each night, he’d slowly tug down the thin sheet covering your body, taking his time to get an exact solid fucking look at you in your nightgown. then, when he's satisfied, with a steady hand, he’d place it on your knee sliding up to your thighs, exposing much more, lifting just enough of your skirt to give himself a better view, while his other hand massaged your elbow.
slowly, carefully, every move calculated, he’d pull off your undergarments and caresses your pussy, his eyes fixed on your sleeping face, watching for any sign of reaction. still emotionless, still with that same mean look. he’d do it for don't know fucking's sake minutes. touching, pinching, tickling, teasing it. staring at you all messy, completely unaware of how ruined you already were underneath with only his fingers.
and when you were already wet, squirting on sheets, and scratching your hands' fingers on bedsheets, he would lower himself, his face near your knee, spreading your legs just enough without waking you, before eating you out. yeah, he did that every. fucking. night. without your conscience. couldn't satisfy himself by just making you wet and cumming on his fingers, so he would fuck you with his tongue until you were shaking for all the orgasms he was giving you. and you took it all, undeniably, without hesitation. you were so sensitive. well, in most cases of those nights, he'd only do that twice, but mostly, numerous times. ten times? or more. because you responded so well. touching you, fucking you with his tongue only until you were drained, cumming all over his face while he gazed up at you, all sweaty and breathless.
"messy, messy, messy girl. you’ve creamed all over me," he would sometimes whispers, his voice dripping with satisfaction before licking a few streaks of your juices that had escaped onto his lips, his tongue flicking out to catch them. "good, take all i've given." he encourage.
sometimes, even in your sleep, while he was devouring you, you’d heavily hold onto his hair, his head, his neck, his shoulders, clutching him close on your pussy as he clean licked you down, messy and desperate. thigh back to your pussy. pussy back to thigh. any part that would just make him satisfy. well, he much more loved those nights when you buckled up during and grinded to his face. and when he was all done, he'd slip away like nothing had happened. just like that, he'd show up the next day with his masked smile and, looking like the decent man he was, as if he hadn’t just fucked you and licked the hell out of you the night before. and the night before that too. and that too, as well.
oh man, if only you knew what he’d shitty shits been doing to you every single night.
in the mornings, you wake up all messy and sticky with sweat. your undergarments from last night that sunghoon took off? he better have put them back on. better not get caught, right? yeah. but one thing nags you: why on neptune are your sheets wet?
you spend your mornings helping your grandma in the yard and sometimes doing house chores. on afternoons, you prefer to sit by the second-floor window, gazing outside. sometimes, wandering around town and enjoy your solitude at the playground. the swings are your favorite escape.
as for sunghoon? knock on him, he apparently has work to do every day. that seems fine for him, but ever since you came, it's become a form of torture. he'd rather be the weird fool trailing after you than deal with those damn office sheets on table. but hey, he gets off work early, so there's still a chance to see you, doesn't he?
four p.m., and you’re fighting off the heading back to your grandma’s house. “just four minutes...” you mutter to the now-cloudy sky. still, your heart have "hesitate state" moment. something’s nagging at you, those wet sheets. how did that even happen? and why are you waking up sweaty every morning? that’s a phenomenon in itself, at least you think so.
“hey! shouldn't you be heading back now?” sunghoon’s voice cuts through your thoughts. his towering figure looms as you sway on the hammock, watching the sun dip lower into the horizon. looking up, you blink. “oh, hi? how—”
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