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xonayeon · 1 month ago

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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.”

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr @rikifever @daisyintherainsposts @kkamismom12

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xonayeon · 1 month ago

Text

mall rat

pairing: yandere entity!sunghoon x reader

genre: backrooms/liminal space au, predator-prey dynamic, thriller

synopsis: you enter an abandoned mall looking for a thrill, but the deeper you explore, the more the walls start to twist and the exits begin to vanish. when you hear footsteps following close behind, you meet sunghoon—a boy who seems to know this place too well and who enjoys chasing you a little too much. the longer you run, the more you wonder if you’re escaping him… or being led exactly where he wants you.

warnings (MDNI 18+ only!!) : smut(mirror sex, oral sex (f. receiving), face-fucking / oral sex (m. receiving), unprotected rough sex, degradation, dirty talk, chase kink, choking, hair pulling, manhandling, size kink, overstimulation, everything is consensual), yandere themes, obsessive behavior, intense chase sequences, predator-prey dynamic, backrooms/liminal space horror, cursing, mean!evil!sunghoon, manipulation, stalking, supernatural(?) filming without consent, reader's hair is of length that can be braided and pulled, pls lmk if there's anything i skipped!

note: this is more of a liminal space au and a liiiitle darker than the jw one. it has more smut too oops(i think i got better?). i hope you like reading this, i can't wait to hear your thoughts about it! enjoyyy

word count: 10.2k

backrooms au collection

if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3

you pressed your hand against the cool glass doors of the abandoned mall, your breath fogging the grimy surface for just a second before disappearing.

"well, this is either going to be amazing or the worst decision i've made this month," you muttered to yourself, the sound of your own voice strangely comforting in the empty parking lot.

you gave the doors a push, wincing as the rusted hinges screamed in protest. "okay, okay, i'm coming in. no need to announce me."

the smell hit you immediately—that distinctive abandoned building smell of mildew, dust, and something faintly metallic. you pulled your shirt collar up over your nose.

"ugh, smells like a grandma's basement crossed with a hardware store," you coughed, waving a hand in front of your face as you stepped further inside.

your flashlight beam cut through the darkness, revealing the frozen-in-time horror of the abandoned mall. this was your thing—haunted places, urban legends, liminal spaces. you chased them for fun. your camera was clipped to your bag, already recording, the thrill crawling under your skin like electricity.

"damn," you breathed, taking in the collapsed storefronts and creepy, dust-covered mannequins. one particularly unsettling female mannequin had toppled face-first onto a broken jewelry counter.

as you moved deeper, the air grew thicker. you wiped sweat from your brow despite the chill. "why is it so damn humid in here?" you grumbled, pausing to shake out your damp shirt.

that's when you noticed the escalator—the broken, rusted escalator was moving. your blood ran cold.

"no. no way. that's not..." the metal steps groaned as they jerked upward. "okay, new plan. we're leaving now."

you fumbled for your phone, hands shaking so badly you nearly dropped it. the screen glitched violently before freezing on a distorted image of your own terrified face.

"what the hell? what the actual hell?" you whispered, slapping the device against your palm like that might fix it. when you looked up, the hallway had changed. the entrance was gone.

"no, no, no. this isn't funny anymore."

you started walking faster, then running, your sneakers slapping against the cracked tiles.

"left here... then right... then..." you skidded to a stop in front of the same dented soda can you'd passed three times now. "this isn't possible," you panted, kicking the can in frustration. it clattered against the wall with a hollow metallic ping that echoed far too long.

that's when you heard them—footsteps that weren't yours. you froze, your breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

"hello?" you called out, immediately regretting it. the footsteps paused, then changed direction, coming toward you. "okay, okay, not hello then," you whispered, backing away slowly. "just... just passing through. don't mind me."

but the footsteps kept coming, maintaining that same steady, unhurried pace. you turned and ran, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"there has to be a way out, there has to be..." you chanted under your breath as you took turn after turn, each corridor stretching longer than the last.

the footsteps behind you never sped up, never slowed down—just kept coming, always the same distance behind you no matter how fast you ran.

your body locked in place, muscles coiled tight like springs about to snap. the air seemed to vibrate with a supernatural, suppressing hum, crawling under your skin until you could feel it in your teeth. when you tried to speak, your tongue felt thick and useless in your mouth.

"w-who's there?" you finally managed, the words barely louder than a whisper. your voice sounded alien to your own ears—thin and frayed at the edges.

the footsteps came again, slow and deliberate, each one measured to land just as your heartbeat stuttered. you spun around so fast your vision blurred at the edges, flashlight beam slicing through the darkness like a knife. empty space stared back at you.

"stop it," you demanded, hating how your voice cracked. "this isn't funny!"

silence answered you. then suddenly, a soft exhale that wasn't your own, came from somewhere just behind your left shoulder. you whirled again, nearly losing your balance as your sneakers squeaked against the tiles. still nothing. your breath came in ragged gasps now, each inhale tasting like dust and something metallic. the back of your neck prickled with the unmistakable feeling of being watched.

you broke into a run before you could think better of it, legs pumping wildly as you careened around corners. your lungs burned, your throat raw, but you couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. that's when you noticed it: the sound of your own panicked breathing was being perfectly mimicked just half a second behind you. your stomach dropped.

"no no no," you chanted under your breath, skidding around another corner only to find yourself face-to-face with—

"finally."

the voice came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. you staggered back, flashlight beam jerking upward to illuminate the figure leaning against a crumbling storefront. a boy—no, a young man—stood bathed in the flickering glow of a broken neon sign, his head tilted in quiet amusement. he was beautiful in a way that made your skin crawl, too perfect, too untouched by the decay surrounding him.

"you took your time getting here," he said, pushing off from the wall with unnatural grace. his voice was smooth, almost melodic, but it set you on edge. "i was starting to think you'd never arrive."

your mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before you forced out, "who are you? what is this place?"

the questions tumbled out in a rush, your voice gaining strength even as your hands shook. "why can't i get out?"

he didn't answer right away, instead taking a slow step forward. you noticed with dawning horror that his footsteps made no sound—no crunch of glass, no echo in the empty space. it was like watching a ghost move.

"names are so... limiting," he mused, circling you with predatory grace. "but you can call me sunghoon. as for this place?" he gestured lazily to the decaying mall around you. "let's call it my playground."

your breath hitched. "let me out," you demanded, taking a step back for every one he took forward. "i didn't mean to come here. i just—"

"you just couldn't resist poking where you didn't belong," he finished for you, lips quirking into something that wasn't quite a smile. "curious little thing, aren't you? that's what brought you here. that's what keeps you here."

a cold sweat broke out across your back. "what do you mean 'keeps me here'?"

sunghoon's eyes gleamed in the dim light as he took another soundless step closer. "you've noticed by now, haven't you? how the halls change when you're not looking? how the doors disappear?" he tilted his head, studying your reaction with unsettling intensity. "this place... it likes you. and so do i."

your stomach twisted uncomfortably. "let me go," you repeated, voice trembling. "please."

for a moment, something like genuine surprise flickered across his face before being replaced by that same eerie calm.

"oh sweet thing," he murmured, almost pitying. "you still don't understand. you can't leave. not unless i let you." he took another step forward, now close enough that you could see the unnatural way the light refracted in his eyes. "but where's the fun in that?"

your body moved before your mind could catch up—spinning on your heel and sprinting down the nearest corridor. behind you, sunghoon's laughter followed, rich and warm and utterly terrifying.

"run all you want!" he called after you, voice carrying unnaturally through the empty space. "you'll only end up back with me!"

your vision blurred with unshed tears as you ran, sneakers pounding against tile after tile. the mall stretched and warped around you, corridors twisting in impossible ways, but you didn't stop. couldn't stop. not when you could still feel his gaze burning into your back, not when his voice seemed to whisper from the very walls themselves.

"that's it," the mall itself seemed to croon as you turned another corner only to find yourself facing a dead end. "run. struggle. it only makes the game more fun."

your lungs burned as you tore through corridors that curved at impossible angles, the walls warping like melted wax as you passed. the floors beneath you changed without warning—one moment your boots slammed against cracked linoleum, the next you were sprinting across pristine marble that looked freshly polished, your own terrified reflection staring back at you from its glossy surface. your flashlight beam jerked wildly as you swung it from side to side, the light catching on vines that slithered through broken ceiling tiles like snakes, their leaves rustling despite the stale, motionless air.

"this isn't possible," you gasped, skidding to a halt as you reached a fork in the hallway that hadn't been there seconds ago.

your pulse roared in your ears as you frantically tried to decide—left or right, left or right—before choosing at random and plunging down the left passage. the walls here were lined with storefronts from different eras, some sporting 80s neon signs still glowing brightly, others with boarded-up windows covered in decade-old missing person posters. your breath hitched when you recognised your own face staring back from one of the yellowed flyers, the dates smudged beyond recognition.

you ducked through a broken security gate into what might have once been a children's play area, the colourful foam flooring squishing unnaturally underfoot like living flesh. the scent of artificial strawberries and disinfectant assaulted your nose, so strong it made your eyes water as you crawled beneath a frozen turnstile, the metal bars ice-cold against your palms.

when you scrambled to your feet and looked back, your stomach dropped—the hallway you'd just come through was gone, replaced by smooth, unbroken drywall still smelling of fresh paint.

"i like watching you panic."

the voice came from directly behind you, closer than anyone should have been able to get without you hearing.

you whirled around so fast you nearly fell, your back hitting the wall as your flashlight illuminated sunghoon leaning casually against a carousel pole, one arm draped over a frozen plastic horse with eerily lifelike glass eyes. he looked different under the stark white light—his features sharper, his smile showing just a hint too many teeth.

"makes you look real," he murmured, tilting his head as he studied the way your chest heaved with panicked breaths.

your fingers dug into the wall behind you, searching for purchase against the suddenly slick surface.

"what are you?" you demanded, hating how your voice shook. "why are you doing this?"

sunghoon pushed off from the carousel with that unnatural grace, taking a slow step forward. the children's ride creaked to life behind him, the eerie sound of carnival music starting up as the horses began bobbing in jerky circles.

"you came looking for excitement, didn't you?" he said, his voice almost gentle. "for something beyond your boring little world." another step closer, his shadow stretching long and wrong across the floor. "well, here i am."

your muscles tensed, every instinct screaming to run even as some deeper, more primal part of you recognised the danger of showing fear to a predator. but when his eyes flickered black for just an instant—just long enough for you to question whether you'd really seen it—you broke, spinning away and sprinting for the nearest exit sign.

his laughter followed you, rich and warm and utterly wrong in this twisted place. "run, run away," he called after you, the words curling around you like smoke. "it's so much more fun when you run."

and you did run—because you were starting to understand the unspoken rules of this nightmare. running kept you in the game. running meant you were still playing instead of being played. but most of all, you ran because some small, terrified part of you knew that if you ever stopped—if you ever let him catch you—you might never leave this place at all.

the corridors blurred together as you fled, your vision tunnelling with adrenaline. you barely registered the way the walls pulsed faintly, or how the exit signs always seemed to lead you in circles. all that mattered was the burning in your legs and the single thought repeating in your head like a mantra: don't stop, don't stop, don't stop.

because stopping meant facing what was following you. and that was something you weren't ready to do.

the concept of days blurred like wet ink on your makeshift calendar, the marks you'd scratched into a dressing room wall with a bobby pin becoming meaningless after the seventh "day."

your hands shook less now when mapping the mall's shifting corridors, having learnt which walls would stay solid and which might disappear if you blinked too long. the lingerie store's plush pink fitting room had become your primary shelter, its locking mechanism still functional if you jammed a hair tie in just right. you'd lined the floor with stolen silk robes and bras as makeshift bedding, their lace edges tickling your wrists when you turned in your restless sleep.

"northwest corridor floods at 3:17 pm," you muttered, adding the note to your growing collection of observations. the mall kept its own time—you'd watched the water rise like clockwork through the broken tiles near the food court every "afternoon," though the clocks all remained stubbornly stuck at 4:37. "elevator music plays for exactly six minutes before the—"

a sudden burst of the same static like buzzing filled the air. your body reacted before your mind could process—muscles locking, breath hitching. he was near. the air thickened with the weirdly tempting combination of vanilla and matchsticks, that hadn't been there moments before. you pressed your back against the fitting room wall, clutching your notes to your chest as if the fragile paper could protect you.

"mapping my home?" his voice oozed through the thin partition, rich with amusement. "how... domestic of you." a single finger tapped against the other side of the door in a mockery of knocking. "may i see?"

your throat closed. the hair on your arms stood straight up as the temperature dropped sharply. "no," you managed after a too-long pause, immediately cringing at how small your voice sounded.

sunghoon's mean laughter wrapped around you like smoke. "still defiant. i adore that about you." the fitting room's lights flickered in time with his words. "but you're missing the best parts—the service tunnels behind the east wing, the hidden staircase in the old toy store." he paused, then almost conspiratorially whispered: "i could show you."

"i'd rather starve," you snapped, immediately regretting it when the entire row of fitting rooms rattled like something enormous had brushed against them.

"now why would you say that," he chided, voice suddenly coming from directly above you. you jerked your head up to see his face partially phased through the ceiling tiles, upside down and smiling. "when i've been so generous with my hospitality?"

you screamed without meaning to, scrambling backward into the corner as he dissolved through the ceiling like ink in water, reforming upright before you. he looked different today—his usually pristine white shirt was slightly rumpled, the first button undone to reveal a sliver of collarbone that looked almost too sharp and human, but not quite.

"you—you're not real," you stammered, fingers digging into the silk robes beneath you. "this place is messing with my head."

sunghoon tilted his head, the motion eerily smooth. "oh darling," he sighed, crouching to your level with unnatural grace. "i'm the most real thing here."

his hand hovered near your cheek without touching, close enough that you felt the unnatural chill radiating from his skin. "don't you want to know why you're special? why the mall chose you?"

your breath came in shallow pants as you pressed harder against the wall. "i didn't choose this."

"but you did." his smile widened just slightly too far. "all those late nights researching liminal spaces, chasing that delicious thrill of almost-danger." he leaned in, his breath oddly scentless against your ear. "you whispered your invitation every time you clicked on another article, every time you snuck into places you didn't belong."

a sudden crash from elsewhere in the mall made you both turn. sunghoon's expression darkened momentarily before smoothing back into pleasant calm. "speaking of invitations," he murmured, standing abruptly. "i have to attend to something. but we'll continue this... later."

he was gone between one blink and the next, leaving only the lingering scent of ozone and a single red string tied around your pinky finger that hadn't been there before. you stared at it, nausea rising when you realised it matched exactly the shade of the lingerie store's signature colour.

the gifts from him became more frequent after that encounter. you'd wake to find your stolen vending machine snacks replaced with gourmet meals still steaming on fine china. your worn out sneakers disappeared one night, replaced by pristine red shoes that fit perfectly. worst of all were the notes—appearing in your own handwriting on mirrors after you'd looked away:

"you smiled in your sleep today.""i love how your voice cracks when you're scared.""say my name again. i liked how it sounded in your mouth."

one "evening" as you huddled in the makeup aisle, exhaustion finally dragging you under, you dreamt of him properly for the first time. not as the predator, but as something almost human—sitting cross-legged beside you, gently braiding your hair while humming a lullaby you vaguely remembered from childhood.

"why won't you let me leave?" you asked in the dream, surprised by how calm your voice sounded.

sunghoon's fingers stilled in your hair. "because you belong here," he murmured, lips brushing your temple. "with me." his hands slid down to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing under your eyes.

you woke with a start to find your hair actually braided, a silky red ribbon woven through it. the security mirror above showed sunghoon's reflection sitting behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder. when you turned, there was nothing there—but the ribbon remained, smelling faintly of his vanilla and matchsticks scent.

"stop fighting it," the latest mirror message read that morning, the words appearing letter by letter as you watched, like invisible fingers tracing them. "you're mine already."

your reflection in the glass looked different—darker eyes, sharper cheekbones, lips slightly redder than they should be. when you reached up to touch your face, your reflection smiled a second too late.

you woke with a start, your body arching off the makeshift bed as the last waves of pleasure still crackled through your nerves like live wires. the dream—god, the dream—had been so vivid you could still feel the phantom press of sunghoon's lips against your inner thigh, the teasing scrape of his teeth against your neck. your hand flew to your neck instinctively, half-expecting to find marks, but your skin was unbroken. unlike your underwear, which was soaked through with undeniable evidence of your arousal.

"fuck," you hissed into the empty fitting room, pressing your thighs together as another aftershock trembled through you.

the lingerie store's pink lighting suddenly felt too intimate, the silk robes you'd repurposed as bedding clinging to your sweat-slicked skin like a lover's caress. you scrambled to your feet, nearly tripping over tangled fabric in your haste to escape the suffocating space. "this isn't happening. this isn't—"

the mall greeted you with unnatural stillness, the usual flickering lights frozen in a perfect, eerie glow. even the ever-present hum of that weird buzz had gone silent, leaving a vacuum of sound that made your pulse roar in your ears. you didn't bother dressing properly—just yanked on a discarded denim jacket over your sleep shirt and stormed into the main corridor, bare feet slapping against cold tile.

"sunghoon!" your voice shattered the silence, bouncing off the concave walls of the empty mall. "get out here and explain what the hell you just did to me!"

for a long moment nothing happened and you felt a little dumb for deciding to approach him because weren’t you supposed to be hiding from him?

just then a soft, familiar chuckle came from directly behind you, so close you felt his breath stir the hair at your nape. "i didn't hear any complaints in the dream," his voice purred, laced with smug amusement. "quite the opposite, actually."

you whirled around so fast you nearly lost your balance, coming face-to-face with the living embodiment of your shame. sunghoon looked unfairly put together, leaning against a shuttered kiosk with his arms crossed over his chest. his usual white shirt was unbuttoned one more than necessary, revealing a tantalising sliver of pale collarbone that your traitorous eyes immediately tracked. when your gaze snapped back up to his face, he was smirking.

"stop that," you snapped, gesturing wildly at his general existence. "stop—whatever mind control shit you're doing. i didn't ask for this."

his dark eyes gleamed under the artificial lighting as he pushed off the kiosk, taking slow, measured steps toward you.

"mind control?" he repeated, tilting his head like a curious predator. "is that what you think this is?" another step closer, his polished shoes clicking against the tile in a rhythm that matched your accelerating heartbeat. "or are you just upset because you liked it too much?"

your face burned. "i didn't—that wasn't—" the words died in your throat as he closed the final distance between you, his scent wrapping around you.

sunghoon's smile widened as he reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear with deceptive gentleness. "you're a terrible liar," he murmured, fingers lingering just a second too long against your heated skin. "i felt every shudder, every gasp." his voice dropped to a whisper. "heard my name on your lips when you—"

"shut up!" you slapped his hand away, your chest heaving. "what are you? some kind of sex demon? ghost? fucking—incubus?" the words tumbled out in an angry rush, your voice cracking on the last syllable.

for a brief moment, something dark flickered behind his eyes—something hungry that made your survival instincts scream. then it was gone, replaced by that same infuriating amusement.

"so many questions," he mused, circling you with predatory grace. "but you don't get to ask the questions here." his hand shot out unexpectedly, catching your wrist in an ice-cold grip. "this place belongs to me." his thumb pressed against your fluttering pulse point. "and now... so do you."

you yanked your arm free with a startled gasp, stumbling backward. "like hell i do," you spat, but your voice lacked conviction, still breathless from the dream, from his proximity, from the way your body reacted to him despite your terror.

sunghoon's laugh was low and knowing as he watched you back away. "run if you want," he said, spreading his arms in mock invitation. "we both know how this ends."

and once again you started running away from him, this time against your will. it felt like some force was controlling the pumping of your legs, bare feet slapping against suddenly glossy tiles as you sprinted down the nearest corridor. the mall seemed to shift around you, walls stretching unnaturally as you skidded around corners, your breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. you didn't stop until you crashed through the swinging doors of an abandoned department store, the air thick with the scent of mothballs and decaying fabric.

the mannequins here were arranged in a creepy arrangement, their plastic faces all turned toward the entrance as if they'd been waiting for you. your stomach lurched as you ducked between racks of yellowed wedding dresses, their lace catching on your arms like grasping fingers. the silence was absolute except for your own ragged breathing—until a soft creak echoed from near the fitting rooms, followed by the unmistakable sound of a zipper being slowly pulled down.

"come out, come out," sunghoon's voice crooned from the darkness, dripping with false sweetness. you pressed a hand over your mouth to stifle a whimper as his voice dropped to that sinful register from your dream. "i'll make you feel good." he paused, then lowered his voice: "just like i did in the dream."

your thighs pressed together instinctively at the memory, drawing another frustrated groan from your lips as you lunged for the mirror-lined changing room, slamming the flimsy door behind you. the small space was a hall of mirrors, your own panicked reflection repeating endlessly in every direction—pupils blown wide, chest heaving, lips parted around shaky breaths.

then sudden movement caught your eye in one of the far mirrors. his reflection stood behind yours, hands resting possessively on your shoulders, chin propped on your head like you were some cherished doll.

"n-no," you stammered, backpedalling until your shoulder blades hit the opposite mirror with a rattling thud. "this isn't real. you're not—"

"real?" sunghoon finished, stepping out of the mirror behind you as easily as walking through an open door. his hands came down on either side of your head, caging you in without actually touching. "oh sweetheart," he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "i think we're past that, don't you?"

your breath came in short, sharp gasps as he leaned in closer, his body heat—or lack thereof—seeping through your thin sleep clothes. "running again?" he teased, tilting his head to study your flushed face. "you're cute when you think you have options."

before you could respond, tell him you were being controlled when you ran this time(probably by him since he seemed to enjoy the chase), one hand slid down to cradle your chin, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip with terrifying gentleness. his other knee slotted between yours, spreading your legs with effortless pressure that made your traitorous body arch toward him instinctively.

the memory of the dream—his mouth between your thighs, those long fingers working you open—flashed through your mind with embarrassing clarity.

"go on," he whispered, lips hovering just above yours. "scream. see if anyone hears you."

but no sound came out, your throat closing around a choked whimper instead. sunghoon's smile turned victorious as he took in your trembling form, your pupils blown wide with conflicting emotions.

"look at you," he murmured, his free hand sliding down to grip your thigh, hiking it up around his hip with casual dominance. "all flushed and wide-eyed." his thumb pressed against your pulse point, feeling the rabbit-quick beat there.

your body remembered the pleasure he'd given you in the dream, remembered how good it felt to surrender to those clever hands and that mocking mouth. as if reading your thoughts, sunghoon leaned in closer, his lips grazing the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

"i could make it real," he promised, voice dropping to that low, sinful register that made your stomach clench. "just say the word."

his hand slid higher up your thigh, fingertips brushing the damp fabric of your underwear, and you realised with horrifying clarity that you were considering it. considering letting this beautiful monster have you right here in this cursed changing room, surrounded by endless reflections of his hungry gaze. the thought should have terrified you. it did terrify you.

so why were you leaning into his touch? why did your hands find their way to his chest, fingers curling into the crisp fabric of his shirt? why did your body feel like it was burning up from the inside out?

“i-fuck—i want it.”

your breath hitched violently when his fingers slipped beneath your waistband with terrifying familiarity, the cool metal of his rings pressing against your overheated skin.

his fingers traced the crease of your thigh first, maddeningly slow, the calloused pads dragging up so deliberately you could feel every ridge of his fingerprints against your oversensitive skin. you bit down on your lip hard enough to taste copper, but the whimper slipped out anyway, high and pathetic in the quiet of the changing room.

"fuck," sunghoon muttered, smirking against your ear as his breath fanned cool across your flushed skin. his fingers dipped lower through your slick with a soft, obscene sound that made your stomach clench with shame. "so wet already."

his voice was low, amused, as he brought his glistening fingers up between you, turning them in the flickering light. "did you start dripping the second you saw me? or were you already this worked up from your little dream?"

you squeezed your eyes shut, humiliation burning through you hotter than any pleasure. "i didn't—"

"liar," he whispered, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the hinge of your jaw that made your knees weaken. his fingers returned to circle your clit with torturous precision, the pressure just shy of enough as he watched your face intently.

"i felt it. the second you woke up—all hot and bothered, thighs squeezing together like you could hide how much you wanted me." his teeth scraped your earlobe, the sharp sting making you gasp. "admit it."

your thighs tensed instinctively, trying to close, but his knee stayed firm between them, keeping you spread open and vulnerable to his exploring fingers. "n-no," you stammered, hands scrabbling against the mirror behind you for purchase. "you—you put those thoughts in my head. you made me—"

sunghoon laughed, a dark, velvety sound that vibrated through your chest where he pressed against you.

"oh, sweet thing," he murmured, lips trailing down your neck as his fingers finally, finally pushed inside, curling just right to make your back arch off the mirror. "i didn't put anything in your head that wasn't already there."

he pumped his fingers slowly, watching with rapt attention as your mouth fell open on a silent moan. "you've thought about this, haven't you? all these days in the dark, when you thought no one was watching?"

your head fell back against the mirror with a dull thud as he added a third finger, the stretch burning deliciously. the reflections around you showed a dozen versions of yourself—cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes glassy with pleasure you didn't want to feel.

"look at you," sunghoon murmured, his free hand gripping your chin to force your gaze to the mirrors. "see how pretty you are like this? see how your body begs for me?"

his fingers sped up, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit in a steady, relentless rhythm that had your hips jerking without permission. your moans slipped free—quiet at first, then louder and more broken when his thumb pressed harder, circling just right. "f-fuck—"

"there it is," he breathed, teeth sinking into your shoulder as you gasped.

his free hand slid up to wrap around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, his thumb tipping your chin up to watch yourself in the mirrors. "come on, baby. let me see you fall apart."

you shook your head weakly, but your body betrayed you, hips rolling, back arching as the tension coiled tighter and tighter, "i don't—i can't—"

"you can," he growled, fingers thrusting harder, curling just so. "and you will." his lips found your ear again, voice dropping to that sinful whisper that made your stomach flip.

"come on my fingers like a good girl. show me how well you can listen."

the command, coupled with the filthy sound of his fingers moving in you, tipped you over the edge. pleasure ripped through you like a live wire, your cunt clenching around his fingers as you sobbed his name into the humid air. he didn't let up, fucking you through it with ruthless precision, his lips ghosting your ear as you trembled and shook.

"told you," he whispered, voice thick with satisfaction as he finally slowed his movements, letting you ride out the aftershocks. his fingers slid out with a wet sound, bringing them to his lips to lick clean with deliberate slowness. "fuck, you taste even better than in the dreams."

you were still panting, oversensitive and dazed, when he laughed—soft and mean—and sank to his knees between your legs. the sight of him there sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

"cute," he murmured, before biting the inside of your thigh hard enough to make you yelp. the sharp pain melted into pleasure almost instantly, your traitorous body arching toward his mouth.

then his tongue was on you, licking a broad stripe through your folds with terrifying precision. it was just like the dream—his mouth hot and demanding, tongue sliding over your slit like he'd studied you, memorised the shape of your body in every twisted corner of this place. he started slow, languid licks that made you whine, your hips jerking forward on instinct—

he growled, low and guttural, hands digging into the backs of your thighs to lock you in place. "stay fucking still," he muttered into your pussy, voice raw with annoyance. "or i'll stop, and we both know you don't want that."

the threat shouldn't have worked. it shouldn't have made your stomach flip with something dangerously close to want. but you froze, hands fisting in your own hair as he dove back in, eating you like a starved thing—messy and loud and ravenous. his tongue curled inside you, lips sucking your clit until it throbbed, until tears stung your lashes from how good it felt, until you were gasping out broken little apologies you didn't even understand.

"please—" you choked out, unsure if you were begging him to stop or never stop, your thighs trembling with the effort to stay still.

he ignored you, his grip tightening as he licked a stripe up your soaked centre. "you say that like you have a choice," he murmured against your skin, the vibration making you jerk. "like you're not already mine in every way that matters." his teeth grazed your clit, the sharp edge of pleasure-pain making you cry out.

when he finally pulled away—lips shiny and chin dripping with you—he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and grinned up at you like he'd just won some grand prize.

"that's more like it," he whispered, stroking a finger through your folds one more time just to watch you twitch. "told you." his thumb pressed against your swollen clit, making you whimper as he rose to his full height, crowding you back against the mirrors.

"you were made to fall for me. every part of you."

as he stepped back into the mirror, literally melting into the glass like it was water, his final words followed you into the heavy silence.

“sweet dreams, darling.”

and you knew, with sinking dread, that they would be. he would see to that.

you woke up sprawled on the cold tile floor of an unfamiliar department, your body aching in ways that made heat crawl up your neck. your thighs stuck together uncomfortably, the fabric of your shorts damp in a way that had nothing to do with sweat. your throat felt raw, like you'd been screaming, but the last clear memory you had was sunghoon's fingers digging into your hips, his mouth—

"fuck," you hissed, slamming a fist against the floor hard enough to send a jolt of pain up your arm.

the sharp sting grounded you momentarily before the memories came flooding back—his hands everywhere, his voice whispering filth in your ear, the way your body had arched against him despite your screaming mind. you dragged your nails down your own arms, leaving angry red trails in their wake. "stop it. stop thinking about it."

but your skin still burned where he'd touched you, your pulse still throbbed between your legs in a traitorous rhythm.

you ripped a strip of fabric from your already tattered shirt with shaking hands, tying your tangled hair back with jerky movements. the scrap smelled faintly of his scent, that same scent that seemed to cling to every surface in this godforsaken mall. you threw it away violently, only to watch in horror as the fabric slithered back into your pocket like a living thing.

"i hate you," you whispered to the empty air, unsure if you were talking to sunghoon or yourself.

you walked with purpose this time, dragging your house keys along the walls to carve deep grooves in the paint. one scratch for every step, counting under your breath like a prisoner marking days.

"one hundred twenty-seven. one hundred twenty-eight." the numbers kept you sane, gave you something to focus on besides the way your body still hummed with residual pleasure. "one hundred twenty—"

the scratches disappeared before your eyes, the wall healing itself like fresh skin over a wound. you screamed then, a raw, guttural sound that echoed through the empty corridors.

"stop fucking with me!" your voice cracked on the last word, bouncing back to you in mocking repetition.

hours passed without any sign of sunghoon, and the silence grew teeth. it pressed against your eardrums until you found yourself humming just to fill the void, jumping at every creak of settling infrastructure. part of you—a traitorous, weak part—missed the sound of his voice, the way it curled around your name like a physical touch.

you shook your head violently, as if you could dislodge the thought. "shut up," you hissed to yourself, digging your nails into your palms. "just shut the fuck up."

that's when you found the theatre. it materialised at the end of a hallway that definitely hadn't been there yesterday, its ornate double doors gleaming under the emergency exit lights. the sign above read "starlight cinema" in peeling gold letters, though you'd never seen this place during your days of mapping the mall.

when you stepped closer, the doors swung inward with a whisper of movement, revealing a cavernous space of red velvet seats and a screen that took up the entire far wall.

your feet moved against your will, carrying you forward like a sleepwalker. the moment you crossed the threshold, the doors slammed shut behind you with a finality that made your stomach drop.

inside, the theatre was pristine—crimson velvet seats untouched by dust, the screen glowing faintly in the darkness. it smelled like fake butter and childhood nostalgia, the scent so incongruously normal it made your chest ache.

you sank into a plush seat without meaning to, your exhausted body folding into the comfort despite every warning bell ringing in your skull.

the screen flickered to life with a soft whir, showing shaky home footage of your bedroom. you watched, transfixed, as you saw yourself working on your studydesk, the scene not older than a year or two. the angle was skewed like someone was watching from the shower.

"stop," you whispered, fingers digging into the armrests.

you in your bedroom last year, dancing to a song only you could hear as you got ready for something. you crying in a car, your face illuminated by passing streetlights. you sleeping peacefully, the camera lingering on the rise and fall of your chest. hundreds of clips, some from moments you remembered vividly, others from mundane instants you'd never think to recall. and then—

you at your birthday party, blowing out candles for an age that you hadn’t turned yet. you old and grey, rocking slowly on a porch swing that didn't exist.

your blood turned to ice in your veins. "no," you whispered, fingers digging into the velvet armrests. "what the— this isn't—"

"i recorded all your best parts.

the seat beside you creaked as weight settled into it. you didn't need to look to know who was there. the scent of vanilla and matchsticks enveloped you first and then that oppressive buzz filled the air. then his fingers were prying your hands away from your face, his grip deceptively gentle.

"you see now, don't you?" sunghoon murmured, his breath warm against your ear. on screen, the footage showed you kissing him passionately, your hands fisted in his hair like you never wanted to let go. “i want to show you how pretty you look.”

"shhh," he soothed, pressing a finger to your lips just as you were about to scream at him. on screen, the footage changed to show last night—your head thrown back in pleasure, his mouth between your thighs.

"does it matter? you liked it. you came so hard you cried." his thumb brushed your bottom lip. "say thank you."

the words bubbled up in your throat before you could stop them. "thank you," you whispered, hating yourself even as your legs fell open slightly.

sunghoon smiled, slow and satisfied. "good girl." he stood abruptly, leaving you cold and aching in the theatre seat. "i'll be seeing you soon," he promised as he faded into the shadows. "very soon."

the screen went dark, then flickered back on to show real-time footage of you sitting there, your face flushed with desire and shame. as you watched, you couldn’t comprehend the rush of emotions going through you.

you staggered as you stood up, knocking over the popcorn stand in your rush to escape. the doors slammed shut behind you with finality, but it didn't matter—the images were burned into your retinas, playing on loop behind your eyelids every time you blinked. your future. your past. all his.

worst of all was the tiny, traitorous part of you that had lingered on one particular clip—the one where he'd kissed you so deeply you'd melted into it, your fingers tangled in his hair like you never wanted to let go.

that part of you wondered if resistance was even worth it anymore.

the maintenance corridor behind the shuttered arcade became your new hide out spot, its walls vibrating with a constant electrical hum that drowned out the mall's other noises.

you'd barricaded the door with a broken air hockey table, your back pressed against cold metal as you spread stolen flyers across the concrete floor. a penknife trembled in your hand as you carved routes into the paper, mapping every loop and dead end you'd encountered, marking each mirrored surface with a small 'x' that grew more frantic with each addition.

for the past few hours you had been constantly muttering patterns to yourself—three flickers of the lights meant he was nearby, that weird overhead buzzing preceded his appearances by seven seconds exactly, he always emerged from the largest reflective surface in any given room.

you'd figured it out through sleepless nights and panicked observation—sunghoon wasn't just haunting the mall. according to all the myths and stories you had read in your previous researched for an adventure, he was some type of a mirror entity, his presence woven into the mall’s very architecture. and mirrors were his doorways.

the realisation should have brought comfort because knowledge was power, wasn't it? but instead it settled in your stomach like a stone. how many reflective surfaces had you passed in your old life without realising he might be watching from the other side? how many shop windows, bathroom mirrors, even puddles on the street had been potential gateways for those hungry eyes?

the mall had continued shifting around you in subtle, malicious ways. you'd wake to find new corridors branching off familiar paths, their walls lined with mirrors angled just so to create infinite reflections. exit signs flickered and rearranged themselves into words that made your skin crawl when you accidentally read them aloud—"stay" one morning, "mine" the next.

you took to covering every reflective surface you passed with stolen clothing, your fingers shaking whenever you caught your own exhausted reflection in a shard of broken glass.

but the most terrifying change wasn't in the mall—it was in you. you started noticing the careful patterns in his stalking, the way he'd linger exactly three steps behind you in security mirror reflections before manifesting. how he'd pause near certain corridors, giving you time to notice escape routes that always, always led you somewhere worse.

he wasn't just chasing. he was leading you to where he wanted you to be. he had a sick fascination with chasing you. the realisation curled inside you like smoke, poisoning every thought even as your treacherous body began responding differently to his appearances—your pulse racing not just from fear, but from something hotter, darker, more shameful.

as you returned to reality from your spiralling thoughts, you realised that you hadn’t seen him in quite a while. it had been a few days and he had been pretty much laying low since the theatre incident.

so, you carefully removed the obstructions from the door and stepped outside to see what was going on. just as you turned right, a corridor appeared between one blink and the next—a stretch of space you were sure hadn’t been there yesterday, lined with rusting kiddie rides and claw machines that shuddered to life as you passed.

neon lights flickered overhead, painting the walls in harsh pinks and blues, the air full of mechanical chirps of arcade games activating without coins . your fingers tightened around the flashlight until the plastic groaned. every instinct screamed trap, trap, trap—he’d laid this path like a fisherman unspooling line, waiting to reel you in. and yet, your feet kept moving.

deeper into the arcade, a toy store’s entrance gaped dark ahead, its broken animatronic mascot slumped in the corner like a discarded puppet. you stepped inside before you could chicken out, the air thick with the scent of aged plastic and something faintly metallic.

"okay, seriously," you muttered, kicking a deflated basketball out of your path. it hit a shelf of waterlogged stuffed animals, their fur patchy with mold.

"how many times do i have to ask? why me?" your voice bounced off the ceiling, too loud in the silence. "why not just pick someone who'd actually want this fucked up—"

"because you're mine."

his voice came from everywhere at once—from the cracked speakers of a nearby karaoke machine, from the mouth of a decapitated doll at your feet, from the hot press of lips against your ear a second before hands locked around your waist. you gasped, elbow flying back to connect with nothing but air as he materialised behind you with a sharp smile.

"most guests just die," sunghoon continued, walking you backward until the checkout counter dug into your spine. his knee slid between yours, forcing your legs apart casually.

"scream themselves hoarse begging for doors that won't open. but you—" his teeth grazed your pulse point, biting down just hard enough to make you whimper. "you keep fighting. even when your pretty little cunt drips for me. even when you moan my name in your sleep."

your flashlight cracked against his cheek before you could think better of it, the sound echoeing like a gunshot.

for one terrifying second, the entire mall went still. the flickering lights froze. the distant hum of electricity cut out. then sunghoon's hand was fisting in your hair, yanking your head back so hard white spots danced in your vision.

"oh, darling," he purred, pupils swallowing his irises whole. "you're gonna regret that."

the world tilted as he spun you around, your front slamming into the counter hard enough to bruise. his body pressed flush against yours, every inch of him radiating predatory intent. you could feel him, all of him—the thick length of his cock straining against his pants, pressed snug against your ass. your breath hitched traitorously.

"still so fucking feisty," he mused, grinding forward just to hear you gasp. one hand kept yours pinned to the counter while the other slid down to squeeze your throat—not cutting off air, just reminding you he could. "gonna have to get rid of that nasty attitude, huh?"

you thrashed, but he just chuckled darkly, his free hand making quick work of his belt. the clink of metal hitting tile sent a shiver down your spine. when his cock sprang free, heavy and flushed against your lower back, your thighs pressed together instinctively.

"none of that," he tsked, delivering a sharp smack to your ass that made you yelp. the sting bloomed hot under your skin, mixing with the shameful pulse between your legs. "on your knees. now."

when you hesitated, his grip on your hair tightened, forcing you down until your knees hit cracked linoleum. the pain barely registered—not with the way he was staring down at you with dark hunger. his cock bobbed inches from your face, the tip glistening with precum.

"open," he demanded, thumb pressing against your bottom lip.

you clenched your jaw shut, glaring up at him through your lashes. bad move. his smile turned razor-sharp as he leaned down, his free hand slipping between your legs to rub two fingers against your soaked panties.

"really?" he mocked, feeling you jerk against his touch. "gonna play tough when you're this wet? fucking dripping just from me manhandling you?" his fingers pressed harder, drawing a broken moan from your lips. "open your mouth or i stop. your choice."

the threat shouldn't have worked. it shouldn't have made your stomach flip. but when his fingers started to pull away, your lips parted on a whimper.

"good girl," he crooned, sliding his cock between your lips before you could change your mind. the stretch burned—he was thicker than you expected, the head bumping the back of your throat immediately. tears pricked your eyes as you gagged, your nails digging into his thighs.

sunghoon groaned, his hips jerking forward instinctively. "fuck, look at you," he rasped, tilting your chin up so he could watch your lips stretch around him. "taking me so pretty even when you're pouting. gonna ruin you for anyone else."

his thrusts started slow—shallow pumps that let you adjust to his size. but when you hollowed your cheeks experimentally, his control shattered. suddenly he was fucking into your mouth with abandon, the head of his cock hitting your throat with every other thrust. tears streamed down your face as you choked, spit dripping down your chin in messy strands.

"that's it," he praised, fingers tightening in your hair. "take it. you love this, don't you? love how fucking filthy you look right now." his voice dropped to a growl. "bet you'd come just from this if i touched you."

the humiliating part was that he wasn't wrong. your hips rocked forward uselessly, seeking friction against the air. sunghoon laughed, the bastard, but didn't give you what you wanted, his thrusts only growing erratic.

"gonna cum," he warned, pulling back just enough to let you breathe. "swallow every drop or i'll make you lick it off the floor."

you barely had time to nod before he was coming, hot spurts flooding your tongue. you swallowed obediently, your throat working around him. his groan was downright sinful, his hips stuttering as he milked himself dry on your tongue.

when he finally pulled out, you gasped for air, your lips swollen and slick. sunghoon looked wrecked—hair mussed, chest heaving, his cock still hard and glistening with your spit. he crouched to your level, tilting your chin up with two fingers.

as he hauled you up and kissed you deep, you weren't entirely sure you minded. you wondered when exactly the lines between captor and something else had begun to blur.

"look at you," he murmured, voice wrecked, thumb brushing your lower lip like he was marvelling at some precious artifact. the way his dark eyes drank you in—mouth slack, lashes fluttering, that stubborn defiance still flickering beneath the dazed surrender—made heat crawl up your neck.

"so fucking pretty when you give in."

"i didn’t—ah!" your weak protest dissolved into a gasp as he suddenly gripped your jaw, his thumb pressing down on your tongue with possessiveness that sent sparks straight to your core.

"liar," sunghoon purred, watching with rapt attention as you instinctively sucked at his thumb. he dragged the wet digit down your neck, leaving a cool trail that made you shiver.

you opened your mouth to retort, but the words dissolved into a startled moan as he manhandled you with terrifying ease, spinning you around and bending you over the dusty counter so fast the world tilted. the cold air hit your exposed skin just before his palm did—a sharp smack that made you jerk forward with a yelp. "f-fuck!"

"always so loud," he teased, yanking your jeans down past your thighs with no patience, his fingers skating over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. you could feel his smirk against your shoulder blades as you trembled.

"so wet and i haven’t even touched you yet." his voice dipped into something awed, almost reverent, as he dragged two fingers through your slickness, spreading you open with obscene ease. "shit, you’re dripping. all for me?"

"shut up," you managed, voice trembling as much as your legs, fingers scrambling for purchase on the counter’s edge.

the denial sounded weak even to your own ears, especially when your hips pressed back instinctively at the first brush of his cock against your entrance—thick and hot and already leaking.

sunghoon’s laugh was dark as he lined himself up, one hand fisting in your hair to yank your head back. "say that again when you’re not grinding against me like some desperate thing," he challenged, before slamming into you with one brutal thrust that punched the air from your lungs.

you saw stars, knees buckling as the stretch burned—he was bigger than you’ve ever had, the ache bordering on too much until he pulled out and drove back in, hitting that spot inside you that made your toes curl.

"f-fuck! sunghoon—"

"that’s it," he growled, releasing your hair to grip your hips instead, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. each snap of his hips sent the counter rattling, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the abandoned store alongside your broken whimpers.

"take it. you can." his voice frayed at the edges as he angled deeper, the filthy squelch of your combined arousal filling the air. "fuck, the sounds you make..."

you bit your lip to stifle the noises, but he noticed immediately, leaning over your back to nip at your earlobe.

"none of that," he chided, breath hot against your neck. "i want to hear every pretty little noise i pull from you." his hand slid around to your clit, rubbing tight circles that had you arching with a cry. "that’s my girl. let go for me."

the coil in your belly tightened unbearably as he whispered filth in your ear—how perfect you felt wrapped around him, how he’d dreamt of this since the first moment he saw you through the glass, how he knew you’d come untouched if he just fucked you deep enough.

"p-please," you sobbed, nails scratching at the counter as your thighs quivered.

"please what, sweet thing?" he teased, thumb pressing harder on your clit as his thrusts turned erratic. "use your words."

"please let me come," you begged, the admission spilling out amidst broken moans. "i need it—need you—"

your orgasm crashed over you without warning as he snarled "good girl" against your skin, so intense your vision whited out, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer as you clenched around him.

sunghoon cursed, his rhythm faltering for the first time as he fucked you through it, his own release barrelling toward him.

"gonna fill you up," he rasped, hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt, spilling inside you with a groan that sounded almost pained. "fuck—fuck, you take me so well."

for one suspended moment, there was nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths and the slow drip of condensation from a broken freezer somewhere in the mall. then his lips brushed the shell of your ear, softer now, almost tender as he gently turned your face toward a nearby security mirror.

"look," he murmured, still sheathed inside you, his arms bracketing your trembling body. the reflection showed your wrecked form—flushed skin, bitten lips, his handprint blooming across your skin.

"see how beautiful we are together?" his fingers traced the love bites along your shoulder. "you don’t really want to leave."

the worst part wasn’t the words. it was the way your heart stuttered in agreement as you watched his lips graze your pulse point in the mirror—his satisfied smirk, your dazed eyes, the obscene way his cum leaked down your thigh when he finally pulled out. and god help you, you’d never felt more alive.

you didn’t pull away when sunghoon pressed closer, his chest warm against your back as he nuzzled into your nape. his fingers traced lazy circles on your hip through the sticky mess he’d left between your thighs, the touch somehow possessive and tender at once. your body just hummed with leftover pleasure, muscles loose and pliant like melted wax.

"say it," he murmured against your ear, lips brushing the shell so softly it made you shiver. "just once. i know you want to."

your throat tightened. you dug your nails into your palms, trying to summon the anger that used to come so easily. but all you could focus on was the way his breath hitched when your thighs squeezed together reflexively, how his hands trembled slightly where they gripped you—like he was the one unravelling now.

the word slipped out before you could stop it. "yours."

he went utterly still behind you. for one terrifying second, the entire mall seemed to hold its breath—the flickering lights froze mid-spasm, the distant dripping faucet you’d listened to for weeks went silent. then his arms locked around you so tight you felt his heartbeat against your spine, frantic as a caged bird.

when he turned you to face him, his eyes were different—not that eerie predator’s gaze, but something raw and human and starving.

"again," he demanded, voice cracking on the word.

you expected to feel trapped. instead, something warm uncoiled in your chest when his thumb brushed your cheekbone with unbearable gentleness.

"yours," you whispered, and watched his lashes flutter closed like you’d given him water after years in the desert.

the mall came alive around you. lights buzzed to life down the corridor, the broken neon sign outside the arcade sputtered pink and blue across your tangled bodies, and somewhere distant, a music box began playing that half-remembered lullaby from your childhood. when he kissed you, it wasn’t like before—no biting, no games—just slow, deep presses of his mouth that made your toes curl against the filthy tile.

"good girl," he breathed against your lips, the words so full of wonder it made your chest ache. "let me take care of you now. please." his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing, and you surprised yourself by tucking your face into his neck without protest. his skin smelled like that familiar vanilla and spicy scent, which was now comforting and familiar as your own heartbeat.

he carried you past mirrors that no longer showed your ragged reflection—just glimpses of a softer version of you with your fingers threaded through his hair, wrapped in his jacket, smiling sleepily up at him. part of you knew you should be terrified. the rest of you was too busy memorising the way his breathing stuttered when you nuzzled closer.

time moved differently after that. the mall stopped fighting you—or maybe you stopped fighting it. the flickering lights steadied. the food court started serving your favourite mango smoothies exactly when you craved them. one morning you woke to actual sunlight streaming through a skylight that hadn’t existed the night before, dust motes dancing in the beam like tiny stars.

"you’re spoiling me," you muttered when sunghoon pressed a cup of real coffee into your hands, just how you’d liked it before this place.

he grinned, all sharp teeth and boyish delight, as he flopped onto the mattress beside you.

"that’s the point, dummy." his fingers laced through yours, cold as always but no longer unsettling. "if you’re happy, i’m happy." the way he said it made your stomach flip—like your joy was his oxygen.

you learned the new rules slowly. when you mentioned missing thunderstorms, the mall piped in recorded rain sounds until sunghoon caught you crying to the fake patter and snapped his fingers to make it stop.

"none of that," he’d grumbled, pressing you into a pile of stolen blankets. "if you want real rain, i’ll find a way. just don’t—" his voice cracked. "don’t look at me like i’ve failed you."

the first time you saw another person—a college-aged girl with a backpack clutching her phone like a lifeline—your stomach dropped. sunghoon tensed beside you on the escalator, watching your face carefully.

"want me to scare her off?" he whispered, already smiling at the idea.

you studied the girl’s wide eyes as she took in the suddenly pristine stores, the way her fingers hovered over a rack of vintage dresses that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday. she looked like you, once. hopeful and stupid.

"no," you said at last, turning your face into sunghoon’s shoulder. "she’s too loud anyway."

his laugh was bright and surprised, his kiss to your temple so proud it made your cheeks burn. "whatever you want, darling."

as the girl wandered deeper into the mall, the lights behind her dim one by one. you don’t watch. you already knew how this was going to end.

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

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