poooopdeli - Tumblr blog

poooopdeli · 4 days ago

Text

OMG NEW PART YAYYYY

˗ˏˋ 06. viewer submission challenge ˎˊ˗

pairingᝰ.ᐟ kim sunoo x reader

warningsᝰ.ᐟ public sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), etc.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

statusᝰ.ᐟ 6/9 completed!

you sat cross-legged on the concrete bench just outside the campus café, the late afternoon sun filtering through the trees overhead, bleeding gold through the shifting leaves. patches of light danced across your notebook, catching in the curve of your wrist and the edge of your page, though you hadn’t written anything in over twenty minutes. the coffee beside you had long gone cold, its once-steaming surface now flat and untouched, condensation pooling against the base of the cup. you didn’t have the appetite for it anymore—your stomach was too twisted, your chest too full. your thoughts tangled around themselves like a spool of thread pulled too tight, looping again and again with no end in sight. beside you, nari tapped her phone rhythmically against her knee, her thumb dragging absently across the edge as she glanced from your face to the passing students with increasing concern. her brow furrowed softly, and after another moment of silence, she gently nudged her knee against yours. “you’ve been quiet,” she murmured, tone cautious. “like… more than usual. talk to me.”

you inhaled, slowly, the kind of breath that sits thick in your lungs for a second too long before it sinks. your gaze dropped to your lap, fingers twitching as they rested against the spine of your closed notebook, and for a second you almost didn’t say anything. but it spilled out anyway. “i think i’m gonna quit soon,” you said, your voice quiet—barely above a whisper. you didn’t look up, but you could feel nari shift beside you, her spine going a little straighter, her lips parting like she wanted to interrupt. but you kept talking. “after three more collabs… that’s it. i think i’m done.” the words tasted bitter, not because they were a lie—but because they were starting to feel like the truth. “it’s just getting to be too much. i thought i could keep everything separate, that i could keep it casual. but it’s not. the way they treat me—heeseung, jay, jake… and now sunghoon—none of it feels casual. they’re so sweet with me. gentle. thoughtful. i can’t stop thinking about them, and it’s not just about the videos anymore.”

your throat felt tight, your heart thudding a little faster as you finally looked up, catching the concerned crease between nari’s brows. she didn’t say anything right away, but her silence was thick—understanding, but heavy. your stomach twisted again. “i didn’t mean for it to get like this,” you whispered. “and now i don’t know how to untangle myself.” your voice cracked on that last word, and you felt your face heat, fingers twitching on your lap. nari didn’t say anything for a long moment, just let the silence sit, let it hold the weight you couldn’t.

finally, nari sighed and shifted closer, her warmth pressing into your side as she rested her head gently on your shoulder. it wasn’t her usual playful nudge or teasing lean—it was soft, weighted, quiet in a way that made your chest ache even more. “you don’t have to beat yourself up over this,” she said, her voice steadier than your own thoughts, wrapping around you like something safe. “you’re allowed to feel things. even if you didn’t plan to.” her fingers slipped around your wrist, holding it with just enough pressure to pull you back to the moment, anchoring you to something other than the storm in your own chest. “it doesn’t make you weak. it doesn’t mean you failed at staying detached. it just means you’re human.” the sincerity in her voice cracked something open in your ribs, a sting of guilt slipping through your spine, because part of you hated how much it helped to hear it out loud. “but if you’re really serious about ending it soon,” she continued, “maybe you should do it in a way that’s yours. not theirs.” you blinked at her, lips parting, and she turned to meet your eyes with a soft smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “i’m just saying… maybe go out with a bang.”

you let out a dry, broken chuckle, one that barely made it past your lips before it caught in your throat. “what do you mean?” your voice cracked a little, low and hesitant, like you were already bracing for her answer. nari’s eyes lit up with something quieter than mischief, something closer to knowing, and she tilted her head with the kind of look that said she’d been holding this in for a while. “you ever heard of @watchmesunoo?” the name came out casually, but the sound of it sparked something faint behind your ribs, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. your brows furrowed as the syllables echoed again, this time deeper, pulling a ghost of a memory forward from the first week you created your account. “wait…” you said slowly, squinting into the space between thoughts. “i think i saw one of his previews when i first signed up… but i don’t think i ever followed him.”

you bit the inside of your cheek, remembering it now—how you’d been scrolling late one night, breath held in your throat as you stumbled across a low-resolution preview with dim lighting and soft groans muffled under ambient music. a shot of his mouth. a blurry pull of fingers against skin. it was simple, intimate, unpolished—something that felt almost too real. “it was just one video,” you added, more to yourself than to her, your voice quieter now. “i forgot about him.” nari nodded, a little too quickly. “yeah. that’s him. barely posts. ignores most collab requests. my friend’s obsessed with him—she’s been trying to work with him for months, but he’s a ghost.” she paused, watching the way your brows pulled together, your expression caught between confusion and intrigue. “but i think you should try.”

she didn’t smile this time—didn’t tease, didn’t nudge. she just looked at you, honest and still, like she already knew what your answer would be before you even thought to say it. “maybe that’s the kind of thing you need right now. someone who doesn’t already have a version of you in their head. someone who hasn’t touched you yet.” her words sank deep into your chest, unsettling something you hadn’t realized you’d been trying to bury. you didn’t say anything for a long moment—just stared down at the screen in your lap, the name @watchmesunoo repeating itself like a soft echo. and slowly, almost reluctantly, you felt the weight of it settle behind your ribs. not fear. not excitement. something quieter.

you swallowed down the last of your hesitation, the corners of your lips twitching with something uncertain as you thumbed at the edge of your phone screen. “i’ll look into it,” you said finally, barely above a whisper, like saying it too loud might make it feel too real. nari’s eyes brightened just a little—not with excitement, but with a quiet kind of pride, like she knew what it meant for you to even consider it. you didn’t say anything else, just offered her a soft, tired smile as you started tucking your notebook back into your bag. your limbs felt heavier than before, thoughts clouded in a swirl of names, usernames, videos, and that echo of a preview you hadn’t realized had stayed with you all this time. “i think i’m gonna head home,” you murmured, slinging the strap over your shoulder and standing slowly, your back arching in a small stretch as the concrete bench faded behind you.

nari stood up too, brushing off her jeans, but before she could gather her things, her phone buzzed and she let out a short groan. “ugh—wait, never mind. i forgot i have to meet with my psych professor,” she said, glancing at the screen with a scrunched nose. “office hour thing. she wants to go over our project proposals.” you turned to her with a sympathetic smile, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. “good luck,” you teased lightly, nudging her hip with yours. “you’re gonna need it if she’s in her ‘let’s dig into your childhood trauma’ mood.” nari snorted, shaking her head. “don’t remind me.”

you lingered for a second longer, the sun starting to slip behind the buildings in the distance, casting long shadows over the quad. something about the way it all felt—soft, slow, suspended in that hour between day and dusk—made your chest ache again. but you turned anyway, waved her off with a quiet “text me later,” and started the slow walk back to your apartment. and even as you walked, even as your bag thudded softly against your hip and your shoes echoed across the pavement, your mind was already pulling back to that name.

—

your apartment feels colder than usual when you step inside, even though the air’s not on. there’s a stillness in the air that feels too aware of you, like the silence has been waiting to settle over your shoulders the second you’re alone again. you toe off your shoes without thinking, barely aware of the way they hit the floor and skid unevenly to the side, and drift toward your desk like you’re on autopilot. your laptop screen glows faintly in the dimness of your room, casting soft blue across the surface of your desk and reflecting in the half-full cup of tea you’d forgotten to drink this morning. the tab for your assignment is still open — blinking cursor, blank page, waiting for your focus — but you can’t force yourself to look at it for longer than a few seconds. your fingers hover over the keys like muscle memory might kick in and guide you through it, but your brain doesn’t follow. instead, your thoughts splinter in the same direction they’ve been spiraling all day, circling back to that conversation on the bench like it left something in your chest buzzing. something about the name — sunoo — stuck to your skin like static, and the more you try to forget it, the louder it seems to echo.

you can’t explain it, not really. it isn’t the way nari said it or even the weight behind her words — it’s something older, something that scratches faintly at the back of your mind like a memory you hadn’t realized was there. your brows furrow as you lean back in your chair, the room dim around you, your eyes falling unfocused to the wall beyond your desk. and then it hits you — a flash, a flicker, the blurry recollection of scrolling through creator previews when you first joined, when the app still felt like a game you weren’t sure you’d keep playing. you hadn’t even clicked it. you just remembered pausing, breath catching for a second too long, before telling yourself to move on. but now it feels different. now his name feels like a thread you’re meant to tug.

you get up before you can talk yourself out of it. your blanket is soft beneath your legs as you sink into the edge of your bed, pulling your laptop close and setting it in your lap with hesitant fingers. the room is quiet except for the low hum of traffic outside your window, the streetlights casting faint amber streaks across your walls, and still, it feels like you’re not alone. you type the handle slowly, breathing shallow as the letters take shape across your screen. @watchmesunoo — plain and simple. your stomach tightens as you click.

the video you clicked on doesn’t start immediately — it fades in, slow and deliberate, like it’s giving you time to adjust before letting you see all of him. he’s lounging in a dimly lit room, the shadows from warm-toned bulbs playing along the open line of his shirt as he drags his fingers lazily over the inside of his thigh. his eyes are low, unreadable but sharp, and the second he smiles — just the corner of his mouth tugging up — something clenches tight in your chest. “you came looking for me, huh?” he says, voice silky smooth and unbothered, like he was expecting you. “good. i was starting to think i’d have to come find you instead.” your breath stutters. there’s no rush to the way he speaks, no performance, no over-the-top energy. it’s quiet. intimate. like he’s talking just to you — and maybe that’s the point.

your thighs shift without thinking, the video washing over you like a slow wave of heat as his hands move down, drawing soft circles over the fabric between his legs. his voice stays steady, low and measured, as he whispers something about patience — about reward — about how good it feels when someone finally gives in and looks at him properly. he doesn’t touch himself. not yet. he just stares, right into the camera, like he’s watching you squirm on the other side of the screen. and when the video cuts to black, there’s no outro, no goodbye. just silence. and your own ragged breathing as you reach slowly for the message button without really deciding to.

@babydollx0: hey… not sure if you’ll see this. but your content was… really something.

you don’t even have time to look away before the dot appears. he’s typing. and then—

@watchmesunoo: took you long enough

your lips part slightly, surprise hitching in your chest.

@babydollx0: wait… you're actually replying?

the response is almost immediate.

@watchmesunoo: of course. you’re kind of hard to miss, babydoll

your pulse jumps. you reread the message once. then again. your fingers hover over your screen, unsure how to respond to the casual, low-glow confidence laced into every word.

@babydollx0: wasn’t expecting that… guess your reputation’s bigger than mine, huh?

his dot flickers.

@watchmesunoo: maybe. but you’ve got a very dedicated fanbase.

your brows knit. your stomach tightens.

@babydollx0: wait what does that mean—

@watchmesunoo: mall on 11th. 8pm. bring something easy to take off.

you blink. the bubble’s gone. no flirty emoji. no “see you then.” just a time, a place, and the subtle kind of suggestion that leaves your skin warm and your mind racing. you stare at your screen, the cursor blinking back at you like it’s waiting for your next move.

your closet groans softly when you tug it open, the familiar weight of fabric brushing against your fingers like it’s offering you comfort — or distraction. the light above you flickers faintly as you scan the hangers, not really sure what you’re even looking for at first, your thoughts still spinning too fast around his last message. something easy to take off. the words circle your mind like smoke, curling into your chest and warming your skin from the inside out, and you feel your throat go dry as you thumb through the hangers. you don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard — but you do. you want him to look at you the way he looked into that camera. you want to know what it feels like to unravel under his hands, to see if he’s really as smooth and in control as he seems. and somewhere between all those thoughts, your hand stills.

the dress you settle on is one you’d almost forgotten about — soft, slinky, just long enough to be decent and just short enough to feel like a dare. the fabric is pale and silky, a muted ivory that glows a little under the light, and it clings to your frame in a way that feels like a whisper instead of a scream. it dips gently along your collarbones, straps thin enough to feel like they might slip off if someone so much as breathed too close, and the hem flutters just above mid-thigh, catching the breeze from your open window. you hold it up in front of you for a second, tilting your head, imagining the way sunoo’s eyes might track the shape of your waist or the curve of your legs when he sees you. your pulse kicks. the thought makes you shift in place, suddenly aware of your bare skin and how easily he’ll be able to get to it. you dress slowly, letting the fabric slide up over your hips and settle into place, smoothing it down with shaky hands.

your fingers linger at the base of your throat as you glance in the mirror, adjusting your straps, brushing your hair back over your shoulders. there’s something about the way you look tonight — flushed, expectant, a little nervous — that doesn’t feel like the version of you who started all this. but it’s still you. it’s you with want blooming behind your ribs, with something hungry curling low in your belly, with your lips already parted like they’re waiting for him. you swipe on a bit of gloss, mascara, something soft on your cheeks, but nothing too bold — you want him to see you, not a mask. your perfume comes last, spritzed low across your neck, a familiar scent that feels like a secret when it mixes with your skin. your shoes stay flat, easy to walk in — easy to step out of. and when you finally grab your phone, your keys, your tiny bag, your heart flutters as the time reads back at you.

7:44 pm. just enough time to meet him.

just enough time to lose yourself in someone new.

—

the mall was busy, but not loud. the late afternoon foot traffic had thinned into a more leisurely pace, the kind of rhythm that didn’t rush—just drifted, like everything was suspended in this slow, golden lull. soft chatter drifted between the storefronts, punctuated by the low hum of elevator music and the distant whir of a blender from the smoothie kiosk downstairs. perfume hung thick in the air, clinging sweet and floral to your skin as you stepped inside, your heels clicking faintly against the tile. the hem of your dress fluttered around your thighs, brushing soft against your skin with every step you took. you felt… exposed. not because of the dress—it wasn’t too tight, not too short—but because of what today meant. because of who you were here to meet. because of how your body had already begun to anticipate something that hadn’t even happened yet.

sunoo hadn’t told you much. just a time. a place. no expectations, no explanation. and yet your stomach had been tight since you left your apartment, your chest heavier with every passing minute, your head full of him in a way you didn’t have time to prepare for.

you scanned the upper floor slowly, eyes flicking across passing shoppers, half-distracted by the way your pulse thrummed against your collarbone. and then—without warning—a voice broke through the din.

“wow…”

you turned instinctively, heart lurching, and there he was.

sunoo stood several feet away near a decorative planter tucked beside the escalator, partially hidden by the long vines of a seasonal display, but his eyes were locked onto you like he hadn’t even considered looking at anyone else. like the mall disappeared the second you stepped inside. he looked exactly like his preview—his hair a soft blonde, his frame lean, hoodie pulled halfway up his arms—but nothing had prepared you for how he’d make you feel when he looked at you like that. like he was stunned. like your body, your face, your very presence had knocked the breath out of his lungs.

he didn’t say anything for a second. just stared.

and then, finally—“you’re…” his voice trailed off, his jaw flexing, like he was trying to restart the sentence but couldn’t get it out. “you’re so beautiful.”

you felt heat bloom in your cheeks instantly, breath catching in your throat as he stepped forward. his fingers grazed your elbow, light and careful, and his eyes traced the line of your jaw before settling back on your lips.

“you didn’t have to show up lookin’ like that, now i feel underdressed.” you laugh, and he grins wider, the tension between you thinning just a bit. then, with a small wave of his hand, he gestures for you to follow. “c’mon, i wanna talk to you somewhere quieter.”

you trail behind him as he leads you to a tucked-away lounge on the second floor—a cozy seating area framed by tall indoor plants and dim lighting from overhead skylights. it’s quiet, barely anyone passing through, and sunoo slides into one of the plush seats before patting the cushion beside him. once you’re settled, he turns slightly, legs crossed and arm resting casually along the back of the bench behind you. “so,” he starts, voice soft again, but this time with a hint of sincerity. “i’ve seen you before, you know. something about you... stuck with me.”

you tilt your head, surprised, but he just smiles, eyes flicking down to your lips for a second too long before returning to your gaze. “you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, the compliment falling from his lips like a quiet secret. “and not just in that way. you’ve got something about you... makes it hard to look away.” your heart skips, your fingers toying with the hem of your dress as the weight of his words settles in your chest. and then, leaning in just a little closer, he whispers, “let’s make something worth remembering tonight.”

you trail behind him as he pushes open the glass door of the boutique, the soft chime above signaling your entrance, and something tight curls in your stomach at the idea of what’s coming. the place is quiet—minimal music, soft lighting, not too many people—and sunoo doesn’t say much at first, just offers you a sly glance over his shoulder as he leads you down one of the back aisles. “okay,” he murmurs under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, “so… this one’s for a challenge my viewers sent in. it’s kind of a favorite.” you blink at him, your heart already starting to pound, but he only leans closer, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks. “we’re going to do a few things inside the dressing room. i’ll pick the clothes, you try them on, and then—” his voice drops lower, breathier, “we see how far we can go without getting caught.” your eyes widen slightly, the adrenaline kicking in fast, but you can’t help the heat rising in your chest as he takes your hand and leads you toward the fitting area, his grip warm, steady, and just a little too excited.

he doesn’t give you time to ask questions—only hands you a couple of hangers with a cheeky little tilt of his head, his eyes scanning your expression like he’s enjoying how nervous you suddenly look. “relax,” he murmurs, lips barely parting as he takes a step closer, “you’re in good hands.” the words shouldn’t sound as comforting as they do, but something about the way he says it—light, teasing, and sure—makes you feel strangely safe despite your nerves. the soft click of your heels on the hardwood follows you both as you make your way toward the fitting rooms in the back, the hallway narrow and lined with curtained booths, none of which seem occupied. sunoo pauses at the end of the row and peeks through the curtain before gently tugging it open, motioning for you to go in first with a simple wave of his hand. the room is small—three mirrored walls, a little bench, and a hook for your things—but it’s clean, neat, and quiet. you step inside slowly, nerves buzzing in your chest, but when you turn back to face him, he’s already pulling the curtain closed behind him, one brow arched. “you trust me?” he asks softly. and even though your stomach twists, you nod.

the curtain sways gently behind him before it falls still, sealing the both of you in a small, quiet world muffled by the distant hum of the store beyond—hangers clinking, footsteps fading, the occasional voice dulled by fabric and walls. the dressing room is tight, just enough space to move, to breathe, to feel everything more acutely, and it’s only made smaller by the weight of sunoo’s gaze. he pulls his phone from his pocket without a word at first, the screen lighting his face in a soft glow before he sets it on the small bench beside him, angling it slightly. “no bulky cameras,” he murmurs, his voice light, almost playful, but the look in his eyes is anything but. “figured you’d like that,” he adds, and the way he says it—confident, casual, like he already knows you—makes your cheeks grow warm, a quiet blush spreading up to your ears as you instinctively turn away, facing the mirror to ground yourself. your reflection stares back, wide-eyed and flushed, the soft fabric of your dress fluttering slightly from the chill in the air or maybe the nerves tightening in your chest. you don’t see him move until he’s already behind you, his presence a slow, delicious pressure, his hands settling low on your waist, thumbs grazing your sides like he’s marking the moment. his fingers move with purpose, slipping down to the hem of your dress and lingering there as he leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “you look so beautiful, my god…” he breathes, the awe in his voice sending a tremble down your spine.

his eyes meet yours in the mirror, heavy and hungry, and you can barely hold the intensity of it—how he looks at you like he’s seeing something sacred. the hem of your dress lifts inch by inch beneath his touch, soft fabric peeling away from your thighs, slow enough to make your breath catch. he hums low in his throat, a sound thick with approval when the delicate lace of your panties comes into view, and he leans in even closer, the tip of his nose skimming your shoulder as he exhales against your skin. “fuck…” he mutters under his breath, so quiet it’s almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it, but the heat behind the word sears into you anyway. he continues to slide the dress upward, over your hips, across your stomach, careful not to rush, not to miss a second of it, like unveiling you is some kind of ritual. the moment stretches, drawn out by his hands and the thrum in your chest and the way your reflection trembles slightly in the mirror. when the dress finally slips past your arms and off completely, his hands glide down your sides again, slow and reverent, as if he’s memorizing every curve now exposed to him. “you’re perfect,” he says simply, like it’s just a fact, and in the quiet closeness of that dressing room, with the heat of his body pressing behind you and your eyes locked in the mirror, you almost believe him.

his hands never leave your skin as the dress falls to the floor, pooling silently at your feet like a forgotten secret. the mirror fogs faintly from the closeness, from the heat building steadily between you, and sunoo’s gaze lingers in the reflection, eyes locked on the curves now bare before him. “they asked for a challenge,” he whispers against your neck, voice warm and teasing, “so i told them i’d deliver.” you shiver as his fingers trail along your hips, gliding forward until his palms rest low on your stomach, holding you there with gentle control, like he doesn’t want you to move unless he says so. “no sounds. no slips. no getting caught,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear with each word, sending a rush of goosebumps across your skin. his thumbs stroke slow, measured circles into your lower belly as he watches you melt under his touch, the mirror catching every twitch, every flicker of need that crosses your face. “you can do that, right?” he asks, voice soft but edged with something heavier—something that makes your thighs press together in anticipation. you nod, barely, and he chuckles once, quiet and pleased, before pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his hands sliding down between your legs with deliberate care.

his fingers skim the front of your panties, featherlight, just enough pressure to make your breath catch, and he watches the way your lips part in the mirror, the way your legs shift instinctively for more. “so sensitive already,” he murmurs, dragging the lace aside slowly, exposing the slick heat between your thighs as he drags two fingers along your folds, collecting the arousal there like he’s savoring it. the air feels heavier now, the muted sounds outside the dressing room fading beneath the pounding of your heart and the wet sound of his fingers teasing your entrance. “stay quiet,” he warns gently, and you nod again, one hand reaching out to steady yourself on the wall while the other clutches at your own thigh, your knees weakening with every stroke. he sinks one finger in, slow and careful, curling it just right as your body arches back into him, your mouth opening on a silent gasp that never quite escapes. the rhythm he builds is steady, teasing—just enough to have you trembling, not enough to let you fall apart—and his breath is warm on your neck as he watches you, utterly transfixed. “fuck, you’re so good like this,” he whispers, lips brushing the edge of your jaw, “like you were made for this.”

his second finger pushes in without warning, stretching you wider, deeper, and your breath stutters as you fight the moan building in your chest, your thighs shaking with restraint. the wet sounds fill the small space, echoing just enough to make it feel dangerous, filthy, like someone might hear if they walked too close to the door. sunoo’s free hand wraps gently around your throat—not tight, just there, grounding you, tilting your head slightly so you can’t look anywhere but the mirror, at the way you’re unraveling in his hands. “eyes on yourself,” he murmurs, voice low and sharp, and you obey, barely holding back a whimper as he fucks you slowly with his fingers, the drag of each curl brushing against that spot that makes your toes curl. his thumb presses to your clit now, circling in slow, wet strokes, and your body jerks in his hold, your hand flying to your mouth to smother the cry that threatens to spill. “shhh, baby, don’t ruin it,” he coos, kissing the back of your shoulder, “not yet.” your eyes blur in the mirror as the first wave builds inside you, hot and heavy, and all you can do is grip his wrist tighter, silently begging him not to stop.

your breath is shallow, lips parting against your palm as you try—fail—to suppress the tremble of your thighs, the full-body shudder that rolls through you each time his fingers thrust a little deeper. you feel soaked, ruined, slick dripping down your thighs in thin trails, and sunoo’s fingers are relentless—patient, but unyielding. he keeps the pressure steady, dragging his fingertips along that spot inside you again and again until your knees nearly buckle, until your toes curl hard enough to ache. the soft, obscene sounds of your cunt being worked fill the cramped dressing room like static, blending with the sharp, wet flicks of his thumb against your clit. he doesn’t speak now, doesn’t have to—not when his mouth is open against your shoulder, his warm breath fanning over your skin with each exhale like he’s barely holding back from devouring you entirely. your free hand scrabbles for purchase, landing uselessly on the mirror as your body jerks again, your chest rising and falling in shallow, desperate bursts.

you can feel it—feel your orgasm winding tight, coiling low in your stomach like a fuse that’s about to blow. and maybe he can feel it too, because his pace slows just slightly, not to tease, but to keep you right on that edge. to draw it out. his hand around your throat squeezes just a little—not choking, but firm enough to anchor you, to remind you who’s guiding your body to this breaking point. “not yet,” he murmurs again, softer this time, like a warning stitched with affection. “you’ll wait until i say.” your nails dig into his wrist, eyes glassy in the mirror, lips trembling as you nod, even though your whole body is screaming to let go. his thumb rolls tighter circles now, fingers curling up perfectly with each pump, and your legs tremble harder beneath you. every movement, every sound, every breath feels amplified in the silence—your arousal making the room feel smaller, hotter, like the walls might cave in if you moan just once too loud.

you whimper again, barely audible, and he hums behind you, his nose brushing against your neck as he slows his fingers just enough to keep you tethered to the moment, your release still just out of reach. “you’re being so good for me,” he whispers, voice honeyed with praise, “i know it hurts to hold it in, baby. but you can do it, can’t you?” you nod again, shakily, blinking fast to stay focused on your reflection—on the way your body trembles under his touch, on how wrecked you look already without even being allowed to finish. sunoo’s smile turns indulgent, one kiss pressed to the corner of your jaw as he resumes his pace, slower now, deeper, like he’s rewarding your obedience with pleasure that teeters just this side of torture. your hips roll down against his hand instinctively, chasing it, chasing friction, chasing the permission you’re still waiting to hear. your clit pulses against the pad of his thumb, swollen and throbbing, and you know you can’t last much longer. but you wait. because he told you to.

and because it’s him—you want to be good for him more than anything else.

you don’t realize you’ve started shaking until his hand steadies you, firm on your waist, the warmth of his palm grounding you even as your body threatens to give out. your forehead presses to the mirror now, damp with sweat, your breath fogging up the glass in uneven bursts. your thighs ache from holding yourself upright, and your clit pulses with every twitch of your hips, your body practically begging for release. he’s still behind you, pressed close, his mouth at your ear and his fingers so deep you swear he’s memorizing every inch of you from the inside out. “just a little longer,” he whispers, voice thick with restraint, but you can hear it—how wrecked he sounds too. how hard he is behind you, cock pressed hot against your ass through his boxers, twitching every time you clench around his fingers. it makes you wetter, needier, your moans hiccuping into little broken gasps that you can’t even muffle anymore. it’s too much. you’re too full. too close.

his thumb rolls over your clit again, tighter this time, firmer, and your whole body jolts, your hand slamming into the mirror for balance. “fuck—sunoo—” his name slips out like a sob, high and breathless, and that’s when he finally gives it to you. “you can let go now,” he says, a low murmur laced with something wicked and warm. “come for me, pretty thing.” and the second the words hit, your body seizes with it—your orgasm crashing over you so hard it knocks the breath from your lungs. your thighs squeeze together instinctively, your back arching, your mouth open in a moan that barely makes it past your tongue as everything inside you contracts at once. you clamp down around his fingers, pulsing and spasming as he fucks you through it, his hand unrelenting, milking every last bit of pleasure until your legs completely give. he holds you up, both hands now wrapped around your waist as you slump against the mirror, whimpering into your arm while your body continues to twitch from the aftershocks.

your reflection is a mess—cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bruised, eyes glassy and unfocused as you pant against the fogged-up glass. your panties hang low around one thigh, the hem of your dress wrinkled up around your ribs, and your skin is covered in sweat and the faint tremble of being completely undone. behind you, sunoo presses one more kiss to your shoulder, then your neck, then just behind your ear. “fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathes, and there’s nothing teasing in his voice anymore—just awe, soft and sincere, like he still can’t believe what he’s seeing. “you did so good, baby. so fucking good for me.” your knees nearly buckle again when he says it like that—when the praise comes without hesitation, when it feels like he means every word with his whole chest.

his hands slide down, one of them reaching between your legs again—not to start anything, but just to feel, to swipe gently through the mess between your thighs like he’s admiring what he caused. “messy girl,” he mutters, smirking now, a kiss dropped to your temple. “hope you didn’t think we were done.” and then he’s lifting you, gently but firmly, turning you in his arms so your back presses to the mirror and your chest rises against his. the phone is still recording in the corner, forgotten but running, capturing every angle, every gasp.

you kiss him before he can say anything else, hard and sudden, like the craving in your chest has finally boiled over and you just can’t hold it in anymore. your lips crash into his with a force that nearly knocks the air from both your lungs, and for a second, he doesn’t move—just stands there in surprise, mouth parted beneath yours—before he groans low in his throat and grabs at your waist like he’s been waiting for it all along. his body meets yours in full again, no space left between you, his chest rising with a shudder as he kisses you back deep and slow and messy. you can taste the leftover sweetness of your own release on his tongue, can feel the urgency building again in the way his hands slide down the curve of your ass, gripping tight, kneading like he’s trying to ground himself in you. your fingers weave into his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp into your mouth, and you swallow the sound with a whimper of your own as your thighs press together, aching for more.

you barely feel your back hit the mirror—just the cold of it ghosting down your spine as sunoo shifts your bodies again, angling you toward the corner where the bench meets the wall. “you’re not tired?” he murmurs, voice rough with disbelief and hunger, his forehead pressing to yours as he pants. you shake your head, your breath hitching as his fingers skim up your thigh again, finding the damp lace that’s still clinging to you. “not even close,” you whisper, and that’s all he needs to hear.

his mouth drags down your neck, kissing and nipping gently, the pace slower now, more intentional, like he wants to savor the way your body reacts to him. his hands roam again, over your ribs, your hips, the swell of your thighs as you shiver beneath his touch, letting out a soft gasp when his fingers slide past your panties once more. “still so wet for me,” he hums, a smile curling against your skin as he sinks down to his knees between your legs like it’s where he belongs. he kisses along the inside of your thighs, tongue flicking teasingly close before pulling away just enough to make you whine, your fingers curling in his hair.

“stay still for me, baby,” he whispers, and before you can even think to respond, he’s pulling your panties to the side and licking a long, slow stripe up your center.

your knees nearly give out.

his tongue is hot, slick, devastating in its precision as he laps at your clit with soft, rhythmic flicks, then dips lower to fuck into you with long strokes that make your hips jerk forward. you feel it build again so fast—too fast—and you brace yourself on the mirror behind you, one hand still tangled in his hair as he moans against your cunt like he’s starved. “fuck—sunoo,” you breathe out, your voice cracking as your head tips back, the heat in your stomach coiling tighter with every flick of his tongue.

he doesn’t stop. doesn’t let up. he keeps going until your legs are shaking, until you’re gasping and twitching under his mouth, until the words slip out in a messy, broken whisper: “gonna come—fuck, i’m gonna—”

but then he pulls away.

you sob, your body lurching forward at the sudden emptiness, but he’s already standing, already pulling you into another kiss, messy and wet and still tasting like you. “not yet,” he murmurs against your mouth, one hand reaching for his phone to quickly angle it slightly, making sure you’re both still in frame. “you said you weren’t tired, remember?” he grins, voice low and playful now, and you nod desperately, your hands sliding down his chest until they reach his cock, hard and flushed and already leaking against his thigh.

he groans as you touch him, your hand wrapping around his length and stroking him slowly, teasingly. “then fuck me already,” you whisper, voice shaking, and his eyes darken completely.

“turn around,” he tells you, breathless, and you do, pressing your hands against the mirror as you arch your back, offering yourself to him.

he slides in with one deep thrust, both of you gasping at the stretch, the sudden fullness.

“round two,” he pants, thrusting again, slower now. “let’s give them a show.”

his hands find your hips first, steadying you as he sinks in inch by inch, the stretch making you whimper as your palms flatten against the mirror for balance. he hisses behind you, hips stuttering once before he sets a pace, slow and purposeful, every thrust deep and dragging like he’s determined to feel every inch of you again. your reflection catches your eye for a second—cheeks flushed, mouth parted, eyes already glazed—and the sight makes something flutter low in your belly. behind you, sunoo lets out a shaky breath and slides his hand up your spine, flattening it between your shoulder blades until your back arches more for him, the angle sending heat flashing through your core. “fuck, you’re unreal,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rasp that vibrates down your spine as his hips snap forward harder, the sound of your skin meeting echoing faintly in the tiny room. your thighs tremble as he picks up the pace, his other hand moving to your clit again, circling in tight, controlled motions that have your knees buckling. he groans when he feels your body clench around him, a deep sound that shoots straight through you, and your nails scrape softly down the glass as your moans grow louder. “they’re gonna lose their minds watching this,” he breathes out, lips ghosting against your neck, “but they’ll never feel you like this.”

his words hit something deep, and your body trembles beneath him, overwhelmed by the feeling of being so full, so close, so wrecked already—and the way he keeps watching you, eyes flickering between your reflection and the spot where you’re joined. you try to hold on a little longer, but his fingers on your clit work relentlessly, syncing with every hard thrust of his cock until it feels impossible not to break. you whimper his name, breath catching in your throat, and he tilts his hips just right, driving into that spot inside you that makes your whole body jolt forward with a strangled moan. “that’s it,” he whispers, “come on, baby, i feel you—come for me again.” your legs tremble violently as your orgasm crashes over you, your head tipping back with a cry, heat exploding in your belly as you clamp down around him, body pulsing and twitching. sunoo gasps, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before he groans and buries himself deep, hips jerking as he spills inside you, warm and thick and drawn-out. his hands grip your hips so tight you know it’ll bruise, his breath ragged against your neck as he rides it out, murmuring soft curses between gasps. you both stay like that for a moment, bodies pressed together, hearts racing, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex and something that feels too good to name.

you blink slowly at the mirror, seeing the flush on your chest, the red bite blooming at your shoulder where he’d kissed too hard, and the way his cum begins to trickle slowly down your thighs.

his breath is still shaky when he finally pulls out, cock twitching as he watches the mess they’ve made of each other glisten between your legs. he reaches past you slowly, arm brushing your waist, and taps his phone screen twice to end the recording, the screen dimming to black with a soft click. silence blooms between you both for a second—thick, heavy, and intimate—until he exhales and gently cups your hips, turning you around with soft hands. “you okay?” he whispers, his voice warm, his touch even warmer as he brings one hand up to smooth back your hair, thumb brushing over your cheek. you nod, still catching your breath, and he leans in to kiss your forehead so tenderly it makes your chest ache. he crouches to the floor without a word, grabbing a tissue from his pocket and using it to carefully clean you up, his eyes flicking up every few seconds to make sure you’re not flinching. you feel the gentleness in every stroke, the reverence in every glance, like even now he’s still trying to memorize how soft you are. once he’s done, he helps you slip your panties back on, then pulls the hem of your dress back down, fixing the sleeves on your shoulders with a careful tug.

“you were perfect,” he murmurs, standing again, his hands sliding up to cradle your face as he presses a lingering kiss to your lips—less heated now, more thankful, more full of something you don’t dare name just yet. he doesn’t rush you, just keeps holding your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks like he needs to ground you again. your fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him just a little closer, and he smiles into the kiss before whispering, “you wanna get out of here?” the way he says it makes your stomach flutter—not dirty, not demanding, just soft, full of care, like he wants to wrap you up in warmth and carry you out of this room. you nod again, and he takes your hand, guiding you slowly out from behind the curtain with a final glance over his shoulder to make sure the coast is clear. the mall noise trickles back in as you step into the hallway, but it all feels muffled—like the world’s gotten quieter just for the two of you. he leans close again as you walk, lips brushing your ear with a tiny smile as he whispers, “you really are dangerous, you know that?”

he turns to you slowly, his gaze flickering across your face like he’s memorizing it again, and then he leans in—his lips brushing yours so tenderly it makes your chest stutter. “i’m fucked,” he whispers, barely louder than the wind, his voice low and quiet and almost like he hates admitting it. “but there’s no way i’m backing down… not when it’s you.”

you don’t answer. you just stare, lips parted, heart slamming too loud in your chest as your brain struggles to catch up—but your body moves before you can think. you tilt forward, pressing your mouth to his with a softness that surprises even you, your hands rising to curl against his chest as he kisses you back like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. the kiss doesn’t burn—it lingers, aching and slow and full of everything neither of you are ready to say out loud, your breath mingling in the cool night air. and when you pull back, his eyes are still closed, his hands still holding you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. you blink up at him, throat tight, but before anything else can be said—before he can speak or you can think—a sharp buzz cuts through the air from your phone in your purse, jarring and urgent. you both go still. the moment teeters at the edge of something bigger. and then your phone buzzes again.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ omggg sunoo my heart >.< honestly didn't proofread this either but i wanted to update this quick for you all, hoped you all enjoyed!

taglistᝰ.ᐟ @starry-eyed-bimbo @vixialuvs @justaquarium @dark-moon-light02 @deobitifull @minjeong28 @wonzzziezzzz @wonsohl @psychicyouthfox @honeyfever @strayy-kidz @bloomiize @tunafishyfishylike @jaehaki @ihearteatingxo @songbyeonkim @sol3chu @mo0neng3ne @strxwbloody @hii01mii @merwdusa @dorrissakurada @lycxee @frequentlykit @heeenha6484 @sjakewrld @stwrlightt @parkjjongswifey @haneulhee @fr34k4c1dr41n @cozyre @vwricky @nyxtwixx @nuggets4lifers @yunkiconico @mynameis-rosie1 @leeknowslefteyebrow @babygguk98 @noiiny @horijiro @nshmrarki @delulumel @brooklyninawhitemustang @baedreamverse @stvrrylove @killedbycharlize @sehyojae @mylettterstoyou @metanoianlove @shaysimpss @kiokantalope @sanriwoozzz @mniwna @l1nn13 @gongyoorit @miszes @ineedheewoninmylife @seonhwastaar @ivyleyun @ari3ll4 @ssanhwatto @negin7 @koizekomi @enhaz1 @kittympirty @slayhaechan @semi-wife @tobiosbbyghorl @hoonsdrnkdzd @shy9-29 @heeenha6484 @heeseungsbm @kristynaaah @smlbch @kirinaa08 @millis-diary @kawaiichu32 @wonislife17 @minniesverse @k1ttyjwon @luvksnn @wondash @wooalt @sweetsoobie @nyxiebabyyy @jakezzgirlz @b1tem4rks @hoonneyyzz @mimimovv @hanjiversee @ch4c0nnenh4 @sarashusbandissunghoonfyime @tnafzi @bbypink @en-hoon02 @skzenhalove @azzy02 @sanchaah @planetmarlowe @miniw0nz @daisy-doo1 @femaholicc @cherryangel-coke @hooniesfvngs @kimsvtaes @mniwna @i-am-not-dal @star-hoon @wafflelyweddedmallow @certifiedjaeyunist @devouredyou @neogotmysam @nuki-riki @heesang07 @littlofang @simj4k3 @makgeolli-jw @ksnooppy @luvksnn @starryemiko @isagistar @nickiminajleftasscheek @jeonkaijoon @doveblackboat @haestuffs @srhnyx @azzy02 @bubblemoonclouds @diana021811 @wonuziex @blubb0 @choicila @nyfwyeonjun @neo-weareone @jooniesbears-blog @byshens @arourababy @dolliewon

#enhypen #enha #heeluvv

712 notes · View notes