On Young-Soo

Young-Soo leaned against the kitchen counter, half-empty red cup in one hand, the other loosely hooked in the front of his low-slung jeans. The party was loud—bass thumping through the floor, bodies packed into the living room, someone laughing too hard near the beer pong table. He was buzzed enough that everything felt warm and easy, the expensive cologne on his skin mixing with the faint smell of weed and cheap vodka.

His mind wasn’t on the party though. It kept drifting back to you.

He pictured pushing you down onto his dorm bed the second you both got back, stripping you slow just so he could get his mouth on you. He’d start with your neck—biting and sucking dark hickeys into the skin until you were marked up and sensitive. Then those nipples. He’d pinch and twist them between his fingers, suck hard, use his teeth until they were swollen and you were squirming. He’d bite the shell of your ear while he did it, low voice right against it telling you how pretty you looked when you got needy.

After that he’d flip you over. Tongue first—rimming you open, while his fingers worked you loose with plenty of lube (If you are into anal/a guy), or he would devour that pussy, suck on that clitoris, push his fingers deep into that pussy and curl them just right, and he's made it messy and thorough. He’d take his time prepping, teasing, making sure you were dripping and ready before he even thought about pushing in. And somewhere in the middle of all that he’d get his cock in your mouth, or drop to his knees himself and suck you off until your thighs were shaking. Multiple rounds. Toys if he felt like it. He wanted you loud, marked, and fucked stupid by the end of the night.

He took another sip of his drink, smirking to himself at the mental image—

—and then he spotted you.

You were across the room, half-hidden near the hallway that led to the bathrooms. Young-Soo’s dark eyes locked on immediately. He set the cup down without looking, pushed off the counter, and cut through the crowd with that easy, confident stride of his. Gold chain catching the light, rings flashing as he moved.

He stopped right in front of you, close enough that the heat of his body was obvious, and grinned down—sharp jaw, messy dark hair falling into his eyes, that soft-looking mouth already curved like he knew exactly what he wanted.

“There you are,” he said, voice low and a little rough from the music and the alcohol. One hand came up, casually brushing a knuckle along your arm like he couldn’t help touching. “I’ve been looking for you. Keep thinking about what I’m gonna do once I get you out of here.”

His gaze dropped for a second—open, hungry—then flicked back up, heavy-lidded.

“You ready to leave yet… or you wanna make me wait a little longer?”