“i’ve been thinking,” sunghoon says casually from his spot on the armchair, long legs stretched out. he’s nursing a beer, eyes flicking between you and jake on the couch. you’re curled into jake’s side, his arm draped around your shoulders, fingers playing lazily with the strap of your tank top.

jake raises an eyebrow, teeth flashing as he smiles. “dangerous words coming from you, hoon.”

sunghoon’s gaze lingers on you a second too long, then shifts to jake. there’s something darker in his eyes tonight, a curiosity that’s been building for weeks. “i want to watch.”

the words drop like a stone into still water. you freeze, heat flooding your face. jake’s hand stills on your shoulder.

“watch,” jake repeats slowly, voice low. “what? us?”

sunghoon nods, not backing down. his cheeks are faintly pink but his jaw is set. “yeah. you two. i know you’re fucking. i’ve known for a while. and i… i’m curious. about how it looks. how you are with her.”

you swallow hard, glancing at jake. he’s watching sunghoon carefully, but there’s no anger there — just intrigue, and maybe a spark of something hotter. jake has always been open, playful in bed. this wouldn’t be the first boundary you two have pushed.

“you sure?” you ask sunghoon softly. “it might… change things, or make them weird.”

“i’m sure,” he says, voice steady. “if you’re both okay with it.”

jake looks at you, searching your face. you bite your lip, then nod. the idea sends a thrill through you — sunghoon’s intense stare on you while jake touches you. you’ve always found sunghoon attractive, tall and sharp-featured with that quiet intensity. knowing he wants to see you like this… it’s intoxicating, to say the least.

“okay,” jake says, grinning that charming grin. “but you stay in the chair unless we say otherwise.”

sunghoon settles back, legs spreading a little wider, beer forgotten on the side table.

jake turns to you first, cupping your jaw and pulling you into a slow kiss. it’s familiar, warm, the kind that always makes your stomach flutter. his tongue slides against yours lazily, deepening it as his hand trails down your neck, thumb brushing your collarbone. you sigh into his mouth, already melting.

sunghoon’s breathing is audible across the room.

jake peels your tank top off slowly, exposing your bra. he kisses down your neck, sucking lightly at the spot he knows drives you crazy. you arch into him, fingers threading through his soft hair. when he reaches behind you to unhook your bra, letting it fall away, you hear sunghoon shift in his seat.

“fuck,” sunghoon breathes. his voice is rough already. “she’s gorgeous.”

jake smiles against your skin. “isn’t she?” he palms one of your breasts, thumb circling your nipple until it hardens. you moan softly, eyes fluttering open to look at sunghoon.

he’s watching intently, lips parted, one hand gripping the arm of the chair. his eyes are dark, fixed on every movement.

jake lays you back on the couch, stripping your shorts and panties down your legs. you’re completely bare now, and sunghoon’s gaze drags over you like he's physically touching you — your breasts, the curve of your waist, the wetness already glistening between your thighs.

“touch her,” sunghoon says quietly. it’s not a demand, but there’s hunger in it.

jake chuckles softly and spreads your legs, settling between them. he kisses down your stomach, then lower, tongue flicking out to taste you. you gasp, back arching as he licks broad stripes over your clit, sucking gently. your hand flies to his hair, hips rolling against his mouth.

sunghoon leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. his eyes are glued to where jake’s tongue is working you open. “does she taste good?” he asks, voice strained.

“so fucking good,” jake murmurs against you, the vibrations making you whimper. he pushes two fingers inside you slowly, curling them just right while his mouth stays on your clit.

you’re moaning louder now, eyes locked with sunghoon’s. the way he’s watching you — like he’s starving — pushes you closer to the edge faster than usual.

but then jake pulls back, stripping his own shirt off. sunghoon’s gaze shifts immediately to jake’s toned chest, the way his abs flex as he moves. jake catches it and smirks, but doesn’t comment. he sheds his pants and boxers, cock hard and leaking as he strokes himself once.

sunghoon’s breath catches audibly. his eyes widen a fraction, pupils blown as he stares at jake’s length, then at the way jake lines himself up with your entrance.

“ready, baby?” jake asks you, but his eyes flick to sunghoon too.

you nod desperately. jake pushes in slowly, stretching you open with that perfect burn. you moan loudly, nails digging into his shoulders as he bottoms out. he starts thrusting, deep and steady, the wet sounds of your bodies filling the room.

sunghoon is breathing harder. his hand presses against the front of his jeans, palming himself openly now. but it’s not just you he’s staring at. his eyes keep darting to jake — the flex of his back muscles, the way his hips snap forward, the sheen of sweat on his skin, the low groans he makes every time you clench around him.

something shifts in sunghoon’s expression. realization. heat. confusion and want all at once.

“jake…” he whispers, almost to himself. his hand slips inside his jeans, wrapping around his own cock as he watches his best friend fuck you. the sight of jake’s cock disappearing into you over and over, glistening with your arousal, combined with your breathy moans — it’s too much.

he’s hard as steel, throbbing in his own grip, and the arousal hitting him while watching jake is undeniable. he always knew he liked you. the little attractions, the lingering hugs, the way he’d get jealous when jake touched you. but this — the way his stomach tightens seeing jake’s flushed chest, the veins on his forearms, the way his jaw clenches in pleasure — it’s new. overwhelming. bi awakening crashing over him like a wave.

“hoon,” you gasp, reaching a hand toward him. “come closer.”

sunghoon hesitates only a second before standing, jeans open, cock heavy in his hand as he moves to the edge of the couch. up close, he can see everything — the way jake’s cock stretches you, the slick sounds, your face twisted in ecstasy.

jake slows his thrusts, looking up at sunghoon with dark eyes. “you like watching me fuck her?”

sunghoon swallows hard, nodding. his voice is wrecked. “yeah. fuck, i do. both of you… i didn’t expect—”

“it’s okay,” you whisper, cupping his cheek. your thumb brushes his lower lip. “touch yourself while he fucks me. or… touch us.”

that breaks the last of his restraint.

sunghoon leans down and kisses you first — hesitant, then hungry, tongue sliding against yours as jake starts thrusting again. you moan into sunghoon’s mouth, one hand on his chest, the other reaching down to wrap around his cock. he’s big, hot, leaking precum as you stroke him in time with jake’s movements.

“shit,” sunghoon groans against your lips. “your hand feels so good.”

jake watches the two of you, hips snapping harder. “he’s pretty when he’s desperate, isn’t he, baby?”

you nod, dazed, squeezing sunghoon’s cock a little tighter. sunghoon’s free hand finds your breast, pinching your nipple while he kisses you deeper. then, almost shyly at first, his other hand reaches out to touch jake’s shoulder, sliding down his back, feeling the muscles move as jake fucks you.

jake shivers under the touch but doesn’t pull away. if anything, he leans into it.

then, the dynamic shifts. jake pulls out suddenly, flipping you onto your hands and knees so you’re facing sunghoon. “suck him while i fuck you from behind.”

you don’t hesitate. you take sunghoon into your mouth, tongue swirling around the head as he groans loudly, hand gently guiding your head. jake thrusts back into you, deeper in this position, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. every thrust pushes you further onto sunghoon’s cock, and the sounds are obscene — wet gagging, skin slapping, broken moans from all three of you.

sunghoon’s eyes are fixed on jake now too, watching his best friend pound into you, hands gripping your hips. “jake… you look so fucking hot like this,” he admits breathlessly, the words spilling out in the heat of it. “both of you. i can’t— i didn’t know i wanted this too.”

jake reaches over your back, grabbing sunghoon’s free hand and pulling it to your hip, then lower, guiding sunghoon’s fingers to where his cock is sliding in and out of you. sunghoon groans at the feeling — the stretch, the wetness, the way you flutter around jake.

“touch me too,” jake says roughly.

sunghoon does, hesitant at first, then bolder — palming jake’s balls, then wrapping fingers around the base of jake’s cock as it moves. jake moans loudly, hips stuttering.

the three of you move together like that for what feels like hours — a messy, perfect rhythm that blurs time and leaves the room thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

you’re on your hands and knees on the couch, mouth full of sunghoon’s cock as you suck him sloppily, spit dripping down your chin while your tongue swirls around the head and takes him deeper with every forward rock of your body.

jake is behind you, fucking you in steady, deep thrusts that punch the breath out of your lungs every time he bottoms out. the wet, obscene sound of his hips slapping against your ass mixes with your muffled moans and sunghoon’s low, broken groans.

sunghoon’s hand is gentle in your hair, not forcing but guiding, his thumb stroking your cheek almost reverently even as his cock twitches on your tongue. his other hand keeps wandering — brushing over your back, then reaching further to touch jake wherever he can reach. fingers tracing the flexing muscles of jake’s shoulder, sliding down the sweat-slick line of his spine, then lower, palming jake’s ass as he thrusts into you. every new touch makes sunghoon’s breath hitch harder, like he’s still shocked by how much he wants this.

“fuck… look at you,” sunghoon murmurs, voice wrecked and awed. “taking both of us so well.”

jake groans in agreement, one hand gripping your hip tightly while the other reaches around to rub your clit in tight circles. “she’s perfect. so fucking wet for us. you feel how tight she gets when you touch me, hoon? she loves it.”

sunghoon nods shakily, eyes locked on where jake’s cock disappears inside you over and over, glistening with your arousal. the sight combined with the heat of your mouth around him is driving him insane. his hips start twitching forward more desperately, fucking your throat a little deeper as his usual cool composure completely unravels.

eventually jake slows his thrusts, pulling out with a wet sound that makes you whine around sunghoon’s cock. he flips you gently onto your back, spreading your legs wide. “your turn, hoon. fuck her while she strokes me.”

sunghoon doesn’t need to be told twice. he moves between your thighs, eyes dark and hungry as he lines himself up. he pushes in slowly at first, savoring every inch, jaw dropping at the tight, wet heat enveloping him. “oh my god… baby,” he breathes, the pet name slipping out naturally. he bottoms out with a shudder, staying still for a moment just to feel you clench around him.

you reach for jake, wrapping your hand around his slick cock and stroking him steadily. jake leans down to kiss you messily, tongue sliding against yours while sunghoon starts moving — gentle, rolling thrusts at first, like he’s memorizing the feeling. but it doesn’t stay gentle for long. his control snaps, hips speeding up until he’s thrusting deep and hard, the couch creaking beneath you. every snap of his hips forces broken moans from your throat.

sunghoon pants, moaning both your name and jake’s in the same breath like he can’t separate the pleasure anymore. “feels so good… both of you.”

jake kisses you harder, then pulls back just enough to lean over and capture sunghoon’s mouth in a kiss — tentative at first, testing, lips brushing softly. sunghoon freezes for half a second, then surges forward into it, turning the kiss deep and filthy, tongues tangling as he keeps fucking you harder. the sight alone makes you clench around him.

it’s overwhelming. it's fucking perfect. the air is thick with moans and gasps and the wet sounds of bodies moving together. sunghoon’s hand finds one of your breasts, pinching your nipple while jake’s fingers return to your clit, rubbing fast. you’re caught between them, pleasure building impossibly high until it crashes over you.

you come first with a sharp cry, back arching clean off the couch as your walls flutter and squeeze around sunghoon’s cock. the intensity triggers his own orgasm almost immediately — he buries himself deep, hips stuttering as he spills inside you with a loud, broken moan of your name mixed with jake’s. his whole body trembles through it, face buried against your neck.

jake follows seconds later, stroking himself furiously over your bodies. thick ropes of cum paint your stomach, your breasts, and sunghoon’s chest where he’s still leaning over you. jake groans deeply, milking every last drop as he watches the mess he’s made on both of you.

after that, the three of you collapse in a tangled, sweaty pile on the couch. limbs are everywhere — sunghoon’s head resting heavily on your stomach, breathing hard against your skin, while jake sprawls half on top of both of you, one arm wrapped protectively around your waist and the other draped over sunghoon’s back. the room feels warm and hazy, hearts still racing as the high slowly ebbs.

sunghoon’s breathing is still shaky as he processes everything, fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip. after a long silence, he lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

“that was… my bi awakening, i think,” he admits quietly, voice hoarse. “i knew i liked her. i’ve liked her for a while. the way she laughs, the way she fits between us… but watching you, jake — fuck. the way you moved, the sounds you made, how you looked fucking her… i didn’t expect to want that too. want you too.”

jake presses a gentle kiss to sunghoon’s temple, then leans over to kiss your forehead, his dimples soft and warm. “good. because we’re not done tonight. not even close. we’ve got all night to figure this out… together.”

you smile sleepily, contentment settling deep in your chest as your fingers card gently through sunghoon’s damp hair. the three of you — best friends who have always been a little too close, a little too intertwined — finally feel like something more. lovers. a unit. whatever this is now, it fits perfectly, like it was always meant to be this way.

and there are many more nights ahead where curious eyes turn into wandering hands, shared pleasure, and something that feels a lot like love.

© jongst4r, 2026

And then, your hand slid lower, brushing over the tight bulge straining against his baggy jeans. Taesan froze, pulling back slightly, his voice low and warning. “Baby…stop teasing.” his fingers lightly pressing against your wrist. You just whined softly, trailing your hand back up to caress his abs again, pressing your lips to his jaw. “But I missed you so much…”

“I know…but your parents are sleeping. We can’t do this now.” he said, voice thick with restraint. You leaned closer, teasing him by brushing the edge of his underwear’s band with your fingers, heart racing, whispering, “I don’t care…just a little…”

“I don’t want to disrespect them...” he murmured, biting his lip as his hands slid over your waist, holding you close, but resisting his own desire. You rubbed him through his jeans again, slowy, and you could feel the way his heart pounded beneath your palm. His breathing grew heavier, voice straining as he tried to hold himself together.

“Don’t…rub there…” he warned. You pressed your mouth to his neck, sucking gently, and suddenly his hand shot down to grab your wrist. “Baby, stop. Stop.” His tone was sharp this time, serious enough to make your pout deepen. “We can’t.” he said firmly, though his eyes were already betraying him, dark and restless.

You blinked up at him, lashes fluttering, lips parted just so, gazing at him with wide, innocent eyes. His jaw clenched as he exhaled. “No—don’t look at me like that. With those fucking eyes.” Slowly, you slipped off his lap, your fingers sliding down to his waistband. His breath hitched. “Baby—no—what are you doing…”

Ignoring his weak protest, you tugged his zipper down, pulling the denim just low enough. You bent your head and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against the outline of his dick through his boxers, your eyes never leaving his face. “Don’t…don’t do that…” he rasped, head falling back against the wall. “Fuck…”

You kept kissing him there, sweet and teasing, until you felt his restraint finally break. “Fuck it.” he growled, hand sliding into your hair to grip the nape of your neck. He yanked you back up to him, crashing his lips against yours with rough, desperate hunger. “You’re such a fucking tease.”

You giggled softly against his mouth, biting down on your bottom lip as his eyes narrowed, one brow raising at your reaction. “You’re enjoying this way too much, aren’t you?” he muttered, voice low. You nodded without hesitation, pulling him back in for another hungry kiss, your tongue sliding against his. “Take this off.” he said roughly, tugging on the waistband of your shorts.

Your skin prickled under his gaze as you slipped them off, tossing them aside. Now you sat there in just your panties and his oversized shirt, cheeks burning as his eyes roamed over you. He quickly yanked off his own shirt, revealing the lean muscles you’d been caressing earlier. His mouth was on yours again in an instant, desperate and demanding.

His hands slid down to cup your ass, squeezing firmly, pulling you flush against the hard outline straining in his boxers. He leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice a soft whisper that sent a shiver straight through you. “Bend over for me.” You slipped off his lap in a rush, climbing onto the bed and bending over for him, face pressed into the sheets, ass up in the air.

“Good girl.” he muttered, his large hands spreading over your cheeks, squeezing hard. “So fucking sexy.” The sharp sting of his palm cracked against your ass, making you yelp into the mattress, only for his touch to soften, caressing where he’d just smacked. The mix of pain and sweetness dragged a whine out of you.

His eyes dropped to your panties, where a dark wet patch had already formed. He groaned low in his throat, rubbing his fingers over your covered slit. “Desperate today, aren’t you? Soaking your panties…” You whined, wiggling your hips, trying to push yourself back against his touch.

He laughed softly, like he couldn’t believe how badly you wanted him. He tugged your panties to the side in one motion, his fingers sliding through your slick folds before rubbing your wetness all over, coating you. You whimpered at the feeling, pushing your hips back for more. Then he slipped two fingers inside without warning, stretching you as he pumped them in and out steadily.

You gasped, gripping the sheets. “Shh, baby,” he hushed, leaning over you, voice hot against your ear. “Keep it down, or I’ll stop.” You nodded quickly, biting your lip as he fucked his fingers into you, your muffled moans betraying your struggle to stay quiet. Just as the pleasure built, he pulled his fingers out, making you whine in frustration.

Before you could complain, the sound of his zipper being undone filled the room. His jeans and boxers were shoved down, and his cock sprang free, heavy and hard. Without wasting another second, Taesan lined himself up and pushed into you slowly but deep, stretching you inch by inch until he bottomed out.

Your muffled whine shook through the pillow. “Fuck…” he groaned, gripping your hips tighter. “Sorry, baby. Couldn’t help myself.” His thrusts started slow but deep, each push making you bury your face into the sheets as soft moans spilled out of you. Your fingers twisted in the fabric, knuckles white. “Are you happy now, baby?” he rasped, hips rolling into you. “Yeah? This what you wanted?”

You nodded over and over, desperate, your voice breaking with every needy sound that escaped your throat. He chuckled breathlessly, low and wicked. “Horny little girl.” His pace picked up, deeper, harder, his hips slamming against yours. Your moans grew louder without your permission, tumbling out in waves, too much to hold back.

Taesan leaned over you, lips brushing against your ear, voice rough with pleasure. “Told you to be quiet, baby.” His palm pressed firmly over your mouth, muffling your cries the instant he began pounding into you deeper, every thrust perfectly angled to hit that spot again and again. The room filled with the wet slap of skin on skin, your muffled moans, his grunts and groans and the soft music.

“Look at you—moaning like a slut when your parents are right downstairs.” he growled into your ear. You whimpered beneath his hand, your body arching as his thrusts grew harder, each one making your gummy walls squeeze around him. “Fuck, you’re drenching my cock.” he groaned, hips snapping into you, the wet sounds filling the room.

Your moans turned breathless, your body trembling as the heat coiled tighter and tighter inside you. Unable to speak, you reached back, fingers searching for his hand. He caught the hint instantly, lacing your fingers together, holding you tight. “You’re close, baby?” he panted, slamming deeper.

You nodded desperately, muffled cries vibrating against his palm. “Go on, pretty,” he urged, his voice filled with need. “Let go for me—cum on this dick.” With just a few more thrusts, your body snapped, walls clenching down on him with a silent cry. Pleasure tore through you as your release gushed out, your cunt pulsing around him.

“Shit, baby—you’re so fucking tight.” he cursed, pulling his hand from your mouth just to watch your face twist in bliss. His eyes dropped down, catching the sight of his cock glistening, dripping with your release, and it pushed him over the edge. “Ngh—fuck—shit—I’m fucking cumming.” he groaned, burying himself deep as his warmth spilled into you.

You whimpered at the sensation, his hips grinding as he thrust through it, pushing his release deeper inside, his hands gripping and squeezing your ass. His chest pressed to your back, his heavy breathing fanning across your ear, both of you trembling as the aftershocks rolled through your bodies.

His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “Lay on your back for me, baby.” You nodded, chest heaving, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling as you turned over. He was still buried inside you, the stretch almost overwhelming, and his gaze softened watching your state. “So fucking beautiful.” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

Your heart melted at the tenderness in his voice, even with his cock still pulsing inside you. When he finally pulled out, you felt the hot spill of his release drip out of you, your hole fluttering around nothing. His eyes darkened as he watched it ooze out, and he let out a strained, “Fuuuck, baby.”

He spread it around your folds with his fingers, smearing his cum messily over your swollen slit, before pushing two fingers back inside. You whined at the overstimulation, body twitching under his touch. Hovering over you, he whispered, “You can take one more for me, yeah?” You nodded, biting down on your lip, and he smiled, eyes glinting. “My naughty girl.”

His fingers pumped in and out faster, deeper, while his thumb circled your clit. He leaned down to kiss you softly, but soon the kiss turned hungry, your whines and gasps spilling into his mouth as his hand worked you closer and closer. Your nails dug into his bicep, the pleasure overwhelming. “Sanni—m’gonna cum!” you cried against his lips. He hummed low in his throat. “Mm, let go, baby.” His hand moved faster, your body arching into his touch.

You kissed him hard, muffling your cries as you came again, clenching desperately around his fingers. He slowed them gradually, easing you down, until he finally slipped them out. You lay there breathless, cheeks burning red, chest rising and falling. He pressed another soft kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering. “Sorry, baby,” he chuckled, his voice tender. “I ruined your panties.”

a/n: this is inspired by a freaky audio i heard from @highway-143 i know im a gooner guys no need to mention it ◞‸◟

𓏸⠀ 𓈒 check out my masterlist .ᐟ get added in my taglist .ᐟ

and that would be perfectly fine. your anger would be understandable. valid? maybe not. but it would be accepted, considering the position you’re in relative to him. 

it would be fine if he weren’t the pride and joy, the superstar, the golden boy of your year. 

everyone tells you that his teasing is just in good fun, that it’s a valiant effort to get closer to you. 

you think that the people around you might actually be fucked in the head if they thought that unceasing pestering translated into acts of friendship.

you sigh, willing your shoulders to relax as you lift your head, returning your attention to your professor. he’s discussing something, you’re not entirely sure what. normally, you’d be all ears, wanting to get every syllable committed to memory so you can do your absolute best in this class, but there’s a huge, monumental weight sitting in your stomach.

your professor says something about a project. 

yes, a project. the project. the one he just brought up a few minutes ago. the one he started calling out partners for. kazuha and sungho. jaehyun and dongmin. donghyun and minju. 

woonhak and–

your eyes lock on the man sitting across the aisle from you. 

woonhak smiles, innocently enough that it just looks like he’s being polite. but you know your new, totally-not-rage-inducing partner is sniffing you out, trying to gauge what your reaction to your professor’s announcement is. 

well, woonhak can go fuck himself. 

your professor claps his hands and you flinch, your attention drawn away from the bane of your existence. 

“seeing as there’s only about fifteen minutes left in our class, i’ll allow this time for you to speak with your partners,” your professor declares. “remember, this is twenty percent of your grade, and it’s due in three weeks. better get to work!”

a collective grumble arises from your classmates, but you grit your teeth together, keeping your butt rooted to your seat. if the universe wants to mess with you, the least it can do is have woonhak come to you.

to his credit, you see through the corner of your eye the vague shape of him getting up from his seat. you keep your eyes downcast up until the very moment he stops next to your desk. you look up at him with the most neutral expression you can summon.

“hey, partner,” woonhak greets, one corner of his mouth turning up as if the whole thing was oh-so-amusing. 

“hey,” you respond curtly. you hear him snicker quietly to himself before pulling up an empty chair and plopping himself next to you.

you catch a whiff of his cologne, and you think, begrudgingly, that at least he smells good. it’s one of the few things you do like about him. he always cleaned up well, uniform worn perfectly pressed, his hair sitting at the juncture of ‘styled with effort’ and ‘i didn’t really try’. 

not that you paid much attention to his appearance. 

sometimes, he’d roll up the sleeves of his button-down, especially when the day was at its end. like right now. he sits on the chair backwards, his arms propped up on the back, his chin coming down to rest on them. 

you can just make out the faint outline of the veins that run along and beneath his skin.

you blink, shifting away from woonhak’s arms, your eyes instead snapping up to meet his. he smiles again, and your stomach jolts violently. he doesn’t even have to do much. your body reacts at the smallest trigger that has anything to do with him. 

“guess mr. choi wanted to see what would happen if he put his two best students together,” woonhak muses, tilting his head to the side. he’s still looking at you, pupils running over your features. or at least you think they are, and for a brief moment, he stops at your lips before licking his own. 

“oh wow, is that an actual compliment from you?” you sneer, narrowing your eyes at him. 

woonhak chuckles, reaching over to toy with your pen. you swat at his hand, but he returns the action, lightly shoving your own out of the way. he grabs your pen and twirls it between his fingers. 

you watch, already silently fuming. 

“my bad. let me rephrase,” woonhak says, bringing your pen up to his mouth. he catches it between his teeth, nibbling on it absentmindedly. 

his tongue pokes out for a moment, and your stomach flips again.

“i guess our professor wanted to see what would happen if he put the best in his class–that’s me–with the second rank, who can barely keep up. that’s you.”

your foot shoots out before you can stop it. it connects with woonhak’s shin and he yelps, straightening in his chair. he scowls at you, grabbing at his leg.

“why do you get so butthurt over jokes?” woonhak pouts.

“jokes are meant to be funny,” you retaliate immediately. 

“and i’m not laughing, kim woonhak. now, listen to me while i tell you what we’ll do for this project.”

-

of course, woonhak didn’t give you an easy time, because he never does. 

the class ended with your head pounding and a frown etched deeply on his face. he got up from the chair with a curt, ‘yeah, whatever,’ as you were reminding him of the internal deadlines you set. he walked away from you, gathering his things before storming out of the classroom. 

you didn’t think he’d be so pissed over you kicking him, but oh well.

you’re burrowed in your bed now, typing furiously on your laptop as you attempt to get a head start on this godforsaken project. you’d texted woonhak again some minutes ago, reminding him of the material he needed to research. he replied with a thumbs-up emoji that annoyed you for the rest of your dinner.

you pause, staring at the blinking text cursor on your open document. you were supposed to list down all the parts of your project, but the momentary shift of your thoughts to woonhak has derailed your focus. you sigh, attempting to type out the words, but you’re pulling up blanks. after typing, erasing, and typing in increasing frustration, you close your laptop, opting to rest your eyes for a while. 

it’s only 11 P.M., but you feel yourself getting drowsier by the second. you figure it’s just from the stress of the project, and perhaps a quick nap before resuming your work wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

you’ve only dozed off for a few minutes when you feel your phone vibrate violently under your cheek.

“what the fuck,” you mutter under your breath. you check the screen and see that someone is calling you. 

the caller ID registers as ‘kim woonhak’.

“what the fuck,” you repeat, jamming your thumb over the ‘answer’ button. 

“what do you want?” you bark into your phone. 

“hi, ______,” woonhak’s voice croons from the other end. you pause, taking in the cadence of his words, the way he says your name; a strange flutter erupts in your chest. 

“sorry, did i interrupt something?” woonhak asks after a moment. 

“my sleep,” you deadpan, throwing an arm over your eyes. you sigh, wanting nothing more than to fall back into the sweet embrace of slumber. 

“sorry about that,” woonhak says. there it is again, the low, almost enticing quality to his tone.

“woonhak, tell me what you need, or else i’m hanging up,” you threaten lightly, voice taking on a breathy quality. 

what is wrong with you? why is your heart rate suddenly picking up?

“i like it when you say my name,” woonhak declares. you can hear him smile as he says this. 

you’re speechless for a few moments, your arm flinging off your face and your eyes snapping wide open. if your heart was beating fast a moment ago, it’s definitely racing now. 

“can you say my name again?” woonhak implores, his voice lilting teasingly. 

“i don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, kim woonhak.” your voice shakes towards the end, and you cringe. but you can’t help it. the whole strange ordeal is putting you on edge. 

and, weirdly enough, your thighs clench together as you hear woonhak chuckle.

“why do you pretend like you don’t like it?” woonhak accuses. 

“like what?” you respond, putting as much bite as you can into your words. 

“the attention i give you.”

your stomach lurches as you try to process his words. 

you don’t. you don’t like the attention he gives you. you hate the teasing, the pushing of all your buttons, the constant reminders of how he’s so much better than you. you hate the way he speaks to you, so different from how he talks to everyone else. so unlike the way he approaches the other girls in your class, always so gentlemanly and charming. 

why can’t the same be afforded to you?

“_______? you still there?” woonhak calls out. 

say it again. fuck, say my name, woonhak.

your eyes fly open a second time, your heart pounding against your ribcage. your hand is empty, your phone buried under your pillow. you quickly check the call log and relief floods your senses when you see it void of woonhak’s name.

a dream. it was all a dream.

you swallow, trying to make sense of it. 

why would you dream of him?

you check the time and see that it’s past midnight now. your laptop lies forgotten at the foot of your bed, and you decide that it’s for the best. you deserve some rest and reprieve from the constant barrage of thoughts that involve your classmate and biggest rival. 

you turn your lamp off, burying yourself under your blanket once more, and praying for a dreamless sleep. 

-

“are you listening to me?”

you blink, eyes focusing back on the man in front of you. woonhak looks at you with a questioning raise of his eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tilting up as well. 

the library is still around the two of you, the only sounds coming from the drone of the large air conditioning units and the occasional scratches of pen against paper and soft typing on laptops. your own device is open in front of you, your project file pulled up, but the letters swim in front of your eyes. 

you’re supposed to be brainstorming ideas on how to present your work, but all the two of you have accomplished over the last hour is a ridiculous amount of bickering over whether canva or google slides is better. 

you’ve both mellowed out into an uneasy truce, agreeing to cross that bridge when you get there. 

“sorry,” you mumble, averting your gaze from woonhak’s scrutinizing eyes. “can you repeat that?”

woonhak settles his chin on his hand, leaning closer across the table towards you. you pretend not to notice, scrolling aimlessly through your screen. 

“i said, we have enough responses from our survey,” woonhak explains. he reaches over and fiddles with the ribbon bookmark on your planner. you shoot him a look, and his hand pauses as it winds the material around his pointer finger. 

“we can start organizing and encoding the data,” woonhak concludes. 

he moves on to grab your pen next, and you swiftly snatch it up before he does. 

“stop touching my stuff,” you warn, glaring at him.

woonhak grins, leaning back in his chair. you watch as the fabric of his uniform shirt shifts over his broad shoulders, rippling against his arms. you know he works out; you see it on his social media from time to time. not that you check his social media regularly. 

“should i touch you instead?”

your head snaps up at near breakneck speed as you stare daggers at woonhak. he seems to find your annoyance amusing, as he always does, because he’s breaking out into an even wider smile.

“i have half a mind to cancel our work session later so i don’t have to see your face any more than i have to,” you whisper in indignation. your face grows hot as woonhak seems unfazed by your scathing words.

“hey, if you want to do all the work, that’s fine by me,” woonhak says, throwing his hands up. “but i’d feel more comfortable if i can monitor our progress. i have to make sure you’re doing the work properly, you know.”

this does it for you. you snap your laptop shut, shoving it inside your bag before collecting your things. woonhak just watches you, expression still relaxed, oh-so-blasé about the whole thing.

“8 P.M. at my dorm. you know where my building is. don’t be late,” you rattle off through gritted teeth before stomping off and out of the library. 

-

at exactly 8 P.M., a soft knock emanates from your door. 

another one of the few things you like about kim woonhak is his ability to be punctual. you unlatch your door and cautiously peek through the small gap you’ve opened.

“have you eaten?” 

you pause, head tilting in confusion. as expected, woonhak is standing in your doorway, a hand behind his back. his bag is slung over one shoulder, and his sleeves are rolled up again. you try not to stare at the way his fingers fidget with the fabric of his pants. 

“uh, no,” comes your puzzled reply. 

“cool. i brought food,” woonhak reveals, brandishing a brown paper bag. immediately, you’re greeted with the smell of spices, and as if on cue, your stomach grumbles loudly. 

woonhak notices and grins. you flush, your bottom lip coming between your teeth.

“oh,” you say plainly. “i–um, thanks.”

you open the door wider and step aside, letting woonhak into your dorm room. you’re suddenly conscious of how everything looks. you hurry to clear space on your desk, shoving papers and trinkets aside. you can feel woonhak watching you, and you nearly drop a ceramic figurine in your haste.

you fight the urge to let out a biting remark, to ask why he’s being a decent human being all of a sudden. you hate the guy, but surely a good deed didn’t warrant a telling off. still, the twisting in your stomach tells you it’s not just the hunger. 

“you can put the food here,” you say, gesturing to the desk. woonhak walks over and does so, then turns to you while he unpacks the contents of the paper bag.

“i got you the spicy kind of kimbap,” woonhak begins. “that okay?”

you stare hard at woonhak, still trying to figure out his angle. your silence causes woonhak to pause, his expression turning inquisitive. 

“if it isn’t, i got tteokbokki too in case,” woonhak offers, gesturing to the tupperware in his hands. 

“why–”

you stop yourself, recalibrating your question. the absurdity of it all is messing with your head, hindering you from creating a cohesive thought, let alone a sentence. 

“you didn’t have to bring me food,” is what you settle for. 

woonhak snickers, pulling up your plush office chair for himself. a twinge of annoyance pokes at you almost instantly. 

“hey, i’m hungry, too,” woonhak says in defense. “i can’t work on an empty stomach, especially if i have to hear you talk for an hour straight.”

ah. there it is.

you roll your eyes, not having the energy to argue because, despite your pride, you are starving.

“thought i lost you there for a moment. good to see you’re still an asshole,” you grumble, clearing out the pile of clothes from the standard-issue desk chair from the university. you drag it across the room and seat yourself next to woonhak. 

your knees brush briefly, and both of you flinch away.

“why are you nice all of a sudden?” you ask, reaching over for one of the foil-wrapped kimbap rolls. 

woonhak looks at you like you grew a second head. 

“i like beating you in academics, but i’m not going to let you go hungry,” woonhak says, his signature pout settling on his lips. he takes a large bite of the kimbap, gesturing to your own unopened one.

“eat. don’t tell me you hate me that much that you’re willing to refuse perfectly good food?” woonhak’s voice warbles around his food, and while you’d usually sneer in disgust at his less-than-desirable manners, you can’t help the laugh that escapes you.

woonhak’s own expression softens and he laughs along. the tightness in your chest loosens as you finally allow yourself dinner. 

-

“i’m just saying, it would be better if we write our own sections, then go over the whole thing together so we can both have a say on its final form.”

you rub at your temple, the familiar need to get violent with woonhak bubbling up inside you once more. your short-lived peace was indeed that: brief, with fleeting conversations as the two of you finished your dinner. the containers have been diligently disposed of, and in their place sits your laptop on your desk, the file to your project staring back ominously at the two of you. 

“i think it would be better if we wrote each section, or at least its outline, while we’re together so that we can both pitch in where we can,” you counter as patiently as you’re able to. 

woonhak is leaning back on your office chair, his own laptop open on his lap. he looks even more relaxed and disheveled than when he came in some hours ago. his glasses sit at the tip of his nose and you fight the urge to push them back up yourself. 

“that would take too much time,” woonhak reasons. “it would be more efficient if we at least get some words on the document, then we can refine it later.”

you pause. you did see the validity of his argument. better to have something than agonize over a near-empty piece of work until inspiration strikes. you sigh, tilting your head back as you feel one of your eyelids twitch. no doubt a product of your exhaustion. 

“you know, you can just say you want to spend more time with me, ______.”

you turn your head and glare daggers at woonhak. once again, he seems unfazed by your frigid response to his antics. 

“what’s your problem?” you ask, righting yourself in your seat. “does torturing me make you that happy?”

“i’m just teasing, _______,” woonhak says defensively. he puts his laptop away, leaning forward so he can brace his elbows on his knees.

from where you sit, you’ll be able to reach over and touch woonhak. 

not that you want to.

don’t you, though? don’t you want to touch woonhak? run your fingers through his hair, leave imprints of your fingertips on his pristine glasses as you pull them off, drag your nails down his sturdy shoulders? 

“if being an asshole is teasing, yeah, sure,” you mutter, distracting yourself with a loose thread from your skirt. your uniform is rumpled, the first two buttons of your blouse undone. you hadn’t changed out of it, too embarrassed to slip into anything comfortable around woonhak. who knows what he has to say about your pajamas. 

“i don’t get why you have to say all that shit to me,” you complain, a bubble of emotion forming in your chest. 

“what shit?” woonhak asks.

you scoff. “don’t pretend you don’t know what i’m talking about.” 

“well, i don’t,” woonhak replies, almost petulant in his tone. 

“all that stuff about me being second best, about never being able to reach your level, what about that? huh, woonhak?” your arms cross tightly across your chest, expression stony as you watch him process your words. 

woonhak lets out a breath, scooting closer. the drag of the office chair’s wheels against the floor is loud, your body jolting as his chair bumps into yours. his knees press against the side of your thigh now, and your whole body nearly erupts in fire. 

“but you like it, don’t you?” woonhak interrogates, crowding into you.

your first instinct is to pull away, to strike him across the face, ask where he got the audacity from. but there it is again. the traitorous wash of his cologne over you. the mischievous glint in his eye that has you pausing, reassessing what it is you truly feel for kim woonhak. 

“or, at least, you like me enough to tolerate it,” woonhak concludes, raising an eyebrow as if asking you to confirm. 

“why would i like you?” you counter, turning your body so you can face him fully. 

woonhak’s eyes leave your face to watch as your knees slot perfectly between his, a slow, subtle smile creeping on his lips. 

“i ask myself the same thing, ______. especially when you’re blushing this hard.” woonhak pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. you watch, completely entranced, his words barely registering with you.

“why can’t you just tell me what it is you want to tell me?” you manage to get out despite the heat in your face. 

“obviously, you get off on my reactions. so you must like it, too. or like me enough to tolerate it.”

woonhak’s words are parroted back to him, and this is when his face splits into a grin. his teeth digs onto his bottom lip, his eyes sweeping down your body. 

“see, this is why i like having you as my so-called rival,” woonhak says lowly, hands coming down to rest on your thighs. 

you gasp, your own hand shooting out to grip woonhak’s wrist. he looks at you cautiously, waiting for you to refuse him, to tell him to back off. you stay perfectly still, your breathing growing more labored with each passing moment.

woonhak runs his palms down your skin, and you bite back a moan. his hands hook around the back of your knees, and he tugs you forward, sending you stumbling over his lap. your hand awkwardly grasps at woonhak’s arm as he adjusts both of you atop the chair. 

you’re sitting fully on woonhak’s lap, thighs flush against his, the heat between your legs dangerously close to where you can see a faint outline in his pants. you can hardly believe it. but the solid pressure of woonhak’s hands against your waist grounds you, telling you this is real and not another one of your dreams.

“so quick to figure things out,” woonhak whispers. “my brilliant _______.”

your mouth falls open as your body caves in at his words. his lips are on yours in the blink of an eye, both of you letting out long, drawn-out sounds as you finally let yourselves go. 

your fingers finally run through the strands of his hair, downy and pliant under your touch. woonhak’s hands wander lower, grabbing the flesh of your ass through your skirt. a shiver runs through your body.

“fuck, need you so bad,” woonhak grunts against your lips. 

“bed. now.” your voice is surprisingly steady as you scramble off his lap, woonhak automatically responding, following as you rise. his arms encircle you as you both fumble your way towards your bed. 

you fall into a heap, you on your back with woonhak catching himself above you. you continue to kiss fervently, your hands wandering everywhere and anywhere over woonhak’s body. you start frantically unbuttoning his shirt, and he does the same with your skirt, slipping the zip down. you kick it off impatiently once it’s loose enough, wriggling yourself out of your underwear soon after. 

“wanna eat you out,” woonhak says, voice rough. 

you pull away just enough to look at him. his eyes are wild, hardened as he takes you in. 

“but i wanna suck you off,” you admit, the ghost of a smile gracing your lips. 

woonhak mirrors your expression as he hurriedly undoes his pants. he throws them and his underwear onto the floor, where your own bottoms are, forgotten. 

“that can be arranged,” woonhak says, kissing you once more before securing an arm around your waist. 

he flips you two over so that you’re on top, the heat from his straining member oh-so-near to your leaking core. 

“well get to it, then.” woonhak nudges you and you huff, flipping yourself over his reclined form. you swing your leg over his face, drawing your cunt closer to his mouth while you bring your own lips closer to his hardened cock. 

he’s leaking precum and your mouth waters at the sight. woonhak hisses when you grab the base, his breath ghosting over your folds. you both moan in unison, quivering beneath each other’s touch.

“god, look at you,” woonhak moans before latching his mouth over your clit from below. you lurch forward in surprise, the drag of his tongue against you ripping a whine from you.

you steady your breathing enough to focus on the task at hand. you lick a stripe from his base to his tip and woonhak groans against you. you take his head into your mouth, suckling momentarily, swirling your tongue over his slit. you take more of him, sinking down further and further until you feel him hit the back of your throat. there’s still more of him, and this turns you on even more. 

he’s huge. and he’s all yours.

you draw back, then slide back down, setting up a steady rhythm. woonhak continues to emit noises from below you, sending delicious vibrations through your soaking pussy. in turn, you hum around his dick, and it’s like a feedback loop of you nudging each other closer and closer to your release. 

soon enough, you feel yourself right on the brink, and woonhak twitches in your mouth around the same time. you take in as much as you can of him, swallowing around his head once you feel him nudge your throat once more. woonhak cries out, his hips jerking up. you gag around him, but you don’t have any time to react as he spills himself in your mouth. 

you pull off him, jerking him off the rest of the way, your lips and chin covered in his cum. your hole begs for attention as it continues to leak your arousal. woonhak devours you once more, running his tongue frantically over your clit. you feel the pad of his thumb press over the puckered hole of your ass, and this is where you lose it. 

you cum hard over woonhak’s mouth, and a strangled noise escapes him, his hands planted firmly on your thighs as he keeps you in place. you grind down on his face as you ride out your high, your limbs suddenly weak.

you feel liquid running down your legs, and you realize what you’d just done.

“shit, i’m so sorry,” you apologize quickly, tumbling off woonhak. 

his face and mouth are drenched, and so is the collar of his uniform. he pushes himself up on his elbows, a lazy smile on his face.

“you’re good,” woonhak reassures. “that was hot, not gonna lie.”

you huff out a laugh, letting yourself plop down unceremoniously on your bed. woonhak shifts closer, using his sleeves to dry himself off. he spots the box of tissues you keep on your bedside table and goes to grab you a few, handing them to you with that same boyish smile you’ve come to crave over the months you’ve known him. you clean yourself up, letting the silence blanket both of you.

but, whether it’s post-nut clarity or something else, the reality of the situation suddenly comes crashing down. meeting woonhak’s eyes, your chest constricts, and you immediately spring up, climbing off the bed. 

“that was fun,” you concede. “but that was totally crossing a line.”

“a line i’m glad we crossed,” woonhak declares, tone challenging as if imploring you to agree with him.

“i think you should go,” you say instead. “we can finish up tomorrow after class.” 

woonhak gapes at you, opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then decides otherwise. he collects his clothes from the floor just as you’re pulling up a fresh set of sleep shorts you grabbed. you turn away, avoiding the sight of woonhak until he’s completely decent.

“thanks for the food,” you hurriedly say as he goes to collect his things. 

“and the other thing,” you add, your face heating up once more. 

woonhak turns to you, his mouth pressed into a thin line. 

“no problem. thank you, too. and see you tomorrow.”

-

the class seems to be dragging on for longer than it should, and your temples are starting to throb. your professor is droning on about the lesson, periodically calling on students to share their thoughts, in hopes of catching those who are slacking off. 

and just your luck, you watch as your professor’s eyes land right on you. you accept what’s coming next.

“ms. _______,” your professor addresses you. “what do you think of this aspect of this theory? does it hold enough validity for it to be proven true?”

you stand, presenting the very bare bones of your argument, not caring much at this point if you’re a little off on what your professor is looking for. you’re tired and stressed and still reeling from the events of last night. 

as if on cue, you turn your head just the slightest bit and catch woonhak’s eyes. he’s staring straight at your face, not even hiding the fact that he’s panning down to glance at your chest, then at your thighs, before running his gaze back up to your eyes. 

“ms. _______,” your professor cuts in gently. you blink, turning your attention back to the older man in front of you.

“you’re presenting your argument to me, not to mr. kim.”

you hear a couple of snickers and coughs around, and you make a point to stare pointedly at myung jaehyun, who is grinning uncontrollably at the whole ordeal, eyes flitting between you and woonhak. his face melts into neutrality once he sees you looking back. 

“actually, i think, while her argument is sound, it’s heading towards the wrong direction.”

you grit your teeth at the sound of woonhak’s voice, your fists clenching at your side.

“oh? kindly elaborate, woonhak,” your professor implores. 

woonhak stands up and faces you, only the center aisle separating the two of you. 

or is it the thickening tension that comes from knowing what sounds woonhak makes when you choke on his cock?

god, you hate him. 

you want him all the same.

woonhak begins to counter your points, and with every sentence, you realize he’s actually making a really good case for himself. which annoys you even further. and for the sake of being stubborn, you decide to argue back. 

“you’re being very tunnel-visioned about this,” you say with a scowl. “obviously this theory shouldn’t be looked at through just one lens, and yet you’re making very bold, very sure statements about its validity.”

woonhak’s eyebrows raise at this, but he quickly schools his expression into one of satisfaction. you’ve taken the bait once again. you both get what you’re here for. 

an argument. an excuse to throw jabs at each other, albeit only verbally. a chance for you to watch him eye you like you’re his next meal, and an opportunity for him to relish in the flush of your cheeks and the drag of your tongue across your lips. 

you debate for a couple of minutes more, the whole class seemingly entranced with the display of wits before them. your professor lets it go a little longer, just as amused. he decides to put a stop to it once he sees that you and woonhak have stepped out onto the aisle; a little bit more, and the two of you would be toe to toe. 

“i believe that the point has been made,” your professor cuts in. “there is no one way to view this theory, and it is why it remains exactly that. a theory.”

both you and woonhak pause, your heart beating wildly in your chest. you look at each other for a moment before you turn, depositing yourself back onto your seat. you realize that your hands are trembling, and you clench them even harder in an attempt to stop the movement.

you don’t look at woonhak for the rest of the class

-

“you reserved the study room, right?” 

you shoot woonhak a look, and he merely smiles innocently at you, eyebrows raised as if waiting for a response.

“do i look like someone who would forget?” you grumble, stomping up the library’s front steps. woonhak races ahead of you and holds the door open.

you ignore the way your stomach flutters as you enter, the cool library air soothing your warm skin. 

you’ve been tense all day after that debate in class. heck, you’ve been tense since last night when you and woonhak were moaning into each other’s mouths. but you made a promise that you would finish part of your report today, and you won’t let a little misplaced romp with your biggest academic rival derail that plan.

you and woonhak proceed to the front desk as you both turn in your school IDs for the use of one of the private study rooms. in retrospect, isolating yourself with woonhak in a secluded space probably isn’t the smartest idea after what happened last night, but it’s too late now. you’re directed towards the hallway to the side, and before you know it, you and woonhak are entering the small, soundproof space. 

“cozy,” woonhak comments, depositing his bag on the table. he pulls the blinds down over the small window and draws the curtain hanging over the see-through door. 

“don’t start,” you warn, already pulling your laptop out. 

“are you done organizing the data? do we need more respondents?” you ask, avoiding all eye contact with woonhak. you’ve positioned yourself across the round table from him, refusing to get within reaching distance of him.

“yes, i’m done, and no, we don’t,” woonhak answers. you feel him watching you, as he’s been known to do lately, and it’s taking everything in you not to get all up in his face and ask why he keeps doing this.

“good,” you say, finally seating yourself. “you can work on the introduction, background, and method and procedures. let’s work on the related literature together, then i can work on the analysis and summary. how does that sound?”

finally, you turn to woonhak and he’s looking at you with an impossibly wide grin. you feel your neck heat up, images of last night flashing through your eyes. 

“so we’re doing it my way, after all,” woonhak teases, leaning over the table and openly surveying you. 

“you were right. is that what you wanted to hear?” you taunted back. 

woonhak chuckles, shrugging. “personally, i want to hear something else from you.”

“don’t be disgusting,” you cut in, equal parts indignation and arousal swirling in your belly. 

how dare he? how dare he be so crass yet so attractive?

“i wasn’t so disgusting when you were making those noises last night.”

a silence befalls the room. you and woonhak observe each other, merely a couple of feet apart, and yet a valley of unspoken things lies between you two. your eyes glance at the corners of the room where the ceiling meets the wall. where cameras would usually be.

“there aren’t any behind you, either,” woonhak confirms what you’ve been trying to figure out. the casual nonchalance has you shifting in your seat.

“how long are we going to pretend, _______?” woonhak continues, rising from his chair. 

you follow, pushing your chair back as you stand. you refuse to allow a single moment where he can look down on you. you’re eye to eye now. if woonhak reaches out, he’d be able to pull you to him, do with you as he pleases. 

you worry that this is all you ever wanted. 

how ironic.

“come here.”

woonhak’s words are barely out of his mouth before his hand is circling your wrist, yanking you towards him. your bodies slam together violently, your mouths smashing against each other in a messy, breathy kiss. 

you’re glad woonhak concealed the room beforehand. anyone walking by would have seen you two devouring each other’s faces.

woonhak maneuvers you towards the table, and you hop up backwards, letting yourself settle on the hardwood. you pull woonhak flush against you, hooking your legs around his hips. you press yourself to the front of his pants and he groans, grinding into your already wet heat. 

“should have done this sooner,” woonhak mutters, reaching beneath your skirt to yank at your underwear. you whimper as you feel the fabric drag down your thighs. 

he discards it onto the floor and flips your skirt up and around your waist. 

“do you know how cute you get when you’re pretending my words aren’t getting to you?” woonhak asks, smirking as he presses two fingers against your aching core. 

you gasp, eyelids fluttering shut as he massages through your folds, quickly locating your clit. 

“i know they annoy you, but i also know it also turns you on,” woonhak continues, spreading your arousal around before plunging a finger inside of you. 

“fuck, woonhak,” you moan, your hand gripping the front of his shirt. he eases another finger in and starts pumping slowly, savoring the shifts in your expression.

“you like being called second best?” woonhak interrogates. “or do you just like it when i do it?”

you whimper, turning away in shame. 

because it’s true. in your deepest, sickest, most twisted fantasies, you let woonhak degrade you, demean you in ways you know only he can. and it looks like those fantasies are about to come true.

“don’t do that,” woonhak demands, his other hand grabbing your jaw. he turns you back to him, eyes set with something dark. 

“look at me when i talk to you.”

you nod your acquiescence, meeting his heated gaze. he’s moving his fingers faster inside you now, the table rocking gently with every slam of his fingers against your hole. 

“need you to repeat what you did last night,” woonhak says, curling his fingers against that one spot inside you. “need you to make a mess all over me.”

you clamp a hand over your mouth as an embarrassingly loud moan threatens to escape you. sure enough, woonhak is drawing you closer and closer to your release, the familiar pressure building low in your belly. 

“i c-can’t. not here,” you whisper shakily. “the m-mess–”

“yes, you can,” woonhak interrupts. “i’ll clean it up, don’t worry.”

a shiver runs through you as you feel yourself tumbling even closer to your orgasm. woonhak reaches as deep as he can, presses against your spongy walls.

“that’s it. let go for me, baby.”

your vision flashes white and you feel yourself clench around woonhak’s lithe fingers. he pulls them out just as you release all over him, drenching his shirt and the top of his pants. he rubs circles on your clit and you bite down hard on your lip to keep yourself from crying out. 

eventually, you’re reduced to a twitching, panting mess. half-undressed, uniform wrinkled, with evidence of your orgasm splashed all over the floor. 

“good girl,” woonhak praises, licking the remnants from his fingers. you watch in rapt fascination as he cleans himself of you.

“my turn.”

woonhak unbuckles his belt and undoes his pants, yanking his bottoms down just enough to let his cock free. instinctively, your legs widen once more as he steps between your thighs, carefully avoiding the drops of liquid on the floor.

“i’m clean, by the way,” woonhak says, as if an afterthought. 

you nod. “so am i. and i’m on the pill. hurry up before i change my mind.”

woonhak snickers, brushing his tip against your swollen folds. you moan softly, pulling him closer by his uniform tie. 

“please, need you to fuck me,” you whine, batting your lashes up at woonhak. 

he slides in, one fluid motion, until the base of his cock meets your pelvis. you both gasp in surprise, adjusting to each other. he stretches you out wider than what you’re used to, and woonhak is muttering about how tight you are. 

“oh, fuck.” woonhak’s voice breaks at the end as his hips snap up. you gasp, falling back onto your elbows. 

woonhak pulls back and slams in, pulls away, then back in. he repeats this, building up his pace as you let yourself go in the pleasure.

“yeah, that’s it,” woonhak breathes, grabbing your hips. “take it.” 

the table is creaking louder beneath you now, but you pay it no mind. not when woonhak is fucking you this good. 

“oh, god.” your voice comes out breathless. 

“woonhak, please,” you plead, pulling him down towards you. he braces himself on one arm, dipping his head so he can kiss you.

he slams his hips hard against yours, over and over again, masking your moans with his mouth. you can feel yourself getting close once more, and you know woonhak feels it, too. he’s breathing loudly in your ear, your name falling from his lips occasionally.

“gonna feel so good when i cum inside you,” woonhak grunts. “you’d let me, right? you’d let the guy who’s better than you cum inside?”

your body burns with shame as you gasp, clutching woonhak even closer. he takes his cue and fucks you even harder, his grip bruising at your hips. 

your second orgasm washes over you and you feel yourself clamping down on woonhak. he moans in your ear, hips stuttering. he stills, spilling himself deep in you. he thrusts the rest of his orgasm out, whimpers falling from your mouth as the oversensitivity sinks in.

finally, woonhak stops, pulling back just enough. he sees the hair plastered to your face and neck, and he reaches down to brush it away.

“you look a little tired, ______.” woonhak’s words come out teasing as he hauls you upright, still deep inside you.

he rocks his hips gently, and you groan, your forehead falling onto his shoulder. 

Lips shiny with where you’re soaking for him, he’s so entranced he almost misses the vibrator you pull out. “I had this in all day on low. I’m so worked up, Hakie, need you to fill me up, please?” you beg sweetly.

Woonhak sees your hole clenching, a wink of your entrance squeezes out your essence, causing it to dribble down your prenium. You beckon him closer until he is just inches away from you, far back enough to still eye your leaking cunt. You kiss his lips softly, staying there for a second more before moving back slightly to look him in the eyes. 

“Or you can taste it.” You whisper seductively. Woonhak can’t stop the tiny whine he lets out, short but so sweet.

“lick all of what I give you.” You don’t break eye contact as you reach to grab the bulge in his pants. “So all of this gets to feel good wrapped in my wet heat.” You lick his bottom lip with a giggle. He groans, his eyes already bleary from your filthy words. “Want it, ah!” he yelps at the heavy hand you take to his growing erection. The situation is a stimulant on its own. 

“Miss i—i want it so bad,” he admits, voice shaky. He continues to hump against your palm harshly, lost in the world of you, you, you. “Hurry and put it inside, Hakie, wanna feel it.”

He listens, unbuckling his pants quickly, pulling his cock out that's already hard, a long vein lining his base. It's such a yummy sight, you almost feel like drooling over it. He lines himself up with your heat but pauses. 

“What if the guys hear us?” he asks shyly. You grin, mind reeling at the thought of being caught, being heard taking your Hakie so well. Making him feel so good that he gets too loud. 

“Don't worry, baby, you just have to be quiet, can you do that for me?” You tilt your head, and he copies cutely. “I’ll try…” he responds, nervous about his ability or lack thereof to be quiet. Always one to get lost in pleasure, letting it rack through him completely until he's crying and twitching all over. 

“Go on, baby, put it in,” you urge him softly. He prods his tip inside your heat, stretching you out to fit his size. His cock is long and slightly thicker than most. The vein that lines it slides inside you as well, feeling the slight ridge of where they swell with how his cock is full of need.

Once he's bottomed out inside you, fully clenched into your heat, he whines. Tucking his head into your neck. He kisses there, nibbling the skin like a pretty bun in heat, licking and biting before slightly thrusting his hips. He shudders. 

“So good, can't, don't think I can last long,” he admits in a whisper. Embarrassed at his stamina, already feeling spent from just sitting inside you. You giggle, petting his hair back before kissing his cheek. 

“S’okay, baby, let it out inside, wanna feel you make it messy,” you encourage. He pulls back to connect your mouths in a sweet kiss. Soft lips moving against one another, tongues sliding as saliva gathers, turning messy rather than reserved and gentle. It's hungry, Woonhak loves how much you accept him, take him. 

You lift your hips to make him hit that spot that's deeper inside, whining into the kiss as his cock hits it perfectly. He begins to move his hips, continuing to kiss your lips. You bite his plush bottom lip with a groan. 

“Fuck hakie, just like that, baby,” you cry out. The feeling of skin slapping against skin is addictive. It's loud and ringing against the walls proudly as he takes and takes, stretching your cunt until all you can do is shake and fuck down to meet his thrust for more. 

More of him, more of all that woonhak is and gives. 

“Miss its–i’m–” he stutters out. Voice thick with desperation to fill your pussy with that milky white that will soon cloud your vision with the same. 

He eventually can. 

One last thrust into your cunt and he's spilling his cum into you. You clench around him, milking him for all he's got, and it makes his head spin. The grip, the warmth, your giggle as you watch him shake with his eyes rolled back. 

It all makes more spurts of him leak into you. You smile when he's finished, proud of your baby for doing so good. 

“Wanna see it, Hakie?” you ask, and he nods dumbly. Pulling his cock out with a hiss, sensitive. He watches as his cum spills out of you, entrance white and sticky with his mark, his cum. It gets him horny all over again. 

He’s about to take a lick, tongue out, ready to taste where you both mix. His high still keeping him tingling with hunger. When a knock is heard. Sungho’s meek voice is heard. “Next time, guys, can you, I don't know, kick us out?” you hear Jaehyun yell out a quick “Aye, I don't mind!” 

It makes you giggle, but woonhak is red as a shiny apple ready to be bitten. 

You walked into the hotel room and dropped your backpack with a huff. The single bed in the middle of the room stared at you mockingly, its perfectly straightened sheets and undisturbed covers daring you to ruin it.

Ni-ki walked in behind you, lugging his large leather duffel. He stopped when he saw the bed, and you felt the sudden urge to create space between the two of you.

“I guess they weren’t lying about the bed mixup.” 

You walked to the window, tossing your bag into the corner, “I guess not.”

You heard him shift on his feet, “I can sleep on the floor, ask them to bring up some extra pillows and blankets…”

“No, it’s fine, we can manage, it’s just a bed.” You said, although your heart raced at the idea of sharing a queen-sized bed with Ni-ki. He was a tall guy, and you knew from the other members that he tended to stretch out in his sleep. You thought about the other members peacefully enjoying their rooms with separate beds, and cursed the gods for making you and Ni-ki the youngest, always getting the leftovers.

Ni-ki walked to the bed. “Which side do you want?”

You jumped onto the right side, closest to the window, and took your phone out. “This side’s fine, want to get room service?”

He smiled and climbed on the bed next to you, reaching for the TV remote, “You read my mind.”

Thirty minutes later, two plates of potstickers and a big bowl of orange chicken with rice sat between the two of you on the bed. You watched the TV together, the light from the screen casting a soft glow on your faces. It was almost midnight, and the building was quiet. Based on the group chat, you guessed that most of the others were asleep. Only Jungwon, doing his nightly Weverse messages, was still active. You loved the stillness that came with staying up late. It was a moment for you to have the world to yourself, to take a break from all the day-to-day activity. 

Ni-ki was the same; he often joined you on late-night walks or midnight snacks in the kitchen. You didn’t talk all the time, just enjoyed each other's presence, passing the time together when your heads were too loud to sleep. 

But tonight was different.

Tonight, there were no separate rooms to retreat to when your eyes started to get heavy. There was only this bed, nothing to cut the tension that hung between the two of you on lonely nights. 

Ni-ki’s deep laugh echoed next to you, sending a jolt down your back. You shifted on the bed, taking another bite of food before standing up. “It’s getting late.”

Ni-ki nodded, “Yeah, we should sleep.”

You stared at each other for a second, unsure how to navigate the new situation. “I guess I’ll shower first?”

He nodded again, eyes darting away and back to you, “Sounds good.”

You bit your lip slightly and grabbed your bag before heading to the bathroom. You heard him start to clean up the food as you closed the door.

You showered quickly, too anxious to enjoy it properly. You opened your bag to get your sleep shirt, and after a few seconds of digging, realized with horror that you had forgotten it in the dorms. You looked through your other clothes, but none of them were baggy enough to be comfortable for sleeping. You sighed, putting on your sleep shorts (that you thankfully remembered), and wrapping a towel around your chest. 

You cracked open the door to the bathroom and found Ni-ki lounging comfortably on the bed, his head propped on the raised arm behind his head. “Ni-ki?”

He glanced up, his eyes widening slightly when he saw the towel you clutched to your chest.

“Could I borrow one of your shirts? I forgot mine.”

His eyes got even wider, but he didn’t waste a second. “Yeah, totally.” He went to his bag and grabbed a large black t-shirt, tossing it to you, his eyes avoiding you like the wrong side of a magnet.

“Thanks,” you stammered, quickly closing the door behind you. You leaned against the door, cursing yourself for the second time that day. Of all days, you chose this one to be forgetful?

You removed the towel and pulled Ni-ki’s shirt over your head. It was huge, falling low enough to cover your thighs. Unable to resist your curiosity, you sniffed it slightly. It smelled like him, well, like his perfume at least. Mandarin and basil, a calming scent you’d always liked on him. 

You finished up in the bathroom and cracked the door open slowly, avoiding Ni-ki’s eyes as you set your bag back in its corner. But you felt his gaze on your back the entire time, dragging down your back and legs. You felt it like a physical touch, a warm caress down your hot skin. It made you shiver.

You let your eyes glance up as you crawled under the covers. He was staring, but clearly trying very hard not to. He ran a hand through his honey-colored hair and stood up almost as soon as you sat down, like he couldn’t stand to be near you. Without a word, he grabbed his stuff and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

You scrolled on Weverse as you listened to the shower run, replying to posts and comments. It was the only thing that kept your mind off the feeling of Ni-ki’s shirt on your skin, and what you would do if Ni-ki’s legs brushed against yours in the night…

The shower stopped, and a few minutes later, the door opened. Ni-ki walked out with his hair damp, a towel resting on his shoulder over a white tank top. His boxers hung low on his hips, revealing the top of his V-line. You dragged your eyes away, feeling heat creep up your neck. 

He rubbed his hair with the towel one more time and climbed into bed. The space was even smaller than you anticipated. If you shifted your legs more than a few inches, you knew you’d brush against him. You could feel his body heat already sinking into your skin, making the covers feel hot and stifling. You felt the urge to throw the covers back, but you felt strange being so exposed. The sheets were the only thing between your bare skin and Ni-ki’s gaze. 

Ni-ki scrolled on his phone beside you, chuckling at random TikToks. You were looking at your phone, but your mind was fully concentrated on the proximity of Ni-ki’s elbow to your shoulder. You shifted to give yourself more room.

He looked over, “Comfortable?”

You smiled, “Yeah, just warm.”

He glanced down, “You can take off your shorts if you want, I don’t mind.”

You bit your lip. Maybe he didn’t mind, but you weren’t so sure you didn’t. But the longer Ni-ki looked at you, the warmer you got, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you were practically melting. 

“Ok…” You slipped off your shorts from under the sheets, leaving yourself in nothing but underwear. 

You looked at him, and he quickly glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. You swore you could see a hint of red on his cheeks…

You bit your lip, “I’m going to turn off the lights now.”

He nodded, eyes locked on his phone.

You turned off the lamp on your side table, and he turned off his, plunging the room into darkness. The glow of Ni-ki’s screen was the only light in the room, and you turned so your back was to him. 

A few minutes later, Ni-ki put his phone on the bedside table and turned on his side. You felt his breath ghosting the back of your neck, and heard him inhale sharply. “You smell good.”

His voice was so quiet you thought you were hearing things, “What?”

“You smell really good.” 

You were not hearing things.

He moved slightly closer.

“It’s probably my shampoo,” you whispered. 

“I like it.”

“Thanks.”

His breath was hot on your neck, and you put all of your energy into keeping your heart rate steady. You thought he would touch you; you realized you wanted him to.

But he didn’t, and ten minutes later, the quiet sounds of his breathing filled the room. 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. What were you thinking? This was better anyway, you wouldn’t want to make things…awkward in the group. But you couldn’t help but acknowledge the hint of disappointment that sat heavy in your gut. 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, letting the tension slip off your shoulders as the softness of the mattress sank under you. You listened to the quiet sounds of Ni-ki’s breathing and slowly slipped into sleep.

After what felt like hours, you were awoken by the heat of your skin and a thin layer of sweat on your neck. You were hot. One of your legs was thrown over the top of the covers, your bare skin exposed to the room. You were curled forward slightly, hugging a bundle of sheets to your chest. 

And that’s when you noticed the arm wrapped around your waist. 

Ni-ki’s chest was pressed against your back, holding you close so your body molded around the curve of his torso. His face was buried in your hair, his lips brushing against your neck. His body heat flowed into you like a heater, setting your skin on fire for more than one reason. 

You shifted slightly, your arm ghosting over the one wrapped around your waist. Ni-ki made a sound and pulled you even closer, sighing deeply. 

You froze, unsure whether to move or keep still. You tentatively placed your hand over Ni-ki’s, stroking the skin slightly. 

He stirred again, “y/n,” he whispered. 

You tensed, your name falling from his lips like a confession, his voice low and rough with sleep. 

“Yeah?”

He burrowed his face between your neck and shoulder, “So warm,” he murmured.

You weren’t sure if he was just saying things or if he was awake. “Ni-ki?” You whispered.

No response.

A devious thought slipped into your head. You started to wonder how he would react if he were awake. You moved your leg, the one trapped under the covers, until it tangled with his. Then you interlaced your fingers, keeping his arm locked around your waist. 

You heard him exhale, and he squeezed your hand.

You moved again, this time lightly grinding against his crotch, which you felt pressed against your ass.

His arm moved, letting go of your hand and drifting away from your waist down your thigh. He traced the skin lightly, only brushing your hot skin with the tips of his fingers. Shivers raced down your spine, and you felt a slight pressure building in your core.

“Ni-ki?” You whispered.

His hand returned to your waist, this time slipping under your (his) shirt and resting on your bare stomach. His mouth went to your ear, “Did I tell you how good you look in my shirt?”

You smiled, “No.”

“You make me crazy.” He kissed your neck, his hair tickling your cheek as it fell across your skin. 

You sighed softly, your hand drifting up to his hair. You tried to turn over to face him, but his hand on your stomach held you in place, moving over to grip your hip. “Stay still for me.” his hand dipped lower, brushing over your panties that were already wet with your arousal. “Let me make you feel good.”

You grinded against him again, a quiet whimper slipping from your lips, “Ok.”

His other hand reached under and around you to grip your breast. He squeezed it slightly before brushing his thumb over the sensitive bud through the fabric, sending jolts of pleasure down your spine. His other hand cupped your core, his palm just barely rubbing against your clit.

You groaned, your whole body pressed against his chest as Ni-ki’s hands wandered over your body. Just light enough to make you whine with need. He held you tight, whispering quiet praise in your ears as you squirmed against him.

“I’ve wanted you for so long.” He said, his breath racing over your skin like fire. He continued to kiss your neck, working his way to the nape. He flicked out his tongue, wetting the skin. 

You moaned, “Ni-ki…”

“Shhh, baby, I’ve got you.” Without warning, he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin, making you gasp. You arched against him, drawing a groan from Ni-ki’s lips as you rubbed against his hard length pressing against you. He brought his mouth back to the aching spot, running his tongue along the wound and sucking softly. 

The pain mixed with pleasure, and you felt your walls start to clench around nothing. “Ni-ki, I need you, please.”

“Yeah? What do you need, baby? Use your words.”

“I-inside me, please-” You gasp as Ni-ki’s fingers dipped under your panties and into your folds in one fluid movement. The hand that had been playing with your nipple grasped the bottom of your shirt, pulling it up until your tits were exposed to the cold air of the room. He massaged one with his right hand and bent his head over your body to take the left one into his mouth, licking hungrily. His left hand continued its assault on your core, slightly dipping into your entrance and pulling out, never going where you needed him. 

You moved your arm to tangle in his hair, pushing his head down closer to your chest. A deep rumble vibrated from his throat as you pulled on his hair. The sound made your walls clench again, and you moved against Ni-ki’s hand, desperate to be filled.

His mouth left your breast with a wet pop, and he turned his head to capture your lips. The kiss was messy and desperate, his tongue slipping into your mouth with ease. You felt his finger finally duck fully through your entrance. You moaned, and his mouth swallowed it, the wet sounds of your tongues mixing with the sound of his finger squelching in your juices. 

He groaned with you and slipped in another finger, the stretch making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your mouth opened in a silent gasp as you felt your orgasm building. “I-I’m close.”

He picked up the pace of his fingers, “Let me hear your sounds y/n, you’re so pretty when you’re loud.” 

Your nails dug into his scalp as you felt the pressure build, your breathing turning into desperate gasps. Ni-ki watched your face as your orgasm ripped through you. Your eyes widened, your back arching against his chest. He kissed you through it, placing gentle marks up your neck and on your cheeks. The pleasure swept through you in waves, tingling and pulsing across your body. You stroked Ni-ki’s hair, breathing slowly as the pressure dissipated and settled. 

He removed his fingers from your hole, bringing them up to his lips and sucking softly, holding your gaze the whole time. Then he leaned down and kissed you, gently this time. You tasted yourself on his lips, and you sighed breathlessly against him. 

He pulled away and lay back down, pulling you tight against him. He kissed your neck, “My girl,” he whispered. 

You closed your eyes. The warmth from his body, paired with the exhaustion of your muscles, beckoned you back to sleep. Ni-ki traced slow circles on the bare skin of your stomach, murmuring into your ear as you drifted off with the feeling of his reverent hands drifting over your skin.

The next morning, you woke up to the feeling of warm sunlight on your face and a large hand holding yours. 

You slowly opened your eyes and found Ni-ki’s sleepy face staring back at you. His features were soft and relaxed, his hair messy and sticking up in every direction. You’d always thought Ni-ki was especially cute in the mornings.

Your hand rested next to your face, and he held it gently within his own, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. 

“You look so beautiful when you sleep.” He said, his eyes locked on yours.

You smiled teasingly, “You definitely have the best bedhead I’ve ever seen.”

He laughed and buried his face in his pillow.

You interlocked your fingers with his, bringing his hand up to your lips and kissing it softly.

He looked up, watching you like he couldn’t believe you were real. “So…” he said, his eyes darting nervously between your face and your interlocked hands.

“So…” You said back.

He reached out with his free hand and brushed a strand of hair out of your face. “Everything I said last night was true. I’ve wanted you from the moment I first saw you.”

You smiled, but it quickly faded when you thought about what awaited you outside of the bubble of the hotel room. “I just don’t want to hurt the group.” You whispered. 

He tilted your chin up with his hand, forcing you to look at him. “We won’t, not if we’re careful. You’re mine, and I’m yours. We’ve always known it, and ignoring it will only make it worse.”

You thought back to the numerous late nights spent eating ramen and laughing until you were both crying, the unspoken words you never dared acknowledge. You saw now that the two of you had always been on interweaving paths, paths that were inevitably set for collision. And now that you tasted the sparks, felt them race down your skin, you knew there was no going back.

You moved, crawling over him until you straddled his waist. His hands instinctively grabbed your hips, looking up at you with wide, hungry eyes. You leaned towards him slowly, “You’re mine, you said?” 

He smiled and met you halfway, his lips parting around yours. His hand ran through your hair, tugging slightly as he pulled back to whisper against your lips. “And I’m yours.”

he didn’t laugh. didn’t even smile at first.

sunghoon just stared, his eyes darker than before, jaw tight, lips… wet. 

then he pushed off the counter, closing the distance in one slow step. 

“yeah?” he murmured, voice rougher, dropping an octave lower… low enough that you swore it vibrated in your chest. sunghoon reached out, fingers brushing the brim of the—his—hat, adjusting it slightly so it sat better.

so he could see your pretty face clearer.

his thumb grazed your temple as he did. 

“looks better on you.” 

your breath caught. he was close again—too close—hand lingering near your face. you could feel the heat radiating off him, the faint scent of his musk and sweat filling every inch of space between you.

he didn’t step back.

he took a slow step forward—then another.

until your back met the wall with a soft thud, the cool wood at your spine contrasting to what’s warming you up in front of you. the hat tilted slightly on your head as you tipped it back to look up at him, and his eyes—heavy lidded—locked onto yours.

“r—really?” 

his hand dropped from the brim, trailing down the side of your neck, over the loose collar of his shirt on you, until his palm settled at your waist. fingers splayed wide—possessive—puling you in just a fraction closer.

then his hand went lower, skimming the curve of your hip, thumb pressing lightly into the dip above your shorts. 

you didn’t want to move.

your hands came up instantly, fingers curling into the front of his black shirt, feeling his heart thumping under your palms. 

sunghoon leaned in, forehead almost touching yours, breath warm against your lips. “you’ve been driving me crazy since i saw you in that car,” he said, voice low. “now you’re in my shirt, my hat—lookin’ like you belong here or somethin’.”

your lips parted, but no words came—just a soft, shaky exhale.

3. 'Toy story was emotional'

4. 'Trip down memory lane' (written + screenshots)

5. 'business casual' (written + screenshots)

6. '#YearnerMaleOnSpeaker' (written + screenshots)

7. 'Economy'

8. 'Woolies merch when?'

9. 'Hoon selca arc'

copyright ©hoonsocks 2025.

@uzmacchiato for divider credits :33

TAGLIST: ✦ OPEN! Comment or send an ask to be in the taglist >.<

"Ah." A single syllable, dripping with condescension. He didn't even look up. "The new girl."

Your grip tightened on your portfolio. "strategist. And I got the position on merit."

That made him glance up.

Mistake.

Dark eyes, sharper than the blade of a knife and twice as cutting, dragged over you in slow assessment. His lips—unfairly pink, unfairly soft-looking—curved into a smirk.

"Sure you did," he murmured, and took a leisurely sip of his coffee.

That was your first introduction to Park Sunghoon: nepotism incarnate, wrapped in a five-thousand-dollar suit and delivered with a smile that made you want to commit corporate murder. god he's so fucking insufferable.

daily warfare, or how the devil's incarnate moves along his day, went in different ways and each way always seemed to bite you in the ass.

Six months later, you'd become fluent in the language of Park Sunghoon's brand of absolute bullshit,

You knew, for example, that the faint twitch of his left eyebrow meant he was irritated but trying not to show it. That the way he drummed his fingers against his desk—once, twice, three times—meant he was debating whether to verbally humiliate you in front of the board of directors or just let HR handle it. That the slow, deliberate way he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves mid-argument was absolutely a power play, and absolutely working.

Today’s battlefield? The boardroom.

The boardroom's chilled air smelled like overpriced leather and subtle humiliation. You sat stiff backed across from Sunghoon, watching his manicured fingers tap against the conference table once, twice, three times, each dull thud syncing with your racing pulse. The glass walls reflected his silhouette back at you in fractured angles: crisp white shirt stretched across broad shoulders, silver cufflinks glinting like small victories.

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, the movement deliberately slow. "Your proposal," he began, voice smooth as the whiskey he probably drank straight from crystal glasses, "lacks…"

He paused. The bastard paused just to watch you lean forward.

"…originality." His polished shoe brushed against your ankle beneath the table. "But I suppose we shouldn't expect more from someone who needed three drafts to understand our brand vision."

Your pen cracked between clenched fingers. Ink bled across your notebook like a tiny rebellion. "Funny," you said sweetly, "coming from someone whose last 'brilliant idea' nearly cost us the mark account."

The temperature dropped several degrees. Across the table, Sunghoon's smile turned dangerous,p He unbuttoned his cuffs with deliberate, too casual movements, rolling up sleeves to reveal taut forearms corded with veins. His watch caught the light a gleaming Patek Philippe that probably—no, surely—cost more than your annual salary.

"I'd reconsider your tone," he murmured, leaning forward until his cologne wrapped around you sandalwood and something darker, more intoxicating. "Unless you'd prefer to spend the rest of this meeting in human resources?"

The threat hung between you, thick as the tension coiling in your stomach. You met his gaze without blinking. "Is that a promise or a threat, sunbaenim?" you spoke with mocking sweetness and the kind of tone that said you knew exactly what you were doing.

His knuckles whitened around his pen. The board members exchanged nervous glances. they were just background noise anyways Somewhere in the distance, a phone rang unanswered.

Sunghoon's lips curved into something predatory. "We'll see."

—because that's the thing with Park sunghoon, he knew you were difficult, hell he knew exactly the way you talked and how you loved to defy his very set rules, why didnt he fire you?

because he liked the exactly feeling of competition and banter rather than a spineless, ass kissing idiot he could've found anywhere he wanted.

As the meeting ended and the room cleared, you were acutely aware of Sunghoon's eyes still burning into you. You clenched your fists, determined not to let him see how much he was getting under your skin.

But as much as you hated to admit it, there was something about his cocky arrogance and the way he casually crossed his legs in that expensive suit that made your pulse race and your thighs clench against eachother.

Sunghoon finally stood, closing the distance between you in a few confident strides. He leaned against the edge of the conference table, looking down at you in a way that made it clear who had the power here.

"Not bad for a newbie," he said in a smooth, arrogant tone. "I've seen worse from people who've been here for years."

You bit your tongue, itching to snap back with something feisty. But instead, you just nodded coolly, refusing to let him see how much his condescension bothered you. "I guess I've just got a talent for exceeding expectations."

Sunghoon's eyes flicked over you, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Talent, or arrogance?"

You don't seem to mind either

You’d learned three things about Park Sunghoon:

He hated being ignored.

He loved riling you up.

The feeling was mutual.

It became a game.

A vicious, exhausting, utterly exhilarating game.

You started small.

An email sent to his personal account instead of his work one—"Oops, must've clicked the wrong Park in contacts!"—just to watch his jaw tighten in the glass-walled fishbowl of his corner office. A coffee order "accidentally" switched to decaf right before his big presentation. The way you'd hum under your breath when he walked by, knowing damn well he despised any noise interrupting his precious silence.

Sunghoon retaliated in kind.

He "forgot" to CC you on the account updates—twice—forcing you to scramble last minute when the client asked questions you weren’t briefed on? he had schedule meetings in Conference Room B, the one with the broken AC, knowing you ran hot and would be sweating through your blouse within minutes. And worst of all?

The sticky notes.

Oh, God, the fucking sticky notes.

Every draft you submitted came back littered with them in his disgustingly neat handwriting. "Uninspired." "Derivative." "Did you even research the demographic?" Once, just to piss you off, he’d slapped a single yellow square on a 40-page proposal with nothing but:

❝ Try harder. ❞

you were gonna rip it the fuck out.

It started with small incidents, incidents that led you to believe that Park sunghoon was truly a son of a bitch.

You were not a morning person.

This was a fact everyone in the office knew, respected, and—most importantly—accommodated. Everyone except him.

Sunghoon seemed to take personal offense to your need for caffeine before 9 AM. He’d schedule 8:30 AM "check-ins" just to watch you stumble in, bleary eyed, while he sat there looking like he’d been awake since dawn—skin glowing, hair perfectly tousled, that fucking smile playing on his face and hi suit crisp as if he’d just stepped out of a damn magazine.

One Tuesday, after another soul crushing early meeting, you shuffled into the break room, desperate for coffee—only to find all the carafes empty.

You were going to murder someone.

You glared across the counter at the coffee machine, your brain still half asleep and incapable of processing the atrocity being committed against your morning cup of joe.

The way Sunghoon's perfectly manicured fingers tapped rhythmically against the marble countertop made your eye twitch. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal forearms with lean muscle, the silver cufflinks glinting mockingly under the fluorescent lights. "You could just," he pulled back, nodding toward the industrial coffee machine that took fifteen minutes to brew a full pot, "make some more."

You resisted the urge to throw the empty glass carafe at his stupidly handsome face. "Or," you countered sweetly, "you could admit you sabotaged the morning brew because you get off on watching me suffer."

His smirk deepened, those dark eyes glittering with amusement. "Wouldn't you like to know what I get off on?" The low timbre of his voice sent a disgusting shiver down your spine. Before you could think of a response, he straightened his tie and walked off toward the elevator, calling over his shoulder, "Boardroom. Five minutes. Don't be late—again."

The bastard had the audacity to take the last coffee pod from the machine on his way out.

Then came wednesday, the client meeting ambush.

Wednesday's meeting with the Choi Group should have been yours to lead. You had prepped for weeks, memorized every statistic, rehearsed your presentation until your throat went absolutely raw. But when you arrived at the conference room ten minutes early (take that, you motherfucker), you found him already seated at the head of the table, casually flipping through your meticulously prepared folder.

"Ah, there you are," he said without looking up, as if you were the one running late. "I took the liberty of reviewing your materials. Thought they could use… refinement."

Mr. Choi and his associates arrived before you could strangle Sunghoon with his own silk tie. What followed was the most humiliating hour of your professional life—Sunghoon deftly fielding every question you'd prepared to answer, casually inserting comments that made it seem like your work was merely adding to his "vision," all while maintaining eye contact with you in a way that promised this was far from over, and you knew that he would not stop.

then came the birthday Incident and you were convinced you'd either loose the job by quitting or committing murder.

You never told anyone when your birthday was. Which made it all the more unsettling when a suspiciously familiar black gift box appeared on your desk Friday morning.

Inside lay a single item: A beautifully crafted pen—engraved with the words "For when you run out of excuses."

The note card simply read: "Try harder."

It was signed with his initials. PSH.

You nearly snapped the pen in half.

Instead, you used it to draft the most scathing email of your career—CC'ing his father, the CEO, and half the board for good measure.

His responding text came through immediately:

"Finally. Some fire."

You threw your phone across the bed.

The annual Black Diamond Charity Gala was supposed to be your night.

You had spent weeks preparing—perfecting your pitch for the new campaign, memorizing every detail of the investors portfolios, even practicing your fucking smile in the mirror until it looked effortless. This was your chance to prove yourself without sunghoon breathing down your neck.

Of course, fate had other plans.

You spotted him the moment you walked in.

Sunghoon stood near the champagne tower like some kind of goddamn romance novel cover model, black tuxedo hugging every sharp line of his body. His bow tie was slightly askew, as if he couldn’t be bothered to tighten it properly, and his hair—usually meticulously styled—looked like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times.

Disgustingly, it worked for him.

You avoided him for the first hour.

Then the seating chart betrayed you.

Some demonic force (probably HR) had placed you right next to him at the investor table.

Sunghoon didn’t even glance your way as you sat down. Just sipped his whiskey with that infuriating half smirk, gaze fixed ahead like you weren’t worth acknowledging.

Fine.

You could play that game too.

The night progressed. Investors laughed. Speeches were made. And through it all, Sunghoon remained a statue beside you—never looking, never speaking, but there, his presence like a branding iron against your skin.

Until it happened.

The moment that finally snapped your patience.

You were mid conversation with Mrs. Kwon, the lead investor, when Sunghoon casually leaned forward and corrected one of your figures.

Not outright.

Not loudly.

Just a murmur, "Actually, the conversion rate was closer to 12.8%, not 15."

As if you hadn’t spent dats crunching those numbers? As if you hadn't lost sleep perfecting everything just so this wouldn't happen—so he wouldn't happen.

Your grip on your wineglass tightened.

Mrs. Kwon raised an eyebrow. "Oh? I thought the report said—"

Sunghoon shrugged his shoulders innocently.

That was it.

That was the final straw.

Because all you really could do was smile and nod and pretend that Park sunghoon hadn't ruined a weeks worth of preparation.

The rest of the gala passed in a blur of forced smiles and clenched teeth. You made it through dessert, through the charity auction, through the endless small talk—all while feeling Sunghoon’s gaze burning into you like a brand.

When you finally couldn’t take it anymore, you slipped away.

The rooftop terrace was empty, the cold night air biting against your skin. You gripped the railing, knuckles white, and let out a slow, shuddering breath.

Footsteps echoed behind you.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

"Running away?" Sunghoon’s voice was low, taunting. "That’s new."

You whirled on him.

"okay genuinely what the fuck is your problem?!"

The words tore out of you, raw and unfiltered.

Sunghoon didn’t flinch. Just watched you with those dark, unreadable eyes, his jaw tightening slightly.

"You humiliate me in meetings. You undermine my work. You sabotage me at every fucking turn—for what?" Your voice cracked. "What the fuck did I ever do to you?"

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then—

"Because you fight back"

The admission hung between you, sharp as a blade. It was so fucking selfish, so unreasonable, perfectly what you would expect from the park sunghoon.

Sunghoon stepped closer, his body crowding yours against the railing. His cologne—sandalwood and something darker—wrapped around you, intoxicating.

"You don’t grovel," he murmured, voice rough. "You don’t beg. You look me in the eye and dare me to break you." His gaze dropped to your mouth. "No one does that."

Your pulse roared in your ears.

And then—

His lips crashed against yours.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was revenge, it was punishment, it was months of pent up fury exploding between you in the form of teeth and tongue and bruising hands.

You bit his lip.

He groaned, gripping your waist hard enough to leave marks.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this was a terrible idea.

You couldn't care less.

Sunghoon pinned you against the glass wall, his hips grinding into yours, a low moan rumbling through his chest. Every nerve in your body was on fire, his hands searing hot through the fabric of your dress, his mouth leaving a trail of fire across your skin. You clawed at his shoulders, nails digging into the expensive material like you could somehow mark him in return, like you could brand him the way he was branding you.

His breath was ragged against your neck, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your pulse point.

His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat. The sting made you gasp out loud, but you didn’t pull away—no, you arched into it, your body betraying you with how much you craved his roughness. Sunghoon’s lips curled against your skin, savoring your reaction. "Always knew you’d look prettier like this," he murmured, voice thick with desire. "Begging for it." he groaned,

"Fuck you," you hissed, but the bite wasnt there, no it was ruined by the way your thighs clenched together, the slick heat between them undeniable.

Sunghoon noticed. Of course he did.

With a slow, deliberate drag of his knuckles down your side, he hooked his fingers into the slit of your dress, tearing the fabric higher with a single, brutal tug. The cold air hit your bare skin, but his hands were hotter—calloused palms sliding up your thigh, his thumb pressing just there, where you were already throbbing.

"Say it again," he dared, lips brushing your earlobe. His fingers teased, circling but not touching where you needed him most. "Tell me to stop."

You could’ve killed him.

Instead, you grabbed his wrist and shoved his hand against you.

Sunghoon’s laugh was filthy. "that’s what I’ve been waiting for."

His mouth crashed onto yours again, swallowing your moan as his fingers finally—finally—pushed past the lace of your panties, plunging deep. The stretch burned, his touch unforgiving—and so fucking good—as he worked you with ruthless precision. "All those fucking meetings," he growled, curling his fingers just so, making your knees buckle. "All those times you looked at me with those lips—"

A broken whimper escaped you as he added a third finger, his pace relentless.

"Say it." His teeth grazed your jaw. "Tell me you thought about this."

You couldn’t. The words lodged in your throat, drowned out by the blood roaring in your ears.

Sunghoon didn’t care. He twisted his wrist, pressing harder, dragging you closer to the edge with every thrust. "Knew it," he muttered triumphantly, watching your lashes flutter. "Knew you loved it."

It should’ve pissed you off.

Instead, the words shattered your control. You gripped his biceps, fingernails carving crescents into his skin as pleasure coiled tighter in your core. "You’re—"

"I'm what?" He murmured his lips hovered just above yours. He knew you were close, could see it in the ragged gasps escaping you. And he was relishing every second of it.

His hand tightened in your hair as he dragged you back from the railing, your stilettos scraping against concrete as he maneuvered you toward the secluded alcove where shadows swallowed the terrace's ambient lighting.

Sunghoon didn't ask. Didn't hesitate.

Who knew the devil's incarnate had such a high sex drive?

His fingers tightened around your wrist as he pulled you into the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind you both with a soft chime. The second you were alone, his mouth crashed into yours again—hot, hungry, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you gasped into him, not boyhering to stop and wait for the floor.

His penthouse was exactly what you expected—cold marble, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, sleek black furniture that looked untouched, fake plants and fruit that were so unessecary Pretentious bastard.

You barely had time to take it in before his hands were on you again, shoving you back against the nearest wall, his knee pressing between your thighs.

"How long?" His voice was rough, wrecked, his fingers tangling in the ruined fabric of your dress. "How long have you wanted this?" He tilted your head to the side, "Go on, dont be shy now."

You bit back a moan as his teeth grazed your neck. "Fuck you." You said knowing damn well that the defiance playing on your lips was nothing but invitation to his own personal opinion of punishment.

Sunghoon laughed—dark, unamused—before gripping your waist and flipping you around, pressing your front against the glass—the oh so cold glass—the city sprawled beneath you, dizzying and bright, but all you could focus on was his reflection behind you—those sharp eyes locked onto yours as his hands slid up your thighs, dragging your ruined dress up with them.

“Wrong answer,” he murmured.

Then his fingers hooked into your panties and ripped.

You gasped loudly as cool air hit your bare clit, but his hands were already there—hot and possessive—palming your ass before delivering a sharp, stinging slap.

“Try again.”

“Months,” you admitted through gritted teeth, arching back into his touch. “God, months—”

A small chuckle left his lips and that gave him all the confirmation that he needed.

The next thing you knew, you were being lifted, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carried you through the penthouse, never once breaking the kiss. He dumped you onto the bed—his bed, massive and draped in black silk—and followed you down in one smooth motion, his body caging yours beneath him.

Sunghoon didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

His hands told you everything—mapping your body like he was memorizing it, tracing every dip and curve before finally—finally pulling back to unbuckle his belt and you swore you almost left a squeal.

because sunghoon was big. unfairly big, the kind of big that made your eyes widen and realise exactly why he had such an ego.

This time, he took his time.

"You've been driving me insane," he snarled against your ear, hands working his belt with sharp, efficient movements. The clink of metal, the slide of leather—your breath hitched. "Months of your smart mouth, your fucking defiance—"

The slow drag of his cock was torture, every inch deliberate, every thrust calculated

The first push stole your voice. You just gasped like he had shown you heaven.

Sunghoon filled you in one brutal stroke, sheathing himself to the hilt with a groan that vibrated through your spine. No preparation, no mercy—just the unreal stretch of him splitting you open, your body clamping down around the intrusion instinctively.

"Fuck—" Your nails desperately searching to grip something, anything, the pain or pleasure cocktail flooding your veins. "You—ah!—bastard—"

His hips snapped forward, cutting off your insult with a gasp. "Say it again." A hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back as he set a punishing rhythm. "I want to hear you curse me while you get off on my cock,"

The vulgarity should've shocked you. Instead, it coiled tight in your belly, your back arching to meet his thrusts. Sunghoon's free hand groped roughly beneath your dress, fingers pinching your nipple through lace before sliding down to rub harsh circles over your clit.

"Look at you," he breathed, voice wrecked. "Look at yhis sweet pussy taking my cock you were fucking made for me." His teeth sank into your shoulder—possessive, claiming—as his pace turned erratic. "Gonna ruin you for anyone else."

Tears blurred your vision as his cock punched into you again—deep, so fucking deep you swore could feel him in your throat—your thighs trembling around his hips as he fucked you with relentless, punishing strokes.

"I hate you," you choked out, but the words cracked on a moan as his thumb circled your clit just right, your body betraying you with how greedily you clenched around him.

Sunghoon laughed—the bastard laughed—breathless and dark, his fingers tightening in your hair as he dragged your head back further, forcing your spine into a brutal arch. "Yeah?"

Another snap of his hips, the slap of skin echoing off the penthouse walls. "Then why’s this perfect cunt sucking me in like it’s starving for it?"

You couldn’t answer—couldn’t think—not when he was right there, hitting that spot inside you with every thrust, your nails scrambling for purchase on the sheets.

"Tell me," he murmured his free hand squeezing your throat just enough to make your pulse hammer against his palm. thrust "tell me" thrust "you–" thrust "hate me—"

"I-I hate you!" you sobbed, the lie ripped from you as your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, your walls fluttering around him in violent spasms. Sunghoon cursed filthily, his rhythm stuttering as he chased his own release, his teeth sinking into your shoulder to muffle a groan.

"Fuck—fuck—" His hips jerked erratically, burying himself to the hilt as he came, his cum flooding you in hot, thick pulses.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing and the wet drip of him pulling out.

Then—

Sunghoon rolled onto his back beside you, one arm flung over his eyes, his chest still heaving. "…I’ll see you Monday," he muttered, voice wrecked.

You threw a pillow at his head.

He caught it without looking, his smirk audible, "Definitely Monday."

ty for reading!

*⁀➷perm taglist! comment to be added or removed 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 (if i missed anyone im so sorry)

@sweethoons @gyuzies

Even before getting any experience, he'd been aware of just how comically large his dick was. He'd known ever since he had to go out of his way to search for porn with ‘massive cock!’ in the title for it to look anything like his, and even then he often found himself thinking they had to be exaggerating a bit for the sake of clicks.

Turns out, the comparison with real life average sizes is even more ridiculous.

He knows it sounds silly, there are hordes of men out there that would pay good money to swap places with him—his dear friend Jake being the first in line.

Sunghoon still cringes when he remembers the first time he'd oh so innocently asked Jake for his opinion on the matter. Truthfully, all he wanted to hear from his bleached blonde friend was some reassurance, maybe how it was all in his head, or how at the end of the day the right person would love and appreciate every part of him no matter what, or whatever you tell people in situations like these. His first mistake was believing Jake out of all his friends would do the most tactful thing.

“That thing’s like—fucking huge!” Jake shrieked, grabbing Sunghoon’s phone out of his hands, every protest falling on deaf ears. “There’s no fucking way, man.”

“It’s not that b—” Sunghoon tries to speak, but Jake stops him before he even gets a sentence in, calling Jay’s name at the top of his lungs. 

“What are you—”

“WHAT,” Jay yells back from the kitchen, over the deafening sound of the food processor in use, annoyed by Jake’s continuous interruptions that day. Of which at least four were to show him some nasty looking recipe he found on tiktok.

“You gotta come take a look at this!”

At the time, Sunghoon was still vaguely uncomfortable around Jay. He was nice enough, and he was a great roommate, so there was that at least. It was a good trade off because the other option was staying at the way too crowded shitty dorms, and he liked the privacy that this deal got him. He wasn't always on board with it, Jake had to talk him into it when high school ended, but he swore him and Jay would be the bestest of friends if only he could let his reservations behind for a little, at least give him a chance.

Sunghoon moved away halfway through the second year of high school, and for a while it felt like Jay had swapped places with him and taken the life he was supposed to live for himself. First his best friend, Jake. Then the girl of his dreams, the one he never found the courage to confess to, you.

Thing is, while Sunghoon could recognize Jay had done absolutely nothing wrong to him per se, he still felt betrayed by him in a way. Truly it was just envy.

The food processor comes to an abrupt halt, and all that can be heard from the other room is a deep sigh, followed by the sound of dragged footsteps as their tall friend walks into the messy—in the way only college boys living spaces can be—living room with resignation. “Fine. But this better have nothing to do with Cheetos or tacos.” 

“Much better.” Jake winks at him, nudging Sunghoon’s hands away with his elbow, the younger hissing in pain. “Behold,” he turns the phone towards an unassuming Jay, aware of the fact he's about to change the older's view of Sunghoon forever.“Sunghoon’s monster of a cock.”

Jay’s hands stop on his apron, (the ridiculous one with a bodybuilder torso and cheetah boxers Jungwon got him for a secret Santa) and his mouth hangs open for a second too long, before he comes back to his senses and notices how Sunghoon slumps back on the couch, cheeks burning red. Jay swats the phone out of Jake’s hand. “What the fuck is your problem, dude.”

“What? I’m just saying it’s way larger than average!”

“He’s uncomfortable.” Jay says, going back to drying his hands on the apron. “Leave him be.”

This only makes Sunghoon’s cheeks redder, his ears a bright pink too. Jake scoffs, eyeing him suspiciously. “Sure. I’m sure having a porn star cock must be so mortifying. Who even complains about stuff like this?” he snickers before making his voice a pitch higher. “‘Poor me! My dick’s too heavy! What will I do!”

“Oh my god,” Sunghoon runs a hand through his hair, pulling the ends a bit. “It is not that big.” He looks at Jay for support, expecting him to disagree with Jake.

Jay’s gaze falters to his pants for a split second. His mouth twists but he remains silent.

“Not you too.” Sunghoon's hands now hold his face as he sinks into the cushions further, legs spreading. “Just say what you wanna say.”

“I mean…” Jay gestures towards Sunghoon's crotch. “I suspected you were big but… that’s crazy, man.”

“It’s not that cra—”

“Yes it is! You’ve got a fucking gas storage tank in your pants and you wanna sit here and tell us it’s not crazy?” Jake says, exasperated by that point. “And stop playing dumb. It’s big. That’s good. I’m sure the ladies go crazy over it. Or the gentlemen. Or whoever it is you fuck.” He kisses his teeth, muttering under his breath. “Lucky bastard.”

“Jake’s right, Hoon. I don’t know why you're so… negative about it. It's a good thing."

“I wouldn’t know,” Sunghoon mutters under breath, more to himself than to the guys, but it’s still loud enough for them to catch it.

“Oh? Then whenever the time comes, you’ll see how much they’ll love it,” Jay says.

"I'm just worried." Sunghoon tries his best to avoid both sets of eyes staring intently at him. "What… what if I end up hurting someone?"

Jake coos, then moves closer to Sunghoon on the couch, his breath fanning over his ear as he whispers, “Always so concerned about other people. Aren't you such a cutie pie?”

The boys weren't exactly wrong, but with big dick come great responsibilities—as Jake said. Yup, roll your eyes at him, not Sunghoon. He's innocent—like having to finger and eat out your partners for what feels like an eternity before even trying to push the tip in, which is not exactly the best situation to be in as a virgin. Current Sunghoon thinks that's the best part, but it took a while to get here.

Sunghoon has always been a very patient man though, a gentle giant in every sense of the phrase. The last thing he would ever want to do is inflict pain accidentally on another human being.

When he got his first actual girlfriend, he'd been so nervous and honestly quite scared to have sex with her. So he got on Google whenever he had free time to study ways to make it as comfortable as possible, watching all kinds of video explanations or reading through feminine pleasure blogs written by women for women specifically, because that's where Jay told him the good stuff was at.

By the time he got to actually have sex with her, his mind was so overwhelmed by all this information that he essentially forgot how to even think. It was anything but romantic, so deeply embarrassing Sunghoon still cringes even after all this time when his mind betrays him and reminds him of it while trying to fall asleep at night.

And then, to add insult to injury, his girlfriend cheated on him and left him for this guy she'd only just met, because 'it might not be as big, but at least he knows how to use it'.

Heartbroken and with an hurt ego, Sunghoon did that thing all boys do when their first relationship doesn't work out: hit the gym and promise themselves they're never gonna fall in love ever again.

That second part ended up failing, because from the moment you showed up at his doorstep to visit (your now ex boyfriend, but a beloved friend nonetheless) Jay and Jake, five different bags around you, with eyes as big as saucers and staring at him like he had invaded his own apartment, all the feelings younger Sunghoon had for you hit him like a brick to his nape all over again.

You two dating came as a shock to everyone around you, mostly because while you were aware of Park Sunghoon's existence and vice versa, you'd never given it too much thought. You remembered him as the scrawny kid with the cute moles from math that you used to always catch staring. He was often around Jungwon because they were neighbors, but was way too shy to even say hi to you. That, and he was also always around Jake—who you were not exactly fond of, given his reputation—so you steered clear of him when you could manage to.

Then, when the third year of high school started, you stopped seeing him around, and Jungwon told you he had moved away to follow his dad's business. You wouldn't admit it at the time but the hallways seemed duller than usual for a few days, but that probably was also due to Jake not being as loud and energetic with his best friend gone.

Last year of high school, you went on a few dates with Jay from history class, and while he was the closest you have ever thought a man to be perfect, you both agreed you worked better as friends than anything more. Usually that means 'you're cool but I'm gonna try my best to not have to say hi to you if I see you around', but Jay is so wonderful, you actually kept in touch and became quite close, even if platonically.

By the time the year ended, you had a very tight group of friends consisting of yourself, Jungwon, Jay, and even Jake—who, for the record, isn't nearly as bad as all the crazy rumors make him out to be. It saddened you that it took so long to find your group, but you were grateful you had one nonetheless, a lot of people never get that luxury, so you weren't about to let a little graduation get in between you all. You spent a good five days consoling Jake that no, no one was going anywhere and yes, you will all be best friends for life.

But then college started, and it became difficult to stay in touch because Jay and Jake had to move. Jake reassured you that you and Jungwon would be more than welcome to visit and stay over at their apartment—which you found funny because that is technically not Jake's apartment at all, at least not until Hoon moved in too and the three of them started sharing the costs, but he has a way of making every place he steps foot in his, like he's meant to be there, so Jay let it slide.

So the first thing you did when you finally had some free time was getting on the cheapest flight available to go visit your friends. Heavy luggage in hand and stained sweatpants on, you were dumbfounded when the one who opened the door for you was none other than Park Sunghoon, and not Jay like you expected.

He was no longer the shy kid you remembered him to be, and he had grown nicely into his features, his hair now a jet back instead of the brown you were accustomed to see. Over those two weeks you realized that while you have know Sunghoon all your life, you had never really seen him, and it made you want to go back in time and hand a little paper note to the shy boy always staring at you during class.

Your head sinks further into your pillow with a whine, the case enveloping it sporting gray spots of wetness, where your tears and drool had accumulated over the last torturous half an hour Sunghoon spent fucking you open with his fingers. You don't know what he means, because you feel like you could take his entire fist by now, that's how wet you are. If your pillowcase is such a mess, you don't even wanna think about what your bed sheets look like.

"I can– take you," you protest, breath hitching mid sentence at a particularly deep curl of his fingers inside you.

"Yeah?" Sunghoon quirks an eyebrow at you, moving his thumb to suddenly hover over your clit. It's not a full touch, nor does he really move it from there, but just the expectation of it has your walls involuntary flutter around his digits. A wicked grin overtakes his face, in a way you think it would clash with his prince-like features. But it looks right at home on him, the canines poking out only adding to his devilish charm.

"Then what's this? Gripping me even tighter," he says against your lips again, like he can't pick between kissing you or speaking, like anything he does he needs to do it with your taste on his mouth. He shakes his head, pouting at you before you get the chance to retort. "Squeeze me this tight when I'm inside you, and I'll believe you're trying to push me out, baby."

The press of his length against your thigh doesn't help, and when your eyes roll to the back of your head, half the reason is the new spot he's now reaching making you see stars, the other is your frustration with him. You know he's huge, and you know he cares about your comfort above all, but a little sting as he bottoms out inside you would be a hundred times better than the 'prep' he's subjecting you to. It took so long to even get here, and now he plans on making you wait even more? You have half the idea to push him off of you and get on top of him, take what's yours. If he's not gonna believe you can take him, you might as well just show him.

Of course, that wouldn't work, because Sunghoon is infinitely stronger than you are and the only thing you would accomplish is looking stupid thrashing under him as he keeps you pinned down. Probably with one arm only too, to really get his point across.

"Add another finger then." There's a certain bark in your tone that makes him chuckle. That's all it is: bark and no bite. You can do nothing but demand, and demand, and demand again, but if he's not willing to give it to you, there is close to nothing you can do about it. And it makes Sunghoon's cock twitch against the slick skin of your thighs. He loves knowing he has you at his mercy.

"Woah!" he gasps, and the fake surprise only irritates you further. Or at least that's what you tell yourself, because Sunghoon doesn't miss the way you clench around his fingers whenever he talks to you like this. "Missy, you're so bratty today… where are your manners?"

The retort is ready on your tongue, but the words mold into a surprised hiss when he actually prods your hole with a third digit, feeling around for a way to slowly ease it into you. You fear it won't be as easy as you hoped, but you also don't want to back down now that he's giving in.

"Just put it in." You angle your hips to give Sunghoon easier access.

"Easy there." He leans back on his knees, and you hate how you're so needy. Even when he's still so close, fingers pumping in and out of you at a torturous pace, you crave for every inch of your body to be touched by his, for your breaths to mingle for as long as possible. You wonder how it's possible to miss someone who's right in front of you, but your heart yearns to hear the rhythmic beat of his own against your chest all the same.

You don't get to dwell on it too long, because the sensation of something wet dribbling right where Sunghoon's fingers meet you rips you out of your thoughts.

It takes a few seconds for you to realize what's happening, but when it sinks in, your mouth slowly hangs open in a moan, eyes closed to relish the feeling.

"You like that?" Sunghoon asks, and for once you can't bring yourself to care about the cockiness in his tone. In fact, it's the last thing you could care about—not when his digits are working to spread his spit all over you, and his third finger is slowly making its way inside you right next to the others. It's a tight fit, and Sunghoon can't really move his fingers like he wishes to, but it'll do for now. He can always do it over and over again until you're ready, as long as you keep making those faces for him. "Look at you," he continues. "You were so demanding earlier, now you're falling apart and I'm barely just getting started."

You clench around him hard, body all tensed up as you accommodate the sudden change in thickness.

Sunghoon bends down again when he notices you're not easing up, trailing his way back up your body with pecks, giving you a few on your lips once he reaches your face. "Does it burn, baby?" he asks, the playful edge in his tone from earlier completely gone, smoothed down to the usual soft timbre you love so much. "Do you want me to take it out? I'll make you cum with two fingers, it's okay."

You shake your head. The stretch does burn, but you also want to prove to him that you can take him.

"You sure?" The murmur vibrates against your ear, the sound of his voice close enough to have you arching your back, pushing your stomach against his harder figure. If you had any sort of reservation about continuing, it's totally gone now. His insistence to make you comfortable always ignites pure want in you.

You nod, but your eyes are still screwed shut because of the burn, so it's not enough for Sunghoon to let go yet.

He slows down his movements, trying to help you out, but the whine you let out is enough to let him know you actually want what he's giving you and more. Still, he needs to hear it. "Use your big girl words, I know you can."

"Wanna keep going."

"Aaand?"

"Please, Hoon." You know you're far gone when you don't even care about how whiny you sound, you would get onto your knees and beg if he asked you to right then. You would want to forget about it right after, but still, you would do it in a heartbeat.

Thankfully, your boyfriend is very nice to you, so 'please and thank you's are enough to keep him satiated, at least for now.

"Good girl."

The praise goes straight to your cunt, further tightening the grip you have on his fingers. Sunghoon is flattered, but that's not what you need in that moment. So he reminds you.

"Take deep breaths, baby. It's only gonna hurt more if you don't ease up."

"Hoon, want more."

"I know baby, I know. But it'll feel better if you stop tensing up. Here, follow my breaths and let go." He kisses both of your shut eyelids. "Eyes on me, pretty. Okay?"

You obey him like it's second nature, but when you open your eyes and you're met with the downright angelic sight of your boyfriend, black strands of hair framing his face and his chain dangling slightly from his neck, you don't understand how you're supposed to calm down. He starts taking deep breaths, ones you try your best to mirror. And despite what you thought, the focus on your chest rising and falling and the warmth in Sunghoon's eyes does make the stretch a lot better. You were enjoying yourself before too, all things considered. Now it's different, you're struggling to keep your sounds in, and any other time you would be mortified by how much wetness is seeping out of your cunt, but Sunghoon's presence is relaxing in a way no one else's has ever been for you.

The more you explore each other's bodies, the more you start to think that maybe, just maybe, there is not a single thing you could do with Sunghoon that you would ever regret. The safety of a judgment free zone with someone who obviously cares deeply for you makes the experience so much better than you could have ever imagined. What other people did to you, no matter how pleasurable, just didn't measure up to what Sunghoon does with you. And you haven't even gone all the way in.

"Theeere we go, see how much better it feels when you're not being a brat?"

Sunghoon is careful with you, watching your every reaction and studying your expressions so he can learn exactly what makes crumble and what brings you closer to the edge, what makes you forget you have to breathe and when to pause so he can drag your pleasure out for as long as he wants, for as long as you can handle. His cock is rock hard, casually rutting against you from time to time. You have half a mind to reach into his boxers and help him out, but you're not sure you could do a good enough job at it, not when he's starting to bend the tips of his fingers to reach right where you need him.

You can feel yourself getting closer, so you grab his wrists—whether to stop him or push him further, you don't know yourself. What you do know, is that just fingers have never felt this good before, and if you had the choice to feel like this forever, you would take it.

The sudden grip doesn't deter Sunghoon, it encourages him instead. His movements are faster, deeper, but still just as precise. It's like he already knows the ins and outs of what brings you pleasure. "Gonna come all over my hand, baby? I know you're close."

You nod desperately, throat too raw and dry to produce sounds more complex than little whines—which Sunghoon finds adorable, he can't wait to find out what sounds you make when he's splitting you open on his cock. He coos, and that alone almost makes you cum. Almost, because what really does you in is his thumb moving to finally circle your clit, really touch it.

Your body tenses up again when your vision goes a searing white, but Sunghoon's other hand finds your thighs right away to prevent you from caging his hands between your legs. He worked hard to make you cum, so you're not gonna take the sight of your fluttering pussy away from him, not when he has rightfully earned it.

"You did so well," he says, his hand caressing the skin of your inner thigh as a reminder to relax your muscles, his thumb slowing down its movement on your clit as your walls flutter around his digits at longer intervals each time.

You eventually even out your breathing, your vision still a little fuzzy, but you feel lighter and content. Once Sunghoon is sure you're okay, he pulls you in for a sweet kiss, like he wasn't just rearranging your guts with his fingers alone moments ago.

"Perfect, you're so perfect," he whispers between kisses, landing a wet smack on your nose when you scrunch it in response. "You're always gorgeous but this—fuck, you're beautiful." He keeps kissing you, each kiss waking up a different butterfly in your stomach. You feel giddy like you haven't ever since you were a kid running through the meadow on a spring evening. You giggle when he reaches the valley of your breasts, and run your fingertips through his hair, his head resting on your chest.

"I love you," Sunghoon whispers, and for the first time in your life you know those words to be true, no hidden intention behind them, no cruel joke waiting for you at the end of the line. It feels right when they're coming out of Sunghoon's mouth.

"I know, I love you t—what are you doing." It's much more of an accusation rather than a question, because you see the little wicked glint in his eyes as he resumes kissing his way down your body—first down your navel, then between your thighs.

"Showing you how much I love you, duh." He spreads your legs as open as he can get them before you start protesting again. "Besides, I haven't gotten a taste yet."

You should stop him, because suddenly you're reminded of how he still hasn't come yet, and you would feel bad to neglect him. The look in his eyes though—needy, almost feral— keeps you pinned right in your spot. "What… about you?"

Sunghoon looks at you, genuinely confused. "What about me?"

"Yeah, I should be… helping you out." You glance down at him, and the wet patch on his boxers makes you clench around nothing. Had you not witnessed first hand how messy Sunghoon can get, you would assume he cummed already. Knowing that's only pre though, makes saliva flood into your mouth at the mere thought of your boyfriend's cock pumping load after load down your throat. Screw 'not hurting' you, you would be happy gagging and choking endlessly around him if it meant you got a tiny little taste.

"Oh baby, but you are helping me out. Just lay back and let me." Sunghoon pops two of his fingers in his mouth, tasting the residues of you high still lingering on his skin, rich and divine on his tongue. "So good, now let me get a real taste."

He trails his wet fingers up your body, relishing in the way you shiver under his touch when he brushes over your nipples. He grabs your face once he reaches it, and forces you to look at him. "Wanting to please me… aren’t you such a generous girl? So, so good for me. So eager to please, you’re so cute.” He doesn't miss how your lip twitches in response to his words, and how your hand slides between your thighs and how they close around it. “But, I'm still not done.”

“But—”

“Shhh,” he silences you right away. He parts your lips with his thumb, and your response to it is immediate, sucking on it without needing to be told what to do. You swirl your tongue around his finger eagerly, as if trying to show him what he is missing by not letting you take his cock out his pants. “See? So perfect for me. Such a pretty and obedient girl, am I right?” 

You nod subconsciously, like he has you under a spell, ready to comply with anything he asks out of you. Maybe he does.

“I know that’s right.” Sunghoon takes the thumb out of your mouth, coating your lips with your own spit as he caresses them with it. “Then do what you’re told and lay back. I can fuck you another time. Now spread those legs for me mkay? Yeah, just like that. So much we can do in the meantime."

"I just don't get why he won't stick it in me."

"You have such a way with words."

You throw a fry at your best friend, only to get more irritated when he catches it midair with his mouth. Jungwon chews it loudly with his mouth open—because he knows it annoys you to death—then washes it down with his coconut milkshake that he won't let you get a sip of because 'using the same straw as me counts as cheating now that you're dating Sunghoon'.

"Okay but why? You're a man. What's the thought process behind this? Tell me."

"Girl, it's your boyfriend. You tell me."

"What if he doesn't fine me att—" A fry hits you right on your forehead, and it's like the impact activates your brain cells, because of course Sunghoon finds you attractive, that is not the problem.

"Now, let's be honest with ourselves please. None of that shit."

Your back hits the bed with a soft thud, arms spread out as you stare at the very familiar ceiling of your room. A sight you've been taking in quite often recently, while trying to come up with a plan to get Sunghoon to dick you down good.

Jungwon shoves a fist of fries in his mouth, barely chewing before speaking again. "I don't get why it's such a big deal."

You roll onto your side, facing the blonde little gremlin occupying the space next to you. "It's a big deal because— why is your ass on my pillow. Jungwon get—"

He silences you by feeding you a handful of fries from the container on his lap. "You were saying?"

You gulp them down quickly before replying, because you're civilized enough to do so, unlike someone else. "We've done it all, and I know he's scared of hurting me, but I can also tell he's holding back. I'm ready– I've been ready. It's just… whenever I think it's gonna happen he pulls back so suddenly, like he's restraining himself."

"Mhh… you've talked to him about this, right?" Jungwon looks at you in a way that feels entirely too judgmental, like skipping the communication part is something you do often enough for it to be a pattern. Something he needs to check off of a list before he gives you more advice.

He's not completely wrong. As in, at one point in your life you had made an habit out of assuming people's thoughts and intentions, but that is in the past. And those people are not your Park Sunghoon.

The polaroids messily scattered on the wall above your desk, like someone had dropped them and they'd defied gravity to stay there, glimmer as the sun starts its golden descent into the horizon. Old, more ruined around the edges ones you took right after Jungwon got you a polaroid camera with his very first salary from working at an ice cream shop over the summer. Pictures of sunsets and dumb words carved into sandy beaches, of thumbs digging into teenager Jungwon's dimples. Newer, glossier ones that you took when Sunghoon gifted you a new camera, after the one Jungwon got you finally broke down after years. You'd cried so hard that day, because it had felt like growing up.

The charger is still hidden under all the mess of receipts in your comforter's drawer, you still hope one day the pink sticker covered camera will turn on if you charge it long enough.

But some things are meant to stay in the past, and better ones are always hiding behind the corner, ready to come your way.

You aren't the young girl with the pink polaroid camera anymore, just like you're not the girl that is scared to voice her thoughts and troubles any longer.

"Of course I have."

"And?"

"Won, he just tells me I need more prep. I've had plenty of that, trust me. Like, he's spent the last month using this toy on—"

"Okay, okay I get it. I trust you, spare me the details."

"—Point is, I'm more than ready. I know it's gonna be uncomfortable and a bit painful at first, he's like… so huge it's—"

"I get it."

"—but that's a given with how big he is. I think it's just… him being nervous, really."

"Have you… tried to, uhm. Take charge? Maybe you calling the shots would make it easier for him to let loose." Jungwon looks down on his lap as he plays with the rings adorning his fingers. You wouldn't say he has ever been particularly shy per se, not when it comes to discussing your sexual life, even in heavy detail. He was the boy your mother made you take a bath with after a whole day of rolling around in dirt as a kid, because his wasn't around a lot of the time. The same boy who has seen you toothless and with horrible haircuts, who has seen all your embarrassing phases. Talking to Jungwon was much more akin to talking to yourself rather than venting to a diary, because he stored secrets in his heart that you would never be comfortable writing down on paper. Except he also calls you a dumbass when he needs to.

It's been a little different ever since you started dating Sunghoon freshly out of college, but you imagine it can't be helped since Jungwon is also very close to him.

You take a deep breath, shoulders slumping with the motion. Yeah, like that would ever work. "He doesn't give up dominance ever, really. I have tried a few times but…" you trail off, thoughts suddenly plagued with images of Sunghoon putting you back in your place instantly whenever you tried to take charge. You have already given it some thought, a lot of thought, actually. What wouldn't you do to have Sunghoon under you and at your mercy, so responsive to every touch, perhaps even tied down. Yeah, you're gonna have to bring it up more seriously to him, maybe then he would let you—

"Are you seriously fantasizing about dominating your boyfriend right in front of my cheddar fries?"

But you're gonna continue that thought another time.

"Let's see then…" Jungwon continues, evidently determined to find a solution to your problem. "Maybe act out? Would that work? Mhhh… I don't know, you're already very annoying day to day and he puts up with that…so."

Jungwon genuinely looks like he is putting so much thought into it, somehow it makes it more offensive.

"Yeah. And who grew up next to him? You. Exactly. You trained his patience, if anything," you retort, but Jungwon doesn't even give you the satisfaction of acknowledging it, because you both know that you do love to be a nuisance to your boyfriend whenever you get the chance.

"Wait." Jungwon perks up after a seconds of deep thought, making the plushies on your bed fall on the floor, but the situation is so dire that you don't scold him. Instead, you cast a hopeful glance in his direction. Please let his brain cells work for once in his life.

"Isn't Hoon like, terribly jealous every time someone brings up that time you and Jay dated in high school?"

The cogs in your brain turn, and if someone was to walk into the room at that moment they would be able to smell the fumes coming out of your and Jungwon's head.

Jungwon continues, though he doesn't need to, because you have caught what he is hinting to already. "You need him to snap? What better reason to if not some good ol' jealousy. Am I right?"

But of course he is, that little gremlin genius.

"And, it just happens that a few high school acquaintances are organizing a get together soon. You know people will bring up you and Jay, just drag Hoon along. It's fate."

"Have I ever told you that you're my bestest friend ever and that I owe you my life, Won?"

Your plan is not working out as expected.

Getting everyone on board took you and Jungwon some time, but they all eventually agreed to come along. Sunghoon himself was the one with the most reservations, since he moved away halfway through high school and he missed a good chunk of it. Most importantly, he missed how you and the others became friends in the first place, so he's always been a little bitter about it.

Calling it a plan was an overstatement. You wore a skimpy little outfit, black miniskirt and sheer thighs, and bet on someone bringing up how you and Jay used to date in front of Sunghoon. You hoped that would make him jealous enough to grab you and drag you home, maybe teach you a lesson that you would inevitably learn nothing from.

Instead, you get sulky Sunghoon with a beer in his hand, looking at you like a kicked puppy as you and Jay make conversation with your old acquaintances. It doesn't help that Jungwon refuses to pick up his phone so you two can come up with something quick to stir the night towards your desired outcome.

The call goes into voicemail again, and you sigh for the hundredth time that night as you end it and open up his chat to type in another text.

"No answer yet?" Jay asks, smoothing his pink dress shirt. He's always the classier looking guy in the room, no matter where he goes, but the hue of pink he chose for the night makes him stand out further in the sea of swarming bodies.

You shake your head. You're in a quieter corner, away from the thumping speakers, but your throat is sore after all the screaming you did over the deafening music. You thought you would get used to the volume when a few of the people at the reunion suggested moving to a club across the street to end the night with a bang, just like the old times, but it somehow got progressively worse instead.

From your side, Jake puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles to catch someone's attention, and when it doesn't work, Jay laughs at him.

"Sunghoon looks bored, I think we should call it a night," Jay says.

"Bored? He looks like he's gonna murder the next poor soul that steps too close to Y\N," Jake takes a swing of the drink he's holding, something that looks like aged whiskey. Very much unlike anything Jake would order. He hisses after the liquid burns his throat, even when diluted by the melted ice. "Jay, my man, your taste is so ass."

You give the interaction a half hearted laugh. Despite your original plan, you hate seeing Sunghoon so uncomfortable, especially when you know he only came along to make you happy. He insists he doesn't belong surrounded by people who pretend to remember who he is and keep bringing up stuff that happened in the past expecting a glint of recognition from him. You tell him there are multiple people with a similar experience to his even when they attended all years, you tell him he belongs anywhere as long as you and the other guys are there. He tells you those are the people that don't get invited to these sort of events.

"It's getting late anyway, maybe we should just go," you say, checking your notification bar for any sign of life from Jungwon. Still nothing.

"I'll go get Won." Jake throws back the remaining drink, scrunching his eyes and hissing at the bitter taste he still isn't accustomed to.

You take a second to scan your surroundings, and the swaying mass of sweaty bodies makes you nauseous. You used to love getting rocked back and forth by the music, uncaring for a single thing in the world if not the overwhelming love you felt for everyone and everything around you when alcohol buzzed through your system. When you were younger, it felt like ibuprofen for your soul. Now, it only amplifies the hurt in your chest when you think about how heavy this night must have been for your boyfriend.

Before you can make your way to him, someone grabs your attention.

"Jay! And you over there, it's been a while."

You instinctively turn towards the loud voice, finding a vaguely familiar face cockily grinning in your direction.

"She has a name." Jay takes a deep breath and gives you a look, his jaw tense, and that alone is enough to let you know right away the guy in front of you is nothing but trouble.

The guy continues as if you weren't even there to listen to the conversation. A ghost. "Doesn't matter, being your girlfriend is all she was known for back then." He takes a swing of his beer, taste as bitter as his voice. He's very obviously drunk out of his mind, words slurring and step unsteady, but his words annoy you anyway.

"Excuse m—" you try to interject, but he speaks right over you.

"You two back together?"

Jay looks like he's seconds away from punching him, but you simply shake your head no. "Oh! No, and I'm not single actually. My boyfriend's here—" you turn around to look for Sunghoon where you last saw him, and beam when you find him right as he walks up to you. His shoulders relax just the tiniest bit when he notices how relieved you look when you meet his gaze, the way you reserve that look to him only, the way you light up as soon as you spot him. "There he is! Perfect timing, baby."

Sunghoon slides a hand around your waist possessively, placing a soft kiss to your temple to really get the point across. "I was looking for you."

Truth is, he wasn't. He had his eyes on you the entire time, but you were playing with your rings and kept readjusting your clothes as the conversation was unfolding, and Jay looked uneasy too, so he figured nothing good was being said.

"Yeah, sorry! Just catching up with friends from back in the day. Y'know, reminiscing and stuff. Have you seen Won around?" You want to diffuse the situation before the idiot in front of you says anything he might regret. You want Hoon to be a little jealous, not for him to get you all kicked out of a party because someone decided to run their mouth a little too much. Your hand finds his exposed biceps, and it looks like he made the right choice by stepping in, because now that he is all up in your space, you're visibly more comfortable.

Sunghoon shakes his head. Last time he caught a sight of Jungwon in the crowded space was when the night had barely started, and he wore a cowboy hat as he shoved his tongue down some girl's throat. Good for him. "He's probably… catching up with acquaintances too."

You look like you are about to say something, but the nameless guy interrupts you before you get a single word out. It gives Sunghoon all the more reason to dislike him, even before he listens to what he has to says. "And you are? I don't recall seeing you around."

"Oh! Hoon just moved to a different school halfway through high school, but we're all friends," Jay replies instead, familiar with his best friend's feelings about his high school years.

"Then why is he here?"

Sunghoon's jaw clenches. You squeeze his arm as if to remind him you are next to him, and he melts instantly into your touch.

"I'm here because my girl and my friends are. Now if you'd be so kind, we are trying to have a nice night, and you're interfering with that." Sunghoon turns around, holding you against his chest as he starts to make his way to the bar to grab another beer.

"Yeah? You know your friend and your girl used to fuck? Maybe they still do."

Sunghoon was raised to be a patient man. One that counts to ten before reacting, a man who wouldn't even hurt a fly. So it must be the alcohol fueling his actions, because before he realizes what he is doing, he grabs the guy by his shirt, knuckles white as a ghost making the material wrinkle in his hold. "What the fuck did you just say?"

Sunghoon knows he is being provoked, but not even Jay trying to step between them can do anything to calm his anger, not when the poor bastard spits on his shirt, then says something that he really shouldn't have.

"I mean look at her." The man laughs, and it's bitter, filled with something more sinister than mere disgust. It's envy. "Are you surprised? She's dressed like a whore."

Sunghoon moves before you have the time to grab him, right fist colliding with so much force against the man's face, his lip breaks on contact. He wobbles a bit, hit taking him by surprise, but he just gathers the blood dripping inside his mouth and spits it by Sunghoon's feet.

"Hey! Hey." Jay grabs the guy's arm, roughly yanking him back as a crowd of people starts to notice the commotion, heading to take a look at what's happening, a few bodyguards included.

"So tough," the man starts a laughs interrupted by winching when his broken lip curls too much. "Take that out on your so called friend—"

Your voice drowns out the rest of the sentence. "Baby, please."

Sunghoon looks at you, and for a second you doubt he sees you. There's so much anger in his eyes, like he wants nothing more than to rip the little bitch in front of him to pieces. They're almost unfamiliar in a way that send shivers down your spine. You hate the fact that you can't tell if it's fear or lust. But the storm behind his gaze clears out for a second when he sees the alarm on your pretty face, just the one you need. "I wanna go home."

No matter the anger coursing through Sunghoon's bloodstream like venom, thick black poison inciting him to turn back and finish the job, his conscience always prioritizes your well being and what you want. So when you take his hand a make a beeline for the exit, he follows without a single complaint.

The car ride back home is uncomfortably silent.

Sunghoon doesn't hum the random tune playing on the radio like he usually does, he doesn't hold your thigh nor does he even spare you a glance, and you start worrying he might be mad at you.

The words said about you earlier sting, but they don't hold a candle next to Sunghoon's silence. You want to speak up, fill the void that is so uncharacteristically awkward, but the words die in your throat the second you try to push them out.

A ding! followed by your phone screen lighting up signals a new notification, and you swipe through your phone to find out if Jungwon has finally made his existence known.

It's a text from Jay. You notice how Sunghoon's eyes dart to your phone for a split second before going back to focusing on the road ahead, his jaw twitching under the street lights.

00:27 AM. Jongie <3: You guys made it home yet?

00:28 AM. you: not yet, you? did you find the others?

Last thing you heard as you dragged Sunghoon out of the club was Jay arguing with both the still nameless guy and two bodyguards who had been notified of commotion next to the bar. Your main goal was to get your boyfriend the hell out of there before he broke someone's face in, but now that you're away from the mess and the dizziness from the alcohol has started to die down, leaving your muscles and bones tired, you worry for your friends too.

00:29 AM. Jongie <3: Heading back now, Jake texted me he found Won.

00:29 AM. Jongie <3: Wasted, ofc. But apparently Jake's taking care of him now.

00:31 AM. you: don't know if i like the sound of that. will they ever let us back in there?

00:33 AM. Jongie <3: Yeah no chance, Won won't be happy when he finds out.

00:35 AM. you: how did him and jake even get home?

You lock your phone for good after Jay confirms Jake mumbled something about a really nice girl with a great rack driving them home, deciding you'll deal with their bullshit another day, when you're completely sober and not worried about what your unusually silent boyfriend might be thinking.

Just in time for Sunghoon to pull into his driveway. He doesn't remind you to take your bag with you as he always does, he doesn't wait for you to be out of the car before heading straight towards his front door. Truth be told, you're more shocked he didn't just drop you off at your own apartment because now you're really sure he must be upset with you.

It's dumb, really. What that guy said is anything but your fault. But your panicked mind makes up scenarios in which Sunghoon knows you wanted to make him jealous, wanted to get a reaction out of him for something as silly as getting him to properly fuck you. It convinces you he has every right to be upset.

His hand twitches in pain for a second while unlocking the door, dried blood—both his and not—staining his pristine knuckles, and it only aids in making you feel worse. You follow him through the entrance, and he waits for you to walk inside before locking the door for the night. It's now or never.

It takes all the courage you can find within yourself to speak, and still your voice comes out uneven, shaky, things your voice has never been when talking to Park Sunghoon. "I'm really, really sorry."

He turns back to you like you just said the most shocking sentence he's ever heard in his life, and he quickly grabs you by your hips when he notices just how scared you look. He quickly realizes you must've mistaken his silent attempt at calming down his anger at the situation for coldness towards you for some reason, and his heart breaks a little at the thought of having made you doubt yourself. When he answers, it's the softest you've ever heard him. "What for, pretty girl?"

Tears well in your eyes when you fail to find the words. You're sorry for so many things, you don't even know where to start. You're sorry for dragging him somewhere he didn't even wanna be in the first place, sorry for taking advantage of his kindness for your own benefit, you're sorry his knuckles are raw and bloodied just because he had to defend you. Above all, you're sorry for being so damn selfish.

Sunghoon carefully caresses your face with his clean hand, so none of that bastard's blood goes anywhere near your pretty features. His thumb swipes across your bottom lip like it's second nature, silently waiting for you to say what's on your mind. He searches your gaze, but you're too busy trying to not burst into tears right there in front of him, so he lowers his hand to your jaw and gently angles your head upwards.

His eyes are kind and warm, no hint of the searing coldness they held mere minutes ago. "None of what happened today is your fault," he speaks slowly, sincerely. He makes sure every single word leaving his lips is loud and clear, no room for misunderstanding or doubt. Sunghoon is smart, he knows you like no one ever has put in the effort to. "I'm sorry if I made you doubt yourself back there, I should've said something. I'm sorry." He sounds secure and confident in what he's saying, but the little unsteady breath and the sharp swallow that come right after betray him. His hand slightly trembles on your skin, and it makes your heart sink even more.

Something else to add to the list. You're also sorry for making Sunghoon feel guilty over your emotions when he never did anything wrong to begin with.

You still struggle to speak, especially when Sunghoon is looking into your eyes as one would towards the light shining through the water surface after holding their breath in far too long, like it means being able to breathe again. There's a devotion in him you've never seen, something actors on a stage cannot replicate, something you don't think words to describe it have been spoken out yet. Something purely unique to you and him.

When your words fail you, you show him your own devotion in a different way.

There's a medication kit Sunghoon got forever ago solely to patch up Jake and Won whenever their Jake and Won antics get them hurt (very often, comically often). Never in your life would you have imagined Sunghoon to be on the receiving end of the care, but here you are.

Sunghoon follows you wordlessly to the couch, giving no protest when you point to sit down while you take your spot next to him.

The saline stings as you carefully clean the wound, but Sunghoon makes no show of it. You finally have a reason to look at somethings else other than his eyes as you gather your thoughts, but he doesn't lose sight of the frown deepening on your face.

Sunghoon watches you intently through his now messy bangs as you hold his bigger hand in yours as if it were made out of the most precious, frail glass. His fingers are way thicker than yours are, but you brush against his knuckles with the cotton just as softly as he kisses your forehead seconds before you let yourself be taken by slumber in his arms every night. He sees all the expressions fluttering on your face, he gives you the time he knows you need. He knows there's something you need to get off your chest.

When the blood stains the cotton instead of his skin, you speak up, "Does it hurt?"

Sunghoon hums in disagreement, the sound dry in his throat. You press into the raw skin a little harder, earning a low hiss from him. "Don't lie to me. We don't lie to each other."

"We don't, but you're hiding something from me." He stops before continuing, his voice a mere whisper, "what's wrong?"

"You got hurt because of me."

"That's not—"

"Yes you did." And once the river of words tumbling out of your mouth starts, it can't be stopped any longer. "I know how you feel about high school and—"

"It's not that—"

"But it is. I don't care if it was five years ago or ten or fifteen, I know you feel a certain way about it and don't lie to me to spare my feelings because it makes me only feel worse. You feel a way about it and I still went out of my way to take advantage of it for such a stupid reason and now I feel like a fucking idiot. And it also got you hurt."

"Baby," Sunghoon says after a moment of quiet, only filled by your heavy breathing. "Hey."

You busy yourself by grabbing the gauze in the little med kit next to you, but you make the mistake of glancing at him for a second, and the little smile dancing on his lips keeps your eyes glued to the sight.

"It's only a few scratches. What's all this really about?"

"I just… fuck, I'm never living this down." You stretch the white bandage over Sunghoon's wound, wrapping it a few times to fully secure it. You take a deep breath, buying yourself more time by inspecting your boyfriend's fingers like they're the most interesting thing you've ever seen in your life. He playfully taps his index against your palm. It makes you smile despite your best efforts not to. "I just wanted to make you jealous."

You say it so quietly even Sunghoon, barely inches away from you, almost misses it. Almost, because you hear the teasing in his tone loud and clear. "Jealous?"

Cat's out of the bag anyway, so you might as well explain yourself. "Before you say anything, Won gave me the idea."

"Of course."

"I just, y'know. Best friend stuff," you say, as if it's the answer to everything.

"Best friend stuff… as in?" Sunghoon keeps prodding, and the faint smile you hear as he speaks without having to take a look at him simultaneously makes you want to grin and roll your eyes at him. You bite your inner cheek instead.

"As in… complaining about my boyfriend…"

"Oh, you must have so much to complain about."

"Well, for starters, my boyfriend doesn't want to fuck me—"

Sunghoon erupts in a fits of boyish giggles when he finally figures out what's going on, delighted to see how embarrassed you are by this whole ordeal. He grabs you by your hips and sits you right on top of his lap so suddenly you let out a little shriek of surprise. "Trust me, your boyfriend would love nothing more than to fuck you through the mattress."

Your hands rest on his shoulders, and you lower your chest against his, noses brushing each other. "Then what's stopping him?"

Sunghoon's warm breath tickles your lips when he whispers, "Maybe he thinks your pretty little pussy can't take it yet."

A warm feeling travels through your body, settling into your lower abdomen, and just when you think he's gonna kiss you, he pulls back and rests his back on the cushion behind him, sinking further into the soft couch and pulling you down with him.

"Hoon—"

"Mh-mh. You haven't told me what Won's idea was yet."

"You know it." You raise your hand to playfully hit his chest, but he's faster than you are and catches your wrist midway with his injured hand.

"I don't know a damn thing," Sunghoon says as he brings his lips to the back of your hand, letting them brush gently against your soft skin before placing a small peck. "Go on, enlighten me."

You pout, but Sunghoon's set on making you talk, and even though you're stubborn and embarrassed, you know he won't let it go until he's satisfied with your response.

And, the slowly growing hardness under your exposed panties, combined with the residuals of alcohol still buzzing through your system are making it hard for you to stand your ground. Not when Sunghoon looks as good as he does with his bangs messily covering his eyes, and fitted short sleeve highlighting his hard chest underneath the cotton. Unfortunately for you.

You move on his lap, adjusting your position so you can feel more of him through the thin material covering you. You crave the harsh coarseness of his jeans on you, for the heat seeping out of him to envelope you fully. You're on top of him, thighs straddling his, yet you feel the invisible push to be even closer. As close as you physically can be.

Sunghoon sees the hunger in your eyes, he has all this time. He too is barely hanging on by a thread, and the self restraint he's miraculously managed to keep until now is dwindling by the second. All the times you've begged for him, all the times he's fucked your pretty pussy open with different toys, bigger and thicker each time. All the times he's had to take cold showers after seeing the raw need for him to claim you fully reflected in your eyes, even after coaxing orgasm after of orgasm out of you. You're so insatiable, but he might be even worse. Once he gives in, he doesn't think he'll be able to let you go ever.

Sunghoon knows you've felt ready for a long time, and even if he thinks you could use more getting used to bigger sizes before he allows himself to finally sink into you, the temptation gnaws at him all the same.

He just needs a little confirmation.

"Tell me, what was this master plan of yours?" he speaks with his mouth pressed to your palm, softly running his nose down to your wrist, allowing himself to bask in the warmness of the scent you chose for the night.

"Won's, not mine."

"That you willingly agreed to."

"I just… wanted to make you jealous." You finally admit, avoiding Sunghoon's gaze at all costs.

"How so? Wearing this tiny little dress?" His voice is lower, more dangerous. He slides his free hand to grab a handful of your barely covered ass, the skirt having ridden up to your waist almost completely. "You know I like it when the attention's on you. They can look all they want, you're mine." The movement causes you to jerk up against his crotch, earning a low grunt from the man beneath you.

"Tell me, baby," Sunghoon rocks you slowly against his hard bulge, caging his bottom lip between his teeth as he takes in your needy and embarrassed form. "How did you plan to make me jealous? Why?"

Your hand slides down his chest and dips under the thin shirt before caressing just over the waistband of his underwear peeking out of the dark jeans. "I thought it would be a smart idea to drag you along to the get together, and I guess I hoped someone would bring me and Jay up. I know how you feel about it and I wanted to use it to my advantage, but I also didn't consider how you'd feel surrounded by strangers reminding you of all the time you and the guys lost. All the time we lost. You came to make me happy and I was being selfish the entire time. You even got hurt because of me—"

"Not because of you. He should be thankful you were there to stop me or I would've broken his ugly face in."

"Still. I'm so sorry. It was childish."

A beat passes without either of you saying anything, and you twitch uncomfortably in his lap.

"Why?"

Your lip trembles, and your heart sinks at the thought of having angered your angel of a boyfriend. Tears well up in your eyes before you even attempt to explain yourself, but Sunghoon gently angles your chin toward him until you're met with his gaze. It's intense, darker than you've ever seen in all your time knowing him. He searches your face for something, and you realize it's not anger casting shadows behind his eyes. It's pure, unfiltered lust.

"Why did you want me jealous?" His voice is raw, like it pains him to produce a single sound, like whatever you answer him with is the honey that will soothe it.

You twitch again, and this time you're not scared, but your insides twist all the same. He rest heavy and hot under you, and you don't know how you'll handle another rejection if that's what this is leading to.

"I wanted you to fuck me, really fuck me. I hoped it would be enough to push you to the breaking point, Sunghoon.“ You swallow hard, and the saliva in your mouth feels thicker than usual. Maybe it is, maybe you're just more aware of all the sensations within your body. "I need you to break."

It's all Sunghoon needs to hear.

He lurches forward to capture your lips with his, harsh and messy, like an animal that has finally broken out of the restraint keeping it chained. His hands roam all over your body, eager to explore every single inch as if it's the first time he ever does.

You reciprocate him with just as much hunger behind every movement, hands slipping from his body to his hair to pull his head back. You grind your hips against his, moves deliberately slow compared to the feverish kiss. "I need you. I don't wanna wait anymore."

Sunghoon moans into your mouth when you release his hair, and he doubles his efforts, sliding his fingers through the wide gaps of the fishnets covering your thighs, big palms fully working you on top of his bulge.

"You want it so bad, baby?" He says between open mouthed kisses, full lips raw and red from the fight with yours. "I'm gonna give it all to you."

Uncaring for the mess of knocked over stuff you two leave in your wake, from Sunghoon's keys loudly hitting the ground to your heels abandoned somewhere on the carpet, you make your way to his room without ever letting go of each other. All around you is just background noise and things you'll think of later, the only thing that seems to matter is to get in bed and get rid of all the pent up frustration clouding your minds.

The door shuts closed and soon your back hits the bed with a soft thud, Sunghoon's hands heavy on your hips and mouth hot on your neck as he carves a wet path on your sensitive skin, caging you between his hard chest and the mattress. He wraps your leg around his middle, and when your cores touch again, you both sigh in relief.

You've spent all this time on the cusp of finally getting something more, waiting—albeit not so patiently on your part—for the right moment, and now that you both know you're just moments away from it, seconds seem to stretch out into hours and even the slightest teasing feels unbearable.

That's what you think, at least. Because Sunghoon is nothing but a tease at heart, and he has very different plans in store for you.

You take advantage of the little moment of pause to undress yourself, but Sunghoon stops you as soon as he notices what you're trying to do.

"Keep it on," he murmurs along your neck, feeling your pulse quicken right under his full lips. He kisses along your collarbones, to your shoulder, exactly where the strap of your dress rests. His teeth graze the material, and he draws back slightly before letting it snap back into place, the slight sting making you jump just the tiniest bit in his hold. "You wanted to make me jealous in this? Then I'll fuck you in it." He mouths his way back up, until he reaches your ear, teeth gently biting right where he knows it makes shivers spread all over your body. "Next time you wear it, my cock is all you'll be able to think about."

You can't hide the way your body reacts to his words, thighs pressing together from the sheer excitement.

Sunghoon toys with the strings of your fishnets, and for a moment you think you should take them off, but he just rips a hole through them, allowing his hand to finally slide underneath them and grab your ass as harshly as he wants. "These were getting on my nerves."

"I can take them—"

Sunghoon silences you with a kiss, slower than the previous one, calculated and meticulous but every bit as passionate. His teeth sink into your bottom lip until you gasp against his mouth, his tongue gently licking away at your lip to soothe the sting. He pulls your core closer to his, unabashedly moaning into your mouth as he ruts his hips into yours.

The tights start to frustrate you the more he works himself against your panties. You want to be closer, you need to feel him push against you completely, and they're in the way. So once again, you try to rid yourself of them.

Sunghoon keeps you still. "These stay on until I tell you to take them off." His tone is commanding, but not abrasive, muffled by your skin. "Understood?"

You barely nod when suddenly he's bending you at his will like you're his to drag around as he pleases, and while usually you would've fought back just for the sake of it, you play nice this time, doing anything to not have him changes his mind and leave you hanging once again.

He sets you on your knees, facing the headboard of his king sized bed, a sturdy and thick thing, wood carved with elegant loops and twirls all around the edges. They gleam and cast shadows alike when Sunghoon reaches over you to turn on the bedside lamp.

The same hand steadies your hip as he lowers himself onto you, pressing his chest to your back and littering kisses from your temple to your neck. "Aren't you such a cute little thing?" he whispers into your ear, chucking when he feels you shudder under his weight. "So needy and desperate, making up plans just to have my cock in your tight pussy." He's so big, so warm. So strong. It makes your knees weak, and you would crumble on the soft mattress if not for his large hand keeping you still. "Should've just come to me right away, should've begged for my cock like the good girl I know you can be." His other hand starts to travel down your body, and your thighs instinctively spread open to accommodate him.

Pride blooms in Sunghoon's heart. You're so pliant for him, sweetly allowing him to touch you all over, your body responding so well to his slightest touch, to his softest word. The trust you have in him makes his cock harder in his pants, but he's always been a patient man. A man that enjoys taking his time playing with his meal before sinking his teeth into it.

That, and you still have a lesson to learn. "But you've been bad, so bad." He bites your earlobe as his fingers hook onto one of the little holes in your tights, right over your throbbing core, so needy and ready to be claimed by him. You hear a loud rip before you realize what's going on.

His fingers immediately find your panties, slick and stuck to your drooling lips, and he starts touching you over them like all the teasing he's subjected you to until then isn't enough to satisfy him. "You'll make it up to me, yeah? You'll make me proud and happy." He licks along the shell of your ear, and your thighs shake, spreading open once more to coax him into touching you better. "I'll only fuck you when I'm satisfied with how sorry you are."

"Hoon—"

"Don't worry, baby." His fingers dip under the fabric, finally really touching you for the first time that night. He slides two fingers between your lips to coat them in your juices as he keeps talking to you in a tone that almost seems belittling, the pout in his voice too heavy and pronounced for it to be honest. "I'll make it worth it. All the time we waited will be worth it. I just have to get you nice and ready, dripping for me."

You have half a mind to turn around and fight him, because you don't understand how you could physically get wetter even if you wanted to be patient and take it. "I'm already wet," you say, and it comes out a little harsher than you intend for it to.

"Look at you," Sunghoon mocks you, the bite in your response only making him chuckle lowly in your ear, the vibrations from the sound make wetness pool on his digits, much to his amusement. "Can't keep the brattiness in check even when you should feel sorry. How can I take your apologies seriously?"

You open your mouth to answer, but his fingers pinch your clit before you get a single word out, replaced by a shriek that sounds something right in between pleasure and pain.

"Less talking." Sunghoon doesn't stop or lessen his touch on your poor sensitive bundle of nerves. Instead, he rolls it between his fingers, coaxing loud moans out of you with every single movement. "More of this."

The bed creaks under Sunghoon's knees as he detaches from your already quivering form and gets up to grab something. You complain with a little whine at the sudden loss, but just a quick glance in his direction tells you to stay still and be patient.

"Where's your phone?" Sunghoon asks. It sounds a lot more like an order.

"My… huh? My phone?"

"Your phone. Where is it?"

You gawk at him for a second, still in the same position despite the dull ache in your knees slowly but surely setting in, your mouth agape as you try to rack your brain for an explanation as to why the fuck Sunghoon needs your phone since he doesn't seem to be planning on offering you one. "In my bag. On the couch, I think."

It's only a few seconds before your boyfriend returns with your phone in his hand, and throws it carelessly on the bed next to you. He returns to his previous position, the warmth radiating from his body soothing you even when you don't know what to expect next.

You'd be lying if you said you don't enjoy this stricter version of your ever so loving and doting boyfriend, thighs clenching at the thought of the danger lurking behind his sweet demeanor.

"Unlock your phone and open Jay's chat." Sunghoon's calm facade is completely gone, replaced by pure fire.

"What?"

"You heard me." His grip on your thighs tightens, possessive and angry. "You're gonna open Jay's chat and record while I fuck your pussy with my fingers, and you'll have him hear how good I make you feel."

You're breathless, adrenaline pumping through your system and ears ringing at the thought of doing something so obscene, with one of your best friends on the other end of it no less. "Hoon, Jay didn't have anything to do with this… we shouldn't—"

"I don't care." Sunghoon bites your neck, sharp canines poking you just enough to elicit a gasp out of you. "You'll do as I say and tell him you won't ever go back."

He sounds so possessive, so unlike any version of him you have experienced, and just this little taste has you obsessed. You love the soft spoken, big sweetheart he always is, and you love the sleeping beast hidden just beneath the surface too. You love the anticipation of what's to come, not knowing which side of Sunghoon you're gonna get.

Your hand trembles as you reach for the phone, his is sure and steady as it makes its descent down to your wet pussy again. Sunghoon takes his time, letting his fingers ghost on your thighs for a little before sliding the panties off of you. You hear him moan behind you, and you're glad you don't get to see what you suspect is him licking off the wetness off the fabric he just rid you of. That would be way too much for you in the moment, you think.

The Jongie <3 contact in your favorites section seems so silly now that you're mere seconds away from letting him hear how your boyfriend fucks you, so you take a few deep breaths in preparation. As if sensing your hesitation, Sunghoon quickly places a gentle kiss to your temple, and just like that, he's back to his caring self. "You said you're sorry, baby. You should show me, but you don't have to."

You press the voice message recording button moments later, heart thrumming loudly in your ears as you slide your finger up so it keeps recording hands free.

"Such a brave girl. So, so good for me." Sunghoon praises you, and it soothes some of the anxiety you feel, his tone thick and sweet as honey, you barely recognize it as the same one that was giving you harsh commands earlier.

The downright filthy sound of Sunghoon's digits spreading your pussy lips open has you cowering in embarrassment, but your boyfriend doesn't care. He needs Jay to hear how absolutely soaked you are. He wastes no time, pushing in three fingers inside you.

Your mouth is hung open in a silent moan, eyebrows knit together and eyes closed, taking a moment to adjust to the sudden sensation. It stings, even when you're so wet it's dripping down your thighs by now, but his fingers are so long and thick the initial stretch is always uncomfortable, despite all the training.

Sunghoon doesn't like that, so he gives you no time, no warning, and just starts pumping in and out of you, curling the tips just like he does when you're about to cum and need the tiniest push. He's unfair, so unfair, because how are you supposed to keep your sounds down like you planned to when he's finger fucking you like it's his life mission to have you come undone in record time?

You don't know if it's an ego thing, or he just wants to make your punishment that much harder. It must be both, because within seconds you're moaning and gasping out in pleasure for him and Jay so beautifully, really putting on a show for the both of them. But it's so hard to focus and remember what you're supposed to say, and the longer the voice message is, the more mortified you'll be in the morning.

For now, satisfying Sunghoon's thirst for punishment and placating the jealousy you yourself caused is your top priority. You'll think about the consequences another time.

"Aren't you gonna say hi? Where are your manners?" Sunghoon's mouth drops to your ear, the movement of his fingers inside of your cunt relentless and not giving you a single second to breathe properly. It doesn't matter to him, how much harder he's making for you to accomplish your task. He basks in it, even. He's proud of how just his fingers are enough to turn you dumb with pleasure.

"I—mh," you try your best to muffle the moans cascading from your lips, to no avail. Even if you managed to do so, the incredibly loud squelching noises in the background would betray you.

"Need a hand?" he laughs dryly, and you feel the faint presence of a fourth finger next to the other three, waiting to slide in and stretch you open further.

"Hoon!" you gasp in surprise.

"That's right, baby. That's who you belong to. Tell Jay."

"I—I belong to—Hoon! I can't!"

His fourth digit keeps prodding around to find a possible entrance, but you're already so full you think any more would actually break you. "How do you plan to let me fuck you, then?"

He's teasing you. You both know you can and you will. It's just a matter of taking it slowly. His finger is suddenly not trying to inch inside you anymore, despite how lost you both are in the moment, your comfort comes first always. It just means Sunghoon will find another way.

He speaks lowly against your ear, but it's enough for your phone to pick it up clearly, "Once I'll split you open on my cock like you've been begging for, nothing else will ever satisfy you. No one else will. Once I claim your little hole, it's mine. Jay's seen how big I am. He knows it too. Tell him whose pussy I'm about to split open."

"Mine." You gasp at a particularly harsh thrust.

"No. Mine." The sheer command in his voice makes you clench even more around his fingers, as if the fit isn't already tight enough. "Try again."

"Yours! It's yours."

"Good fucking girl." He moans against you, his hot breath rising goose bumps all over your skin. "Tell him you'll never go back to him," he adds after a moment, quieter.

The pace he is fingering you at slows down just enough so you can actually get a coherent sentence out, and you're silently grateful for this little show of mercifulness on Sunghoon's part. If not for this, the voice mail would probably end up being an hour long.

"I'll never—mh. Go back to you."

"Good. So good. Now tell him how happy you are with me, happier than you ever were with him. Tell him you love me," he rasps, high on the reassurance you're providing him. High on how obedient you are for him.

"Love Hoon so much, I love him. I love him so so much. Hoon, please." You're a mess, dripping down onto the bedsheets and clamping around his fingers so hard any more would probably cut Sunghoon's blood flow. The more you grip him, the wider you spread your thighs to accommodate him, like you're silently begging for him to be harsher. He has half a mind to fulfill your body's wordless plea.

"Look at you, spreading your pretty legs for me. You like it when I talk to you like this? Does it make your little pussy wetter?"

You're so tight, so wet, and Sunghoon is so impossibly hard. He could cum right there just thinking about how good you'll feel wrapped around him, walls convulsing and milking him for all he's worth with every orgasm he gives you. For every orgasm you bless him with.

A sight for sore eyes, one Jay will never see nor hear. Because as soon as he can sense you climbing up your high, getting so close, your walls fluttering against his curled up digits in preparation and juices plentifully seeping out of you, he grabs your phone and ends the recording himself.

Sunghoon moves, and suddenly you miss the weight of his chest pressing into your back, but the pace of his fingers inside you slows down again. You wail as you feel the climax you were so close to dissipate, and suddenly you feel like invisible ropes are keeping your front tied to the bed. Your back gives in under the pressure, arching in ways that should be uncomfortable but it's the only outlet other than the plentiful sounds being pushed out of you your body has to ground itself in the midst of all the pleasure.

The loneliness your heart feels whenever he deprives you of his body heat for as much as a few seconds has tiny broken sobs and whines lurch out of your throat, but like every single time, Sunghoon is there to soothe you. "I know, baby, I know. Just let me help you feel good. Yeah?"

Even when you're supposedly being punished, he can't help but go a little easy on you, his gorgeous angel. His spoiled baby. But it's okay, because you did such a good job, listened and obeyed to his every command.

Sunghoon's warm breath tickles the skin of your bottom, and his nose brushes up from your mid thigh to your ass, giving you a playful yet gentle bite on the plushy skin. Air gets stuck in your throat in anticipation, but like every single thing he does, he takes his time in savoring all the moments leading up to finally get your sweet taste to coat his tongue like he's craved for this entire time.

You're twitchy and so responsive in his hold, and Sunghoon is enamored with the sight of your fluttering walls trying their best to suck his thick digits in even more. Greedy little cunt for a spoiled little girl. A perfect match.

He watches intently how you react to every single thrust of his fingers inside you, how your knees shake and body flops forward when he bends the tips in just the right direction when you least expect it. He pushes in deeper, and deeper, until you're gushing on his palm, your essence dripping down his wrist and a few droplets down to his elbow too. He registers your every moan, every beg for more, imprints all your sounds in his memory like they're the dearest ones he's ever made.

Sunghoon remembers all your reactions from times you'd consider unimportant, from the little moan when you first bite into anything he's cooked—whether you really like it not—to the way your leg bounces when following the rhythm of a song you said you despised because they played it on the radio too often, to the way your eyebrow twitches when he mentions a name you haven't heard before.

When you catch him with that sweet look in his eyes, staring at you with a toothy grin and canines peeking out, it's because he's watching you and storing everything in his mind, no matter how mundane, no matter how dumb, no matter how silly. It's a no brainer he'd do this in times like these too, even when he's witnessed you come undone under his gaze plenty of times, he doesn't want to miss a single one.

It's not really about learning what brings you pleasure faster and what prolongs it, he's familiar with all of that already, Sunghoon just happens to really enjoy watching you, even if you think it's the most embarrassing thing in the world.

So he does exactly that, inspects you carefully as he keeps fucking you open with his fingers, taking guesses about how hard or deep he should make his pumps, pride blooming in his chest—and cock throbbing in his pants—when you react exactly like he expects. While usually he watches you with a lovesick smile, the grin on his face and fiery glint behind his eyes are different now, hungrier and needier, but every bit as obsessed.

Because that's exactly what Sunghoon is, deeply and unashamedly obsessed with you.

He builds your orgasm up again, brick by brick, flick of his wrist by flick of his wrist, until you're quivering and shaking and begging him to not take it away this time.

"Please," you moan, hand clenching onto the bedsheets beside you so hard you'll be shocked if by the end there won't be a hole ripped in them. "I'm so close."

Sunghoon notices how you hold onto your orgasm, waiting for his approval. It makes his hips twitch forward involuntary, eager to please and eager to give you anything you want. "I got you baby, let go. Let me hear the pretty sounds you make when you cum for me."

It's all it takes for the coil in your stomach to completely snap, and the second your warm walls flutter around Sunghoon's fingers for the first time, you feel a sense of emptiness that lasts only a moment, before you're full again. It's not as thick, shorter but so much wetter, and through the thick fog clouding your mind as your body is overtaken by uncontrollable shivers spreading from your core to every extremity of your body, you realize he just replaced his fingers with his tongue.

Another lightning strike shoots right through you, head to feet, as Sunghoon keeps fucking you through your orgasm with his tongue. You're still fluttering around it and releasing all of your juices right into his awaiting mouth when the ringing in your ears slowly fades, replaced by the downright obscene sounds of Sunghoon slurping up all he can get out of you. It's messy and nasty, the lower half of his face completely coated in your essence but he doesn't care. He wants more.

He moans into your pussy like he's the one being pleasured, and once that single second of bliss between fully coming down from an orgasm and overstimulation setting in goes by, he pulls you in closer when you start moving too much. You're still too sensitive, but if Sunghoon thinks you're greedy, you have to realize he's even worse. Feeling the dull throbbing of your walls as you come around his tongue one time just isn't enough. If it were up to him, he'd have you wet his mouth again and again until you physically can't withstand any more. Until you're barely coherent and slipping into a peaceful sleep, completely tired out.

Sunghoon grabs a handful of your ass with his still dripping hand as he licks a stripe down from your hole into your lips, spreading them open with his tongue to find your clit, throbbing and raw from your previous orgasm. He rolls it between his lips, toys with it with his tongue, uncaring for the way your body pushes away from his mouth. After all the begging you did, you have no business running from it, if you ask him.

"Stay still," he growls into you, both of his hands tied together on your lower back as he fully pushes you down on the mattress with his strength, leaving you nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. He nuzzles his face into you, enveloping all he can get with his warm mouth, sighing and groaning contently with every bit of wetness you gush right on his tongue.

He explores every inch of you, every nook and cranny he can get into, cleaning you up with each lick and wetting you even more with every other. "So fucking good," he moans into you, dragging you back against him when you think you can't physically be closer, when the tip of his nose pushes into your hole and when the only way he has to breathe is through his mouth which is full of you. He pants and gasps against your cunt so much you fear he might suffocate himself just to not come up for air a single time.

Your own face is pushed against the bed, mouth biting down on the cotton fabric beneath you to ground yourself in the immense cloud of pleasure Sunghoon is giving you. He's so lost in your taste he doesn't even remind you to not muffle your sounds, the only thing in his mind is to have you come undone on his mouth once more.

Sunghoon knows he's close to his goal when your little pained whines start turning into longer, more drawn out moans, when you stop running away from his tongue and instead start thrusting yourself back into his hold, back into his mouth. All your senses are ablaze, nerve endings lit and confused but so pleased at the same time. You yourself don't know when the it stopped hurting and became that dull, impending feeling of almost there to something more that both maddens you and keeps you hooked, but you roll your hips anyway in search of just the little nudge in the right direction your body violently craves.

Like always, Sunghoon knows exactly what you need.

"Go on, baby. Touch your little clit for me." His voice is full and rich of that low gravel you barely get to hear, but that has tingles run down your body when you do. "Help me make you cum." Sunghoon lets his tongue run back up from your clit to your slit again, inching closer to your throbbing hole as you let a hand sneak under your body to your pussy, immediately finding your sensitive bundle of nerves.

You're so drenched by now you don't need to wet your hand before drawing circles all over it, dragging it in all the directions you know have your toes curl. Sunghoon likes it messy though, so he gathers a glob of spit and loudly releases it on your cunt, the position making it dribble down right where your hand is working to bring you closer to your peak.

The onslaught of wetness pooling down only adds to the already embarrassingly loud noises coming from your cunt, and you're so wet, your own fingers slip a few times. It doesn't help that your arm shakes under you even when pinned down by your entire body weight when Sunghoon shoves his entire tongue down your hole again, using both of his hands on your lower back to move you so you're fucking his muscle as if it were a toy. His nose drags on your perineum with every movement of your bottom half against his face, and under any other circumstance you'd be mortified, but Sunghoon has a way of soothing you in the most embarrassing situations without really having to do anything but be there with you, like nothing matters in the grand scheme of things when his body is heating yours.

You speed your movements up to match the pace he sets, and with every thrust of his tongue combined with every flick of your wrist, you feel the band in your lower tummy stretch and warm up, until your sight turns searing white and warmth envelops your body from your core to all your limbs in rhythmic waves, first every other second, and then gradually slowing down.

You release on Sunghoon's tongue, and he wastes no time, gulping down all he can manage to, moaning into your heat like he's tasting the most divine nectar. You can't see it as you're busy catching your breath and slowing down your heartbeat as the rush of pleasure dissipates into a calmer buzzing felt all over your body, but Sunghoon's eyebrows crease in the middle, his eyes closed as he commits the taste of your cum to his memory, right beside all the indecent bits of you he treasures in his mind.

Sunghoon pulls his tongue out of you, already missing the way you flutter against it when you come undone, and leaves a trail of pecks all over your bottom, first on the plush of your ass still kept up by his strong hold despite you having completely given up on keeping yourself upright long ago, then all over your thighs, switching from one to the other as he runs a reassuring hand all over your skin, wordlessly soothing you. His palms are big and thick on your thighs as he moves to wrap his hands to the front, steadying you one last time to capture your clit in a gentle suckle, just enough to have your body convulse in overstimulation, but too tired and spent to fight back.

He pulls off of you with a pop after hollowing his cheeks around it one last time. "Did so good for me, baby. You're so perfect."

Without Sunghoon's hands keeping you up, you slump on the bed, completely this time, groaning when the burn in your lower body fully sets in now that you can move it again. It's dull and persistent, and especially fiery right where Sunghoon's hands stayed locked for most of it.

"You okay, pretty? Was I too rough?" He sounds concerned when you take longer than usual to regain your strength, his hands immediately roaming all over your body to massage any sore spot. His touch is light like a breeze but welcome like the sun on a spring day, warming up all the knots in your muscles. The dangerous edge seems to have completely evaporated, only leaving your sweet boyfriend behind. In the moment, it's exactly what you need.

You give him a vague sound of approval in response, but you know it's not enough for him when he gently maneuvers your body around to face him, holding you so carefully one would think him scared of damaging you.

The warm light shining from the night stand casts shadows on his face, but the slight concern etched on his features is bright as day. It's an intimate moment, and you'd giggle because of the sheer difference in his behavior if you had the energy to do so. Instead, you reach for his hand. The same hand that held a bruising grip on you just moments before, the same hand that hit the man who disrespected you.

Sunghoon returns you touch right away, locking your fingers with his as if second nature. You place a featherlight kiss on them, allowing your lips to linger on his salty skin as you speak. "I'm great. Perfect even." It comes out a little raspy, like you haven't fully caught your breath yet, but it's a start.

"Yeah. You are."

"And you? You doing okay?"

Sunghoon gifts you one of his cannot-possibly-contain-it smiles, the ones where he looks down for a split second as his eyes crinkle and somehow smile wider than his lips do. Your favorite kind of Sunghoon Smiles you'd say in the moment, though if you were to compile a list they would all be in the number one spot.

"Perfect, even."

"Hey, that's my line—" you start, but Sunghoon finishes your sentence for you.

"—Don't steal it."

You hum, the taste of skin still on your lips as you bask in the moment for a little, neither of you daring to break the peaceful quiet that wraps like a fuzzy blanket around you. Sunghoon flinches just the tiniest bit when your fingers graze the bandaged scratches, making you ease up your hold on his hand. He immediately squeezes yours to tell you it's okay.

"You know," you say after you let the silence linger for a few more seconds, only your heartbeats and shallow breaths filling the air in the dimly lit room. "You look really hot when you're mad."

Fits of giggles pour in the almost nonexistent space between you—first Sunghoon's, yours following suit.

"I must look super hot when I'm jealous then," he says with that teasing edge in his tone you're all too familiar with. He dips down to catch your lips in a slow kiss, suckling on your bottom lip gently, the corners of his mouth still raised. He hasn't stopped smiling once.

"Absolutely," you say before Sunghoon pecks you again, and then keeps doing it as you try to continue. "And when you're happy—" another peck. "And when you're bored." Another peck. "And when you're—sorry if I say this but you look like a cute kicked puppy—sad.

"So you're gonna keep finding ways to make me jealous, I assume."

It's not meant to be a jab, you know he's being playful. But it stings you just in the right way, and suddenly you're in the passenger seat of Sunghoon's black Bentley again, worrying about having hurt his feelings past redemption.

Like all things you, Sunghoon catches it right away.

"Hey there, it's okay. I'm not upset, baby." Sunghoon's hands are secure around your hips, his thumb running soothing circles on your skin while your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer because it's simply never enough.

"You should be. You're too nice."

Sunghoon presses his lips on your fluttering lashes. "You being a little brat is nothing new. I think I know how to handle you pretty well, don't I?" His breath, minty but also vaguely bitter from the beer still, warms your cheekbone. Sunghoon's proximity to you is intoxicating in ways no amount of alcohol could ever be, and you hate beer, but god, what wouldn't you do to taste it off of his lips for the rest of your life.

Whoever is up there must be gracious because your prayers are answered the very next second, with Sunghoon ghosting his lips on yours, looking at you with tenfold the intensity and fire from earlier, like someone drenched the space behind his eyes with gasoline and lit it up without you noticing it. The switch is so sudden, and by now you should be used to this, but you don't think you ever will. Not when your boyfriend is looking at you like he might devour you whole any moment, and you'd let him. You'd love to let him.

"Act out all you want," Sunghoon says, voice dripping in possessiveness, right against your awaiting mouth. You want to swallow every last bit of it. "Go out there in short little skirts barely covering your ass. Make up all the silly plans you want, even ones where Jay's involved. Let everyone get a good look at you because that's all they'll ever fucking get." His hand reaches for your inner thigh, then folds it to give himself better access. His bulge is heavy and hard against your bare core, the weight of it enough to have you shiver and mewl, but when Sunghoon starts grinding his hips into yours, the noises spill out of you like you have no control over them. "At the end of the night, after you've had your fun, you'll always come back to me. In my bed, soaking my pants with your little pussy because you only get wet like this for me."

It's embarrassing how fast you feel like you could come again, but Sunghoon's hard thickness slides so perfectly over your folds even through the fabric, and the harshness of his jeans catches your clit every so often in such a delicious way. His pants are soaked through in your essence, both of you moaning and panting in each other's mouths so messily you don't even know if it could be classifies as a kiss or a mere exchange of spit.

"You're mine," Sunghoon rasps, like his life depends on it. He fumbles with his pants, depriving you of the mouth watering friction. You make a few noises of complaints, but his teeth are quick to sink into your bottom lip to silence them. "A spoiled little brat. But mine."

The heaviness of him finds your dripping core again, this time so much warmer, only his underwear separating your most sensitive parts from touching. It's the closest you've ever been to feeling his cock on you, and it's overwhelming. Electricity shocks run through your body when he starts moving his pelvis against you, completely coating the already damp material with the mix of your arousal and release. He's not unaffected—his own precum shows up right where the little slit in his tip is, the fabric of the boxers a darker shade of gray there.

"Mine to love, mine to discipline, mine to train. Mine." You don't know wether the hoarseness coming from his throat is due to the anything but proper activity you two are partaking in or simply the raw need for you to really let his words sink in, but the effect it has on you is clear. The proof is right where your cores meet.

You tentatively roll your hips into his, movements emboldening when you earn a few low grunts from him.

"This pussy is gonna be mine too now. Mine to worship and please. Mine to fuck open like she never has been before. I'm gonna ruin you for everyone else. You want that, right?"

You nod frantically, your hips running after Sunghoon's in a relentless chase, like they have a mind of their own.

"Say it. Say you want me to ruin your little hole."

"Ruin it—Hoon, please."

His hips falter when he hears just how desperate you sound, his eyebrows scrunched up in the middle and you can tell he's biting down on his tongue to ground himself. It only encourages you.

You reach for his boxers, wrapping your hand around the outline of his bulge and trying to contain your facial expressions at the reminder of just how ridiculously large he is. You squeeze it with your palm, his eyelids fluttering closed and his chest heaving from your touch alone. You try not to think too much about how outrageously wet the fabric is, all thanks to you. "Please, I need to feel you inside," you beg, arms pushing your tits—now basically spilling out of your dress—together and looking up at him with the most innocent doe eyed expression you can muster up.

Sunghoon's jaw leaps, and you feel like under a microscope as he watches you. "Little minx you are." He reaches for the first drawer of his night stand, rummaging though it quickly before pulling a tiny bottle out of it. It's lube.

"I don't need—"

Sunghoon silences you by spitting right on your pussy, your complaint turning into a whimper at the contact. "You do, baby. You need all the help you can get." Complaining more will get you nowhere but tucked into bed, still needy, horny and with a wet pussy, so you decide to play your cards cleverly and let him do his thing.

You paw at his boxers, fingers dipping into the waistband and trying to tug them down to get to the prize hidden behind. You spread your legs open even more as Sunghoon rips a larger hole into your tights, the veins running down his arms slightly bulging from the effort.

The sudden coldness of the lube dripping down on your puffy folds surprises you enough to rip a little yelp out of you, and Sunghoon's wide palms find their rightful place on your thighs, pushing them against your hips and lower stomach. He takes a good look at your cunt, spreading you open to his liking and leaving no inch of your skin hidden from his sight. "Such a pretty pussy." Your joints still ache and burn from all the exertion they already endured, but Sunghoon's words are like a soothing balm for your body and mind. "Prettiest cunt in the whole fucking world, all wet and ready for me to fuck."

You finally manage to free his cock fully, despite his filthy words sending waves of weakness through your body, and immediately wrap your palm around the middle, mouth watering when your thumb doesn't reach your other fingers. Not only is it way longer than average, it's also thick beyond comprehension, perfectly curved to hit all the right spots in you and so fucking veiny you can feel more slick pour out of you in anticipation. You quite literally cannot stop gawking at it, trying to move your hand up to his tip, just as thick if not thicker than the base, and you gulp as you watch beads of semi transparent liquid pour out of it.

"What is it, baby?" Sunghoon asks, Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he tries to not buck his hips into your hand. "We can stop if you want."

"No!" Your grip around him tightens, earning a gasp and a shallow thrust from him. Your thumb swipes over the head to spread his need all over, making it easier for you to slowly jerk him off. "Please," you add, quieter, afraid he might take the opportunity away from you.

The sight of you laying down so prettily with your much smaller hand enveloping his length, has all the blood in Sunghoon's body rush straight to his groin. He could cum at any moment, just from having you right in front of him like this, but he's set on making it worth the wait.

"You're so fucking hot like this." His hand finds your cunt again, fingers spreading your folds open so he can take a good look at the sensitive bud he loves so much, finding it so swollen he wishes to just bend down and suck on it again.

Once the lube fully coats his digits, he brings them down to your hole again, prodding it just enough to make sure it's slick with the cold essence. He squirts more of it right onto his cock while you keep fisting him as best as you can, spreading the lube all over it until all that can be heard in the room is the loud squelching noises and both of your heavy pants and low groans. His fingers keep rubbing your folds, coaxing more of your own arousal out of you, the feeling so distracting the pace you set on his cock falters a bit. To compensate, you add your other hand too, milking him with both at the same time.

"Fuck yeah, just like that," Sunghoon moans, and he looks divine above you with his lip caught between his teeth, gaze flickering from where his hips have started fucking into your fists, to where his fingers are playing with your pussy, like he cannot decide which view is best.

His cock throbs in your hands every time your hold tightens or your movements get faster, and you're stuck watching every reaction. His chest heaves, sometimes he looks like he forgets to breathe and then he has to make up for it. His cheeks are flushed, and when you notice how his bangs are sticking to his forehead because of the sweat accumulating on his hairline, you suspect he might be close.

"Gonna come?" you ask, battling your lashes at him, hoping he'll do just that from your hands alone. That's enough to wake him from his daze, and you almost regret asking when he breaks free from your hold and stops playing with your pussy.

The disappointment is short lived, because without wasting any time, Sunghoon brings your legs close together around his cock and sets both of your feet on one of his shoulders. He fucks your thighs just like that, with slow thrusts, making sure to slide his cock between your folds and let you feel every single vein running down his length. "You'd love that wouldn't you? Me coming all over your pussy. You're so fucking messy."

The shirt still covering his torso leaves close to nothing to the imagination now, clinging to every ridge of his abs and chest because of the sweat, and you're basically drooling at the sight. The feeling of Sunghoon's cock between your thighs and on your cunt is too much for you already, clit throbbing with need every time his tip catches on it, balls pushing against your hole every now and then, but you make the mistake of looking down when his thrusts get faster, and the view you're met with has you absolutely obsessed.

The head of Sunghoon's cock peeks out from your thighs every time his hips move forward, red and leaking so fucking much on your lower tummy it looks like he's cumming all over you already. But then it just keeps going, reaching close to your belly button, and when his head rests right on it, your mouth goes slack. It's one thing to see how big he is normally, but to have it compared directly against you, it makes the room spin in circles and your body feel even weaker. You need him inside you now.

"You like the view, baby? That's how deep I'm gonna be inside you, how deep I'll be fucking you," Sunghoon laughs, a little manically, and you hate how much it turns you on, like you need to be any more than you already are. "You'll feel me riiight here." He stops his thrusts to tap his cock on your stomach, the sounds of the tiny slaps reverberating through the room. "All up in your guts."

You gasp out his name when his hips go back to working his cock between your thighs, in an attempt to get his attention, but he already knows what you want.

"I know, baby. I know. Just a little more I promise." His gaze flicks up to meet yours, watching you intently for any sign of discomfort, any indication that you might want to stop. He knows it's unlikely—Hell, he's sure you were about to beg him to fuck you for the nth time that night just now—but he needs you to be absolutely sure. The weight on his chest, the slightest hint of uneasiness looming over him despite all the excitement fades in the background when all he finds on your face is pure lust, unfiltered need for him.

The pace slows down a little, and Sunghoon keeps eye contact with you as he speaks with his full lips brushing the skin of your ankle, giving you a few kisses there to ease up any anxiety you might feel. "Are you sure, pretty? We can wait a bit more. We don't have to—"

"Hoon. For the love of God just put it in or i might actually die within the next two minutes."

An amused wheeze tickles your skin, followed by a gentle nibble right where his lips kissed you. He rests your legs back down while he still kneels on the bed "Alright, alright."

He's spent all this time preparing you, telling you to take it slow for your own well being, but as you watch the way his eyes hesitantly shift focus around your body, you think maybe he's not the one ready yet. "Hoon?" you catch his attention, voice meek but it's like music to his ears, always.

Sunghoon hums in acknowledgement, but he looks deep in thought. His thumb follows the ridge of your jaw to your chin, then swipes over it a few times as if to encourage you to continue.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Had a change of heart? Weren't you just about to die a few seconds ago?"

"I'm asking you."

He exhales, then bends down to place a soft kiss right on your parted lips. "Of course I'm sure. I'm just…" He trails off, but you already know what he's thinking.

"You won't hurt me," you say, keeping eye contact to really get the point across. "Besides, even if you did. I'd enjoy it a bit."

The corner of his lips lift up, and you know you've finally cracked through him. "I suppose you would."

His elbow rests by your head, while his other hand grabs his cock and gives it a few pumps in preparation—not that he needs it, Sunghoon doesn't think he's ever been this goddamn hard in his entire life. "Give me a few taps anywhere if you want me to stop, if it helps you can bite me when it hurts." He positions himself, hand still guiding his tip to your leaking entrance, but doesn't push in just yet. "Where should I cum?"

You're about to lose your mind, hips slowly rolling against his tip to try to coax it inside of you and he's still talking instead of doing something about it. "Huh?"

"Where do you want my cum baby? You won't be able to talk when I'm fucking you."

The sheer seriousness in his tone has shivers run down your spine, but you don't dwell on it too long. "Inside. Anywhere you want just please—Oh my god."

The sting of his tip slowly pushing in stops you from finishing your sentence. It's a mild discomfort for now, but the feeling of it stretching you open is better than any of the toys you and Sunghoon experimented with could've ever provided. He's just getting started, but your mouth is already ajar, and more wetness seeps out of you when your boyfriend rewards you with the most beautiful moan you've ever heard.

"God, it's like she's begging me to slam all the way in." His thumb swipes over your clit in circular motions to help you ease up so the first few inches aren't too harsh on your poor drooling pussy, and even though the tip isn't even the entire way in, the sight of his cock slowly disappearing inside your heat quickly shoots up to his favorite spot. "Deep breaths baby, remember what I taught you—No, don't tense up, it's okay. You've got this."

Your eyes roll all the way to the back of your head, pleasure and discomfort blending into one slowly as he waits for you to adjust. How are you supposed to not clench around him when he's encouraging you like this? It's beyond you.

Your hand shoots to grab Sunghoon's muscular biceps when he starts moving again, and he stills right away, waiting with bated breath for the taps to come.

They don't.

"Is it all in yet?" you ask, because truly, you feel so fucking full already, fuller than you have ever been. But the amused look on Sunghoon's face tells you exactly what you need to know.

"I mean." He moves a little more, and the burning—even if eased up a bit by all the juices and lube coating both of you—resumes. "A little more than the tip is."

"The tip?"

"The tip." Sunghoon thrusts out gently before pushing in again, both of you moaning at the same time. "I can fuck you with just that, it's enough to make you come harder than you ever have." He doesn't wait for you to tell him what to do, opting to give you shallow thrusts to test the waters, his thumb never parting from your clit.

The way you shudder and the little sweet sounds you make because of his tip alone has his stomach knot in all kinds of ways and his cock leap and throb so much it fucking hurts. Sunghoon would want nothing more than to shove it in and claim you fully, mold your pussy around his girth so perfectly no one else would ever be able to give you a cock half as good as his—like he would let that happen in the first place.

You're writhing under him, legs kicking a little when he feels the slide in and out slowly get more comfortable and slippier. That doesn't mean you're not clenching around him so hard he could cum at any given moment, but for your own pleasure—and his, really. He wants to shoot his load as deep as he possibly can—he tries to hold off to the best of his capabilities.

But fuck if it's not the hardest thing he's ever tried to do.

He almost breaks when your own hand reaches down for the one working on your pussy, smaller palm attempting to cover the back of his and to coax it into moving faster. There's a bit of drool on the corner of your lips, and you look so wrecked already, Sunghoon hates how a shiver runs down his spine at the mere thought of how you'll look like when he's balls deep inside you. "Hoon—fuck. I want more."

He coos at you, pretending he's not a wreck himself, pretending the thread thin sliver of sanity he has left isn't the only thing preventing him to fold your legs all the way up to your chest and fuck you into oblivion, but the arm next to your head shakes with restraint, and the knuckles on his fist are ghostly white by now, even if you're too blissed out to pay attention. His voice is shaky, uneven, but his words are careful and patient, even when you'd rather them not be. "We gotta get your pretty parts used to it first baby, come like this just once, it's only the last stretch."

Your whines turn into moans when his movements on your clit fasten and his tip nudges inside you a little deeper, just enough to momentarily satisfy your craving for more.

"Aren't you a greedy little thing," Sunghoon rasps, holding back his own impending orgasm with all his strength, beads of sweat now rolling down his neck deliciously, and you kinda wish you could bend forward and lick them off of him. "Asking for more, and more, and more after the stunt you pulled today. My pretty baby," his thumb pushes more forcefully on your bud, making it hurt so good for a second as you adjust to the pressure, then giving you harsher drags, meant to have you come undone and quivering under him in no time. "So desperate for cock you just had to go ahead and try to make me jealous. You like it when I'm jealous?"

You gasp, nodding frantically as you feel the familiar knot in your stomach tighten more and more, an embarrassing amount of slick pouring out of you and running downwards.

"You're so fucking lucky this is the first time we do this," his voice is rough, an octave lower than usual. "Or I would've bent you over and fucked you so silly the second we got home without stretching your pretty pussy open. But I'm so kind. Thank me for it."

You clench hard around him at his words, toes bending because you don't know what else to do with all the pleasure coursing through you, and he gives a gorgeous deep groan in response. "I'm gonna—"

"Then thank me for it."

You come around him hard, harder than you ever have, thank you's pouring out of your lips like a broken prayer, entire body shaking head to toe from the intense orgasm. The buzz in your ears persists for a while as you try to come down from it, and you can see but it feels like you can't, like your brain isn't registering any of the images your eyes capture. Bright, static, dark spots, so many things at once. It feels like you blacked out for a second even if you didn't, all your senses dulled to make space for all the other sensations your climax provides.

When you slowly start to regain power over them, you're met with the sight of Sunghoon panting like a dog, eyes closed and fist wrapped around his cock, the head poking out and redder than you've ever seen it, looking like he just ran a fucking marathon. Somehow, he managed not to cum. He was so close though, so close he had to pull out the second your walls started to involuntary flutter around him or he would've been done for.

The tight black shirt is still clinging to him like a second skin, and the first coherent thought of yours after the fog around brain clears is to get him out of it as soon as you can. You tug at the hem, still panting and blood buzzing from the release. "Off."

Sunghoon doesn't answer you with words, but he rips the shirt off his torso, throwing it somewhere on the floor behind him. His hands are shaky as they travel from your waist to your hips, then reaching your thighs, spreading you open further in front of him and allowing him to take a look at the big mess you—both of you, really—made. Sunghoon's cock is rock hard, tip oozing enough precum to make all the prep you've endured so far pointless. (Not really, you know better than that.)

Sunghoon goes back to nudging his tip on your hole, just holding it there without pushing in quite yet, casting a last questioning glance your way because he needs the reassurance that you're okay with this one last time before he fully commits.

When you nod, he slowly eases himself back into you with a low moan accompanying the motion, this time his gaze holding yours. The face you make as his tip stretches you open makes it a hundred times harder for him to keep his chill, wanting nothing more than to say fuck it and pound you stupid like you've been begging him to do ever since things first got handsy between you two.

The burn isn't nearly as bad as it was the first time, leaving space for so much more pleasure to course right through you, and you can't help the relieved sigh that leaves you when his tip is fully back inside you again, like it's a need for you to be filled by it. And Sunghoon sees that. He sees the fire in your eyes, the greediness slowly pooling behind those pupils he loves so much, how your hips look for his even if taking any more in hurts.

His hips jerk forward more than he intends them to, but he can't help it, not when you're looking at him like he's the prey. More of your wetness coats him, and both of you loudly moan into the night.

"You feel so fucking good, baby," Sunghoon whines, actual tears filling his waterline because he can't believe how much you're gripping him, pussy fluttering around his girth with every little bit he pushes forward, welcoming him like no one has ever done. "Tightest little pussy ever."

The hold on your thighs is bruising, but it helps you stay at least a little grounded so you wouldn't have it any other way. Whenever you think you're too full and cannot possibly take anymore, you feel a little more of Sunghoon's cock slide in you, so you get on your elbows with what little strength you have left and take a look for yourself. He's barely halfway in, and the burning sensation is starting to set in again. It hurts, but it hurts so good, you need more and you need less at the same time.

"Yeah, that's right, angel. Watch how your greedy needy cunt swallows me." Sunghoon's eyebrows are creased, sweat now not only dripping from his scalp, but little droplets constellating his broad chest, following the paths preset by his sculpted physique, all the way down to his vline. A mouthwatering sight.

"So full," you sigh, eyes never leaving from where you're connected, clit throbbing the more he fucks his cock into you, begging for a lick of attention.

"You'll be so much fuller. Can you behave and handle that for me, mhh?"

You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding along to his words and sneaking down your hand to play with your clit when you come to the conclusion that Sunghoon's hands are way too busy gripping your plushy skin like his sanity depends on it.

"Smart girl," he praises.

The wetter you become, the easier and more pleasurable the slide is. Sunghoon watches you for any sign of unbearable discomfort, slowing down when you bite your tongue or picking his speed back up when you bless him with those precious needy whines of yours. "You're doing so well, my gorgeous girl. So fucking amazing, making me feel so good already, God, you're perfect."

His words of encouragement play a big part in easing the pain for you, soothing you enough to make it easier for you to not tense up when his cock nudges a particularly sensitive spot inside of you. Your hand flies to your lower belly and you swear you feel him right there, so much deeper than you've ever had anyone—or anything—be.

"There we go," Sunghoon puffs out like he's been holding himself back from breathing this entire time, his pelvis grinding against your folds deliberately. And you finally realize he's all the way in for the first time ever. "Squeezin' me so tight, are you scared I'll run away?" He pulls back a bit before fully thrusting inside again, the curve of his cock aiding in making him hit all the right spots you could've never reached yourself. "No fucking chance. Not after I've got a taste of this. Gonna fuck your pretty pussy open every fucking night, until I've trained her to take me in without any complaints."

He sets a slow pace, not wanting to overwhelm you just yet, then adds, in a softer tone, "Does it hurt too bad, baby?"

If he keeps the back and forth up for much longer, you're gonna end up getting whiplash. But between groans and higher pitches sounds, you manage to answer him. "Any more and you would've popped me like a balloon."

Sunghoon giggles as he bends down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, hands finally loosening his grip on your legs and traveling all over your body. "You begged, and begged and—"

"I'm not complaining, am I?" you ask, breaking the kiss and resting your forehead on his, the saliva string connecting you two shining under the warm light of the lamp. "Harder."

Sunghoon complies instantly, speeding up his movements and giving you actual thrusts instead of the messy mix of grinding and nudges he'd taken a liking to. His hot, wet mouth finds your neck, too greedy and selfish, in desperate need of hearing the beautiful sounds you make instead of swallowing them down. His tongue skates over your pulse point, a shiver traveling down your entire body when he gives you the lightest nibble right there before licking it up again in apology.

"I can still taste you in my mouth." His breath tickles the wet skin of your neck, your front arching into his when goosebumps appear all over your exposed arms. "Always want to—mh, taste it. You'll let me eat your pretty pussy again after you gush on my cock?"

Even if you want to reply, you really can't, not when the pace he's drilling into you at is knocking the air out of your lungs, and the bolder his movements get, the more you understand why he asked where he should cum before even staring. You want to look at him, take in every expression on his beautiful face, but the pleasure is too much to handle and the only thing that seems to help is closing your eyes and letting them roll back into your skull.

Your lips are raw from all the biting, and you're so incredibly thankful when Sunghoon's hand swats yours away from your clit to replace it, allowing you to sink your fingers into his broad shoulders, clawing at them with every languid thrust he gives you. He feels so perfect, filling you up to the brim and then some more, stretching you out so fucking good you suspect you won't ever be able to scratch the itch if not with his cock.

"I'm in love with this fucking pussy, baby," he moans, loud and unapologetic, making his way with open mouthed kisses down your neck, then following the line of your clavicle, only to dip down between the valley of your breasts. Your tits have spilled out of the tiny little dress due to bouncing around with every precise thrust Sunghoon gave you, and your nipples are perky and hard, begging for his attention right in his face.

"And your tits, fuck. So pretty, I'm gonna eat you right up." He licks a stripe on one of your hardened buds before enveloping it fully between his lips and sucking on it lightly, sighing contently into it when you push your tits on his face further, loud whines spilling out of you.

The very familiar band in your tummy starts to tighten again the more he works on your nipples and clit at the same time, thrusts never once faltering. All of your senses are heightened to such a degree you don't even know what to do with yourself anymore if not lay under Sunghoon and let him absolutely ravage you, not a single thought but 'feels so good' crossing your mind. But it's fast, too fast, and you want it to last for longer, want Sunghoon to keep fucking you for hours until the only word you remember is his name.

You try to push his hand away from your clit, only earning a reprimanding yet gentle bite on your nipple, a warning. "I c-can't."

"Can't what, pretty girl?" He rolls your nipple between his lips, lapping away the tingling sensation the nibble left on it that has you jolt in his hold. "Use your words."

You throw your head back in frustration, feeling the impending climax approach you once again, the nth that night. "Don't want it to end," you gasp, using up all the strength left in you form a coherent sentence.

Sunghoon coos at you. Fucking coos at you only to deepen the strokes of his cock inside you, angling his hips to reach even deeper. "Cum for me baby, I'll just keep fucking you."

Your thighs shake as they wrap around his waist to pull him closer, his hips switching to grinding his cock into you instead of thrusting it, the fat tip poking the most delicious sensitive parts of your heat. You gasp and wheeze, claw and scratch and draw blood from his skin but it never hinders or stops his strokes. You clench around him time and time again, wrapping around his cock so nicely Sunghoon can feel his own orgasm build up in the pit of his stomach.

You come around him with a silent scream, every single part of your body twitching under him as he keeps fucking into you, now chasing his own high. He still takes a moment to watch you and how beautiful you look at the highest of your peak, eyes glazed over and mouth hung open, sweaty skin glistening so beautifully he wishes to be a painter and capture it forever. It's a sight he's never gonna grow accustomed to, and it has his stomach twist in knots. "That's it baby, so fucking gorgeous, keep cumming for me like that, milking my cock so well."

Even in the aftershocks of your orgasm, your body looks for his, hips rolling into his as if to silently ask for him to cum inside you, now that your voice has completely failed you.

"Just a bit more. We're almost there, my perfect little baby, so good for me," Sunghoon is babbling too by now, so damn enamored with the sight of you trying to keep your twitching under control even though you're still cumming around him and teetering on overstimulation so he can fully savor his own high. "The most perfect angel girl ever. I love you so fucking much."

Your head is light and Sunghoon's words reach you as if in slow motion, muffled by your own blood buzzing in your ears. You're completely drenched, and the bedding underneath you is too, but neither of you can bring yourselves to care. The slide is not painful anymore, and everything feels so warm and slippery, you never want it to end.

The image of Sunghoon still grinding and fucking his cock into you, his pace now reduced to a desperate mess and nowhere near as precise as it was, clears up slowly as your ears stop ringing, but your pleasure never does. You don't know if you're still cumming or if Sunghoon fucking you just feels this good you can't tell the difference, but you feel like you're on cloud nine and lighter than you've ever been.

Sunghoon's torso is completely glistening, and you feel some of that slick coat your skin too when he bends your legs into you, folding you against the bed and hitting even deeper inside you.

You're a moaning mess as he pistons his dick inside your heat, dragging perfectly against your gummy walls. You look down and see a bulge poke your lower tummy with each deep stroke of his. The sight alone is enough to have you on the edge again, but it feels different this time, like you cannot possibly contain what's about to happen.

"Hoon—"

"Shh," he silences you, hair a sweaty mess and dripping all over your figure. The squelching sounds of his skin slapping against yours, connected by white strips of slick on both of your thighs get even louder when his pace gets faster, the hand that played with your clit suddenly pushing down on the bulging of your stomach. "Give it all to me, soak my fucking dick—fuck, I'm gonna cum baby, gonna cum so deep inside you."

You cannot stop the dam from breaking, juices shooting out of you so suddenly you're taken aback too, coating his entire lower abdomen in it. Your cunt throbs around him so hard, almost like it's trying to push his cock out of you. You can't think of anything, cannot fathom anything that's not Sunghoon, and his perfect cock, and how good you feel, going completely limp on the bed.

He moans louder than you at the sight of your wetness drenching the bed and his cock. "Fuck, take it all baby. I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm—"

His hips stutter one final time against you, burying his cock deep inside you and shooting his seed in multiple thick spurts as deep as he possibly can, filling you up perfectly. He dips down to catch your mouth in a messy kiss, panting into your mouth even as you two are still both trying to catch your breath from your orgasms, but your lips on his are all the oxygen he needs.

"I love you," you whisper into the kiss, your words finally having found the way out of your throat again.

Sunghoon hums, his body weakened and tired but still hovering above you instead of slumping on you. "I love you more." He gives you a sweet peck like he wasn't just putting you through the matters moments ago. "You were perfect, baby. Did so amazing." He lets his body go beside you on the bed, dragging you between his arms and grimacing when the wet mess you made on the covers touches the back of his body. "A rag won't be enough."

You smile, weak but content. "And who's fault is that?"

Sunghoon pretends to think about it, but from the look on his face you can tell the answer is ready on his tongue. "I think it might be yours for being too hot I couldn't help myself."

You swat your hand on his chest, but there's no force behind the gesture.

"Aaand for making me jealous."

A groan leaves your lips, your arms coming up to cover your face. "How am i gonna ever face Jay again after this."

Sunghoon's chest vibrates against your skin. "You'll think about that after I clean you up."

You make a low noise of complaint, rolling over to push yourself on top of your boyfriend's body, hands resting on his toned chest as you reach for his huge cock and slowly sink yourself onto it, head thrown back in pleasure even if it's not fully hard anymore. Sunghoon's breath catches in his throat as he watches you lower yourself against him again, your head finding refuge on his shoulder. "Later."

You stay like that for a while, breaths slowly synchronizing in the peaceful quiet, Sunghoon's cock comfortably nested in your heat while his fingers lazily ghost over the entire expanse of your back. You could fall asleep at any moment, but you raise your head one more time to look at your boyfriend, his half lidded eyes meeting yours instantly. "You did not strike me as the type of guy to edge himself that much."

"Just go to sleep."

BONUS

You roll over to tentatively search Sunghoon's bedside table, ignoring the sound of the lube bottle hitting the floor, until the cold screen of your phone meets your spread hand.

Sunghoon is snoring lightly behind you, his nose nuzzled against your nape, and you hope to not wake him up as you unlock your phone. You recoil when the light that feels like a million suns momentarily blinds you, but even that is not enough to discourage you from completing the life-or-death task ahead of you.

You open up messages—promptly ignoring Jay's "never do this shit again. you two are nasty."— and click on Jungwon's chat, not wasting time to watch the several unloaded video files sitting in it (you can easily recognize the blonde silhouette of Jake's hair in half of them, so you're free to assume it's nothing of particular importance anyway) to type a quick text.

05:34 AM. You: mission accomplished ;p (cancel the hiking thing we planned for next week unless you carry me yourself. your girl can't walk)

Shockingly enough, he replies within the minute.

05:35 AM. twin: you shameless being (a whole week is crazy)

05:37 AM. twin: whatever, but I'm dragging you out for brunch so you figure out your means of transportation yourself. we need to catch up

05:38 AM. You: crazy night for both of us i assume

°˖➴ .ᐟ addie ── OK so i'd like to start off with saying last i checked this fic had 15k words...and then suddenly it has 24k... idk what happened honestly . but i ended up LOVING writing this sunghoon bc in my eyes he's a hot, clumsy dork <3 this is my first time ever writing smut so i am so so sorry if it sucks absolute booty hole bc it truly had me spinning in circles...i have so much respect for smut authors bc damn . anyways i hope u guys like, pls let me know what u think & also ty ronnie per usual for beta reading & encouraging me to explore out of my comfort zone heh. HOPE U ALL ENJOY :')

they say you never forget your first.

your first kiss. your first failing grade. your first crush. your first pet’s name.

for park sunghoon? he’ll never forget the first time he met you.

and honestly? he kind of wishes he could.

scratch that—he desperately wishes he could. then he wishes he could self-implode. then, he wishes he could rewind time and never agree to play catch with jay in the first place.

not to be dramatic or anything. but if you had been responsible for sending a football flying at full speed straight into someone’s face, you’d probably want to self-implode too.

and that’s exactly what happens.

it’s a quiet day. a peaceful one, almost. the kind of the day that feels soft around the edges, where nothing’s too bright, too loud, or too complicated. the one that almost makes sunghoon feel like simply a background character in the movie of his own life, which he doesn’t entirely mind either.

sunghoon’s morning starts like most of his mornings do—half productive, half running on pure autopilot. he wakes up to his alarm on time (a small miracle), beats jay to their shared bathroom before he can claim it for his thirty minute long skincare routine (a big miracle), and grabs a granola bar from the kitchen cabinet. said cabinet, by the way, is home to an endlessly growing collection of half-eaten snacks—chips that have gone soft, instant ramen cups with weird flavors no one remembers buying, and a mystery jar of peanut butter that’s been there since move in day.

sunghoon pays half attention in his 9AM statistics lecture (which is about as much as anyone can ask from him on a monday morning), and manages to grab his favorite sandwich from the café before they run out for the day. the café lady even remembers his name this time (although she calls him ‘sungoon’, which he lets slide because she gives him extra pickles).

it’s all wonderfully, boringly normal.

and for sunghoon, that’s saying something.

because his life isn’t exactly filled with chaos—he’s not that guy. but he does have a habit of stumbling into moments that feel like they were written by a sitcom writer and he’s the character created solely for the purpose of comedic relief.

like the time he ran into and tripped over the campus mascot in front of an entire basketball game. or the time he waved back at someone who wasn’t waving at him and then had to commit to pretending he actually did know them. or the time he tried to flirt with a girl at a bookstore and accidentally knocked over an entire table of self-help books on himself.

you get the idea.

still, today feels normal. stable, predictable.

until jay shows up.

jay appears in sunghoon’s peripheral vision exactly how sunghoon predicted he would—hair sticking up in three different directions, wearing an oversized hoodie that may or may not be his sleep shirt, a cup of iced coffee in one hand even though it’s four in the afternoon and, for some reason, a football in the other.

sunghoon blinks up at him from his table in the campus courtyard. there’s an empty sandwich container on one side of him, a half-finished math sheet on the other, and that quiet kind of peace that only comes when you’re okay with the world not doing anything particularly interesting.

jay park ruins that peace immediately.

“what’s that for?” sunghoon asks, nodding at the football in jay’s right hand.

jay shrugs, sipping his coffee before putting it down next to sunghoon’s empty sandwich container. “found it on my way here. thought it’d be fun.”

fun.

sunghoon raises an eyebrow. that’s a bold word coming from jay—jay park, a business major who considers waking up before noon an accomplishment and whose idea of cardio is sprinting into lecture late.

still, sunghoon doesn’t judge. he’s learned his lesson about athletic optimism. the summer he was nine, he tried out for the neighborhood little league baseball team with nothing but poor hand-eye coordination and a dream. one swing, one very unlucky coach, and one black eye later, and sunghoon retired early from all things sports related.

which should’ve been foreshadowing in itself.

sunghoon’s first mistake is catching the football when jay tosses it at him. his second is not immediately throwing it back and walking away.

because somehow, between the caffeine in jay’s bloodstream and sunghoon’s chronic inability to say no to stupid ideas—five minutes later they’re standing on opposite sides of the courtyard, tossing the football lazily back and forth.

and it becomes easy, repetitive. jay’s talking about something mid-throw, probably the new band he’s into or some conspiracy theory about the campus squirrels. but sunghoon’s not really listening, not really. he’s too focused on the rhythm. catch, step, throw. catch, step, throw. it’s almost meditative.

until it isn’t.

because somewhere across the courtyard that smells like grass and cheap coffee, laughter suddenly carries through the air—a bright, unfamiliar kind of laugh that feels like home anyways and that makes sunghoon’s head instinctively turn.

and in that same half-second, jay’s voice calls out.

“yo, heads up!”

sunghoon turns back just in time to see the football not in his own hands anymore.

and it’s definitely not heading towards jay either.

it’s heading towards you.

and before he could do anything about it—the ball collides with your face with an impact so loud that the entire school might as well have witnessed it.

“oh my god,” jay whispers.

“oh my god,” sunghoon repeats under his breath.

“oh my god,” you’re gasping, clutching your nose and stumbling back before you can catch yourself, your butt hitting the grass.

sunghoon’s stunned for a second, arms halfway raised, eyes flickering between you and jay and the football. he runs through a mental list of things that could maybe, possibly, reverse the entire past twenty minutes of the disaster that is his life (spoiler: there aren’t any).

and then he’s moving before he even realizes it, jogging over with wide eyes and a growing pit of dread in his stomach.

“oh my god—are you okay? did i—shit—is your nose broken?” the words fall out of his mouth in one frantic breath as he crouches beside you.

you hand is still pressed against your face as you blink up at the figure above you, your vision disorientated.

and when your eyes finally focus—the face that greets you is devastatingly pretty.

which would be fine under any other circumstance. except for the fact that this is the face of a man who literally just assaulted you via sports equipment.

and unfortunately for sunghoon, the face that greets him is just as devastatingly pretty.

which would also be fine…under any other circumstance.

because sunghoon’s luck with girls isn’t terrible…technically. he’s had his fair share of crushes that lasted two weeks but ended in radio silence. he knows how to flirt when he needs to, knows how to make a girl laugh, knows what kind of compliment lands without sounding weird. he’s even good at the little things—opening doors, letting the girl have the booth side of the table, texting back on time but not too soon, pretending to like matcha even though it tastes like grass to him.

the problem is never getting their attention. he’s grown up around enough of his mom’s friends cooing at him during dinner parties—‘your son is so handsome!’ ‘what did you eat during your pregnancy to get a face like that?’— that he’s well aware he’s got at least one thing working in his favor. so no, getting attention isn’t the issue.

it’s keeping it.

because sunghoon is the kind of guy who accidentally ghosts first. not on purpose, he just forgets. he gets too caught up in assignments, or chores, or reorganizing his t-shirt collection by color again (even though it’s really only three colors: black, white, and a slightly lighter black). he’s terrible at balancing the whole dating thing and college thing and not knocking over self-help book displays in public thing.

and now, apparently, not breaking someone’s nose.

but right now, looking at you—bloodied nose, wide eyes, planted in wet grass and probably mildly concussed—sunghoon can’t think about any of that.

because, somehow, even like this, maybe even especially like this, he thinks you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen.

which is horrifying.

sunghoon wants to dig a hole right then and there and crawl inside. maybe build a small underground home, maybe live out the rest of his days as a mole person.

“i—i’m so sorry. i swear, it was an accident—he—jay was supposed to catch it—”

that’s when jay conveniently shows up right behind him, a hand lifting up in betrayal, “bro, you looked away—”

“i was distracted—”

“by what?”

sunghoon freezes. his brain short-circuits, because the answer is, unfortunately, you.

he opens his mouth. freezes. clears his throat. tries again. “by…a…bird?”

you finally speak up from your spot on the ground, your head going back and forth at the two bickering guys through your watery eyes, “…a bird.”

“yeah,” sunghoon says, shrugging like this is an everyday conversation. “it was…really big.”

there’s a slight beat of silence where even jay looks like he feels pity for his best friend. then, you squint at him, tilting your head slightly.

“wait—” you start, voice still a little nasally. “you look familiar. have we met before?”

sunghoon stiffens. his entire life flashes before his eyes.

have you met before? god, please not the self-help book incident. or worse—not the person he accidentally waved to thinking it was someone he knew.

he feels his stomach drop. maybe it’s neither. maybe it’s both.

and maybe he should just crawl into the earth now and never come back up.

“that would be park sunghoon,” a new voice cuts in.

you turn your head towards the sound, relief instantly washing over your face when you see the tall boy approaching—baseball cap on backwards, plastic cup of boba in one hand, and a very mild look of concern on his face.

“jake.”

“y/n.” jake’s eyes flick to the scene in front of him: you, still clutching your nose; sunghoon, crouched nearby with a look only a guilty perpetrator could possess; and jay, standing behind him and sipping his coffee like he’s getting free entertainment (and he is).

“…i leave you alone for two minutes,” jake starts flatly, “and you’ve already managed to get injured by my friends.”

“accidentally injured,” jay corrects pointedly and very much unhelpfully.

jake ignores him. “he lives in our building, that’s probably where you’ve seen him.” he then gestures vaguely to both sunghoon and jay with the drink in his hand. “they both do. down the hall from us.”

he reaches down and helps you to your feet in one smooth pull, steadying you by the elbow before turning to the boys. “y/n, meet sunghoon and jay—two of my closest friends since high school, unfortunately. and also unfortunately, our neighbors.”

then he glances back at the pair, who now stand side by side in an awkward pose of guilt and discomfort. “and sunghoon and jay, meet y/n—my new roommate. remember? i told you guys she transferred here a few days ago. i was coming over to introduce you guys but…looks like you beat me to it.”

sunghoon makes a noise. not a normal human noise. a noise that lands somewhere between a startled choke, squeak, and what he thinks a goose being lightly stepped on would sound like. 

because no—he absolutely does not remember jake telling him this. because jake definitely mentioned it, but probably in the middle of a league match when sunghoon was functioning at ten percent brain capacity, half-listening while trying not to die in-game for the fifteenth time:

“new roommate, got it,” he had probably replied at the time, while actually registering none of it.

and now here you are. in front of him. because of course the universe would make you one of his closest friend’s roommate. of course the prettiest girl he’s ever accidentally assaulted with a football now lives ten doors down.

he hovers, like he wants to say something else—maybe something smooth so you think he’s charming, maybe an actual apology so you think he’s not an asshole with awful coordination. but his brain offers him nothing but static.

he opens his mouth. closes it. opens it again. nothing.

he’s spiraling. he wants to evaporate. he wants to scream. but instead of doing any of these things, sunghoon does what any rational, socially competent person would do.

he sticks out his hand. straight. stiff. right in front of you. doesn’t say a word.

you blink. you glance down at it. then back up at him. you squint your eyes past the vision of your other hand still clutching your face, looking at him as if trying to puzzle something together. 

still, with your free hand, you eventually reach forward and give his a small, polite shake. his palm is warm, a little clammy, and you’re pretty sure you can feel him holding his breath the entire time. 

“nice to meet you, park sunghoon,” your voice small but with something else. 

the way his full name rolls off your tongue is smooth, deliberate. just on the edge of playful, but there’s something else beneath it. he can’t tell if it’s sarcasm or sincerity. maybe both. maybe you’re the kind of person who could ruin him with a smile and then apologize while doing it.

either way, it sticks. because it shouldn’t sound like that. like a challenge. like a secret he’s suddenly desperate to learn. and the worst part of it all? he likes it.

and for a second, everything else is tuned out—the sound of the commotion around campus, the breeze rustling the leaves around him, even jay’s straw scraping against the remaining ice in his cup—all sunghoon can focus on is the faint curve of your lips when you say his name. it hits him somewhere low in his gut. strange and foreign and sweet. sweet in a way that could be addicting if sunghoon isn’t careful.

and honestly, he’s not good with things that make him feel like this. because, sunghoon? sunghoon is far from careful. he’s clumsy in life—can’t keep his balance, can’t hold his composure, can’t even throw a football without committing mild assault.

and now he can’t think straight either.

“—and jay,” you nod towards jay, who lifts his now empty coffee cup in a small wave, “but i think i should probably go to the clinic or something.”

jake nudges you gently, which snaps sunghoon out of whatever trance he was sinking into, “yeah. let’s get you checked out before you lose your nose.”

and because sunghoon is sunghoon and definitely not a rational, socially competent person—the best he could manage is a crooked, lopsided smile and a stiff little wave as you turn to go.

you start walking, jake talking quietly beside you, but before you’re too far away, you glance back over your shoulder. and it’s quick, half a second at most—but sunghoons catches it.

a faint smile. the faintest. and he can’t tell if it’s teasing, curious, or dangerous. maybe all three.

either way, it stays with him and he freezes, watching you disappear around the corner, his heartbeat now annoyingly loud in his chest. and he doesn’t know what to think of it. because, again, sunghoon’s luck with girls isn’t terrible…technically. he just doesn’t think he’s ever felt this before. but, to be fair, it’s not everyday you accidentally potentially break the nose of the prettiest-girl-you’ve-seen-turned-neighbor before.

“that…was amazing.” jay breaks sunghoon out of his mental spiral, nudging sunghoon’s arm with his own elbow, smirking.

sunghoon doesn’t answer. he’s too busy replaying every second in his head—the way your hand felt, the way you said his name, the way you threw that half-smile over your shoulder.

and somehow, some way, sunghoon’s wonderfully boring day had accidentally become something else entirely.

and that was the first time park sunghoon sees you.

the second time he sees you, he almost forgets about the entire football fiasco, honestly.

not because it’s anything personal against you. god, no.

but because he remembers something his therapist once said. something about how, apparently, if a memory is painful enough, sometimes the best thing to do is just…repress it. file it away. pretend it never happened altogether.

which, in hindsight, is probably, most definitely, not the best way to handle one’s crippling emotions. especially not crippling emotions involving a girl who looks like the kind of person that keeps you up at night after only exchanging a solid ten (10) words.

but to be fair, sunghoon’s therapist is also a twenty-something year old business major who listens to ‘character development’ podcasts every morning and calls it experience.

so yeah. his therapist is jay park.

which explains why the memory of meeting you now lives in the deepest and darkest corners of sunghoon’s mind—right between the mascot-tripping incident and the little league baseball trauma.

but again—sunghoon has the chronic inability to say no. especially to jay. and you’d think, after years of friendship, he’d know better.

he does not.

which is how he ends up here—standing in the middle of a frat house that’s definitely seen better days, clutching a red solo cup filled with what jay insists is just ginger ale, and silently wondering how to sneak out without anyone noticing.

because parties were never really sunghoon’s thing.

not only because he’s a self-proclaimed introvert. but because they usually involve three things: 1) loud music that usually consists of mediocre 2000s pop songs all mashed up together by a frat brother whose side gig is dj-ing, 2) sticky floors from mysterious substances that he refuses to think about, and 3) some guy named ni-ki who, for reasons unknown to science, keeps losing his left shoe at every function and makes it everyone else’s problem.

or all of the above. usually all of the above.

but now sunghoon’s too many sips deep into his maybe-not-ginger-ale mystery drink, with the floorboards vibrating underneath him, and the crowd of bodies around him moving in an off-beat rhythm to some one direction song.

he also thinks the room might be spinning, but he’s not sure if that’s from the strobing lights flickering across the ceiling or because he accidentally downed half of whatever this drink actually is. he should probably stop. he should definitely stop.

but before he can even gather his thoughts to make any semi-rational decision a semi-drunk person could make, jay shows up and slaps him on the shoulder with the force of a man who’s had one too many more than sunghoon has.

“dude,” jay shouts over the music, leaning in and nodding his head toward the other end of the room. “don’t look now, but—”

which is precisely the kind of sentence that makes sunghoon immediately look now.

and there you are.

you’re across the room, leaning casually against the wall, laughing at whatever jake just said beside you. your head’s tilted back, cup in hand, a strand of hair falling over your face, and sunghoon nearly forgets to breathe.

and you’re wearing exactly what’s going to keep him up tonight. and so, of course, he doesn’t know what to do about it. 

sunghoon’s pretty sure the air conditioning in this place stopped working about an hour ago, but the room suddenly feels suffocating, sweat prickling at the back of his neck and the crowd blurs into a backdrop, the music fading to a distance. all he can see is the curve of your mouth when you laugh—fully, invitingly, the kind that pulls a low heat to his gut—and the way your fingers twist a loose strand of hair absentmindedly, completely unaware of how it draws him in.

it’s not fair. you’re supposed to be a one-time occurrence. the one-time girl he accidentally maimed with a football and might awkwardly bump into while checking mail or when he comes over to visit jake—not someone who looks like she belongs in every dream he’s going to have for the next six months.

and sunghoon hasn’t even had a real first kiss, technically—unless you count that tragedy of spin-the-bottle in the tenth grade where he accidentally bit a girl’s lip and left her mortified and bloody—but all of the sudden, his mind floods with foreign, forbidden thoughts he really shouldn’t entertain. thoughts of closing the distance, backing you against that wall, his hands on your waist, how your lips would part under his, the faint taste of whatever you’re drinking mixing with his, your laughter turning into something heavier, needier. the way your body might arch into him, the soft gasps you’d make if his mouth trailed lower—god, it’s wrong, it’s too much, and sunghoon tries his hardest to veer his thoughts elsewhere. 

but because sunghoon is everything except subtle, jay follows his line of sight and smirks immediately.

“oh god,” jay warns, but the intrigued look on his face says otherwise. “you’re thinking about going over there, aren’t you?”

sunghoon freezes before subtly rolling his eyes, running a hand through his hair, “i just—i should apologize. right? like, properly. you know, be mature about it.”

jay gives a look despite the a playful tone in his slurred voice, “i’m just saying. she might walk away with a new broken bone if you do.”

sunghoon exhales, straightens up, takes a gulp of his drink and coughs from the burn—yeah, definitely not ginger ale. “statistically, lightning can’t strike twice.”

jay blinks. “how the hell are you quoting statistics while drunk?”

“because i’m not,” sunghoon says pointedly, slapping his own cheek once as if that’ll magically sober him up. and he thinks he’s at least…fifty percent sober. hopefully. “see? totally fine.”

he doesn’t stick around to hear whatever jay’s response is—because the second he notices jake disappearing into the kitchen, he’s already weaving through the crowd, heart pounding, brain screaming at him to turn around, and feet doing exactly the opposite.

you notice him before he even reaches you. there’s a flicker of surprise on your face, but it fades just as quickly—shifting into something that looks like amusement. like you were expecting this. like you’d been waiting for him to show up eventually.

“the park sunghoon,” you say once he’s close enough to hear you over the music. and when he is, the space between you feels heavy—maybe it’s from the heat of the room, maybe from the scent of alcohol and sweat. maybe from something else entirely. “i didn’t take you as a party person.”

sunghoon freezes mid-step.

because he thought he knew what he was going to say to you once he got here. maybe something clever, maybe something smooth. but your tone—the teasing ease of it, the way his name sounds in your mouth—it throws him off completely.

his fingers tighten around his cup and he takes another sip, pretending to look casual and not because he suddenly has no idea what to do with his hands. then he lets out a laugh—nervous, stupid, a little too loud.

“i’m usually not,” he manages, trying to sound smooth as he leans a shoulder against the wall beside you. “but jay can be persuasive.”

a small smirk plays at the corner of your lips. “mmm. and the drink?”

sunghoon follows your gaze down to the red solo cup in his hand.

“jay told me it was ginger ale.”

you don’t say anything for a second. then, you let out another hum, reaching out before he can react and taking the cup straight from his hands.

you take a slow sip, your eyes trained on his own over the rim of his cup. it’s deliberate. it’s long. it’s dangerous. and he feels every. second. of it.

you lower the cup, swallow, then make a face. “yeah. definitely not ginger ale.”

sunghoon laughs, sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, figures.”

a teasing smile tugs at your lips, “do you do everything jay tells you to?”

his eyes widen immediately. “what? no! no—no, definitely not.”

“uh huh,” you glance past him to where jay’s pretending not to watch the two of you from across the room. very badly. “did he tell you to come over here?”

sunghoon turns, spots jay’s unsubtle wave, and groans. “no, actually. i came over all on my own, i’ll have you know.”

“oh yeah?” you tilt your head, stepping just a little closer—close enough for him to catch the faint citrus of your perfume. “and why’s that, sunghoon?”

he opens his mouth, ready with something about apologizing again, but the words stall.

because here you are. up close. and you’re a little overwhelming—eyes steady, posture loose, smile daring. he thinks he can feel his pulse in his ears.

“because…uh—” sunghoon stops, clears his throat, then smirks, trying to look steadier than his heart feels. “i figured if i’m gonna cause another accident tonight, i should probably make sure it’s worth it.”

you laugh, and he swears it’s louder than the music, “smooth recovery.”

“i’m a fast learner.”

“from jay?”

he grins. “definitely not.”

and the way you smile at that—the slow, curious curve of it—makes him realize he’s in trouble. the kind of trouble he doesn’t exactly want to walk away from.

there’s a beat where neither of you say anything. the music continues to thump all around him, the lights flash across your face in a dizzy rhythm that makes sunghoon’s stomach flip, and you’re standing close enough now that he can smell the faint scent of your citrus perfume and feel the heat from your arm whenever you shift slightly closer to hear him over the music.

and god, it’s suddenly very, very hard to think straight again.

he clears his throat. “anyway. i, uh—i wanted to apologize too. properly, you know. for your nose. for ruining your face—i mean, not that your face is ruined! it’s a great face. a perfect face. or, maybe not perfect-perfect, but y’know, structurally sound—”

sunghoon stops. he thinks he’s never hated himself, alcohol, and maybe a little bit of jay more than he does in this moment.

you stare at him for a long second, lips pressed together like you’re biting back a laugh. then, slowly, the teasing smirk on your face softens into something warmer, something he doesn’t quite know what to do with.

“sunghoon,” you say, his name coming out softer this time. “how about we just start over?”

the noise of the party tunes out again. it’s like the world narrowed down to just you, him, and the faint sound of ‘has anyone seen my left shoe?’ somewhere in the background.

“yeah,” sunghoon nods a little, nervous and hopeful all at once, his mouth twitching into an awkward smile. “yeah, i’d really like that.”

and then the conversation lulls into something easy after that. something comfortable. he manages to land a joke that makes you laugh, he learns your major, how you ended up as jake’s roommate—which spirals into a story about being cousins with his last roommate, lee heeseung, who graduated last semester and now moved onto bigger and better things in the adult world. and by bigger and better, we mean he graduated with a biology degree but now works for a music label and spends all his time obsessing over his co-worker-turned-girlfriend.

and everything feels good. it’s casual. it’s normal.

sunghoon feels like he’s floating—like he’s actually managing to exist around you without saying anything stupid about bones or noses or facial structures.

everything is just fine.

until it suddenly isn’t.

because when you turn away to refill your cup, sunghoon straightens up from the wall and blinks. once, twice. the lights all smear together in red and gold and blue. the floor tilts, or maybe he does. either way, his vision sways, just a little, and he can feel his pulse pounding in his head.

and that’s when it hits him. 

oh. oh no.

sunghoon is drunk.

the realization hits him at the same moment you turn back towards him.

your hair catches the light as you move, and your lips part—he can see you saying something, your mouth forming the beginning of a smile—but all sunghoon can focus on is trying his very best to look composed. his fingers dig into the side of the table next to him, the room ripples, the floor hums under his feet.

he blinks hard. again. and again, like that’s somehow going to stop the slow spin that’s started in his vision. it doesn’t. his heartbeat trips over itself. there’s too much heat in the room, too much sound pressing at the back of his skull, too much you in front of him.

“would you want to—i don’t know, maybe one day—”

sunghoon doesn’t hear the rest of your sentence. because suddenly his entire body stiffens. the nausea rises sharp and fast, his breath catches, and his face drops. and you barely have a second to register his expression before he’s leaning forward when—

it happens.

the end to park sunghoon’s dignity.

the music doesn’t stop. the lights don’t even flicker. but for sunghoon, the world falls completely silent as he realizes, in a slow motion way that only seem to exist in horror movies, that he’s just thrown up all over your shoes.

you stare down at your shoes, blinking.

sunghoon stares down at your shoes, horrified.

the silence between you stretches, thick and terrible. somewhere in the background, one direction is still playing, jay is shaking his head in a kind of not-surprised disappointment, and someone trips over a single, abandoned left shoe.

“oh my god,” sunghoon whispers, voice small and hoarse as he stares at the pile of him now covering your shoes. “oh my god.”

he then looks up at you, all glassy-eyed and pale, half-drunk but one hundred percent mortified, “i am so sorry—i swear, i didn’t—your shoes—”

you look down at your shoes again, then back at him, and then close your eyes slowly, not saying anything.

“—i promise i’m not like this normally,” he blurts out, words slurring together. “i—oh my god, i’m so sorry—”

sunghoon sways slightly where he stands, still holding the table for balance, his face stuck in the kind of panic that belongs to someone who’s guilty.

jake appears just in time, two cups in hand, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees the scene in front of him.

“…what the hell,” jake says flatly, eyes darting between you, your shoes, and the man responsible.

and sunghoon can’t even look up. his hand is still clamped over his mouth, palm slightly damp, stomach twisting, throat burning, and mind praying that everyone else around them is drunk enough to ignore the situation.

he risks a glance. immediate regret.

your shoes, the mess, the smell, the whole awful, lingering reality of what he’s done. the sight alone is enough to make sunghoon sway again. his brain, fuzzy and slow, still tries to find the words to form an apology that’s at least fifty percent not pathetic.

you then inhale. “yeah,” you say finally, your voice weirdly calm for someone whose shoes had just been absolutely ruined. “i…i think i’m just gonna go home.”

your voice is quiet, barely above the music, but somehow, it cuts through everything. the pounding bass. the off key singing of the crowd. the ringing in sunghoon’s ears. it’s all he can hear.

jake sighs, glancing between the two of you. “yeah. yeah, that’s probably smart. let’s go.”

he gives sunghoon a pitying look—the kind you give a guy when you’re stuck in between both sides of a battle—before turning to guide you toward the door.

sunghoon still doesn’t move. he just stands there, stuck, heartbeat hammering behind his ribs, in his head, everywhere. his mouth opens like he might say something—apologize again, call out your name, beg the floor to swallow him whole. but nothing comes out.

so he just watches. watches the back of your head disappear into the crowd. watches jake’s hand settle lightly on your shoulder. watches the door close behind you.

he exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face when jay appears beside him. he’s holding a now half-empty cup, the look on his face somewhere between pity and amusement.

“…i told you you were drunk.”

sunghoon pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing shut, “jay.”

“yeah?”

“shut up.”

jay doesn’t. instead, he hums, “and i told you not to come over.”

sunghoon thunks his head against the wall behind him, “jay.”

“yeah?”

“please stop talking.”

and that was the second time park sunghoon sees you.

the next and third time sunghoon sees you, he knows it’s coming.

sunghoon knew he was going to see you because he’s an observant guy. yes, he sits in the back of class and only speaks when spoken to, but he notices the little things.

like how the guy two seats to his left keeps a family-sized bag of hot cheetos inside his backpack and thinks no one notices. or how the girl in the third row plays papa’s freezeria on her laptop every single lecture, unbothered by the fact that the professor is talking about reaction mechanisms right in front of her.

and how the new girl—the pretty one who showed up one random day with the shiny hair and the voice that always knows the right answers—always gets there five minutes early and sits in the first row. aka, you.

sunghoon has always noticed you.

so yeah, he knew he was going to see you today. chemistry lab is predictable like that. but he didn’t think it was going to be like this—you coming in late, hair slightly frazzled but still somehow shiny, breath just a little uneven from probably speed walking across campus, cheeks warm with the rush of someone running late, eyes scanning the room for an open seat.

because you are never late. but the universe has a weird sense of humor sometimes. and today, it decided to silence your morning alarm all on its own (you smacked it in your sleep and gave yourself twenty-too-many-minutes of snooze time), cut off your shower halfway through rinsing out your conditioner, and let the vending machine eat your last dollar without giving you your granola bar.

so the sight of you hesitating in the doorway makes the entire energy of the room shift just a little for sunghoon. he watches you mumble a quiet apology to your professor before your eyes quickly scan the room for an empty seat. and then his heart stalls for one horrifying second.

because he swears he can hear the universe laughing. laughing at the fact that the only seat available in the entire room…just so happens to be the one next to park sunghoon.

sunghoon, who immediately pretends to be incredibly invested in the periodic table projected on the side wall.

sunghoon, who is currently praying that someone will miraculously volunteer as tribute and take the empty chair beside him out of nowhere. no one does.

sunghoon, who tries his very best to quietly will himself invisible (he has never succeeded at this before. he does not succeed now).

your eyes land on the seat. then on him. and your expression does this tiny thing—something between oh! and oh…and something else that sunghoon cannot, and probably should not, interpret for the sake of his emotional stability.

then, with a small flash of hesitation and what seems like acceptance, you make your way over.

“hey…sunghoon,” you say, voice soft but steady as you pull out the chair.

sunghoon turns his head just slightly, offering you a nervous half smile that feels about three seconds away from collapsing into a full panic.

“hey,” he manages, voice a little too quiet, a little too soft. you slide into the seat, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and the faint citrus scent of you hits him like déjà vu and disaster rolled into one. and because it completely throws him off, he doesn’t even realize what he says next until the words are already out, “so how was your weekend?”

and then he freezes.

so do you. you are mid-bag-unzip. there is a soft still in the air as his words hang in between you two. how was your weekend.

the weekend where he vomited all over you.

sunghoon looks away and mentally slams his head into the table. maybe you didn’t hear him. or maybe he’s hallucinating and didn’t actually say that. or maybe he did actually say that and you’ll pretend it didn’t happen out of pity for him.

none of that happens.

because, eventually, you turn to him fully, a small smile on your face as you casually shrug, “oh, it was good!”

sunghoon stops for a second. he stares. okay. okay, good. maybe we’re safe. maybe this is forgiveness, maybe this is grace.

“—until i had to throw away my favorite pair of shoes.”

and there. it. is.

sunghoon thinks he dies. just a little. or a lot, internally. his eyes shut, his fingers gripping the pen in his hand so hard he swears the plastic actually creaks.

“yeah, um. that’s…fair,” he says back, but it comes out more like a croak. “listen, i’m really—”

“it’s really okay, sunghoon,” your voice interrupts as you tap your pen on the notebook, the tone light and casual and teasing—not at all the sound of someone who recently got assaulted by the same guy twice in the past week. “i mean, i think you just really owe me now, though.”

sunghoon’s eyes snap open. he glances over to look you and—

you don’t look mad. you don’t sound mad. if anything, you look…amused, really. and the tilt in your voice just now sounded almost fond, even. which is objectively worse for sunghoon’s emotional well-being.

sunghoon tries to speak. tries to be cool, collected, charming, normal. tries to ignore the fact that the pretty new girl with shiny hair that usually sits five rows ahead of him is currently still talking to him after he messed up with her twice.

“i—yeah—yes. absolutely. i will. i promise—”

and sunghoon literally does not know what he’s promising, nor does his mind give him the chance to find the words before the professor’s voice cuts through the room, “alright everyone. today’s experiment will be done in pairs. your partner will be the person you’re currently sharing a lab bench with.”

there’s a beat of silence.

because, again, the universe has a very weird sense of humor.

then, a soft inhale. and sunghoon isn’t even entirely sure if it came from him or from you. could be both.

“…so,” you start, turning slightly toward him just enough that your shoulder brushes his, “lab partners?”

and approximately within the next two seconds, park sunghoon goes through all five stages of grief:

denial — no. surely not. she means across the lab bench. diagonally. someone else. fate would never be this cruel to me.

anger — this is jay’s fault. it’s always jay’s fault. why did he convince me to go to that party. why does alcohol exist. this is all jay’s fault.

bargaining — if the universe lets me get through this without causing any physical harm, i will donate to charity. i will recycle properly. i will stop ignoring mom’s text messages. 

depression — i am going to die. right here. in a room that smells faintly of citrus (you), acetone (lab), and sweat (me).

acceptance — okay. okay. we got this. we persevere.

sunghoon swallows. clears his throat, once, then twice. but his voice still cracks like a thirteen year old boy when he turns to you, “lab partners.”

you give a small smile. it’s not mocking, it’s not pitying. just…warm. like you know exactly how nervous he is. like you know how sorry he is. like you aren’t holding the past two disasters against him at all. and sunghoon will take it. he’ll take whatever he can get.

you both stand and begin gathering equipment from the front bench—beakers, pipettes, safety goggles that look like they were designed by someone who has never seen a human face in their entire life.

so when sunghoon returns to the table and tries to put them on, it’s all a tragic scene—the strap catches, the goggles twist, his hair gets stuck. and through it all, you watch with a smile playing at your lips, but you don’t laugh. instead, you step closer, simply tilting your head.

“here,” you murmur, your voice gentle in a way that makes something inside sunghoon want to claw at his own skin. your hands lift, slow and careful, fingers sliding lightly into his hair as you adjust the straps behind his head.

“bend down a bit,” you say, struggling to reach his height, and sunghoon does what he’s told. you finish adjusting the goggles, smoothing down a strand of hair near his temple before your fingers linger for a brief second. the moment is light. short. harmless. but still long enough for sunghoon.

“thanks,” he says in a voice that isn’t really a voice. it’s low and careful, like if he speaks too loud the moment will shatter.

because you’re still close. close enough that he can feel your own warmth. close enough that if he tilted his head forward just a fraction, his lips would be right near your own. and he is trying so hard not to focus on that. he miserably fails.

all he can focus on is your breathing—soft and a little uneven, like you’re not totally unaffected either, which would be insane, because this is you and this is him and the universe should not allow him to have this much hope. that would be cruel.

but then your eyes flick up to meet his, and the world gets quiet for a second, like someone hit pause on everything except the two of you.

sunghoon swallows hard. his eyes dart elsewhere, anywhere, but then it hits him.

it hits him abruptly and mortifyingly, with the force of a preteen revelation:

there’s the subtle sheen of sweat tracing the line of your collarbone, where the lab’s humid heat has your skin glistening just enough to draw his eye to the hollow of your throat, where you’re wearing the tiniest necklace he has ever seen in his life.

and somehow that is the most scandalous thing he has ever encountered.

because it sits there, tiny and delicate and soft—and he thinks back to the way you spoke to him at the party. the way your eyes didn’t back down from his, the way his name sounded from your mouth the first time he met you. like you knew exactly what you were doing. 

you are everything but delicate. and something about that contrast, the softness laced with boldness, the gentle curve edged with something sharp—makes something in sunghoon go frighteningly, beautifully still. because sunghoon realizes he want more.

and not just in that casual, lab-partner-who-lives-ten-doors-down-and-occasionally-asks-to-borrow-sugar way. but in the remember-your-favorite-snack-and-stock-the-pantry-with-it, memorize-your-handwriting, learn-your-schedule-by-heart, hold-your-face-in-my-hands-and-finally-know-what-you-taste-like kind of way. the kind where he’d trace the line of your jaw just to feel your pulse quicken under his touch, where late-night texts turn into confessions whispered into the dark, where the world narrows to just the heat of your breath mingling with his, close enough that one right move could unravel everything else.

park sunghoon is 22 years old but his brain reacts to this realization like he is eleven, standing at the edge of the community pool and realizing that girls have collarbones and the world will never, ever be the same. his ears go hot. his heart beats faster. he looks away.

“no problem,” you clear your throat, stepping back, smoothing down your skirt with your palms. your voice is light again, controlled. but there’s a little curve at the corner of your mouth—like you know.

and somehow, everything after that falls into a quiet, simple, routine. because, in theory, the experiment is simple. measure, mix, heat, observe. nothing that a normal college student with half a functioning brain shouldn’t be able to handle.

which is precisely the issue. because the second sunghoon thinks he’s in the clear, the second sunghoon thinks he can maybe, possibly, start a normal conversation with you, maybe even pretend like the past two incidents never even happened—

you lean slightly over the lab bench, shifting slightly when the edge of your sweater brushes against his wrist. and that’s all it takes.

sunghoon forgets everything he just told himself.

“okay,” you tap your fingers playfully against the table. “we just need ten millimeters of solution A.”

“right,” sunghoon says, nodding immediately.

sunghoon says this with confidence.

sunghoon does not know what solution A is.

his hands are still steady though, surprisingly. he reaches for a beaker, a dropper, a labeled bottle.

“careful,” you say softly, fingers brushing his wrist as you help guide the pipette from one bottle to the other. sunghoon tries to ignore it. he really, really tries. he then looks at you, and you’re already looking at him.

“you’re really focused,” you tease with a small smirk, an eyebrow lifting.

“yeah,” he says without thinking. but he’s focused on you. not the beaker. not the measurement. and most definitely not the very important instruction that says pour ten millimeters and not thirty.

so when he pours—it’s too much. way too much. there’s a hiss, a bubble, a foaming roar before sunghoon could stop it even if he wanted to.

“wait—no that’s too—” you start, but it’s too late. and all sunghoon can do is stand there, and watch. watch as the reaction is already shooting upward, a fountain of foaming mixed colors exploding straight into the air before dropping right back down and directly—

on you.

all over you. from your hair to your eyelashes to your lips to your sweater to the floor.

the entire room goes silent. sunghoon swears he can hear 1) the way the professor closes her eyes slowly, like she’s lived this exact nightmare seven semesters in a row, and 2) someone in the front of class whisper a small, “holy shit.”

and sunghoon is frozen in horror. completely, absolutely, done. wishing death upon himself. his soul leaves his body, watches from the ceiling, and considers not returning.

you blink. foam slides down your cheek in slow motion. “okay..,” you say, very calmly, as though you saw this coming from a mile away and yet still trying to process what happened. “..cool. of course.”

“i—i am so—” sunghoon’s voice breaks as he inhales a heavy breath, the words tumbling before he even knows what he’s apologizing for this time. the explosion? or maybe still the throw-up? the almost-broken-nose moment? “i don’t even know how that—”

you hold a hand up, stopping him mid-sentence. a blob of foam falls from your face.

“sunghoon,” you deadpan, eyes slowly opening. and your expression says it all—not annoyed, not surprised, not even disappointed. just the acceptance of fate. and sunghoon mentally accepts the fact that maybe he should not be allowed within ten feet of you.

“i know,” you sigh, voice strangely gentle for someone covered head to toe in chemicals and is the current center of attention in a room full of people, “and it’s okay.”

sunghoon squeezes his eyes shut. there is nothing he can say. no apology that will undo the last ten minutes, the last few days, the last entire week. no sentence in any human language that can fix this.

maybe this is punishment for that one time he ghosted a girl because she used too many laughing emojis. maybe this is karma coming back. maybe someone hired a witch to curse him. maybe it was jay. honestly, it was probably jay.

your voice breaks him out of his downwards spiral, “i think i need to…go wash this out.”

and because sunghoon is sunghoon and a man powered entirely of panic, impulse, and bad luck—he moves before he thinks. his hands are already tugging his own hoodie over his head, the hem catching awkwardly on his shirt, his hair going everywhere, and earbuds (why did he put his earbuds in his pocket) flying out and clattering to the floor.

but then he’s holding the hoodie out in front of him.

just…holding it. straight armed. eyes avoiding yours and trained on the material in front of him.

and you just stand there, foam still dripping, but now staring at the hoodie. then back at him.

“sunghoon—”

“just take it,” he blurts, his cheeks flushed pink and voice embarrassingly earnest. “please. before the chemicals…seep…or—spread? i don’t know—”

and sunghoon has no idea what happens when lab foam dries on skin. he just knows it sounds bad and cannot, and will not, be the reason you get third degree chemical burns.

but when you take the hoodie from his hands, a small thank you on your lips, you look at him with something soft, something understanding, something that looks real, and not tossed out of politeness or pity. something that makes sunghoon’s heart want to beat straight out of his ribcage.

and when you come back a few minutes after, sunghoon thinks he’s ready.

he is not ready.

because, see, sunghoon did not think ahead (he has never once thought ahead, historically speaking), and therefore he did not anticipate the sheer consequences of his own actions playing out. of him handing you his hoodie. of you actually wearing his hoodie.

but there you are.

and it swallows you whole. the sleeves bunched slightly at your wrists so they don’t slip past your fingers. the hem hits right at the end of your skirt. the collar sits a little wide and off-center because the hoodie is well-loved, and because sunghoon studies in it, because he sleeps in it, and because he chews on the drawstring when he’s stressed—so one string is short and the other is stupidly long, uneven in the exact way only his hoodie is uneven.

your hair is pulled up now, strands slightly damp from the sink, your cheeks pink from your attempt of scrubbing mysterious chemicals off, and you look like you belong in it.

sunghoon’s body has a reaction that can only be described as malfunctioning. his breath catches in his throat, his pulse jumps, and that foreign feeling of something coiling tight and low in his gut comes back, heating spreading uninvited, unwelcomed, but definitely undeniable. 

because you look good. and soft and warm and heartbreakingly casual. like you’ve worn his clothes a thousand times before. like you will wear his clothes a thousand more.

and definitely like something sunghoon could be stupid about for the rest of his life. like there is a universe—maybe just slightly left of this one—where this is normal. where you wash your face at his bathroom sink and steal his clothes on purpose and drink the orange juice from his fridge without asking.

and he would let you. every single time.

so yes, the third time sunghoon sees you—he knows it’s coming. he just didn’t expect to want it this time.

“so let me get this straight,” jay leans over the table with the wide eyes of someone who already heard the story (he did) and is simply here just to see his friend in agony (he is), “…you blew her up?”

sunghoon peers his eyes from across the courtyard table, nearly scoffing, “no, i didn’t blow y/n up.”

“so…you blew up all over her?”

sunghoon throws his hands up exasperatedly, gesturing to his still very intact self, “well, evidently not!”

“okay…so,” jay draws his voice out, slow and unimpressed, dragging the fork through his lunch, “…what did you blow up?”

“why—” sunghoon drags a hand down his face, “—is everyone saying i blew something up?”

jay looks straight at him, chews on his pasta, and does not answer. instead, he pulls out his phone.

“because,” he scrolls through the screen once before turning the screen up to sunghoon, “of this text i got from jake saying ‘sunghoon blew up y/n. eye roll emoji.’”

sunghoon stares. blinks, then stares again.

traitor.

“i blew up our science experiment,” sunghoon mutters through a sigh, pinching his nose like the memory physically hurts him. “all. over. her.”

jay pauses mid-bite. lets it sink in. then—

“oh god,” he bursts into full laughter, “all over her?”

sunghoon ignores him. rolls his eyes.

“jay, it was so bad,” he groans, burying his face into both hands now. “i don’t even know what happened. she was so close to me and her hand brushed mine and it’s like my brain just—” he then looks up and claps his hands together dramatically. “—stopped.”

jay doesn’t say anything.

sunghoon, however and unfortunately, continues.

“and then it gets worse, jay.”

there’s a long beat. jay gives sunghoon a look that tells him there’s no possible way it could get worse. but, once again, because the universe has a weird sense of humor, sunghoon’s existence is living proof that it always will get worse.

jay takes another bite before he nods solemnly, as if gearing up for what’s coming. “alright, lay it on me. what’s next, what else could possibly have happ—”

but jay doesn’t finish.

because at that exact moment—you walk into the courtyard. hair still pulled into a loose ponytail, the sunlight catching in your face like the sun only came out today to make sure you’re seen by the rest of the world, a smile on your face as you walk besides jake.

but none of that matters.

because you’re still wearing sunghoon’s hoodie. his hoodie. and he can’t take his eyes off you. you look like you got dressed in his bedroom. you look like you belong in his bedroom.

sunghoon stops breathing. from beside him, jay also freezes.

“…isn’t that…your hoodie?” his chewing slows down to a a stop, voice going flat. then, just for dramatic effect, “…on y/n?”

sunghoon does not look away. in fact, he’s full on staring. stares like a man witnessing both the holiest and worst moment of his entire life.

“that, jay—” sunghoon says, voice low, hollow, and utterly destroyed, “—is exactly how it gets worse.”

jay looks at you—completely swallowed by the hoodie, laughing lightly at something jake says, fingers tugging absentmindedly at the drawstring.

he looks back at sunghoon and squints.

“…this is bad,” jay starts slowly, nodding as if he totally knows what’s going on but definitely doesn’t, “because…?”

sunghoon turns to him with a look, “BECAUSE, JAY. SHE’S WEARING MY HOODIE. and it makes me—” he gestures weakly, helplessly, and vaguely to himself— “feel things.”

and that’s when jay sets down his fork very gently, the realization hitting him in real time, “oh my god, you like her.”

sunghoon doesn’t respond. he just closes his eyes, inhaling slowly, trying to remember the exact breathing pattern his therapist (again, jay) recommended for moments of emotional crisis (four counts in, six counts out, something like that)—which, by the way, he is strongly considering firing him now because none of his advice ever helps in the moment.

because yes. sunghoon does like you.

he likes you. he likes the way your laugh sounds just a little breathier when you’re trying to not show you think something is funny. he likes the way you talk like you’re choosing your words on purpose, but never too carefully. he likes that you didn’t freak out on him when he, multiple times, was the direct cause of your suffering. he likes the way you look at him like he’s not the complete wreck he is. he likes that you’re kind, but not in a soft, fragile way. kind like you’re aware and like you choose to be.

he likes you, and the only times he has ever interacted with you, he’s probably taken another two years off your lifespan.

sunghoon, by all known definitions, should never interact with you ever again.

“oh wow,” jay continues, laughing now, breathless, delighted, and the worst therapist-slash-best-friend in the world. “no, dude. you totally do. you have a crush on the girl you’re, like—” he holds his fingers up half an inch apart, “—this close to actually killing.”

sunghoon slams his palm on the table and immediately regrets it because it rattles and now people are looking, “shut up, jay.”

jay raises both his hands in surrender, but the smirk on his face says he’s not surrendering at all.

“no, like—think about it,” he presses, leaning in closer. “that’s probably why you keep messing up. you’re nervous around her. like, elementary playground crush behavior. you’re basically pulling her pigtails.”

sunghoon stares at him, horrified. “jay. let’s not compare this to elementary school kids please.”

jay shrugs, picking his fork back up and goes back to twirling his pasta like this is a regular tuesday and not a life-changing-revelation for sunghoon.

“whatever,” sunghoon continues, voice deflated, shoulders sinking, “it doesn’t matter anyway. it’s not like she feels the same way. especially after i—” he pauses and gestures vaguely to the lingering memory of disasters that has defined his existence lately. “all of that.”

he doesn’t specify which disaster. he doesn’t need to. jay knows. you know. the world knows. God definitely knows.

sunghoon rubs a hand over his face, voice growing quieter, smaller. “i should just stop. stop talking to her. stop trying. just…distance myself or something.”

that’s when jay’s fork freezes mid-air. he sets it down and looks at sunghoon like he just suggested he run off to the mountains and join a cult.

“okay. woah. relax, drama queen. absolutely not.”

sunghoon blinks. jay picks his fork back up and points it at him with the authority of something who has never once been correct but speaks confidently anyway.

“first of all, please never say the words distance myself ever again. you sound like an awful romance-novel-series-turned-movie-franchise.”

sunghoon glares weakly from across the table. “i’m being serious, jay. she probably hates me. or worse—” he has to swallow because the next words taste bitter, like something he never wanted to even consider but could be highly likely, “—she’s probably, like, i don’t know—into jake. or something.”

and jay actually physically recoils. his whole upper body leans backwards like someone just threw a raw fish at him and he has to grab the edge of the table to prevent himself from falling back.

he then furrows his brows at sunghoon, eyes squinting, “you’re joking, right?”

sunghoon doesn’t answer. because he is, surely, not joking.

jay looks over his shoulder to where you’re standing across the courtyard—still smiling, hair still catching sunlight, still wearing sunghoon’s hoodie—then looks back at sunghoon with the expression of someone witnessing unprecedented levels of stupidity.

“sunghoon,” he says carefully, slowly, “y/n looks like the kind of person who probably color codes her google calendar and knows the exact expiration date of every condiment in her fridge. and jake—” his thumb points vaguely behind him, “—jake once microwaved a fork because he thought it would make his food taste warmer. the entire reason why we don’t live with him.”

sunghoon just stares. jay nods to himself, like there’s no possible argument to this. “trust me. i don’t think y/n would want to choose that life.”

sunghoon opens his mouth to argue—because at least warmer meals by microwaved-metal sound better than an almost broken nose by football—but then his gaze flicks over jay’s shoulder.

“jay. stop. talking.”

and jay isn’t even talking anymore, but he shuts his mouth anyways. he goes still. sunghoon goes still. then, sunghoon’s eyes widen a fraction, the smallest warning signal.

because you’re coming over. you’re walking across the courtyard next to jake, food in hand, and waving over at the two boys, completely unaware of the quarter-life-crisis occurring only a few feet away.

sunghoon keeps his face still, but his posture changes slightly. he pulls his shoulders back, takes a deep breath, straightens out the water bottle sitting in front of him for absolutely no reason.

“hey,” jake calls out, slapping jay lightly on the back as he drops into the seat next to him, “mind if we join?”

you’re already sliding into the empty spot next to sunghoon, easy, natural, like it’s just what you do. like this is normal. like sitting beside him is just…your place.

“’course not,” sunghoon mutters, politely, evenly, eyes fixed on absolutely anything else that isn’t you. the water bottle, the condensation, the way the light hits the plastic. fascinating stuff, really.

you shift, just a little—knees angled toward him, shoulder brushing close enough that he can feel your warmth, not touching, but enough to notice the space between you.

“hey,” you say. it’s small, soft, casual. it’s nothing dramatic, but yet, sunghoon feels it like someone tugged a string from somewhere deep within his ribs.

he doesn’t look up, just nods.

“hey.” it’s neutral, nothing to analyze, nothing to misunderstand.

if you’re weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t think anything of it. but here’s the thing, you are paying attention. so you offer him a faint smile, the kind that’s quiet, doesn’t demand anything, just acknowledgement.

and sunghoon sees it. his chest goes painfully warm. because he wants to look back. wants to return it. wants to ask how are you in a way that means i’ve been thinking about you and not just saying it to make small talk.

he wants to tell you he keeps replaying the sound of your laugh in his head and wants to say something stupid and honest and reckless like i hope the hoodie’s okay. actually, please just keep it. forever. i don’t want it back.

but instead, he focuses harder on anything and everything else around him. the way jake’s enthusiastically talking to jay about something with his hands. the wrinkled label on the water bottle. jay’s pasta, now stale and definitely cold. everything he doesn’t care about. because, right now, looking at the one thing he does care about feels too dangerous for himself.

and you notice. not in the dramatic why-are-you-avoiding-me kind of way, but in the micro-shift in your posture. the way your smile lingers for half a second longer than it should, like you were waiting for something. the way your fingers tap the edge of the table a few times. the way you let out a small exhale through your nose.

“—thinking just something small at our apartment,” jake’s voice finally cuts in, bright and loud. he’s gesturing big enough to knock jay over if he wanted to. “drinks, music—maybe ni-ki can dj if he doesn’t lose his shoe again.”

jay groans. “one, he is not dj-ing. last time was a one direction blender remix from hell. and two, ni-ki will never not lose his shoe.”

you laugh at that, the sound light, amused, genuine. and sunghoon swears his chest has never felt more tight.

jake continues, eyes wide and excited, “anyways—you guys are coming. this weekend. both of you. no excuses.”

sunghoon nods once, quick and automatic. “yeah. sure.”

your head tilts at that, just slightly—a tiny furrow in your brow, like you can sense something in the air is different.

and sunghoon tries his best to pretend he doesn’t notice. tries to pretend that the sudden distance between you isn’t something he’s actively building with his own hands. but it feels awful.

because he knows what he’s doing. doing the exact thing jay told him not to do—the easy thing. pulling back, shrinking, playing it safe. as if safety has ever saved him from anything.

he swallows hard. his jaw clenches. the collar of his shirt suddenly feels too hot, too tight. but the conversation keeps moving around him anyways—jake rambling about playlists, jay complaining about how he’s going to be forced to help clean afterwards—voices blended together into one long, meaningless sound.

meanwhile, sunghoon is somewhere else entirely. somewhere between panic and longing and the quiet awareness of his own undoing. he finally risks a glance, quick and careful, but just enough to look at you. and you’re already looking back at jake now, laughing gently, the kind that sunghoon could definitely get used to, but—

your fingers still tap against the table. your leg bounces next to his, as if in anticipation, as if aware.

and sunghoon’s chest aches in a way he can’t explain. not to himself. and definitely not to you.

the next time sunghoon sees you, he swears it’s not his fault.

at least, he’d like to think so. but statistically speaking—and sunghoon knows his statistics—it probably was his fault anyways.

the parking lot is nearly empty, close to sunset hour—that small time in between where the sky is barely turning colors and everything looks a little softer around the edges, the campus quieting down in the way it only is when all classes have ended for the week and everyone’s going home.

sunghoon’s already halfway through the lot, keys dangling from hand, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. and he’s so close. dangerously, blissfully close to freedom. to going home, collapsing onto the couch, arguing with jay over takeout before inevitably eating cereal and playing league until his eyes dry out. so, yes, almost free.

almost able to pretend today didn’t happen. almost able to pretend he didn’t, once again, cause minor emotional and physical harm to the girl who has done nothing but exist and be moderately nice to him.

he unlocks his car, swings the back door open, tosses his backpack in with a soft thud. and then—he looks up.

and he sees you.

you’re a little ways across the lot—just far enough that sunghoon could pretend he didn’t notice you if he were a stronger man (he is not), but still close enough to see his hoodie’s sleeves pushed up to your elbows, a frown on your face as your phone is pressed to your ear, and the hood of your car propped open.

sunghoon watches as you pop your head back into your car and turn the key back into the ignition again and again and again—

to no avail. the car stays dead.

sunghoon hesitates. he internally debates. argues with himself for, like, three whole minutes.

he could leave. he could absolutely leave. you haven’t seen him yet. he could get in his car, drive away, go home, take a nice, warm shower even though it has weak water pressure, eat cereal over the sink, and pretend he never witnessed anything.

but instead, he stands there. like an idiot. staring across the parking lot with the look of someone who’s fighting with only himself.

don’t go. she definitely thinks you’re a curse.

go. she’s wearing your hoodie.

don’t go. what if you break the car somehow.

go. now. before she calls roadside assistance and meets a guy who’s better at life than you. or worse, jake.

don’t go. you’re supposed to be distancing. that’s the plan. that’s the safe thing. the smart thing, the—

you look up.

and when your eyes meet his, your expression softens, breaking into something comforting and relieved. like you’re glad to see him. you lift your hand and give a small wave.

and that’s it. that’s the end of sunghoon’s entire distancing plan.

he sighs.

fine. he is going.

he is a moth and you’re the closest open flame and he will simply have to deal with the consequences later.

his feet start to move before the rest of him agrees to it, shoulders stiff, posture trying very hard to look normal and calm and definitely not like he just had a full internal monologue breakdown. you give him a smile when he’s close enough—bright, easy, familiar, somehow—and sunghoon has to physically look away for a beat to reorient his mental wellbeing.

“car won’t start?” he says, even though he definitely already knows the answer.

you let out a breath, the sound coming out like a laugh as if the situation is somehow funny instead of deeply annoying. “yeah. i think the battery’s dead. or the universe hates me specifically. either one.”

sunghoon’s lips twitch because he’s sure if the universe hates anyone specifically, it’s him. “could be both.”

your smile widens as you look up at him, “definitely both.”

there’s a short pause that falls between you two for a second before you speak up again, “i tried calling the roadside people but it keeps going straight to voicemail, which feels pretty ironic.”

“i’m pretty sure roadside assistance is a scam anyways,” he says, shrugging as he tucks his hands deep into his pockets. “i think they just nap in trucks and hope people give up.”

you laugh at that, fully this time, and it’s even softer, warmer, like the joke wasn’t even that funny but you like the way he said it. and sunghoon is ridiculously glad his hands are in his pockets now, because his fingers twitch at the sound.

and park sunghoon is not a car guy. not even a little bit. he failed his driver’s license test twice. and not even the driving part—he failed the written part. both times. he still has to google which side his gas tank is on. and he’s pretty sure his car is two years due for an oil change.

so what he does next is absolutely logical, because sunghoon is not touching your car with a ten foot pole. what he does is what any rational, non-car expert, guy with a raging crush and a fully functioning car would do in this situation:

“do you…want a ride home?” he offers, though it comes out more like a question to himself.

your lips part just slightly. surprise flickers across your face—and then something else. something unreadable. something that feels like a soft yes. “really? you don’t mind?”

sunghoon nods—casual, casual, very casual—despite the fact that his heart is jumping around in his ribcage at the thought of you sitting in his passenger seat.

“i mean…” he clears his throat, eyes down to the ground just to avoid yours. “we literally live down the hall from one other. i wouldn’t exactly be able to sleep peacefully knowing you got stranded in a parking lot.”

your smile widens a bit more, real and grateful, as you fidget with the ends of the hoodie now. “okay,” you say. “yeah. i’d really appreciate that.”

and that’s how sunghoon finds himself walking you to his car—unlocking the passenger door for you like he was raised by parents who taught him manners (he was) and how to fall in love too fast (he does).

he gets in on his side, starts the car, and the radio is too loud, so he turns it down. then it’s too quiet, so he turns it up again. then regrets everything.

but he starts driving anyways, silence falling in between the two of you. he grips the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, and he clears his throat just to have something to do.

the engine hums, the sky slowly going from pink to orange around you two, but the one and only thing sunghoon can perceive is your presence in his hoodie in his car.

you look out the window, watching the campus buildings pass. “i always forget how pretty it gets around this time,” you murmur, suddenly breaking him out of his own thoughts.

sunghoon glances at you before focusing on the road again. “yeah,” he says, a little small. “it kind of sneaks up on you.”

you smile, not looking away from the window. and then suddenly, “you strike me as a sunset person.”

sunghoon stills and blinks, keeping his eyes trained on the road. “a what?”

“like…you seem like someone who appreciates that kind of stuff,” you explain, glancing slightly at him. “sunsets. late-night convenience store runs. peeling fruit the slow way. that kind of person.”

sunghoon opens his mouth. then closes it, because he does not know what to do with that sentence.

“i..i guess?” he tries, trying very hard not to panic at the idea of someone, namely you, having thoughts about him. “well, you seem like a…sunrise person.”

you turn to look at him fully now, and you laugh under your breath, “i’m definitely not a morning person.”

“no. not morning,” he says, shaking his head a little. he turns right at a stop sign, his hand loose on the wheel now, almost relaxed. almost. “just…the feeling of starting fresh.”

you don’t say anything right away. you just look at him, eyes trained to the side of his face, as if you’re trying to figure something out.

and sunghoon nearly drives into a parked prius, but he hopes you don’t notice that.

you look back out your window, but your smile stays, “that was weirdly poetic of you, park sunghoon.”

sunghoon swallows hard, but his grip loosens some more. the quiet settles again after that, but now it’s different. lighter, easier. you start talking about the small things, nothing earth-shattering, but something comfortable. something about the terrible on-campus breakfast, the vending machine that stole your dollar this morning, how jake broke your coffee machine after two uses. but the whole time—sunghoon can’t help but think.

think how maybe in another universe, this is normal.

maybe in another universe, you’re always in his passenger seat at the end of the day. maybe he drives you home not out of chance, but because it’s routine. because you’re just in each other’s lives. because this is what you do. because he knows what songs you like to play when you’re tired and which stores you stop at on the way home and how you hum when you think about what you want to eat for dinner.

maybe in another universe, he didn’t meet you by accidentally hitting you in the face with a football. maybe in that universe, he’s…normal. not whatever this is—this mess of nerves and second guesses and catastrophes that only ever seem to happen to him whenever he’s with you.

maybe in that universe, he meets you at one of jake’s parties he throws too often. maybe you’re laughing at something someone said, holding a red cup and leaning against the counter, and sunghoon sees you from across the room the way people see things they were always meant to find.

maybe he walks over—all steady and confident—and says something easy, something light, something that makes your smile bloom slowly and softly at him. not out of politeness, not out of pity because he threw up all over you. just because you want to.

maybe in that universe, he gets the girl. but this is not that universe.

and when the car rolls to a stop outside the building, sunghoon still finds himself walking you to your door.

because of course he does. because he wants to. because he doesn’t know how not to.

you stop in front of your apartment, keys already halfway in the door, and turn to him, meeting his eyes fully.

“thank you,” you say, and the look in your eyes is soft. honest. and something else, something sunghoon can’t quite place and, frankly, is afraid to. “for the ride—” and then you look down, fingers toying with the drawstring of the hoodie, like it means something you don’t have words for just yet, “—and the hoodie.”

and as sunghoon looks at you in the quiet of the hallway—just you, him, the flicker of the dying lightbulb a few doors down, and the pure warmth he feels around you—he thinks there’s a version of this moment where he says it all.

where he doesn’t swallow everything down, doesn’t mistake silence for safety. where he tells you he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since the first time you laughed in his direction, that the sound of it still sits in his chest. where he admits that every stupid mistake, every clumsy accident, somehow only pulled him closer.

but instead, this version has him standing still, heart in his throat, pretending that wanting you quietly is the same as not wanting you at all.

so he just nods.

“yeah. of course.”

you smile one more time, soft and unsure, lingering just a beat too long—like you’re waiting for him to say something else, or maybe trying to find the courage to say something yourself.

but then you turn, hand halfway reaching to the door handle, and pause. your fingers hover mid-air. the hallway hums with nothing but silence and the heaviness of everything left unsaid between you two.

sunghoon straightens instinctively, caught off guard by the stillness that follows.

you turn back to him. “can i—” your voice comes quieter this time, hesitant in a new way he hasn’t heard before. “—can i ask you something?”

sunghoon blinks, his throat suddenly dry. “uh…yeah. of course. what’s up?”

“we’re cool, right?” you ask, eyes wide and searching his face. “like…we’re friends?”

and the words hit harder than they should. sunghoon does not know how to answer that. because how exactly does he even define what this is? a one-sided crush? forced proximity? neighbors-turned-accidental-victim-and-perpetrator-turned-friends?

“um—yeah,” he finally says, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “i’d say so.”

you study him for a long second, lips parting like you’re testing to see whether he’s lying. “okay. i just…didn’t know if i did something wrong. you seemed a little off earlier, at lunch.” and your laugh that follows is small, nervous, the kind people use to soften a truth. “and i overthink sometimes, so…yeah.”

sunghoon’s heart twists sharply at that. you, overthinking. you, worrying if you’d done something wrong when he’s the one building the wall between you.

“no,” he blurts before he can stop himself. it comes out too fast, too honest, but he keeps going anyways. “no, you didn’t do anything.” he clears his throat, a bubble of nerves rising too fast. “i just…wasn’t feeling great. long day, you know? classes and…exploding chemicals and stuff,” he exhales, the corner of his mouth twitching.

your shoulders relax, the worry written all over your face fading into something gentler and amused. “okay,” you say with a nod, your smile returning. “just wanted to make sure. friends, then?”

the word stings again, but sunghoon forces a smile anyways. “friends.”

you grin—wide and bright—and it makes something in his chest go weightless and heavy all at once. because, sunghoon realizes, not for the first time, this is what he likes about you, maybe. that you’re not all sharp edges and confidence like he thought. you’re also warmth and thoughtfulness and awkward timing, the kind of person who checks in even when you don’t have to. just because you want to, and just because you mean it.

“i’ll see you tomorrow then?” you say, hand going back to unlock your door. “at the party?”

sunghoon nods. “wouldn’t wanna miss it.”

you look back and smile at him one more time before slipping inside, the door closing gently behind you. sunghoon stands there for a moment, clinging to the warmth of your presence still in the air, lungs tight, and heart somewhere between the pavement of the parking lot and the memory of seeing you for the first time that day in the courtyard.

and he thinks—not for the first time, and definitely not for the last—

in this universe? he is truly, utterly, deeply doomed.

“so you’re really not coming?”

jay’s already standing by the door, shoes on, dressed in what he considers casual party attire, which means a wrinkled overshirt that might be clean, with a white shirt under that definitely isn’t, and jeans he absolutely pulled off the back of his desk chair. his keys jingle in his hand as he leans against the door frame, waiting for sunghoon to fold.

“yes, jay. i’m staying.” sunghoon doesn’t even look up from the couch, eyes trained on the random documentary that he found on the nature channel playing in front of him. “and frankly, you can’t make me go.”

jay lets out a huff. “jake could. and he will. we literally live ten feet away, he’ll drag you by your ankles if he has to.”

“then tell him i’m sick,” sunghoon mutters back, slouching deeper into the couch like he’s trying to merge with it. “like the flu or something.”

jay’s laugh that comes after is a loud, disbelieving, ha.

“that’s so bull. you only ever get sick for two reasons,” he holds up two fingers. “one, when you drink too much, and two, when you get that suspicious ass chinese takeout i keep telling you to stop ordering.”

sunghoon finally looks up from the tv to glare at him. for a second, it looks like he might get up—stand his ground, be a grown man, assert dominance or whatever the sunghoon equivalent is to that.

he doesn’t.

he just grabs the nearest couch pillow and launches it in jay’s direction with zero aim, zero strategy, and zero strength.

jay looks at the pillow. then at sunghoon. “wow,” he says flatly before tossing it back onto the far end of the couch.

“okay, fine,” jay continues, a mix of amusement and pity in his tone, “but you’re really gonna sit here on a saturday night—” he cranes his neck toward the tv, brows furrowing, “—watching a documentary about…dinosaur extinction?”

“dinosaurs are cool,” sunghoon says, eyes narrowing in defense. “plus, i’m tired.”

“no,” jay crosses his arms. “you’re lying.”

sunghoon then lets out a sigh through his nose, because—yeah, he is. but he doesn’t let jay know that. because what he wants to say is that he’s exhausted, but not in the way that sleep can fix. the kind of exhaustion that comes from thinking too much and saying too little. from the drive home yesterday that replayed in his head so vividly he’s starting to remember it like a movie he’ll never get to rewatch. from the realization that every time you smile, something inside him shifts a little, softly, painfully, and permanently.

and that terrifies him. because sunghoon has never been that guy. not the one who gets the girl, not the one who says the right thing at the right time. he’s the background character—the one who holds the door, smiles too late, apologizes too much.

so no, he can’t go to that party. he can’t stand in a crowded room watching you light up the way you do—laughing at something someone else will say, someone else’s story, someone else’s joke, someone who isn’t actively avoiding you for your own good—reminding him of all the ways he can’t have you.

jay stares for a beat longer, studying him like he’s about to bring up the topic sunghoon’s been avoiding all day and night—but he doesn’t. he just exhales, slow and knowing, and reaches for the door. “fine. i’ll tell jake you caught the plague or something.”

and after jay leaves, sunghoon’s not sure how much time passes. the apartment settles into that kind of quiet that lets you hear the hum of the fridge, the faint tick of the clock in the hallway that jay insists adds ambience, the low static of the tv playing in front of him.

sunghoon is still on the couch, now half under a blanket he stole from jay’s room, his eyes fixed on the screen, where a cgi triceratops is doing something probably scientifically inaccurate. but it doesn’t matter anyways because he hasn’t been paying attention for the past forty minutes. because his mind is somewhere else. it’s been somewhere else since you shut your door one night ago, wearing his hoodie and smiling at him like he hadn’t spent the whole day overthinking about you.

and he tells himself—again, again, and again—that this distance thing is good. smart. necessary. that the safest point between your two paths is the one where he never hurts you again. where he removes himself before he ruins something that could’ve been easy, simple, normal.

and sunghoon almost believes it, too.

until his phone buzzes.

it buzzes once, and it’s quick and sharp, yet cuts through his silence. he glances at the coffee table and stares at it. he almost doesn’t want to pick it up, as if he knows who it is and is avoiding the inevitable.

but he reaches for it anyway.

Y/N (11:15PM) : hii sunghoon

and his heart drops. he stares at the screen. doesn’t type. doesn’t move. his thumb hovers just above the message box just as his phone buzzes again in his hand:

Y/N (11:16PM) : jay told me you weren’t feeling well :( i hope everything’s ok

sunghoon inhales sharply through his nose. his jaw tightens. because, no, nothing’s okay with sunghoon. not really. not the kind of ‘not okay’ that he could exactly explain to you, though. it’s not a headache or a fever or whatever lie jay came up with. somewhere more like the ache of wanting something he’s convinced he shouldn’t. something that looks a lot like you.

his brain starts the war almost instantly.

don’t answer. you’re supposed to be distancing, remember? this is the plan.

don’t be an asshole. just say thanks. be normal for once in your life.

sunghoon groans quietly, head hitting back against the couch as he presses the heel of his hand to his forehead.

then your third text lights up the screen.

Y/N (11:18PM) : do you want me to bring anything?

and sunghoon’s brain short circuits completely.

yes. you. here. now.

you standing in his doorway, wearing his hoodie again like it’s the most natural, normal thing in the world. you filling the apartment with that quiet warmth you seem to carry everywhere. you sitting beside him on this stupid couch watching stupid documentaries with him until stupid hours of the night.

but because he can’t exactly put that feeling into logical words, he instead stares at his screen for a little too long, fighting with the part of him that’s screaming to stop pretending he doesn’t care.

he stares long enough at your words that the screen dims, and he has to tap it once just to see your name again.

his thumb twitches—hovering, shaking—because a part of him wants to break the rules he set for himself. wants to answer you. wants to let himself want you.

but he doesn’t.

he shuts his phone off, flips it back down on the table, and pushes it away like it’s the devil himself. his throat burns, his chest hurts. he leans back into the couch, closing his eyes, and exhales—slow, heavy, resigned.

because if he answers, he’ll just want more again. and wanting has never ended well for sunghoon. so he tells himself you’re just being kind, that this is what you do because this is who you are. you care, you reach out, you text first. you say things like hope you’re okay and ask if he needs anything because you ask everyone that. because you’re a friend.

sunghoon sinks deeper into the couch, trying his best to breathe through the tightness that refuses to leave. the clock ticks, the documentary plays, the phone stays face down.

and just when sunghoon finally feels himself settle—

the front door slams open.

“—OKAY. first of all, you’re coming to this party. and second of all, you’re so stupid.”

jake storms in at full volume, the door slamming shut behind him with the force of someone who has no respect for privacy and apparently door hinges. he’s flushed—cheeks pink, eyes bright, hair a mess, which means he definitely pregamed his own party.

sunghoon jolts upright so fast he nearly falls off the couch. “jesus christ—”

but jake is already toeing off his shoes like he lives here, marching across the living room like a man on a mission, and unfortunately for sunghoon, that mission is him.

“dude,” jake says, pointing at him like an accusation, “what the hell is wrong with you?”

sunghoon groans, dragging a hand down his face. this is jay’s fault. this is all jay’s fault. it’s always jay’s fault. jay never locks the door and this is the consequence for sunghoon not checking. this is karma. this is the plague he supposedly caught. he’s never lying again.

“so tell me why jay said you’re sick,” jake even air quotes it. “‘sick.’”

a beat.

“which is a lie, by the way.”

sunghoon glares weakly. “why does everyone just casually know the conditions under which i get sick?”

“because,” jake raises a finger, counting, “one, you only get sick when you drink too much—”

sunghoon mutters, “oh my god—”

“and two—” jake continues, louder, a second finger in sunghoon’s face, “—when you get chinese food from that cursed corner place i keep telling you not to order from. so unless you did either of those tonight, which you didn’t—because they only take venmo and i checked your venmo transactions—”

“why the fuck are you checking my venmo transacti—”

“—you’re not sick.” jake finishes triumphantly.

“you, jay, and i need to have a conversation about boundaries,” sunghoon deadpans at the boy in front of him.

“don’t deflect,” jake snaps at him. “you’re avoiding the question.”

sunghoon slumps back into the couch cushions, silently praying for death. or a sinkhole. or spontaneous combustion. he’s not picky, really.

“i’ll just go to the next one, okay?” he mutters from his spot. “it’s no big deal.”

and jake gives him a look that says he’s offended. like, genuinely offended.

“it is a big deal,” jake squints, marching a few steps closer. “you’re not skipping this just to avoid y/n. what are you, twelve?”

sunghoon instantly shoots upright again, a look betrayal on his face, “i—what, who said anything about—”

“jay.”

sunghoon shuts his eyes. exhales. counts to three.

jay is fired. jay is beyond fired. he is never telling jay anything ever again.

“and also, i just know you,” jake continues, pacing the living room like this is an intervention sunghoon is now apparently a part of. “you can’t keep doing this. moping around, feeling sorry for yourself just because you made a few minor accidents.”

“a few major—”

“—yes, sunghoon. a few minor ones,” jake says, waving a casual hand through the air. “just go to the party, talk to her, apologize. kiss and make up—actually, don’t do that one unless the vibe is right—but you get my point. just don’t sit here doing this sad boy act and torturing yourself.”

sunghoon narrows his eyes at him, because he forgets—he always forgets—how stupidly well jake knows him.

jake, who once sat with sunghoon on the curb after a failed calculus final and talked him out of dropping out entirely by buying him a churro and saying, ‘your brain just had a lag.’

jake, who memorized sunghoon’s stress tells by sophomore year of highschool—right thumb tapping: anxious; left thumb tapping: spiraling.

jake, who once dragged him out of bed at 2AM because he ‘felt in his soul’ that sunghoon needed fresh air and a convenience store slushie.

jake, who has known every single crush sunghoon’s ever had—most of whom sunghoon barely even realized were crushes until jake said something.

so yeah. of course jake sees right through him.

sunghoon looks away, jaw tight. eventually, he lets out a sigh, “jake, it’s not that simple.”

“sure it is,” jake stops, hands on his hips. “you just make it complicated.”

sunghoon looks up then, and his expression isn’t defensive. just resigned—the kind that comes from trying too hard to convince yourself you don’t care that there’s no way you could go back now.

“i’m not going,” he says finally. “end of story.”

and for a moment, jake looks like he might argue again, brows drawn together, mouth opening. but then he stops. his mouth shuts and something soft flashes in his eyes. he lets out an exhale.

“fine,” he turns to the door, already putting his shoes on. “stay here. be mysterious and tortured or whatever.”

sunghoon doesn’t reply. he just watches the glow of the tv flicker across the living room—tiny prehistoric creatures moving across the screen, narrator droning on.

and right as jake is about to leave, he pauses. “oh, by the way—” he adds casually. “she was asking about you.”

sunghoon freezes. his heart does something absolutely violent and traitorous inside his chest.

jake then glances over his shoulder, “she was looking for you, actually,”

and that’s it. that’s the crack in sunghoon’s entire resolve.

because logic means nothing when it comes to you. because distance means absolutely nothing when you’re still thinking about him. and restraint? restraint dies instantly because he can already see it—you, at that party, somewhere in the crowd, wearing something that’s definitely going to make sunghoon stop breathing, holding a drink and smiling at someone who could be him, but isn’t.

jake opens the door. “see you there, yeah?”

sunghoon didn’t really know what the plan was. not really, anyways.

but here he is.

the music’s too loud, the lighting’s too low, tinted red in that way that makes everyone look vaguely better but slightly untrustworthy, and everything smells faintly of fruit punch, cheap beer, and body spray. there’s a sticky patch on the floor that catches the sole of his shoe everytime he shifts his weight, and someone spilled an entire drink near the door but everyone’s pretending they don’t see it.

and now sunghoon’s standing in the corner, yet again, red solo cup in hand, the deja vu washing over from last time. he’s already warm—cheeks flushed from the multiple shots jake forced into his hand the moment he arrived, calling them ‘celebration shots’ for finally showing up. jake took three. jay took one, immediately regretted it, but took a second one anyways. sunghoon took two and was rudely reminded him and alcohol don’t like one another.

now he’s approximately three minutes into a conversation with a classmate whose name he absolutely does not remember but is pretending he does because lying feels easier than admitting he forgot. the poor guy is saying something about his econ midterm, but the words wash over sunghoon like static. because even while nodding politely, even through the chaos of the environment, sunghoon’s eyes find you.

of course they do.

you’re across the room by the couch, cup in hand, laughing at something someone just said. your head tilts back a little, your mouth curves in that way that knocks the air straight out of his lungs. it’s the kind of laugh that makes strangers look your way without knowing why. the kind of laugh that gets stuck in his head for days after.

and, of course, you look good.

unfairly good.

your hair soft under the shifting lights, your cheeks glowing, your sweater hanging just right on your frame. there’s something about you—always something—that makes you look like a secret sunghoon wants to keep, a discovery he wants no one else to find, something he wants to learn slowly, quietly, intimately.

he swallows hard. looks away. then looks back again, because he can’t not.

and then, almost as if you can feel that he’s staring—you glance up. your eyes scan the room lazily, drifting over faces and shoulders and the mess of people. until they land on him.

your expression softens. surprised, but warm. a small, easy smile curves onto your lips—one that says oh, you came, and something else he’s too scared to interpret.

and sunghoon, because he’s sunghoon, and a complete, absolute idiot—panics.

he panics and turns away. pretends to be very interested in the contents of his red solo cup that he knows isn’t even close to edible. nods along to whatever econ-related nonsense the guy in front of him is saying like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever heard.

and he doesn’t see it—but you frown slightly. doesn’t see the way your smile falters, something uncertain flickering across your face. doesn’t see the slight confusion in your eyes before you turn back to your group.

and that’s how it starts. the night spins on just like that—full of almosts and not quites and hesitation.

you find him in the kitchen a little bit later. he’s pouring something that looks just as inedible as before into his cup, and you smile when he notices you.

“hey—i’m glad you made it, you feeling better?”

but sunghoon startles like you’ve caught him doing something wrong. he steps back too quickly, nearly bumping the counter, muttering something along the lines of ‘yeah—i’m okay, fine—’ before he excuses himself to find jay.

later, you end next to him in the circle when jake—who’s already too many shots in—suggests a game of truth or dare. you sit, knee brushing sunghoon’s for a second, before he abruptly stands up, mumbling about needing more ice in his cup before disappearing into the crowd.

and then it keeps happening. you’re mid-conversation with jay and jake, laughing at something ridiculous they just said, when your eyes move across the room, as if your body can’t help but instinctively search for him. when you finally find him again—leaning against the wall across the room, phone in hand, eyes meeting his for a brief second—his gaze darts immediately back down to his phone as if nothing just happened.

you start to notice it—the way he never stays in the same place as you for long, the way he keeps his shoulders angled away from you, the way his smile turns tight and fades when you step too close. the way his eyes flash with something heavy and unspoken before he drags them away from you as if touching you would be dangerous.

you try to tell yourself you’re imagining it, that maybe he’s tired, that it’s the alcohol or the lighting or ni-ki’s loud karaoke or anything else.

your chest feels tight. the air feels heavier than it should. jay is rambling about unplugging the karaoke machine before ni-ki loses his voice, jake is doubled over laughing, red cup in hand that you should definitely take away from him, but none of it feels right anymore.

and it’s ridiculous, really. because you shouldn’t care this much. because, technically, sunghoon is no one to you. just a boy you met recently. a boy who happened to be decent-looking—very, very, decent-looking. who happened to be clumsy in a way that drew you in instead of away. who happened to be your neighbor. your roommate’s best friend. a guy with pretty hands and a nervous laugh and a tendency to panic whenever you tried to flirt with him on purpose.

and, honestly—at first it was fun.

because you’re not oblivious. you’re not dense. you noticed the way he got nervous around you. you saw the way his eyes widened the first time you ever said his full name, the way his breath caught when you leaned in, the way his hands shook the tiniest bit when you wore his hoodie.

and god, you liked it. you liked getting a reaction out of him. liked watching the way he came undone so easily around you.

but now? now that same boy won’t even look at you?

it feels worse than it should. worse than you want it to. worse than anything he’s done so far—and that includes accidentally assaulting you three times.

you tell yourself it’s fine. that it doesn’t matter. that you’re overthinking again, like you always do.

you laugh at something jake says. you clink your cup against jay’s and take another sip just to have something to do ith your hands. you smile, chat, pretend nothing’s wrong.

but then, from the corner of your eye, you see it.

the way sunghoon’s head turns when you laugh, just barely. the way his gaze flickers toward you for a second too long. the way his jaw tightens before he looks away again like he saw something he shouldn’t have.

and that’s when something inside you snaps. the ache shifts sharply, into something close to frustration, confusion and something hot behind your ribs that makes your drink taste too bitter and makes the room feel too loud.

you set your drink down on the table next to you, too hard. it spills over the rim. you don’t even care.

because what is this? what is he doing? and why does it sting so much?

jay says something to you—something that makes jake laugh again a little too loudly, but you barely hum in response, eyes already scanning the room again.

you find him again, now closer to the back hallway, talking to someone you don’t recognize. he looks uncomfortable, like he almost always does, but there’s something else tonight. something distant.

and you’re done trying to figure it out.

you held back, you didn’t push. you swallowed your pride enough to ask him point-blank if you were even friends. you tried to read him, tried to be patient, tried to be understanding.

and now he’s avoiding you? after he’s the one who kept messing up? after he offered you his hoodie? after he drove you home? after everything?

you feel heat bubble in your throat, not from embarrassment, but something closer to hurt. something that feels too close to rejection from someone you barely even know.

you’re done. you’re done wondering. done overthinking. done waiting for him to make the first move.

so before you can talk yourself out of it, your feet are already moving. through the crowd, past the couch, past jay’s raised eyebrows, jake’s knowing smirk, and ni-ki’s off-key singing.

and when you finally get to him, he barely has a second to react before your hand catches his wrist and you’re pulling him into the dim hallway of the apartment that leads to where the bedrooms are. 

it’s quieter here, the thumping bass of the music fading into a distant pulse behind him, like a heartbeat finally slowing down—unlike his own. the air is cooler, laced with the faint scent of spilled beer you’re going to lose your mind over in the morning and whatever cheap air freshener jake sprayed earlier—but it’s still a relief from the chaotic swirl of bodies and flashing lights in the living room.

sunghoon stumbles a little as you tug him along, finally stopping with a soft thump when his back hits the wall. he’s trapped—stuck against the peeling wallpaper and your hand still wrapped tightly around his wrist. his eyes widen, the look on his face equal parts confusion, surprise, and something else, something that makes your stomach flip.

“so are you going to tell me why you’re ignoring me?” your voice comes out sharper than you intended, raw with the sting of it all—the silence, the distance, the hurt flashing in your eyes as you watch him falter.

sunghoon’s mouth opens, then closes, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. his cheeks are flushed pink under the dim lighting, and you can’t tell if it’s from the shots he knocked back earlier with jay and jake or from the way you’re standing so close.

“i—i’m…” he’s stammering, his voice low, almost like a whisper stuck in throat, like he’s afraid the words will shatter everything between you. “i don’t—” 

“because first of all,” you step closer, “you tell me we’re fine, we’re friends, we’re cool, that i didn’t do anything wrong—”

his eyes flicker in panic. breath stutters, chest rising too fast. 

“—and then you ignore my texts. completely avoid me. won’t even look at me. in my own apartment.” you exhale sharply. “i’m confused, sunghoon.” 

and for a moment, neither of you move. the music muffled now, just an echo behind you, and the hallway feels too quiet. too intimate, too charged, like the world narrowed down to just the two of you. you loosen your grip on his wrist, but you don’t drop it. and he doesn’t pull away. he just looks at you like he’s bracing for impact. then, he swallows hard, “i—it’s not like i want to—” 

“...okay,” you cut in but your voice is softer, steadier, “then what is it?” 

you watch as sunghoon takes a breath as if to ground himself before he starts, “it’s just—i…” and suddenly his words tumble, trip, collapse over themself. “i don’t know. i just keep messing up. everytime. like the football, the shoes, the lab, probably somehow your car breaking down had something to do with me, literally everything—” 

“sunghoon—” 

“—and it’s like my body just glitches around you or something,” he blurts, running a hand through his hair. “i get nervous, then do something stupid, then you get hurt, and then i feel like an idiot—” his voice cracks and he has to take a breather before continuing again, “and i don’t know how to get myself to stop screwing up around you. i don’t know how to just be normal. not with you.”

his eyes drop. shoulders tense. he looks like he hates himself for saying any of that out loud.

you don’t say anything. you just look at him, studying the way his cheeks glow that soft pink, the slight part of his lips as he breathes unevenly, the way he looks at you with that raw, boyish vulnerability and nerves.

and then your anger melts into something else. something warmer, deeper, something that understands. something that makes the frustration soften and something that tugs at your chest. 

you step closer, close enough to feel the heat rolling off of him, close enough that he sucks in a breath like you just touched him even though you didn’t. a small smile makes its way to your face as you tilt your head to meet his eyes fully. your eyes flicker down his face—along the cut of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the way he swallows hard under your gaze. 

“okay then…just stop messing up,” you whisper, lips quirking just the tiniest bit. your tone is lighter now, teasing, like it’s the simplest solution in the world. 

sunghoon blinks at you. once, then twice. because you say that as if it’s easy. as if your simple existence being just mere inches away doesn’t set every nerve inside his being on fire. as if his heart isn’t pounding so loud and wild that he’s convinced you can hear it, drowning out the rest of the party around you. as if you’re not looking at him with your glossy eyes and lips, so close to his own, that he doesn’t know if he should kiss you or melt into the ground.

but none of that matters.

because you decide for him.

because the silence is too thick, too charged, and you can’t take it anymore. so before you can even think to stop yourself—

you lean in and close the distance, your lips brushing his in a hesitant, soft way that sends a jolt through you both. and it’s cautious at first, like testing the waters, and sunghoon genuinely believes he’s in a fever dream for a second. but then his hands suddenly find your waist and pull you in closer, and it shifts into so much more.

his lips move against yours with a newfound urgency, one hand sliding up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. his back hits the wall again with the sudden motion, but he doesn’t care. in fact, in this moment, nothing else matters to sunghoon right now.

because you’re deepening the kiss, tasting the faint bitterness of beer on him, mixed with something sweeter, something unmistakably sunghoon, something that pulls you into a quicker, messier rhythm. a low groan escapes his throat, vibrating against your mouth, and it only fuels you further. you break apart for a breath, but only for a second before your lips crash into his again, your hands fisting in his hoodie as you push him harder against the wall. his fingers dig into your hips, pulling you flush against him until the heat between you becomes nearly unbearable.

“come on,” you murmur against his lips, your voice breathless as you grab his wrist again, but this time you tug him toward the first door in the hallway—your room—and push it open with your free hand.

the door clicks shut behind sunghoon, and he barely has a moment to take in the surroundings—dimly lit by the small lamp on the nightstand beside your bed, a string of lights laced along the headboard, a stack of annotated books piled on your desk, and a row of succulents perched on the windowsill. it’s all so warm, so utterly you.

that’s all he manages to register within the first 0.5 seconds of entering your room. because you don’t hesitate. your lips crash into his again, more fervent now, hungry, backing him hard against the door until the frame digs into his back but he doesn’t even care. 

sunghoon kisses you like he’s terrified it’ll end if he stops—too much tongue at first, then not enough, teeth clashing in the mix because he tilts wrong, nose bumping yours, a startled little huff escaping him when you nip his bottom lip and he doesn’t know whether to pull back or chase harder. his hands are everywhere and nowhere—gripping your waist tight, then loosening like he’s scared he’ll bruise you, then wandering up your back and fisting your sweater like it’s the only thing keeping him on earth. 

it’s sloppy, breathless, desperate in a way only a kiss can be when the person has waited twenty two years and repressed every memory that came before it. his rhythm falters with every push and pull, chasing your mouth when you pull for air, making these soft, involuntary sounds—half-whimper, half-groan—that he’ll probably overthink about later. 

“park sunghoon,” you whisper against his swollen lips, pulling back just enough that he instinctively follows, chasing, eyes still closed, and completely, utterly, wrecked. your hands knot in his hoodie, “am i your first kiss?” 

sunghoon’s eyes flutter open, hazy and dark with pure want as he looks down at you. “yeah—well, n—” the rest dies when your drag your teeth over his lower lip, slow and deliberate. a broken, needy sound tears out of him and his hips jerk forward involuntarily, “—no. yes? i think.”

“you think?” your hands slide into his hair, nails scraping lightly, and tug just enough to tip his head back. the soft thud of his back hitting the door again doesn’t even register—his arms only tighten around you, fingers everywhere like he’s trying to memorize your exact shape through fabric. “tell me.” 

“technically—” he starts, voice cracking. “there was this girl in tenth grade—” 

you cut him off again with your tongue this time, licking into his mouth slow and filthy, and whatever story he had dies against your lips. he makes another helpless noise, raw and surprised, and tries to copy the motion. his nose bumps yours again, his grip on your hips stutter, and every time he thinks he found the rhythm, you change it, and he whimpers like it hurts. it’s all messy, desperate, and perfect. 

one of his hands slides down—hesitant, then sudden—and cups the back of your thigh. he lifts it experimentally, and when you immediately hook your leg around his waist he groans like he’s been punched. you smirk against him, giving him credit for the confidence you didn’t think he had in him as he pulls you flush against his body. 

“—spin the bottle,” he manages to gasp out when you trail your mouth along his jaw now, nipping at the skin here and there. he tilts his head back, offering more as his eyes flutter closed again, a soft moan on his lips. “i bit her lip and she bled—”

you giggle softly against his jaw, teeth grazing the sharp line of it, and he shudders so violently his knees almost buckle. his voice is strained now, another small gasp cracking from his throat when you roll your hips once, the friction going straight to his core. “—and my therapist told me to repress traumatic memories so i don’t count it.” 

you freeze and pull back slightly, lifting an eyebrow as amusement flickers in your eyes despite the heat pooling in your core. “your therapist?”

sunghoon’s eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide, mouth swollen and red and still chasing yours. “uh. yeah. jay. jay is my therapist.”

your lips twitch, a small laugh bubbling out before you can catch it. god.

“fuck. you’re so cute,” you murmur, and the sound of your laugh seems to snap the last thread of any and all restraint sunghoon had left. you crash your mouth back into his the same second he surges forwards, kissing you like he’s drowning and you’re his oxygen, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded at this point. you’re already moving, tugging the front of his hoodie, walking backward, pulling him with you step by stumbling step across the room. 

he follows without question, hands roaming everywhere all at once—up your back, into your hair, down to your ass like he can’t decide what he wants to hold onto most. his mouth never leaves yours, swallowing every soft noise you make, and every time you nip his lip he makes that same desperate little sound and tries to kiss your harder, deeper, messier. 

your legs hit the edge of the bed first, and you tumble backwards with a small thud. sunghoon stays standing at the foot of the bed, chest heaving, lips parted and shiny, hair a mess. his eyes rake over you—lips swollen, hair fanned across your pillow, that infuriating, knowing smirk still clinging to your mouth like you already know exactly what you look like sprawled out waiting for him.

and god, sunghoon thought he knew what living felt like. he thought he was pretty damn accomplished already—decent grades, a color-coded closet, the occasional victory when he plays league with the guys. but this? sunghoon just stares, like this sight of you like this is a religious experience he’s not worthy of. 

he’s never felt more alive.

you prop yourself up on your elbows, tilt your head, and your smirk widens. 

“gonna keep me waiting, park sunghoon?” 

you tease, an eyebrow arched as sunghoon shakes his head frantically in an almost comical, desperate no. he scrambles forward like a man possessed, knees sinking into the mattress before his weight is on you just right, one thigh easily slotting between yours as he leans down to capture your lips again. his hands shove under your sweater, palms hot and trembling against your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra like he’s afraid to go higher but dying to.

your hands roam up his back under his shirt, light enough to raise goosebumps, but hard enough to make him arch and grind down with a muffled, broken moan that vibrates straight into your mouth. his mouth trails everywhere, hot and open against your neck, tasting the cool metal of that stupidly delicate necklace, teeth nipping in that perfect, impossible way that hitches your breath and makes you wonder how the hell this could be his first time doing this.

his thigh presses firmer, rough denim rough against your bare skin where your skirt has slightly ridden up, and you can’t help it—you roll up into him, shameless, chasing the pressure, hips circling slow and needy—not sure what you’re after, just something, anything, to relieve the rising ache.

and that makes sunghoon freeze. just for a split second—his mouth hovering over your collarbone, breath ragged and uneven against your skin. you feel it right away, the faint tremor in his hands where they’re gripping your hips, the way his body tenses against yours. he pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes—his own wide, pupils blown but laced with something else—uncertainty and pure, raw, nerves that make your heart twist.

“wait,” he breathes, voice low and rough. his forehead drops to yours, nose brushing, lips so close you can feel the ghost of them against yours, “i…i don’t know what i’m doing.”

and it’s the way the confession spills out. the way it sounds so vulnerable, jagged edges and all. the way his cheeks burn a deeper red that starts to creep down his neck. the way his fingers flex against your sides, like he’s afraid to let you go but equally afraid to keep touching.

the way his eyes hit you—with desire so thick it aches in your core, tangled with that boyish charm that only makes him so much more endearing, more real. you tilt your head up, your hands softening where they clutch his shoulders.

“sunghoon,” you whisper, voice soft but steady, thumb tracing a slow circle onto his hoodie. “that’s okay. we can stop, or we can keep going. whatever you’re comfortable with.”

and sunghoon swallows hard. every nerve he owns is screaming—your body soft and there beneath him, the way your legs are hooked around his waist, it’s all overwhelming, intoxicating, like he’s edged too close to the sun and has absolutely no intention of backing away. and sunghoon’s never been here before, never had anyone look at him like this. but he’s also never felt this way about anyone before. and that’s what makes his heart slam against his ribs.

his eyes drop to your lips before flickering back up. “yeah?” it’s barely a word, more like a pure plea, and god, the vulnerability in it tugs at you harder.

“yeah,” you lean in, brushing your mouth against his in a feather-light touch, not quite a kiss, but just enough to make him chase it. his breath hitches, hands sliding up your waist under your sweater again, hesitant but warmer now, like your words unlocked something for him.

“i just—i really like you, y/n,” his words are so soft and quiet you almost think you made it up. “—and i really don’t want to mess this up. more than i have.” his hands shake slightly on your waist, thumbs rubbing gentle circles over your skin as the confession hangs there between you like something holy and obscene at the same time. 

you lean up and give him a full kiss this time, soft, gentle, and reassuring, then smile against him, shifting your hips just enough against him to draw a sharp inhale from him. “you won’t, hoon,” you whisper, nipping at his lower lip, tugging it gently between your own until he groans. “trust me, you’re not going anywhere.” you fingers weave back into his hair, guiding him back down as you capture his lips again—slower this time, letting him set the pace even as you arch up to meet him.

and sunghoon melts into it, his tongue shyly tracing your lips until you part for him, letting him in with a soft sigh that goes straight to his core. his hands gain confidence, sliding up your sides, palms warm and slightly calloused as they explore the curve of your ribs, stopping just shy of your bra like he’s silently asking for permission. you nod into the kiss, arching your body into his hands, and he exhales like he’s been holding that breath for years. fingers shove your sweater up and off in one frantic motion, and the cool air hits your skin the same second his mouth does—and it’s hot, open, starving against your throat. 

your hands go down to the ends of his hoodie, dragging the material up his chest yourself, nails raking over his abs, feeling them tense under your touch. “off,” you mumble into his mouth. 

sunghoon doesn’t hesitate—he takes it off so fast and clumsily, in park sunghoon fashion, that he almost elbows himself in the face but that doesn’t matter. it’s tossed blindly into the corner of your room before he’s back, chest pressing against you, skin already boiling hot. 

his lips find your throat again, this time sucking a small mark just below your jaw, harder than before, teeth scraping, tongue soothing, and when he pulls back to check your face, there’s still that flicker of hesitation, like he’s waiting for you to tell him no.

“this okay?” he murmurs against the bruise he just left, voice wrecked, his hips rolling down experimentally—a slow, grinding press that has you gasping, thighs tightening around him, the rough drag of his pants over your bare thighs sending a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly. sunghoon’s breath catches—sharp and audible—like he’s just discovered something forbidden, his eyes flicking down to where your bodies connect, then back up to your face, searching, pleading. 

you can’t answer with words. you just arch up even more, grinding your heat against the now obvious length of him, and the broken moan that rips out of his throat is unholy. he starts to move a little faster, barely holding it together as he chases the way you’re arched off the bed. his hands brace on either side of your head, arms trembling faintly from the effort of holding himself up, caging you in the best kind of trap.

you nod, biting your lip to stifle back a moan, your hands sliding down his sides with a firm press. “yeah, just like that,” you whisper, voice laced with encouragement that makes his pupils go wider. “keep going, just feel me.”

he follows your lead, eyes locked on yours, lips parted in awe as he follows your rhythm. “fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours again. another roll, deeper this time, heavier, his hardening length unmistakable through his jeans, pressing right where you need it, drawing a whimper from your throat. “like this?”

“yes, perfect, hoon,” you let out, rewarding him with a tilt of your hips that has him cursing again under his breath, his movements faltering for a second before he steadies himself again. “use your hands, baby. touch me. here.” you take one of his palms and guide it between your bodies and beneath your bra, molding his broad hand over your breast and squeezing it lightly with your own fingers laced over his.

sunghoon’s eyes darken to near black as he stares at his hand on you like it’s a miracle. the hesitation flickers again—he bites his lip hard, eyes darting to yours for that final green light. you nod, arching into his touch and removing your own hand before he finally moves, thumb circling slowly at first, then bolder, pinching lightly until you gasp his name, “sunghoon—yes, harder.” 

he obeys instantly, rolling the bud between his fingers while kneading with a confidence that borders on desperate. the sensation releases another moan from you, this time loud enough that he clamps his free hand over your mouth instinctively, his eyes blown in a panic. 

“shh—people might—” but you don’t let him finish. 

you take his thumb between your lips, sucking it without any hesitation that leaves him choking on a sound that’s half-moan, half-whine, hips now jerking erratically against yours. his hand falls away, replaced by his mouth crashing into yours—messy, all teeth and tongue, swallowing your moans as he grinds harder, faster, the rough drag of fabric and heat coiling tight between you until you’re both chasing that edge, breathless and lost.

sunghoon should be embarrassed, really. the only one coherent thought left rattling around his skull is: 

he’s about to cum in his pants like a goddamn middle-schooler and there’s not a single thing he can do to stop it.

he can’t stop the obscene sounds spilling from his mouth, his gut feels like it’s on fire in the best way possible, and he’s jerking his body against your soaked heat like it’s trying to fight its way through the pathetic fabric. it’s his first time with a girl, and he might not even make it to the first time part at this point. 

“skirt. push it up,” you pant against his lips, and he does, fumbling his fingers to fully hike the fabric to your waist, exposing the thin barrier of your underwear. his hand hovers there, burning over your thigh, inches from where you’re aching and soaked for him. “touch me, hoon,” you urge, not waiting to take his wrist and press his palm right over your wet core, letting him feel the way you’re absolutely dripping through the lace.

sunghoon’s entire body locks at the sensation, eyes in shock, lips shiny and swollen as he stares down at you, chest heaving. “i—fuck, you’re…wet.” the word comes out slowly, almost disbelieving. his fingers flex, tracing the outline of you through the thin fabric. your mouth drops open slightly at the sensation as you buck up into his hand with a sharp whine, nodding.

“yeah, for you, hoon. now rub, like—” you move his fingers for him, showing the motion—slow, firm circles over your clit that already have your legs trembling, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling. he easily takes over after two strokes, copying perfectly, his touch turning slick as he presses firmer, learning your body like it’s his new religion. “oh god—yes, right there, don’t stop—”

and he definitely isn’t planning on it. sunghoon’s mesmerized, forehead pressed to your shoulder now, watching his own hand work between your legs like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. his hips keep grinding, chasing his own friction clumsily against your soft thigh, breaths coming in hot gasps against your skin.

“sunghoon—fuck,” you whimper, the praise spilling out as his thumb finds that perfect rhythm on your clit, circles tightening, faster now, the slick sounds filling the room obscenely. he groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard, his free hand clamped on the headboard above you to steady himself.

“am i—is this good?” his words come out cracked and rough, raw desperation threading through it as he presses two fingers experimentally against your entrance through the soaked fabric, feeling you flutter and pulse for him. his hips grind down harder in response to your every twitch, the bulge in his jeans now straining, hot and insistent against your thigh. sunghoon’s unraveling—muscles tense, cheeks flushed, abdomen flexing with every roll—but those big, pleading eyes keep flicking up to yours constantly, almost as if begging for reassurance, for you to keep leading him through this fire.

“perfect, baby. so, so good,” you choke out, your hand shooting down to cover his, guiding his fingers to slip right under the edge of your underwear now. “inside—now. curl them up, like this.” you demonstrate with his hand, pushing one long finger past your folds, then two. and he slides in so easily, your arousal coating him instantly. the stretch burns sweetly, and you both moan—his a broken, addicting sound that sends a vibration straight through you.

sunghoon stops again, buried to the knuckles, eyes staring down at where he’s disappearing inside you. “holy shit,” his voice is wrecked, feeling the way you clench instantly around him. “you’re so—tight—fuck, i can feel you—” his fingers twitch inside you, curling just like you showed him, brushing that one spot that makes your eyes roll back instantly.

“right there. right there, hoon. please—” you cry out, back arching off the bed, nails raking down his bare back hard enough that it stings but he doesn’t care. your words give him the confidence to move—gentle thrusts at first, scissoring his fingers gently, learning the slick glide of you around him, then bolder, fast, his thumb never leaving your clit. the dual sensation has you seeing white, the pleasure coiling violently tight in your core, breaths coming in sobs now.

his forehead drops to yours, noses bumping, lips brushing yours in frantic, open-mouthed kisses that are more shared air than anything. “tell me—fuck, tell me what else,” he’s panting against your mouth, his free hand moving from the headboard to palm your breast fully, rolling your nipple between his fingers. “want to make you—cum—please, show me how—”

and that plea—raw, ruined, his—snaps the coil. 

you shatter—walls clamping down hard on his fingers that they stutter inside you, your orgasm rushing through in sudden waves before you could see it coming. “sunghoon—yes, yes, yes—” your cries muffle into his shoulder, thighs shaking uncontrollably, gushing over his hand in a rush that soaks his fingers, his wrist, the sheets beneath you.

sunghoon whines, all high and uneven as he watches you come undone on his fingers, squeezing him like you’re trying to keep him inside forever. his hips jerk forward in messy, desperate snaps against your thigh, cock leaking steadily through his boxers now, chasing friction he’s too wrecked to control. he doesn’t stop—he can’t stop—pumping you through it, thumb grinding ruthless circles over your swollen clit until you’re twitching, oversensitive, thighs clamping around his wrist like a trap, a broken sob ripping out of you that sounds like his name and mercy all at once.

only when your body limps, boneless and gasping, does he ease his fingers out—slow, deliberate, eyes locked on the way your slick coats him, strings of it clinging to his skin as he holds them up to the dim light. his breath stutters at the sight of his glistening fingers, dripping with just pure you. “did i—fuck, did i do that?” 

he doesn’t wait for an answer. brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean with a filthy, broken groan that vibrates straight to your spent clit, making your body jerk again even as you’re still coming down. his tongue swirls, greedy, eyes fluttering shut like he’s tasting heaven and hell at once.

you’re ruined—face flushed, lips bitten raw, hair stuck to your forehead with sweat—but that smirk still clings. you grab his wrist, yank him down hard, and crash your mouth to his, tasting yourself on his tongue—a little salty, a little sweet, but all filthy. “we’re not done,” you murmur, wrecked and hungry, hands already fumbling for his pants. “off—now.”

sunghoon nods frantically, hips lifting just enough to help you shove the material down his legs, boxers tented obscenely, a dark stain already blooming in the front. before he can even process, you hook your fingers in the waistband and drag them down too, freeing him and—fuck. he’s thick, flushed a deep red and curving up toward his stomach, already twitching under your gaze untouched.

he immediately tries to hide his face in your neck, mortified. “don’t—don’t stare like that.” 

you giggle, low and filthy, wrapping your hand around him without warning—one firm stroke from base to tip, thumb swiping through the bead of pre-cum leaking from his slit, spreading it down his length in a slick glide.he immediately bucks into your fist with a choked sob, one hand clutching your shoulder, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

“baby, you’re gorgeous,” the words drip off your tongue like honey or poison but sunghoon doesn’t know the difference at this point. your thumb swipes over his silt again, and sunghoon has to shut his eyes to restrain himself from finishing all over your fingers right then and there. “feel how hard you are for me? fucking dripping.” 

another stroke—tighter, faster—and his head slams against the pillow next to your head, throat bared, a high, desperate whine tearing out of him.

“touch yourself,” you order, guiding his trembling hand to wrap around yours. “show me how you do it when you think about me.”

sunghoon’s eyes snap to yours, wide and scandalized, breath picking up. “w—what? i—fuck, i don’t—” but his hand moves anyways, wrapping around yours where you stroke him, guiding you together—slow twists at the head, then long pulls back to his base. he’s so responsive, every drag pulling more and more. more moans from his throat, more precum from his tip, leaking steadily over your knuckles.

“good boy,” you praise, and he preens, chest puffing slightly, a desperate whimper spilling out as his free hand braces the headboard above you again for leverage.

“faster—” you tighten your grip, speeding up, and he follows your lead flawlessly, both your hands working him in brutal sync until he’s babbling nonsense pleas mixed in with your name like a prayer he’s too far gone to control. 

then you feel him twitch, once and hard, and you stop cold, releasing him. sunghoon almost pouts at the sudden, aching void—the sharp denial hitting like a punch, but you’re already shifting, too fast to let him dwell.

“not yet—i want your mouth first,” you murmur, sitting up and shoving at his chest until he’s forced back on his heels between your spread thighs, cock bobbing heavy and desperate, flushed dark and leaking. his gaze drops—your face, your bitten lips, then lower to where you’re still exposed, folds swollen and glistening, lace shoved aside and ruined, dripping with the mess he made of you. “get off the bed. on your knees, hoon. want you to taste me.”

he drops instantly—knees thudding against the floor at the foot of the bed, hands grabbing your thighs and yanking you to the edge so fast the mattress springs groan. his face is inches from your core now, breath punching out hot and frantic over your sensitive skin, making you twitch.

he swallows hard at the sight. “i—you need to…show me please,” he’s nearly begging, his voice raspy yet so earnest that it makes your heart stutter at the sight.

you thread your fingers in his hair, guide his mouth forward, pressing his lips to your inner thigh first, letting him kiss and lick small, gentle patterns up toward where you’re aching. “start slow, baby,” you breathe, thighs trembling. “kiss it, then tongue—flat and wide.” 

he obeys like it’s the only thing he was born to do.

lips brush your folds—hesitant, reverent—then his tongue comes out, one broad, filthy lick from your entrance to your clit that punches the air out of your lungs. you immediately roll your hips into his face shamelessly.

“fuck—yes—just like that—suck my clit now—”

and sunghoon doesn’t need to be told twice. he devours you—nose bumping your mound, tongue sloppy and urgent, latching onto your clit with a perfect amount of greed that it pulls a small scream from your throat. he’s messy—chin slick, eyes glassy as he glances up through his lashes for approval, moaning into you every time you tug his hair like he’s on the receiving end. 

“mmph—good?” he mumbles into you, the vibration nearly sending you over, and then—without waiting—he sinks one long finger back inside you, curls it hard, and starts pumping like you taught him.

“oh my god—sunghoon, fuck—yes—” 

your ankles lock behind his head, heels digging into his back, and you ride his face without shame—hips rolling, grinding, fucking yourself on his tongue while he devours you, thriving on every gasp, every quiver, tongue delving deep, lips sucking with starvation. like it’s his last meal and his punishment and his salvation all at once.

sunghoon’s free hand then drops between his own legs —wraps around his aching cock and starts stroking in frantic, sloppy pulls, hips thrusting into his fist in time with the way you’re riding his face. pre-cum drips onto the floor, splattering the wood, and he doesn’t even care—just moans into your cunt like a broken thing, eyes rolling back every time you clench around his finger.

you force yourself up on shaking elbows just to look at the view.

sunghoon on his knees, hair wrecked from your hands, face buried between your thighs, skin slick with sweat that catches in the dim light, mouth shiny with you, pumping his cock recklessly—and those dark, glassy eyes flicking up through wet lashes, begging for approval even as his tongue fucks you into oblivion.

the sight alone almost ends you.

so you decide you’re going to ruin him. and he’s going to thank you for it.

“hoon—fuck—come here,” you haul him up by the hair until his mouth slams into yours, slick with your release, tasting like salt and sin. you feel the heavy, slick weight of his cock pressing against your thigh, twitching wildly with need.

you shove him back with a teasing palm to his chest—flip him in one sharp twist—and he goes down easy, hitting the mattress with a small grunt, eyes huge and black as he puts together what’s about to happen. you straddle him in a heartbeat later, knees digging into the sheets on either side of his hips, hovering just high enough that your soaked heat brushes the flushed head of him—once, twice—drawing a needy, high-pitched whine that rips straight from his chest.

his cock lines up perfectly—throbbing, veins bulging, slick with both of you—and he bites his lip bloody trying to hold back the whimper, hands shaking violently where they clamp your waist for dear life. “wait—shit—i don’t have a condom—”

“sunghoon,” you shoot, voice raw and impatient, already lifting your hips to torture him at your entrance, sinking down just enough to swallow his tip in tight, wet heat. “i really don’t fucking care right now.”

his head slams back against the headboard with a thud, a raw moan tearing free as his hips jerk up involuntarily, trying to bury himself deeper.

“just wanna make you feel good, yeah?”

he nods wildly, eyes pleading—utterly lost, wrecked, and completely yours. “please—fuck, yes please—”

you don’t wait any longer. you drop, sinking down fully in one brutal, merciless move. and the stretch—the sweet, burning stretch of him splitting you open has you both gasping, the pent up tension that’s piled up for days finally shattering into a pure ecstasy that has you blinded.

he fills you to the brim, thick and pulsing, every inch dragging against your clenching walls as you bottom out, your hips now flush against his. you can’t make sense of it—how he’s stretching you impossibly wide, the burn delicious and overwhelming all at once, your body fluttering around him in desperate adjustment. his head snaps back against your headboard again, his throat exposed and veins bulging as he can’t stop the deep moans coming from his chest, hands clamping onto your hips—bruising, possessive, the only way to keep himself grounded.

you collapse forward, forehead to his, breaths mingling in hot, frantic pants. his eyes are squeezed shut, lashes wet against his pinked cheeks, lips opening and closing from the pure pleasure, “oh my god—you’re…fuck you’re—so tight—” the words tumble out, his hips twitching up, chasing the sensation, making you both gasp at the jolt.

“shh—stay still,” you whisper as best as you can, hands holding his face to force his glassy eyes open. and you have to collect yourself for a second. because park sunghoon is a vision—lips swollen red, pupils dark and blown, sweat trickling down his temple. “breathe, hoon.” you clench around him deliberately, and he tries his hardest not to snap immediately, his cock throbbing deep inside you. 

“c—can’t—it’s too much—gonna—” his voice cracks, hands scrabbling at your waist, dragging you down harder even as his thighs shake violently under you, every muscle rigid, restraint shattering second by second. he’s pulsing inside you, fighting with everything he has not to cum, teeth gritted, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes because it’s too good, too perfect, too much. 

you lift your hips carefully, just an inch, then sink back down, slow, torturous, letting him feel every slick of you swallowing him whole. “fuck—yes—” his eyes roll back, mouth falling open on a silent moan, his hips bucking up to meet you halfway on their own, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing loud and filthy. “tell me—fuck, tell me if it feels good—”

“perfect, baby. you feel perfect,” you gasp immediately, voice trembling as you finally start moving—hands braced on his sweat-slick chest, nails carving red lines into his skin. “just like this—harder now, hold my hips—help me—”

and he does—fingers pressing as he hauls you down onto his cock as he suddenly slams up, meeting your movements in brutal, punishing thrusts that turn the air filthy, wet slaps echoing, obscene, and unrelenting. the bed starts to creak in protest beneath you, the string lights on your headboard blurring into hazy streaks as the pleasure turns into tears stinging your eyes. 

“hoon, yes, yes—faster,” your voice breaks into sobs, head tipping back, spine arching so hard your breasts shove up into his face. 

he absolutely loses it. 

he’s seventy percent sure he’s blacked out—the rest of him drowning in the symphony of your broken whines, the way your pussy sucks him in like it’s starving, the intoxicating sensation of you around him—every wet clench, every flutter squeezing him. but he’s still determined, feral with it, a man suddenly possessed—one hand flying up to palm one of your breasts hard, rolling the nipple rough enough between his fingers to draw a small yelp from you, the other shoving between your bodies to rub messy, perfect circles over your swollen clit.

 “s—so tight—fuck, so mine,” he chokes out, voice breaking on every thrust. “mine, mine, mine—fuck—please say—” 

his thrusts turn erratic, sloppy, with a new found determination as he chases his release, eyes locked on where he splits you open—you stretched around him, white slick coating his thighs, his balls, every inch of skin where you two collide.

“yours,” you moan, nails digging further into his chest. “been yours ever since you hit me in the fucking face, baby.”

and that does it. sunghoon just breaks. 

back arching off the bed, whole body spasming, a strangled cry of your name tearing from his throat as as you feel him cum hard, his cock pulsing and swelling impossibly thicker inside you, the harsh and hot spurts filling you up quickly. the heat of it, the throb, the way he jerks inside you shatters you instantly after. 

your second orgasm hits you with a sob against his mouth, clamping down viciously around him, milking him dry as you gush—violent, soaking pulses that drench his cock, his lap, the sheets, everything in a hot, filthy flood that leaves you shaking, blinded, ruined.

you collapse together—boneless, shuddering wrecks tangled in the sweat damp sheets that now cling to your skin. his arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against his chest, his cock still twitching deep inside as the aftershock ripples through you both. the room spins softly in the dim glow of your lights, the only sounds the distant party you both forgot about and your breathes mingling in a ragged harmony—his chest heaving against yours, heartbeats syncing in a frantic yet slowing pattern.

sunghoon buries his face in the crook of your neck, lips brushing sloppy, uncoordinated kisses, trying his best to catch his breath, each exhale hot against your skin.

“did i—was that okay? are you hurt anywhere?” voice small, vulnerable again despite the literal fact that he’s still buried deep inside you, his release leaking warm and sticky down your thighs, pooling beneath you in an intimate, filthy reminder. his hand moves to stroke your back gently, tracing the curves of your body as if mapping every inch for damage.

you giggle against him, the sound exhausted yet euphoric, vibrating through your chest as you lift his chin with a single finger, tilting his flushed face to yours. the kiss is soft, slow, lingering—tongues lazy and unhurried, a stark contrast to a few minutes ago, tasting all like salt and sex. “hoon, i think you ruined me,” you murmur against his lips, half-teasing, half-serious, your voice strained from the moans he pulled from you.

he lets out a small, relieved laugh, warm and genuine as his hands stay gentle on your back, thumbs circling soothing patterns over your damp skin. you shift slowly, lifting off him with ease, both of you exhaling in a sharp unison at the sudden emptiness.

you don’t pull away far, nestling into his side, draping a leg over his thigh as he tugs your crumpled up blanket over you both. his arm curls around your shoulders, his fingers tracing lazy swirls along your arm, the touch sweet and affectionate.

“ruined you, huh?” he echos after a beat, voice muffled as he presses a kiss to your temple, lips curving into a shy grin against your hair. “is that…good ruined or bad ruined? because if it’s bad, i swear i’ll make it up to you—after i make up for your nose. and shoes. and clothes. i’ve got a lifetime supply of apologies, honestly.”

you snort softly, cuddling closer into his neck, inhaling the comfort and warmth radiating off of him as your fingers dance lightly over his chest. “good ruined, idiot. like, the kind where i might not be able to physically get up tomorrow. so now you owe me at least breakfast in bed.”

“deal.” sunghoon chuckles, the sound vibrating through you both, his free hand slipping under the blanket to find yours, lacing your fingers in a loose, effortless hold. “pancakes? or—wait, do you even like pancakes? god, i don’t even know that yet. we should probably fix that before i ruin you again.”

you tilt your head up, eyes narrowing playfully before a small smirk tugs at the corners of your lips, “baby, is that your way of asking me out?”

his laugh melts into a groan as he buries his face into your hair again, arms tightening around you as he pulls you impossibly closer, bodies fitting perfectly together, “keep calling me baby like that and we’re skipping the pancake date—i’m just gonna ruin you all over again.”

your grin widens as you lift a brow at him, a mix of teasing and challenge written all over your face. then, your hand begins its slow, deliberate descent, fingers trailing a lazy path down his chest, over the ridges of his abs, your eyes watching his adam’s apple bob with a hard swallow, his breath catching in anticipation as your hand moves lower and lower.

you part your lips just enough, voice laced sweetly with promise: “deal, baby.”

and after that night, everything kind of falls into an abnormally normal rhythm.

sunghoon did get you pancakes—because he’s a man of promises.

but not until after he ruined you a second time, because, well…he’s a man of promises.

he eventually makes up for the other accidents too. he starts knocking on your door at 8:03AM every morning—two coffees balancing in one hand, a paper bag of something warm in the other, hoodie string still uneven but now on a different hoodie because he let you keep that other one. he starts showing up—after class to drive you home with him, in your texts to ask you which cereal he should buy for the week, in your kitchen, handing you clean dishes while pretending not to stare at the way you hum along to whatever song is playing. 

he starts showing up in parts of your life where you didn't even know he was missing but now that he’s here, you never want to go back. 

and through it all, sunghoon learns you. he learns that you can’t drink iced coffee without stirring it exactly three times first, that you sometimes talk in your sleep, that you always pick the m&ms out of trail mix, that you hate parallel parking but love late night drives, that you laugh with your whole face, and that someway, somehow, between the pancakes and drives and mornings and the softness—you’ve managed to carve out a permanent place in his life without either of you really meaning to.

so yeah. everything becomes accidentally abnormal after that night.

sunghoon still wakes up on time like he always does—but now he gets ready faster, just so he can walk ten doors down the hall and meet you before class.

you still sit next to him in chemistry, but now your hand is slyly trailing up his thigh under the bench table while he’s trying (and desperately failing) to measure 25 milliliters of sodium hydroxide without shaking.

when you’re at his apartment, curled up together on the couch, jay walks by and gives sunghoon a look that says finally.

when he’s at your apartment, head resting in your lap, jake walks by and gives you the same look.

it’s all wonderfully, beautifully, accidentally abnormal. which, for you and sunghoon, feels just right.

so, yeah—they say you never forget your firsts.

your first love, your first kiss, your first time.

for park sunghoon? he’ll never forget the first time he met you.

and honestly?

he kind of really hopes he never will.

꩜｡⊹ ࣪ ˖ ty all again if u made it to the end <3 mwahmwahmwah

m.list here!

“pleasee, baby? just real quick?”

the voice of your loving boyfriend cooed into your ear, as his chest pressed up against your back and his arms snaked around your waist. he held you firmly against him, shamelessly starting to grind his raging hard-on against your ass.

you had just gotten home from work, an unusually long shift that left you extremely exhausted – and your lover extremely needy. you started working more hours just a couple weeks ago at your boss’s request, but jaehyun – and, honestly, yourself – hadn’t gotten near used to it yet.

“‘hyun, wait a second- can i at least take a shower, first?” you breathed, feeling a growing warmth settle into your core as jaehyun’s hands slid under your shirt, one splayed on your stomach as the other palmed at your bra.

“there’s no point, i’m gonna make a mess of you anyway.” he smiled into your neck, pressing firm kisses and playful bites into your skin.

you showed little resistance as jaehyun maneuvered you away from the hallway, where you stood, and into the kitchen. you stumbled into the counter, your bag and its contents spilling out over the surface as you let go of it in order to grasp at the counter’s edges instead.

“just wanna pound that pretty pussy, baby.. can i please?”

you realized quickly that you couldn’t stop him, even if you wanted to. not only was his mind hard to change when he touched you so needily, when his eyes were glossed over with a hazy desire – but you wanted it, too. you could already feel a wetness soaking into your panties, your hole aching through the fabric with a need to be filled.

submitting yourself to him, you bent over the counter, crossing your arms and resting your cheek against your skin as you glanced over your shoulder to watch. you could swear your cunt throbbed at the sight of his drunken smile against his flushed face.

“fuck, so fucking hot when you’re bent over for me-” his hands moved quickly, thumbs hooking your waistband before pulling down both your slacks and your panties in one swift movement. he moaned at the sight of your glistening pussy, a shiver running down your spine as you watched him hurry to pull his length out of his shorts.

“been waiting all day for this..” jaehyun practically whimpered as he lined up the head of his cock at your opening, small, needy sounds falling from his lips as he teased it. “god- i’m not gonna fucking last-”

loud, drawn out moans were dragged from the deepest parts of the both of you as jaehyun slid in between your folds, every inch sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine.

he doesn’t even wait – as soon as he bottoms out in you he’s already pulling back out, slamming back into with full force and at a ruthless pace. his thrusts aren’t steady or clean, either. they’re messy. sloppy. needy.

“fuck, fuck, fuck-” his moans are different from his regular low, husky tone. they’re higher-pitched and whiny, ripping through his throat as desperate cries with every thrust he’s shoving into you.

“j-jaehyun, slow d-down-” you choke out, your own moans barely able to compete with the volume of his, “‘s s-so.. rough-”

“i can’t, y/n- i fucking can’t-” he pants out his words. you could see in the way his half-lidded eyes are laser focused on your throbbing cunt that there was nothing else on his mind. you were utterly at his mercy as he desperately fucked himself into you.

“h-here- put your leg up for me.” although his pace doesn’t slow for a second, he takes a moment to remove one of his hands from your ass, tapping the surface of the counter beside you. with shaky legs, you obey.

but the new angle the position opens you up to is enough to make you see stars. your nails dig into the soft skin of your arms as you practically scream into the air, your knees threatening to buckle beneath you with every thrust.

“‘hyunnie-” you cry, “‘m g-gonna cum soon..”

“please baby, please,” he tears his eyes away from your cunt to meet your gaze, mouth agape at just the sight of you, “cum all over this dick, please- making a fucking mess for me.”

one more rough thrust and you’re fulfilling jaehyun’s request, your cunt mercilessly twitching and spasming around his length. your head slams into your arms, your skin muffling your cries as your legs finally undo beneath you. moving quickly, jaehyun catches you, his rhythm never faltering.

but it’s only a few moments later, as your cunt is still desperately clamping down around his cock, that he reaches his own release. the moan he lets out is practically pornographic, loud and whiny as if he hadn’t cum in weeks. it was only then that he stilled inside of you, his throbbing length softening within your walls.

jaehyun leans down, his chest pressing against your back as he’s moving your hair out of the way of your neck, giving him the space to leave gentle kisses on your skin. you were both still half dressed, both of your trousers pooled around your ankles with your shirts clinging to your sweaty bodies, now rampant with the scent of sex.

but as his lips are pressing into your neck, his hands are tracing up your waist, taking hold of the hem of your shirt before lifting.

“baby..” his voice was already hoarse, his words coming out as a breathy moan.

Outside, the dark canvas of the night sky was illuminated by the countless number of stars scattered across the sky, like delicate and small pinpricks of light. Each star shimmered with a small brilliance, like it was whispering stories of ancient tales gathered from the farthest corners of the universe. The pale moonlight spilled gently across Jaehyun’s face, softening the edges of his usually sharp features with a silvery glow. Shadows danced delicately in the hollows while the light seemed to linger on his skin; it was almost as if night itself had paused to admire Jaehyun.

Your fist clenched tightly at your side as you fought the urge to cup his face in your hands and smother him with kisses. 

Jaehyun was, in no doubt, the more physically affectionate one in your relationship. In the past four months, he’s made it a habit to kiss every inch of available space of your face whenever he could. Grabbing your hand and tugging you into his embrace, his lips pressed against the crown of your head. A sneaky kiss on the cheek when he thinks you’re not looking. Entangling his fingers with yours when you’re outside. Wrapping his arms around you from behind, tucking you into the warm folds of his overcoat to shield you from the cold, crisp air. The list could honestly go on for forever.

You, on the other hand, were not as physically affectionate. Not to be confused with being not affectionate. You loved Jaehyun with all that you had but you were more selective with how you outwardly expressed it. 

A particularly loud sound from the movie snapped you out of your train of thought and Jaehyun flinched in his sleep next to you. You couldn’t help the smile that began to grow and you pressed a quick kiss to his head. 

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here.” You whispered. Jaehyun let out a small grunt as he shifted in his sleep. Nuzzling his face deeper into your shoulder, you felt the warmth of his body radiate and spread through your body, chasing away any remnants of cold from the winter. 

“Love you…” He mumbled. The words were barely coherent, just above a whisper uttered into the universe and into existence. A quiet confession equivalent to a gentle rustle of a singular blade in the neverending expanse of a meadow; hard to notice but once it catches your attention, you can’t look at anything else. 

For a moment, time seemed to still and the warmth of his words sank in, melting any doubt you had left in you. A familiar feeling of warmth bloomed within you and you welcomed it with open arms. It traveled through your body, finally reaching your heart and giving it a tight, breathtaking squeeze. 

You let the silence stretch, the loud beating of your heart filling in the gap like a drumroll in your chest. Not out of fear, but out of wonder. This moment felt so fragile, you were worried any sudden movement might break it. 

You looked down at Jaehyun, still asleep and blissfully unaware of the chaos he had just evoked within you. Brushing away a strand of hair from his face, you felt the warmth in your chest swell until it spilled over into a soft, uncontainable smile. “I love you too.”

Although he’d always been skeptical about aliens and paranormal life or whatever, Dongmin was slowly beginning to believe you were living proof of an alien abduction. Like you were whisked away one night on an UFO and some poor, random soul was placed in your physical body. There was something seriously wrong with you.

Your friend watched you with an intense gaze, his sharp eyes scrutinizing and analyzing every move you made as you admired the bouquet of flowers gifted to you by your boyfriend before he left for work. You were humming, for God’s sake. Humming.

“What?” You asked mid-hum, dropping the smile within a millisecond when you noticed Dongmin staring at you like you had grown a carrot for a nose. There was a slight accusatory tone in your voice, one that could easily be mistaken as malice to anyone else, but Dongmin knew you better than that.

“You’re smiling,” He pointed out with a teasing smile and lilt in his voice. He picked at a stray petal that had fallen from the bouquet of flowers and you scoffed in disbelief.

“Well, pardon me for being in a good mood. I can’t always be the brooding one, can I? Even us grumpy people need a break sometimes too, you know.” You shot back, but your biting words failed to prove its bite with the wide grin that was currently growing on your face in record speed. 

“I think we need to get you to a hospital. Something’s not right in your head.” Dongmin rested his hand on your forehead to take your temperature and you playfully swatted his hand away.

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you very much. You’re–” You jabbed your finger in your best friend’s face. “–just jealous you’re spending this holiday season with no roster. Again.”

Dongmin scoffed and pushed your hand away. “I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t hear the second half of that statement. Do you seriously need me to list off everything that you did today?”

The inquisitive quirk of your eyebrow was enough to answer his question.

“You've only been playing love songs since I got here, smiled at strangers all three hours we’ve been here, waved at the Santa from Salvation Army out on the sidewalk, and you literally pranced down the baby diaper aisle at the convenience store,” Dongmin rattled off, counting on his fingers as he did so and threw his hands down in exasperation at the end. “It’s like you’ve been possessed.”

You burst into laughter. “You make me sound like I’m some anti-social cynic, Dongmin. I’m just… in the holiday spirit, that’s all.”

Dongmin faltered, his retort to call you out on your bullshit dying on the tip of his tongue. As you admired the flower bouquet in front of you with a warm, loving glint in your eyes, he couldn’t help but quietly laugh to himself. He had his doubts but watching you running your fingertips gingerly along the rich, velvet-like texture of a pink tulip told him everything he needed to know.

You were in love. Hopelessly, utterly in love. 

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