hottest shit i've seen in my fucking life

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@abrokecollegekid
hottest shit i've seen in my fucking life
What She Becomes
Idol : Kyujin Nmixx
Tags : BDSM, Bondage, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Obedience Training
Words : 2299
The elevator doors slide shut and Kyujin lets out the breath she's been holding all day.
Nine hours of filming. Smiling until her cheeks ached. Answering questions about her "ideal type" with that practiced demure giggle. The stylist's hands in her hair, the heat of the lights, the constant press of being watched.
Here, in the carpeted silence of the fifteenth floor hallway, none of it exists.
She walks to the door at the end — the one with no security code she needs to remember, the one her body knows by feel. Her fingers find the familiar cool metal of the spare key hidden beneath the fake plant. Her hand trembles as she fits it into the lock.
Inside, the apartment smells like him. Leather and cedar and something darker underneath. She locks the door behind her and stands in the entryway, heart already hammering.
He's waiting on the sofa. Dark shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Legs apart, elbows on his knees, a length of black leather coiled in his hands. He doesn't stand when she enters. Doesn't smile. Just watches her the way he always does — like she's something he owns, something he's about to take apart.
"Manners," he says.
Kyujin drops to her knees.
The carpet is rough against her bare shins. She lowers her head, hair spilling forward, and waits. This is how every session starts. The ritual of it quiets the noise in her head, the chatter of the day, the mask she's been wearing. Here she doesn't have to perform. Here she just has to obey.
"Crawl to me."
She moves. Palms flat on the carpet, knees sliding forward one at a time. The skirt of her dress hikes up her thighs. She doesn't fix it. Doesn't ask permission. She just crawls until she reaches his feet and stops, head still bowed.
His hand lands on the back of her head. Fingers threading into her hair, gripping tight, pulling her face up.
"Good girl."
The praise hits her like a current. She feels it in her chest, her stomach, the damp heat already gathering between her thighs. She wants to say thank you but knows better. She doesn't speak until given permission.
He releases her hair and stands. Walks to a drawer by the window and pulls out the collar.
Black leather, two inches wide, lined with soft suede. A silver ring at the front. She's seen it a hundred times and it still makes her throat tighten. He brings it back and crouches in front of her.
"Present."
She lifts her chin. Tilts her head back. Bares her throat.
The leather wraps around her neck, snug and warm. The buckle clicks shut. He adjusts it — not tight enough to choke, tight enough that she can feel it with every swallow. His fingers linger at the clasp, thumb brushing her pulse point.
"Strip the bed," he says. "Then wait on your knees beside it. Naked."
He leaves the room. The bedroom door is already open. She rises on unsteady legs and goes to do as she's told.
The bed is a low platform frame with dark sheets. She strips them efficiently — fitted sheet, flat sheet, pillowcases — and piles them in the corner. He'll want clean ones laid out fresh after. That's part of the pattern too.
She undresses. The dress falls to a puddle at her feet. She unhooks her bra, rolls down her stockings, and folds everything into a neat stack. Naked except for the collar, she kneels beside the bed.
The hardwood is cold and unforgiving. She focuses on the sensation, lets it ground her. Her nipples tighten in the air-conditioned stillness. Her skin prickles with anticipation.
He returns with ropes.
Three lengths of jute, already coiled. A fourth rope, thinner, with a metal clip at the end. He sets them on the nightstand and looks at her.
"How many days since I took you apart?"
"Six," she says. Her voice cracks. "Six days, sir."
"Six days is too long." He crosses to her, hands finding her shoulders, pushing her forward until her forehead touches the floor. Ass up, knees apart, presenting herself. "You get needier every time. You know that?"
"Yes, sir."
"You've been thinking about it. During your soundcheck. During rehearsal. Looking at the cameras and imagining what they'd see if they knew."
Her breath hitches. "Yes, sir."
He runs a hand down her spine, slow and deliberate, stopping at the small of her back. "You want them to know, don't you? You want everyone to see what you really are."
"No, sir." The lie tastes thin. "Just you. Only you."
"Lift up."
She rises back to her knees. He takes her wrists and crosses them behind her back. The jute wraps around her skin in precise loops — not tight, never truly tight, but bound. A knot at the wrists, then another, then the rope winding up her forearms in a pattern he's taught her to recognize. The futomomo. The rope bites into the soft flesh of her upper arms. She flexes against it and feels the resistance, the surrender.
He pauses. "Color?"
"Green," she breathes.
"Good."
He works the rope around her thighs next, binding her calves to her thighs in diamond patterns that force her to stay folded, to stay open. When he's done she can't straighten her legs. Can barely shift position. She kneels there, trussed and exposed, and the vulnerability of it makes her slick.
He slides two fingers along her cunt without warning. She gasps. He doesn't say anything, just shows her the wetness on his fingertips, then wipes them on her thigh.
"You're ready."
He caps her mouth with the ball gag. The rubber sphere fills her mouth, the strap buckling tight behind her head. Her whimper comes out muffled. Drool immediately starts to pool at the corners of her lips.
He drags her to the center of the bed by her bound ankles.
Kyujin lands on her back, ropes creaking, hair splayed across the bare mattress. Her thighs are bound open, pressed against her chest, the futomomo rigging forcing her into a permanent display. Her pussy is completely exposed — wet, swollen, the lips parted and glistening.
He stands at the foot of the bed, looking at her like she's a spread meal.
"Beautiful," he says, and the word cuts through her like a blade. "You were made for this."
He climbs onto the bed. His weight dips the mattress. He settles between her bound thighs, his belt buckle pressing cold against her slick skin, and reaches for the crop.
The first stroke lands across her left breast.
The sound of it. The sharp crack that follows the swing. Her body jerks, a muffled cry escaping through the gag. The pain blooms white-hot then settles into a deep throb.
"You count," he says.
She nods frantically.
The second stroke hits her other breast, symmetrical, perfect. Her eyes sting.
Two.
The third lands across her ribs. The fourth across her stomach. Each one makes her buck, makes her thighs strain against the ropes, makes the drool run faster down her chin. She's counting in her head, losing track, then finding it again. Seven. Eight. Nine. Her skin is on fire. Her cunt is dripping onto the sheets.
Fifteen.
The crop traces down her body, the leather tip dragging through the sheen of sweat on her stomach, dipping between her legs. He presses the flat end against her clit.
"Look at you," he murmurs. "Soaked from getting spanked. You're not right in the head, you know that?"
She moans an agreement.
He discards the crop. Unbuckles his belt. The sound of his zipper fills the room. He frees his cock — thick, hard, the head already slick. He strokes himself once, twice, then lines up at her entrance.
He doesn't push in.
He just holds it there, the tip pressing against her, teasing the opening she can't close. Her body trembles. Her hips try to tilt, to take him, but the ropes hold her in place. She's completely at his mercy.
"Beg," he says.
She can't. The gag makes it impossible. She whines, eyes wide, nodding frantically, making pleading sounds that come out distorted and pathetic.
He slaps her cunt. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to shock. "Try harder."
She screams against the gag. A raw, desperate sound. She's crying now — tears spilling over her cheekbones, mixing with the drool. She nods and nods and makes the ugliest sounds she can manage.
"Good enough."
He sinks into her in one smooth thrust.
Kyujin's back arches off the bed. Her scream is swallowed by rubber. He fills her completely, stretching her, the sensation overwhelming after six days without. Her walls clamp down, trying to adjust, and he gives her exactly one second before he pulls back and drives in again.
He fucks her hard and fast. No warm-up. No mercy. His hips slap against her bound thighs, the sound wet and rhythmic. Her breasts bounce with every thrust. The crop marks glow red across her pale skin.
He reaches down and finds her clit with his thumb, pressing hard circles into the swollen nub.
Her muffled screams pitch higher. Her whole body locks up, the orgasm building too fast, too bright. She shakes her head — not yet, not yet — but he doesn't stop. He presses harder, fucks deeper, and she comes with a broken cry that rips through her chest.
Her vision whites out. Her muscles spasm around his cock, milking him, and he keeps thrusting through it, drawing it out until she's sobbing and trembling beneath him.
"That's one," he says. "I'm not close."
He pulls out. The absence is almost painful. She lies there, bound and dripping, gasping through the gag.
He flips her over.
The ropes force her to fold. She ends up on her chest, knees tucked under her, ass raised, the futomomo rigging keeping her legs pressed into a frog position. He yanks her up by the collar — the leather digs into her throat, cutting off her air for a moment before he loosens it.
"Stay."
He leaves the bed. Returns with the thin rope. He clips it to the ring at the front of her collar, then runs it back between her legs, over her bound wrists, and up to his hand. A makeshift lead.
"On your hands. No — on your elbows."
She struggles into position. The rope creaks. Her elbows dig into the mattress, her ass high in the air, her face pressed sideways into the sheets. He tugs the lead and her head lifts, her spine curving.
The new angle exposes everything.
He enters her from behind. The change in position makes him hit deeper, the angle different, the stretch sharper. She muffles a scream into the mattress.
He starts fucking her and yanking the lead in rhythm.
Every pull on the rope tightens the tension between her collar and her wrists, forces her spine to bow further, makes her take him deeper. The rope between her legs rubs against her clit with every movement — a friction she didn't expect, that she can't escape. Her second orgasm builds without permission.
"Look at you," he grunts above her. "My little pet. My perfect little whore."
She moans in response, the sound animal and raw.
He wraps her hair around his fist and pulls. Her head snaps back, the gag pressing deeper, her throat exposed. He fucks her harder, faster, the slap of his hips against her ass echoing in the room.
"I'm going to fill you up," he says, voice low and rough. "Going to pump this cunt full until it leaks out of you. That's what you want, isn't it?"
She can't nod — he has her hair. But she whimpers, desperate, pleading.
"Tell me."
She screams against the gag, a long, incoherent sound that means yes yes please yes.
He comes with a guttural groan, his hips locking against hers, and she feels it — the hot pulse of him filling her, pumping deep, flooding her with the evidence of his claim. The sensation triggers her own orgasm, a convulsion that rips through her, her walls clenching around him, milking every drop.
They stay frozen for a long moment. His cock still inside her, his hand still fisted in her hair, the rope still taut between them.
Then he breathes out, slow and satisfied, and begins to untie her.
Later — she's not sure how much later — she's on her knees in front of him again. The ropes are gone. The gag is gone. The collar remains.
She's cleaning him with her tongue. Slow, methodical, tasting herself on his skin. He strokes her hair with something approaching tenderness.
"Good girl," he says. "You took that so well."
She looks up at him, eyes still wet, lips swollen, marks blooming across her skin like flowers.
"Thank you, sir."
He tilts her chin up. "Come here."
She rises into his lap. He wraps an arm around her waist and holds her against his chest, her ear pressed to his heartbeat. She can feel his cum still leaking out of her, warm and wet against her thigh.
"How's your body?"
"Good," she says. "Sore. Good."
"Marks are going to be visible tomorrow."
"I'll cover them. I always do."
He kisses the top of her head. And for a few minutes, there's nothing else — no cameras, no schedules, no thousands of eyes demanding she be someone else. Just her, here, held, owned, complete.
"One more round before I let you sleep," he says.
She lifts her head, already nodding.
"Please, sir."
He smiles. It's the only smile he gives her, the one that belongs to this room, this version of her. "On your back. I want to watch your face when you break."
Which members use their tits to distract people?
Obviously Chaeyeon😏
But also Sohyun, Naky, Hyerin & Jiyeon
The Long Way Home
Idol : Minji Newjeans
Tags : I don't know what tags to give to this story, please give me suggestions.
Words : 2670
The train station hadn't changed in fifteen years. Same chipped blue bench. Same faded schedule board that still listed routes to towns that didn't have working tracks anymore. Minji stood on the platform with her suitcase, the coastal wind pulling strands of hair across her face, and felt something in her chest loosen for the first time in months.
She saw him before he saw her.
Jaehyun leaned against the hood of his old truck, arms crossed, head tilted down at his phone. He'd filled out since she last saw him shoulders broader under a worn flannel shirt, jaw sharper, the soft boyishnes of nineteen replaced by something steadier. But when he looked up and their eyes met, the smile that broke across his face was exactly the same.
He crossed the lot in long strides. Stopped a foot from her. Then his hands came up, hesitated, and he let out a short laugh.
"Look at you."
"Look at me," she said, and her voice cracked on the last word.
He pulled her in.
The hug was solid and warm and smelled like coffee grounds and old paper. Minji pressed her face into his shoulder and breathed. His arms locked around her back, one hand cradling the back of her head like she was something precious. She felt the rumble of his voice against her cheek.
"You're home."
She nodded into his shirt.
"Come on," he said, soft. "I've got your favorite."
He didn't mean the food. She knew he didn't. But she let him take her suitcase and open the passenger door and wait until she was settled before he closed it, because some things the best things you didn't have to say out loud.
His truck smelled like him. Coffee, paper, the faint ghost of woodsmoke. Minji let her head fall back against the seat as the town rolled past the old pharmacy, the bridge with the graffiti that had been there since she was twelve, the corner store where they used to steal candy from the loose jar on the counter.
"I heard about the lawsuit," Jaehyun said quietly. His hands were steady on the wheel. "Saw it on the news."
"Everyone saw it on the news."
"That's not" He paused. Frowned at the road. "I meant I saw it. Not the news. You. In the photos from the press conference. You looked like you hadn't slept in a week."
Minji watched the trees blur past. "I hadn't."
"Minji."
The way he said her name not Kim Minji, not the stage name, not the headline. Just her name, the way he'd said it a thousand times when they were kids, pulling her out of a tree or handing her a bandage for a scraped knee.
"I'm fine now."
"Are you?"
She turned to look at him. His profile was sharp against the afternoon light, jaw tight, eyes fixed ahead. He was worried. He'd always worn his worry openly, even when he thought he was hiding it.
"I will be," she said. And then, quieter: "I am, actually. Sitting in this truck. Right now."
Something in his shoulders eased.
The house was the same. Her parents had kept it her mother had called, tearful, when the news broke, begging her to come home. Minji had resisted for weeks, then months, until one night she'd sat alone in her Seoul apartment staring at the ceiling at 3 AM and realized she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt the sun on her skin.
So she'd booked the train.
Jaehyun carried her suitcase up the porch steps. Her mother was already at the door, already crying, already pulling her into an embrace that smelled like sesame oil and laundry detergent. Her father stood behind, gruff and silent, but his eyes were wet when he hugged her.
She ate dinner at the kitchen table. Real food. Her mother's cooking. Jaehyun stayed, invited by her mother before she could even ask, and they ate together like they were seventeen again, knees bumping under the table, passing dishes without having to speak.
After, he walked her to the gate.
"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.
"I don't have a schedule."
"Then I'll pick you up at nine. I want to show you something."
"What?"
"You'll see."
The next morning, he took her to the creek.
It had been their place a bend in the water where the trees leaned in close and the light fell in green-gold patches. Someone had built a rope swing since she'd last been there, but otherwise it was untouched. The same flat rocks. The same deep pool where they'd learned to swim.
They sat on the bank with their shoes off, feet in the water, and talked for three hours.
About the lawsuit. About the exhaustion of smiling when you didn't mean it. About the girl she'd been at fifteen, the one who'd stood in this same creek and sworn she'd never leave this town, and the woman she'd become who'd had to leave to understand what she was running from.
Jaehyun listened. That was what he'd always done best not fixing, not advising, just sitting beside her and letting her empty herself out until there was room to breathe again.
"You know what I thought?" he said, when she'd gone quiet. "When I saw you yesterday. Getting off that train."
"What?"
He picked up a flat stone, turned it over in his fingers. "I thought, there she is."
"I was right there."
"No." He shook his head. "I mean there she is. The real one. Not the one on the posters. Not the one in the headlines. Just Minji. Standing in the sun looking tired and beautiful and like she needed someone to carry her bag."
Her throat tightened. "Jaehyun"
"I'm not done." He set the stone down. Met her eyes. "I've been waiting for you to come home for a long time. I didn't know if you ever would. But I kept the shop the way you left it. I kept the corner with the cushions where you used to read. I kept" He stopped. Let out a breath. "I kept hoping."
The water moved past their feet. A bird called somewhere above them.
"Jaehyun."
"I know." He smiled, but it was different now smaller, more careful. "I know you didn't come back for this. You came back to rest. And that's fine. I just I wanted you to know. So you could decide what you want. Without me hiding it."
That night, she couldn't sleep.
She lay in her childhood bed, the ceiling painted with glow-in-the-dark stars she'd put up when she was twelve, and replayed every word he'd said. Every look. Every time his hand had brushed hers while they walked back from the creek.
She thought about the way he'd looked at her in the truck. The way he'd held her at the station. The way he said her name like it mattered.
At midnight, she got up. Pulled on a hoodie. Walked barefoot down the street to his shop.
The lights were on.
He was sitting in the window their corner, the one with the cushions and the low table and the lamp that cast warm yellow light. A book was open in his lap. He was reading, head bent, fingers tracing the page, and when she knocked on the glass, he looked up like he'd been expecting her.
He opened the door. Stood aside. Let her in.
"I couldn't sleep," she said.
"Neither could I."
She walked past him into the shop. It smelled like old books and candle wax and him. She stopped in the middle of the room, wrapped her arms around herself, and turned to face him.
"Say it again."
"What?"
"What you said at the creek. Say it again."
He crossed the room slowly. Stopped close enough that she could feel the warmth coming off him. His hand came up and hovered near her face giving her time, giving her the choice and when she didn't pull away, he cupped her cheek.
"I love you," he said. "I've loved you since we were fifteen and you fell out of that tree and landed on top of me and I thought I was going to die from how close you were. I loved you when you left for Seoul. I loved you when you became someone the whole world got to see. I loved you every single day you were gone, and I didn't stop, and I can't stop, and I don't want to stop."
Tears were running down her face. She didn't know when they'd started.
"I thought I'd lost you," she whispered. "To the industry. To the noise. I thought when I left that I'd left you behind. But you were here the whole time. You were waiting."
"I would've waited forever."
She kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. It was desperate weeks of exhaustion and years of distance and a lifetime of almosts crashing together in the space where their mouths met. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer and he made a sound against her lips, low and surprised, before his arms locked around her and kissed her back like he was drowning.
His hands slid into her hair. She tilted her head and opened her mouth and the kiss deepened, wet and searching, his tongue brushing against hers. She felt it everywhere her chest, her stomach, low in her belly where heat was already pooling.
"I need you to touch me," she breathed against his mouth. "I need Jaehyun, I need"
"Tell me."
"Everything. I need everything."
He didn't take her to his bed fast enough. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders while he undid the tie on her hoodie. They stumbled through the small apartment behind the shop, leaving a trail of clothes her shirt, his belt, her jeans pooling on the floor, his boxers kicked aside.
The bed was soft. The sheets were dark blue. He laid her down and the moonlight came through the window and painted her skin silver.
He looked at her.
For a long moment, he just looked.
"You're so beautiful," he said. Not like he was saying something nice. Like he was stating a fact he'd known forever and was finally allowed to say out loud.
"Stop looking," she whispered, but she was smiling.
"I can't. I've been waiting too long."
He lowered himself over her. His body was warm and solid, the weight settling between her thighs, the length of him pressing against her through the thin fabric of her panties. She felt his breath on her neck, and then his mouth, open and hot, trailing down her throat.
She arched beneath him. Her fingers found his hair, gripped tight, pulled him closer.
"Jaehyun."
He answered by kissing the space between her collarbones. Then lower. His lips traced the swell of her breasts and she felt her nipples tighten, felt the anticipation build, felt his tongue circle one before closing around it.
Her breath caught. Her back came off the bed.
He took his time. He kissed and licked and sucked until she was writhing, her hips pressing up against him, the ache between her legs growing unbearable.
"Please," she said. "Please, Jaehyun."
He looked up at her. His mouth was wet. His eyes were dark.
"Please what?"
"You know."
He smiled soft, knowing. Then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them down her legs.
The air was cool against her skin. She was wet she could feel it, slick and warm, and she saw him see it, saw his breath catch when he looked at her.
"You have no idea," he said, "how many times I've imagined this."
"Show me."
He lowered his head between her thighs.
The first touch of his tongue was so gentle it almost hurt. He licked her slowly, deliberately, learning the shape of her with his mouth, tasting the wet heat of her cunt like she was something sacred. Her hands fisted in the sheets. Her thighs trembled.
"Fuck," she breathed. "Jaehyun"
He hummed against her and the vibration made her hips jerk. He did it again, on purpose, his tongue circling her clit, and she cried out, a sound she didn't recognize, raw and broken.
He worked her with steady patience. Licking, sucking, pressing his tongue inside her then back up to where she needed him most. Her breathing turned to gasps. Her legs started to shake.
"Close," she managed. "I'm so close"
He pulled back.
"No"
"I want to be inside you," he said. "I want to feel you come around my cock."
The words hit her like a physical blow. She reached for him, pulled him up, kissed him and tasted herself on his lips.
"I want you," she said. "I've wanted you. I've always wanted you."
He positioned himself between her thighs. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance, slick with her wetness, and he paused.
"Look at me."
She did.
"I love you, Minji. Not because of what you are. Because of who you are. The girl who fell out of trees. The woman who came home."
Tears blurred her vision. "I love you too. I love you. I love you."
He pushed inside her.
The sensation was overwhelming the stretch, the fullness, the slow depth of him filling her inch by inch until he was seated completely, his hips flush against hers, her body gripping him tight and hot and perfect.
She gasped. He groaned, dropping his forehead to hers.
"Minji."
"Move. Please. Move."
He started slow. Deep, rolling thrusts that pushed the air from her lungs, that made her feel him everywhere in her chest, in her throat, in the clench of her cunt around him with every withdrawal. He held her gaze. He watched her come apart.
"More," she said, and he gave her more.
His pace quickened. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room wet, rhythmic, obscene. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, and the angle changed and he hit something inside her that made her see white.
"There," she gasped. "There, there, don't stop"
He didn't. He drove into her, harder now, his breathing ragged, his hands gripping her hips, her thighs, her breasts he touched everywhere, claimed everything, and she took all of it, wanting more, needing all of him.
"I can feel you," he said, his voice wrecked. "You're squeezing me so tight. Fuck, Minji"
"Come inside me," she said. "I want to feel you. I want to feel all of you."
That did something to him. His rhythm faltered. His eyes went dark and desperate. He drove into her once, twice, and then she felt him his body tensing, his mouth opening against her neck, the hot pulse of his release filling her.
The feeling pushed her over. Her orgasm crashed through her, wave after wave, her cunt clenching around his cock, milking him through it, and she cried out his name as her body shook and trembled and finally, finally, went still.
After, they lay tangled together. His hand traced lazy patterns on her hip. Her head rested on his chest, rising and falling with his breath.
The window was open a crack. She could hear the creek in the distance.
"I have to go back," she said quietly. "If the lawsuit resolves. I have to go back."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "I know."
"Will you wait for me?"
His hand found hers. Their fingers laced together.
"I've been waiting my whole life," he said. "A few more years? That's nothing."
She pressed a kiss to his chest. Closed her eyes.
"Then I'll always have somewhere to come home to."
He kissed the top of her head. "You always have."
The moonlight shifted across the bed. The creek kept running. And Minji for the first time in longer than she could remember slept through the whole night without dreaming.
ONE-SHOT : SHE KNOWS
MASTERLIST
POP UP THOUGHTS
SAW THIS AND THOUGHT :
Haerin knew exactly what I was doing, as she did just enough to tease me. By throwing a little extra effort in her ass movement, with her dropping it a little lower and moving it a little slower; for me to get a good view as she looked back at me, with her dead silent judgmental look on her face, while my eyes was still widened as she just smirked back at me. Knowing dam well, her tight little ass had me in a choke hold, and that it would only take a nod from her to get me :
on my knees as she spread her ass open, and as if it was second nature, I took the opportunity to spit in it as I leave my tongue out; for her to rub her exposed sweaty butthole up & down it. Licking it clean as she drags her dirty tight muscle ring on it, making me feel every wrinkle & sweat drop it held. To the point were I can keep a mental image of how her puckered hole looks like. As I straighten my tongue and push it through her rim, having it spread open easily while it wraps tightly around the part of my tongue that was in her rectum. Having the tip of it scrape the walls of her anus tasting every inch of her, as I try to loosen up her insides with my tongue. While the taste of her most dirtiest, nastiest, sweatiest part leaves me throbbing falling for her.
Haerin knowing this smiled, as she kept performing dancing a little harder to build a little more sweat; with every so often looking at me while giving a sense of : "she knew what she was going to do later with the sweat that was building between legs, from between her ass to her pussy lips."
The Wannabe MILF next door
They don't know about us
Starring : Male oc x Ahyeon Baby Monster
Warning : This story theme was contained with Incest, incest marriage, father-daughter, impregnated, breeding.
One-shot.
[Wife/Daughter]
Start Reading
Pre-Show Rituals
Idol : Mina Twice
Words : 3300
The Manila dressing room hummed with the distant thump of the soundcheck. Mina sat at the vanity in her robe, bare legs crossed, scrolling through the staff messaging app they'd set up for tonight. Two-hundred-plus backstage passes, a dozen crew categories, and one QR code she'd had her stylist quietly embed a single-entry pass to the private dressing room, buried in the general fan lottery.
She watched the notification ping. Someone had used it.
"Ten minutes," she said to the empty room. Her reflection grinned back fox-eyed, cupid's bow painted a soft pink, dark hair pinned half-up with the jeweled clips her manager thought were just for the stage look.
The knock came soft. Hesitant. Two tiny raps like the person on the other side was already regretting it.
Mina swung the door open.
He was maybe twenty-five, Korean-Filipino by the look of him, wearing the tour hoodie she'd seen at the merchandise booth earlier. Gold-rimmed glasses. A jaw that went tight the second he saw her bare legs beneath the robe. His hands were shaking at his sides.
"I—" He swallowed. "This QR code. I thought it was—like, a meet and greet. VIP. I didn't"
"Is that what you thought?" She stepped back, let him see the room behind her. A single vanity. A rack of stage outfits. A couch against the mirrored wall. And the door she pushed it closed with her heel, the lock clicking loud in the quiet.
"I don't understand what's happening."
Mina laughed, bright and sweet, the same laugh she used on variety shows. She let her robe fall open at the collar, just enough to show the lace edge of her bra.
"You're my warm-up," she said. "Before every show, I pick one. One lucky fan. And you know what I do with them?"
He shook his head. His eyes hadn't left her collarbone.
"I fuck them." She said it flat, watching his face change. "Specifically I fuck their ass until they come inside mine. And then I put in a plug and go sing for eighteen thousand people with their cum dripping down my thighs."
The fan she hadn't even caught his name made a sound like he'd been punched in the chest.
"You're lying."
Mina untied her robe and let it fall.
Underneath she wore nothing but a black lace bra and a silver buttplug she'd inserted an hour ago, warming herself up. Her cunt was bare-shaved and glistening. Her thighs were already slick where the plug's base pressed against her.
"See?" She turned slowly, bent at the waist, giving him a perfect view of the plug nestled between her cheeks. "I prep ahead of time. Makes it easier to take you."
She straightened, walked to the couch, and sat. Spread her knees. Pulled the plug out slow — a wet sound that made him flinch and set it on the vanity.
"Come here."
He didn't move for three full seconds. Then his feet started carrying him forward, like his body had decided before his brain caught up.
"Good boy." She reached for the waistband of his jeans. "What's your name, fan?"
"J-Jae."
"Jae. Pretty name." She popped the button on his jeans. "Here's how this works. I'm going to fuck you until I'm full. And you're going to let me. Can you do that?"
His cock was already hard when she pulled his jeans and boxers down. Thick. Cut. The head was dark and wet. She wrapped her hand around the shaft and pumped once, twice, watching his stomach hitch.
"I asked you a question."
"Yes." His voice cracked. "Yes, I can yes."
Mina leaned forward and licked the underside of his cock from base to tip, slow, tasting salt and soap. "Good. Now sit."
She pushed him onto the couch and straddled his lap before he could think. Her knees sank into the cushions on either side of his thighs. The head of his cock pressed against her wet cunt lips, not entering, just sliding between them as she rocked her hips.
"N-not you said anal."
"I did." She reached behind herself, wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock, and angled it up. "You're going to fuck my ass. But I'm going to ride you first get you nice and hard. And then we'll do it right."
She lifted her hips, lined him up, and sank onto his cock in one fluid motion not her ass, her cunt. Wet Heat swallowed him whole. Her head fell back, mouth open on a silent gasp.
"Fuck," Jae breathed. His hands hovered at her hips, not quite touching.
She grabbed his wrists and pressed them flat against her thighs. "Touch me. I don't bite."
His thumbs dug into the muscle of her outer thighs. She rode him slow at first, letting him feel every inch of her, watching his glasses fog up from the heat of their bodies.
"You're so" He couldn't finish.
"I know." She picked up the pace. The couch creaked beneath them. Her wetness spread on his cock with every stroke, obscene sounds filling the dressing room. She didn't bother being quiet. The room was soundproofed for the screaming fans. No one could hear her getting fucked by a stranger.
When she felt his hips start to buck, she pulled off.
"Not yet." Her voice was breathless but firm. "We're not done."
She kneeled on the floor between his spread legs and took his cock in her mouth. Deep. All the way to the back of her throat. She held there until her eyes blurred, then pulled off with a gasp.
"Lie down. On your stomach."
He scrambled to obey, kicking his jeans off the rest of the way. She watched his bare ass clench as he settled face-down on the couch cushions.
Mina grabbed a condom from the vanity drawer not for protection, but for lube. She squeezed a generous amount onto her fingers and reached between her own cheeks, pressing two slick fingers into her ass, working herself open. The stretch was familiar, comfortable. She'd been training for months.
"Ready?" She lined her ass up with his cock, still wet from her mouth and her cunt. The head pressed against her tight hole.
Jae turned his head, glasses askew. "Is it going to"
"Hurt?" She pushed. Her rim stretched around the head, that initial burn she craved, and she pushed harder. "Yes. But that's the point."
She took him inch by inch, lowering herself onto his length, her hands braced on his shoulder blades. His back was slick with sweat. His fingers gripped the couch cushion beneath him.
When she was fully seated, she stayed still for a long moment, breathing through the fullness. Her ass clenched around his cock. She heard him hiss into the cushion.
"Look at that," she whispered. "You're all the way inside me."
She started to move. Slow, deep grinds of her hips that had his cock dragging against her inner walls. She could feel every ridge. Every pulse.
"Harder," he gasped. "Please"
"Please what?"
"Please fuck me harder."
She gave him harder. She lifted her hips until only the head was inside, then slammed back down. The sound of skin on skin cracked through the room. She did it again. Again. Her breath came in ragged moans, her hair coming loose from the clips.
"You like fucking an idol's ass?" She leaned forward, her chest pressed to his back, lips at his ear. "You like knowing that eighteen thousand girls are about to scream my name while your cum is dripping out of me?"
He came with a broken cry, his body jerking beneath her. She felt the hot pulse of his release inside her ass, deep and thick, and she rode through it, milking every last drop.
When he went still, she lifted off slowly. His cock slipped out with a wet sound. Cum immediately started to leak from her stretched hole, running down the inside of her thigh.
She picked up the silver buttplug from the vanity.
"Hold still."
She pressed the plug against her slick rim and pushed it in. The cum displaced, the plug seating itself snugly, creating a perfect seal. She tapped the base once, testing. Nothing would leak.
"Perfect."
Jae was still face-down, breathing hard. She pulled her robe back on, tied it loosely.
"You can stay ten minutes. Then security will escort you out. Don't try to find me after the show they won't let you past the barricade."
She was already walking to the stage door.
The concert was two hours of choreography, fan interactions, and high-energy pop songs.Mina moved through it on muscle memory, her body a weapon she'd honed since training. But every time she dropped into a deep squat during the dance break, she felt the plug shift inside her. Every time she bent forward in the formation, her cheeks spread just slightly, the base of the plug pressed against her underwear.
The cum inside her had cooled, then warmed to her body temperature. It made her feel full. Owned. She caught herself smiling wider than the choreography required.
During the ment segment, when the other members talked to the fans, she let her mind drift to the sensation between her legs. How her ass was still loose and tender from being stretched. How if she clenched hard enough, she could feel the plug's pressure against her inner walls.
By the final song, her thighs were shaking from exhaustion and arousal combined. She'd come three times during the set once during a ballad when she ground against the plug just right in her seat, twice during the high-energy closer, clenching around it while she hit her mark.
Back in the dressing room after the encore, she pulled the plug out in the shower. Cum spilled down her leg, diluted by sweat and her own slick. She watched it swirl down the drain.
"Seoul tomorrow," she said to her reflection. Steam fogged the mirror, but she could see her own grin through it. "Wonder who I'll pick."
The Bangkok show came four days later, in a stadium that held twenty-one thousand. Mina had already scouted the lottery system by the time the plane touched down the modified QR was in place, buried in the VIP tier. She'd told no one. Her manager thought the extra thirty minutes she needed before stage were "vocal rest" and "personal prep time."
The knock came at 6:47 PM. Seven minutes before her scheduled call time.
She opened the door to a Thai university student in a loose button-down and black jeans. He had wide, Bambi eyes and a nervous smile that faded the second he registered who was standing in front of him.
"Oh my god." His English was accented but clear. "Oh my god, you're—I thought this was the photo event? I won the photo"
"It's a different kind of photo event." She pulled him inside by his collar, kicked the door shut, and pressed him against it before he could form another sentence.
"Wait" His hands came up, not pushing her away, but not holding her either. "I don't understand. The email said"
"The email said what I needed it to say." She kissed his neck, open-mouthed, tongue against his pulse point. His skin tasted like sunscreen and nervous sweat. "Do you want to leave?"
"Yes. No. I don't—"
"Pick one."
He swallowed. "No."
"Good." She dropped to her knees in front of him, her stage outfit still half-on a cropped mesh top and loose cargo pants. She popped the button on his jeans. "Because I've been thinking about this since the plane landed. You're going to fuck my ass, and you're going to fill me up, and I'm going to walk on that stage with your cum inside me. Say yes if you understand."
"Yes."
His cock was already hard when she pulled it out. Long, slightly curved, with a prominent vein running along the underside. She wrapped her lips around the head and sucked, tasting the salt of his pre-cum, watching his hips twitch with restraint.
"Lie on the floor," she said. "On your back."
This one was bigger than the last. She'd need more prep. She straddled his face first, lower her slick cunt onto his mouth, her ass in the air above his cock. She reached behind herself and guided his length to her entrance.
"I'm going to take you slow," she said, positioning her rim against his head. "But I'm going to take all of you."
She pushed. The stretch was immediate and sharp. She bit her lip, pushing harder, taking him inch by inch while his tongue worked her clit from below. The dual sensation made her dizzy.
When she was fully seated, she sat still for ten seconds, letting her body adjust. His hands had found her hips, gripping tight enough to bruise.
"Don't move yet," she warned. "Not until I say."
He stilled beneath her. She could feel his thighs trembling.
She started with small rotations of her hips, grinding his cock against her inner walls, finding the angle that made her see spots. Then she lifted and dropped, slow at first, building a rhythm that had sweat dripping from her chin onto his chest.
"Harder," she demanded. He thrust up into her, matching her pace, and she cried out — a real sound, not staged. "Like that. Right there."
She came first, clenching around his cock, her thighs shaking. He followed a minute later, buried deep, his release hot and heavy inside her. She felt every pulse.
After, she pulled the plug from her bag a different one this time, pink crystal, faceted like a gem and pressed it into place. The cum held inside. She tapped the base.
"This one's my favorite," she said, standing up. "It catches the stage lights."
The concert that night was brutal. A complex set with risers, lifts, and extended dance breaks. Every time she dropped into a low squat during "cheer up," the plug shifted, and she felt the warm cum shift with it, threatening to escape. She clenched her thighs together in formation and held it.
During the encore, she caught herself grinding against it again, chasing that edge while she smiled and waved. She came during the final bow, legs pressed tight, face placid, while the fans screamed her name.
In Singapore, she picked a middle-aged businessman who'd flown in from Jakarta for the show. He was quiet, professional, kept his hands to himself even after she'd stripped him naked. That made her work harder. She had to take his wrist and press his palm to her throat, had to ride him until he forgot to be polite.
In Taipei, she found a college freshman who nearly passed out when she touched his cock. She had to walk him through every step "breathe, you're fine, I'm the one who's supposed to be nervous" and when he finally came, he apologized three times.
In Hong Kong, she picked a boy who looked like he might be a trainee himself. Sharp jaw, dancer's build. He was the one who asked to go harder, who grabbed her hips and fucked up into her without waiting for permission. She came so hard she had to bite her own hand to keep from screaming.
Each time, the same ritual. The plug. The stage. The secret fullness that no one in the audience could see.
By the time the tour reached Tokyo the final stop, a three-night stand at the Tokyo Dome she'd refined her system. The QR code now auto-expired after one scan. She had a rotation of plugs in different sizes and materials. She knew exactly how long she needed between the encounter and stage call: fifteen minutes minimum for cleanup and cooling down, the last five spent inserting the plug and adjusting her costume.
Night one in Tokyo, the fan was a nervous sound engineer who'd won the lottery through the crew lottery pool. He came so fast she had to laugh, but she made him stay hard and finish her properly before she let him go.
Night two, a Korean exchange student who'd waited in line for fourteen hours for tickets. He was rough, demanding, bent her over the vanity and fucked her ass while her reflection stared back at her. She watched her own face go slack with pleasure, her mouth open, her eyes half-lidded. She came so hard she nearly missed her stage call.
Night three the final night of the world tour she scrolled through the lottery system and found no new scans.
The QR had been used once already tonight.
She checked the timestamp. Four minutes ago.
The knock came at 7:02 PM. She opened the door.
He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Korean, older than her usual picks, maybe thirty. He wore a plain black t-shirt and had the kind of hands that looked like they worked callused, thick-fingered. No fan merchandise. No glow stick. Not even a tour lanyard.
"You used my code," she said.
"Your staff email was easy to find." His English was near-perfect. "And you need to be careful with digital security. Your QR was static. I cloned it."
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she laughed genuinely laughed, surprised.
"Who are you?"
"Does it matter?"
"No." She grabbed his shirt and pulled him inside. "It really doesn't."
She pushed him onto the couch and climbed into his lap, already unbuckling his belt. "But you're going to fuck me harder than anyone else on this tour. I'm the last night, and I want to feel it tomorrow."
His hand closed around her throat, firm but not choking. "I don't take orders."
Heat shot through her core. "Good."
He flipped her onto her stomach on the couch, yanked her pants down, and didn't wait. His cock pressed against her ass, and she was already so wet from anticipation that she pushed back against him, taking him deep in one stroke.
She screamed into the cushion.
He fucked her like he had something to prove hard, relentless, changing angles until he found the one that made her legs give out. Then he stayed on that angle, pounding into her, his hand in her hair, his breath hot on her neck.
"You like this?" he growled. "Getting your ass wrecked by a stranger on your last night?"
"Yes fuck yes"
He pulled out, flipped her onto her back, and drove back into her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and let him take what he wanted. Her second orgasm hit like a wave, and then a third, and by the time he came, she'd lost count.
He filled her deeper than anyone else. She felt it pooling inside her, hot and thick, claiming space.
When he pulled out, she reached for her plug the biggest one she'd brought, black silicone, almost intimidating and pressed it in without asking him to leave. He watched her do it, watched her body accept the intrusion and seal itself around his cum.
"Goodbye," she said, already walking to the stage door.
The Tokyo Dome held fifty-five thousand people. The roar when Twice took the stage was deafening. Mina smiled her brightest smile, waved her most enthusiastic wave, and felt the cum shift inside her with every step.
She thought about the stranger for the entire two-hour set. The way his hands had felt around her throat. The way he'd taken control. And by the final song, when she dropped into the choreography and felt the plug press deep, she came on stage in front of fifty-five thousand screaming fans and let the roar cover her moan.
The tour was over.
She wondered who she'd pick next time.
Secret Love Song
Fanprose
10k words
————————————
Red = Minju
This is my last story before I will be on hiatus
*unedited
This was written at the same time as No Control
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For almost two years, Y/n and Minju had successfully hidden their relationship from everyone.
Well…
Almost everyone…
oh my god oh my god oh my. God oh my. God oh. My god oh my god oh my god???
this picture,,,, is insane lmao the pose, the angle, the expression, HER FINGERS LITERALLY WRAPPED AROUND THE HEADBOARD like ? ? ?
No More Subtitles
Hello everyone! I needed something different to get the ole writing gears going, and so what better way to do that than some G!P stuff?
Length: 2.4K
G!P Nayeon X Mina
Seasoned Seasons
Male OC x IZ*ONE's Kim Minju
~6.3k words
🌸 🌸 🌸
“Hi, excuse me.”
The waitress ignored her and zipped past, a serving tray in her hand filled with six different dishes.
Minju reached her neck out and peered at the table opposite hers, watching the waitress set down their meals on their table. A pot of piping steaming rice, a plate of leafy green bok choy stir fried with succulent prawns, and a claypot that looked to contain saliva-inducing treasures.
Helpp everytime I see Eunha I get bricked
Such a shame
Dirty Work
A/N: It’s Christmas time here. Is it Christmas yet where you are, reader?
Reader x ARTMS Heejin fluff
2k words
I'm a fool to do your dirty work, oh yeah
I don't wanna do your dirty work, no more
Pulling on her hoodie strings, Heejin asks, “Are you gonna get the slide deck ready by tonight?”
“Probably, yeah.” You look up, still typing away at the keyboard.
Return
Author: Fumiren
Pairing: Karina (aespa) x Male Reader
Word: 1K+
Genres: Fluffy Smut, Reunion Sex, Established Relationship, Idol x Boyfriend, Domestic Spice Tags/Warnings: 18+ explicit content, unprotected sex, creampie, lots of praise and affection, oral, titjob. Pure loving fantasy.
Synopsis: Karina’s been gone for three long weeks on tour. When she finally walks through the door late at night, exhausted but happy, all either of you want is to reconnect—slow, sweet, and desperately needed. Sometimes coming home means remembering exactly how perfectly you fit together.
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The apartment was dark except for the single lamp you’d left on. You’d been half-asleep on the couch when the door clicked open. Three weeks felt like forever when it was Karina on the other side of the world.
She stepped in quietly, suitcase abandoned by the door, and the moment she saw you sitting up, her whole face lit up. “Hi, baby.”
Used & Abused : Yuqi
TW: NON-CON | Don't Like It, Don't Read It.
Yuqi × M!Reader
I’d been watching her for months. Not in some casual, passing way—I mean watching. Learning her habits, her routines, the way she moved through the world like she owned it. Yuqi. The Chinese member of I-DLE. Platinum blonde hair cascading past her shoulders, that sharp jawline, those eyes that could cut glass when she was angry. But tonight, those eyes would be wet and pleading.
The schedule had me driving her back to her solo practice studio after a late recording session. She trusted me. Of course she did. I’d been with the group for two years, always professional, always helpful. That trust was a weapon, and I’d been sharpening it every day.