“a girl who knows her liquor is a girl who’s been dumped”
📀now playing: go go juice by sabrina carpenter
❯ summary: A week ago, you never imagined you’d be here—sitting in a random bar on a Tuesday night. But a week ago, you didn’t know your boyfriend was cheating. A week ago, you weren’t single. A week ago, you had no reason to be ordering your sixth drink—or to be drunk dialing your best friend’s brother.
❯ pairings: jaemin x fem!reader
❯ genre: best friend’s brother, smut
❯ words: 7.1k
❯ tags: 18+ minors dni, drinking, y/n has a shitty ex, mentions of cheating, dirty talk, fingering, edging, bratty reader, oral sex (fem receiving), face sitting, begging, protective jaemin, slight jealousy, swearing, reader uses she/her pronouns, literally just jaemin helping y/n get home safe and sober up...
(an: this was supposed to be full smut, but i was already at 7k words of pure filth, so i stopped lolll)
“Sorry, doll.” Max (the bartender you’d somehow befriended over the past week) pulls the empty glass out of reach before you could ring up another. “Hate to be that guy, but I think you’ve had enough.”
You pout, stretching a hand across the bar anyway. It’s your fifth drink. Or maybe sixth. Who was even counting? You were still conscious, still speaking in full sentences, and that seemed like proof enough you could handle one more.
“Come on, Maximilian.” You resort to dragging out his full name, leaning into it. “I’ll give you a hundred dollar tip. Straight on my tab right now. That’s reasonable, yeah?”
You smile at him. You even flutter your lashes for effect. Though judging by his grimace, and the mirror behind him, you can tell it isn’t working. You’re a mess. Smudged eyeliner. Hollow eyes. A complete lost cause.
Max winces. “You lost the option to bribe me the second you asked if we could—” two of his fingers flick up in the air, mocking quotation marks, “—hooks up. I told you yesterday. I’ve got a wife.”
Your face collapses into a frown.
Damn loyal men. If only Soobin had been one.
Then maybe you wouldn’t be here on a random Tuesday night, letting happy hour bleed into sad. Begging a man old enough to be your dad, a man you know far too much about—his pension plan, his kid’s names—for one more bev and a fuck.
“Okay, fine.” You flap your hand around, carelessly. “Offering you sex was not my brightest moment. But I only did that because Hyuck didn’t pick up. I promise you, I’m only a little drunk.”
Max sighs and tosses his rag over his shoulder. “Darling, that’s exactly why I’m cutting you off while you’re still coherent. I know your routine by now. Drink, call, guy shows up, you go home with him. Usually they’re here before your third. Tonight they’re not. And I won’t have that on my conscience.”
You pout again, because Max is being logical. But broken hearts don’t take kindly to reason. Especially not yours. No, yours seems to believe all men are bastards, and liquor is the only cure worth swallowing.
You’re about to beg again. Sink fully into the patheticness of bargaining—promises, smiles, literally anything—just to have him pour you another double vodka. But then a voice cuts through. So gravelly, it drags your head to the side.
“What kind of whiskey do you have here?”
A man. His arm braced against the bar, casually holding himself up. He lets his eyes rake over the lineup of glass bottles behind Max, never sparing a glance in your direction.
Max opens his mouth. But you get there first.
“Jameson, Redbreast, Bushmills—take your pick. But do not order Powers, because I swear it’s the off-brand stuff. Tastes like petrol.”
“Thank you, Y/N,” Max says through gritted teeth, his jaw tight with a fake smile. “That’ll be the last time I tell you anything in confidence, girl.”
“Well, Maxxie, that’s what happens when you cut me off,” you grin at him.
“Y/N?”
The stranger repeats your name, but this time his voice is clearer, less gravelly. And for some reason, you recognise it. Which you hate—because you picked this place for a reason.
Twenty minutes out of town in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Where no one could witness just how drastically this particular breakup had been gutting you. You’d even told Sua, your best friend, no when she begged you to be her plus one to her old roommate’s wedding. Because you couldn’t be seen. Couldn’t risk bumping into anyone who knew the before you.
And yet—
You squint. The side profile of this man was one thing—unfairly spectacular, carved from some cruel geometry or higher power—but face-on, your double vision steadies just enough (despite the vodka) to stitch it together.
“Jaemin?”
“I take it this is your Tuesday night booty call, eh, Y/N?” Max leans against the back of the bar now, arms folded. He looks down at you past his nose, smiling smugly.
“God, Max—no. What—no!” Your eyes go wide. You flail, wildly, at nothing. “This is… Jaemin. My friend Sua’s brother. I did not call him for that. I did not call him, period.”
“Actually you did—”
Jaemin cuts in and you glare at him. Because there’s no way. Except…there probably is a way. Probably when you were scrolling through the J section of your contacts, looking for someone who’d answer, and his name fell neatly between your ex-boyfriend, Jaehyun, and your favourite fuck, Jeno.
Who’s to say?
“I called you?” you ask, eyebrows pulling together, your eyes narrowing without meaning to.
And God, he looks different now. Older. Well, he was always older. The big brother Sua hated having around when you’d sleep over. The big brother who ruined her dating life, and by extension yours, because he saw you both as a package deal of irritating little sisters.
If only he’d been there to ruin things with Soobin. You hated it when you were younger. But now? You’d have loved him telling that prick to fuck off. Because then you wouldn’t be here. Cheated on. Drunk. Pathetic.
Jaemin pushes a few strands of dyed-blonde hair from his eyes. “Yeah. Thought it was weird. You kept saying…” He taps his chin, thinking for the exact phrasing. “‘Do you me still love?’”
You cringe. But at least the mystery of who you were trying to call is solved—Jaehyun, the ex.
Max laughs then, “And you were trying to convince me you were sober enough for a sixth drink? Drunk dialling your friend’s brother, and asking the bartender to fuc—”
“He’ll have a Rye on the rocks please, Max,” you cut in before he can finish that particular humiliation. Jaemin nods once, confirming, and Max disappears to the shelves.
You suck in a breath and keep your eyes glued to the bottles lined behind the bar, as if looking straight ahead will make him go away. If you refuse to look at him, he’ll disappear. Take the hint and not dig.
Fifteen-year-old you would have killed to sneak a look at Jaemin and have him this close. God knows you tried whenever Sua invited you over. You hated when he wasn’t around—when he was out with his friends, or tangled up with some girlfriend who wasn’t you.
“On a first-name basis with the bartender, and offering to fuck him?” Jaemin finally breaks the silence as he sinks down on the stool beside you. Clearly not disappearing. “You two close?”
You clear your throat. Then swallow. God, you’d kill for a drink. Fuck Max.
“This is my favourite bar. I see him a lot. And I never asked him to—well, okay, I did. But it wasn’t… it wasn’t like that. He’s married!” Your words stumble over each other, tumbling out all clumsy.
Jaemin smiles, flashing you that same set of pearly-white teeth that used to make your heart flutter in adolescence.
“Your favourite bar, huh?” He tips his head, amused. “It’s a little far away from our hometown. Sua never told me you moved.”
“I didn’t—I haven’t.” You blink at him. “Wait… why would she tell you that anyway?”
“Because I live out here.”
Shit. You’d forgotten about that.
That last tequila sunrise must have burned the memory clean out of you—that Jaemin moved away for college and settled out here after getting his degree. You only ever saw him in passing, when you dropped off holiday gifts at Sua’s house in the Winter time.
He shrugs, strands of that new blonde hair he keeps fighting with falling into his eyes. “I know Sua. If you’d moved, she would’ve asked me to keep an eye on you.” Then, casually, he adds: “But since we’ve cleared that up—are you going to tell me why you’re here, in this bar, twenty minutes from town, asking married men to fuck you?”
You don’t think it’s possible to cringe any harder.
“I did not—” You inhale, pinch your eyes shut. “That is none of your business.”
His bottom lip juts out as his shoulders lift. “You kind of make it my business when you call me asking how I’ve been? If I’m in the area? And if I want to eat your pussy?”
Your eyes practically launch out of your skull. And obviously—because the universe is cruel, vindictive, and actively rooting for your downfall this week—that’s when Max reappears with Jaemin’s drink, sliding it across the bar like he hasn’t just heard every foul word.
He coughs. “Um—I think I heard a patron say there’s a… spill. Somewhere. Needs cleaning.”
There isn’t. You know there isn’t. The bar’s empty—you’ve been cataloguing every person, every stool, every dark dusty corner for the last twenty minutes before Jaemin showed up. Looking for someone. Anyone. To pick up.
Max flees anyway. And when he’s gone, your eyes snap back to Jaemin, who’s smirking over the rim of his whiskey glass, one brow cocked.
“I did not ask you to do—” you drop your voice to a furious whisper—“that.”
“Not just that, no.” He sets the glass down, then leans in close to drop his voice to an equally low volume. “In fact, you said I could skip that altogether and go straight to fucking your mouth if I wanted.”
Christ. You’d clearly sobered up since that call. Maybe Max had a point to cut you off. But God you wish you had a couple of shots right now to shield you from this embarrassment. At least then you could blame the alcohol for your flushed cheeks.
“Yeah, well, don’t feel too special.” You lift your chin, trying to regain some composure. “I was trying different numbers all night—I didn’t expect you to actually pick up.”
There’s a flash in Jaemin’s eyes then. He tips the rest of his whiskey back, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Who’s the asshole?”
“W-what?”
“The asshole,” he says again, slow. “The one who’s got you drinking alone in a bar and calling up anyone in your contacts and begging them to fuck you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Y/N.” He shakes his head, a humorless sound leaving his throat. “I’ve known you since we were kids. You’ve never been a drinker. Never to the point you could list whiskey brands or be on a first-name basis with a bartender.”
You swallow. Hard.
“I know you,” he empthasises. “Trust me—any girl who knows her liquor like that, is a girl who’s been dumped.” His tongue runs slow along his teeth. “So. Tell me. Who’s the asshole?”
You tut out a laugh, tilting your face away from him—then back again. “You gonna beat him up like you used to when I was sixteen?”
His head tips side to side, considering. “Depends. How badly did he hurt you?”
“Mhm,” You shake your head, lips twitching. “Nice to know the rules have changed. You used to scare even the nice ones away when me and Sua were in high school.”
“Of course I did.” His mouth curves into that maddening smile. “You two were too young for dating.”
“We were a year younger than you.”
He cups a hand dramatically to his ear. “Sorry, what was that? I could’ve sworn you just admitted you were younger than me, which only proves my point.”
You playfully roll your eyes. “Thank God you weren’t around for our senior year.”
He actually shivers, rolling his shoulders. “Please don’t put any images like that in my head.”
“Oh, please.” You scoff, but it comes out soft. “I think I’ve already put plenty of ideas in your head—based on that phone call you're talking about.”
You don’t know why your voice sounds like that. Sultry, low, silk-drenched. Nothing like how you meant it. And suddenly your lips are bone-dry, so you wet them. Automatic. Nervous.
Jaemin tracks the movement, his gaze fixed on your mouth like it’s the only thing in the room worth looking at. His eyes darken. He coughs, rough.
“Yeah,” he says, voice dropping into gravel again. “Yeah, you did.”
God, he sounds hot. He looks hot. Of course he does. A guy wearing a shirt that stretches across broad shoulders like that, with blonde hair falling into dark eyes, is obviously hot shit. Especially consideing this guy has hands so big they swallow a whiskey glass whole. You had a crush on him then, and now…Now he’s all grown up and absurdly symmetrical.
At least he was ten seconds ago. Because right now, as you look at him, he’s all…squiggly. Blurred. The edges of that perfect jaw are smudging out, the bottles behind the bar melting into watercolors, and then the floor tilts like it’s trying to knock you off your stool. You can’t tell if you’re moving or if the room is.
You hear him—Jaemin. Muffled, like his mouth is pressed against a wall. He’s uttering something… you think it’s your name. He’s definitely saying your name. And you laugh. You don’t know why—you’re spinning, disoriented—but somehow it’s funny. So you giggle. Snort.
That’s the last thing you recall. The laughter, and then nothing at all. Just black.
You can hear running water. Which would make sense if you were outside—except you’re not. At least, you don’t think you are. Not unless you hauled your pillows, duvet, and entire mattress over your shoulder and decided to rough it in someone’s front garden. Which, given the amount of alcohol you consumed last night, isn’t totally outside the realm of possibility.
You try to open your eyes, assess the damage, confirm whether or not you’ve accidentally lost the plot, but the hangover hits you like a weighted blanket. You can only manage a pathetic eye flutter.
Still, a flutter’s enough because you catch walls. Real, solid, indoor walls. Good news, since walls mean you’re not currently sleeping in the mud. Except these walls? You don’t recognise them. Correction—you do. But not because they’re yours. No, these walls are Jaemin’s.
His childhood ones. The walls you spent your formative years imagining yourself trapped behind. Posters of that band he never shut up about, photos of him and the same three boys you used to stalk from Sua’s window, a desk still messily lined with CDs of his favourite music.
And the bed. God, the bed. This bed. His bed. The one you used to imagine sneaking into at seventeen, sixteenth—hell, fifteen, when your crush on Jaemin had been embarrassingly apparent. You dreamed about this. Fantasised until it made you sick. And now you’re actually here. Hungover (not exactly how teenage you imagined it) and smelling faintly of vodka.
The running water stops. And then—well. Then Jaemin strolls out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel slung low on his narrow hips. Droplets slide down and litter the span of his shoulders, and your chin practically mirrors the water with the way you’re salivating.
That, apparently, is the defibrillator your body needed, because your eyes snap open so fast you nearly sprain an eyelid. You cough—loudly—because what else are you supposed to do when the ghost of every single teenage fantasy you ever had just materialises, half-naked, first thing in the morning?
He glances over from his dresser, utterly unbothered, like you didn’t drunk-dial him last night for God knows what. (You wish you remembered. You really wish you remembered, because drunk calls are typically reserved for hookups, and you’d really like to remember a hookup with this man.)
“Oh, you’re awake,” he says, pulling out a pair of sweats. “Bathroom’s free if you wanna…” He gestures vaguely. “Extra toothbrush under the sink. You kept throwing up last night.”
Mortification doesn’t even cover it. You launch yourself out of the bed like it’s on fire, clutching the duvet to your chest—only to realise you’re not naked. Rare, when you wake up in a man’s room, but you’ll take the small mercy. Bare feet slap against the floorboards as you sprint into the bathroom and slam the door behind you.
The mirror does you no favours. Eyeliner streaked down your cheeks, face blotchy, hair a mess. And—perfect—there’s actual dried drool on your chin from when you were too busy ogling him like a creep to remember to swallow. Fantastic. You paw uselessly at your hair, then go at your panda eyes with a tissue until the smudges fade. You dig out the spare toothbrush he promised and brush until the sour tang of vodka finally evaporates from your mouth. When you spit and rinse, you feel only slightly better.
Just good enough to square your shoulders, tilt your chin up like you haven’t just been caught in one of your most humiliating mornings alive, and march back into the room.
He’s on the bed now, leaning against the headboard, his stupid veiny hands wrapped around his phone. He’s changed—black sweatpants (not grey, thank God, you would actually combust) but still shirtless. Fine. It’s his room. You can’t exactly dictate the dress code.
You inhale, pull on your most blasé voice. “Well. Last night was fun…”
His head lifts from his phone. “You wanna talk about it?”
God no.
You shift on your heels. “Oh no. We probably should never speak about it again, actually. Like, ever. I don’t think Sua would be too thrilled to find out I hooked up with her brother—”
“We didn’t hook up.”
Your eyes drop instantly to the oversized shirt you’re wearing. His shirt. An old band tee from high school, worn soft at the collar. You glance back up at him, brow furrowed. He’s watching you with narrowed eyes.
“Then…why am I here?”
“Because,” he says, sliding his phone onto the nightstand, gaze locking onto yours like he’s pinning you to the spot, “as I was driving you home, you couldn’t remember your new address, we were too far out from my place, you told me not to call Sua, and you begged me not to take you to your parents’ house.”
You wince so hard, but he doesn’t stop talking.
“Don’t worry. My mum helped me get you out of your dress and into that.” He nods to the tee.
Your stomach caves in on itself. “Mrs. Na saw me like that? In that state?”
He nods, lips twitching at the edges.
“Oh, God.” You drag your hands down your face. You think her seeing you like that is worse than your parents. That woman practically raised you.
“So…” Jaemin’s gaze narrows again, the crease in his brow cutting deeper. “Now are we going to talk about why you were in that state last night?”
“Nope.”
“Y/N.” He stands now, pushing off the bed, unfolding those long limbs of his. He’s got that tone—the big-brother, sensible-adult, absolute-buzzkill tone—he used on you when you were sixteen and sneaking wine coolers into Sua’s room. You hated it then, you hate it now.
“I need you to tell me why you were so drunk.”
“Because I’m over twenty-one and it’s legal for me to drink.”
“Cute.” His mouth flattens, humourless. “Let me rephrase. Why the fuck are you drinking so much you’re calling strangers to fuck you?”
“You’re not a stranger.”
“Exactly,” he says with no softness. “I’m not. Which is why you were safe with me last night. But Christ, Y/N—” he exhales hard, raking a hand through his damp hair. “You were gone. Plastered. God knows who could’ve taken advantage of you.”
“That’s the point of a drunk dial, eh?”
You throw it out like a joke, but he’s not laughing. He doesn’t even blink. He just stares down at you, all lecturing and patronising.
You roll your eyes. “Look,” you laugh—except it sounds a little brittle. “It really isn’t that serious. I was trying different numbers. I clearly didn’t think you’d actually pick up.”
He lifts his shoulders. “Dialling random numbers for sex sounds serious to me.”
“Only because you’re making it sound like that.”
“I’m not. It’s objectively dangerous.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
His eyes flash with something dark then. Something in your response makes him take a step forward, and your throat works around a swallow you hope he doesn’t notice.
“You can’t consent to sex if you’re drunk, Y/N.”
You straighten your spine, trying to claw back control. “Well, we didn’t have sex, so you’re okay. I can keep the cops out of it.”
“Smart ass.” His tongue pushes against his cheek. Then his eyes cut through you. “You called me—begging for it though.”
You snort, embarrassment licking at your skin because that sounds true and totally plausible. Sober you has at least some dignity left though, so you purse your lips like you’re unbothered.
“And you didn’t touch me because I clearly looked a mess. Thank you for getting me home safe, making sure I didn’t choke on my own vomit, and all that. You’re a nice guy.”
“You’re wrong,” he says. Low. Weighted.
Your brows pinch. “What?”
“I didn’t not touch you because you looked a mess.” He takes another step, and instinctively, you take one back—until your spine collides with the solid panel of his bedroom door. “I didn’t touch you because you were a mess.”
“Oh, thanks, Jaem,” you shoot back. “You always were my favourite confidence booster—”
His hands land on your hips, hot and unforgiving, cutting off your sarcasm mid-breath. His voice drops, almost a growl against your ear. “I wanted you to remember absolutely everything I do to this fucking body.” A shiver wracks down your spine, betraying you. “I’m a nice guy, Y/N. But nothing about what I want to do to you is… nice. And I wanted you to remember that.”
Your throat is bone dry. Like, desert-level. Every smartass comeback you’ve ever had at the ready has suddenly evaporated under the heat of his stare and the press of his fingertips digging into your hips. You’re flustered, and it’s not the hangover—it’s all him.
“You—” Your voice cracks, which is unfair. You clear it and try again, aiming for steady but landing on unconvincing. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Am I?” His grip tightens, pulling you closer until your chest almost brushes his. “Because the fact you woke up this morning thinking we’d fucked but couldn’t remember it, kinda proves my point.”
“Please—you men are so cocky,” you roll your eyes, which clearly irritates him because his eyes go black. “You flatter yourselves too much. Women have plenty of forgettable sex.”
“Never with me,” he grits, jaw tight. “If you ever have sex with me, you’ll remember every second.”
“If?”
“No. When.” He leans down, close enough that his breath sweeps across your jaw, and suddenly words are harder to form, letters blurring in your mouth. “Because you called me last night. And I’ve heard that pretty mouth say the filthiest shit. Beg for the filthiest shit. And I thought—” His eyes drag over you, dark and hungry. “Sua’s sweet friend? My Y/N? The one who used to have a crush on me? Begging to ride my face—”
“I did not.” The denial bursts out of you too fast; it’s basically a flimsy defence.
“You did.” His eyes flash. “I remember it because I can’t get the image of it out of my head. Can’t stop seeing it—seeing you drunk and desperate enough to call me. Who fucking hurt you?”
“I—” Your brain stutters, because his eyes are right there, pinning you, pupils blown wide. You push a pathetic laugh through your nerves. “My boyfriend cheated on me.”
“Boyfriend?” His tone sharpens.
You swallow. “Ex-boyfriend.”
“Better.” His thumbs stroke slow, lazy, teasing circles into your hips, until his voice drops lower. “His name, Y/N?”
“I’m not telling…” you start, except it comes out embarrassingly breathless.
“Fine,” he murmurs, nose skimming along your temple, then your cheek, purposefully avoiding your lips—just taunting. “Don’t tell me. I’ll just fuck it out of you.”
You should argue. Tell him it’s not his business, that you’re not his problem. You should shove him back and draw the line. But your body refuses to cooperate. Your hands curl into the waistband of his sweats, fingertips slipping under the cotton. Your head tips back against the door, throat on display, bare and vulnerable for his eyes to flick down.
“Fuck,” he breathes, mouth skimming your jaw, then the corner of your lips, infuriatingly close but not giving you what you want. “Always been the prettiest fucking girl to me.”
“Don’t lie,” you manage, though your pulse is hammering. “You never looked at me once when we were younger.”
His lips finally brush yours, barely a ghost of a kiss. “Yes, I did. Every time you came over to study with Sua in that little plaid skirt, looking at me with these big doe eyes.” His hand drags down your hip. “You used to wear it just to taunt me, didn’t you?”
“Nope.” You shake your head, despite your breath hitching when his fingers dip lower, brushing the waistband of you (his) shorts.“Didn’t have a reason to dress up for you.”
“That so?” He laughs, low and disbelieving. “No little crush on me?”
You shake your head again.
“Liar.”
Then his mouth crushes yours before you can even argue. His tongue slides in, teeth tugging at your bottom lip like he owns it. You moan before you can stop yourself, and it only makes his grip on your hips clamp tighter, bruising.
He kisses like a man deprived, greedy, ruthless, swallowing you whole. His chest pins you to the door, his cock straining hard against the sweats you’re still fisting, and you can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything except take. You want to take.
You hate that you want to take.
You rip your mouth free just long enough to whisper, bratty: “Good job I didn’t have a crush. I’d be disappointed—since you’re not even that good a kisser.”
His laugh is sharp against your mouth. “Keep running that mouth, sweetheart. You won’t be saying that when I’m kissing your pussy and you’re begging to cum.”
“Promises, promises—” But your bravado shatters, and your words melt, when his thigh shoves between your legs, pressing up right where you need it. Heat scorches through you, your knees buckling as your body betrays you.
“What was that?” He grinds higher, lips brushing your ear, breath hot. “So fucking wet already. Last night, you were begging to sit on my face, and now you’re trembling from just a little pressure from my thigh. But maybe you’re right.” His smile is wicked, teeth grazing your skin. “Maybe I should stop, since I’m not very good.”
“You’re imagining things,” you bite out, but your hips roll down against his thigh.
“Am I?” His hand slips beneath your shirt, palm spreading across your stomach, climbing higher, slow enough to torture. “Because it feels like you’re dripping all over me. Don’t lie to me, Y/N. Not when your body’s so responsive.”
Your breath catches, nails digging hard into his waistband. His eyes cut down to you, dark and triumphant, glinting like he’s already won.
“You know what the best part is?” His lips drag down your throat, teeth sinking under your jaw, sucking until a bruise blossoms hot into your skin. “You were always Sua’s sweet little friend. Off-limits. Innocent.” His mouth curves against your pulse. “But now you’re spread open on my thigh, against my door, grinding like a desperate little slut.”
“Fuck you,” you gasp, but it’s weak, and he knows it.
“You will,” he promises, biting at your throat again. “And you’re gonna remember every second.”
Then his mouth is back on yours, rougher, hungrier, devouring every sound you make. His hands roam under your shirt, squeezing your tits, thumbs brushing your nipples until you’re whimpering into his mouth.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Knew you’d sound so fucking pretty too.”
“Jaem—” you try, but it’s more plea than protest.
“Yeah, that’s it. Say my name like you’ve always wanted to.”
His hand abandons your ribs, slipping lower now, past your stomach, dragging the hem of the borrowed shorts down just enough. His fingers slide under the waistband, dipping beneath your panties, finally—finally—finding you wet and aching.
“Fuck, baby.” His voice drops, all gravel and lust. “Soaked for me. You can’t even try to lie to me about it now.”
“Shut up,” you breathe.
He smirks against your mouth as your hips roll down, pressing into him. His fingers trace idle circles over your clit, barely there, but enough to make you twitch and whine. Always a fucker—Jaemin. Sly, cocky, infuriatingly charming. Every stroke has you clutching at his sweatpants like you could tear them off with sheer will. You want to rip them off. You need to.
“This,” he whispers, dragging two slick fingers through your folds, coating them with your wetness, “is what you begged me for last night. And now… look at you, grinding on me desperately. Been thinking about this for years, haven’t you? Been wanting me to see you? Wondering if I’ve been thinking about it too?”j
“Don’t—” Your words crumble into a moan as he presses two fingers inside you, stretching you opne, slick and hot, filling you too easily.
“Don’t what?” His pace is mericless. The curl of his fingers hits that spot that makes your back arch and your body shudder. His thumb rubs over your clit in maddening circles. “Don’t tell you I’ve wanted you all this time? Don’t tell you I kept my hands to myself for the sake of your friendship with my sister? Don’t tell you I had the same little crush that you had on me?”
Your chest heaves, breath shaky, hips jerking against his fingers. “You—stop—Jaemin,” you gasp, but it’s useless. He’s relentless, and the truth of it—of him—has you dripping. Your knees threaten to give, so he hooks his other arm around your waist, holding you pinned to the door, fucking you with his hand like he’s been waiting a lifetime.
“Oh, baby girl, I know,” he coos, voice thick and mocking as your head tips back, and your lips part around ragged, broken moans. “I don’t need you to admit a damn thing—your pretty little pussy is doing all the talking for me, clenching on my fingers like you’re about to fucking explode. You really that easy for me?”
“Fuck, Jaemin, please!”
“I will,” he grins, thumb pressing harder, faster, until your legs tremble like jelly. “But first—” His lips brush against your ear, voice turning low and lethal. “You’re gonna give me his name.”
Your head jerks, eyes flying open.“What?”
“You heard me.” His pace never falters, thumb relentless on your clit as he fucks you right to the edge. “The prick who made you drunk dial me? You’re gonna tell me who he is.”
You shake your head desperately, already teetering. “No—fuck, no—”
“Yes.” His mouth drags down your neck, biting hard over the bruises he’s left. “Right now. Or I pull out and you don’t get to cum.”
His fingers slow just enough to make you whine. And suddenly,his threat starts to feel very cruel and very real.
“Say it,” he orders. “Give me his fucking name, Y/N. Or I’ll ruin you and leave you dripping, desperate, with nothing.”
He can’t do that. You won’t let him do that.
“Soobin,” you choke out, every muscle tight, your body begging for that last push. You know you’ve given him what he wanted, the key to unlock your orgasm, but suddenly—he’s gone. His hand disappears from your shorts, leaving you throbbing, and before you can process it, his slick fingers slide straight into his mouth.
Your jaw drops, confusion warring with frustration as he sucks them clean, eyes locked on yours the whole time.
“Jaemin?”
He smirks, pulling them free with an obscene pop. “This the same Soobin guy you started dating in your senior year?”
You nod before you can stop yourself, still hazy from being edged within an inch of your life. He shrugs like it’s casual, like he didn’t just almost unravel you on his hand. “You know…I never did like that guy.”
His fingers trace sluggish patterns up your thigh, featherlight, nowhere near where you need him most. The touch is maddening. You shiver, body too sensitive, skin prickling with every brush.
“Jaemin, please—”
He tilts his head, savouring your plea. “Please what?”
“I told you his name,” you whisper, hating how desperate you sound. “Please make me cum.”
His smirk deepens, devilish. “Fuck, seeing you beg me in person is hotter than hearing it through the phone.”
Okay, now he’s just being an arrogant asshole.
“Unless you’re incapable—”
“Not incapable, sweetheart.” His voice slices through yours, hand shooting up fast, cupping your jaw, thumb pressing against your lips before you can talk back to him again. His grin is sharp, cocky, his breath warm against your cheek. “Just want you to cum the way you begged me for it on the phone.”
Your heart stops.
He leans in. “Want you to cum on my face. Since that’s what that bastard had you begging for.”
The air leaves your lungs in one shaky exhale. Your thighs tense, hips tipping up like your body’s already saying yes even while your brain is scrambling.
“You’re full of yourself,” you whisper, voice breaking on the last word because of how close his fingers are—still hovering at the edge of your shorts, not giving you relief.
His smirk deepens. “Well, you have a pretty girl call you in the middle of the night, saying the shit you said to me, and see how your ego’s doing.” He drags his knuckles down the leg. “So go on, baby. Be a good girl. Say it sober this time.”
Your pride claws at your throat, but your body’s buzzing, strung too tight, too sensitive. You know him. Know he’ll walk if you don’t say it. Know he’ll make you beg. Know he’s just that stubborn—because yes, you’ve always had a crush on this boy, no matter how much you avoid the question.
“Jaem—”
“Say. It.” His mouth brushes your ear, voice a razor-sharp whisper. “Tell me to eat this sweet cunt until you scream my name.”
You bite down hard, torn between bratty and desperate, but it slips out anyway, sounding all needy: “I want to cum on your face.”
One hand slides under your ass, the other clamps on your jaw like he won’t let you take it back. You yelp when your feet leave the ground.
“Jaemin!”
“Shh,” he growls, hauling you like you weigh nothing. His grip is iron, his pace ruthless, and when he kicks through the mess on the floor and drops you onto the bed, your body bounces with the force of it.
“Oh my god, warn a girl.” You glare.
“You don’t need a warning.” His palms bracket your thighs, spreading you wide. “You need my fucking mouth. Right here.”
Heat slams through you, your pulse jumping when he yanks at the waistband of your shorts. You scramble up on your elbows. “Wait—”
“Don’t you dare tell me to wait,” he warns, fingers hooking into the fabric to drag them down in one brutal pull, leaving you bare. “You called me begging to sit on my face. You begged for this. You’re not getting shy on me now.”
Your whole body burns as he slides back against the headboard, watching you like prey. He gestures with two lazy taps of his cheek.
“Come here.” That smirk is lethal. “Sit right on it, sweetheart.”
Your mouth drops. “You’re actually insane.”
His grin sharpens. “And you’re desperate to cum. So hurry up.”
The way he looks at you—hungry, cocky, like this is his win and your punishment all at once—makes you blush. You swallow hard, but your body moves anyway, climbing toward him, straddling his broad chest.
“Fuck,” he groans when your thighs cage his head. His hands slide up your hips, grip bruising, guiding you lower. “That’s it. Ride me. Make a mess all over my face, sweetheart.”
You whimper, fingers clutching the headboard for balance, thighs trembling as you hover. “Jaemin…”
“Sit.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Properly. You’re not gonna break me.”
You sink down. The first swipe of his tongue against your pussy has you crying out, head slamming back, your whole body shuddering. He moans into you like he’s been malnourished, dragging his tongue through you again and again until your legs are shaking around his head.
“Holy fuck,” you gasp, rocking helplessly against his mouth. “Jaem!”
He pulls back just long enough to growl, “Yeah, that’s it, baby. Ride my fucking face. Want you to cum so hard you forget that bastard’s name and only remember mine.” Then he dives back in, tongue fucking into you with filthy precision, sucking at your clit until your thighs are clamping tight around his head.
You’re already shaking like a leaf, thighs bolting around his head, ready to snap—when suddenly his tongue slips away. Your whole body jerks.
“Jaemin—”
He licks his lips slowly, smugly. Eyes dark and glinting. “Mm. Not yet.” His hold bruises your hips as he drags you up just far enough that you’re hovering over his mouth. “You don’t cum until I say.”
“Are you—” you gasp, nails clawing into the headboard. “You can’t just stop—”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want.” His knuckles brush your inner thighs. “And what I want is to hear you beg like you mean it.”
“I did beg,” you snap, voice breaking. “I said I wanted to cum on your face—”
“And now you’re gonna say it dirtier. Come on, sweetheart. Tell me exactly how you want me to eat this pretty cunt. Or sit there and drip on my chest and stay needy. I don’t mind either way.”
You hiss through your teeth, “You’re a fucking asshole.”
His grin widens when your body starts twitching. “The asshole you called last night.”
“I called basically everyone,” you snarl, “Kind of wishing Jeno—”
“Finish that sentence, I dare you.”
Your thighs shake, muscles taut, every nerve begging for release. You want to fight, want to claw him apart—but instead your voice cracks, humiliating and raw: “Please. Please, Jaem. Eat me out. I want to cum on your face.”
He groans, completely feral, hands yanking you down—but just as his tongue grazes you, he pulls back again.
“Not good enough, actually,” he says. “I would have been, but that last comment has irritated me, Y/N.”
“Jesus Christ,” you cry, tugging your own hair in frustration. “What do you want me to say? That I want to ride your fucking face until I can’t walk tomorrow? That I want you to tongue-fuck me until I’m screaming your name? Fine—yes. That’s what I fucking want. You. You. You.”
The sound he makes is animal. His hands slam your hips down, locking you against his mouth as he devours you. His tongue is ruthless now, flicking and sucking your clit like he’s punishing you for every bratty word.
You writhe above him, thighs quivering, hands gripping the headboard so hard your knuckles ache. He moans into you like he’s drowning and you’re the only oxygen he wants.
“Jaem—ohmygod, I’m gonna—”
He pulls back again, lips wet, smirking up at you. “Say it one more time. My name. Beg me.”
You want to scream, want to strangle him, but the need between your legs is unbearable. “Please, Jaemin, please—let me cum, I’ll do anything, just—fuck, I need your mouth, I need your tongue, I need you—”
His eyes flare. “That’s my good girl.”
And then he locks you down hard, tongue quick, sucking your clit callously. He doesn’t stop this time. Doesn’t give you space to breathe. He forces you over the edge, shoving you into it with his mouth, and when it hits, it’s devastating.
You shatter, screaming his name, thighs squeezing tight around his head as you cum all over his face. He groans like it’s everything he’s ever wanted, tongue lapping through every wave of your orgasm until you’re twitching, boneless, collapsing forward against the headboard.
You don’t think you’ve ever cum so hard.
Jaemin pulls back at last, chin slick, lips swollen, eyes blazing with smug satisfaction. “Told you, sweetheart. Everything I give you, you’re going to fucking remember.”
summary: after serving haechan with divorce papers, you can't take his silence anymore and head home to confront him.
warnings: strong language, explicit sexual content
notes: 7k words; very filthy with a happy ending
psa: reader and haechan grew up in the same foster home, and are not actual siblings.
The shiny floors of the lobby clicked beneath your heels. Probably louder than usual given you were stomping. The woman behind the front desk took one look at you and panicked, quickly rising to her feet as you approached, and said, “Ma’am, please let me announce you.”
“I don’t need to be announced to my husband,” you countered, shoving the doors open.
Hovering over his desk, Haechan lifted his eyes when you stormed into his office. He did a quick scan of you from head-to-toe, and liked what he saw if the smirk on his lips was any indication. He quite enjoyed the sight of you hurdling toward him like a freight train.
You slammed the papers on his desk, between his splayed hands, and said, “Sign these.”
And to the surprise of no one, he replied, “No.”
“Haechan, sign the goddamn papers.”
“Suck my dick.”
You threw up your hands and asked, “Do you seriously want a drawn-out court case? Do you have any idea how expensive that’s going to be?”
“I have plenty of money,” Haechan argued coolly. “And, thanks to me, so do you.”
“Go to hell,” you spat angrily, white hot rage flooding through your chest that he was just so… unaffected. You wanted to reach across the desk and strangle him, but you knew he would love that.
Haechan stood upright, grabbed the papers, and walked over to his shredder, feeding them into it. The loud grinding of gears filled the small space and once it finished, harsh silence filled the void.
You watched Haechan saunter toward you, closing the distance. His eyes were alight with mischief, as usual, while you glared at him in defiance and folded your arms.
“Long time no see, darling,” he purred, blatantly eyeing you.
“Don’t try to butter me up, dear. I want a divorce.”
Haechan shrugged. “Well, we don’t always get what we want.”
You took a step toward him, refusing to back down, and said, “You can’t keep me married to you.”
Haechan’s eyes fell to your lips and you could see that he was seriously considering kissing you. He quickly abandoned that thought, but leaned in, meeting your eyes again, and whispered under his breath, “Watch me.”
You bristled with frustration. “This isn’t fair.”
“Don’t talk to me about fair,” Haechan said, tilting his head cutely. Anything he could do to get under your skin. “I made you a deal from the jump.”
Your jaw clenched. Some of your bravado fizzled out when you remembered the last time you’d seen your husband, a month ago. When you told him you were drafting up divorce papers. “I’m not going to apologize,” you seethed through your teeth.
“Then I’ll see you in court.”
You bit your lip. He was beyond infuriating. You always felt like you were a step behind him, always. Throughout your relationship, Haechan played you like an instrument. He could make you do almost anything he wanted; and then convince you it was your idea in the first place. It was no wonder he was such a good lawyer, using his skills to get your brothers out of trouble.
You’d had enough and tried to disentagle yourself from your husband. Obviously, that wasn’t going well, so you tried to do the one thing he didn’t expect.
You braced your hands on Haechan’s waist and backed him against the desk, hard enough to earn yourself a grunt from his pretty lips. Drifting your fingers to his belt, you spoke coyly, “I want to negotiate a new deal.”
Haechan snorted, but his eyes were on your hands unfastening his pants. “What do you have in mind, darling?”
You reached in and grabbed him, peering up at your husband with heat as you fisted his cock. “Sign the papers and I’ll make you feel good.”
He played dumb. “How?”
You smirked and dropped to your knees.
Now, to your credit, Haechan never anticipated this move, but he wasn’t mad about it. He viewed your filing for divorce as the start of a chess match, and behaved accordingly. He had no doubt he would win, but he also kept in mind the queen was the deadliest piece on the board.
Haechan sank his teeth into his bottom lip, fighting a grin at how impatiently you dragged his pants down around his ankles. He gripped the edge of the desk behind him and teased, “You look so good on your knees.”
Your eyes had been glued to his cock, which was hardening in your hands like clockwork, but you shot him a scowl at that and snapped, “Don’t talk. It dries me up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You parted your lips and steered him into your mouth, focusing on the head with your tongue. You’d barely gotten him into your throat and a shudder rushed through your husband’s body. Still sensitive as ever. You loved that about him. He never got used to your touch.
Haechan tipped his head back and let out a staggered whimper, like he was trying his best to keep it at bay and failed, and one of his hands came round to fist in your hair. You liked when he pulled on your strands, so you let him do as he pleased. For now.
You sat at his feet, pliant and pretty for him, gazing up at him with teary eyes as if you were made just for his use. You knew he liked that, and you wanted him to bend to your will.
Haechan guided your head back and forth slowly, sinking his cock into your wet mouth until your lips sealed around the base of him. “Fuck,” he growled, pumping himself into your throat a little faster and you tapped on his thigh.
You sucked in a breath when he pulled himself from your mouth and coughed, blinking the tears from your eyes. You shifted your weight on your knees, very aware of the dampness in your panties, and finally looked up at your husband.
“Open up,” he whispered, bringing your head forward with his hand in your hair.
“Can I hold onto you?” you asked shyly, as if you weren’t currently sucking him dry like rent was due.
Haechan smiled at you being so submissive. “Of course,” he said, always rewarding your surrender with gentleness.
You reached for him, settling your hands on his hips as you took him in your mouth again, eagerly swallowing him down. The room filled with the wet squelches of his dick thrusting into your throat and soon, his endless stream of quiet moans. You hated how much you liked listening to his noises, but you couldn’t help the vicious clenching between your thighs. You dared not touch yourself though, and kept your hands on his hips.
Haechan gave a few last jagged thrusts, grabbed your hair with both hands, and emptied his load into your mouth, easing himself on your tongue until you’d licked him clean. Meanwhile, he made sure to whisper, “Good girl…. That’s my girl.”
You shivered at those words. They always made unspeakable memories rush back to you.
Your husband finally released your hair as you rocked back on your heels. You wiped at your wet cheeks and mouth, until Haechan slipped his fingers under your chin and raised your head to make you look at him again. Fucking hell, he thought. You were the most beautiful thing in the world. He touched your cheek affectionately and rasped, “You’re so stupid, darling.”
Expecting praise, you blinked in surprise. “What?”
“You sucked me dry after I shredded the papers.”
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you glared at him as you realized that you had lost any and all leverage at the moment. You were so fucking turned on that you were prepared to confess to him that you weren’t nearly dumb enough and he should fuck you stupid, just to make sure.
You shook your head, hoping to rattle your traitorous brain back to its senses, but your pussy was in control at the moment, and she was livid. And horny.
Haechan watched the wheels turning in your head as he fastened his pants and taunted, “Just admit it. You wanna fuck me so bad.”
You clambered to your feet shakily and hissed, “I fucking hate you.”
“Sure you do,” your husband said dismissively. “See you at home.”
You glared daggers at him as Haechan circled back around his desk, going about his day as if you hadn’t just given him the blowjob of his life. “You owe me a new deal,” you eventually said.
“I owe you a nut. No more, no less.”
You seethed with anger, but didn’t dare humiliate yourself further and trudged out of his office in defeat.
The moment the door closed behind you and he was alone again, Haechan collapsed into his chair and heaved a big breath, muttering, “Holy shit.” It had taken all of his willpower to hide just how bad he’d been shaking.
He propped his elbows on the desk and held his head in his hands, wondering what in the hell he was going to do to remedy the situation he’d caused.
Your car idled in the driveway of a familiar house for almost twenty minutes. You stared at the unassuming two-story home, nearly identical to the dozens of others in the neighborhood. For a while, you lost yourself to the memories.
If you divorced Haechan, another chapter of your life would come to a close. Oh well, you thought. All good things must come to an end.
Says who? Haechan’s voice echoed in your mind. He never subscribed to such ideas. There was no rule that said life couldn’t be good - and stay good - forever.
Loss was nothing new to you, but it was the loss of your brothers that made your chest hurt. They worked very closely with Haechan. He would win them in the distribution of assets, for sure.
You sighed deeply. It didn’t change all the history you had with your family. The kids nobody wanted, that was your lot. Once upon a time, you’d been among the worst; an untamed hellion of a girl who wanted to damage herself and those around her as much as she could until there was nothing left.
It was the only way to take back control.
Haechan had saved you from yourself, and for that you would always love him.
You glanced down at your phone and reread his text for the millionth time. Not long after you’d left his office, Haechan had messaged you, Wait for me at home. Please. We can talk.
You’d responded, Fine. And left it at that. Truly, you wanted to talk to him more than anything. That’s how this ridiculous stalemate had begun in the first place. The bridges of communication between you and Haechan had inexplicably broke down.
Actually, not that inexplicable. Haechan was burning them down and you didn’t understand why.
Thinking about the big fight that led to you kicking your husband out, you shook your head and decided the three boys inside would be a good distraction. You hopped out of the car, dragged yourself onto the porch, and lifted your hand to knock, but the door swung open before you could.
Mark was already flashing you that big smile of his. “We had a bet going on how long you would sit in your car,” he said with a tiny laugh.
You rolled your eyes. “And Jaemin won?”
“Jaemin won.”
You snorted and slumped into your brother’s waiting arms, huffing, “Bunch of fuckers. All of you.”
Mark chuckled, patting your back as he hugged you tightly.
You were ushered into the warm kitchen and landed in a heap in the chair pulled out for you at the dining table. Jaemin was regaling your siblings about some drama with the neighbors while Jeno poured glasses of wine. You muttered a soft “thank you” when he slid a glass your way.
A few glasses later, you said, “He’s right though. I am an idiot.”
The conversation had inevitably turned to your marriage with Haechan. It went without saying that your brothers were very invested in how things would end.
“You really went to his office just to blow him?” Jeno exclaimed, putting his glass to his lips.
“I was trying to negotiate,” you said innocently.
“Yeah,” Jaemin said, lingering on the word. “Not your best move.”
“Tell me about it,” you droned, tossing back more wine, but it did nothing to dull the embarrassment you felt at being outmaneuvered.
Mark drunkenly spoke up, “I think it’s a great move.”
All eyes shifted to him and his rosy cheeks.
Mark glanced around the table and said awkwardly, “We men are simple creatures.”
You giggled while Jaemin and Jeno bobbed their heads in agreement.
A soft buzz settled in and the familiar symphony of laughter filled the kitchen, although one voice was missing. You sat with your brothers until night fell, reminding you of all the years you spent with them, talking till the sun came up.
Nobody knew you like they did. This was your safe space, the place where part of your heart would always live; the only good piece of you that existed.
“Divorce does seem a bit extreme, though,” Mark started, his eyes batting sleepily. “I mean, did you guys even try couples therapy?”
“You can’t convince someone who knows everything to go to therapy,” you replied, your voice filled with disdain. Therapy had been one of your first suggestions, but Haechan would rather dig to hell with his bare hands than be vulnerable with a stranger.
“Good point,” said Jeno. He was probably the most similar to Haechan in that regard. They had so many wounds from the past. Talking about it didn’t make them go away, especially when they’d spent so much time trying to forget.
Jaemin scratched his head. “You guys got married so young. You had to know that as you got older you’d hit some bumps in the road. Why are you ready to throw in the towel now?”
“I can handle bumps in the road. Shit, I can handle mountains, but I don’t want to handle them by myself. A marriage is supposed to be a partnership - that’s what we promised each other,” you said softly, stopping when you remembered the day you married Haechan. Sorrow filled you then. You’d both been so happy.
“What changed?” Mark asked carefully.
You stared at your glass of wine, swirling it slightly. You knew Mark probably heard Haechan’s side; they were best friends as well as brothers. Mark was the only person Haechan confided in. Not you. He only showed you his best side, his perfect side. But you’d bared your soul to Haechan and it killed you that he wouldn’t reciprocate.
“Nothing, I guess,” you finally admitted, your voice quiet as if shame had taken over. “We were always like this, but I was too in love to notice. Now, I see everything and… he won’t let me in. I feel like I don’t know him anymore.”
“You left, because you wanted him to come after you.”
You could hear the sympathy, but also the sharp edge of Mark’s voice. It was a statement and an accusation, and you knew then and there Haechan had come to that conclusion himself and shared it with his best friend. Maybe he hoped one day Mark would get the chance to voice it to you.
Once again, refusing to do it himself.
“My ears are burning,” announced Haechan as he walked in.
You ignored him as he took off his shoes and slipped out of his coat. When he marched right up to you and pressed a kiss to your cheek, you grimaced dramatically.
“Honey, I’m home,” said your husband cutely.
You deadpanned, “How was work?”
“Great. I got my dick sucked.”
You’d walked right into that one. Sneering, you so badly wanted to swing at his head. But he’d probably like that.
Haechan skipped away victoriously and poured himself a drink.
One-by-one, your brothers found excuses to leave you alone with your husband. The wine made you warm and relaxed, so you didn’t put up much of a fight. You sat across from Haechan at the table, watching him throw back a shot of something heavy, and tensed with just how goddamned attractive he was.
Your heart was mad at him. Your brain demanded you sever all ties to him for the sake of your peace. But god, your body wanted him so badly you couldn’t fathom going another night without bouncing on it.
All of which was made much worse by alcohol. You felt lighter, more at ease, and you realized too late you were now at a serious disadvantage when dealing with your husband. He could argue circles around you to begin with. Now, you were weighed down with wine. You were practically putty in his hands.
“You look drunk,” Haechan finally spoke to you, his eyes clouded.
“I’m not that drunk,” you shot back impatiently, avoiding his stare. You were going to hang onto your anger if it killed you.
“I can’t fuck you if you’re wasted.”
That snatched the wind right out of you. You looked everywhere but at him, knowing you would make a fool of yourself. “No one is asking you to,” you said, your voice low.
“That’s why you came back,” Haechan said calmly, spinning his glass of wine before taking a sip. His tone was red hot with mockery when he added, “You can hate me all you want, but you can’t stay off this dick.”
“Don’t be mean,” was all you could bring yourself to say.
“Why not?” Haechan reached across the table and snatched your hand, proceeding to play with your fingers. “You leave me. You threaten me with divorce. But I’m not allowed to be a little mean?”
You exhaled loudly. His hands on yours was ruining you. You wanted him to drag you across the table and take you in his arms, holding you until your heart healed. However long that took. But he had a point and so you surrendered. “You’re right. Be as mean as you want. I can take it.”
Haechan scoffed. He looked down at your hand and grabbed your ring finger, spinning your wedding band that he’d slid on your finger the day you married him, and whispered, “Feel this?”
“Yes.”
“You know what it means?”
“I know what it means.”
Haechan grabbed your hand tight and hissed, “It means if you wanna get out of this marriage, you’ll have to kill me.”
You tried to yank your hand back, but you were no match for his strength on the rare times he wanted to exert it. “Let go.”
Haechan shook his head. “Never.”
You glanced toward the table and watched him lace his fingers through yours, stroking his thumb over your hand gently as if he wasn’t ripping you to pieces with his words. Before you could stop it, tears slipped down your cheeks and you quickly used your free hand to wipe them away.
“Don’t cry, darling,” your husband cooed.
“I can cry if I want to,” you told him petulantly, like a fussy child. You chastised yourself for sounding so pathetic and groaned, “Fucking merlot.”
Haechan chuckled darkly and brought your hand to his lips, pressing one kiss after another across your knuckles.
Your eyes widened. Damn it. His soft lips reached your wrist and his kisses turned to nibbles then to suckling. You shifted in your chair, because you were flying at breakneck speed toward insanity. With his guard down, you ripped your hand away and whined, “We’re supposed to be talking.”
Haechan smirked, licking his lips. “I think you should take me upstairs and have your way with me,” he said shamelessly. “I owe you an orgasm.”
You let your head fall back and groaned. “Sex is not going to fix this.”
“I know that, but sex can at least do something about this tension,” he said matter-of-factly, and when you opened your mouth to argue, your husband cut you off, “You want it. Don’t even try to lie. I can see it’s eating you alive.”
It was the truth. You missed him so badly your body ached for him.
You were at the end of your rope. He was making you crazy with lust. Haechan always knew exactly what to say and do. You swung around to finally face him and said, “If I do this, you’ll meet me halfway with the divorce.”
“Not a fucking chance.”
You swore at him and got to your feet, heading upstairs to the room you shared with him. Haechan was right behind you, noting your steady gait. You notoriously stumbled all over the place when you were really drunk, but you seemed to have sobered pretty well in the past few minutes. Surely he didn’t have anything to do with that.
When you stepped into your room, Haechan slipped in behind you and shut the door, just as you wanted. You turned to him and he backed you into the wall, cornering you with his body against yours. You swallowed the lump in your throat and stammered his name, but any other words died on your lips when Haechan pressed a kiss to your neck.
“I just think there’s a more…,” you trailed, eyes fluttering at his hot mouth tracing under your jaw. “Amicable way for us to handle this.”
“I agree,” Haechan said blithely, lilting back to start unbuttoning your shirt.
Your body heated up by a thousand degrees. You watched him undressing you and stammered, “But you won’t… compromise with me on anything.”
Haechan tossed your shirt to the floor and then went to work on your jeans. His eyes were on the rapid rise and fall of your breasts. “Give me something I can compromise with,” he replied, calm as ever. “You keep asking for things I can’t give.”
“But that’s…,” you hesitated, his lips back on your neck, sucking right over your thundering pulse. Sanity was throwing itself out the window. His hands palmed at your breasts, slowly but surely taking off your bra.
“I’ve been counting down the days till I could fuck you again,” Haechan said in a low growl, kissing his way across your collarbone.
“I want that,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. You quickly cleared your throat and lied, “I-I mean, I want us to talk things out. You know, in between fucking.”
Haechan’s breath was scalding on your skin when he laughed. He traveled his lips down to your breasts, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking. You were so malleable in his hands. He couldn’t wait to hear you beg before the night was over.
“Babe, I…,” you rasped, raking your nails over his scalp, trying to steer his dangerous mouth away from your chest. “I can’t think right now.”
“That’s the point, darling.”
Uh-oh. It was coming. You could feel the desire and the need boiling over and flooding into your veins. Any second now you were going to snap, throw him onto the bed (or the floor), and ride him into the sunset until he begged for mercy.
You sharply yanked Haechan’s head up, making his lips brush against yours and earning a delicious groan from his pouty lips. “You’re the worst.”
He grinned with delight like the devil himself. “You knew that when you married me.”
That was true. You knew what he was and what he was capable of. Mark’s question came to you again. What changed?
“You don’t fight fair,” you sighed under your breath.
“Why should I?” Haechan smarted, nibbling beneath your ear and playing with your breasts. “This is way more fun. And I always win.”
You held onto his shoulders and whimpered when he bruised your neck, crying out his name when he pinched and rolled your nipples. “Let me win once,” you choked out, grasping a handful of his hair again.
“When I win, so do you,” Haechan said shortly. “If you win, I lose.”
Those words swam around in your mind for a moment. Haechan kept kissing and touching you, but what he’d said drove you insane. “Are you saying… that what I want hurts you?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand.”
Haechan pulled back to look you in the eyes and you wanted to crumble to the floor. “Yes, you do. For you to win, you want me to change who I am. For me to win, I want you to stay exactly as you are.”
“I don’t want you to change,” you exclaimed, cradling his head in your hands as if he were about to vanish before your eyes. “I just want to know you.”
Haechan grabbed your wrists and pried you from his face, sneering, “No, you don’t. You don’t want to know just how broken the man you married is.”
Your lips trembled as you began to cry. “You think I’m not broken too? I just want you to hold me and tell me everything’s going to be okay, but you won’t do that. It’s beneath you.”
Haechan released your hands. “It’s above me, not beneath.”
The tears were steady now. “Just love me,” you pleaded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. “That’s all I want from you.”
“And that’s all I’ve ever done,” he said coldly, leaning in to press his brow to your forehead. “But you fucking left me.”
You nodded and opened your mouth to speak.
Haechan crowded into you even closer. You didn’t think he could possibly press himself into you harder, but he did. His nose brushed yours as he whispered, “You have no idea what I want to do to you.”
His eyes went dark. You were ready to fold. All he needed to do was say the word.
Haechan reached up and grabbed your jaw gently. “When you left me, I wanted to hunt you down, drag you back, and tie you to the bed.”
Fire lit itself through your veins. Your heart skipped a beat. The way he’d said it made your knees weak. “Why didn’t you…,” you asked, shifting your weight. “Come after me?”
“You don’t want to stay with me. Who am I to make you?”
“You are my husband,” you said, raising your voice, and pushed his chest. “You’re supposed to drag me back to you. That’s what I wanted!”
Haechan’s eyes flickered.
You shook your head and cried, “I moved your queen across the board into enemy territory, where she was alone and vulnerable. And you did nothing.”
“I can only move one step at a time. She can move anywhere.” Haechan looped his arms around your waist and said, “She’s so much stronger than me. I knew she’d come back.”
“Don’t ever let me do that again.”
“I won’t.”
That was enough. You kissed him then, full of hunger and longing. Haechan kissed you back with so much lust and pain, you could feel it pouring out of him and into your skin. If you could just melt into him, life would be a lot easier.
Haechan steered you to the bed and shoved you onto the mattress harshly. In the next second, he was tugging your pants and underwear down your legs. Finding yourself naked while he was fully clothed, you laughed quietly. That was exactly how you would describe your relationship. You were open and real, he was sealed away and perfectly pressed.
“What’s so funny, pretty girl?”
You shook your head. “You’re so quick to strip me down. But you have to always be untouchable.”
Haechan snorted. “You can touch me.”
Your husband crawled over you and kissed you until there was not a single thought in your head anymore, chasing away the strife. You were completely tactile, only aware of his body on yours and his mouth on yours. You would be content with kissing him until sleep finally took you and put you out of your misery.
When the first cuff closed around your wrist, you weren’t surprised. Haechan didn’t stop for a moment until your hands and ankles were chained to the posts of the bed, distracting you with his tongue in your mouth. For the final touch, he smiled wickedly at you and gave you one more kiss while wrapping a blindfold around your head and tying it snug.
“Be good,” Haechan warned, climbing off the bed. You could hear his footsteps across the floor, and then nothing. With your sight gone, your hearing was all you had.
You laid there. Not that you had much of a choice. You tested the cuffs a few times, making the chains jingle. “H-Haechan,” you called out after a moment.
There was a small sound of movement, then familiar fingers touched your folds. You immediately squirmed. You must have wrestled a bit too much for his liking, because fingers became a flat hand delivering a single smack to your sex.
“I said behave,” your husband scolded.
You stilled yourself, but the rapid thumping of your heart threatened to rip you apart at the seams. Haechan touched and caressed between your legs, tormenting you, waiting for you to snap. The last thing you wanted was to give him any satisfaction. So, you bit your lip and willed your body not to move as two fingers pressed into your core.
Haechan tsked his tongue. “You think it pisses me off if you’re quiet?”
“God, I hope so,” you retorted.
Your husband laughed and the sound was downright salacious. His voice was even worse. “Joke’s on you. I’m not stopping until you traumatize the neighbors.”
You bit your lip harder, because his fingers were sinking in and out of you at a delicious pace, hooking against your sweet spot while his thumb pressed and rolled your clit. You could hear yourself getting wetter and wetter, so turned on it was borderline embarrassing.
“I’m not doing it,” you said stubbornly. “You won’t break me.”
“Famous last words.”
Your lower body tightened against your will. Damn him, you groaned inwardly. Despite your blindfold, you just knew he was smirking, his eyes on your perfect cunt as he buried his fingers inside. He dragged them against your walls, as deep as he could go.
“Remember when we were sixteen…,” Haechan started, fingering you to the edge of your first climax of the night. His tone was so dull, like he was discussing a business meeting that could have been an email.
“And you came in me after five seconds?”
A hand slapped over your mouth. Deserved, you mused. He’d lasted at least twenty seconds.
“You begged me for it,” your husband reminded, cocky. “You begged me to do it again too. You loved fucking training me with your body.”
You said something, but it was muffled against his palm.
“It’s my turn to train you. And you’re going to come now or I’m going to leave you tied up here until one of our brothers gets curious enough to check if you’re still alive.”
Fuck him and all the mean fucking filth that always came out of his mouth, you thought, but it was worthless. Your body coiled and shook as you released, your back arching on the mattress as much as was allowed by the restraints.
Haechan kept stroking his fingers in and out of you as you came, a victorious gloat on his face. He removed his hand from your mouth to press on your lower belly to keep you in place, your noises of pleasure filling the room.
“Fuck, yes, baby,” you moaned, writhing on the bed as he milked the last of your aftershocks. Finally, the need that had built inside you since getting on your knees for him was satiated.
Or so you thought.
“That’s one,” Haechan said nonchalantly and you gulped.
Time swiftly lost all meaning. Haechan worked you from one climax to another, your pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. Actually, it was music to him. He loved listening to you beg.
At some point, Haechan’s phone rang and he had the audacity to answer, fielding someone’s questions levelly while still fucking you with his fingers. You partly wanted to ask who the hell was calling so late, but you couldn’t formulate the words when release was already dragging you back into its throes again.
Your husband hung up the phone and asked, “Where were we?”
“Please, Haechan. Please,” you chanted, whimpering desperately. Your body was slick with sweat, your cheeks damp with tears spilling from beneath the blindfold. You were an overstimulated mess, your body trembling wherever and whenever he touched you; even the lightest, briefest of caresses.
“Please, what?”
“I can’t take anymore.”
He chuckled. “You sure?”
You nodded rapidly. “Yes. I’m sure. Please.”
“Hm, I dunno,” your husband said, as if he were talking to himself. “I really like watching you get off.”
You were totally at his mercy and as far as mercy was concerned, Haechan had no reason to show you any.
Haechan played with your clit, his hand wet with the evidence of your many orgasms, and wiped off some of your slick on his pant leg before resuming his ministrations. “It’s probably a good thing I can’t keep coming over and over like you do, my little slut. I’d just stay inside you forever.”
“Fuck… you.” Your body arched off the bed again as you finished on his fingers, writhing. The orgasm was so intense you couldn’t even make noise, your breath stuck in your chest as you were trapped in a high between pleasure and pain.
The moment you settled down, Haechan said, “Tell me to stop.”
You took a few breaths. You were a nerve laid raw and he was still pumping his fingers in you, no matter how much you squirmed and shook. “If I tell you to stop, are you going to leave?” you asked, your voice wet with tears.
Haechan said nothing and the silence was brutal enough to crush you. For a moment, he just stared at you in wonder; your shivering and glistening body, your cheeks soaked with tears, your chest heaving for air. He had you right where he wanted you, but it wasn’t enough.
The bed shifted and you knew he was kneeling between your legs again, but this time, he propped over you and brushed his lips against yours, swallowing your cries. You felt his hard cock resting on your folds and it made you clench.
“Can I put it in?”
“Yes,” you said without missing a beat, nodding quickly.
Haechan slid into your wet, sore cunt and ripped your blindfold off, making you squint against the light. Your husband’s eyes rolled at the tight perfect vise of your walls and he groaned deep in his chest, biting his lip to keep from chanting, “Fuck.”
The sound that came out of you when he sheathed inside was mortifying. You let your head fall back on the mattress, satisfied at finally being filled, but so aching with release you couldn’t keep still.
“You don’t want a divorce. You want my attention. Now, you have it. Tell me what you really want from me,” your husband demanded, canting his hips back and forward, thrusting into you deep.
Your body accepted him hungrily. You pinched your lips together to stifle any more noises. They wouldn’t help your case. You were so sensitive it was almost brutal, your lips parted on another moan as he stroked his cock into you slowly, over and over. “I-I want…,” you trailed, your eyes rolling back. Another orgasm was already building.
Haechan smiled slightly at the twisted pleasure on your face and dropped his head to your chest, kissing across your breasts and lingering on your nipples. He snapped his hips into yours, driving his length into you so hard the headboard began to smack against the wall.
“Stop, stop, stop,” you chanted, fighting the binds around your wrists.
Haechan bottomed out in your heat and stilled, gazing down at you and watching you shuddering on his cock. “You want me to stop because it hurts or you’re about to come again?”
“I can’t come anymore.”
“I think you can.”
You blew out a breath. He was like a brick wall. Felt like one too, much to your delight. You searched his eyes, knowing there had to be some way to get to him.
Your husband smiled down at you and taunted, “Go ahead and think about it, baby. I can do this all night.”
You slumped into the mattress in defeat, your arms going limp at your sides. You unclenched your fists in surrender, letting go of the sheets. “Untie me,” you finally said. By your tone, it wasn’t a demand, but a request you knew he wouldn’t deny.
One-by-one, Haechan unbuckled the clasps around your wrists and ankles. You lay there demurely, acting like he’d done what he set out to do, but you weren’t broken. Not by a longshot.
The moment you were free, you launched at him, swinging at your husband’s head to throw him off balance. He caught your hands with his own, like you knew he would, but you tackled him anyway, knocking him to his back and landing right on him. Haechan fought back enough to make it interesting, but he relented pretty quickly when you dropped down on his dick and started riding him.
“Shut the fuck up, Haechan,” you growled when he opened his mouth to speak, probably to irritate you and you were beyond irritation already. Your whole body was screaming, your sex was utterly spent and aching, but this was the only way you knew how to slap that obnoxious look off his face.
Haechan grunted every time you slammed down on him, letting you pin his hands on opposite sides of his head. Your pussy grabbed him hard and when you stopped bouncing on his dick to roll your hips back and forth at a relentless pace, his eyes fluttered back and he moaned loud enough to make you laugh at him.
“If you would have come after me, we could have been doing this,” you said, annoyed. “You’re so stupid, my love. You’d rather have your pride than my pussy.”
Haechan shook his head. “Not true.” He struggled to get the words out with how hard you rode him, but finally managed to say, “There’s nothing I want more than you.”
“Act like it.”
Your husband reached for your waist and started to sit up, but you braced your hands on his chest and shoved him to the bed again. He grumbled in frustration and grabbed your hips harshly, digging his fingers into your flesh.
You propped yourself over him and dragged your lips over his jaw, nibbling at his neck. Then, you wrapped your fingers around his throat and squeezed, and hissed, “Come inside.”
Haechan’s eyes widened at you and he rasped, “Now who’s not fighting fair?”
You tightened your grip on him and worked yourself on his cock, feeling his hips rising to meet you like he couldn’t control it. “All’s fair in love and war,” you whispered.
Haechan didn’t question which one the two of you were. It was always war with him. He knew nothing else, and here you were matching him just as hotly. He whispered your name like a prayer and gazed up at you in worship.
It was all too easy to surrender to you, so that’s what he did.
“Give it to me.” You coiled both hands around his neck and kept your hold tight. Given the fucked out bliss on his face and the black pool his eyes had become, it was exactly what he needed. His cock was so painfully stiff in your cunt, you wanted to give him release so badly it possessed you.
Haechan panted and grabbed hurriedly at your body, his voice pitching as he warned, “I’m coming. Fuck. Don’t stop.”
You ground yourself down on his length and lost yourself to the high, crying out in pleasure when you finished one last time. Haechan released into your pulsing sex with a moan that echoed through the room, both of you whimpering through your ends. You rutted against each other to get through the aftershocks, Haechan painting your walls with his seed.
Your vision went blurry and you fell forward onto his chest, your husband’s arms wrapping around your body to catch you. Haechan held onto you with a desperation he rarely showed and felt himself floating back down to reality. Everything was warm and fuzzy, and he felt like he couldn’t get enough air.
You hid your face in his neck and closed your eyes. More than anything, you didn’t want to be parted; you wanted to stay locked against him forever.
“Are you okay?” Haechan asked after a moment.
“No,” you replied, making him shift under you with worry. “It hurts.”
Haechan started to gather you and lift. “Flip over so I can pull out.”
You clung to him harder and shook your head, and whispered sadly, “No. How I feel about you… it hurts.”
Haechan sighed heavily. “How do you feel about me?”
You let him sit up, keeping you in his lap, and even though he’d gone soft, you just didn’t want to be separated from him. You were fiending for any part of him you could get. You wanted the connection, you needed it. You were desperate to feel him. “That you’ll never love me as much as I love you,” you confessed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and hiding in the crook of his neck.
“It really pisses me off when you say shit like that,” Haechan snapped.
Your blood turned to ice in your veins. Haechan laid you down on the mattress beneath him and then pried himself out of your arms and off the bed. You grabbed the blanket and covered yourself, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable, and watched him start to dress.
“You didn’t deny it,” you spoke up a moment later.
Haechan bristled with anger and rounded on you. “I have never done anything different. You changed, not me. I’ve never lied when I told you I love you, but you lied when you said you would never leave me.”
“So, I’m the problem?” you exclaimed.
Haechan made a face, like that was exactly the conclusion he wanted you to reach.
“Don’t you see that I always have to do something drastic to get your attention?”
Haechan mocked, “Don’t blame me for you being dramatic.”
You sat on the edge of the bed, holding the blanket close around your naked body, and peered up at him with tears in your eyes. “You shut me out, Haechan.”
He stopped and frowned at you. “I did not,” your husband snapped vehemently, like the thought repelled him.
“You did.” A soft sob escaped and you covered your face with your hands.
Haechan panicked, dropping between your legs and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Look at me,” he said, whispering your name gently.
You shook your head, still hiding your face.
“Look at me,” he said again slowly, reaching for your hands gingerly and pulling them away.
You were a mess, your eyes red, your cheeks glistening with tears, your lips still swollen from his kisses. “You never tell me how you feel,” you cried, sniffing back more tears. “I’ve told you everything, but you won’t let me see you. Sometimes, I feel like I’m sleeping with a stranger. It hurts.”
Haechan hung his head in shame, staring vacantly at your lap. He sucked in a breath to steady himself and clung to your hands.
You leaned your head against his and continued, “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do, but you want to stay a mystery to me. You won’t let me in. I feel so disconnected from the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
Haechan’s eyes were misty now and he said, “I don’t want you to know… the shit I went through, the things I had to do. I don’t need you to carry that. I want that person to be dead. If I tell you about him, it would be like bringing him back from the dead when I worked so goddamn hard to bury him.”
“I understand, but that’s the thing about us and our brothers. We are the worst of the worst. We’ve been through hell. That’s why we’re the only ones that could get through to each other.”
“I know, but you’re different,” Haechan said shakily, wiping at his cheeks. “You’re my girl. If you knew… I could never survive you looking at me differently.”
You shook your head and assured him, “Don’t tell me, baby. Don’t dig up that body for me. Leave it be. But you’re so concerned with making sure I only see you how you want me to see you, that I’m barely getting glimpses of the man I love.”
“So, me crying right now - is that doing it for you?” Haechan asked with a tiny smile.
You laughed. “Yeah, it is. I don’t want you to cry, but crying is normal. It’s human. You think I don’t know you hide in the bathroom when you cry, because you think it’s weak? Why do that when you could be crying into my boobs instead?”
Haechan nuzzled your neck. “This is kinda nice.”
You chortled again, hugging him to your chest. “I just wanna feel you,” you whispered tenderly. “All the good. All the bad. Everything. Tell me how you feel… right now, in this moment.”
Haechan breathed you in, letting himself be cocooned by the warmth of you. Honestly, being on his knees between your legs and in your arms, feeling how hard you were holding him like he was your entire universe was healing something inside him. He’d never let himself be so sensitive to you and your touch before; that type of intimacy was too terrifying. It could so easily be abused.
“I think I’ve mastered the art of appearing vulnerable, but never actually being it. I always treat every conversation like an interrogation. Every relationship is a chess match. I don’t know who I am without this mask. I don’t want anyone to know the real me. I have to be…” Haechan trailed, the realization finally hitting him.
You nodded your understanding and finished for him, “It’s how you took back control.”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“I know about that all too well. I figured if I broke myself beyond repair, then no one else could do it.”
Haechan met your eyes and ran his thumbs over your cheeks, wiping away the remnants of your tears. He could see the joy pushing through your pain; connecting with him like this was all you’d ever wanted. “And now?”
“The good with you is replacing the bad from my life before. I don’t think you know just how much you saved me, Haechan.”
Haechan smiled at you, warmth blossoming in his chest when you leaned in and kissed him warmly on the lips.
“I love you, and I don’t need to know your past to keep loving you. I just don’t want you to hide from me anymore,” you said, brushing his hair back from his face. He would never know just how beautiful he looked to you, his cheeks pink and his eyes starry.
“I’ll do better.” Haechan blew out a breath. He felt… lighter. It was such a foreign feeling to him. This stalemate between the two of you had thrown him off kilter. He thought you wanted more than he was willing to give - to dig up the past. But he’d misunderstood. You just wanted him.
He could let you in. It wasn’t so scary anymore.
“Thank you, and…,” you bit your lip to fight the urge to cry. “I’m sorry for leaving you.”
That was all he wanted. “I forgive you,” Haechan said, and he meant it. The battle was over and somehow, you both had won.
SYNOPSIS: Waking up to the sunlight blazing onto your face and hungover was one thing. Waking up to the sunlight blazing onto your face, hungover and in a bed that wasn’t your own in nothing but a pair of sweatpants that were obviously not yours, was another and a punishment specifically made for you—your own personal hell.
CONTENT WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. dub-con, Jaemin’s a freak and a little fucked in the head, afab!reader, (ex)boyfriend’s best friend, sex under the influence of alcohol, protected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), sex-tapes, nudes (but make it artsy), face/throat-fucking, dirty-talk, mild possessiveness, mild obsession, smidge of fluff surprisingly, voyeurism and exhibitionism (kinda?), open-ended.
WORD COUNT: 7.5K
note: first of all, happy birthday to one of my favorite leos, Jaemin 💖 idk how many times i’ve looped the song but i think it was enough for me to come up with a fic inspired by it 💀 originally, this was supposed to be posted sooner but hey! Better late than never! Heed the warnings i beg if you don’t like the sound of this then please, you are absolutely free to click off! Other than that, please enjoy the filth ~
“You’re every single thing that I deserve. Maybe that’s too boring. ‘Cause I might say some thing you’ve never heard. Like I did last night, what a blur.” — Blur by Lolo Zouaï
You
hyuck
oh my fucking god HYUCK
WAKE UP
haechan
ugh woman WHA T
You
HELP
haechan
?? are you dying
wait where did you even go last night?
i didnt see u anywhere after like
well i dont remember
You
home
haechan
.
ok how tf am i gonna help with that
You
but its not MY home
and im pretty sure i slept with whoever took me here
haechan
😟
i’ll be at ur place
“Jesus—the guy try to eat you or something?”
You winced, covering the marks left by whoever fucking psycho thought they were a vampire.
Seriously, was all that really necessary? Leaving obvious bite marks and bruises to the point it looked like an animal attempted to maul you beyond recognition? Anyone with a functioning brain would obviously veto that idea in a heartbeat. Anyone with a modicum of chivalry could have stopped themselves from making your neck look like it did.
You were a contributing member to society and the thought of facing endless questions about your otherwise wild night out, at work of all places, was mortifying enough as it is. You had places to be. You had people to meet.
One of those ‘people you had to meet’ happened to be Donghyuck. A constant presence in your day-to-day life and was essentially your best friend. Your ride or die. There should be some bias for one another when it comes to this friendship built from finding each other in bathrooms of college parties with either one’s head stuck in the toilet bowl.
You’ve literally seen each other at your worst, but Donghyuck was a Gemini first through and through. You weren’t one to succumb to the belief of stereotypes, yet Donghyuck proudly wore being two-faced like a badge of honor. He was your best friend, but he was also your worst enemy and never would he miss the opportunity in making you squirm underneath the palpable judgment swimming side-by-side with the curiosity alight in his eyes.
“Does it look that bad?” you asked quietly, just as curious, but leaning more towards your own reassurance.
The loud, grating laughter he let spill past his lips was enough to tell you that, yeah, it’s pretty gnarly and the likelihood of you getting some weird looks was at a moderate high.
“All I’m saying is—” he said then cleared his throat, “—is you’re gonna have to like, use half a tube of your best concealer.” he jeered, taking his time to assess the damage with an amused twitch of his lips before picking up the remote.
Case in point.
Although Donghyuck spoke the truth and nothing but the truth, that didn’t stop you from flicking his ear in retaliation as the last thing you wanted to ruin your mood was Donghyuck’s super helpful (read: useless) input. As if he was any better. You couldn’t count the number of times he found himself in ‘sticky’ situations that even the most promiscuous of people would cover their mouths, scandalized at the many many recounts of (questionable) conquests of getting his dick wet as many times as he could.
(That’s not to say you were completely innocent. Your sexual appetite was at a healthy mid to high. Donghyuck was just shameless. You, on the other hand, were not).
The wounded noise from Donghyuck went ignored as you stood up, stretched your arms up high and headed to the kitchen to get something into your empty stomach.
Waking up to the sunlight blazing onto your face and hungover was one thing.
Waking up to the sunlight blazing onto your face, hungover and in a bed that wasn’t your own in nothing but a pair of sweatpants that were obviously not yours, was another and a punishment specifically made for you—your own personal hell. A thing to note was the sweatpants were from a brand that you haven’t even heard of. Ever. Either this guy’s a fashion snob, or he’s filthy fucking rich, though something in you persisted that he was probably the latter.
No. Scratch that. It’s a hundred percent the latter.
You’ve been here before. Sober during those very few times, to be frank, and you desperately wished that you didn’t know who lived in this pretentiously decorated bachelor’s pad.
You thought waking up in a stranger’s bed was bad? Try waking up in your ex-boyfriend’s best friend’s bed with no recollection of what happened last night. Trying to remember was proven useless when the memories were all but blurry, flashing images you couldn’t for the life of you sharpen with the power of your mind—that was still recovering from the hangover—alone.
It really wasn’t the best morning. It was arguably one of the worst.
Seeing one of his cats perched on top of the highest point of the cat tower in the far corner of the bedroom was already a bad omen in and of itself, slanted eyes locked on your every move and she (you had a faint idea that this was one of his girls) even followed you to the bathroom! Which, okay, wasn’t that awful considering she hadn’t meowed or hissed at you in warning (yet).
All the cat did was hop onto the marble counter of Jaemin’s bathroom, sat back primly and watched you get rid of the accumulated grime on your face before going crazy with the array of skincare the man had out in the open. It was really his fault for leaving you unattended.
Speaking of Jaemin, he was nowhere to be found.
There were no signs of him even as you padded into the wide expanse of the living area. No signs of life in the kitchen either aside from the two other cats Jaemin had in his care and strangely enough, they too didn’t seem to be alarmed by your presence. You’ve only been here a few times with your then boyfriend, Jeno. Played with them a little too. Maybe the cats had sharper memories than you gave them credit for.
All of that aside, Jaemin’s absence was a huge relief on your part. Being drunk five margaritas in around him was embarrassing though still salvageable by a brief but genuine apology. Conversing with him was rare, sure, but the few conversations with him were adequate for you to lump him with one of the good ones.
Yet.
Yet.
This—being in your ex-boyfriend’s best friend’s fucking apartment of all places—felt like there was more to what you initially thought could have happened that made you stay the night.
It’s been so long since you’ve last seen your ex, much less Jaemin, as he wasn’t exactly one to go out as often, but your alcohol-addled brain had momentarily lost its grasp on the supposed built-in survival instinct that you let yourself get whisked away by him.
Possibly let him have his way with you (in your drunken haze) as you thought back to the mild soreness in between your legs.
Whatever the possibilities were, you had no luxury to narrow them down right now. Not when you had bigger problems.
You had to get out of here. Fast.
“Holy shit.”
Was what you heard the very second the grilled cheese and bacon sandwich you planned on sharing was placed on the plate.
At first, you didn’t think much of Donghyuck’s exclamation. Dramatics were his thing and you were used to being subjected to them so often that you barely blinked when Donghyuck followed it up with a sharp gasp. You were just about to write it off as ‘none of your business’—unlike Donghyuck who made sure to make his business everyone else’s—when what he said next made you pause.
“Y/N, you have got to see this.”
Now adding you to the mix got your attention. Picking up the urgent yet intrigued intonation from Donghyuck’s demand was enough to put brunch on the back burner as you rushed back to the small living area. The TV was put on mute. It was the first detail you noticed before pinning your gaze onto your best friend still on the couch and you immediately knew something was wrong with the way his shoulders almost touched his ears from sitting too stiffly.
Donghyuck had your phone in his hand when you sat down beside him which wasn't exactly new to you. He somehow figured out your pass-code (“it was your birth date,” Donghyuck clarified. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out. What do you have against Face ID anyway?”) and you couldn’t find the energy to change it. It wasn't like you had anything to hide. You lived a pretty uneventful life, completely juxtaposing with whatever he had going on at his end, so you didn’t really mind the nosiness.
One look at his face, however, made you reconsider the leniency towards your privacy.
Donghyuck had this innate talent of pissing off people by his many facial expressions alone. He looked like the cat that ate the canary; probably planning on swallowing it down with cream to egg you on further and you just know whatever he had to say—or show in this case—was bound to raise your blood pressure to new heights.
“What,” it was meant to be a question, and the annoyance that managed to creep into the mono-syllable was amusing enough to Donghyuck that the annoying grin grew into almost splitting his face in half.
You rolled your eyes so hard that you wondered why you weren’t stuck staring at your brain from how often you did this at his expense. “Seriously, what?”
Donghyuck silently handed your phone over, still looking like the devil’s incarnate that it was almost an eerie resemblance, yet you still humored him.
You soon found that there was no humor in this situation.
All the budding annoyance had come to a screeching halt the moment your phone found its rightful home in your grasp.
From your abysmal screen-time, you should be used to its lightness, yet the device felt heavier than it should. It was like having the weight of the world in your palms and what’s worse, you could feel your blood running cold in real time as you peered down at the small screen leering right back at you, taunting you.
What greeted you was the opened camera roll that somehow accumulated pictures upon pictures of you stripped down to your most promiscuous state of undress. The sight was daunting to say the least that some crazed part of you thought your phone had become sentient; goading you with each flick of your thumb to scroll through them, further stripping you of your modesty. As if it was a digital flip book of yourself, illustrating you and one of you rare conquests of hunting down warm body to fuck around with.
The sheer amount of them was almost laughable, just imagining the person on the other side of the lens doing their absolute damnedest in making sure no small detail was out of place; that you came out debauched, yet still gorgeous enough to overlook the depravity of their nature.
You weren’t sure if this could be compared to nudes. Not when there were some traces of artistry behind each photo that if you were less than sane, you would have your thanks at the ready for making the vision—whatever it was—come alive with an iPhone camera.
There was a joke begging to be voiced out somewhere. A joke your best friend would immensely appreciate knowing it was centered around you and your bad decisions, however, that thought was quickly forgotten when something else caught your eye.
A video. Videos, you’ve come to find out as you scrolled further. Almost never ending with the amount that it was overwhelming compared to that of the photos lacking depth and movement.
The state of the thumbnails didn’t help ease the heavy feeling in your gut either.
Each and every single one of them could very well belong on the number of porn platforms you were vaguely aware of. They left nothing to the imagination where you could just tell what obscenities you—namely drunk you—were up to despite having no recollection of this ever happening. Just how much alcohol did you let in your system that you blacked out the entire night? This was one of the many mysteries that will continue to haunt you unless you get some clarity soon.
It would be a lie if you said you weren’t the least bit curious of your own drunken thought process (you were still processing what you were seeing, actually) and it was obvious your best friend was just as curious, impatiently so that he snatched your phone back, chose one form the myriad of video clips and pressed play, all under a second or two.
“Dude, what the fuck?” Donghyuck earned an elbow to his side for his haste, but all he did was shush you and moved the phone closer for a better view. As if an almost seven-inch screen could grant a cinematic experience, but you’ll take what you could get.
“There you go.”
And there you go, body locking up the moment the awfully familiar, deep and roughened voice came out of the phone’s speakers.
A simple sentence spoken with a cadence so sluggish that you had to fight hard to remind yourself that he didn’t always sound like he was forcing you to unravel with his words alone. Jaemin just had this peculiar habit of putting half the effort into enunciating his words almost to the point where he sounded lazy and you assumed it was the alcohol that made this habit of his more pronounced than ever.
The alcohol turned him into someone, hell, some otherworldly being that the more you heard him speak, the likelihood of a blood vessel popping due to how wound up you’ve progressively become was at a high. It was downright ridiculous how instantaneous the effect was, and what followed would soon have you internally begging to be smite by God himself.
“It took you three tries to swallow me down without gagging.” Though you couldn’t see him, there was, no doubt, a smile on his face, listening to his delivery alone. All sharp and condescending that you couldn’t help but wince at the immediate reboot of your brain where you could vividly imagine the scrape of his teeth along your throat—specifically the places bruised with the indents; marks of his canines being the most prominent.
At least you got to confirm just who the ‘wild animal’ was behind the damage to your neck, yet you still couldn’t map the exact thought process justifying Jaemin’s carelessness.
“You’re that eager to please, aren’t you?”
Jaemin sounded like he was demanding an immediate answer, but there was just one problem.
He wasn’t going to get anything from you. How can he when his cock restricted you from talking? The most he was going to get was a series of garbled noises, just like the wet squelches from fucking into your mouth.
“Of course you are. I can see why Jeno kept you around for as long as he could.” Jaemin chuckled, moving his hand from where it previously rested on top of your head to cup your jaw. “Feeling full, huh?” and you could hear how smug he was, laughing quietly when all you could do was whine when his fingers tightened their grip on your bulging cheeks, no doubt wanting the wet heat of your mouth to squeeze around his dick tighter, or feel how imposing his size was for the sake of his ego.
“I could barely fit in your mouth a moment ago,” the groan he let out was deep from within his chest, guttural as if he was fighting to keep himself controlled while bullying himself deeper into your willing (?) throat until you gagged around his girth, shaky hands scrambling to find purchase on his thighs as if to keep yourself grounded. “Now here you are, taking it like it’s nothing. Like you were made for this. All you needed was a little push, didn’t you, baby?”
It took real talent to come off as an asshole through voice alone, and Jaemin was nothing short of talented. He really did fit the narrative. It’s always the ones with the (admittedly) pretty faces that have something to hide under the false pretense of pleasantry, and it just so happened that the ‘thing’ Jaemin wanted to keep under wraps was how much of a scheming freak he actually was.
Back then, you were just part of the majority who was ignorant to what lies underneath. Now here you are, experiencing Jaemin’s depraved fantasies first hand.
You should have known. The signs were quite literally there with the way he looked at you all night before you were consumed by the effects of alcohol. Even in the sea of people crowding the club, you‘ve managed to catch the intensity swirling in the darkness of his eyes stuck on you no matter where you ended up.
Jaemin was there. In the corners. In the shadows. Jaemin was everywhere. Watching and waiting to strike.
That thought alone should have been enough to unsettle you right to your very core, yet all it did was raise questions. Tons of them, considering this had been going on before you even got together with your then boyfriend, Jeno. You had thought that perhaps Jaemin had harbored some type of protectiveness over you seeing you got to know him first, but your prior naivety didn’t let you think much on it further. Not when you were swept up by the sweeter than sweet smiles and soon entranced by a pair of eyes that put the winking moon to shame.
Nevertheless Jaemin still kept a watchful eye, bid his time carefully and now that his best friend was out of the picture, perhaps it was the perfect time to strike.
And that he did, leaving the photos and videos behind in his wake.
“Jaemin?” Donghyuck hissed, completely ignoring the obscene noises blasting from your phone on full volume because apparently he wasn’t immersed enough with it half-way up. Where your apartment provided decent acoustics to amplify the sound. “Jaemin Na? Your ex's best friend? That Jaemin?”
You held your face in shame and groaned, trying to make it seem like you weren’t the least bit affected by Jaemin’s own mix of pleasured sounds going hand-in-hand with your muffled desperation. “Say ‘Jaemin’ one more time and I’ll punch you in the throat.” Your face was hot to the touch and you didn’t want to know just what you looked like to Donghyuck.
The memory of last night was faint, yes, but it did overwhelm you all the same to the point where you were starting to tear up from sheer embarrassment.
Donghyuck, ever so keen, caught the sign of distress and composed himself. “You were with Jaemin last night?” He asked, whispering.
“Oh, I don’t know,” you answered, sarcasm weighing heavily on each syllable as you aimed your grimace towards the video still playing (seriously, how long was it?). “Is that just my face deep-faked onto some poor random girl? You tell me.”
His pleased expression twisted at the snark, lips parting to refute you with the same vitriol until a rather loud, impossibly hard to ignore moan tore through the impending tension.
Both of you looked down just in time for Jaemin to pull out of your abused mouth with a wet, disgusting sound and lord, not only did he have an impressive size, his dick was pretty too. Pretty in a way it shouldn’t be, but it’s like Jaemin was solely born to go against what one should expect in men and their anatomy, which wasn’t much to begin with, let’s be real. Guess the universe did have its favorites and what misfortune it was that it had to be you stuck with one of them. Literally.
It was like a sick punishment pushed onto you, being faced with the harsh truth of Jaemin having his reasons backed up and giving him free reign to act and talk like he was the shit. His hands were just as big as everything about him from his stature to his personality. Made it seem like his cock was nothing to gawk at until you—you in the video—shuffled closer, having it stand ramrod straight right in front of your face.
As if the Jaemin in the video heard you, he laughed as he brought the camera closer to his cock and your face in tandem. You could tell he was getting close, the labored breaths and jostling of the footage were obvious signs amidst the borderline frantic strokes.
“Open up, sweetheart,” he grunted, tapping your puffy lips with his cockhead. “and stick your tongue out for me, will you—yeah. That’s good. Perfect. You’re perfect—fuck!”
Thick ropes of pearly white painted your face as Jaemin let out a loud, drawn-out moan, forcing more out with rough strokes and most of it shooting into your awaiting mouth. You kept your eyes open for the entirety of it in spite of the obscene amount of cum dripping from your cheeks, nose and even an eyebrow. In fact, there was so much of it that even Donghyuck voiced his own astonishment right when you swallowed, only to pry your lips open once more and leave Jaemin to milk himself until the very last drop, not letting any of it go to waste.
It seemed you did good with the forethought, Jaemin making his appreciation known with a soft coo as if he wasn’t spouting filth while you were literally gagging for it.
God, you looked absolutely destroyed.
And eerily enough, sex-tape!Jaemin finished off the thought with a breathy, “you’ve never looked better.”
Inky tear-tracks of your mascara marred what was once the smoothed canvas of your face. You took much care in making sure your makeup was almost flawless and it was a shame that Jaemin thought the complete opposite and decided that smearing your lipstick along your mouth with a gross mix of your spit, tears and his cum was much more entertaining—as if this was all just a sick game to him; a game of how long would it take to strip you off of your dignity by making a mess out of you. Twice.
“Fuck. You look…” Jaemin trailed off as he held you by the jaw, damp skin easily caving underneath his fingertips to keep you in place and took his time to admire his masterpiece. It was deceptively tender, the way he went about tilting your head from side-to-side that just as you thought this was where the humiliation ended, realizing the extent of what you had done last night, the debauched version of you decided to speak.
“How—how do I look?” You slurred. Round, glazed up eyes peering up in earnest and that was all it took for Jaemin to let your phone tumble from his grasp in favor of hauling you up. The footage was all sorts of skewed, but by some odd law of physics involved, it made sure to show how Jaemin went in for a kiss that was all sorts of messy and heated, not minding the fact that he could taste himself with every push of your tongue against his.
He pulled back just for a moment, letting out a breathy chuckle and the last thing you heard before the video saw its end was a hoarse, “beautiful. Gorgeous. Unreal. Mine,” before it stopped and jumped back to show its thumbnail.
You let the both of you marinate in the silence that followed afterwards, with you gathering your wits as your worst half gently placed your phone down onto the coffee table.
“Oh my god.” you settled on saying, completely mortified.
“Oh my god.” Donghyuck repeated, sounding all too gleeful.
It almost looked like Donghyuck was impressed with what happened in the past five minutes when you slowly turned to face each other. “Wow,” he drawled, immediately raising your hackles at the god-awful sight of his self-righteous smirk. “and I thought I was the slut between us two.”
“Oh, you still are,” you bit back, not letting him get the upper-hand. “Three people in one night? I’m surprised your dick’s still attached to you.” or that he didn’t contract an STD for that matter, but small miracles could be given to anyone, you supposed. Even to a menace.
“You know what they say, the ‘s’ in slut stands for ‘safe’!”
“Literally no one has said that.”
“I literally just did.”
You dead-panned. “Get out.”
“You’re so boring,” he whined, getting up to head to the kitchen to probably gobble up the grilled sandwich you had made. “Well,” the muffled continuation said just as much. “maybe not since you fucked your ex-boyfriend’s best friend. Who would have thought you’d let Jaemin hit?”
You whirled around to glower at him, half for eating what was yours and half at his disguised jeering. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Y/N, I’m a dude,” he said slowly, like you were stupid. Maybe you were. “We can tell when a guy is interested.”
“You think Jaemin’s into me?”
Donghyuck’s initial reaction was to arch an eyebrow as he paused mid-chew, again, as if he could not believe you were this slow on the up-take. It was starting to piss you off, honestly, that he knew something you didn’t and was just waiting for you to piece everything together.
“You couldn’t tell?” He only gets an unimpressed stare to get on with it which he shrugged at. “Nevermind, you were too busy making googoo eyes at Jeno to pay attention. That worked at least, ‘cause soon enough, you were hanging off of his arm.”
You huffed, conceding with a roll of your eyes. “Fine. You got me there.”
Donghyuck scoffed, “‘course I do. Seriously though, we thought that you’d end up with Jaemin. He’s usually straight-forward with things like this, but since Jeno was there… well, y’know, bro-code or whatever the fuck.” He took a generous bite from the sandwich before placing it back down on the plate and dusting his hands from the crumbs. “Thing is though, he never really stopped looking at you? I’m sure you know how shameless he is with staring.”
Knew? You’ve caught him staring a handful times in the past and his shamelessness knew no bounds either. Not once did Jaemin appear remotely embarrassed meeting your eyes as he would smile each time, hold the eye contact for longer than what you would deem appropriate before moving his eyes elsewhere, and you knew that in no time, his gaze would be burning holes into your back again.
You’ve grown used to it anyway. It was strange, yes, but Jaemin never really did anything beyond what could make you uncomfortable. Even Jeno laughed it off when it was casually brought up during your past conversations, not really bothered by his best friend’s odd quirk.
“I can’t blame him,” you remembered him saying. “You’re really beautiful. I’d probably consider looking at you as one of my favorite past-times.” and safe to say, you did appreciate the comment, and Jeno definitely appreciated the soul-sucking blowjob you gave him if the strings of praises tangled with the ‘I love you’s’ were anything to go by.
None of that was relayed to Donghyuck though. Your knowledge on the matter wasn’t his business, nor did you think it was that of a big deal. So what if your ex-boyfriend’s best friend liked to keep his eyes on you? That didn’t mean anything. Just like what happened last night didn’t mean anything. It didn't have to mean anything.
It was a one-time thing and you were certain that it’ll take the Earth’s revolution around the sun to see him again. Perhaps never, if you played your cards right.
And watching your own sex-tape (accidental, or not) with Donghyuck won’t happen ever again when you made the mistake of trailing your eyes downwards.
You were very far from impressed, scowling at him. “I can see your dick through your pants, Hyuck. You’re gross.”
He at least had the decency to appear sheepish from you pointing out his body’s reaction. “Oh don’t like you weren’t the least bit turned on from that too.”
You flipped him off with both hands, face burning.
Donghyuck cackled and then waved you over to finish half of the sandwich.
Clearly, there was something in you that refused to see the bigger picture.
You couldn’t help it. You weren’t exactly one to get swept up in the assumptions made by you or the other people in your life that had their rare times of indulging the delusions that came hand-in-hand with them. And that’s all they were. Harmless assumptions and delusions that would be forgotten by the end of the day. Sooner, if you could help it.
So why were you sitting in the middle of your bed, obsessively scrolling through the videos taken from last night?
Perhaps you could blame it all on the insatiable curiosity that never really left even as Donghyuck said his farewell an hour or so ago.
Jaemin’s motive for filming last night’s drunken rendezvous was still—is still—no doubt, a mystery. Starting from why did he use your phone? It would have made much more sense if he used his. There was the possibility that it might have been his phone and had the forethought of airdropping everything to you for reasons unknown, but with a quick check of the details, nope. It was yours. Jaemin’s phone model was the newest one on the market, while yours was at least two years due for an upgrade, pretty much debunking your theory.
Which landed you in this position, looking through your camera roll for any hints that could shed light on his possible motives. Anyone who would find themselves in this dilemma had every reason to be angry. It was normal to feel outraged going through what you did last night and you could only pray to whatever higher being was up there that no one else knew what went on and if Jaemin had his own duplicates.
But—well. Anger was far from what fueled all this. Confusion more like and it only grew when you skimmed through the videos until one caught your eye.
This time, it was you holding the phone, your grasp being significantly shakier, but Jaemin didn’t mind. Not when he was rather preoccupied with his head stuck in between your quivering thighs, eating you out to his heart’s content. No, really. It was like he made it his life’s mission to give you the best head of your life with the way you were letting out a cacophony of pleasured sounds to which Jaemin looked particularly proud off, evident with the way he was leering at you through the screen.
Jaemin had always come off as intimidating with his looks alone; a soft but angular face with strong eyebrows framing the dark pits of his eyes and a smile full of perfect white teeth so wicked it could even put the devil to shame if he tried harder. It was common to be put-off by his intensity at first. He had always sought out to give off a strong impression, but it wouldn’t be long before he opened up, gracing everyone with the sweet side of him.
And sweet he was, with the way he was looking at you with the mess of saliva and your wetness coating his lips and chin. Even the tip of nose was dripping of it, yet you thought he was absolutely breathtaking that the dazzling smile did nothing but make him so much more.
They say that eyes are the window to the soul. That you can guess what was going through someone’s head if you dare peer into them longer. It was purely for the sake of uncovering answers on your part, but you weren’t sure if that was what you were searching for anymore.
He was doing unspeakable things to you, yes. That much was apparent with his mindless slurping and the pleased moans reverberating when you so much as tugged at his hair, or squeezed his head with your thighs. It’s like he was getting off from you getting off and it was all sorts of filthy when a dollop of his spit caught onto your clit just for the sake of it.
But his eyes were telling the complete opposite of his ministrations. Dark as they were, they held something soft in them. Gentle. Tender—dare you say it, enamored. Completely taken by how you were blatantly using him, rutting against that sinful tongue while simultaneously fucking yourself onto his thick fingers as he did the absolute most to match the desperate pace you were setting to chase your release.
The soft spoken praises fell so easily from his mouth. Slickened lips covering your inner thighs with kisses and gentle, teasing nips as he spoke sweet-nothings that were no less still filthy, yet his eyes still remained the same. Darkened even more with his blown out pupils, but the softness remained swimming in those endless pits of coffee brown sweeter than its bitter aftertaste; warm when Jaemin graced you with a lipped smile.
Even as Jaemin had you face down and ass up, the warm glow in his gaze stayed. Hips slammed into you with reckless abandon that with each push, you hiked higher and higher up his sheets that you had to hold onto his headboard to keep yourself in place. You assumed the phone was placed somewhere on his end table for the clear view, or else you wouldn’t be able to see the warmth light up his face too.
It’s truly a wonder how you were able to witness how easy his emotions took over his features. More so when he took it upon himself to manhandle you on your back, then did you see how easily Jaemin shed that hardass exterior of his.
That didn’t mean he had let up though, oh no. He was still rough with his treatment as you watched his hand come down onto your thigh with a loud smack before pushing at the back of your knees and until your thighs were pressed against your chest to fuck you deeper, harder, now that he raised one leg to get more leverage.
Jaemin graced you with a cruel smirk when you cried out from a pointed jerk of his hips. “Imagine how fucking pissed I was when Jeno snatched you up before I did.” That was news to you and it was more shocking that the man admitted it himself just as you were about to piece things together. “I saw you first. I befriended you first—fuck, I thought I made it obvious that I wanted you.” You could only let out a helpless mewl when he slowed down to scowl at you. “We’re friends, right?”
When you didn’t answer right away, a hand wrapped tightly around your throat. “Answer me, sweetheart. While I’m still nice enough to give you what you want.”
“Yes,” you sobbed, holding onto his wrist and you were exactly sure if drunk you wanted to keep it there or not. “We’re friends.”
Jaemin smiled something mean, “then how come I was the last to know that you chose Jeno over me?”
“I didn’t know—“
“You didn’t know? I’ve—” he cuts himself off with an incredulous laugh. “Right, how silly of me. You were too busy giving Jeno your attention.” Jaemin leaned in closer. “Maybe I should send this to him,” he mused, gesturing towards the phone with his head. “How’s that sound?” And humiliate yourself even further? You would rather die a painless death.
“No! Please no!” You could see yourself struggle, yet Jaemin with his sheer size and strength had no problem in keeping you pinned down.
“Why not? It’s not like you’re together or anything. Will it be that humiliating for you? There’s no reason to be, not when you're this gorgeous. Nothing wrong with being a slut either.”
“I’m—I’m not.”
“Oh yes you are, baby. You let me fuck you, didn’t you? Your ex’s best friend? Showing him all this could make him realize why he wasn’t able to keep you. Jeno didn’t know what you wanted. He didn’t know what you needed either. Me? I could give you both and more.” He sounded so sure about it. Looked sure about it too as he picked up the pace and settled on a brutal rhythm, punching more moans out of you. “All you have to do is just ask for it.”
“You’re fuh—fu—cking crazy,” was all you could say. It seemed you were starting to get light headed with how Jaemin still had a tight grip around your neck. Like a necklace choker that won't ever come off.
“I know I am, sweetheart, but don’t worry. I wasn't being serious. I’d kill anyone who sees you like this,” It was a threat and a promise all molded into one and hearing that strangely made your heart skip a beat. His face was drawn into something serious and darkened when he said, “Jeno included. He had his chance and he fucked all that to hell, but me? I’m not making the same mistake.”
The footage kept on rolling after Jaemin spilled into the condom, just a few seconds after you knocked out-cold from what seemed to be the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had—not that you could remember—in your life. Kept on rolling as he kissed your forehead before getting up to cleanup in the en suite. And rolled, and rolled, and rolled.
You were fully convinced that your one-night stand completely forgot the existence of your phone recording the post-sex ritual happening right before your eyes. It was kind of funny though, like watching a risqué vlog illustrating the proper etiquette when it came to aftercare.
Jaemin did just that, with the same balmy look in his eyes and the inherent tenderness in his actions as he took care of you even in your slumbering state.
He could have done better with dressing you up though, but you could understand that the exhaustion probably crept up at him when he didn’t even question the sweatpants he swiped up from the laundry hamper. Still, he tucked you in and gently kissed your cheek before shuffling over and picking up your phone, only to switch to the front camera, smile and blow a kiss.
With a huff, you fell back onto your bed, ruminating what Jaemin left behind and burning in shame and something else that you wouldn’t want to acknowledge.
It was some sort of confession, wasn’t it? Unconventional definitely, but the idea was there, glaring at you in minute-long clips and you couldn’t really think of your next move. Jaemin was still an enigma for sure and calling him didn’t sound like a good idea. At least at the moment it didn’t. You really had no clue if you should simply wait for him to reach out himself, but that's besides the point.
What you did know was that some part of you thought it was a shame that last night’s memory was still quite the blur. You couldn’t recall how Jaemin made you feel with his touch and you weren’t sure if gratitude should be even considered for him leaving you of last night’s evidence.
This was all too much. Jaemin was too much and you couldn’t think much now when you have plans coming up soon.
And if you came on your fingers twice from simply looking at the unmistaken adoration lifting Jaemin’s face as he had his way with you, then that was between you and God alone.
“Couldn’t we do this some other time?”
Donghyuck clicked his tongue as he pulled out a chair for you. “You know how Giselle is and to be fair, she’s been begging for us to meet up. She mentioned she’s bringing someone with her too.”
“That’s fine.” Probably one of your acquaintances. “But she couldn’t choose another day where I don’t feel and look like shit?”
“Relax. No one in here knows that you’ve been fucked six ways ‘til Sunday last night.”
He said it like he was talking about the weather, all the while scanning the menu nonchalantly as you prayed that no one else heard him. Donghyuck was right though. You did make sure to hide all evidence (mainly the marks on your neck), and the slight limp in your steps and it was such a relief on your part that you haven’t received any odd looks as of yet. If you were to get some concerning looks, it would be because of how fidgety you were. As if you were just waiting for Jaemin to come out and strike. Ugh, perhaps your body did remember some of last night.
“You’re fine, Y/N,” Donghyuck reassured, patting your thigh gently. “What are you gonna get? I’m thinking of steak. We could share each other’s food or something too.”
“Yeah, sounds nice—“
“Y/N! Girl, it’s been so long!”
Both you and Donghyuck looked up just in time to see Giselle quickly making her way over to where you both sat with a dazzling smile.
“Gigi, hi!”
The man beside you rolled his eyes as you rose up and kissed Giselle on the cheek, “I’m here too, y’know.”
She laughed and sat on the seat right across from him. “Yes, yes, hello to you too, Hyuck.” Giselle looked as if she came alone, noticing that no one was trailing behind her.
“I thought you were with someone?” you asked, handing over the menu to her.
She thanked you with a quick smile and got to scanning it. “He’s still parking his car. He insisted I go in first.”
He?
“He?” trust your best friend to voice out exactly what you were thinking. “Who’s he?” You couldn’t remember the last time she brought someone for you to meet. Usually, this was her way of checking whether the person would be worth her time. As all close friends would do. You did the same with Jeno and what a shame you guys didn’t even last that long.
“Some guy I met recently,” Giselle hummed. “He’s nice, I promise.”
The conversation flowed smoothly after that and you decided to order for everybody after Giselle mentioned that her ‘friend’ would most likely get the same thing as Donghyuck. You really couldn’t follow along much—still reeling from everything, really—but it seemed to be a heated discussion from how worked up Donghyuck was slowly becoming at each of Giselle’s rebuttals.
Your attention moved to your phone at that point, looking through your socials while simultaneously reading through the work emails you might have missed.
“Took you long enough, Jaemin.”
You froze.
Jaemin?
From that second, you concluded that you were just hearing things. Maybe you misheard Giselle and that it was some guy that had a similar sounding name to him. He wasn’t the only guy with a given name starting with ‘Jae’, right? Jaemin wasn’t the only Jaemin in the world either.
However, the universe might as well bring your nightmares to life because looking up from your phone, the same Jaemin Na was there. Sitting across from you a polite tilt of his lips.
Though as he looked down, taking a gander at your phone with shining eyes before meeting your gaze head on, the smile grew sharper, sinister and you dread whatever was coming next.
“Guys, this is Jaemin. Jaemin, Donghyuck and Y/N.”
“Oh, we’ve met.” Jaemin leaned forward, resting his cheek on his palm while you swallowed thickly. “It’s nice to see you again, sweetheart.”
“Well,” Donghyuck started, breaking the silence. “It could have gone worse.”
“What’s worse than meeting your one-night stand the very next day?”
“Jaemin telling everyone that he slept with you?”
“You’re useless, actually,” you dead-panned, plopping heavily onto your couch. “Seriously, that was probably the most embarrassing dinner ever. Poor Giselle probably thought that I didn’t want to see her.” Your hands flew to your face to hide, moaning in despair.
To be fair, it wasn’t entirely the worst situation you’ve been in. At least Jaemin was cordial enough to act normal aside from the fact that he still tried to burn holes into your profile when you focused on either Donghyuck or Giselle as you talked over the food. Jaemin didn’t say much either, and spoke when spoken to, yet his presence was so domineering that even pretending that he didn't exist was rather difficult that you just settled on acknowledging him out of politeness.
Never mind the fact that he looked like he wanted to eat you up and swallow you whole right then and there. Then again, that’s how he looked most of the time so it brought comfort that there was a fifty-fifty chance that you were wrong.
Donghyuck gave you a sympathetic pat on the head, “don’t worry about it. You can say sorry to her and she’ll be fine, and it’s not like you’ll be seeing Jaemin any time soon.”
At that moment, your phone chimed and with the whole dinner fiasco, you immediately assumed it was probably Giselle checking up on you. You did act a little weird for everyone’s tastes and you were kind of waiting for her to bring it up so you could explain yourself and express your deepest apologies for acting out-of-character.
See, it wasn't Giselle and you cursed Donghyuck in your head for jinxing it.
Donghyuck took one good look at your face, the corner of his lips tilting downwards in concern. “What'd Giselle say?”
You shook your head and handed it over to him.
“Oh my god.”
Jaemin Na
hey
can i come over?
:)
Shit.
note: this is dedicated to Aria for being just as insane as me when it comes to Jaemin 🫡
huang renjun, lee jeno, lee donghyuck, and na jaemin are determined to have girlfriends by the end of their college years, but that’s easier said than done when they’re known as the biggest players on campus.
GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, crack, college au
WARNINGS ▸ profanity, sexual content (smut), alcohol consumption
AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello !! welcome to my nct dream 00 line series that i’m super hyped for !! since i never did anything for my 1k followers milestone…. or 2k…. or 3k…. or 4k…. consider this my 5k milestone ♡ these are going to be like mini fics (around 5k??) so it’s a refreshing break from the long fics :’) the stories are loosely connected but you don’t have to read in order. send me an ask or comment to be added to the tag list! thank you for reading & i hope you enjoy!!
Genres: smut (minors dni!), established relationship!au
Warnings: swearing, teasing, dirty talk, unrealistic amt of orgasms heh, male masturbation, mentions of car sex, fingering (fem. receiving), phone sex but not like you think, messy oral (fem. receiving), safe sex 🫡, wonu's a bit of a perv tbh and reader loves puts up w/ it, mentions of children but not like really lmao, mentions of (cock)roaches, wonu in glasses and needy = double kill imho, ft. some of the boys being intrusive tbh haha, POSSESSION, and a good amt of noisy sex hahah lmk if i missed anything!
WC: 4.9k
A/N: well it's finally my first wonu fic :3 after hoarding so many in the drafts bc I always feel like I can't write him too well, I had to take the plunge since it's a dear request from my lovely @wonuhour ❤️ I really hope you enjoy this 🤞🏼 no taglist as this is a request so I hope y'all read this but sending some love to my fav wonwoorideul @wonwussy bc she said I could tag her mwah. I think I held my head 5 times while editing this haha...
It's late when you step out into the night's cool air, a sigh of relief at finally being freed from the corporate building where you work. Pulling out your phone from the bag slung across your shoulder, your face lights up just like the screen when you focus on two distinct notifications on it.
1 missed call — hubby ♡
1 new voicemail — hubby ♡
"Hey, baby. You're probably dealing with those idiots right now but by the time you're listening to this, you should be on your way back home to me."
Wonwoo's deep voice is always so soothing, filling your body with inexplicably warm, fuzzy feelings that trail from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. The knowledge that he pays attention to even the minute details you think he might not care about in trivial, daily conversations or complaints makes your heart flutter with joy.
Your husband has always had that effect on you. He's aware you aren't able to pick up and it's not like he expects you to do so. Wonwoo simply leaves a voice message, knowing it will provide you comfort on your walk to the car and subsequent drive home until you can seek real solace in his embrace.
And maybe — just maybe — he calls to simply hear your pretty voice that plays on the answering machine because he misses you during your long shift. The embarrassed giggle when you mess up and stumble across your words during the recording. Never bothering to go back to change or fix it because it makes the corners of Wonwoo's mouth perk up, breaking his usual stoic expression. At least according to what Mingyu's let slip.
Which is hilarious in and of itself because your husband is anything but poker face when in your presence. His friends tease, saying he's become a different man because of you — following you around and acting like a lovesick puppy rather than his normal, self-acclaimed dignified cat persona. But you deny it. He's always been the same person with you and maybe that's just because you're meant to be.
"Be safe on your way home. Remember to lock the doors when you're inside, although I know you will 'cause how many times have you accidentally locked me out when you've beat me back to the car first?" He lets out a strangely breathy laugh, one that you mimic in fondness at the past memory and simply of him, doing exactly as he says as you shut the driver seat's door. "Miss you so, so much today. Even more than usual, baby. 'specially that sweet pussy of yours."
Nothing — not even Mingyu's weird trait of being privy and somehow knowing or aware of way too much in your relationship — could have prepared you for those words. You're extremely grateful you're inside your car right now. Not fearing other people overhearing but because you would've collapsed right on the sidewalk in public. Victim to your husband's seductive desperation.
"Can't stop thinking 'bout it. How pretty it looks, how good you taste, how perfect you always feel wrapped around me."
Your head falls back against the headrest, the hand holding your phone drops onto your thigh, and your mouth and eyes widen together in awe. The wireless buds fit snugly inside your ears allow you to pick up on the underlying slick sounds as he speaks. Your mouth waters, a sweep of electrifying energy causing the hairs on your arms to raise.
Fuck. He's stroking that gorgeous thick cock of his. Because he yearns so much for you.
"'round my fingers, my dick, my tongue… so soft and wet and tight… mhm, oh god — what a messy little thing. And your lips too, wanna kiss you so bad. For hours, non-stop."
People like to make assumptions about your relationship. Things like how Wonwoo must be the calm and collected one, the domineering and composed person within your dynamics. It's annoying but you can't really blame them — it's human nature after all. While they aren't entirely wrong, it's not like they're right either.
On the occasions when your husband's lust for you outweighs his level-headedness, he loses all reason. Not above begging, whining, or babbling nonsense, his neediness becomes next level. You're so caught up in thinking about the exact man you're supposed to be listening to, you realize you've nearly missed most of the words he's spouting in his gravelly voice. You rewind the playback.
"… to stop thinkin' 'bout it or I'll want you even more. Wanna ruin you. Destroy you. Worship you. Ah… you're in your car, aren't you love? Please tell me you are, 'member when I slipped a finger inside last week on our way home from the mall? Then two. Then three. Had to make sure my pretty baby's pussy was stuffed nice and full. It's what you deserve, after all."
His lazy drawl and filthy words make your thighs clench. He knows it too. "Bet you're squeezing those luscious legs of yours together… ah, what I wouldn't give to have them around me instead…" A laugh again, almost a wheeze, like the air's being sucked out of his lungs at the thought. Many thoughts. "Made such a mess that day… hngh, almost wrecked the car over how wrecked you were, baby."
You glance at the empty passenger seat out of the corner of your eye. Almost shamefully, like a curious nun side-eyes a sinner sitting in church. Wonwoo's skillful and long, bony fingers buried inside your cunt — to no surprise — had you a writhing mess, an insane orgasm ripped from your body. You were afraid the upholstery was ruined because of it, the car still smelling like sex and preventing you from offering your sulky neighbor Seungcheol a lift this week.
"Bastard," you mutter affectionately and roll your eyes at your next statement, pretending as if he can hear you. "Like you weren't just as wrecked that I had to suck you off as soon as we parked and then rushed inside since you didn't wanna cum in my mouth."
"Ahhhhh, shoot…!"
As if he can hear your words, a particularly loud moan followed by a string of curses falls out of your husband's mouth. You are just able to hear the sped up sounds of him rutting more urgently against his palm. The visual of his large hands looking much smaller when wrapped around his huge cock floods your mind, wondering if he's tightened his grasp to better resemble it to drilling deep inside of your warmth instead of his hand. Eyebrows creasing together, biting down on his bottom lip before his mouth opens again in another moan that fills your ears at the right time.
The familiar creak of his home office chair causes a devious smirk to grace your face. He hasn't realized in his lust-driven state that he'd given away how desperate he really was to be fucking into his fist between freelance projects. More than likely frustrated when something wasn't encoding right after hours of staring at the screen but it was most probable that Wonwoo was simply down bad.
Achingly missing his partner when you weren't around to rub his shoulders, bring him some tea, lighten up the mood with a bad joke, or even try and help point out a possible error with a fresh set of eyes. Even nicer, sit on his lap all pretty to keep his cock all warm and coated in wetness or get on your knees beneath his desk and try to keep quiet while you take him down your throat.
You were always a bit on the noisy side. Even now, you can't help but let out a whimper at how uncomfortable your nipples feel poking against your bra. Dampening your panties, poor clit already puffy and throbbing unstimulated.
The Wonwoo in your imagination has his head thrown back, throat presented prettily that you wish you could actually mark up. In-tune with what he sounds like when he's about to come undone, you listen intently to your husband's stifled groans and harsh pants in anticipation. Holding your breath, hoping he's so lost in bliss that he won't leave you hanging.
Like a lifeline, a muttered "fuck, baby," as if he's really right there with you in the car as his deep moan fills your ears just like it does in-person. Imaginary Wonwoo drops his head back down and the hungry look in his dark brown eyes causes your hips to involuntarily twitch, thighs trembling. Shockingly, you don't orgasm from that alone but you sure as hell were on the brink of doing so.
For a finale, your husband stays on the line while he catches his breath and your dirty mind wanders once more. Hard not to when you hear the wet sounds of his hand still rubbing his cock. A whimper of "hm, just like that," and a hiss because he's sensitive makes your head spin, cunt clenching sadly around nothing. A sob practically leaves your chest at the absolute want to milk him dry just as he wishes at that moment.
"Miss you so much. Need to eat out my precious baby. Mhm, I just know that sopping cunt is begging for me to lick it up…"
The scratch of tissues being pulled out of their holder is enough of an attempt to tug you out of the foggy cloud of lust. You lick your lips.
"… so come and hurry home safely, love."
You do — so close to cumming untouched — but you stave off the feeling, speeding home somehow without crashing. For all your car has put up with, you're honestly surprised it hasn't given out on you in revenge. But that's neither here nor there at the moment, stumbling out of the vehicle once you arrive home and scrambling faster than a marathon-runner to get inside.
It would be a lie to say you weren't disappointed with how quiet and dark it is. Quietly setting your bag down, you stand with your back pressed against the front door. Almost expecting your husband to appear out of the shadows and pounce on you.
It's happened before. You can proudly declare with your whole chest that you've fucked on every surface of this lovely little house purchased in the third year of your marriage.
Instead, something brushes against your leg and you bend down to pick up your daughter. She hangs pliantly as you gently wiggle her and whisper, "Where's your daddy?"
The cat replies with a plaintive meow. You smile when she twitches her tail, stalking off towards the direction of the living room. Wonwoo likes to teasingly say she takes after you with a distinct cat-titude despite the fact that he naturally happens to be the more dedicated caretaker between the two of you. Mingyu was always needlessly curious which one of you another cat would take after — or worse, if you had actual children.
That wouldn't happen for quite a bit, trailing behind the true ruler of the household and watching as she climbs up onto her expensive cat-tree to sulk. Wonwoo must not have given her enough attention today. Demonstrated by the angry way she squints toward the open doorway of the study illuminated by the blue glow of your husband's computer.
"Daddy's in rare form today," you try and explain, rubbing in between her ears and she purrs in response. "Don't worry, Mommy will go and fix him so he ultra dotes on you like the little princess he thinks you are."
You make a kissy face in her direction because she is a precious royalty. Then you're approaching the study where deep grunts and muttered curses can be heard among a furious clacking of keyboard keys.
"On your left — no, Mingyu… your other left!"
Crossing your arms, you pout. You'd be lying if gamer Wonwoo wasn't unfairly attractive — jawline clenched as he barks out orders into his headset, the computer screen graphics reflecting off his glasses. A stark contrast to the ratty hoodie and old man slippers he's wearing, angrily slapping his feet on the ground when Seokmin accidentally pressed the wrong button and self-destructs.
You're glad he's blowing off some steam and stress with the boys. Though you had once asked why he didn't bother watching porn on his expensive and impressive set-up. Flattered when he admitted that having you as the real deal beat anything he could ever try to search for.
Now you're not as sure, though. He seems rather content and preoccupied after working you all up with that damn voicemail of his. With a flounce, you turn to head to the shower as your husband rages over Chan mistakenly shooting at the wrong team. Meeting a feline gaze on the way to the bathroom that shares your same sentiment of disdain.
Sticky, ruined panties cause a glare and another pout to adorn your face once the water is turned on to heat up. One Wonwoo might find cute. If he could see it. You nearly jump out of your skin when there's a knock on the door, so soft it almost sounds like a bump.
A certain kitty often bangs against doors just to startle her owners but she's also good at opening them too. When it remains shut and you hear a low call of your name rather than spooky silence, a pleading meow, or it flying open, you let out a breath of relief. Trying not to appear too eager, you crack the door open just enough to narrow one eye at your husband.
"Hi, baby."
"Hey."
Long gone is his cozy hoodie, though his black sweatpants remain on. Displaying lean, upper body muscles to ogle and pert nipples that could poke you in the eyeball with how near he is. Pushing up his glasses, he raises his eyebrows when you don't make an effort to move.
"You don't normally knock."
"I wasn't sure if it was you or our little mischief maker in here."
"Uh-huh, and who says I'm not mischievous as well?" You turn around but leave the door ajar and he takes that as an invitation to come in.
"No one's ever said you weren't," Wonwoo reassures but frowns, "no welcome home kiss?"
"You know, little miss mischief maker seemed pretty miffed, did daddy not pay enough attention to her today? That's unlike you."
"Mhm, was busier than I thought today. Had a lot on my mind… work and all that. Absolutely drowning in it."
"Is that so? She seems pretty upset so be sure you make it up to her."
It's like a cat-and-mouse game, though who's who is really the question. Maybe you're both cats in a stand-off. You know Wonwoo would never not truly attend to your beloved pet. You fight back a smirk, able to feel his heated gaze trail down your back and focus on your ass that you jut out on purpose to check the water temperature. A rush of fresh arousal surges through your system.
"Yeah?" Your husband's hand shoots out past yours to turn the shower off, ignoring your protest. "I think I upset another kitten too." Spinning you around so his damp thumb can pull at your bottom lip as you flutter your eyelashes at him.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not a cat. And I'm most certainly not upset."
He pecks at your lips almost condescendingly. "Sure, baby. You shouldn't be, you know, with the nice present I left for your pleasure after work."
You let out an elated sigh as he holds your face still and peppers kisses all over, trailing down to focus on your neck so you can speak. "If that's your idea of a nice gift, I'd hate to see what a bad one is."
"You didn't like it?" Somehow Wonwoo's eyes manage to sparkle when he looks up at you with a whine, pausing his kisses down the valley between your breasts. His other hand sneakily reaches in between your legs and he smiles against your skin. "Or did you like it too much? Don't think I've ever gotten you a bad gift, baby."
Slender fingers play with your messy wetness, sliding back and forth languidly without rush. You struggle to clear your mind to ask with sarcasm, "Wh-what about that st-stupid cockroach plushie?"
"It was cute. Just like you."
"That's it, I'm getting a shower."
"I don't think so." Wonwoo's free hand flies to splay out on your back, preventing you from moving and pressing your body even closer to his.
You purse your lips, brown eyes locking in on them immediately. "You think I'm on the same level as cockroaches."
"Only like the super cute, not-real ones."
"…We're filing for divorce right after I clean up."
"Mhm, but I'm not done with you yet so it'd be a waste of water. Besides, you hate showering together."
You can't help but grind down against his stationary palm, wishing he'd just slip a finger inside. "Because… no one's getting clean… if you're in there with me."
"Exactly," he's entranced by how much of your arousal continues to coat his hand. Cock twitching with the ache to be where his fingers are instead. "You know the drill, baby. Besides, I'm aware of how much you like it when I'm wearing my glasses."
"Wonwoo…"
He hushes your moan with a smirk and another kiss to your irresistible lips. "Yeah, lovely. It's okay, I'll give you what you want. And what I want too."
Surely, you would've bashed your head open on the tile floors had it not been for the support of the countertop you'd braced your palm on. Legs as shaky as a newborn fawn with how long you've been buzzing with desire. Especially when your husband backs away to withdraw his hand, ravenously slurping up your essence with a blissed out face. An appreciative, low grunt as he licked his fingers clean, dark gaze not straying away from your naked body before him.
"Shouldn't have done the laundry, silly baby. How else am I supposed to control myself without any sort of relief to get me through the day?"
Your jaw drops. "Pervert!"
"Know you like it." He ignores the light slap to his shoulder that bears no malice, finding zero resistance when he tugs you by the hand to drag you into the bedroom. "You love when I'm this desperate for you. Can't get anything done, can't think of anything else… all you, you, and you. And this greedy pussy."
Your back's resting on the mattress before you can blink. Wonwoo sits and parts your legs, taking in the delectable sight of your puffy cunt that spreads open to seep more arousal. Asking to be taken care of and filled.
"Just look at it, how could I not desire it every moment of the day?" A kiss is pressed against your left ankle. "When it's just as perfect as you?" Another to the side of your knee cap. "And so fuckin' addictive." He switches to the right to suck the skin on your thigh. "Absoluting begging to be filled up so prettily whenever I want."
It's a mix between a scream and groan of frustration that leaves your throat when your husband lightly smooches right above your hip crease before licking the salt off your skin. He's so close to where you want him and he grins at your patient façade slowly slipping. His tongue pokes out, just grazing the left side of your pussy.
"Wonwoo…!"
He is rarely this talkative, either he truly missed you or this is a new form of torture.
A pointer finger taps your pubic bone and drags downward, lifting away before it hits your clit. "And all mine," he growls out before devouring your cunt like you want.
Your husband eats you out like a starved man. Ravenous in all the best ways. Your hips can't help but jerk in time with the movements of his tongue lapping at your inner walls and cleaning up the gracious amounts of slick you've created. Whines leaving your mouth at how good it feels, fingers anxiously threading through his curls and making them even messier. Your legs wrap around his neck as you somehow bring his head even closer to drown inside your scent, your taste, and your wet heat.
Wonwoo revels in it.
Normally, he would have more control. More strictness, more fortitude. But he's so far gone, appreciative growls that could rival the best-selling vibrator on the market shake you to your very core. The frames of his glasses dig into your thighs but you don't even feel them with the intense amount of pleasure from Wonwoo's thumb playing with your clit. His nose occasionally adds to the mind-dumbing feeling by nuzzling against it when he shakes his head with vigor.
You have no choice but to hurdle towards a fast orgasm like a dam breaking. Unintentionally locking his neck in a position that might've snapped it if his face wasn't pressed so close and into your spasming hole. Screaming his name as you tear at hair strands a bit too viciously. Wonwoo takes it all in stride, too obsessed with prolonging that delightful peak of yours to care.
Only when your legs loosen up does he back away, pride filling his chest as he takes in your shaking form. Pushing up foggy lenses, he licks his lips slowly. The damp spot shining on his chin and nose is enough of a damning visual — one that's real and touchable, not of your imagination this time — for a tiny tremor to run through your thighs again.
Wonwoo's sore jaw drops. "Baby, did you… did you just cum again?" The cool air away from your cunt clears his vision so he can marvel at the soiled wet patch on your shared blankets. A mumbled curse leaves his mouth.
You're a vision. Strewn across the bed, skin shining with sweat while your disheveled husband is the epitome of sex. He cracks his neck, stretching his jaw.
Thinking.
Contemplating.
"Just from that? Hah, what am I going to do with you?"
"Fuck me," you moan and bring your legs that feel like Jello up to your chest. Squeezing your breasts between your thighs, you pout at him and flutter your lashes. A perfect look for a vixen, pleading yet sultry. "Please."
"Shit… can't tell if you're being bad or good. Augh, the things you do to me."
"'m good, s'good for you. Want you s'bad."
Blabbering, you watch through bleary eyes at the rapid speed he tears off his sweatpants and manage to spread your legs even farther with how numb they feel when he climbs over top of you. Lenses flash in the light at the same time as a foil wrapper before he rips it, hissing in sensitivity to slide the condom on. You're thrilled when the heavy tip of his cock slaps against your prepped pussy, ready for him to lose all rationale. You're sorely disappointed to find out your husband has a pending question for you.
"Then why didn't you greet me when you came home? Hm? Pretty baby sulking in the bathroom 'cause I was gaming with the boys?"
"Ahhh…" you shake your head urgently, nails lightly scratching his biceps, and hips lifting off the bed in a sly effort to slip his dick inside. "No…"
Wonwoo clicks his tongue, halting your movements. "No? I need complete answers, love."
You need him to lose control. Fighting back a sob, you try to shake off your fucked-out state and reply to him properly. "Wanted to shower 'nd then come in no panties, sit… on your lap."
"Yeah? Pretty baby was gonna keep me nice and warm in that snug pussy? Like we always do?"
"Mhm," tears are streaming down your cheeks at this point, "maybe… maybe suck you off."
"Oh, wanted to choke on my cock so all those losers could hear those greedy gags of yours?"
All you can do is nod deliriously because his thick length is hot and hard. Laying outside your lower stomach exactly like it would if it was buried within you.
Wonwoo snarls. "I think the fuck not. Absolutely not. Only I'm allowed to hear your pretty noises. Only me." He huffs, easing the tip inside finally, grunting at how you're already clamping around him like a vice. "You're made for me. All mine. No one else."
The last three syllables are punctuated by experimental, shallow thrusts to open you up for him. Your tongues tangle together as he continues to rock his hips forward, splitting you open until your pelvises kiss.
"That's it, baby. That's the sweet cunt I've been waiting for all day, dreaming of. There it is, shit! Whose pussy does this belong to?"
"Yours… hgnh, all yours… yours, yours yours…!"
"That's right, that's fuckin' right."
His glasses slide down the bridge of his nose but are pushed up by your own nose when you pull him by the neck to shut him up. Barely kissing anymore, it's an open-mouthed entanglement of debauchery. Neither of your moans get any quieter, especially when he rasps in your ear to make as much noise as possible because no one's around to listen.
Wonwoo's thrusts are sharp when he does pull out a little bit. But he doesn't want to leave your warmth for even one moment, mainly grinding as deep as he can into your fluttering hole and stimulating your clit. His hands tug at your nipples, alternating between squishing and squeezing at your tender breasts. Your legs splay compliantly out at the side, letting your husband use you to his content because that's what both of your goals tonight were.
You're shamelessly screaming when his tip touches that bundle of nerves and you're afraid you might actually black out when he continues to hit it with scary precision.
"Gonna… be the death… of me."
Peering at you over his glasses, he smirks at your weak complaint. "Says the one… that's gonna snap off my dick… shit, lovey, stop tightening up so much!"
"Can't help it, feels so good."
"I know, baby," he pants out and kisses your cheek, "I know so just bare with me a bit more." Relief floods him momentarily when your gummy walls loosen their iron grip around his cock. "That's it."
Pulling out of your squelching pussy before you can clamp around him again with only the head wrapped around so prettily by your puffy lips, he has to pause to admire it. Then he slams inside so deep that you can't help but hit that intense climax while he's still stuffing the rest of his length back in.
He coos in his low voice, coaxing you through it with an almost cruel swivel of his hips. "You can give me one more, right? I know you can, you're so good for me."
You really don't know if you could but the minute you lock eyes with him, the feral need and want in them that takes your breath away is enough. It's tinier than all the ones prior but it pleases a fucked out Wonwoo. In seconds, he's spilling his seed into the condom, still nestled within your spasming walls.
"There it is, cream on my cock, love. Yeah, there we go… fuck, baby..." he pants, a telltale sign, "that's it... so perfect."
To say you're exhausted would be an understatement. You might've actually passed out because when you come to, your husband has already wiped you down and pulled the blankets over your naked body. You weren't cold at all before but now that the tidal wave of lust has ebbed away, a chill is settling in. Your cat has snuck into the bedroom too, curled up and purring at the end of the bed on top of the stuffed cockroach plushie.
"Wonwoo?"
"Right here, love." He's laying on top of the covers and wearing his sweats again. His glasses are on the nightstand, head propped up on one hand to stare affectionately at you. "Feel okay?"
"Yeah but I'm glad I'm off for the rest of the week. You fucked the life out of me."
A smug grin graces his face. "Yeah I know. Which is why I don't understand why you just didn't wait to do laundry tomorrow or something."
"Not this again. How old are you?"
"Old enough to know what will prevent me from blowing out your back all the time." He's ready to continue with a good defense but pauses at the smile you're trying to hide. "Wait… did you do that on purpose?" When you don't reply, he groans your name. "You did, didn't you?"
"We all have our little tricks," a finger traces down his exposed pecs, "although I didn't expect such a needy voicemail on my way home, it turned out just as planned."
He halts your wrist when you start journeying down his abs. "Not in front of the child, please."
"I'm too tired to do anything scandalous," you laugh and flip your aching body over to the other side. "Wake me up in a half hour so I can shower. Alone."
"I can't believe I was set up." Disbelief drips from his tone as he sets a timer on his phone but he reaches over you to turn off the light, pressing a kiss to your ear. "Well-played though. You have a lot of free time to make up for your misbehavior, don't you baby?"
"Mhm-hm."
Wonwoo can't see the second victorious smile hidden in the darkness. Really. You're just too smart, knowing your husband so well to get what you want.
What’s funny is that Hyuck confirmed his reason for sending these three to go get groceries almost word for word too 😭 they know each other so well it’s actually so cute LMFAO
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