Chapter Text
ACORN'S POV
Dear Diary,
You know those days where everything starts normal and then spirals into "what the actual hell" territory? Yeah, today was one of those.
It began with Till and Ivan. They had been bickering in the dorm about lunch — Ivan whining about needing "real food" off-campus, Till pretending he wasn't starving too. "Fine." Till grumbled finally, grabbing his hoodie. "But only because you're annoying me into it."
Ivan grinned like he had won the lottery. "Date accepted."
Till: "It's not a—"
Ivan: "Shh, babe. Save the denial for after I buy you ramen."
They left together, shoulders brushing, and I swear the air crackled with unresolved tension. Smh, they are just dating at this point. Why fight it?
Anyway, that left me alone in the dorm. Peaceful, right? Wrong.
The Suspicious USB
I was chilling at my desk, scrolling memes, when a classmate from my lit class knocked on the door.
Let's call him Sketchy Steve — because he handed me a USB drive with a wink and said, "Hey, Acorn, you wanted those notes from last week? Here ya go."
I didn't remember asking for notes, but hey, free study aid. I thanked him, he bolted like he had somewhere shady to be, and I plugged it into my laptop without a second thought.
Big mistake.
The file auto-played. At first, it was just a black screen. Then — moans. Low, breathy ones. Followed by a close-up of two guys tangled in sheets, hands everywhere, bodies grinding like they were auditioning for an adult film award.
Porn. It was porn.
My face went nuclear red. I'd never watched anything like this before. Sure, I'd heard about it, seen memes, but actually seeing it?
Holy crap. The way one guy arched his back, gasping as the other trailed fingers down his chest — It was terrifying. And hot. Like, "oh no, my body's reacting without permission" hot.
I should have closed it immediately. But curiosity (and that weird, tingling heat building in my gut) kept me frozen.
The screen guy's hand dipped lower, stroking himself slow and deliberate, and I felt my own pants tighten.
What the hell? This wasn't me. I wasn't... but damn, the sounds. The slick slide of skin, the whimpers turning into desperate pleas.
Before I knew it, my hand was fumbling with my zipper. Just to adjust. But then I was palming myself through my boxers, breath hitching at the friction.
The video guy's fingers circled his nipples, pinching until they pebbled, and a jolt shot straight to my core.
Experimentally, I slipped my free hand under my shirt, brushing my thumb over one of mine.
Oh god. It was like electricity — sharp, needy, making me squirm in my chair.
I shoved my pants down just enough, wrapping my fingers around my cock. It was already hard, leaking a bit at the tip, and the first stroke had me biting my lip to stifle a groan.
Slow at first, matching the video's rhythm, but then faster as the heat coiled tighter. My other hand tweaked my nipple harder, rolling it between thumb and forefinger, sending sparks down my spine. Sweat beaded on my forehead; my hips bucked involuntarily.
"F-fuck." I whispered, eyes glued to the screen where things were escalating — mouths, hands, everything messy and intense.
And then my brain betrayed me.
The guy on screen kinda looked like Hyunwoo. Broad shoulders, that confident smirk.
Suddenly, it was him in my head — his hands on me, his voice murmuring low. "Hyunwoo." I moaned softly, stroking faster, chasing that building pressure.
We were not dating, not really — just this mutual "thing" with lingering looks and accidental touches that left me flustered.
But god, I am imagining him here.
Hyunwoo's Grand Entrance
The door burst open without warning. "Hey, Till, I need help with this art assign—"
Hyunwoo.
Standing there, sketchbook in hand, eyes widening as he took in the scene:
Me, pants around my thighs, hand mid-stroke, video still playing its symphony of moans.
Time stopped.
My heart hammered like it was trying to escape my chest. "H-Hyunwoo?!"
He froze, door half-shut behind him. His gaze dropped to my lap, then flicked to the screen, then back to my face — flushed, wrecked, nipples still peaked under my rumpled shirt.
I expected him to bolt, yell, anything.
Instead, he stepped inside, kicking the door shut with his heel. His eyes darkened, that mutual "thing" we had been dancing around igniting like a match to gasoline.
"Acorn." He said, voice rougher than I had ever heard it. "Were you... saying my name?"
I couldn't deny it. My hand was still wrapped around myself, traitorous body throbbing at his stare. "I... uh... it's not—"
He dropped his sketchbook on Till's bed, crossing the room in two strides. "Don't stop on my account." But then he was there, kneeling in front of my chair, hands on my knees, spreading them wider.
His touch was warm, calloused from whatever sporty nonsense he did, and it sent shivers racing up my thighs.
"Hyunwoo, what are you—" My words cut off in a gasp as his fingers trailed up my inner thigh, brushing dangerously close.
"Helping." He murmured, leaning in until his breath ghosted over my skin. "Since you're thinking about me anyway."
One hand replaced mine on my cock — god, his grip was firm, confident, stroking slow and teasing from base to tip.
I bucked into it, a whine escaping my throat.
Sensory Overload: The rough pad of his thumb circling the head, smearing the precum, while his other hand pushed my shirt up, exposing my chest.
His fingers found my nipples, pinching one gently at first, then harder when I arched into it. "Like that?" He asked, voice husky, watching my face like he was memorizing every reaction.
"Y-yes." I stammered, hands gripping the chair arms. Every tweak sent jolts straight down, making my cock twitch in his hand. He rolled the bud between his fingers, tugging lightly, and I moaned louder — reactive as hell, body trembling under his touch.
The video was forgotten. This was real, his scent (clean soap and something woodsy) filling my nose, his heat pressing against me.
He sped up his strokes, twisting his wrist on the upstroke in a way that had stars bursting behind my eyes. "You're so sensitive." He growled, leaning closer to nip at my collarbone.
His free hand switched to the other nipple, pinching and soothing in turns, building that coil tighter and tighter.
I was a mess — hips thrusting erratically, breaths coming in pants, every nerve singing from his touches.
"Hyunwoo, please." I begged, not even sure what for. More? Faster? Him?
He chuckled low, the vibration humming against my skin as he kissed down my neck. "I've got you." His hand pumped harder, slick sounds filling the room, thumb pressing just under the head where it made me see white.
The dual assault on my nipples — one pinched, the other circled — pushed me right to the edge.
I came with a cry, spilling over his hand, body shuddering as waves crashed through me.
In that peak, he bit down on my neck — not hard enough to bruise badly, but enough to mark, teeth grazing possessively.
"Mine." He whispered against the skin, voice fierce and final.
I slumped back, chest heaving, aftershocks tingling everywhere.
He pulled away slowly, wiping his hand on a tissue from my desk like it was no big deal, but his eyes were intense, locked on mine.
"Hyunwoo... what are we now?" I managed, voice wrecked, spiraling because holy shit, that just happened.
He smirked, but there was softness there too. "Whatever we want to be. But yeah... mine."
And then he grabbed his sketchbook and left, like he had not just turned my world upside down.
Note to self:
If Till and Ivan come back and smell the awkward in here, I am blaming the USB.
Also, figure out what "mine" means before I combust. And maybe delete that file.
Or... watch it again?
No. Bad idea. Definitely bad.