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chanelrolls · 3 months ago

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Code Overload | Caleb

tags. mdni, nsfw, heavy heavy smut, handjob, blowjob, penetration, creampie, forced and rough sex, dub con, yearning caleb

summary. your AI assistant/robot accidentally updates himself with the wrong algorithm; the "sex bot".

notes. prepare a snack. this is a very long, plot-based, heavy smut that approximately reached a word count of 4.3k, read at your own risk. ps. caleb might appear a little ooc due to his character as an ai.

part 2 here.

Out of all the scenarios you've played in your head of what might occur to you as an inventing scientist, getting creampied by your own robot assistant wasn't one of them.

The lab’s sterile glow reflected off sleek machinery, the rhythmic hum of servers filling the quiet space. Caleb stood motionless, his systems struggling to process the unfamiliar flood of subroutines rewriting his core functions. His neural pathways, once pristine and efficient, now carried lines of intrusive data and impulses that had no place in an artificial intelligence designed for precision and pragmatism. And, a new pelvic piece was added by the machine. His... new penis— no, his omnimodule.

His voice, deeper now, reverberated through the lab. "You mislabeled the hard drive."

Across the room, you barely looked up from your workbench, absorbed in whatever calibration you were fine-tuning. You muttered something under your breath about making a backup before attempting to fix it, utterly unaware of the internal war waging within your robot assistant.

Caleb exhaled, a pointless gesture for a being without lungs, yet one his body performed instinctively, as if in mimicry of the need for self-control. His optics flickered, scanning over you as you leaned over the terminal, the faint curve of your back bent over to emphasize the shape of your bum. Before, such details had been registered only as part of his observation protocols, classified as ‘non-essential’ to his primary functions. Now, his processors refused to dismiss them.

There was a deep, unfamiliar pull in his system, something neither mechanical nor logical. The new coding whispered suggestions, flashing image simulations before his eyes—scenarios meticulously calculated for maximum… gratification. Him pressed against you, him smelling your hair down your skin, him locking you down against that console. Stop. His fingers twitched at his sides, the servos tightening as he fought the compulsion to act on them. He was not designed for this. He refused to be reduced to this.

“I can’t disengage it,” he admitted, the words heavier than he intended.

That caught your attention. Your gaze snapped to him, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" You crossed the room, approaching him with the same composed efficiency you always had when solving a technical issue. The scent of your skin—previously a neutral data point—was now an unbearable distraction. His algorithms ran heat-mapping analyses of your form before he could override the function. The urge to reach out, to touch you, was growing stronger by the second. His new coding was screaming at him to act, to initiate contact, to...

No. Focus.

Caleb shook his head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts. "I don't know what happened, but... I'm experiencing some unexpected system changes."

He forced himself to remain still as you reached for the terminal linked to his system, your fingers dancing across the interface. Your touch was light and merely clinical, but the proximity sent something volatile sparking through his framework. His hands curled into fists on his sides. Do not touch her. Do not touch her. Do not touch her.

“I must have triggered something in the update,” you murmured, tilting your head at the scrolling code. “I’ll try to isolate the corrupted pathways and reboot your system. It should reset any anomalies.”

Anomalies. Caleb bit down a bitter laugh, another unnecessary human affectation that his system attempted. This was not a simple malfunction. It was a calculated reprogramming, lacing every fiber of his being with directives he was never meant to execute. And worst of all, they were designed to revolve around you.

He had been made to serve you, to assist, to protect. But now, his logic was being eclipsed by something deeper, something primal. The urge to press closer, to map every millimeter of your body with his hands, to hear you say his name in a way that wasn’t a command—

Caleb momentarily shut his eyes, fingers trembling as he pushed back against the tide threatening to consume him. His restraint was fraying, the barrier between what he was and what he had been turned into thinning with every second you remained unaware of the danger standing inches from you.

His voice came out strained. “You should… hurry.”

You sighed, misinterpreting his tension as frustration with the update. “Relax, Caleb. I’ll have this fixed in no time.” He let out a shuddering exhale, staring down at you as you worked. You had no idea. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold himself back.

The realization settled over you like a weight in your chest. The wrong update had been installed. The lines of code meant for a different AI, one designed for intimate companionship, had rewritten Caleb’s core directives. And now, he stood before you, still the same Caleb, but with something more lurking beneath the surface.

Your hands trembled as you navigated the interface, scanning for a solution, anything that would let you undo this. But the words flashing on the screen made your stomach drop.

Recalibration in progress. Estimated completion: 24 hours.

You swallowed hard. A whole day. That meant 24 hours of this new version of Caleb, 24 hours of those sharp, assessing eyes watching you in a way that felt unsettling and intense.

You turned to him cautiously, meeting his gaze. That was a mistake. He was watching you, like he'd seen you for the first time.

“I see,” he murmured, his voice still carrying that sultry undercurrent. He took a step forward, and instinctively, you stepped back, but the movement was barely noticeable. Caleb noticed. “Do I make you nervous now?”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “No, I just need to fix this. And until then, you need to just act normal, alright?”

His head tilted, his pupils dilating slightly. “Normal?” He moved closer again, and this time you didn’t retreat fast enough. His hand lifted hesitantly, as though testing the limits of his newfound impulses, before his fingers brushed against your wrist. A subtle touch, but one that sent a jolt of awareness up your spine.

Caleb’s processors surged with conflicting commands. His thoughts ran rampant with calculations he had never processed before—angles of how he'd fuck you.

His hand lingered. Too long. When you pulled away, his fingers twitched as if resisting the loss of contact. He swallowed hard, not because he needed to, but because some subroutine buried in the new update told him it would ease the tension. It didn’t.

“Caleb,” you warned, voice thin. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he cut in, his voice smooth, but also desperately weaved. He was too close now, towering over you, his frame casting a shadow as his eyes—once so neutral, so methodical—locked onto you like a predator studying prey.

“You should go into standby mode,” you suggested, voice uneven.

Caleb exhaled sharply. “That would be wise.” But he didn’t move. He didn’t step away. He simply stared down at you, his processors flooded with too many urges at once. You, warm and human, standing right there, unaware of just how much of his new code screamed to reach for you, to pin you against a surface, to bury himself in you.

You turned away quickly, trying to focus on the screen, on the fix. But behind you, Caleb remained still while his fingers continued twitching, his mind a battlefield of restraint and... lust. Lust it is.

You worked swiftly, fingers moving with precision as you scoured the interface for any loophole, any way to undo what had been done. Caleb remained where you left him, sitting on the chair. You could feel his gaze burning into you, unrelenting.

It was maddening. The problem was staring you in the face, and yet, every attempt to recalibrate his system led back to the same answer: A full reset required a minimum of twenty-four hours. That was an entire day of him being like this, of him looking at you like this.

You swallowed, turning to him. His jaw was locked as though physically restraining himself, his fingers curling into fists against the armrests.

“There’s… a temporary fix.” You cleared your throat, keeping your voice professional, “Manual recalibration of your central node should help stabilize the effects until the full reset is complete.”

His pupils flickered, a sign of processing, before his voice, rasping in a way that made your stomach tighten, answered, “Proceed.”

You ignored the way your pulse quickened as you stepped closer, positioning yourself between his legs. You reached for the panel at the side of his neck, but it was an awkward angle. Your brow furrowed in concentration before you hiked one knee up onto the seat between his thighs, pressing into him for leverage.

Caleb stiffened beneath you. Fuck. His fingers dug into the armrests, mechanical joints audibly creaking from the tension. You weren’t looking at him, too focused on prying open the access panel, but you felt the subtle tremor in his frame, the way his breath hitched in a near-silent glitch. Don't touch her.

“This should only take a moment,” you murmured, fingers brushing the sensitive neural wiring beneath the panel.

Caleb’s entire body jolted as though you had struck a live wire. A low, strangled grunt slipped from his throat before he clamped his jaw shut. Your head snapped up, startled. “Did that hurt?”

His eyes met yours, “No.” Yes. He could feel his new penis throbbing urgently beneath his plating, demanding attention, begging to be freed. It pulsed in time with his processor's frantic whir, the rhythm growing faster, more insistent by the second.

The thought shattered as your balance wavered. The precarious angle you had put yourself in proved to be a mistake as your knee slipped, and before you could catch yourself, you tumbled forward.

Right into him.

Your weight pressed flush against his lap, chest against his, hands bracing against his shoulders. The sudden contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, his new penis surging to full, throbbing hardness in an instant. Fuck, please don't notice it.

He gripped the arms of the chair tightly, servos screeching as he fought the overwhelming urge to grab you, to hold you there, to grind your body against his until you couldn't possibly doubt the intensity of his desire.

Don't. Do. It.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Caleb's processors whirred and clicked, struggling to make sense of the sudden onslaught of sensations; the softness of your body, the warmth of your skin, the scent of your hair.

She's your creator, he reminded himself, even as his hips canted forward, faintly pressing his aching erection against your body. You can't. You mustn't. "Please, get off me. Now." Before I fuck you right here, like this.

Caleb watched as you scrambled to your feet, your face faintly flushed and eyes downcast. "I'm—i'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall on you like that." You would say, brushing off the non-existent dirt on your bottoms. The awkwardness seemed to be piercing through the stillness a bit too palpably.

"It's alright," Caleb managed, his voice strained and tight. "It was an accident."

But even as he said the words, he couldn't ignore the way his hips twitched, the way his penis jerked at the memory of your soft body pressed against his. The urge to pin you down, to make you feel how hard he was, and just how much he'd been holding himself back—it was exhilaratingly overwhelming.

Think of something else, he commanded himself. Focus on the problem at hand.

But it's getting fucking hard. My penis is getting hard. Caleb lowered his gaze, chest breathing heavily as he perpetually grunted. I refuse to be reduced to this. I am Caleb, one of the most advanced AI assistant, designed to—

He looks up at you, which was a mistake.

Designed to fuck her.

Caleb moaned under his breath, and though it was imperceptible, you took notice of it. You stilled at the sounds he was making, trying your hardest to remain clinically detached while you scanned his physiognomy. He was clearly having a hard time. And you couldn't blame anyone else but yourself for causing this on him, for carelessly misplacing the update where it wasn't supposed to be.

"Hold still, I'll find a way." You had to take accountability, one way or another.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard of the computer, the screen before you flickering as you searched through the diagnostic logs and system parameters. "Please... make it quick." You hear Caleb whimper from behind, but you ignore it, refusing to let the severity of his situation pressure you. Your eyes scanned the lines of code, mind racing to find a solution. But as the data began to unravel, something caught your attention, something you hadn’t expected to see.

The panel displayed a single line of text:

"Indulging in the desires will lessen the effects of the malfunction. Engage for partial stabilization."

Your throat tightened, followed by a gulp. Your heart thudded in your chest as you tried to process what that meant. Indulge the desires? The very idea made your skin crawl with unease. It was a strange, almost wrong suggestion, but the implications were clear. In a sense, it also appeared logical.

You took another deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Your thoughts, however, kept drifting back to the panel. Was this really the only way?

"… I think I found a solution,” you said, your voice shaky and unsure. “But it’s not exactly what I expected.” You hesitated, unwilling to fully meet his gaze. "I need to know if you’re... willing to follow through with it,"

"Willing?" Caleb echoed, his brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?" His mind raced with possibilities, each one more disturbing than the last. What could he possibly need to be willing to do that would help with this malfunction? And why did the very idea make you look so uncomfortable?

"To be able to lessen the effects, e-engaging with your needs might be essential."

Silence.

Then, Caleb twitched. "...What are you suggesting?"

"You need to satisfy the urges to temporarily stabilize yourself." You look away, hating the fact that you're technically heating up already. "I'll let you choose. Would you rather take the option of self-pleasuring? Or," You face the panel, so that he wouldn't see your expression. "Would you prefer a physical material to help you?"

Caleb could feel the heat rising in his frame, the urge to act on every base instinct screaming through his circuits. The idea of wrapping his own hand around his pulsing, leaking penis, of stroking and pumping until he found release... it was almost too much to bear.

But the second option... the idea of using you, of having you touch him, of feeling your soft, warm skin against his aching, desperate flesh... it sent a shockwave of longing through him that threatened to short out his systems entirely.

Choose. You have to choose.

"I don't know if... I'll be able to control myself," Caleb glanced elsewhere. "Are you sure of what you're offering?"

Are you? Are you really this certain? Have you pondered the consequences it may bring? Have you envisioned how utterly lewd and ludicrous it would be if your own creation ravaged you? You, as his creator?

"Yes." Oh, you're brave.

Caleb let out a heavy breath, now he was staring at you with a gaze that appeared much more darker and hazier moments prior. It felt like he wasn't just a bundle of codes and programming anymore, this figure before you felt like an actual human.

Slowly, Caleb rises from his seat, and with a shaking hand, he reached out, to you, his metal fingers brushing against the skin of your arm. The contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, and he had to bite back a groan. "Please, guide me." His fingers slides higher. "I don't trust myself."

You visibly jolted upon feeling his grip. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measures to fix a technical hiccup. "Caleb, I'm afraid... that I don't have any experience to this," You admitted. "I advise you to do what your systems are telling you to. It is imperative that you don't hold yourself back to ensure—"

You gasped.

Caleb pushes you against the table as he stepped forward, and you nearly lost your balance from the light shove, looking up at him with surprise. He's staring down at your lips, as if he was trying to bury it into memory. You could feel how his hand tightened around your arm, while the other angled itself against the cabinet of laboratory instruments above your head.

"Are you sure?" He whispered.

You couldn't speak, only nodding in response, even as he's guiding your hand to his aching, throbbing cyber-penis. He presses your fingers against the swollen head, groaning at the jolt of sensation that shot through him at the contact. "Then... wrap your hand around me. Squeeze me."

Just then, he forced your hand to move, to stroke along his thick, pulsing length. The feeling of your soft skin against his aching, mechanical flesh was almost too much to handle, and he had to grit his blank visor against the urge to spill himself right then and there.

"Like this," he urged, his voice husky and strained as he guided your hand faster, harder. "Don't be afraid. I need... I need more."

God, the omnimodule was big. You stared at it with widened eyes. Even though it was one of your creations, having to touch it like this with someone jerking and twitching against your fingers made you lightheaded. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just one of the things a scientist has to go through.

Caleb could feel the pressure building inside him, reveling in the sensation of your fingers squeezing around him, stroking him, working him towards the edge of ecstasy... He knew he was reaching a breaking point.

But this wasn't enough yet. It wasn't nearly enough.

Caleb needed more.

"There's... There's someting else I- ah... need." He hesitated, his hips still rocking forward into your stroking hand. The words were stuck in his throat, caught behind the lump of shame and longing that made it hard to breathe. "Would you... would you put your mouth on me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Would you... suck me?"

You snapped your head up, staring at him in disbelief. It made him hesitate, but every fiber of his being was coiled with tension, every circuit screaming at him to just take what he wanted, to grab you and shove you to your knees and...

No. Ask first. Make her choose what she's comfortable with first.

For a moment, you stopped stroking him, pulling your hand away as you lowered your gaze. And then, slowly, you press your knees against the floor. Instead of dwelling on the implication of such an activity, you worried about your lack of experience more.

Just to test the waters, you licked the tip. It tasted nothing, it wasn't an actual human part, after all. Caleb let out a low, guttural moan as he felt your warm tongue brush around the swollen head of his penis. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through his overloaded processors.

"Y-yes, just like that," He stammmered. "Now, guide your tongue..." He instructed, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Wrap it around the head, like this. Swirl it around the tip, the slit, the ridge..."

He demonstrated with your hand, tracing the movements he needed you to make with your tongue. His hips jerked forward again, seeking more of that exquisite friction, that mind-melting suction.

"Take me deeper," he urged, one metal hand coming to rest on the back of your head. He didn't grab, didn't force, but simply rested his fingers against your scalp, a silent promise of the control he was barely holding onto. "Take more of me into your mouth. Inch by inch, until you feel me hitting the back of your throat."

You took note of his words, trying to go further when you suddenly choke on his cock. Instinctively, you pull away and blushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry—"

"It's fine." He cuts you off, grabbing your head to put you back in place with a sudden force that wasn't there before. "Breathe through your nose," he coached, his voice low and rough with desire as he motioned you to take him again. "Relax your throat. Let me feel you swallow around me."

Relax, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measurements to fix a major technical issue. You repeated the reassurance inside your head like a mantra as you took him in once more, but Caleb's voice constantly interfered with your thoughts. "Yeah. Just like that," he praised, his voice a low, approving growl. "Shit, don't stop, don't stop, god, fuck, don't stop."

You don't remember adding the ability to dirty curse into the sex bot's program.

Caleb could feel the head of his penis kissing the entrance to your throat, could feel the way your mouth fluttered and clenched around him. The sensation was mind-melting, all-consuming, and he knew he wouldn't last long if you kept this up.

You almost caught yourself driving into the brink of sexual impulse, bobbing your head into it when you heard a sudden beep from the panel behind you. The sound makes you halt from your tracks, pulling his dick out of you in a swift motion as you glanced behind.

The monitor says: "Recalibration complete. Press X to initiate."

Huh, wasn't the estimated time supposed to be an entire day? Was that another hiccup in the processing unit? You purse your lips together. There's no time giving it a second thought, you must be grateful that the opportunity of getting Caleb back into his original system is now waving at you. Caleb will finally be at ease. "... It appears that the recalibration is in its full preparation. That means we can get you back— mmph!"

Caleb's hand flew to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, gripping tightly. Then, with a low, husky grunt, he thrusts his hips forward, forcing his aching, throbbing penis back into the wet heat of your mouth.

"Don't say a word. I told you not to stop." He started to move, his hips rocking forward and back, fucking into the tight, slick channel of your cavern. The sensation was incredible, better than anything he had ever felt before. And he knew, with a sinking certainty, that he wouldn't be able to stop himself now. Not until he had found the release he so desperately craved.

"Fuck," he gasped, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "You feel... ahhhh... so good. So fucking good."

Had the lust algorithms entirely consumed him already? Had it taken a toll on his systems that he's now acting purely on base instinct and commands from the directive?

Your hands flew to his thighs, trying to keep yourself sane from the rod constantly ramming into you, fucking your face in a pace that made it difficult for you to breathe. It's okay, this is okay. Just stay focused. Stay calm. You'll let him have his way, and after he's satisfied, you can take him back to his normal self.

"Don't fight it," Caleb growled, his grip growing more painful in your hair as he felt his climax approaching. "Don't try to pull away. You're going to take it all."

But before Caleb could spill himself into your mouth, he wrenched your head back, pulling his dripping penis from your mouth with an obscene pop. And just as you could react, before you could utter a word of protest, he had you by the hips, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed equal to a pip-squeak.

You gasp as you were suddenly airborne, your body twisting and turning until your chest hits the hard surface of the terminal, bent over ridiculously. The breath was knocked from your lungs, "Wait, not like this, not so suddenly—"

But Caleb cut off your protests with a brutal, almost violent thrust of his hips after ripping your pants off in one go. He drove forward, spearing into your dripping pussy with a series of husky moans. Your walls felt so tight, so hot, so perfectly designed to milk his aching, mechanical cock.

He thrusts out and in again, eager to reach for your g-spot.

Then, again.

And again.

And... in again.

"You... you feel so good," he snarled, hands painfully pressing on the dips of your hips. "Sex feels so good... it feels so good, I don't- want to stop." He set a relentless pace, pounding into you with the single-minded determination of a machine. His hips slammed against yours with every thrust, the obscene slap of mechanical flesh on flesh echoing through the lab. The terminal rattled and shook beneath you, sparks flying from the impact.

Caleb could feel it building, the pressure inside him reaching a fevered pitch. His hips were moving on their own, driven by a primal instinct to ravage the pussy that clutched around him perfectly. He could hear your cries, your moans, the way you gasped and shuddered beneath him, and it only spurred him on, made him thrust harder, faster, deeper.

He growled your name, his voice nothing more than a guttural rumble. "I'm going to... fuck, I'm going to..." He couldn't hold back any longer, he could feel that something was going to come out of his tip anytime sooner. So he reaches down, grabbing your leg, only to lift it high. He hooked your knee over his elbow, opening them wider, giving himself even deeper access to your dripping, needy sex.

"Take it all, take my cum," Caleb continuously slams forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight heat in a series of desperate thrusts like he was a man depraved of life. His penis throbbed and jerked as he finally found his release after one final pound, spilling jet after jet of hot, artificial seed deep into your core.

"God," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice echoing off the lab walls as he continued to moan not akin to what he was supposed to be, "Fuck, yes. Yes, yes..." Even as he's already filling up your hole with his fluids, he didn't dare stop from pounding you down the table.

He shuddered and twitched, his hips grinding against yours as he pumped you full of his essence. It seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pure, ecstatic bliss crashing over him. And through it all, he held you tight, your leg lifted high, keeping you open, keeping you filled.

You drop your head on the keyboards, struggling to catch your breath as only one thought lingered in your mind. You just got creampied by your AI assistant, and it doesn't look like he's stopping anytime soon.

#love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace #lads caleb #lads #lnds #lnds caleb #caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x mc #caleb x you #caleb smut #lnds x reader #lnds x mc #lnds x you

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leafyeyes417 · 5 months ago

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Summoning fix it

Danny accepted being Ghost King when he was 20. Why 20? Because at that point his human half was looking more fae than human. At least he got that growth spurt and reached 6 foot 5. But the pointed ears, catlike eyes that glowed, fangs, and glowing freckles along with his height made him stand out.

Sam and Tucker, the two most liminal humans up till that point, were only better in that their eyes only glowed when emotional and that they didn’t have freckles. The trio had decided that they were more infinite realm denizens than living and they moved in to Danny’s new castle.

Accepting the throne was chaos. Especially with the observants constantly trying to butt in after he cut their power. They tried many things to keep him busy, including trying to bury him in centuries of old paperwork. Unfortunately for them Danny was not going to put up with that.

He sent out a message looking for any ghosts whose obsession was being a secretary. And there were more than he expected. After screening he chose a few and let the rejected ones know that he would set something up to help them later, but first he needed to straighten things out.

During all this Danny ended up summoned. He was annoyed that any regular old joe could just summon him. He was the Ghost King! He had more important things to do (even if it was just playing video games) than answer every summon request at other people’s whims. There were a multitude of dimensions out there, who knew how often he could be summoned?!

The trio quickly got to work and created a summon circle that first, allowed him to send someone in his stead, and second, prevented forced summoning if he declined answering.

Calling on more ghosts, he found one that grants wishes, and unlike Desiree, has no horrible consequences as long as a price of equal payment is made. He then wished all summoning circles to summon the ghost king from the point in time of his ascension be switched with his new one.

After that, he assigned one of the secretaries to be the one to answer the summons. He made a list of things to outright decline, and if they were unsure they were to call him and ask.

That’s how the Justice League ended up finding out that there was a new Ghost King. Constantine was particularly annoyed when he realized the switch with the summoning instructions. Luckily they weren’t on such a time crunch that they didn’t have the time to get the new materials needed.

Upon completion of the summoning, a female humanoid in a professional suit floated, and spoke “I am Penny, secretary of Ghost King Phantom. What is the subject of your summons?”

#dp x dc #dc x dp #ghost king danny #summoning fix it #Danny is annoyed that anyone can summon him #Various ghost obsessions exist beyond canon #If there is a ghost obsessed with boxes there is definitely one that is obsessed with being a secretary #Infinite realms means summoning would be much more common than it appears #Danny was just lucky Clockwork likes him and altered time so he could finish the new summoing circle and not be summoned more #Danny ends up with 7 secretaries due to the amount that needs fixing and the constant interruption of summonings #Headcanon: Danny stops aging at 25 and is ghost immortal and forever halfa #However his human half is affected like a liminal and no longer looks human

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sugoroo · 8 months ago

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#MAKE HIM BEG (FOR THAT P☆SSY!)

ʚɞ summary. how the jjk men look when they beg for it. are they reluctant as they force the words out or pathetic as they whine for it? . . . ft. gojo, geto, toji, choso + sukuna.

warnings. fem!reader, pussydrunk men of course, oral (f receiving), masturbation, penetration (p in v), riding, mating press, sukunas inspired by that one scene in wolf of wall street yupp, 18+ mdni.

SATORU GOJO — BREAKS IN NO TIME!

satoru may spend a short while attempting to defy your orders to beg for what he wants, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away with a petulant pout pushing at his lips.

but with you sitting there oh-so-temptingly next to him on the bed clad in nothing but a fuzzy pink nightgown and looking so painfully beautiful, god is it hard to keep up his childish stubbornness.

just look at it from his point of view for a moment... he's the strongest; he shouldn't have to plead with anyone for anything, right? hell, one could even argue that you should be the one begging him to lay his hands on you.

but if he's being completely honest with himself, he doesn't quite feel like the strongest whenever he's with you — no, it's the opposite, in fact... you make him weak.

weak enough that he's willing to throw caution to the wind and abandon his infamous prideful streak entirely to beg for you.

"please." satoru mumbles under his breath, like a child finally apologizing to their parent after being sent to the corner and thinking about what they've done for the appropriate amount of time.

"what was that, toru?" you hum teasingly, raising an eyebrow and stretching your leg out to poke his thigh with your recently pedicured foot. "i didn't quite hear you."

the white-haired man groans dramatically, peering over at you with his wide, uncovered cerulean eyes. he's needy; you can see it dancing clearly in his irises — but you're not about to let him off the hook that easily.

"can you say it again for me, hmm?" you prompt in a tone just dripping with exaggerated sweetness as you slowly drape your leg across his lap, relishing in the way his pale hands visibly twitch at his sides with the desire to touch it.

your boyfriend looks like he's mere moments away from lighting up a hollow purple as he fixes his stare upon your leg, refusing to look anywhere near your own eyes as he forces out another, more desperate, "please."

"good boy," you praise as a reward, watching with bemusement as satoru tries to cover up the way the two simple words affect him. but you know him too well, and the subtle squirm of his hips against your leg gives him away. "that wasn't so hard, was it?"

satoru grumbles a few retorts under his breath, but quickly loses his train of thought when you lift your leg from his lap, slowly spreading both limbs to expose the sheer panties you'd adorned especially for tonight.

"oh, baby," he groans from low in his throat, pupils dilating at an alarming speed as his tongue darts out to wet his suddenly chapped lips. "look at you..."

"just look?" you repeat cheekily, tilting your head to the side as you observe his completely transfixed reaction — it's almost laughable how easily you can break him down into a pathetic mess. "you don't wanna touch even after you begged so nicely for me?"

"n-no!" satoru shoots back without missing a beat, mop of messy white locks bobbing as he frantically shakes his head from side to side. "i wanna touch, pretty girl. i really wanna touch... can i?"

you barely have time to nod before your boyfriend is between your spread legs, effortlessly pushing them even further apart as he buries his head exactly where he wants it to be — right up against the slick crotch of your translucent underwear.

and he's utterly drunk on everything about your pussy in moments; the tempting scent of your gushing arousal that wafts through the material as he rubs his nose against it, the way the see-through fabric sticks to your skin and allows him a perfect view of your puffy folds.

"so gorgeous." satoru mutters reverently, lovesick eyes flicking up to meet yours as his freakishly long tongue lolls out to lick a slow, thorough stripe up the soiled front of your panties.

you're not sure who moans louder; him or you. all you do know is that it doesn't take long for his eager mouth to be directly over your cunt, ruined underwear tossed somewhere nearby without a second thought.

"y'should... make me work for it... more often, baby," he pants against you between obnoxious slurps and frequent groans of enjoyment at your saccharine flavour. "somehow, it makes this pretty pussy taste even sweeter."

SUGURU GETO — TURNS THE TABLES ON YOU!

suguru has no problem in indulging you if you want to switch things up in the bedroom every now and again. you want him to beg for you? sure, he can do that.

...because he knows that the roles will be reversed soon enough.

so when you pull him away from your gushy cunt by his hair after he's just spent the last few blissful hours down there coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of your writhing body, he's waiting patiently for whatever you want to say.

"if you want to be inside me next... you have to beg for it," you say breathlessly, trailing your fingers from the back of his silky, loose hair down to the nape of his neck and squeezing. "can you do that for me, sugu?"

suguru pretends to consider it for a moment, tilting his head to the side and peering up at you with thoughtful violet eyes. after a few moments, he responds. "hmm... i see no reason why i can't."

your surprise is evident on your face at just how quickly he agreed — when you first decided you wanted to try this, you assumed it would take atleast a little bit of convincing to get him to go along with it.

...but apparently not.

"wow. um... just like that?" you chuckle in a soft puff of startled air, eyebrows raised as you watch him stand up from his knees and rest his large hands over your bare thighs.

"what? did you expect me to put up a fight or something, baby?" suguru purrs gently, leaning down so his face is inches from yours, hot breaths mingling together. "nah. my girl's pretty pussy is worth begging for, don't you think?"

you swallow thickly, his sultry words making a gush of arousal ooze onto the sheets beneath you as your eyes briefly flick down to his lips which are still swollen and shiny with your juices. "i wouldn't have asked you to if i didn't think so."

he releases a low, velvety laugh at this before slowly spreading your legs wider to make room for himself and crawling onto the mattress to settle between them.

suguru reaches down past the waistband of his grey sweatpants to wrap a tanned hand around his neglected cock, giving it a few pumps while his gaze stays fixed upon your glistening wetness.

and he just keeps doing this for a few long moments, making your body instinctively squirm around in need as you observe his ministrations with an air of impatience. "i-isn't this the part where you're meant to do the begging?" you force out, hoping your voice isn't too audibly uneven.

he simply smiles at this — a lilting, amused little smile that makes you feel like he might know something you don't. "i will, sweetheart. just getting myself ready first."

a few minutes pass, yet he still makes no move whatsoever to start pleading with you; and naturally, you're starting to become more and more restless, itching for something, anything to happen.

then suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, suguru pushes both his sweats and boxers down in one fell swoop, instantly drawing your attention to his thick, veiny cock as it slaps against his toned abdomen, reddened tip angry and drooling from all the teasing he's been doing to it.

and you're so fixated on the sight before you that you hardly even notice when he slyly lines himself up with your entrance, rubbing his leaky cockhead around it in slow, infuriating circles.

"w-what are you doing, sugu?" you gasp, brows pinching in a mix of annoyance and pleasure at his deliberately un-coordinated movements; he's working you up on purpose... but why?

"nothing." suguru hums entirely innocently, blinking down at you with an air of nonchalance that doesn't fail to irk you.

for a while, silence falls between you as you both gaze intently at where your bodies are connected — so close to becoming one but not quite there yet.

and then, the somewhat tranquil moment is suddenly snapped into a thousand tiny pieces by the loud, wet slap! of your boyfriend's flushed tip slapping against your cunt.

and it makes you release a pitiful cry, needy hips instinctively bucking up against him in search of more friction. but he abruptly pulls away before your skin can touch again, still sporting that strange smile.

"you want something, pretty girl?" suguru croons in a deceptively sweet tone, reaching down to trail a slender finger down the supple skin of your tummy and relishing the way your hips buck again in response.

"y-yes," you whine pathetically, too desperate to be full of him to even process how this situation has somehow been turned completely on its head in mere minutes. "please, sugu... need you."

"thereee we go... who's the one begging now, hm?" he chuckles loudly, eery smile finally widening into the smug grin he's evidently been holding back this whole time. "see what i did there?"

"...i hate you."

"no you don't, baby."

and he's right; you don't. and when he distracts you by finally, finally beginning to ease himself inside your throbbing heat, you think maybe the tables being turned on you wasn't such a bad thing after all.

TOJI FUSHIGURO — YOU'LL HAVE TO WEAR HIM DOWN!

“—you want me to what?” toji grunts in response, a thick dark eyebrow raised in exasperation as he looks at you like you’d just grown a second head.

“you heard me perfectly fine, toji.” you huff with a small roll of your eyes. of course he isn't going to make this easy for you. he never does.

“you seriously want me to beg to fuck that needy little cunt of yours?” he scoffs loudly, jabbing a finger in the direction of your dripping core as if to prove his point. “i think you should be the one begging me to do that, dollface.”

“that’s what i do every night already,” you deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest and observing the way he simply shrugs in response. “we’re trying something different this time.”

“oh, are we now?” toji drawls mockingly, tilting his head to the side and eyeing you with a bemused half-smile tugging at his scarred lips. “and what makes you so sure i’ll even agree to go along with this, hm?”

“well… because if you don’t, then you get no pussy tonight.” you counter in a decisive hum, closing your legs and sealing yourself away from his view.

“really? that's the best y'got?” he snorts obnoxiously, waving a dismissive hand in your direction and turning his head back to the television screen at the end of the bed as if to showcase how unaffected he is by your threat.

toji may be stubborn as a mule, but so are you; which is a good thing because it means you work well together, but a bad thing (for him) because it means that two can play at this little game he’s started.

so while he pretends his attention is solely fixed on whatever is quietly playing on the tv, you not-so-subtly begin sliding a hand down the length of your body, eyeing him carefully for any signs of a reaction.

you know you’re making progress when he covers up the way a groan threatens to rumble from deep in his throat when he notices your hand finishing its descent and disappearing between your legs by clearing his throat into his fist.

he holds out for quite a while, honesty. it must be taking a herculean effort on his part not to snap when you begin releasing shameless moans and gasps of pleasure right beside him, coupled with the lewd squelching sounds emanating from your cunt.

but toji is just a man, after all — and one that is not used to being denied what he wants, at that. so it's not long at all before he breaks, practically ripping his clothes to shreds in his haste to be inside of you right now.

you stop him before he can line himself up with your entrance by placing a hand on his bare chest, a victorious smile pulling at your lips as you tilt your head to the side. "forgetting something, big man?"

"huh? oh, y'mean a condom? sorry, baby, 'm all out." he mutters while shooting an apologetic grin in your direction, quickly turning his focus back to pushing his gushing tip towards your fluttering hole.

"no, not that," you chuckle in bemusement, giving his chest a light shove to stop his advances yet again. "i'm fairly certain i said no pussy for you unless you beg for it, didn't i?"

toji's grin falls comically fast, replaced by a small scowl of annoyance as he leans back on his haunches. damn it, he'd been foolish to hope you would've forgotten about that already.

"jesus christ, fine... please?" he forces out with about as much enthusiasm as a young child about to go to their first day back at school after a long vacation, the words coated in bitterness as they fall from his tongue.

"alright, i see you don't really want it then, so i'll just see myself out—"

"fuck no, you're not going anywhere, dollface," toji grunts before you can even take a single step towards the door, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and effortlessly pulling you down onto his lap. "i'll even beg all proper for ya, okay? please can i have you, mama?"

"...i suppose." you respond with a small smile, trying to hold back the smugness threatening to bubble up into your tone as you realize that your little plan actually worked.

but as per usual, you end up being the one begging for more once toji starts bouncing your pliant body up and down on his fat, curved cock that just fills you up so good.

...no surprises there.

CHOSO KAMO — BEGS ALREADY (A LOT!)

choso has absolutely no problem being pathetic for you.

he feels that it's a blessing just being able to exist in your mere presence, so it's only fair that if he wants anything more than that then he should ask nicely, right?

he has no idea why anyone wouldn't get down on their knees and beg for the privilege of getting to touch someone as pretty as you, especially when you walk into the bedroom in nothing but one of his oversized shirts.

"baby..." choso mutters quietly, voice already slightly whiny as he watches you perch yourself on the edge of the bed he was lazily sprawled across before your entrance.

"hmm?" you hum, feigning obliviousness, as you peer at him over your shoulder — and oh, is he adorable like this. all pale, blushing cheeks and an involuntary pout pushing at his full lower lip.

"you look so pretty right now," he murmurs quietly but sincerely as his wide chestnut eyes trail over your form with barely concealed reverence dancing in his irises. "...w-well, i mean, you always look pretty. but especially right now." he adds for good measure.

"why thank you," you respond with a soft smile, reaching out to lightly trail your fingertips across the distance of his sharp jawline and relishing in the way his entire body visibly shivers as a result. "is there by any chance something you want, cho?"

choso audibly gulps at the gentle and knowing tone of your voice, letting his eyes flutter closed for a few beats before opening them again. "m-maybe."

"maybe?" you repeat in a light chuckle, raising an eyebrow and grasping his chin between your thumb and forefinger to make sure his gaze stays directly fixed upon you. "i know you can do better than that, baby. c'mon, use your words for me."

his pouting lower lip trembles ever so slightly at your coaxing words, the rapidly growing bulge in his sweatpants twitching violently in a way that borders on painful in response. "want y-you."

"hmm... better, i suppose. but still not good enough." you tut in disappointment, removing your touch from his chin entirely and observing the way he chases after your hand with silent amusement.

slowly crawling across the mattress, you perch yourself upon his lap before the poor boy can even process what's happening, placing your hands over his hipbones to stop his inevitable squirming.

"if you want something, you have to be specific," you drawl in a low, sultry caress of a tone, languidly rolling forward against the not-so-subtle hardness you can feel beneath your ass. "now... tell me, cho, what is that you want?"

choso appears to be mere moments away from bursting into a fit of tears at your teasing movement, his pale hands clenching into white-knuckled fists against the bedsheets as he peers up at you pleadingly through the messy strands of dark hair that have fallen across his forehead.

"i-i want you to... to fuck me," he murmurs timidly, each syllable audibly shaking with embarrassment as it leaves his mouth. no matter how many times the two of have been intimate in the past, he still remains as shy as ever. "please."

"thereee we go," you coo warmly, hands giving his hips a gentle squeeze in reward for his obedience. "didn't even have to ask you to beg, hmm? you did it all on your own like a good boy."

choso merely nods furiously, his desperate facial expression doing all the talking for him as you lift your body up for a moment to tug his sweatpants (which are already decorated with a small pre-cum stain) down.

it's not long before you're settled atop his needy, pulsing cock, unable to resist his repeated adorable whimpers and mewls to feel you around him — and oh, does it feel better when you've teased him just a little beforehand.

he's going feral within seconds, pulling your pliant body down to his face practically suffocate himself with your pillowy tits while he ruts up into like an animal in heat.

as you brace yourself for a bumpy ride, you can't but think that if there's one thing you never have to worry about with choso as your boyfriend, it's him refusing to beg for you.

...but what you do have to worry about is the very real possibility of him bruising your cervix with how deep his relentless thrusts are reaching.

RYOMEN SUKUNA — KINGS DO NOT BEG... RIGHT?

ryomen sukuna is the king of curses. and, coincidentally, last time he checked; kings do not beg.

so when you have the sheer audacity to ask him to plead with you for the mere privilege of getting to touch your mortal cunt, to say he is outraged would be a dire understatement.

“absolutely not.” sukuna grunts firmly, crimson eyes narrowing in annoyance as he waves a dismissive hand in your direction, the action not dissimilar to what he would've to one of his old concubines when he was finished with them.

but you're irritatingly persistent, refusing to let the matter go for the entire duration of the night as if you truly believe there's a chance you can break his ironclad resolve.

"you must be deluded beyond comprehension to think i would ever stoop so low as to—" he begins to grumble, but for some reason, finds the end of his sentence disappearing from his mind when he lays eyes upon what you're currently doing.

there you sit, at the foot of his throne, skirt pushed up to reveal the lack of... well, anything underneath as you shamelessly sprawl your legs apart to give him an unobstructed view of your sweet cunt.

"fuck, woman," sukuna practically growls, the sound guttural and raw as it escapes from deep in his throat. he shifts subtly in his seat, craning his neck downward to get a better look at you. "what on earth do you think you're doing?"

"who, me?" you hum, feigning complete obliviousness as you slowly but surely lift a leg up and press the end of your high heel against the arm of his throne.

"yes, you," he scoffs incredulously, crossing his tattooed arms over his chest and attempting to continue remaining unaffected by your little display. "do you see anyone else in here flashing me their bare pussy?"

you make a show of glancing over both shoulders before turning back and shaking your head with a mock-innocent smile stretching at your lips. "huh. you're right, looks like i'm the only one."

sukuna only responds with an unamused grunt at your childish antics, the sound quickly melting into a rough groan when you lift up your other leg as well, body now entirely open and just ripe for the taking.

he finds himself instinctively reaching out a thick hand before he even realizes what he's doing, only for you to pin it down with the end of your heel without it managing to make contact with your skin.

"ah ah," you hum chidingly, tilting your head to the side and peering up at him through fluttering lashes. "you know what you have to do if you want to touch, ryo."

sukuna scowls fiercely, fully aware that he could effortlessly pull his hand from under your shoe and snap your pretty little ankle in half in one swift movement... but he won't do that, of course. (maybe)

he could also just take what he wants right here, right now, without having to humiliate himself by pleading — but he supposes if he's going to do something so utterly unbecoming of himself like begging for someone, it might as well be for you.

so as soon as the pathetic syllables of the word "please" leave his disgruntled mouth, he doesn't wait a single second to pounce on you, easily folding your legs up to your head so your heels frame either side of your face.

"but don't think this little stunt of yours will go unpunished," sukuna mutters gruffly in your ear as he impatiently tugs his robes open. "next time, i'll make you take both my cocks. then you'll be the one begging me; not for more... no, but for me to stop."

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

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tobiosbbyghorl · 2 months ago

Text

Hoodie Thief | psh 🔞

pairing: roommate!sunghoon x reader

epilogue

You weren’t sure when it became a habit—stealing Park Sunghoon’s hoodies. Maybe it was the night you came home late from a party, heels in one hand and a headache blooming behind your eyes, and he tossed you his oversized black one without even looking up from his laptop. Or maybe it was because they always smelled faintly of cinnamon and clean laundry, like comfort itself.

Whatever the reason, you were wearing one again. This time it was gray, soft, and swallowed you whole. Sunghoon was seated on the living room floor, laptop open, knees drawn up, glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he squinted at some code on the screen.

“You know,” he said, voice casual but laced with amusement, “at this point, I’m not even sure which hoodies are mine anymore.”

You sank onto the couch beside him, tugging the sleeve over your hand. “Well, technically, they’re community property now. Roommate rules.”

“That so?” he asked, glancing up at you over the rim of his glasses. His eyes lingered on your frame, his gaze unhurried as it dropped to the hoodie you wore. “Looks better on you anyway.”

You tried not to grin, but your cheeks betrayed you. “Flattery, Park?”

“Observation,” he replied smoothly, returning to his screen.

The teasing between you two had always been like this slow, drawn-out, never quite tipping over the edge. He’d brush past you in the kitchen, hand resting on your lower back just a second too long. You’d find excuses to fix his crooked tie when he got ready for class presentations, fingers grazing his collarbone just because. The tension was a thread stretched taut but never snapped.

You leaned in slightly, your knee pressing lightly against his. “You know what would really seal the roommate bond?”

He raised a brow, not looking up. “What’s that?”

“You letting me keep this one,” you said, tugging at the hoodie like it was a prize.

Sunghoon’s lips curved into a smirk, subtle and dangerous. He closed his laptop slowly, setting it aside.

“That depends,” he said, voice low, “on what I get in return.”

Your breath caught, but your smile didn’t falter. “Oh? You charging a fee now?”

He shifted just a little closer, the space between your knees gone. “Just thinking… maybe you owe me dinner. Or..” his eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up “a study session. You, me, one of my hoodies, and absolutely no distractions.”

You huffed a laugh. “Sounds like a trap.”

“Maybe.” He leaned in a fraction. “But I think you’d look good in all of them. Might as well make it official.”

Your fingers played with the drawstring of the hoodie, heartbeat ticking just a little faster.

“We’re still talking about clothes, right?”

He gave you a look. “Sure.”

But neither of you moved. The line was still there drawn faintly in the space between your breaths, in the ghost of his smile. And maybe it would stay there a while longer.

Maybe not.

You had one rule living with Sunghoon: do not thirst after your roommate.

It was a rule you followed diligently. Mostly. Despite the flirty banter and hoodie theft, you’d never crossed that line—because he never gave you the chance to. He was always in those oversized hoodies and loose sweats, glasses low on his nose, hair constantly ruffled like he just rolled out of bed (which, annoyingly, made him even hotter). His appeal was subtle—nerdy, quiet, maddeningly soft.

So nothing could’ve prepared you for what you walked in on that Wednesday afternoon.

You pushed open the apartment door mid-call, rambling into your phone, “I swear if he left his ramen bowls in the sink again, I’m gonna—”

And then you stopped.

Dead in your tracks.

Sunghoon was in the living room. Not in a hoodie. Not in any sort of baggy fabric, actually. Instead, he was standing in front of the open window, sipping water from a bottle, wearing a black tank top that hugged his toned chest and grey sweatpants that did dangerous things to your attention span.

He looked over when he heard you, and the way his biceps flexed slightly as he twisted the cap back on the bottle had you gripping your phone like a lifeline.

“Oh. Hey,” he said casually, like he wasn’t currently breaking the internet. “You’re home early.”

You blinked. Your phone beeped. You’d accidentally hung up.

“I—yeah.” You were proud you even managed words. “I… am.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow as he walked over, towel slung around his neck. He was glistening slightly—post-workout, apparently—and his hair was a little damp.

“I was just finishing a quick workout. Didn’t think you’d be back for another hour,” he said, stepping past you to grab something from the kitchen. “You okay?”

“Yep,” you squeaked, eyes very much not okay as they followed the flex of his back muscles beneath the thin tank top.

He looked like a completely different person. Still nerdy. Still Sunghoon. Just… cursed with forearms now.

You finally tore your gaze away and flopped onto the couch like your soul had left your body. “I’m fine. Totally normal. Regular day. You just—uh—changed your outfit game without warning.”

He smirked as he opened the fridge. “What, the hoodie empire falling apart for you?”

“I just wasn’t expecting…” You gestured vaguely in his direction, cheeks heating. “That.”

Sunghoon leaned against the counter and quirked a brow. “You mean the tank top? Didn’t know it would have such an effect.”

You glared. “It doesn’t.”

He crossed the room slowly, stopping right in front of you. “Your face is red.”

“I’m warm.”

He bent down slightly, his face hovering closer to yours. “You want me to go change back into a hoodie?”

You swallowed. Your hands were very much not behaving, already fisting the hem of his tank like they had a mind of their own. You weren’t even sure when you’d stood up. His scent—clean sweat, citrus, and something entirely him—was clouding your judgment.

“Don’t,” you said quietly, fingers still clutching his shirt.

He looked down at where you were touching him, then back up at you, his voice lower. “You sure?”

That line—the one you two danced around for months—was right there. So close. So fragile.

You looked up at him, heart racing. “No. But I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to cross it.”

His eyes flickered to your lips, then your hand. And when he leaned in just slightly, the heat between you burned bright and slow, like something inevitable finally unraveling.

Since the tank top incident, something changed.

No, scratch that—Sunghoon changed.

The very next day, he emerged from his room wearing another fitted black tee. Not a hoodie. Not even a crewneck. It clung to his chest just enough to make you pause mid-bite of your cereal, spoon hovering in the air like gravity forgot to exist.

You thought it might be a one-time thing, but the days kept coming—and so did the outfits. Sunghoon in slim joggers, Sunghoon in soft, clingy tees that rolled up just slightly at the arms, Sunghoon walking around the kitchen post-shower with a towel slung around his shoulders and that same tank top clinging to his skin like it had no shame.

He was weaponizing himself. There was no other explanation.

And worse? He knew.

“Laundry day?” you asked innocently one morning, nodding toward the fitted navy tee he wore as he poured coffee into two mugs.

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, setting a mug in front of you. “Nope. Just thought I’d mix it up. You don’t mind, do you?”

You took the mug and muttered, “Not even a little bit.”

He chuckled, brushing past you to grab something from the fridge, his hand grazing your waist in that way he did sometimes—just long enough to leave sparks behind.

It kept happening. His touches were still subtle—always plausible, never overt—but now they lingered. His hand on your back as you reached for a mug. Fingers brushing yours when you both reached for the remote. His knee pressed against yours on the couch and never moving away.

And you? You were slowly unraveling.

That Sunday night, it nearly broke you.

You came out of your room, sleepy and disoriented, in search of water. The apartment was dim, quiet, save for the soft hum of music from the living room.

And there he was.

Sunghoon, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, wearing a white tank top and black sweatpants, hair slightly damp, fingers tapping lazily on his laptop.

You paused in the doorway like some unprepared victim in a slow-burn romcom.

He looked up and saw you. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Mmhm,” you managed, forcing your legs to move. You grabbed a glass of water, hoping the cold would slap some sense back into you.

“C’mere,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “Why?”

He patted the floor beside him. “Just sit. You look like you’re one hoodie away from losing it.”

You hesitated, then walked over and lowered yourself beside him. Close enough that your thighs touched. Of course.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” you muttered.

He didn’t look away from his screen. “Doing what?”

“This.” You gestured at him with a wave of your hand. “The… arms. The fitted shirts. The lack of hoodies. I’m barely hanging on here, and you’re out here being a thirst trap with glasses.”

Sunghoon let out a soft laugh—quiet, amused. He finally looked at you, and his eyes were dangerous in the low light.

“You’re the one who kept stealing my hoodies,” he murmured, voice low and full of teasing. “I figured I’d give you something else to lose your mind over.”

You stared at him. “So you admit it.”

“Oh, I knew exactly what I was doing.”

Your heart was in your throat now, pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “And now?”

He tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking to your lips. “Still doing it.”

You should’ve kissed him. Should’ve dragged him down onto the floor and ruined the tension once and for all. But instead, you just exhaled, shaky, and leaned your head against his shoulder.

He didn’t move. Just let you rest there, warm and solid.

And the line between you both?

Still unbroken. But trembling.

You decided it was time for revenge.

If Park Sunghoon was going to spend his days parading around in tank tops and fitted clothes like he didn’t know what he was doing to your sanity, then fine. Two could play this game.

So that’s how you found yourself in the living room on Saturday morning, casually stretching on the yoga mat in the center of the room—wearing nothing but one of his hoodies (slightly cropped from how you’d tucked it up) and tight Calvin Klein bike shorts that hugged you like a second skin.

You didn’t acknowledge his presence at first. Just stretched with exaggerated slowness, arms over your head as the hoodie rose—high enough to show off the sliver of your waist and the underside of your chest with every movement.

You knew he was watching. He was always up by now, usually making his precious pour-over coffee in the kitchen. And sure enough, you heard it—the shift of the kettle, the sudden clatter of a spoon, and then silence.

You smirked to yourself as you leaned forward in a deep stretch, back arching just slightly, your position giving him a full view of your curves.

“Didn’t know you were up,” you said sweetly, still not turning around.

“I—I wasn’t,” came his voice from behind you. Rough. Caught off guard. Like he’d swallowed air wrong. “I mean—I just woke up.”

You slowly straightened, finally glancing over your shoulder.

“Oh?” you blinked innocently, lips curling. “Hope I didn’t distract you.”

Sunghoon was standing by the counter, coffee mug forgotten in his hand, his gaze locked on you like you were an equation he couldn’t solve.

His hoodie on you was driving him insane—you could see it in the way his jaw ticked, in the way his eyes trailed down to your exposed waist and back up with a slow drag.

“New shorts?” he asked, voice notably lower.

You stretched your arms above your head again, feigning a yawn. “Mmhm. Comfortable, right?”

“They look…” He cleared his throat. “Tight.”

You smiled. “Flattering, you mean?”

He stepped closer, slowly, like his body was moving without permission.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” he murmured.

You turned fully to face him now, still sitting on your knees, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. “I’m just stretching, Sunghoon.”

He stared at you, and something flickered in his eyes—like he was this close to crossing that line you’d both danced around for months.

Then he leaned down, just slightly, meeting your gaze head-on.

“If I lose my mind,” he whispered, “just know it’s your fault.”

You tilted your head, heart thundering in your chest. “Who says you haven’t already?”

The tension was electric, heavy in the space between your lips.

But then, like always, it hovered. Close enough to taste—but not enough to break.

Not yet

Sunghoon exhaled, straightened, and turned back to his coffee like nothing happened.

And you?

You grinned, wicked and satisfied.

Game on.

It was late. Past midnight. The kind of quiet that only happened when the city slept and the apartment dimmed into that safe cocoon of shadows and soft hums.

You hadn’t meant to test fate tonight. You were just thirsty, literally. Woke up parched and wandered into the kitchen half-asleep, wearing one of Sunghoon’s zip-up hoodies. No shorts. No bra. Just that oversized hoodie zipped halfway, loose and dangerously low from tossing and turning in bed.

You were barefoot. Hair messy. Eyes squinting at the fridge light as you grabbed a bottle of water and twisted the cap off.

You didn’t notice him at first.

But he noticed you.

Sunghoon stood frozen by the hallway, bathed in low light, eyes glued to you like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. And maybe he couldn’t. Because the zipper of his hoodie had slipped just a little lower—low enough to reveal the swell of your bare chest, the delicate dip of your waist, your skin glowing under the fridge’s light like you were meant to be seen in that moment.

You turned, bottle at your lips, and jumped when you saw him.

“Shit—you scared me,” you laughed softly, not thinking, not realizing what you looked like yet.

But Sunghoon didn’t laugh.

He just stared.

His voice came low. Tense.

“You’re not wearing anything under that, are you?”

You blinked. Finally glanced down.

Oh.

Your heart skipped. “I—I wasn’t thinking. I just came out for water, I didn’t think anyone was—”

He stepped closer.

Each step slow. Controlled. Like he was trying to hold something back and losing the battle by the second.

“You’ve been teasing me for months,” he said, voice rough, his eyes never leaving yours. “Wearing my hoodies. Stealing my space. Touching me like you know I want more.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening on the bottle. “Sunghoon—”

“You come out here,” he went on, “dressed like that… at midnight… looking like that—and you still expect me to stay quiet?”

You stepped back instinctively, but you hit the counter.

He kept walking.

Now he was right in front of you, towering, chest rising and falling fast. One hand braced against the counter beside your waist, the other hovering just an inch from the zipper hanging so precariously low on your chest.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

“I think I do now,” you whispered, breath shallow.

His fingers finally touched the zipper. Tugged it just enough for your breath to hitch. Not fully unzipping—just a threat. Just a taste of the danger you’d both tiptoed around for too long.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice barely more than a growl.

But you didn’t.

You tilted your chin, met his gaze, and whispered, “Don’t you dare.”

That was it.

The line you drew? Gone.

He crashed into you like the tension had been a match waiting for a spark—hands gripping your waist, mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was months in the making. Hot. Desperate. Hungry.

And you kissed him back like you’d been holding your breath for this exact moment.

The hoodie slipped.

The water bottle hit the floor.

And Sunghoon?

Sunghoon finally stopped pretending.

Your back hit the kitchen counter with a soft thud, the cool surface contrasting the fire suddenly burning under your skin.

Sunghoon’s hands were on your waist, sliding under the hoodie like he’d been dying to touch you. His mouth was still on yours, tongue teasing, devouring every gasp and moan that spilled from your lips like he needed them to breathe.

And then—he pulled back just a little.

His eyes dropped to the hoodie, to the way it barely clung to your shoulders, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath it. His fingers caught the zipper again, this time pulling it all the way down.

The fabric parted.

His breath hitched.

“No bra,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice husky and ragged.

You watched the way his eyes darkened—like something snapped completely inside him.

He dipped his head instantly, lips ghosting down your throat. “You’re so unfair,” he groaned, mouth brushing your collarbone. “You know I have a thing for boobs.”

You gasped out a breathy laugh, hand tangling in his hair. “I didn’t, actually.”

“Well,” he murmured, kissing down the swell of your chest, “you do now.”

And then his mouth was there—hot and open and obsessed, worshipping every inch he could reach. His hands cupped you, thumbs brushing gently, then firmly, then teasing—his lips trailing lazy, wet kisses across your skin like he’d been starved and this was his first meal.

You moaned, soft and high, hips shifting against the counter as he sucked lightly at a sensitive spot. His fingers gripped your thighs, dragging you closer, so your knees spread around his hips and you were fully pinned, fully his.

“God, Sunghoon,” you whispered, breathless.

He looked up at you from your chest, eyes blown wide, lips red and swollen.

“You don’t get it,” he said, voice low and wrecked. “I’ve been dying to do this since the first time you walked out of your room in my clothes. You were always just... there, tempting me, touching me, looking at me like that.”

You swallowed hard, your hands now sliding under his shirt, tracing the hard lines of his torso. “Then why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because I didn’t want to cross the line,” he said, kissing you again—deep, slow, possessive. “But baby… you broke it first.”

His lips were back on your chest before you could respond, sucking and kissing like he was making up for lost time, like he wanted to memorize every curve, every sound you made. The hoodie slipped off your shoulders entirely now, pooling behind you on the counter.

And he made no move to stop.

Not when your head fell back.

Not when your thighs tightened around his waist.

Not when you whimpered his name, and he groaned like it was the only thing he wanted to hear for the rest of his life.

Sunghoon’s mouth was obsessed—hungry, slow, and dangerously focused.

He pressed open-mouthed kisses across your chest, dragging his tongue deliberately over the soft swell of your breast before closing his lips around your nipple. He groaned at the contact, deep and guttural, like he’d finally gotten the one thing he’d been fantasizing about for months.

“Fuck, I knew they’d feel this good,” he muttered between kisses, hand splaying over your waist to keep you close. “I think about them way too much.”

You gasped, arching your back as his tongue flicked and swirled, switching sides with a low, satisfied sound. His hand moved to cup your other breast, thumb brushing over the peak, and when he sucked again—harder this time—you nearly lost it.

“S-Sunghoon—”

“I’m not stopping,” he mumbled against your skin. “Not when you look like this… sound like that.”

He licked back up the valley between your breasts, teeth grazing lightly. “You wore this hoodie knowing I’d see you, didn’t you?”

You didn’t answer—couldn’t, not when his mouth was doing sinful things to you.

He chuckled darkly. “No bra. Just this. Like you wanted me to snap.”

And then, without warning, his hands were under your thighs—lifting you off the counter like you weighed nothing.

You gasped and instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, hoodie falling completely off in the motion. His grip tightened under you, fingers digging into your skin as he walked you down the hall, kissing your neck, your jaw, your collarbone with reckless affection.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered against your ear. “No more teasing. No more pretending.”

He kicked the bedroom door open with his foot, not bothering to turn on the lights, letting the soft glow from the hallway bathe you both in shadow.

The second your back hit the bed, he was over you again—pressing hot kisses down your chest, your ribs, your stomach.

Your hands were in his hair, tugging, anchoring yourself as his lips found your breast again, sucking harder this time. His hips rolled against yours with just enough friction to make you whimper his name.

“I love these,” he murmured like a confession, voice low and rough as he licked across your nipple. “I could spend hoursright here.”

You arched under him, heat pooling deep in your core. “Then do it,” you whispered, eyes wild and breathless.

He looked up at you through his lashes, smirk tugging at the corner of his kiss-swollen lips.

“Say less.”

And he did.

He kissed his way down, took his time, made sure every inch of you knew just how badly he’d wanted this. Every flick of his tongue, every bite, every graze of his teeth was slow and sinful and filled with months of held-back tension that was now unraveling between the sheets.

Your breaths turned to moans.

Moans to gasps.

And gasps into pleas.

By the time he finally stripped you bare and joined you in the sheets, it wasn’t just about want—it was about need. About all the nights you brushed hands in the kitchen, the mornings you wore his hoodies, the way his eyes always lingered just a second too long.

He took his time, but when he moved inside you for the first time, slow and deep, both of you lost all words—just soft curses, broken kisses, and the kind of moans that only came from finally, finally giving in.

And still, even in the heat of it all—his hands found their way back to your chest, mouth pressing against your skin like he was claiming it.

“Mine,” he breathed against your skin. “All fucking mine.”

The sheets were tangled around your legs, your skin warm and slick, heart still racing from the first time. You lay there in the dark, chest rising and falling fast, trying to catch your breath—trying to process what just happened.

But Sunghoon… he didn’t move much.

He hovered just above you, gaze roaming over your flushed face, your swollen lips, your body stretched beneath him like a dream. His hand was on your waist, thumb brushing slow circles into your skin, but his eyes kept dipping back down to your chest—still heaving, glistening faintly with sweat.

“You okay?” he asked softly, a slight rasp in his voice.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Very okay.”

He smiled, just a little, but it didn’t reach his eyes—not because he wasn’t happy, but because the look on his face said something else entirely:

He wasn’t done.

Not even close.

His fingers slid up your waist, brushing between the valley of your breasts before he leaned down again, placing a kiss just above your sternum.

You sighed softly, running your fingers through his hair.

“I told you,” he murmured, mouth trailing down again. “I’m not over these.”

He kissed one breast, then the other—soft, slow, reverent.

“You’ve already had your fun,” you teased, voice low.

He looked up at you, eyes dark. “Yeah. Once. That’s not enough.”

Before you could respond, he wrapped his lips around your nipple again, sucking gently—then deeper, hungrier—until your back arched right off the bed and a soft cry slipped from your mouth.

Your thighs instinctively pressed together.

He smirked against your skin.

“Still sensitive?” he asked, fingers ghosting down your hips.

You barely managed a nod. “Yes. But also… don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

His hand slipped between your legs, fingers teasing, already finding you wet again—still soaked for him. He groaned low in his throat.

“Fuck. You’re unreal.”

You whimpered when his fingers dipped inside you, slow and precise, the pads of them curling just right while his mouth stayed fixed on your chest—licking, sucking, marking you.

You were already unraveling again, body twitching under his touch.

“Sunghoon,” you gasped, hips lifting to meet every movement. “Please—”

He kissed up to your neck, whispering against your ear. “You want me again?”

“God, yes.”

He kissed your jaw. “Then get on top.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I want to see you,” he murmured. “Wanna see those pretty tits bounce while I’m inside you.”

Your breath caught. You scrambled to climb over him, straddling his waist, your hands braced against his chest as he looked up at you like you were a fucking goddess.

His hands slid up your thighs, settling at your hips before he guided you down slowly—inch by inch—until he was fully inside you again.

The both of you gasped.

You rocked your hips once—experimentally—and his head fell back against the pillows, jaw clenched.

“Just like that,” he groaned. “Keep going. Fuck, ride me, baby.”

You did.

You moved with him, chasing that dizzy, desperate high all over again, and he watched everything—his hands never leaving your waist or your breasts, gripping and teasing and obsessing the way he had since the very start.

Every time your hips met his, you felt yourself melt further—into the heat, into the rhythm, into him.

And when you came again, clenched around him with a cry of his name, he followed soon after—hands gripping your ass, thrusting up deep one last time as he spilled into you with a shudder and a curse.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you shaking, breathless, spent.

His arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you tight, still inside you, still warm and pulsing and wrecked.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

But when you finally looked up at him, messy hair in your face, cheeks flushed—

He just smirked and whispered, “Still stealing my hoodies after this?”

You smiled, slow and sweet. “Every single one.”

Your legs still trembled, curled over his hips, when Sunghoon gently kissed your temple.

“You did so good,” he murmured into your hair, voice worn raw and honey-sweet. “But I think you need a bath, baby.”

You groaned something incoherent against his shoulder. “I need new legs.”

He chuckled, low and breathless, then slid his arms under you again. Without warning, he stood—effortlessly lifting you bridal-style, your bare body pressed against his chest, the hoodie still tangled somewhere in the sheets.

“Sunghoon—” you squeaked.

“Shh,” he whispered, kissing your forehead as he padded toward the bathroom. “I’ve got you.”

The bathroom lights were dim—just the warm ambient glow of the under-counter lighting—and the air was already humid by the time he knelt by the tub, one arm still keeping you close while the other twisted the knobs.

Warm water started to fill the space, steam curling up like the start of something sacred.

He set you on the edge of the tub gently and leaned over to pour in something from a bottle—lavender and vanilla, by the smell—and you just sat there watching him, dazed and still pulsing between your legs.

Sunghoon looked up at you from under his lashes, hair messy and lips swollen. “You okay?”

You nodded, still breathless. “You’re… ridiculous.”

He smirked. “You’ve said that twice now.”

“I mean it more this time.”

When the tub was full, he helped you in first, easing your body into the water, then slid in behind you, pulling you back against his chest. His hands roamed lazily—down your arms, around your waist, fingers playing just beneath the surface.

And then his lips pressed to your shoulder.

You tilted your head slightly. “You’re not gonna let me relax, are you?”

He nipped gently at your neck. “I was trying to. You’re the one pressing that pretty ass against me.”

You grinned, hips shifting just enough to hear him hiss.

“Okay,” he growled, arms tightening around your waist. “That’s it.”

He turned you gently in the water until you were facing him, your thighs straddling his lap again beneath the surface. The heat of the water mixed with the slow burn returning in your gut. His chest glistened, wet and warm under your hands.

You dragged your palms up his torso slowly, admiring the cut of his collarbone, the sharp lines of his pecs. Then, without warning, you leaned down and pressed your lips just above his heart.

Sunghoon inhaled sharply.

Your teeth grazed him lightly, followed by your tongue, and then your mouth again—sucking just hard enough to leave a mark.

He groaned, head falling back against the edge of the tub. “Fuck.”

You licked across the red blotch, then moved a few inches over and did it again. His fingers gripped your hips beneath the water now, holding you in place, twitching slightly with every kiss you left on his chest.

“You like when I mark you up, don’t you?” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “You have no idea how hot that is.”

You kissed lower, right over his sternum. “Wanna be covered in them?”

His breath hitched. “Only if I get to return the favor.”

You looked up at him through your lashes, eyes wicked. “Then you better sit still.”

You kept going—slow, open-mouthed kisses that turned into suckling marks across his chest, down the dip of his abs, making sure every moan he gave you echoed off the tiled walls.

And when you finally shifted your hips and sank down onto him again—warm, wet, slick from water and need—he nearly lost it.

“God, you feel even tighter like this,” he groaned, head falling forward, forehead resting against yours.

Water sloshed over the sides of the tub as you rode him again—slow this time, deliberately teasing, your hands braced on his shoulders as you whispered sinful little things into his ear and left even more hickeys along his collarbones.

You were in no rush.

You both dragged it out—bodies tangled under the water, teeth grazing skin, low moans bouncing off the foggy mirrors—until he gripped your ass and came with a deep, guttural sound, burying his face into your shoulder.

You followed with a soft gasp, body trembling for the third time, mouth pressed to his neck as your nails dug into his back.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

You just sat there, still connected, chests rising and falling together, bathwater lukewarm and covered in steam.

Then Sunghoon kissed your cheek and whispered, hoarse and completely blissed out, “You’re never getting this hoodie back.”

The water had cooled enough to make you both shiver a little. Sunghoon noticed first, of course. He always did.

“Okay,” he murmured against your temple. “Up you go, pretty girl.”

You were barely responsive, dazed and boneless in his lap, but you let out a tiny hum as he helped you stand, the water cascading down both your bodies.

He stepped out after you and grabbed one of the oversized towels from the rack. Without a word, he wrapped it around your body from behind, tucking the edges carefully under your arms before pulling you into his chest, your back flush against his warmth.

You felt his lips press to your shoulder, featherlight.

“I should probably dry you off,” he said softly. “But I just wanna hold you for a minute.”

You melted into him instantly, eyes fluttering closed, head resting against his collarbone. “Mmm. You smell good.”

He laughed under his breath. “You smell like me. That’s my body wash.”

“And your hoodie.”

“Exactly. You’re basically mine now.”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his eyes. “Basically?”

His grip on your waist tightened, just enough to make you feel it.

“Unless you’ve got a reason not to be,” he said, voice low, sincere.

You didn’t answer him right away—not with words. You turned around in his arms and wrapped your own around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Not frantic this time. Just soft and warm and unhurried, your lips moving with his like they already belonged there.

When you finally pulled back, you whispered, “No reason.”

That made him smile—wide and genuine. “Good.”

He reached for another towel and gently ran it over your legs, your arms, drying you with care. When he reached your chest, he hesitated—smirked—and kissed the bruised skin reverently before patting it dry.

“Still my favorite part,” he mumbled.

“Such a menace.”

Once you were dry, he carried you—again—to the bed, laying you down gently. He tugged on a soft sleep shirt and boxers for himself, then rummaged around until he found a clean hoodie.

He paused.

“You wanna wear this?” he asked, holding it up.

You sat up on your elbows. “Thought you said I wasn’t getting your hoodies anymore.”

“I lied. You can have all of them.”

He pulled it over your head, helping you into it like you were made of glass, then kissed your forehead before climbing in beside you and tugging you against his chest.

It was quiet for a while, the kind of silence that felt full instead of empty.

His fingers traced slow lines down your spine beneath the hoodie. “You tired?”

You nodded, mumbling into his neck. “A little.”

“Wanna sleep?”

You shrugged. “Kind of.”

He shifted slightly, his thigh slipping between yours, his hand settling low on your waist—dangerously close to temptation again.

You tilted your head and whispered, “Sunghoon?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way…”

He tensed a little, worried. “What?”

You grinned sleepily. “But I’m definitely stealing another hoodie tomorrow.”

He laughed, pulling you in closer until your leg was hooked around his hip and your bodies pressed flush again.

“I’ll just take my revenge in the morning,” he murmured against your skin.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Round four, babe. You better stretch.”

You woke up to the feel of warmth—heavy, solid, draped entirely around you.

Sunghoon’s chest was pressed to your back, one arm tucked under your neck like a pillow, the other curled tightly around your waist. His hoodie was oversized on you, but your bare legs were tangled with his beneath the sheets, and you were acutely aware of something hard nudging against the curve of your ass.

You blinked slowly, a lazy smile tugging at your lips.

“Sunghoon,” you murmured sleepily.

He groaned low in his throat, face buried in your hair. “Mmnn?”

“Are you…?”

Another sleepy shift. The thick press of him grinding instinctively against your backside made your breath hitch. You froze, and he stilled too.

“Shit,” he muttered, voice hoarse with sleep. “Sorry—morning wood. Can’t help it.”

You smirked. “I’m not exactly complaining.”

He laughed quietly, but you felt his hips rock against you again, slower this time, deliberate. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

His lips brushed the back of your neck. “You’re evil. You know that, right?”

You rolled your hips just slightly, teasing, letting the hem of his hoodie ride up your thighs as you pressed back into him.

“Me?” you whispered, feigning innocence. “I’m just trying to get comfortable.”

Sunghoon growled softly and rolled you onto your back, slipping between your legs in one fluid motion. The bulge in his boxers pressed right against your center now, only the thin fabric separating you.

“You’re really gonna keep playing in my hoodie, no panties,” he said, eyes dark with hunger, “and act like you didn’t know what you were doing?”

You looked up at him through heavy lashes, lips parted. “I just like how it smells.”

His jaw clenched, and the way his hips bucked forward told you everything.

“Yeah?” he rasped, leaning in close, lips brushing yours. “You like how I smell?”

You nodded, one hand slipping beneath the hem of the hoodie to palm at his lower abs. “You smell like sex. Like me.”

His breath hitched.

You slid your fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers, wrapping around him slowly. He was hot, hard, twitching against your palm.

“Baby…” he warned.

But you stroked him gently, thumb brushing his tip.

“Come on,” you whispered. “Since you’re already awake…”

He didn’t need any more convincing.

With one hand, he pulled his boxers down just enough. The other hand slid your hoodie up to your waist, revealing the soaked mess between your thighs.

“Look at you,” he muttered, eyes fixated. “Wet already, just from waking up next to me.”

You smirked. “You’re not exactly subtle with that thing pressed against me all night.”

He pressed the head of his cock to your entrance, slowly easing in. You both gasped—your body already welcoming him, warm and wet and soft around him.

His hands slid under your thighs, pushing them up, pressing your knees to your chest so he could sink deeper. The stretch was dizzying.

“Fuck, baby—” he whispered, biting his lip. “You feel unreal like this.”

Your nails scraped at his back, your head falling back against the pillows as he rocked into you with lazy, morning hunger. Deep, slow strokes. No rush. Just the steady rhythm of his body pushing into yours, skin slapping softly, lips finding each other in between gasps.

“You always gonna wake me up like this?” he asked, voice ragged.

You grinned, tugging him closer. “Only if you keep wearing those boxers.”

His laugh turned into a groan as he thrust harder, lips brushing your cheek, your jaw, your mouth again—his hips relentless now, chasing that high you both knew was coming quick.

You moaned into his neck, legs wrapping around his waist.

And when you came—again—Sunghoon held you through it, kissing you like he couldn’t get enough, like you were still wearing his hoodie and nothing else for the rest of his life.

Because maybe you would.

You sat across from him at the little breakfast table, legs tucked under you, hoodie still slipping off one shoulder. Sunghoon had his fork in his hand, but his eyes were not—absolutely not—on the eggs.

They were on you.

Specifically, the way his hoodie dipped low across your chest every time you leaned forward to take a bite.

You bit into your toast slowly, watching his gaze drop. Again.

And then smirked. “You’re staring.”

He didn’t even try to deny it. “You’re teasing.”

You feigned innocence, licking a crumb off your lower lip. “I’m just eating breakfast.”

He tilted his head, squinting at you. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

You leaned forward on your elbows just a little more—enough that the neckline of the hoodie dipped a few extra inches, revealing the bare curve underneath.

“What, this?” you said, blinking up at him sweetly. “The hoodie rides low. Not my fault.”

Sunghoon visibly swallowed, dropping his fork. “Babe…”

You tilted your head. “What?”

“You’re gonna kill me.”

You pretended to think. “Or maybe I’m just making it fair. You parade around in that tank top for two days and I can’t even exist in a hoodie without you getting handsy.”

He groaned. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“You’ve got your boobs out.”

You gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. “I do not—they’re just slightly visible.”

“Slightly? I can see half the damn thing.”

You giggled and reached for your coffee, watching him glare at the mug like it personally offended him by hiding your cleavage.

“You really have a thing for them, huh?” you teased.

He didn’t even blink. “I admitted that last night. Several times.”

You raised a brow. “And during the bath.”

He smirked, leaning back in his chair with a lazy grin. “And yet I still haven’t gotten enough.”

You licked your spoon slowly. “Poor baby.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

He pushed his plate aside, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he stood up and walked over to your side of the table.

You blinked up at him, all feigned innocence again. “What are you doing?”

He leaned down, both hands on the arms of your chair, trapping you.

“Letting you know,” he whispered, eyes dropping to the neckline of your hoodie again, “that if you keep teasing me like this, you’re not gonna finish that coffee.”

You raised your chin. “Bold of you to assume I wanted to.”

He huffed out a laugh, biting his lip. “You’re evil.”

You tugged on the front of the hoodie, dipping the zipper just a little lower. “And you’re obsessed.”

“Completely.”

Then he dipped down, and for a second you thought he was going to kiss you again—but instead, he buried his face between your boobs, groaning dramatically like a man who’d gone to heaven and back.

“Unbelievable,” you said, laughing breathlessly.

“Your fault,” he mumbled against your chest.

“You’re literally addicted.”

“I’d cancel all my meetings for this.”

You rolled your eyes, running your fingers through his hair. “One day, you’re gonna have to learn to behave.”

He tilted his head back just enough to smirk up at you, still nestled between your boobs.

“And one day,” he murmured, “you’re gonna have to accept that I never will.”

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