𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 -smut MDNI, unprotected piv (don’t), mention of nipple play, mention of hickeys, mention of fingering, mention of oral (f receiving), implied oral (f receiving), a bit of munch hyunjin, missionary, accidental edging??, lowercase intended, use of ‘muse’ and baby’, established relationship
hyunjin treated your body the same way he treated his art, probably because to him your body was art. your soft skin with his marks painting it, your breasts that he could run his hands over all day, pinching and rolling your hard buds in-between his calloused fingers. the pulse of your neck, where he could suck and bite on until the skin was purple. your beautiful core, the folds he ran his tip over until he couldn’t take it anymore and would push into you, your tight, warm walls welcoming him.
he would try to spend all the time he could just worshipping your body, touching and sucking on all of your sensitive spots until you were soaking for him. then he would push orgasm after orgasm out of you, first with his fingers, then a few times more with his tongue, before he would finally relieve himself and slam his aching cock into your sensitive walls. that was how hyunjin would fuck you, with all the time in the world, with precision, the foreplay taking longer than the actual event.
that is not how hyunjin was fucking you now.
he had come home from rehearsals late, exhaustion racking his entire body the same way it filled yours. you’d both been working far too much lately, not having enough time for each-other. he’d missed you more than anything, so when he knew he should’ve just showered and passed out, he instead ended up on top of you. he couldn’t resist you, he hadn’t had you in so long. there was no foreplay, just an agreement and a few heavy breaths before your little sleep shorts were pushed down and he was inside of you.
his thrusts were sloppy, like his hips were so close to giving out but he just had to keep going. his cock moving slowly in your walls, that drawn out stretch making you let you strangled gasps. his face buried in your neck, loud whines leaving his pretty lips every time he thrusted into you, his eyes shut in concentration so he wouldn’t finish before you. his hands bracketed on either side of you so he wouldn’t collapse his weight onto you, no matter how tired he was. it was almost silent in the room, just the filthy sound of his balls slapping against your skin with every deep thrust and the low groans leaving your mouths.
“fuck…muse,” he finally moaned, the sweet pet name sounding to dirty in the softness of their intimacy.
you knew what that moan meant, knowing his body as well as he knew yours. you could feel how his hip movements somehow got even more messy. usually his fingers would be working diligently on your clit by now, but if he stopped supporting himself with even one arm, you knew he would collapse right onto you and go still. so you didn’t fuss, didn’t think about yourself, instead you just let out that, “jinnie, ‘s okay baby.”
you’d never needed to give him permission to cum before, but you knew he always wanted you to go first. your mind was running only on him now, and his seemed to be almost blank. your words finally reached his brain and when they were registered, his thrusts picked up pace the smallest bit, his body working towards his release desperately. it only took a few more messy moments and soft moans from your lips before he was cumming, his hot seed spilling inside of you. hyunjin rutted into you a few more times to ride out his high, before he finally collapsed, boneless on top of you.
but he still supported himself barely with one fighting arm, because that was your sweet hyunjin, always scared to crush you no matter how much you insisted he wouldn’t. there was a long moment of just heavy breathing between you two, him trying to come down from his high while he fought off sleep desperately and you, still needy and aching. you walls clenching desperately around his softening length, his cum leaking out of you in dribbles, and you hadn’t finished. you willed your body to stop, to let yourself be unintentionally edged with no reward so he could sleep.
but he noticed, he always noticed. hyunjin picked himself up to look into your pleasure clouded eyes with his tired, but always affectionate ones. “ ‘m sorry, muse,” he almost whispered, his voice still shaky, almost whiney. he steadily pulled out of you, your nose scrunching up at the sensation.
he moved down your body, leaving open mouth kisses down your stomach, getting closer and closer to your aching core. “i’ll make it up to you, make you feel so good, baby…” he muttered the entire time he kissed down your hot skin. ready to get to your fluttering lips and eat you out like a man starved, exhaustion be damned.
eeekkk first fic and first time writing smut!! #bekind
longer fics coming later this is mostly a drabble, thank yew for reading! 🫰🫰
you loved hyunjin, right? well, you had to. you were just too shy to show it. but he saw it, how you smiled more at him when you passed by, bowed deeper for him than you did for his members. and i mean, your lyrics, could you make it any less obvious who you were talking about? you were just shy, nervous to approach him, yeah that made sense. made sense only to him.
made sense to him as he locked himself away in the art studio every free day, frenzied hands sketching and painting every one of your delicate features from memories. your essence was in every one of his own lyrics, a journal filled with poetry about you, his laptop browser just full of your fancams.
well, that's how it started anyways. but then he realized how far from him your soul was, even as you were clearly his soulmate. he deserved to see you everyday, didn't he?
it wasn't too hard. go to your company with the excuse of visiting a friend, wait until you left practice, follow you to dinner with your members, one of them sat too close to you, he didn't like that. his teeth were grinding together by the time you left the restaurant, all soft smiles and hugs goodbye. you drove yourself, he didn't like that either, far too much work for you.
his bike was inconspicuous enough, following quietly a good distance from your car. you didn't notice, of course you didn't, not even when you finally got home, still having no idea that hyunjin was right behind you.
he stood outside your house for a while, watching, learning the layout based on lights switching on and off as you moved throughout. he felt an odd sensation of pure peace watching your shadow through your bedroom window. staying hours after you had turned the light off and gone to sleep, just to make sure you were safe. as long as he was here, he would always keep you safe.
every free-day, open morning, afternoon or night, hyunjin was there. he began arriving late to dance practice, begging to record first so he could leave early, actively checking the clock during meetings. the boys said he was just tired, overworked, they were worried, but definitely not worried enough.
because every time they were wondering how to help him, he was with you. hyunjin had always been good at everything, turned out he was good at staying quiet too. he always stayed about a block behind you, just watching you go about your day. and god, was your life beyond entertaining to him. he was just a viewer as his angel, his muse went about her day, seeing how gentle you were in everyday life.
you always went to the same grocery store, the cashiers there loved you, that pissed him off. you liked going shopping, always on the look out for new clothes, he hated that you had to buy them yourself. you always went to the same coffee shop too, always got the same thing, a sweet iced chai. you got annoyed when it was more ice than drink, you never said anything. hyunjin found it cute.
sometimes he would fantasize about walking into the cafe, staging a meet cute. but no, that would never work, you were too shy, right?
you never noticed him. i mean, you noticed something, just not him. you could feel that you were being watched, could feel eyes on you wherever you went. you just never pressed, got too scared, or every thought too much of it because, of course there were eyes on you. you'd had your fair share of stalkers, obsessed fans that thought they had a chance. so, you pushed it to the back of your mind. you really, truly shouldn't have.
at this point, he knew you inside and out. every habit, every pet peeve, small noise, expression, he had to have known every thought going through your head. he just kept watching, following, escalating.
in the beginning, he was so happy to just watch. a bright smile on his face while he watched you through windows. but that wasn't enough. he needed to feel your warmth, you probably ran warm right? he did so that only made sense. he had watched you put in your door code every day, not even trying to hide it. he just laughed at his dumb girl, of course you couldn't hide from him.
he couldn't get the idea out of his head about how easy it would be to just let himself in. so, of course he did. waiting until you had been asleep for a few hours before he entered the code and slipped inside. he was gone from there.
firstly, he just watched you sleep. your entire face soft, body relaxed, hair getting messy, feeling so safe, thinking you were alone. he didn't touch you, no, that'd be wrong. you were shy, it might upset you. he would never upset you. the only time he got close was when your blanket would slip down, then he would fix it for you, just so you would know you were cared for.
he spent every night possible in your house, keeping you safe while you slept. then he would wander, cleaning up your living room, going through your trinkets, dulling your knifes.
hyunjin was good with the routine you two had right now. you went, he followed, he watched, he ached. then he realized that not only were you not alone, neither was he. he should've known, you were too perfect, too easy, of course those men were stalking you. how could they? they could scare you, they could hurt you. he couldn't have that. so, he started to follow those men too, beating them with the nearest blunt object until he was the last thing they saw.
he just smiled when they stopped breathing, because finally his girl was safe. he didn't feel regret, or guilt, how could he? he did it for you.
the boys noticed he was tired, never coming back to the dorms anymore, washing his clothes frantically. they thought the schedules were breaking him down, chan negotiated his way to getting hyunjin more time off. chan had no idea he was making everything worse.
hyunjin just kept getting more and more brave. he needed to have you will him always, his paintings not enough to soothe him whenever you were away. you didn't notice when things started to go missing. it was just one shirt, a sweater, a perfume, a hairbrush, just so he could wear your sweater and tell himself you gave it to him. then, predictably, he began taking panties, sleeping with them in his arms like a plushie, even with his dried cum now coating the fabric.
he couldn't stand that he had to sneak around you. hyunjin was aching for you, for you to smile at him, to be able to claim you, to take you. it's definitely what you wanted, it had to be. you were just so shy, and he couldn't scare you off. that's why he studied, he learned every single thing about you in the vain of being your perfect man when you finally plucked up the courage to talk to him.
his obsession was seeping through the cracks of his idol image. what was once his passion became a chore, every second with the members being a second he was away from you. the art studio was now a shrine to you, paintings, 'candid' photos, the small items he could take without you noticing, all hazardously displayed in the cold room. changbin didn't know how to bring up the padlock that had suddenly appeared on the studio door. he should've found a way.
hyunjin had to confess. he had to tell you, had to be in your life. he couldn't survive without you closer. he was breaking, under eyes so dark that makeup barely covered them, hands always shaking, practically a junkie for you. he finally thought of the perfect way to do it, a poem, you'd like that. he snuck through the backstage of the music show, carefully leaving it on the vanity he just knew was yours.
you almost screamed when you saw it.
a pit formed in your stomach at the sight, eyes going wide, hair standing up. you suddenly began looking around the small room, wishing you hadn't run ahead of you members. the poem was romantic for sure, maybe you would've liked it if it was from a boyfriend, and not written in blood.
the red liquid was clearly fresh, still dripping down the paper. beside it was a tiny teddy bear, you had the large version of it on your bed, how would someone know that?
your heart was pounding in your ears and you didn't hesitate to leave the dressing room. you needed someone, your members, manager, even a makeup artist, to tell about this and seek help. you were so frenzied, that you ran directly into a firm chest, looking up to find your senior trying to steady you. he looked concerned, normal, you barely remembered that his name was hyunjin, and something about how he was a good dancer.
you were relieved that you weren't entirely alone now, you shouldn't have been. "sorry," you apologized quickly, bowing your head down. your voice was small, yes, because you were scared, not because you were in the least bit shy.
"don't worry about it," hyunjin quickly comforted you, feeling bad about how nervous you must be right now. "you okay?" he questioned, seeming so genuine, like a concerned colleague. meanwhile he was trying not to get hard because finally his hands were on your shoulders and you were aware of it.
"yeah...yeah uh," you huffed out a puff of air, trying to calm yourself down. "just got a weird note, think it's another stalker," you finally explained, still clearly very disturbed.
you didn't like his poem? didn't like how he loved? hyunjin couldn't fathom that, but you were with him now, and his girl was upset. he needed to fix that. "oh yeah, i know what you mean, im so sorry," his voice was dripping with worry and sympathy. he seemed so extremely normal around you. every word came out so naturally, smooth and carefully planned out in his maze of a mind.
you told him it was okay, that he had no reason to be sorry. he had every reason to be sorry. you told him he didn't though, that meant you did except his love. hyunjin almost beamed at you, but he didn't. he was too focused on his image right now for that.
"here, why don't you come with me?" he suggested, softly, innocently, still playing the part of the sweet senior. "you shouldn't be alone right now," hyunjin added in a mutter.
and god, did you fall for it. he seemed so kind, like someone who got it, who wanted to protect others in the industry. you agreed, let him lead you down the hallway, you thought he was only holding your arm for comfort, you didn't think anything of the fresh bandage on his hand.
you sat in the stray kids dressing room for a while, just talking to him, genuinely talking. you thought everything was normal, that this was new friend. hyunjin was hiding that his lock screen was a photo of the back of your head all while he laughed too hard at your jokes. you thought he was trying to help you feel safe, that he had swooped in to help so easily, that he was a gentleman.
you were so dumb, so unaware. thinking that he was saving you from danger, having no idea that he was the dangerous one. and who knows when the smiley man in front of you would finally show his true face.
this is my first time doing anything like this eekk please don’t judge fam
f a v b i a s x y o u - you just wanted to visit him at the studio, bring some food, coffee, maybe a few snacks for his members as well, and remind him not to overwork himself again, to actually take a break once in a while.
he was alone when you got there, everyone else scattered- grabbing drinks, taking a quick break, or just stretching their legs after the intense recording session, and the moment he saw you, that focused look in his eyes softened into something warmer, something that was only ever meant for you.
“hey, baby-” he mumbled against your lips as you leaned in, and you kissed him back just as easily. “hi-”
one small kiss turned into another, then another, each one a little deeper, a little more heated, like neither of you wanted to stop now that you’d started, like you’d both been waiting for this without realizing it.
he pulled back just long enough to get up, crossing the room in a few quick steps to lock the door before turning back to you, his gaze already darkening again as he moved closer, guiding you back until you hit the small sofa, his hands firm as he pushed you down onto it…
— SUMMARY. At the peak of his career in the industry, Hyunjin ends up attending a sorority party with a fellow member in attempts to feel normal again. Caught in the midst of the moment, he ends up sleeping with a fan—an impulsive decision that lingers in his memory long after they’ve parted ways. Years later, completely burnt out and facing suffocating expectations, Hyunjin announces an indefinite hiatus and escapes to Italy in search of anonymity and peace. However, fate intervenes when he unexpectedly runs into the very person he couldn’t seem to completely forget, bringing those deepened memories back towards the surface.
OR, in which Y/N didn’t expect to hook-up with her bias, and Hyunjin didn’t expect to fall in love with her.
— PAIRING. hwang hyunjin x fem!reader
— GENRE. idol!hyunjin, strangers-to-lovers au
— WARNINGS/TROPES/OTHER. “she falls first, he falls harder” ; slow burn ; fan!reader x idol!hyunjin ; second chances ; forbidden love ; explicit language ; alcohol consumption ; angst ; smut ; fluff ; heavy themes consisting of: depression, anxiety, toxicity of idol life
— STATUS. ONGOING
DISCLAIMER. this story is pure fiction, using only skz’s physical characteristics and names. i do not associate my works with the real life members. please reference the warnings above, as this will contain mature content. additionally, please do not read/interact if you’re uncomfortable. thank you!
NOTE. this series is split up into three parts. each part consists of a time change, and should be read in order.
if you would like to be added to the taglist for this series, leave me a comment or send an ask!
TW: 18+, MDNI, Explicit sexual content, Rough/aggressive sexual content (but not too rough), Relationship conflict, Toxic relationship dynamics
WC: 4088
Synopsis: Hyunjin takes Y/N on a romantic trip to Iceland to make her fall in love again. Will his efforts pay off, or is she too far gone?
AN: Ya’ll I edited this one myself sooo.. sorry in advance. Also, I cannot TELL you how many times I deleted and re-wrote this story. @skzdreamer13 I finally finished that Hyunjin fic I told you about. Feel free to criticize me in my comments or DM, Emo Homie. I had a vision in my head but for some reason I couldn’t get the indifference in Y/n and the desperation in Hyunjin to come through in words like I wanted to. Grrr..
Hyunjins POV
The cold Icelandic air bit at my skin as we stepped out of the car, but I barely felt it. All I could focus on was her—Y/N—standing there with her eyes wide, taking in the otherworldly landscape of lava fields and steam rising from the earth. The Blue Lagoon Retreat stretched before us, secluded and perfect, exactly what I'd planned for.
"Hyunjin, this is..." Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, I saw a flash of the girl I fell in love with three years ago. The one who looked at me like I hung the stars. But it faded too quickly.
"I know you've always wanted to come here," I said, reaching for her hand. She let me take it, but her fingers felt limp in mine. No squeeze back. No warmth. Just... there.The weight in my chest grew heavier.
We checked into our private suite, and I watched as she explored the space, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking our own secluded lagoon, the luxurious bed, the volcanic rock walls. My camera hung around my neck, ready to capture everything, but she moved through the room like a ghost. Beautiful, untouchable.
When did we become strangers? The thought sliced through me, sharp and unwelcome.
I knew when. I knew exactly when.
Her birthday. I'd been stuck in the studio, recording until 4 AM. I'd sent flowers, sent messages, but I hadn't been there. And our anniversary—God, our three-year anniversary—I'd been on a plane to Japan, another schedule I couldn't control.
She'd said it was okay. She always said it was okay. But the distance between us now told a different story.
"Let's go to the lagoon," I suggested, desperate to break through whatever wall had built up between us. She nodded, disappearing into the bathroom to change. When she use to shamelessly change right in front of me.
When she emerged in her swimsuit, my breath caught. She was devastating, curves I'd memorized with my hands, skin I'd kissed every inch of, eyes that used to burn with want when she looked at me. Now those eyes just... looked. Flat. Distant.
The private lagoon was perfect—milky blue water, steam rising into the crisp air, complete isolation. I sank into the warm water and watched her lower herself in across from me. Too far away.
"Come here," I said softly.
She hesitated. Actually hesitated. That hurt more than I wanted to admit.
But she moved closer, stopping just within arm's reach. Not close enough. I didn't pull her the rest of the way. I wanted to, but I could see the careful distance she was maintaining, and I wasn't going to push.
"The water's nice," she said, her tone polite. Neutral.
"Yeah," I replied, watching her. "I thought you'd like it here."
"It's beautiful." She looked around at the landscape, anywhere but at me.
I tried again. "I've missed this. Being with you."
"We're here now," she said simply, no emotion in her voice.
The words felt hollow, and I knew what she really meant: You're trying too hard. Or maybe It's too late. I couldn't tell anymore.
"I know I haven't been around," I continued, desperate to break through whatever wall she'd built. "But I want to change that. I want to do better."
She was quiet for a long moment, her eyes fixed on the steam rising from the water. "Okay."
Just... okay. Not "I believe you" or "I want that too." Just acknowledgment that I'd spoken.
I stayed where I was, giving her space even though every fiber of my being wanted to close the distance between us. We sat in the lagoon for another twenty minutes, the silence stretching between us like an ocean. I tried to make conversation—pointing out the landscape, asking about her work, anything—but her responses were short. Polite. Distant.
When we finally returned to the suite, the tension followed us like a shadow.
"Shower?" I suggested, and she nodded, disappearing into the bathroom without a word.
I waited my turn, giving her all the space she needed. The bathroom was all volcanic stone and modern luxury, the rainfall shower large enough for two. But she'd closed the door firmly behind her, and I got the message.
When she emerged twenty minutes later, wrapped in a plush robe with her hair damp, she looked more at ease—but only because she was alone.
"Your turn," she said quietly, not quite meeting my eyes.
I showered quickly, the warm water doing nothing to wash away the ache in my chest. When I came out, she was already in the bed, scrolling through her phone.
"I'm starving," I said, trying to inject some lightness into my voice. "Want to order room service? We could try the local food."
"Sure," she said, setting her phone aside.
I grabbed the leather-bound menu, settling onto the bed next to her. She glanced at the menu when I held it out, pointing to the Icelandic lamb without much enthusiasm.
"That sounds good," I agreed. "I'll get the Arctic char too, so we can share. And skyr for dessert?"
"Fine." She hummed softly with a light shrug of her shoulders.
I placed the order, then tried to fill the silence with talk about tomorrow's plans—Þingvellir, Gullfoss, the Northern Lights. She listened, nodded in the right places, but offered little in return. It felt like talking to a stranger who was being polite out of obligation.
The food arrived thirty minutes later. The lamb was incredible, the char perfectly cooked, but I could barely taste any of it. I watched her eat, hoping to see some spark of joy, some sign that she was actually here with me and not just going through the motions.
"This is really good," I offered.
"Mm-hmm," she agreed, taking another bite.
I tried the skyr, the creamy Icelandic yogurt topped with wild berries. "Want to try some?"
"I'm okay, thanks." She mumbled softly.
When I slid under the covers, I stayed on my side of the bed. She did the same on hers, the space between us feeling like miles.
I wanted to reach for her. To pull her close, to feel her warmth against me like I used to. But I could sense her walls, tall and impenetrable, and I knew that pushing would only make things worse.
"Goodnight," I said softly into the darkness.
"Goodnight," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
She didn't move closer. Didn't reach for me. Just lay there on her side of the bed, her breathing eventually evening out into sleep while I stared at the ceiling.
The weight in my chest, the one that had been suffocating me for weeks, grew heavier. I'd brought her here hoping to fix things, to show her that I could change, that we were worth fighting for. But she seemed so indifferent to it all, so detached.
Tomorrow I would take her to see the waterfalls and the Northern Lights. Tomorrow night I had a reservation at that expensive restaurant. And somewhere in my luggage sat a small box with a ring inside—a ring that suddenly felt like the most foolish purchase I'd ever made.
But I had three days. Three days to prove that I could be the man she needed. That I could show up, be present, fight for us.
Even if she didn't seem to care anymore.
I fell asleep alone, despite sharing a bed with the woman I loved, praying that somehow, someway, I could break through to her before it was too late.
I woke before her, watching the soft morning light illuminate her peaceful face. She stirred eventually, her eyes fluttering open.
"Morning," she murmured sleepily.
"Morning, beautiful. How'd you sleep?" I said back to her.
"Better than I have in months," she admitted.
"Good. Get dressed warm—we're going exploring," I said as I was getting out of bed.
An hour later, we were driving through otherworldly black lava fields and jagged mountains. We spent the day visiting Þingvellir National Park, standing between two continental plates, then Gullfoss waterfall, where the spray misted our faces, and Geysir to watch boiling water shoot into the air. She laughed and held my hand, slightly more present than yesterday.
This was my Y/N, the one I'd fallen in love with.
The afternoon was spent at a secluded hot spring. As the sun began its early descent, the sky started to shift.
"We should head back," I said reluctantly. "Dinner reservation is at seven." From my spot on a large rock, my eyes found her. Y/N sat a few feet away, eyes closed, looking peaceful. She lifted her head to meet my gaze and gave me a nod.
Back at the retreat, I watched her get ready. She'd brought a dress that was deep emerald green that hugged her curves and made her skin glow. Her hair was swept up in a loose twist with soft pieces of hair falling around her face. She was so gorgeous, I forgot how to fucking function.
But we never made it to dinner…
I'd had every intention of taking her to the exclusive restaurant, of watching her face light up over the seven-course tasting menu I'd carefully arranged. But as we got ready in our suite, something shifted. Or rather, something didn't shift—and that was the problem.
She was polite. Agreeable. Going through the motions of getting dressed, of putting on makeup, of playing the part of my girlfriend on this romantic getaway. But there was that barrier between us, invisible but solid as steel, and I could feel it with every passing second.
"You look beautiful," I said as she emerged from the bathroom in that emerald dress, and she did. Breathtaking. But her smile didn't reach her eyes.
"Thank you." Flat. Distant. Like she was thanking a stranger for holding a door open.
Something snapped inside me.
"Are we really going to do this?" The words came out sharper than I intended, but I was done pretending everything was fine.
She paused, her hand on her clutch. "Do what?"
"This." I gestured between us. "Act like everything's okay. Like we're just a normal couple on a normal trip."
"Isn't that what you wanted?" Her tone was carefully neutral, which somehow made it worse. "You brought me here to fix things, didn't you?"
"I brought you here because I love you," I said, my voice rising. "Because I'm fighting for us. But I can't do this alone, Y/N."
"I'm here, aren't I?" She turned to face me fully now, and I could see the first crack in her armor. "I got on a plane. I came to Iceland. What more do you want, Hyunjin?"
"I want you!" The words exploded out of me. "Not this... this hollow version who's just going through the motions. I want the woman who used to look at me like I mattered. Who laughed at my stupid jokes and fell asleep on my chest and actually felt something when I touched her."
Her jaw tightened. "You don't get to do this."
"Do what?" I questioned.
"Act like I'm the one who broke us!" Her voice was rising now, that careful control starting to fracture. "You disappeared, Hyunjin. For months. You chose your career over and over again, and I understood. I really did, but understanding doesn't make it hurt less."
"So what, you're just done? You've checked out completely?" I took a step toward her. "Because that's what it feels like. Like you've already given up."
"Maybe I have." The words hit me hard, but then she kept going, her voice breaking. "Maybe I had to, to protect myself. Because loving you when you're never there, when I'm always second to everything else—it's killing me."
"You think it's not killing me too?!" I was right in front of her now, close enough to see the tears gathering in her eyes. "You think I don't know I fucked up? That I haven't been losing my mind these past three months watching you slip away?"
"Then why didn't you fight sooner?!" she demanded, and a tear finally spilled over. "Why did it take me pulling away for you to notice?"
"Because I'm an idiot," I said roughly. "Because I thought—I don't know what I thought. That you'd always be there. That we were strong enough to weather anything. But I was wrong, and I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
She was crying openly now, and so was I, months of hurt and fear and desperation pouring out between us.
"I don't know how to do this anymore," she whispered. "How to let you in when I know you're just going to leave again."
"I'm not leaving." I reached for her face, cupping it gently even as my hands shook. "Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever, if you'll let me stay."
"Hyunjin—" she said as she tried to pull away from me, but I held her there.
"I love you." My voice cracked. "I love you so much it terrifies me. And I know I don't deserve another chance, but I'm begging you. Please. Let me prove that you're my priority. That you always were, even when I was too stupid to show it."
She stared at me, her breathing ragged, tears streaming down her face. "I don't know... I don't—"
Instead of allowing her to continue, I grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her to me roughly, my fingers digging into her skin hard enough to leave marks. I crashed my lips onto hers with a violence that bordered on punishment—for her, for me, for everything we'd broken.
The kiss was desperate, angry, full of three months of longing and hurt and need that had festered into something darker. She kissed me back just as fiercely, almost savagely, her hands fisting in my black shirt and pulling me closer like she wanted to hurt me as much as she wanted me. My fingers tore through her carefully styled hair, sending pins scattering across the floor as it fell messily around her shoulders. I backed her toward the bed, our mouths never breaking contact, teeth clashing, lips bruising.
"I hate you," she gasped against my mouth, her voice dripping with venom even as her hands worked frantically at my shirt buttons, tearing one clean off in her desperation.
"I know," I breathed, my voice rough. "I hate me too." I kept walking us backward until her legs hit the bed hard enough to make her stumble. "I hate what I did to us. What I turned you into."
"You don't get to just—" She broke off with a sharp gasp as I kissed down her neck aggressively, teeth grazing skin, finding that spot below her ear that always made her weak. "—to just show up with grand gestures and think you can fuck your way back into my heart—"
"I don't think anything," I said roughly, my hands finding the zipper of her dress and yanking it down with enough force that the sound echoed in the quiet room. In my haste, my fingers caught on the delicate strap, and I heard the soft tear of fabric as it ripped clean from the bodice. "I'm just praying you'll forgive me. And if you won't..." My voice dropped to something almost dangerous. "Then at least let me make you feel something other than this emptiness."
The dress pooled at her feet. My shirt hit the floor. And then we were falling onto the bed together, a tangle of desperate hands and broken promises and three months of distance finally, violently shattering.
"I missed you," I groaned against her skin, my mouth trailing down her collarbone, leaving marks I knew would bruise. "God, I missed you so much it felt like hell."
"I missed you too," she admitted, her voice wrecked and trembling. "I hate that I missed you. I hate that even after everything, I still want you this much."
I captured her mouth again, pouring everything I couldn't say into the kiss. Every apology, every promise, every desperate plea for her to stay. Heat radiated between us, my body aching with need as I pressed against her, the friction of denim against her bare skin making her gasp into my mouth. My hips ground against her, settling between her spread thighs, and I felt her wetness through the thin fabric of her underwear, making me groan. She responded with equal intensity, her body arching into mine like she was trying to crawl inside my skin, her hands mapping my body with an urgency that felt almost violent.
"Tell me you're mine," I demanded, my voice ragged and dark as I hovered over her, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. "Tell me I haven't lost you completely."
Her eyes were dark, dilated, still wet with tears that made them gleam in the low light. Her chest heaved beneath me, skin flushed and breasts pressing against my chest with every intake of breath. "I don't know if I can." The honesty in her voice was devastating.
The admission broke something fundamental in me, something that had been barely holding together. "Then let me remind you," I said, my voice dropping to something almost threatening. My free hand traced down her throat, feeling her pulse racing. "Let me remind you exactly who you belong to."
I released her just long enough to shed my pants and boxers, my cock painfully hard and straining against nothing, pulsing with desperate need, practically begging and aching to be enveloped by her warmth. I moved back toward the bed, feeling Y/N's eyes tracking every movement I made, her gaze intense and hungry as she watched me. In one swift, aggressive motion, I gripped the delicate fabric of her thin panties and ripped them clean off her body, the sound of tearing material filling the quiet room. My hands found her thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as I gripped them firmly and spread her wide open for me, exposing everything.
I groaned at the sight of her as I placed myself between her legs and rubbed the length of my cock slowly through her slick folds.
I had to pause, had to force myself to take a steadying breath and maintain some semblance of control over my body. I hadn't been touched by her or felt her wrapped around me in what felt like an eternity of months, and the reality of finally having her again was almost overwhelming—taking my time was absolutely crucial if I wanted this to last.
Once I was positioned over her again, leaning down with my weight supported on my forearms, Y/N's hands and mouth were immediately on me, desperate and demanding. I felt the sharp sting of her teeth sinking into the muscle of my shoulder, hard enough to break skin, causing me to hiss out sharply in a mixture of pain and dark pleasure.
I let her. I welcomed it. I deserved every mark, every scratch, every bite.
I kept teasing her, rolling my hips against hers, rubbing the length of my cock through her slick folds.
"Hyunjin," she gasped, her fingers fisting in my hair and pulling hard enough to make my scalp burn. Her body arched and moved with mine. "Please—"
"Please what?" I needed to hear her say it, needed to hear her voice break with want instead of pain. My fingers traced patterns on her heated skin, feeling goosebumps rise in their wake. "Use your words, baby." My lips lightly trailed down her neck, nipping at her delicate skin.
"Please don't stop." Her voice cracked, tears streaming down her temples, mingling with the moisture beading on her skin. "Don't leave me again. Don't make me feel this much and then disappear."
"Never," I swore as I moved my lips back up to hers, the word coming out almost like a growl. I could taste her tears, feel her breath hot against my mouth. "I swear to God, never again."
I finally gave in, unable to take it anymore. I moved onto my knees, gripping her hips and pulling her toward me as I slid inside her, drawing a loud gasp from her lips. My movements were violent and desperate—fucking her hard, relentlessly. The heat between us was almost unbearable, our bodies slick and sliding together. She cried out my name, her body trembling and arching beneath mine, and I buried my face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin—overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, by how much I needed this, needed her.
"I love you," I choked out, the words ragged and broken. "I love you, I love you, I love you." I chanted it over and over—a confession, like the only truth I had left.
"I love you too," she sobbed, her arms wrapping tight around me, nails digging into my shoulders. "I never stopped."
We moved together like we had the need to brand ourselves into each other's skin so deeply that leaving would be impossible. The room filled with the sounds of our breathing, gasps and moans and whispered names. She matched me touch for touch, kiss for kiss, bite for bite, until we were both shaking and crying and so close to completely falling apart.
"Look at me," I commanded roughly, my hand coming up to grip her jaw and force her eyes to mine. "I'm with you. Nothing else matters. No one else exists."
She kissed me deeply in response, tasting salt from both our tears and sweat mixed with the sweetness of her mouth.
I could feel her inner walls beginning to tighten and clench around me, her body trembling, desperately begging to cum. "That's it, baby," I moaned, my voice strained and ragged, every muscle tensing. "Let go for me, baby." I fucked her harder, deeper—relentless in my pace, making her cum all over me, her release coating my cock. All wet, messy, and perfect. I slid my fingers into her mouth, feeling her tongue against them. "Suck…" I demanded just as I began to cum as well, my own release consuming me entirely.
I collapsed next to her, pulling her close, so close. We stayed like that for several long moments, our breathing slowly evening out, hearts gradually returning to normal rhythms. I held her close, feeling the rapid flutter of her pulse against my skin.
Y/N's fingers traced the marks she'd left on my skin like she was cataloging the damage, her touch feather-light against the scratches and bite marks. "We missed our dinner reservation," she said quietly after a long moment, her voice hoarse, her breath warm against my chest.
"I don't care." I pressed a kiss to her hair, breathing in her scent like I could make it permanent. "All I care about is you."
She was quiet for so long I thought she'd fallen asleep. Then she said, "This doesn't fix everything, you know." Her voice was small, vulnerable in a way that made my chest ache.
"I know." I tightened my hold on her, protective all at once. "But it's a start. And I'll spend every day proving to you that you come first. That you always should have. I'll destroy anything that tries to come between us."
She lifted her head to look at me, and I saw it—that flicker of hope in her eyes that I'd been desperate to see again, mixed with fear and longing.
We lay there in the quiet of the evening, the ethereal greens and blues of the Icelandic sky dancing through the windows above us, painting our tangled bodies in soft, otherworldly light. The peaceful silence wrapped around us like a blanket until I decided to break it.
"So…" I started, trying to keep my voice casual even as my heart hammered against my ribs. "Does this mean you wouldn't want the ring in my pants pocket?"
Her head snapped up so fast. Her eyes went comically wide, mouth falling open in the most adorable "o" shape as she stared at me. For a long moment, she just blinked at me—once, twice, three times—her expression cycling rapidly through shock, confusion, and disbelief, all while looking absolutely precious with her messy hair and flushed cheeks.
I couldn't help but laugh softly at her startled expression, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Is that a yes or…?"
Copyright: do not copy, translate, repost, or edit my work in any way. If you do, I will publicly call out the violation and pursue legal action, including a DMCA takedown and cease and desist letter.
Please keep in mind that…
All pictures used belong to their rightful owners (e.g., Pinterest and RealStrayKids).
I do not condone any inappropriate attractions, actions, or thoughts towards Stray Kids in real life. This is purely fiction and is not true.
Anything written about these men is entirely fictional. It does not reflect how they act, react, or talk in real life, nor is it meant to portray them that way. Nothing written here suggests they do, say, or act these ways.
Any necessary warnings will be labeled accordingly. If anything is missed, please let me know.
TW: 18+, MDNI, Obsessive behavior, violent intrusive thoughts, mentions of dismemberment, objectification, Mental health issues, Mentions of Substance abuse, Dark psychological themes, Implied Criminal activity
This story is in the same universe as all my other series
Synopsis: A seemingly calm and composed man meets a captivating stranger at an art museum. Drawn to her, Hyunjin invites Y/n into his world. But beneath the surface lurks his true nature—and his obsession has only just begun.
AN: Thanks again to my best pal @snow-flake-writes for always helping me out and brainstorming with me. I love you, boo 🥹 As for the paintings I mention in this post if you do not want to see grotesque realistic art of any kind DO NOT LOOK IT UP. I repeat DO NOT LOOK IT UP.
Hyunjin’s POV
Rubbing my hand slowly through my closely buzzed hair, I let out a soft laugh to myself, the sound barely audible in the quiet space. My mind was racing as it always did, thoughts tumbling over one another in an endless stream. It was never quiet up there—not when I was in the middle of a cage fight, not when I was lost in painting or sketching, not even when I was getting my hands dirty doing work for Chris. The calm, collected demeanor I showed to the world was nothing at all like the constant storm that raged inside my mind.
I was heading toward the only place where I could find a little rest and respite from the constant, relentless noise that echoed endlessly in my head. The art museum. It was never crowded with disgusting, insufferable humans milling about and disturbing the peace. Instead, it was simply filled with the masterpieces of dead artists, their works preserved in silence. These halls were like tombs of the past, repositories of genius from another time.
"Hello, Henry," I greeted the security guard warmly at the entrance as I passed by him. I'd been coming here regularly for years now, so many years that I'd lost count, and I'd even made it a habit to sometimes drop off some lunch for my pal, bringing him sandwiches or coffee on occasion. We never had much of a deep or meaningful conversation, our exchanges limited to brief pleasantries and nods, but despite the lack of words between us, we knew each other well enough through our consistent interactions over time. The quiet old man, with his weathered face and gentle demeanor, gave me a simple, acknowledging nod as I strode past him confidently, leaving behind the chaos and moving into the peaceful solitude of the museum, away from the busy, noisy streets of the city that bustled with endless activity outside.
Just as I round the corner, my steady, purposeful steps come to an abrupt halt as my eyes suddenly land on a woman standing there in the gallery. She is positioned directly in front of my favorite painting, the very piece I had come here specifically to see. I stand there motionless for a moment, feeling a little annoyed at first by this unexpected intrusion into what I had anticipated would be a solitary experience. But then, as I observe her more closely, I notice the particular expression that has settled across her face—it is one of genuine, unguarded admiration for the work before her. That's when I truly notice, as if seeing her for the first time, just how absolutely gorgeous she is as well, her beauty somehow enhanced by her appreciation for the art.
Walking slowly around her, circling behind her with deliberate, measured steps, I make sure to stay completely out of her periphery, positioning myself carefully in her blind spot to give myself a chance to watch her up close without her awareness, to observe her in this unguarded moment. My eyes travel over her slowly, methodically, from head to toe, taking in every detail, then back up again, retracing the path with equal attention. She's dressed in simple, unpretentious jeans and a white sweater that hugs her form perfectly, clinging to her very generous curves in a way that is impossible not to notice. I lick over my bottom lip slowly, pulling it between my teeth as I watch her intently, unable to look away. She looks so soft, so touchable, her appearance radiating a gentleness that draws me in. My eyes focus on each part of her once more, more carefully this time, lingering on every detail. Her thighs, strong and shapely. Her hips, curving out beautifully. The slight curve of her stomach, natural and feminine. Her breasts, full and perfectly proportioned. Her cheeks are rosy, flushed with color and full of life, glowing with warmth and vitality… and those perfect lips, plump and inviting, curving up just a bit, tilted upward almost in a constant pout, as if she is perpetually on the verge of saying something.
My history with dating has never been particularly good, never really worked out the way it does for other people. I don't hold relationships that often, rarely letting anything last beyond a few fleeting encounters. Most people can't understand me well enough or deeply enough to handle anything truly intimate with me, to get past the surface and see what lies beneath. I don't feel emotions like most humans do, don't experience things the way they seem to. My emotions are too demented, too twisted and dark for most people to comprehend or accept. Jisung, one of the few people who knows me well, tells me constantly that *I'm too much* for others to handle—I'm only myself, unapologetically and completely, so I deliberately don't get close to lovers in any meaningful way. I take them to bed when the opportunity arises, have my fun with them for a night or two, and that's all it ever amounts to. That's all it will ever be for me, all it can ever be. I've realized this truth about myself a long time ago and I'm okay with it, I've made my peace with this reality. Love would mean death for me, a complete unraveling of everything I've built… I'm genuinely afraid of what I would become if I fell deeply, irrevocably in love with someone, terrified of the monster that might emerge. This beautiful girl standing before me would be no different from all the others who came before her. I would take what I want from her, satisfy my desires, and that would be the end of it, nothing more.
"You like severed heads?" I ask softly, my voice barely above a whisper as I carefully step up beside her, positioning myself close enough to be in her space but not so close as to be threatening. My eyes move deliberately from her face to the painting before us, assessing and studying the gruesome artwork with the same intensity I had just been using to observe her. I must have startled her quite badly with my sudden appearance and unexpected question, because her eyes snap away from the painting to look at me instantly, her head turning sharply in my direction. A slightly bewildered, expression settles across her pretty, delicate features, her eyebrows raising just a fraction as she processes both my presence and my unusual opening line. She reaches up with one hand, her fingers trembling ever so slightly, and pushes some loose strands of hair behind her ear in what seems to be a nervous gesture, before she slowly, almost reluctantly, returns her eyes back to the painting hanging on the wall before us.
"Well, that's certainly one way of putting it. Mm...," I could tell she was thinking carefully, taking a moment to choose her words with deliberate consideration, and as I turned my head slowly to focus my eyes directly on her, she looked up at me and our eyes met, steady and unwavering, holding each other's gaze without hesitation. "I love this painting. The artists realism and meticulous attention to detail, combined with the fact that he had the balls to paint something as controversial as this at a time when paintings were romanticized ideas of beauty. It's genuinely one of my absolute favorites." She kept her eyes locked on mine the entire time she spoke to me, never once looking away or breaking our connection. Never seeming to get uneasy or uncomfortable at my prolonged, intense staring—I had a tendency to stare at people, sometimes for far too long. She just smiled sweetly and warmly up at me, her expression completely at ease and unbothered by my scrutiny. Truly fascinating and utterly captivating.
I tilted my head slowly to the side in a gesture of genuine curiosity, my eyes narrowing just a bit as I studied her face more intently, searching for any hint of what she might say next. "What are your other favorites?" I asked her, my voice carrying a note of sincere interest in her answer. She seemed to be a little caught off guard by my continued questioning, perhaps not expecting me to engage with her so directly or to show such genuine interest in her artistic preferences. I noticed her pressing her lips together thoughtfully, taking a brief moment to consider her response as I calmly and deliberately slid my hands into the deep pockets of my brown tweed jacket, settling into a more relaxed posture while I waited patiently for her to gather her thoughts and speak.
A wicked little smirk slowly spread across her pink lips, curving upward with a hint of mischief as she began to speak, her voice carrying a note of confidence and enthusiasm. "To list just a couple of my absolute favorites," she said, her tone warm and animated, "I would have to mention Dante and Virgil in Hell, which is so powerful, and also this painting called The Nightmare by..” I watched as she paused trying to think of the artists name, “Fuseli.” Her eyes lighting up when the name finally came to her, “Which is pretty haunting and beautiful at the same time." After she finished sharing her thoughts with me, she finally shifted her eyes away from mine, breaking our prolonged eye contact, and turned her gaze back to the painting hanging on the wall before us, returning her attention to the artwork we had been discussing.
My lips twitch ever so slightly, the corners pulling upward in an involuntary reaction as a thought crosses my mind with absolute certainty—This one is very different from all the others I've encountered before.
"I'll have to look that one up. I'm not familiar with Fuseli's work," I said, making a mental note to explore his paintings later. I turned to face her fully, giving her my undivided attention. "Hwang Hyunjin," I introduced myself. "And you are?" I extended my hand in greeting, leaning in slightly, drawn by something I couldn't name. She was intoxicating, captivating in a way I hadn't experienced before. Her eyes dropped to my lips briefly, and when I noticed, I smiled, recognizing my natural charms were already working on her. She parted her lips to speak, slowly slipping her small, cold hand into mine. Even her hands are so smooth and soft... like silk,I thought, marveling at her touch.
"Y/N!" A male voice called out, echoing through the quiet hallway, interrupting before she could speak her name. My brows furrowed in annoyance as a tall man walked up beside her, ignoring my presence entirely at first. She let go of my hand, and I felt the loss acutely. "Y/n, I've been looking everywhere for you. You said you'd be right back. Our food is getting cold," he said impatiently, holding up a white plastic bag. Her demeanor changed instantly before my eyes—from intimate and soft, open and vulnerable, insightful and articulate... to something that made my chest tighten. Timid. Reserved. Almost withdrawn.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said quickly, glancing between us. "We were already so close to the museum, and I just couldn't resist coming inside to see my favorite painting one more time. I know I said I'd be quick." She looked back and forth as his gaze finally took me in, as if only now realizing I was standing there. "This is my new acquaintance," she explained, gesturing toward me. "Hyunjin."
I nodded politely but deliberately didn't extend my hand. "Ha-Joon," he said curtly, "her boyfriend." His voice was grating, his attitude arrogant and possessive. A violent image flashed in my mind—my fingers wrapping around his tongue, pulling it out, slicing it off with my favorite knife. I blinked, pushing the thought aside. He would be a minor obstacle I'd need to remove.
That's when I cracked. Something about the situation struck me as darkly amusing. My lips spread into a full smile, and a quiet laugh escaped. His eyes turned hard, his jaw clenching as his body tensed with hostility. When my eyes fell on Y/n's face again, I stopped laughing but kept my smile directed entirely at her. "If you want to see me again," I said clearly, maintaining eye contact, "my friend is having a show at The Omen Club tonight at 11. You should come." I could feel the rage radiating from him in waves.
I slowly pulled out my business card and reached down to take her hand once more. Her lips parted when my fingers touched hers again, and my smile reached my eyes at her reaction. Slipping the card between her fingers, I stood back up. "Show that at the door and you'll be taken directly to me," I explained. "I'd love to talk about art with you some more." My eyes never left hers. I stepped back to leave, then turned around again at the last second, still ignoring the man entirely.
"Oh, and Y/n," I add as an afterthought, my voice dropping slightly lower, taking on a more intimate and suggestive tone, "one of my other favorite paintings, one that I think you might appreciate and find particularly interesting, is The Origin Of The World." And I leave it at that deliberately, letting the implication and the meaning of that particular painting's subject matter hang in the air between us, unspoken but clearly understood. A knowing, slightly wicked smirk comes naturally to my lips as I think about whether she'll understand the reference, and I nod at them both politely and respectfully, maintaining my composure and my manners despite everything. Then I finally turn completely and walk away from them both, my footsteps echoing softly in the quiet museum hallway. I could hear the man talking to her urgently and insistently behind me as I walked away, an annoyed and frustrated tone coloring his voice as he likely questioned her about what just happened, but I could feel Y/n's eyes following me intently as I departed, could sense her gaze tracking my movements even without looking back to confirm it. My curious little mouse, indeed.
---
Hours later, I found myself situated in Jisung's dressing room, which was located behind the main stage at the Omen club. My fingers were moving rapidly and efficiently over my phone's keyboard now that I finally had a brief moment alone, away from the noise and chaos of the club, to look up and research that particular painting Y/n had mentioned during our conversation earlier at the museum. "The Nightmare by Henry Fuseli," I mumbled out loud to the empty, cluttered dressing room, my voice echoing slightly in the confined space. Images of the painting popped up instantly on my screen, appearing before my eyes in vivid detail. The imagery was vivid and unsettling to most people who viewed it, I imagined, but I personally found it both erotic and macabre in equal measure, a fascinating combination that appealed to my sensibilities. A slow smile began to spread over my lips as I continued to read up on the painting and its history, absorbing every detail I could find. The more time I spent studying the painting, the more I found it beautiful and compelling, each viewing revealing something new. The composition featured a naked woman lying in what appeared to be a deep state of sleep or perhaps unconsciousness, with a grotesque incubus perched menacingly on her chest, watching over her. It was a perfect juxtaposition of sexuality and horror, of vulnerability and threat. My curious little mouse was continuing to surprise me in the most delightful ways.
Just then, without any warning, the door to the darkened dressing room swung open suddenly and rather forcefully, and Jisung walked through the doorway, his sleeveless button-up shirt completely undone and hanging open, exposing his heavily tattooed chest for all to see. His leather pants hung low on his hips but were still tight and form-fitting, hugging his lean, muscular build in all the right places. "Aye, aren't you supposed to be out there working the room and getting people hyped up? You're the hype man… man!" Jisung's louder than life voice, booming and energetic as always, caused me to immediately put my phone away and dismiss any thoughts of Y/n along with it, at least temporarily.
"Jisung, are you drunk again?" I asked him pointedly, my eyes carefully watching and tracking his movements as he walked somewhat unsteadily over to the worn leather couch positioned across from where I was sitting, and then proceeded to fall heavily into it, laying back against the cushions and running his hands through his messy, shaggy hair in what seemed like frustration or exhaustion.
"Not yet," was his completely serious response, delivered without a hint of humor or irony. My friend was the absolute epitome of the tortured rockstar archetype in every possible way. He was usually the life of the party when we were out in public, always entertaining and engaging with everyone around him, but behind closed doors, away from prying eyes and adoring fans, he was almost in constant emotional and psychological pain, though he would never, ever talk about it openly or admit to anyone just how much he was truly struggling.
Standing slowly and deliberately, I walk over to where he's sprawled out and ruffle his shaggy dark hair roughly with my hand, causing the strands to fall messily into his round, expressive eyes. "Don't drink anything alcoholic until after the show is completely finished, and whatever you do, don't drink alone without someone there to watch over you," I instructed him firmly. I bend down closer to his level and widen my eyes a bit to emphasize my seriousness, making sure he understood the gravity of what I was about to say. "You do something stupid tonight, something reckless or dangerous, I'll fucking kill you myself, I swear it."
There was a short pause between us after my words, a moment of weighted silence and unspoken understanding passing between two people who knew each other far too well, before we both began to laugh together like children, the tension breaking instantly. He knew without question that I loved him deeply as my brother, as family, but he also knew with absolute certainty that I was not joking about my threat, not even a little bit. I stand back up to my full height and make my way toward the door, preparing to leave him alone. "I'll send Jeongin in soon to help get you prepped and ready for the performance. You're scheduled to go on in exactly fifteen minutes," I informed him as I reached for the door handle. Jisung saluted me lazily, mockingly, as I glanced back at him one final time before closing the door behind me with a soft click.
I take a moment to straighten my black suit jacket, smoothing out any wrinkles and adjusting the fit, before making my way out through the backstage area and onto the crowded main floor of the club. The club that we all collectively owned together was not huge or massive by any means, but it was darkly elegant and sophisticated in its design and atmosphere, exactly the kind of place we wanted it to be. We all owned various different businesses and establishments throughout the city to help cover up and provide legitimate fronts for some of our darker, less legal dealings and activities, and the club was absolutely no different in that regard, serving multiple purposes for us.
My eyes methodically scanned the room, carefully taking in the many people that had packed themselves into the club tonight to come see our friend perform. Jisung was locally popular and had developed quite a following, and groupies seemed to follow him wherever he went, hanging on his every word. The guy was genuinely loved and adored by many people who didn't really know him at all… I could never quite understand or comprehend why he couldn't seem to love himself even a fraction of the amount that others loved him.
Leaning up casually against the wall positioned next to the stage, I got myself a clear, unobstructed view of the main entrance to the club, and in the very back of my mind, I found myself silently willing and hoping for Y/n to walk through those heavy, ornate gold-handled doors at any moment. As I waited and watched, my eyes landed first on Chris and Changbin, who were stationed at the bar having a drink together and surveying the crowd. Felix was animatedly chatting and laughing with some people gathered by the stage, being his usual charming self. Minho was standing by the entrance completely alone, keeping watch over everyone coming and going. That was his usual spot, his preferred position—always ready, always watchful, always alert to potential threats. My gaze eventually catches Jeongin's in the middle of the crowded room, and I give him a subtle nod, a silent signal for him to come over and join me. Seungmin was already up on stage, meticulously checking and testing equipment and making final adjustments as the band members got themselves set up and prepared for the performance.
Clapping my little brother affectionately on the back in greeting as we easily embraced and hugged when he finally reached my position, I leaned in close to his ear so he could hear me clearly over the growing noise. "Jisung's in a mood tonight, not his best state of mind. Make sure he stays completely sober for the entire show and whatever you do, don't leave him alone for any extended period of time," I stated to him seriously, my tone leaving no room for argument or negotiation.
Jeongin shook his head slightly in acknowledgment, a mixture of understanding and mild exasperation crossing his youthful features. "Okay, rockstar babysitting duty it is then, I guess. I'm telling you right now, Hyung, if he throws up on me again like he did last month, I will personally strangle the life out of him with my bare hands," he said with genuine annoyance, though I knew he cared about Jisung as much as the rest of us did. I pat my younger brother reassuringly on the shoulder, an understanding laugh falling easily from my lips at his very justified frustration.
"Yeah, that isn't the first death threat he's gotten tonight and it probably won't be the—" my words faded away instantly and completely as my eyes suddenly focused sharply on the crowd gathered behind Jeongin, my attention immediately captured by something far more interesting. Y/n was here. She had actually come. She was standing somewhat hesitantly in front of the large double doors at the entrance, looking uncertain and out of place. Her eyes were nervously looking around the crowd, scanning faces and trying to get her bearings in the unfamiliar environment. She was utterly lost in this sea of people, I could tell immediately just from her body language that she was maybe even a little scared, not knowing where to go or what to do next, feeling overwhelmed by the noise and the press of bodies. My lips spread slowly into a wide, satisfied grin at the sight of her vulnerability, because the fear and uncertainty on her beautiful face made my pulse quicken with excitement and anticipation. She was even more beautiful and captivating like that, uncertain and vulnerable.
Jeongin was still talking to me, his mouth moving and words coming out, but I couldn't hear a single word he was saying anymore because I was completely focused on watching her, my entire attention consumed by her presence. She began to back away from the crowd, moving hesitantly toward the doors as if preparing to turn around and leave, to flee from the overwhelming environment. I instinctively made to move toward her, my body responding before my mind could fully process the action, but then I saw Minho reach out and grab her arm, stopping her retreat. His lips moved as he spoke directly to her, and she leaned in closer to him to hear better over the noise, her face tilted up toward his. My entire body tensed immediately at the sight, muscles coiling tight with an unfamiliar possessiveness, and my smile fell from my face instantly, replaced by something darker. Y/n's eyes scanned the crowd again after their brief exchange, perhaps searching for me specifically, looking for a familiar face. I began to move through the people with purpose and determination, pushing bodies aside without care or apology, focused entirely on reaching her.
My eyes remained completely glued to them, locked on the interaction, as I saw them exchange words and gestures I couldn't quite determine or make out from this distance. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity but was probably only seconds, I reached them, inserting myself into their conversation. "I see you've found my friend," I said, my voice carefully controlled and calm, but my eyes said anything but calm as I looked over pointedly at Minho, a clear warning in my gaze. He simply leaned back casually against the wall and smirked at me knowingly, his eyebrow arching slightly in that infuriating way he had. He was my friend, someone I trusted with my life, but the bastard liked to play games and push boundaries too much for his own good sometimes. He was like a cat toying with prey, but this particular mouse was mine, and he knew it.
I slowly and deliberately turned my full attention to Y/n, my eyes instantly softening considerably as I took in her unsure, uncertain expression, wanting to put her at ease. She was dressed in the same fitted jeans as she had been wearing earlier at the museum, but her sweater had been changed and was now replaced with a black shirt that swept low and revealed the tops of her breasts, the fabric clinging to her curves in a way that was almost daring me to imagine my lips kissing and exploring that soft, exposed skin there. I didn't allow my eyes to linger too long on that particular view, though, because it was her face that truly captivated me more than anything physical, more than any curve or line of her body. Those eyes of hers, so warm and inviting and expressive, drawing me in. She looks up at me as if I was the most interesting, fascinating thing she's ever seen in her entire life, regarding me with an intensity that almost made me want to show her even more of myself, to reveal the parts I usually kept carefully hidden from the world.
"Come on, let's go," I said, gesturing away from Minho. "Excuse my friend here. He shouldn't have touched you without permission." I made a deliberate show of glaring disapprovingly at Minho, letting him know I was displeased with his interference. "Let's get ourselves much better seats to the show, somewhere more comfortable and private, and we can maybe chat more freely, continue our earlier conversation." I held my hand out toward her in clear invitation, and what struck me as particularly interesting and telling was that she didn't hesitate at all, didn't pause to consider or weigh her options. She was fearless and bold in gripping my hand firmly and allowing me to pull her through the crowd, trusting me implicitly as I guided her up toward the VIP area. It was a small, much quieter space that was reserved only for those of us that owned the establishment, separated from the main floor. I pushed aside the heavy black velvet curtains with my free hand, gently pulling her along behind me toward a plush set of comfortable chairs positioned with a very good, unobstructed view of the stage below.
Once she was seated comfortably in one of the chairs, settling into the soft cushions, I settled myself into the chair positioned beside her, close enough that our knees nearly touched, maintaining that physical proximity and connection. "I'm genuinely glad you came tonight," I said softly, my voice barely audible over the ambient noise of the club filtering up from below, my eyes searching hers intently for any sign of regret or hesitation, any indication that she might be having second thoughts. "I wasn't entirely sure you would actually show up."
Y/n smiled sweetly at me, her expression open and genuine, and looked over at me, her eyes locking with mine once again in that same intense way they had at the museum earlier today. "I was curious about you," she admitted openly, her honesty refreshing. Her smile turned a little more mischievous, playful, as a light blush tinted her cheeks with color. "Especially when I looked up that painting you mentioned to me before I left, The Origin of the World by Gustave Courbet." Her eyes returned to mine, holding my gaze steadily, and I couldn't help but return her little knowing smirk with one of my own. "That was very bold of you to suggest I look at it."
I leaned closer to her so she could hear me more easily over the music that had begun to play, the opening notes signaling that Jisung was about to make his entrance onto the stage. "And what did you think of it?" I asked her, genuinely curious about her reaction. "Did it offend you, or intrigue you?"
Y/n shook her head slightly, a little challenge sparking in her eyes as she deflected my question back to me. "Tell me your thoughts on it first," she countered. I watched her for a long beat, my eyes searching and studying over her face carefully, taking in every detail. Being this close to her, near enough to see every feature clearly, I could see her truly and completely—she was lovely and attractive, not flawless or perfect like some airbrushed magazine cover, but real, with a little texture to her skin, a slight unevenness to her smile when it widened. I liked all of it, every imperfection and unique characteristic.
"Well, the painting delves deeply into human sexuality and physical form in a very direct, unflinching way," I began, choosing my words carefully. "The close-up view focuses entirely on a woman's most intimate and delicate body part, presenting it without shame or artifice." I watch with satisfaction as her pupils visibly dilate when I deliberately lick over my lips, a physiological response she can't control. I could feel my own blood pumping rapidly and heavily under my skin, my heart rate increasing. "The artist boldly and courageously captured every nuance of skin texture, hair, and shadow with incredible detail and realism. It defied societal norms and expectations in that era with its startling, almost shocking realism and frank sexuality, challenging viewers' sensibilities." I lean even closer to her now, so close I could smell her perfume or shampoo, something floral and subtle, mumbling softly to her just as Jisung finally hit the stage with dramatic flair. "I've always wondered what it would be like to recreate a painting like that with a beautiful woman, to study and capture every detail so intimately."
I lean away from her slowly, pulling back to my original position, only allowing my eyes to watch her reaction carefully for a split second as my implicit, suggestive words settle on her ears and she processes their full meaning. Her eyes were wide and round, pupils noticeably dilated with interest or arousal, her pretty pouty lips parted slightly as if she might speak but couldn't quite find words. I didn't say anything else, nothing further, simply turning my attention deliberately to my friend on stage, watching as he commanded the audience's attention. I had her right where I wanted her, exactly in the mental state I'd been hoping to create.
---
We didn't speak much after that loaded exchange while Jisung captivated the audience as he did every single week without fail, singing his heart out with raw emotion, showing off both his considerable musical talents along with his body, playing to the crowd. I had never felt the need to be jealous of anything or anyone in my entire life—that emotion had always seemed beneath me—but with him sweaty and writhing around energetically on stage, putting on such a physical performance, I couldn't help but glance over from time to time at Y/n, checking her reactions. I didn't know exactly what I was looking for in those stolen glances—to see if she was looking at him the way she had been looking at me earlier, perhaps, to see if her attention had shifted.
What I found instead was just a woman enjoying the music and performance, nodding along to the beat, but her gaze seemed to always drift over and return to me rather than staying focused on the stage, as if she couldn't help but look back in my direction. I was about to lean over once more and ask her politely if she would like something to drink, perhaps offering to get her a beer or cocktail, but I was rudely interrupted by an unexpected tap on my shoulder. I snapped my head up sharply to see Felix leaning down close toward me, his expression somewhat serious and concerned. "We have a little issue that needs your attention," he said quietly but urgently.
Of fucking course there's an issue right now, I thought irritably to myself.
I turned my attention reluctantly to Y/n, who was now glancing with obvious curiosity between Felix and me, trying to understand what was happening. "Stay here, okay? Don't go anywhere," I instructed her, trying to sound reassuring rather than commanding. "I'll be right back, I promise. I'll bring us back something to drink when I return." She nodded at me politely in understanding, and I could only hope desperately that she wouldn't decide to leave while I was gone, that she'd still be here when I got back.
---
"What is it now?" I asked with clear irritation, anger already lacing my tone before I even knew what the problem was. Felix was in front of me, leading the way quickly toward the private bathrooms located down the darkened hallway away from the main floor, his pace urgent.
We stopped short at the bathroom door, and Felix turned to face me. He looked a little uneasy, visibly uncomfortable, something that wasn't usual at all for my normally sunny-dispositioned friend who always seemed upbeat. "It's Duri," he said, his voice tight. "I found him lurking around suspiciously in Jisung's dressing room, going through his things. I have absolutely no clue how the idiot managed to get back there undetected, past all of us. He's insane to try this."
Duri was completely obsessed with Jisung in an unhealthy, dangerous way. He called himself an "ex" of Jisung's, claiming they had some deep relationship. In reality, he was nothing more than a drug-fueled fling, a mistake that lasted a few weeks until Jisung finally wised up to how toxic he was and decided to stop using the hard stuff and get seriously into cage fighting with the rest of us, channeling his energy somewhere more productive. My lips began to stretch slowly into an anticipatory grin, dark excitement building in my chest. "Not as insane as me," I said with confidence, my voice dropping lower. "Keep the door blocked from the outside. This won't take very long at all."
I stepped into the immaculately clean washroom, taking in the space. Black and gold tiles adorned the entire place, creating an atmosphere of dark luxury. It took only seconds before my eyes found the too-skinny addict pacing back and forth frantically in the confined space, talking rapidly to himself, clearly high on something.
I closed the door behind me with a soft, deliberate click, and the sound of Jisung's muffled performance was barely penetrating through the thick walls designed to provide privacy and soundproofing. Duri hadn't noticed my entrance yet, too completely caught up in whatever frantic, paranoid conversation he was having with himself or the voices in his head. His movements were jerky and erratic, uncoordinated—the telltale signs of someone who'd been using heavily again, probably for days.
"Duri," I said quietly, my voice cutting through his incoherent muttering like a sharp blade through flesh.
He spun around suddenly, eyes wild and unfocused, dilated pupils trying to adjust until they finally landed on me and recognition slowly dawned. Recognition flickered across his gaunt, hollow features, followed quickly by something that seemed caught between fear and defiance, unable to decide which emotion should win out. "Hyunjin," he breathed out shakily, backing up instinctively until he hit the ornate sink behind him, trapped. "I just... I needed to see him, that's all. Just for a minute, just to talk. He won't return my calls, he won't answer my messages, he—"
"He blocked your number for a very good reason," I interrupted him firmly, taking a single measured step forward, closing the distance between us gradually. My hands slid casually into my pockets in a deceptively relaxed gesture, but every muscle in my body was coiled tight beneath my suit, ready to spring into action. "You know you're not supposed to be here at all, that you're banned from this place. You know exactly what happens when you cross lines like this, when you violate the boundaries we set."
Duri's laugh was high-pitched and unhinged, verging on hysterical. "Lines? You want to talk about lines? What about the lines Jisung crossed with me? He promised me things, he said he—"
"He promised you absolutely nothing," I said firmly, my voice dropping even lower, taking on a more dangerous edge that made the threat implicit. "You were a mistake he's been actively trying to forget, trying to move past. And you keep making it very, very difficult for him to do that by showing up and inserting yourself back into his life."
The grin that spread gradually across my face wasn't kind or friendly in the slightest. My right hand moved to grip the pocket knife I always carried with me everywhere, one of my absolute favorites from my extensive collection. I dipped my head low, my stance becoming more grounded and stable as I pinned him down with my stare, letting him see exactly what was coming. "You've become a stench that just keeps lingering and lingering, no matter what we do. It's finally time I get rid of the trash permanently."
Duri's movements grew more frantic and desperate as I moved steadily toward him, closing the remaining distance. A pathetic whimper escaped from him when I reached over and gripped his sweaty face roughly, my palm covering his mouth completely to muffle any sounds. I couldn't help but laugh openly, genuinely amused, when he tried pathetically to fight back against me, his weak attempts at resistance utterly futile. "The last time you came around here uninvited, you put something in Jisung's drink, tried to drug him. Remember that?" I leaned closer to him, near enough that I could smell the stench rolling off of him in waves—sweat, drugs, desperation.
Disgusting, I thought with revulsion.
"I'm glad Minho was around to catch you in the act that night, to stop you before you could do real damage. You think we would ever allow you to come anywhere near him again after that? You've done more than enough damage already." I slammed his head back against the tile wall hard, the impact solid and satisfying, causing him to shove and push desperately against me with renewed panic, but I was just too strong for him, my grip unbreakable. "Shh... Shh... this won't hurt… much," I whispered to him almost soothingly, then giggled like a child, the thrill and excitement coursing through my veins like electricity.
---
Ten minutes later, I was sliding back into the seat next to Y/n, my calm demeanor smoothed back over my features as if nothing unusual had happened. "So sorry about that interruption," I said apologetically as I handed her a cold beer, condensation beading on the bottle. She took it with ease, her eyes assessing me carefully, looking me over as if making sure I was okay, checking for any signs of distress.
"Is everything okay?" she asked with genuine concern just as I was taking the first long sip of my own beer. The bitter taste slid down my throat smoothly, cooling my insides, helping to bring my heart rate back to normal. My body was still humming pleasantly from just a few minutes ago, residual adrenaline coursing through my system.
"Mm, of course everything's fine. Nothing to worry about," I assured her smoothly. "I'm sorry if it took a bit longer than I initially anticipated." My eyes followed Jisung around the stage for a moment, watching him work the crowd, before I heard her sudden exclamation…
"Is that blood?!" She didn't sound scared or horrified, but shocked and surprised. I looked down at my shirt, following her gaze to notice a few small splatters of red on the fabric, tiny droplets that had somehow escaped my notice. My eyes shifted to meet hers directly, and in that moment I made a split-second decision, acting on instinct. I wanted to see just what kind of woman Y/n really was underneath that sweet exterior. How would she react to the real me, to the truth of who I was?
"Don't worry, it's not mine," I said calmly. As soon as the words left my mouth, a satisfied smile spread slowly over my features, watching for her reaction. Y/n's bright eyes widened noticeably in surprise and realization, but there was no fear or disgust in them as I had half-expected, as most people would show. Only curiosity lingered there, a fascination rather than revulsion. Jisung's set list ended right then, and an easy silence settled between us as we watched one another for a long moment, the air between us charged with unspoken questions and possibilities.
Then she finally spoke up, breaking the silence with words I hadn't expected but desperately wanted to hear. "He's not my boyfriend," she said, letting out a breath she seemed to have been holding for a while, her eyes drifting from my eyes down to my nose, then to my lips, and slowly back up again, tracing the features of my face. "Ha-Joon, I mean. He wants to be my boyfriend, he's made that very clear, but he isn't. I'm very... painfully... single right now."
Exquisite, I thought to myself with deep satisfaction.
Tags: @snow-flake-writes
Pics: Pinterest, all credit goes to respective owners
haii I was thinking hc with virgin!reader (she isn't dumb or anything, but she just doesn't know much about making love), and Hyunjin happily agreed to teach you.
Hyunjin x virgin!reader headcanons
synopsis: my take on how how hyunjin treats his girl during her first time
• Hyunjin spends weeks easing you into the idea, never pushing, always checking in with soft whispers during movie nights on the couch. When you finally confess your nervousness about being a virgin, his long fingers intertwine with yours, eyes sparkling with reassurance as he kisses your knuckles. "We'll go at your pace, baby. I just want to make you feel good."
• He dims the bedroom lights, lights a vanilla candle for a soothing scent, and lays out soft towels on the bed, explaining everything beforehand—no surprises. He strips slowly first, revealing his lean, toned body, cock already half-hard and curving slightly upward, veins tracing the length, to normalize it for you.
• He starts with endless kisses, lips brushing yours feather-light at first, then deepening as your mouth opens for his tongue to slide in, tasting sweet like the strawberry lip balm he knows you love. His hands roam your clothed body, thumbs circling your nipples through your shirt until they pebble. "Can I take this off?" he murmurs against your lips, waiting for your nod before peeling your top away, bra following. He stares in awe at your bare breasts, palming them gently, rolling nipples between fingers. "So pretty," he breathes, lowering to suck one into his warm mouth, tongue flicking the tip while his hand kneads the other.
• Lays you back on pillows, trailing kisses down your neck, collarbone, sucking faint marks that won't bruise. He unhooks your jeans, sliding them off with your panties, exposing your untouched pussy—pink folds glistening slightly from arousal. "You're already wet for me," he says softly, not mocking, just amazed, parting your thighs with care. His breath ghosts over your clit before his tongue flattens, licking a slow stripe up your slit, savoring your taste. You gasp, and he pauses. "Too much?" Only resuming when you shake your head, then circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, gentle suction drawing whimpers from you.
• He grabs lube from the nightstand—"Just in case," he explains—coating two fingers generously. One dips into your entrance first, shallow thrusts as his mouth returns to your clit, humming vibrations. "Relax, breathe with me," he coaches, free hand stroking your thigh. When you're rocking against his hand, he adds the second finger, scissoring slowly to stretch your tight walls, curling to brush that sensitive spot inside. Your hips buck; he pins them gently. "Feels good? Tell me if you want more or less." He builds you to your first orgasm like this, pussy clenching around his fingers, juices coating his palm as you cry out his name.
• After your first orgasm he kneels up, guiding your hand to his cock—thick, seven inches, silky skin over steel hardness, precum beading at the slit. "Touch me however you want," he encourages, showing you how to stroke from base to tip, thumb swiping the head. Your innocent grip makes him groan low, hips twitching. He teaches you to lick the tip, tongue darting out to taste his salty precum, then taking the head into your mouth. "Just like that—fuck, your mouth is heaven." He doesn't thrust, letting you set the pace, fingers carding through your hair tenderly.
• He positions you on your back, knees drawn up, or suggests you on top for control—"You decide how deep." Lubed cock nudges your folds, sliding through them first to coat himself in your wetness. "Look at me," he says, locking eyes as the head breaches you, inching in slow, pausing at every gasp. Your walls flutter around the intrusion, stretching for his girth. "So tight—breathe, baby, you're doing amazing." Halfway in, he stills completely, kissing you deeply until you relax, then sinks the rest, balls resting against your ass.
• Buried deep, he grinds first, clit rubbing his pubic bone, building pleasure without overwhelming you. Thrusts start shallow, pulling out to the tip before sliding back, letting you feel every ridge and vein dragging your insides. "Does it hurt?" he checks constantly, adjusting angles—finding the one that makes your eyes roll back. His pace stays unhurried, deep rolls of hips hitting your g-spot precisely, one hand interlacing fingers with yours, the other thumbing your clit in circles. Sweat beads on his forehead, long hair falling into his eyes as he watches your face for every reaction.
• Hyunjin prioritizes your orgasms, whispering praises nonstop—"Your pussy feels perfect gripping me," "Cum for me again, let go." When you clench signaling your peak, he angles to grind harder there, free hand pinching your nipple. Your release milks him, walls pulsing; he moans beautifully, but holds back his own. "One more? For me?" Flipping to spoon if you want closeness, arm around your waist, cock slipping back in from behind, hand dipping to rub your clit while nipping your earlobe.
• Only after your second orgasm does he chase his own, thrusts turning firmer but still controlled, balls drawing tight. "Gonna cum inside—okay?" Your nod has him burying deep, cock throbbing as hot spurts flood your pussy, mixing with your cream. He grinds through it, prolonging both highs, until oversensitive twitches make you both shudder. Pulls out slow, watching his cum leak from your puffy hole, thumb gently pushing some back in with a soft, "Gotta keep you full of me."
• He doesn't let go, wrapping you in his arms, kissing tears or sweat from your cheeks. Fetches warm washcloths to clean between your legs tenderly, avoiding soreness. "You were incredible," he murmurs, massaging your thighs, offering water from a bottle he keeps bedside. Cuddles under blankets, your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow. He talks softly about how beautiful you looked, how he loves every sound you made, reassuring no regrets.
• Later, spooning with legs tangled, he asks detailed questions—"What felt best? Anything uncomfortable?" Listens intently, promising to improve next time. Draws a bath if you're sore, joining to wash your hair, fingers scalp-massaging shampoo in. Plays your favorite playlist softly, turning it into lazy makeout that doesn't lead to more unless you initiate.
• The day after, he texts good morning with heart emojis, sends care packages—chocolate, pain reliever, your favorite snacks. Plans low-key dates, no pressure for round two. When you do crave more, he's eager but patient, incorporating what you loved from the first time, like extra oral or that specific angle. Builds your confidence, turning your innocence into shared exploration, always making you feel cherished and desired.
⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: “Are you going to stay this time?” you ask, your voice a breathless whisper. “Give me a reason to,” he replies. infidelity au.
⟶ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: taehyung x reader
⟶ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: angst • smut • kind of pwp but there’s like 20% of plot so,,,
⟶ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 5k
⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: cheating, dom!taehyung, sub!reader, dry humping/grinding, dirty talk, rough nipple play/biting, slight male masturbation, cock sucking, deep throating, rough face fucking, choking/gagging (on cock), degradation (use of slut and whore), praise, throat cockwarming, there’s like an excessive description of male oral here, unprotected, riding, pussy eating, cum eating, multiple orgasms, creampie
⟶ 𝑎/𝑛: i wasn’t actually gonna write anything else but I cOULDN’T get this au out of my head. i didn’t know whether to write for taehyung or jungkook though and so,,, i had a few people vote!! and well! here we are!! i hope you enjoy
⇥ unedited because it’s like 4am 𝘺𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴
It’s a late Thursday night when you hear a sharp rapping at your front door. Eyebrows weaving together, you shove the knitted blanket off of your lap and haphazardly throw it onto the couch. You pad towards the front door before peeking through the peephole. The sight that greets you causes your skin to warm a couple of degrees, your eyebrows shooting into your hairline. There, outside your day, stands Kim Taehyung. His eyes long, dark hair fall into his eyes slightly, one of his hands braced against your door. Unlatching the chain and twisting the doorknob, you swing the door wide open.
“Tae-” you begin, only to be cut off immediately. The minute the door opens, Taehyung pounces onto you. You barely have time to think straight as you feel the flesh of his soft, pink lips on yours. Palm finding purchase on your chin, the large hand grips your jaw and pulls you into him. Instantly, your eyes slip shut and you moan into his mouth. Bruisingly, his mouth moves against yours, teeth practically gnashing against each other. When his tongue pokes out, licking the seam of your lips, your mouth parts, giving him access to the wet cavern.
Tongue sliding between your teeth, you groan throatily in pleasure. The silky appendage glides inside your mouth, curling and twisting in frenzied motions as it lashes against your tongue. Sweetness fills your mouth, his flavour coating your tastebuds as you sample his saccharine taste. Another groan escapes your lips, muffled by his, when he tugs you closer - almost painfully. You break away from him, gasping for air as your lungs blaze with the need for oxygen. Undeterred, Taehyung kisses his way along your jaw and towards the bottom of your ear, suckling the supple flesh.
“Taehyung- fuck,” you gasp, your hands curling into his shirt.
Graphic sexual scenes (dry humping, domination, riding on lap)
Strong language / swearing
Light Dom/sub dynamics
Jealousy and emotional tension
First-person narration from Min Yoongi’s POV
Lots of sexual tension and hot scenes
---
Summary:
Yoongi is a famous musician and producer, known for his cold exterior and sharp tongue. But with her — his close friend who always pushes his buttons — he’s a different man.
What started as teasing and playful tension in his studio quickly spirals into a dangerous game of control, desire, and raw passion.
Can they keep their boundaries… or will their closeness destroy everything?
This is a story about heat, obsession, and what happens when you get too close for comfort.
---
The first thing I hear when I open the door to my studio isn’t music. It’s her.
Off-key humming, slightly too loud, absolutely wrong tempo — and completely fucking adorable.
She’s sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone like she lives here. Hoodie oversized, sleeves halfway down her fingers, legs tucked under her like she belongs.
She doesn’t even look up when I walk in.
“You’re in my spot,” I say, letting the door slam shut behind me.
She blinks. “Yoongi. This is your studio.”
“Exactly.”
She throws me a look. “You mean this specific couch is your emotional support furniture?”
“Yes,” I deadpan, dropping my bag with a dramatic thud. “That corner’s for contemplating death and doubting my entire existence. You’re blocking the vibes.”
She snorts. “Then sit on the floor like the rest of us sad people.”
“I hate you.”
She smiles. “I brought iced coffee.”
“…I love you.”
She hands me the cup without saying anything, like she knows she’s already won. Because she has. She always does.
She flops backward onto the couch, legs stretched out, toes pointed. My eyes catch the sliver of skin above her knee and I look away too fast.
Don’t be weird. Don’t be obvious.
She’s just a friend.
A friend who happens to sit too close. Who looks at me like I’m a human being, not a product. Who texts me “did u eat or are u surviving off stress again” at 2AM. Who steals my hoodies and pretends she didn’t.
And maybe I’ve thought about kissing her.
Maybe I’ve thought about it a lot.
“Yoongi?”
I blink. “Hm?”
“You’re staring.”
“No, I’m not.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You definitely are.”
“I was zoning out.”
“While looking at my thighs?”
“…I was zoning out aggressively.”
She grins like she’s caught me naked. I take a long sip of the iced coffee to cool down what’s currently happening in my entire bloodstream.
“You know,” she says, stretching again — and I swear she knows what that does — “you’ve been kind of a grump lately.”
“I’m always a grump.”
“Yeah, but like, extra grumpy. You okay?”
I glance at her.
I should lie. Say I’m tired. Say work’s been crazy.
Instead, I say: “You’ve been driving me crazy.”
She pauses.
That’s new.
Her lips twitch. “Why?”
I look at her. Really look.
She’s flushed, but smiling. Curious. Playful.
Dangerous.
“…Because you do shit like this,” I mutter.
“Like what?”
“Sit on my couch. Drink my coffee. Look at me like I’m not trying not to think about you 24/7.”
She tilts her head, amused. “That sentence was confusing, but kind of sweet?”
I groan, leaning back in the chair. “God, I hate you.”
She stands.
Walks over.
And before I can react — she sits on me.
Right in my fucking lap.
Like it’s nothing.
Like we’re not on the edge of something I’ve been trying to ignore for months.
I freeze. Her weight settles. My hands instinctively land on her waist. And she smirks.
“That better?”
“…What are you doing?”
She shrugs. “You looked tense.”
“I was fine.”
“You’re still tense.”
“You’re on me.”
She tilts her head, mock concern on her face. “Is that a problem?”
Yes. Absolutely. 100%.
“No.”
She shifts — slightly, deliberately — and I have to bite my lip to stop the sound that threatens to come out. She feels good. Warm. Soft. Infuriating.
“Yoongi…”
Her voice is quieter now. Lower.
“I can feel you,” she whispers.
I swallow.
Her hands move up my chest. Slow. Testing.
She’s watching me like she’s not sure if she should stop or keep going. And the worst part is — I don’t even know which one I want.
“You shouldn’t tease me,” I say, voice hoarse.
“Maybe I want to.”
She rocks forward — just once — and my hands tighten on her hips.
Jesus fucking Christ.
There’s a full layer of clothes between us, but it doesn’t matter. The heat, the friction, the way she moves like she knows — it’s killing me.
“You like that?” she asks, teasing.
I lean up, mouth close to her ear. “You keep moving like that and I’m gonna come in my jeans like a teenager.”
She laughs — but it’s breathy now. Nervous. Turned on.
“Is that a threat?”
“No.” I nip her jaw, just once. “It’s a fucking promise.”
She gasps.
Her hips roll again. And this time, I let out a low, broken sound that betrays just how close I am to snapping.
“Yoongi…” she whispers.
“Yeah?”
“Should we stop?”
I rest my forehead against hers. Breathe her in.
“Fuck, I don’t know.”
We stay like that. Still. Breathing hard.
My fingers flex at her hips. Her hand’s at the back of my neck, soft and trembling.
One more second and I’m going to flip her onto the couch and ruin everything.
Instead, I force myself to let go.
“We’re not doing this here,” I murmur. “Not like this.”
She nods. Slides off my lap. Her cheeks are pink. Lips bitten.
I adjust myself with a groan, covering my lap with a throw pillow like a 17-year-old at church.
She laughs at me.
I glare. “Shut up.”
She leans in and kisses my cheek.
“I’ll stop teasing… for now.”
Then she walks to the other side of the room like she didn’t just nearly destroy me.
And I sit there.
Still hard.
Still wanting her.
Still completely fucking gone.
---
I should’ve told her to leave.
I should’ve walked her to the door, said goodnight, and put some fucking distance between us.
But I didn’t.
Now she’s sitting on my lap again, in the same chair, same spot, same goddamn hoodie that keeps sliding off her shoulder like it's begging me to bite it.
And this time, I’m not pretending.
This time, my hands are on her hips, dragging her down against me. Harder. Slower. My head falls back as she grinds her hips just right, just enough, and I feel every inch of her heat through two fucking layers of fabric.
Her breath is shaky, her nails dig into my chest, and I swear to God — if she moans in my ear one more time, I’m going to lose it.
“Yoongi…” she whispers, voice cracking.
“You’re soaked,” I growl.
She hides her face in my neck, but I grip her chin and pull her back so I can see her.
“You feel that?” I grind up, just once, and she gasps. “You’re dripping through your shorts, baby. And I haven’t even touched you.”
She whimpers. Tries to rock again, faster.
But I stop her. Hold her still.
“You don’t get to move until I say so.”
“Please—”
“Uh-uh. You wanted this, didn’t you? Teasing me for weeks, sitting on me like it’s nothing. This what you wanted?”
She nods, frantic. Eyes glassy.
“Say it,” I murmur, dragging my nose down her throat. “Tell me you wanted to feel me like this. Still dressed. Still fucking desperate.”
“I wanted it,” she breathes. “I want— I want more—”
“Oh, sweetheart…” I chuckle darkly, hands sliding under her hoodie, fingers splayed across her bare waist. “You’re not ready for more.”
I pull her hips down again — slow, deep — until my cock grinds right against her clit through the layers.
She cries out, and I swallow it with my mouth on hers.
It’s not a kiss. It’s a claim.
Hot. Messy. Tongue and teeth and frustration poured into every second.
We move together now — frantic, desperate, clothes shifting just enough to make it worse. My sweats are drenched. Her thighs are trembling. Every thrust, every grind, sends sparks through my spine.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” I groan against her lips. “You’re making a mess on me.”
“I—I can’t—”
“You can,” I hiss, thrusting up harder. “You’re gonna come like this. Still dressed. Still untouched. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
She nods. Hands in my hair now, gripping like she’s drowning.
I watch her face — flushed, mouth parted, brows pulled together like she’s fighting it — and it’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
“Ride it out,” I whisper, dragging her down harder, guiding her rhythm. “Just like that. Good fucking girl.”
She moans my name. Once. Twice.
Then her body goes rigid.
Back arches.
And she breaks.
She comes with her forehead against mine, hips twitching, riding the friction like it’s the only thing keeping her alive. It’s raw and silent and perfect.
I hold her through it. Breathe her in. Let her fall apart on top of me.
She collapses into my chest, shaking, whimpering. Her arms wrap around my neck like she’s scared I’ll disappear.
“You okay?” I murmur.
She nods, breathless.
Then she shifts — accidentally — and I hiss.
Because I’m still fucking hard. Painfully hard.
And she notices.
She lifts her head. Meets my eyes.
And without a word, she rolls her hips once more.
My head hits the back of the chair with a growl.
“I didn’t come yet,” I remind her, voice low and ruined.
She smirks — the most dangerous fucking smirk I’ve ever seen on her.
“I know.”
Then she moves again.
Slower.
Wetter.
Worse.
And I realize—
She’s going to kill me like this.
Death by dry humping.
And God… what a way to go.
She’s still grinding on me.
Softly. Lazily. Like she isn’t ruining my life one rock of her hips at a time.
Her orgasm left her dazed, but now she’s smirking — wicked, flushed, confident. Like she knows what she just did to me. Like she knows I’m still hard, throbbing, leaking inside these fucking sweatpants.
And she’s not stopping.
“You trying to make me lose it?” I growl, gripping her hips tighter.
“Maybe I like watching you suffer,” she whispers, shifting her hips just enough to drag her soaked shorts across the length of my cock.
I snap.
“Take it off.”
She blinks. “What?”
“Your fucking shorts,” I hiss. “Take them off or I’ll rip them off.”
She stares — wide-eyed, lips parted — then slowly slides off my lap and stands. The way she tugs her shorts down is slow, teasing, torturous. No panties underneath.
Of course not.
Little fucking brat.
I lean back in the chair, watching her like a predator.
She goes to lift her hoodie and I shake my head.
“Leave it.”
She freezes. “But—”
“I said leave it,” I repeat, voice low and dangerous. “You wanna be fucked like a toy, you’ll look like one too. Hoodie on. Nothing else.”
Her thighs press together. She’s dripping already.
“Now get back on my cock.”
She climbs back on, straddling me, bare and hot and perfect.
I’m done waiting.
I pull down my sweats just enough to free myself and grip her waist hard, lining her up. The head of my cock slides through her folds — soaked, swollen, aching — and when I push in?
She screams.
Her hands fly to my shoulders. Nails digging. Legs trembling.
“Yoongi—fuck—oh my God—”
“You feel that?” I growl, biting her neck. “Feel how deep I am inside you? That’s what happens when you tease me for weeks like a spoiled little bitch.”
She gasps. Whimpers. Loves it.
“Say it,” I demand, snapping my hips up so hard the chair creaks.
“I—I was teasing—”
“Say you’re my needy little slut.”
Her eyes flutter. “I’m—fuck—your needy little slut—”
I slap her ass once — hard — and she moans like it feeds her.
“Louder.”
“I’m your slut!” she cries, hips grinding down as I fuck up into her with brutal, steady thrusts. “Fuck, Yoongi, please—”
Her walls tighten around me. She’s close again. I can feel it.
But not yet.
I grab her jaw, force her to look at me.
“This is what you wanted, right?” I growl. “You wanted me to snap? To ruin that pretty pussy on this fucking chair?”
She nods. Cries out.
Another slap. “Use your words.”
“Yes—yes, I wanted it—I wanted you to fuck me—”
“You ride me now,” I command. “You make yourself come while I sit here and watch you fall apart.”
She moves. Hips rocking fast, wet, frantic.
I grip the arms of the chair to keep from grabbing her again — watching her bounce on my cock like it’s the only thing keeping her sane.
And fuck — she’s beautiful like this.
Sweaty. Desperate. Dripping down my length with every slap of skin against skin.
“Touch yourself,” I whisper.
She does. Hand between her legs, circling her clit in messy, shaky strokes.
“Good fucking girl,” I growl. “You’re gonna come for me again. I want you screaming my name when you do.”
“Y-Yoongi—!”
“Say it louder.”
“Yoongi—! Fuck—I’m gonna—!”
She shatters.
Screaming, shaking, riding it out until her body collapses against mine.
And then I finally let go.
I thrust up hard — once, twice — and then I come with a guttural growl, hips locked, cock twitching deep inside her.
We stay like that.
Panting. Clinging. Covered in sweat and something worse.
She whimpers when I shift beneath her.
“Still alive?” I murmur.
“Barely,” she laughs, voice hoarse.
I kiss her temple.
Then her lips.
And suddenly, it’s not just about sex anymore.
It’s everything.
She buries her face in my neck.
And I hold her like she’s mine.
Because fuck it.
She is.
After that night in the studio, everything changed.
She still acts like nothing happened.
Like I didn’t cum inside her on that chair like a fucking animal.
Like she didn’t call me Daddy while riding me like her life depended on it.
And now she sends me memes on KakaoTalk.
Brings me coffee before sessions.
Calls me “Yoon” with that annoyingly sweet smile that makes me think about marriage and tattooing her name on my chest at the same time.
It’s dangerous how much I like her.
And today, she did me a favor: showed up at the studio in a short skirt.
No shorts underneath. No shame.
And to top it off, she brought a friend. A guy.
“This is Jun. He works with me sometimes. I just— thought maybe you could give him some production tips?”
She said it all sweet.
Smiling.
Like she didn’t ruin me a week ago.
I look at Jun.
He nods politely.
I don’t return it.
“Sure,” I say flatly. “Always happy to help... interested people.”
She bites her lip.
She knows exactly what she’s doing.
After twenty minutes of pretending to care about this idiot’s sampling techniques, I shut it down.
“I’ve got some masters to review. Only she can stay. Bye, Jun.”
He hesitates. Then leaves. Smart guy.
As soon as the door shuts, I turn to her.
“You’re trying to drive me insane, aren’t you?”
She plays innocent. “What did I do?”
“Don’t push me. Not today.”
“Ohhh... are you jealous?”
I take a step forward. Then another.
She backs up until her body’s pressed against the soundboard.
My hands cage her waist. My voice drops.
“I fucked you in this studio. You think I’m gonna smile at another man walking in here like some idiot?”
“…So you do care, Yoongi?”
“You haven’t figured it out yet?” I chuckle low. “I think about you all the damn time. When you call me, when you look at me like that… fuck, when you walk in here with that skirt, thinking I won’t do anything about it…”
My hands slide up her thighs slowly.
Thin fabric. No panties. Again.
This little brat knew exactly what she was doing.
“You’re wet,” I murmur.
“Maybe I’ve been thinking about you all day,” she whispers, biting her lip.
I grin, slow and smug.
“Turn around for me.”
She obeys without a second thought.
Hands on the table.
Ass out.
I lift the skirt.
My hand glides between her legs — hot, soaked, aching.
“You wanted attention, didn’t you?”
Two fingers slide in deep. She gasps, trembling.
“Well, now you’ve got it. Until you learn I’m the only one who can make you shake like this.”
She grinds against my hand, needy and messy, and I let her.
We don’t fuck right there. Not again.
But I ruin her with my fingers.
Make her whimper. Collapse against the board.
And after?
I pull her onto my lap. We sink into the spinning chair together.
She curls into me, still panting, face sweaty against my neck.
genre: dom idol Jungkook, sub plus size y/n, daddy kink, rough sex, dark romance.
Jungkook is a very possessive man so when he sees you getting a little too close to Namjoon, he has to make sure you know who owns your body and your pleasure. Right there in his studio so he can record your moans.
But the real fun starts when he loses control.
tags: dominant Jungkook, jealous Jungkook, plus size reader, cute reader, domestic intimacy, established relationship, Jungkook fucks you on the dinner table, pussy plug, Jungkook's fuck you in his studio and records your moans, rough making out, titty slapping, nipple pinching, rough fingering, manhandling, pussy spanking, daddy kink, Jungkook has a HUGE cock, sensitive reader, full nelson sex position, semi public sex, unprotected sex, Jungkook says the filthiest things, Jungkook calls you good girl, princess, my cockslut, you squirt so much you start spasming, hickeys, Jungkook takes his cum from your pussy and feeds you, Jungkook plugs his cum in your pussy, Jungkook princess carries you to his car.
total words: 5.1k
this snippet: 2k words
(this snippet contains first scene where jungkook gets jealous and fucks you in his studio and plugs his cum in your pussy. )
[requested by Patron]
The morning light was too bright, cutting across your kitchen table where you were trying to sip your coffee in peace. Jungkook’s shadow fell over you before you even heard him, his presence like a shift in the atmosphere. He didn’t say good morning. His hands slid under your sleep shirt, palms hot and possessive on your bare waist, hiking the fabric up as he bent you back over the wooden surface. Your coffee cup rattled in its saucer.
“Daddy’s got a long day planned for his baby,” he murmured against your mouth, his kiss deep and tasting of mint and something darker. His fingers found your heavy breasts, squeezing the soft weight of them, thumbs rubbing over your nipples until they were tight, pebbled points against his palms. You whimpered into his mouth, a sound he swallowed greedily.
His hand slid down, over the soft curve of your belly, his touch worshipful and claiming all at once. He pushed your sleep shorts and panties down your thighs just enough, his fingers slipping through your folds, finding you already wet for him. “Always so ready for me,” he growled, low and satisfied. “Even first thing in the morning. My greedy little cockslut.”
He didn’t bother undressing. He just unzipped his jeans, freed his cock—already thick and hard—and pushed into you in one slow, inexorable slide. You gasped, your back arching off the cool table. He fucked you like that, slow and deep, each thrust a deliberate claim, his hands groping and kneading your breasts, your stomach, your hips. His eyes were dark, locked on yours, watching every flicker of pleasure on your face.
“Gonna fill this pretty pussy up,” he promised, his voice rough. “Keep it warm for me all day. Think you can do that? Think you can walk around Hybe with my cum inside you, dripping out of you, remembering who you belong to?”
You were close already, his pace maddeningly slow, the stretch of him exquisite. “Daddy…please…”
“Please what?” he taunted, pinching a nipple, making you cry out. “Come on my cock? Go ahead. Squirt all over it. Let me feel you.”
You did, with a broken sob, your body convulsing around him as the pleasure ripped through you, wetness soaking his jeans and the table beneath you. He followed immediately after, his rhythm stuttering into a final, deep grind as he emptied himself inside you, groaning your name like a curse. He stayed buried in you for a long moment, catching his breath against your neck, biting lightly at the skin.
When he pulled out, you felt the immediate, empty ache, the trickle of his release. He reached for something from his pocket—a small, sleek silicone plug. He coated it with the mess between your thighs and pressed it into you, your sensitive walls clenching around the foreign object. “There,” he said, wiping his fingers on your thigh. “Keep it warm. Don’t you dare let it fall out.”
You squirmed, the plug settling deep, a constant, lewd reminder. “Jungkook…why are you being so…we’re going to see your friends.”
He grabbed your jaw, his grip firm, tilting your face up to his. His eyes were blazing. “So you remember,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. He leaned down and bit your lower lip, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to sting, to claim. “So you remember who this sweet cunt belongs to. Who gets to hear you moan. Who gets to fill you up. Me.”
He slapped your breast once, a sharp, stinging smack that made you yelp, then he gently tugged your shirt back down, smoothing the fabric over your curves. He helped you up, your legs shaky. “Now get dressed, princess. We’re going.”
Hybe was a maze of clean lines and quiet hustle. Jungkook kept you close, his arm a heavy band around your waist, his body a shield between you and the world. You knew why. You’d seen the comments on obscure forums, the vile speculation about any woman seen near them. He wasn’t embarrassed of you—the way he devoured you with his eyes every chance he got proved that. He was terrified for you. The thought of that hate being directed at your softness made him murderous. So he kept you tucked away, a cherished secret, which sometimes made you ache with a stupid, insecure loneliness. But then he’d come home, his control shattered, and fuck you until you were sobbing his name, painting his skin with your squirt, your body so full of him you could taste it. That’s how you knew. It wasn’t a sweet love. It was a dark, all-consuming possession.
He deposited you in a common area with a soft kiss to your temple. “Be good. I have to work. I won’t be long.”
You found Namjoon in one of the smaller lounges, a book of poetry already open on the table between two cups of tea. Your friendship with him was easy, born from a shared, quiet passion for words. He never looked at you with anything but warm respect. Today, you were deep in discussion about the symbolism in a particular poem, your heads bent close over the text, your voices low. You were laughing at one of his dry observations when you felt the temperature drop.
Jungkook stood in the doorway. He wasn’t smiling. His expression was cold, closed off, his jaw tight. “Y/N. Come with me.”
Your heart sank. “Is everything okay?”
“Now.”
You shot Namjoon an apologetic look. He just nodded slowly, his eyes wary. You followed Jungkook’s stiff back down the hall to his personal studio. The moment the soundproof door shut behind you, the atmosphere crackled with violent tension.
He didn’t speak. He walked to his studio chair, sat down, and pulled you onto his lap, your back to his chest. His arms were like steel bands around you.
“Jungkook, what—”
His hands went to the hem of your top, yanking it down in one harsh motion, taking your bra with it. Your breasts spilled free into the cool air of the studio. Then his hand came down on the soft swell of one.
Smack.
The sound was loud in the quiet room. You jolted, a gasp trapped in your throat.
Smack. On the other one.
“Daddy…what are you doing?” you whispered, trying to twist to look at him.
He bit the junction of your neck and shoulder, hard enough to bruise, silencing you. “You were awfully close to Namjoon,” he growled into your skin, his hands now kneading the flesh he’d reddened. “His face was right there. Smiling at my girl.”
“We were just talking about poems,” you pleaded, trying to keep your voice down, horrified at the thought of someone hearing.
“I don’t give a fuck.” His hand slid down your belly, under your skirt. He hooked his fingers in your panties and ripped them off you. The cool air hit your plugged pussy, and you clenched around it instinctively. He saw it, his eyes darkening. He brought his hand down on your exposed folds.
Spank.
You bit your lip so hard you tasted copper to stop the scream. The pain was sharp, layered over the deep-seated ache of the plug, a confusing burst of sensation.
Jungkook’s breath hitched in anger. “Trying to hide your sounds from me?” He reached forward with one hand, and you heard a familiar click. The recording light on his interface console glowed red. “Let’s fix that. I’m going to record every moan, every scream, every wet little sound this perfect pussy makes. So I can listen to it whenever I want. Because I own it. I own all of you.”
Humiliation and a treacherous spike of arousal washed through you. “Daddy, please…behave,” you whimpered, trying for sweetness, for control you didn’t have.
It backfired. He groaned, a feral sound, and latched his mouth onto your neck, sucking a brutal hickey into your skin while his fingers found your nipples. He pinched them, hard, then pulled, stretching the sensitive peaks until tears welled in your eyes. A ragged moan finally escaped you, echoing slightly in the studio room, captured by the mic.
“That’s it,” he panted against your wet skin. “Let them all hear how my baby sounds for me.” He spread your legs wide with his hands, his grip on your plush thighs bruising. With his other hand, he found the base of the plug and pulled it slowly from your clutching heat. A gush of his earlier release leaked out onto his jeans, the scent filling the space between you.
He didn’t wait. He freed his cock from his pants—massive, thick, and already painfully hard—and notched the head at your dripping entrance. Then he shifted his grip, locking his hands under your knees and behind your neck, holding you open in a brutal, exposed full nelson. You were completely at his mercy.
“Remember this,” he commanded, his voice cold as ice even as his body burned against yours. “Remember who fucks you like this. Who ruins you. It doesn’t matter if he’s my brother. You don’t get that close. You don’t smile like that for anyone else. You’re mine.”
And he slammed up into you.
The scream that tore from your throat was raw, unfiltered, recorded for eternity. He was so deep, so impossibly big, the head of his cock battering your cervix with every brutal thrust. The wet, squelching noises from your joined bodies were obscenely loud. You could feel your own slickness soaking through his jeans, coating your thighs.
“My pretty fucking princess,” he snarled, his composure shattering into pure filth as he fucked up into you. “Taking my cock like you were made for it. Look at this fat pussy, swallowing me whole. Gonna be sore tomorrow. Gonna feel me for days.” He licked a stripe up your neck, biting at your earlobe. “And when we get home, I’m not going easy on you. I’m gonna bend you over every piece of furniture we own. Gonna fuck this jealous ache out of my system and into yours until you can’t even remember Namjoon’s fucking name.”
You were babbling, half-sobs, half-pleas. “Daddy! Daddy, it’s too much…I’m gonna—!”
“Do it,” he demanded, pounding into you, his pace relentless. “Squirt on my cock. Show me what you do for me. Do it now.”
The command, the overwhelming stretch, the dirty, possessive words sent you over the edge violently. Your vision whited out as you came, a torrent of release gushing out of you with such force your entire body spasmed, legs kicking weakly in his grip. You screamed, a continuous, shattered sound as the waves of pleasure-pain rolled through you, your pussy milking his cock uncontrollably.
It triggered his own climax. With a final, ground-shaking roar of your name, he buried himself to the hilt and came, his hot release flooding your depths, mixing with your own. He held you there, impaled and shaking, for what felt like an eternity, both of you panting ragged breaths into the silent studio.
Slowly, he let your legs down, his grip gentle now. He pulled out, and a rush of combined fluids spilled onto the leather chair. You were boneless, whimpering. He turned you on his lap to face him, your tear-streaked face meeting his intense, sated gaze.
He didn’t speak. He leaned forward and scooped two fingers into your messy, gaping pussy, gathering a mix of his cum and your slick. He brought them to your lips. “Open.”
You obeyed, eyes fluttering shut as he pushed his fingers into your mouth. You tasted yourself, salty and sweet, and him, musky and familiar. He fucked your mouth gently with his fingers until you’d cleaned them, then pulled them out with a wet pop.
He reached for the plug, still slick from before, and pushed it back inside your well-used hole, groaning at the tight clench. “Keep the rest warm,” he ordered, his voice hoarse. “This greedy pussy doesn’t get to waste a single drop. I’m not done with you.”
Then his demeanor shifted again, into something terrifyingly tender. He bent his head and kissed each of your heavy, sore breasts, his tongue swirling around your abused nipples. He kissed the soft swell of your belly, nuzzling into you. He fixed your clothes with careful hands, wiping your thighs clean with a tissue before pulling your panties back up (the torn ones discarded) and smoothing your dress down.
He stood, lifting you easily in his arms, a princess carry that made you bury your face in his neck. He smelled of sweat, sex, and Jungkook. He carried you out of the studio, past curious glances in the hallway that he ignored, all the way to the private parking garage and into the passenger seat of his car. He buckled you in, kissed your forehead with a shocking softness, and got in the driver’s seat, starting the engine.
The ride home was silent, but the promise in the air was thick and dark. The plug in your pussy kept you achingly aware. You were his. In every dirty, possessive, terrifying way. And the day was young.
(full version contains jungkook taking you home, bounding you with ropes, fucking you in front of the mirror all night long until you pass out and still fucking you in your sleep.
tags for full version: rough makeout, bondage, ropes, Jungkook finger fucks your mouth, strong Jungkook, jealous Jungkook, extremely possessive Jungkook, face fucking, cum marking, deep throating, Jungkook covers you in his cum basically, tits biting, nipple clamps, almost fisting, you start drooling and hiccupping from pleasure, breeding kink, Jungkook calls you his wife, doggy style, mirror sex, ass spanking, hair pulling, body marking, Jungkook writes his name on your belly above your womb, cum inflation, body worship, body licking, daddy kink, husband kink, you pass out, you wake up to Jungkook still fucking you, looong marathon sex, oversensitive pussy, pussy licking, body kissing, aftercare.)
yoongi’s love is steady, instinctual, and profoundly intimate. a grounding force in every glance, whispered word, and shared breath.
your quiet alpha yoongi first saw you across the room at a crowded gathering, your laughter cutting through the noise like sunlight through clouds. he didn’t say much, just observed, but when your eyes met his, you felt something steady and unshakable there. it was the first time you realized quiet didn’t mean absent, it meant intentional.
your quiet alpha yoongi surprised you by seeking you out again a week later, having got the address of your usual cafe from a mutual friend. he appeared without warning, sitting across from you with that calm stare. when you asked if he was following you, he just smirked and said, “maybe i just wanted to see you again.”
your quiet alpha yoongi wasn’t loud about his affection in the early days, but it was unmistakable. he always walked on the outside of the sidewalk, his hand brushing yours but never taking unless you offered first. he didn’t shower you with compliments, instead he remembered the smallest details, and listened. like your words mattered more than anything else.
your quiet alpha yoongi was the first to scent you. you weren’t distressed or anything, it was a quiet moment between just the two of you. you were laughing into your sleeve and didn’t notice the way he leaned in. it was so soft you thought you imagined it. but later, when you touched your wrist to your nose, it was him. subtle, and warm, and unmistakable.
your quiet alpha yoongi admitted his feelings in his own way, after you teased him one night about never saying what he wanted. he leaned closer, voice low and certain, and told you, “i don’t want anyone else near you.” it wasn’t a confession wrapped in poetry. it was raw and honest, and it hit harder than anything else could.
your quiet alpha yoongi became your anchor the first time he pulled you into his arms after you had a hard day. he didn’t try to talk you out of your feelings or distract you with jokes. he just held you, with his chin on your head, his warmth surrounding you until you melted. it was then you realized his quiet wasn’t distance, it was depth.
your quiet alpha yoongi didn’t intend to fall for you so quickly or so hard, but when he did, it wasn’t a spark, it was gravity. now he keeps your favorite snacks in his glovebox, memorizes the texture of your voice when you’re tired, and hums under his breath when you’re curled against him. love, to him, is a quiet ritual. something done without fanfare, but never without meaning.
your quiet alpha yoongi marked the start of your courting without any ceremony, just a night spent curled together, his scent wrapped around you like a promise. he pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth, and whispered the question, “mine?”. and you, in your brightness, whispered back “always.”
your quiet alpha yoongi doesn’t posture, he doesn’t raise his voice, there’s no need to prove himself to anyone. he protects by presence, not performance. the only time you see his jaw clench is when someone looks at you too long or says your name like they’ve earned it. he won’t start a fight, but he’ll finish one without blinking.
your quiet alpha yoongi is painfully aware of his strength. he opens jars with a whisper of effort, carries the groceries with one arm, holds you with such care it makes you ache. he always asks before he grips your waist or moves you closer in crowded spaces. “is this okay, dove?” he murmurs. and every time you nod, he kisses your temple like you’ve entrusted him with something holy.
your quiet alpha yoongi doesn’t say “mine” often, not out loud. but it’s in the way he covers your drink with his hand when someone walks by. in the way he adjusts your scarf when the wind picks up. in the way he touches your lower back as you walk through a room, always letting you lead, but never far behind.
your quiet alpha yoongi doesn’t lose control easily. but once you whispered something filthy while passing him in the hallway, and he froze mid-step. minutes later, he found you in the bedroom, pressed you against the door, and kissed you like he hadn’t seen you in weeks. “say it again,” he muttered against your mouth.
your quiet alpha yoongi builds the nest with you when you first move in. it’s part instinct, part obsession. he wants it perfect. warm, low to the ground, everything soft and saturated with scent. but more than that, he wants you to feel safe. he asks you where the blankets should go, which shirt you want to sleep in, if it smells right enough. you don’t have the heart to tell him it already feels like home.
your quiet alpha yoongi keeps his head bowed between your thighs longer than he probably should. not just because you taste like his or because it soothes the ache in your core. but because the way you moan his name calls to the primal side of him. your hands tug his hair, and he groans softly. he’s calm, but he’s hungry.
your quiet alpha yoongi doesn’t speak much during your heat unless you ask him to. but he stays close, murmuring little things into your shoulder as he knots inside you. “you’re okay. i’ve got you. breathe with me, dove”. when your fingers shake and your scent spikes too sharp, he covers your body with his and hums into your skin until it evens out. he never lets go before you’re ready.
your quiet alpha yoongi is always soft after a particularly rough wave, unbearably soft. he hums when you’re coming down, it’s the same song every time, you don’t even know the words. but you’ve never slept better than you do in his arms with the notes reverberating through his chest. the heat may have passed, but your bond only deepens.
your quiet alpha yoongi tries not to let you see how much he needs you. but his hands shake when he knots, he presses his forehead to yours and breathes like he’s drowning. and when it’s over, when you’re full and soft and flushed, he holds you a little tighter than usual.
your quiet alpha yoongi scents your clothes when you’re away longer than usual. he doesn’t mean to, it’s just instinct, pulling your hoodie to his chest and burying his face in it while he answers emails or halfway watches tv. sometimes he wears your scarf around the house. it calms the twitch in his jaw and the thrum in his chest. he won’t admit it unless you catch him.
your quiet alpha yoongi doesn’t always enjoy going out with your friends. he stays close but quiet, drinks slow, eyes scanning the room while conversation swirls around him. no one’s unkind, he just fades into the background the way introverts do when the air gets too loud. but you always find him. brush your hand over his thigh beneath the table. lean into his side and whisper, “still green, min?” and that’s enough to make him feel seen.
your quiet alpha yoongi knew before you did. the moment your scent shifted to something richer, softer, layered with something new. he paused, stared at you for a second too long, then gently took your wrist and pressed his nose to your pulse point. you asked him what was wrong. “you’re glowing different,” he said.
your quiet alpha yoongi spends the early weeks making sure you don’t lift a single thing. you laugh and tease him for it, but he just mutters under his breath and takes the bag of rice out of your hands. “what if you strain yourself,” he says. you roll your eyes and let him fuss. deep down, it feels good.
your quiet alpha yoongi scents you more often now. not because he’s territorial, but because your scent changes a little every week and it makes something deep in him settle. he presses his face to your neck before sleep, before you leave the house, before he brings you food.
your quiet alpha yoongi rubs your feet without being asked. he doesn’t even look up when he does it, just lifts your legs gently into his lap during a movie, thumbs pressing into the aches while you melt into the cushions. you sigh. he hums. “knew they were swollen, dove. i always know.”
your quiet alpha yoongi goes with you to every appointment. he brings a notebook the first time and tries to write things down, even though his hand shakes too much to read them later. when they let you hear the heartbeat, he presses a fist to his mouth to keep from crying out loud. afterward, he sits in the car with the windows cracked, staring straight ahead like the universe just shifted. “that’s…our pup,” he murmurs. “he’s real.”
your quiet alpha yoongi barely leaves your side when labor starts. even when you tell him it’s okay, that you’re fine, that he should rest but he doesn’t move. he keeps a hand on your belly and the other on the back of your neck, breathing through it with you. when the pain spikes, he lets you squeeze his fingers, lets you cry into his shoulder. “you’re doing so good,” he whispers, voice cracking as his scent fluffs around you. “i’m right here.”
your quiet alpha yoongi doesn’t cry until he hears the pup. not when you start pushing. not when your nails dig into his arm. but when that first sharp cry breaks through the air, he bites his lip and looks away, shoulders trembling, breath caught in his chest. he holds your hand tighter. “you did it, baby,” he says. “we did it.”
your quiet alpha yoongi doesn’t let go of the pup for nearly an hour. not because he doesn’t trust anyone else, but because he can’t stop looking at him. he checks your face every few seconds like he’s still worried you’re in pain. “he has your eyes,” he murmurs, brushing the tiniest finger down the pup’s cheek. “and your mouth. he’s perfect.”
Synopsis: Plagued by filthy dreams of your stepfather, you can’t help yourself as you play with your new toy, imagining your stepfather, Yoongi, as the one you’re riding instead.
Pairing: Stepfather Yoongi x Stepdaughter reader
Tw: pseudo-incest, dilf yoongi, masturbation, sex toys, degrading language. If this grosses you out then don’t bother reading or commenting, thank ya!!!
You know it’s wrong. You know that the way you throb between your thighs whenever you so much as glance at your stepfather is not natural. It should repulse you. It would for sure repulse anyone else around you if they knew.
But you just can’t help yourself…
There’s been numerous times where you’ve found yourself three fingers deep inside your cunt with Yoongi’s name sitting on the tip of your tongue, but never being said out loud. That would make it too real and you’re not ready to admit that you’re touching yourself to the thought of your stepfather every night.
Even though that’s exactly what it is.
It has gotten to a point where fingers just weren’t enough anymore. Your small hands paled in comparison to Yoongi’s long and slender fingers.
You wondered what they would feel like, holding you open, parting your folds and sinking deep inside of you up to the last knuckle.
You ordered your first sex toy as soon as those thoughts started keeping you up at night.
At first you thought it would be a good idea to get a vibrator. All your friends excitedly talked about how they couldn’t get themselves off anymore without it. A vibrator sounded nice, but it wasn’t what you really wanted.
You needed to be filled. Stuffed to the brim until your walls pulsed and you couldn’t take it anymore. You wanted to feel the burn and ache of having something split you open. You knew that what you truly craved was having a cock lodged deep inside of you.
So the plan of buying a vibrator was quickly thrown out the window and a dildo was smoothly added to your cart instead, checking out without as much as a second thought. You had been antsy all day. Biting the skin around your nails as you waited, looking out the window every few minutes for the delivery truck.
And before you knew it, you found yourself sitting in bed with a cardboard box in your lap and a nervous turmoil in your tummy.
Admittedly, you probably overestimated yourself.
The silicone toy was big, sitting heavy in your palms. You had never taken something like this before. You didn’t even know if it’ll fit! The thought of struggling to slide the thick dildo up your pussy makes you lick your lips in anticipation.
Within minutes you’re a panting and moaning mess, stubby fingers trembling as they scissor inside your weeping pussy, curling, but never quite hitting the spots that were sure to make you keen.
The toy sits by your side on the crumbled bed sheets, antagonizing you. You knew you had to prep yourself before even thinking about taking it, but you were just too impatient.
“Hmpf!” You exhale in frustration, pressing down on your clit to add even more wetness to the slickness that already had your fingers slipping.
You just wanted to be full.
“Please…”
You don’t know who or what you’re pleading for, but you sniffle pathetically as you raise up to your knees, grabbing the toy with shaky fingers. You have to grip it with both hands, mouth parting as you stare at it. It’s intimidating and you’re afraid it won’t fit, but the thought of getting to have something so huge inside you makes you clench around nothing.
You can’t wait anymore.
Sitting on your back had gotten uncomfortable. You didn’t feel like you were in control enough that way. Quickly looking around the room, you decide the floor will just have to do. The suction cup makes the dildo stand up ramrod straight in front of you, looking huge and intimidating.
You gulp at the sight.
Your knees ache against the wooden floor as you position yourself above the dildo, bulbous head catching onto your hole. You gasp, moving your hips back and forth so it would rub over your parted folds. A loud moan leaves you, and echoes around the room, before you can stop it.
You’re dripping all over the toy, drooly cunt eager to take the huge fake cock already. You hated teasing yourself, but the way you deny yourself of the toy makes everything feel so much more…real.
In your head, this is exactly how things would go. You’d be a impatient, trembling mess, desperate to have your insides rearranged by Yoongi’s huge cock. You’d beg and cry and shake until you got your way, sugary sweet moans filling up the room as you got stuffed full just the way you craved.
“Such a bad girl, Y/n. Riding your stepfather’s cock like this with no shame. You’re just desperate for it, aren’t you?”
“Yes…” You exhale as you let your hips sink lower.
The intrusion makes you gasp, fingernails digging into your thighs as the rubbery head slides inside your slick hole. The relief of it is delicious, making you feel satiated to finally have something inside.
“Ah!” You gasp, crying out when you sink down further, gummy walls taking too much at once. You ache and it burns, but in a way that stirs the fire inside your tummy. You barely just started and you already feel yourself teetering towards an orgasm.
Closing your eyes, you breathe in deeply and let your mind wander. You think about hands on your body, bruising your sides, and gripping your tits forcefully, making you gasp at the rough way you’re being handled. You toy with your nipples as you slowly allow yourself to slip down another inch, breath getting caught in your throat.
“You love this, don’t you, sweetheart? Such a slut, want your pussy filled at all times. Stuffed to the brim until you can’t take it anymore.”
“God, yes!” You cry out, a stammered sob escapes your mouth when you sink further down the dildo, walls pulsing deliciously around it.
Your nipples hurt from the way you’re pinching them, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. You want to be roughed up, manhandled by forceful hands without a care, as if you’re nothing more than a rag doll. A good toy, so malleable for Yoongi to play with and do as he pleases.
You wanted to be that for him.
“Do it, baby, sit on my cock. Take what you want.”
With a drawn out moan, you fall down the rest of the length, your eyes that were previously closed snap open wide. Your mouth parts, stuttered gasps escaping through your parted lips as you struggle to breathe through the burn of your walls. Your so full it hurts, but it hurts so good.
Your body leans forward, hands holding up your weight, trying to keep yourself upright. It aches and you don’t know if you can even move right now, but you will yourself to do it.
Yoongi wouldn’t wait. He would use you as he pleases, pounding your little pussy until he knocked the breath out of you, leaving you crying and begging for more. You let your hips lift almost all the way off the dildo, before slamming back down, crying out at the rough intrusion. Your bottom lip trembles and your fingers cramp from how hard you’re trying to dig them into the ground. It’s too much and not enough all at once.
“Such a good slut, all mine to use and defile. What are you, Y/n? Tell daddy.”
“I-I’m a slut!” You sob, hips stuttering as you start to desperately ride the toy, slick sounds filling up the quiet room.
You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet, you’re gushing down the entire girth of the fake dick inside of you. The sounds your pussy makes has your cheeks burning up in shame. You’re desperately riding a cock that doesn’t even belong to the man you’re fantasizing about.
How pathetic.
You sniffle and whimper continuously as you bounce up and down the length, squeezing around it tightly. You think Yoongi would like that. He would tell you how good you are. How tight you feel around him and how well you’re taking it.
A good little whore for him to use. He would grunt out how you’re nothing more than a warm hole for him to sink his cock into.
“P-please!” You cry out, throwing your head back. One of your hands grabs your breast as the other grips tightly onto your thigh, digging sharp lines onto the skin with your fingernails.
“Cum on my cock, sweetheart. I know you want to.”
“Gonna c-cum!” you moan, frantically riding the toy, your hips move messily as it hits all the right spots inside of your pussy that makes your vision go white.
Too lost in your pleasure, you don’t hear the way the floor behind your bedroom door creaks.
“Gonna cum for me, Y/n? Are you gonna cum all over your daddy’s dick like a good little girl?”
“Yes!” You sob, knees aching and thighs burning as you feel yourself being thrown over the edge.
You think about being filled with Yoongi’s cum. How it would shoot up inside of you hotly, leaking out the sides of your pussy, stuffing you to the brim. It’s with the thought of being deflowerd and with the name of your stepfather on your tongue that you finally cum, wetness splattering loudly around the dildo and down onto the floor.
“Yoongi!” You sob, falling forward on the hard floor. Your whole body is shaking, dildo sadly sliding out of you, as you sob through your orgasm. Your front slams onto the ground, cheek squished against the wooden floor, ass raised up, leaving your walls pulsing around nothing.
Through your stuttered cries, you don’t hear the door sliding open. Your mind is somewhere too far away to notice the footsteps that stop next to you until there’s a body crouching in front of you.
Your hair gets pushed away from your face by fingers that aren’t yours. With a loud gasp, your head rises up, glazed over eyes meeting a pair of familiar black ones.
The protagonist of your daydreams sits in front of you, holding nothing but lust inside his gaze as he eyes your trembling form. All you can do is watch as his tongue pokes out to skim over his bottom lip as he takes you in. Finally, a deep sigh escapes your stepfather, making every hair on your body stand up.
“Quite the sight, aren’t you, baby?”
Oh fuck.
A/n: I know this is short but, yes there will be a part 2. and no, i will not be tagging anyone. just follow me lol. make sure you thoroughly read my pinned tho please and thanks 🙏🏽
