, finally softening and slipping out, cum trickling from your abused pussy.
Exhausted, he lifted you effortlessly, wrapping you in a towel before carrying you to the nearby lounge chair. The steam still hung in the air as he settled beside you, pulling you into his chest. His arms encircled you possessively, one hand stroking your hair as your eyelids grew heavy. "Sleep now" he whispered, voice soft and kissing the top of your head. You drifted off to the rhythm of his heartbeat, safe and claimed in his embrace.
The scent of miso soup and freshly baked melonpan woke you before sunlight did.
You blinked against the soft morning glow spilling in through the patterned blinds.
The mirror above the bed was foggy now from the jacuzzi steam the night before — a quiet, ghostly reminder of everything you’d done in this ridiculous love hotel.
The sheets were wrapped around you like a cocoon, and when you turned over, the space beside you was empty. But only for a second. Because then Sunghoon walked in, shirtless, hair a mess, tray in hand. Room service.
“Good morning, superstar,” he grinned. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes. “You ordered food?”
“I ordered everything.”
He plopped the tray down on the bed — steaming rice bowls, tamagoyaki, cut fruit in flower shapes, and melonpan fresh enough that you could smell the butter. Two iced coffees sat sweating in the corner. You blinked. “You remembered melonpan?”
“You moaned about it in your sleep,” he teased, climbing back into bed. You slapped his chest lightly. “You’re lying.”
“Maybe,” he grinned. “Maybe I just like hearing you moan.”
You groaned, flopping face-first into a pillow. “Stop talking.”
He chuckled. “That’s rich, coming from someone who begged me in a fake train room last night.”
You threw the other pillow at him.
He caught it mid-air. “I’m keeping this one. Smells like your shampoo.”
You peeked out from under the sheets, still flushed.
“Are you… always like this in the morning?”
“Only when I wake up with my favorite person naked beside me.”
He leaned over to kiss your cheek.
Then your shoulder. Then your chest.
You shoved him back with a laugh. “Eat your breakfast.” “I’m trying, but my meal’s hiding under all those blankets—ow, okay, I’m done—!”
He handed you a cup of coffee like it was the holy grail. You drank. Grateful. Warm in more ways than one. After a moment of silence, your voice dropped.
“So… this isn’t just a one-time thing, right?”
Sunghoon didn’t hesitate.
“Babe. I came like a dozen times and cried into your neck. You’re not getting rid of me.” You snorted into your cup. He reached across the tray, brushing your fingers with his.
“I mean it. I want you. All the time. After we go home. Even when you’re being annoying.”
You narrowed your eyes. “When am I annoying?”
“Specially when your annoying,” he smiled. He reached for his phone and, without asking, snapped a picture of you wrapped in blankets, coffee cup in hand, cheeks flushed from laughter.
You groaned. “No—delete that—!”
“Nope,” he grinned, adding it to an album. “This is my favorite version of you. Hair messy, barely alive, and mine.”
You went still. Then softly, “Yours?”
He looked up. “Of course.” Then quieter.
“...Always hoped you’d be.” You leaned in and kissed him slow. Sleepy. Full of a new kind of sweetness.
“Okay,” you whispered. “So what now?”
Sunghoon leaned back against the headboard, arm around you.
“We’ll finish the trip,” he said. “Take more pictures. Eat ridiculous food.”
Then, with a cheeky grin:
“See if the other rooms here have different themes. Maybe one with clouds? A plane? Hospital bed—?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Okay, but hear me out—”
You shoved a piece of fruit into his mouth.
He chewed, smug.
Then he laced his fingers through yours.
“I want to do this every year,” he said seriously. “Travel. Get lost. End up somewhere weird.”
“With me?” you whispered.
“With you,” he said. “Always.”
@ tobiosbbyghorl 2026
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