warnings: Hobi should be a warning himself, raw sex, oral (f & m receiving), lots of teasing, nicknames used (baby, doll), semi-public? maybe, fingering
a/n: so, I started writing this fic a while ago, but finally finished it. do I need to say that I'm such a whore for Hobi? and also, I suck at finding titles for fics so I go with whatever song I'm listening to.
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“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath as you turn to Kyle, your assistant, with fire in your eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me that his shoot was today?”
He stutters as he answer. “It’s not,” and while you give him a suspicious look, he hands you the weekly timetable.
You quickly skim the piece of paper filled with dates, and your eyes finally land on his name.
Jung Hoseok, 29 May. 14:30. Cover Shoot.
It was already 19:45, the timetable did not include any information about a cover shoot, and most importantly it wasn’t the 29th of May.
Without any thought, you crumble the paper in your hand before you start heading to his direction, with the best attempt to hide the murderous look on your face.
Hoseok was one of your first clients.
You met him back when you were still new in the field. You were working day and night then, trying to gain the respect of the head photographer of the company you were working for. Just when you became her second shooter for a magazine shoot, the universe simply decided that it wasn’t your time yet, and you met Jung Hoseok.
He was the most handsome man you’ve ever met, much more handsome than the photos you’ve seen of him online. His natural raspy voice was so hot, and you could listen him talk the whole that. Maybe that’s why he had you wrapped in his fingers from the very first moment you laid your eyes on him.
You were on your knees the second you were left alone with him in the changing room; sucking him off, intoxicated with the praises his godly voice was whispering between his moans.
You never thought you were the one to get off on another’s pleasure, but he changed that for you. He was extremely vocal, and his pleasure came along with words. Words that praised you, made you feel important. And you could swear you’ve never felt more beautiful in your life than the moment his salty taste hit your tongue, and he mouthed the word “Ethereal,” as his dark eyes locked into yours while he cleaned the cum stain on your lips gently with his finger.
He was fairly new to his rap career as well, and you were naive enough to believe that he would understand your nervousness given that it was his first big shoot.
It was his first big campaign, yes, but you couldn’t have been more wrong about him being understanding.
Jung Hoseok was a professional since day one, and he was a completely different person than the one who had you on your knees. He was calm, collected. He knew how to pose, he knew his best angles. And on top of all that, he was a total perfectionist. Just like him being vocal about his pleasure, he was very vocal about his dislikes too.
And he disliked your work, quite a lot.
You’ve seen him many times after that incident, dealt with his annoying comments in every collab, but refused to work with him, even if it meant losing big money.
And now marks five years since his cruel comments about your work got you fired.
An annoying smirk etches on to his face as he sees you coming towards him, but your eyes stay on his manager.
“I assume there was a misunderstanding with the schedule,”
“Ms. y/l/n! Thank you for accepting to change the schedule last minute!” His manager says smiling.
“What change?” You ask, still believing that it’s only a mistake and he’ll be out of your studio in a minute.
“I have to go to New York tomorrow, will be gone for a week.” That sweet, venomous voice fills your ears. “So you accepted my last minute request to do the shoot today.”
You grit your teeth as you finally look into his eyes. “I don’t remember such request.
He takes a step towards you, and his frame appears to be much closer to you then he should be. Now, you can smell his cologne, and it reminds you back to that day. Fuck, what was wrong with him? No, what was wrong with you?
“I contacted with the team manager yesterday, she said you had time.” His manager answers, but you don’t bother looking his way. In the studio behind you, you search for the said group manager who is a close friend of yours, Suki.
From the other end of the room, she watches your conversation with them, and her expression is far from guilty. A shit eating grin is what she has.
She was the only one in the team who knew about your acquaintance with Hoseok, so it wasn’t that hard to imagine what she had in mind when she accepted the offer in your place.
You show her your middle finger from afar, and completely ignore the team members walking around who seem to be surprised at your unusual attitude.
“When do we start?” He pokes your feet with the tip of his shoe. That annoying bastard.
“I’ll have to check if my second shooter is here today. His work was done a few hours ago.” You say, taking a step back. But his next sentence stops you on the track.
“I want you to take them.” There was a strong emphasis on ‘you’, which you did not expect at all. “I’ve seen your work, you definitely improved yourself.”
The audacity this man had.
You furrow your brows, and take a really deep breath.
“I’m not in the mood to handle your tantrums again, Hoseok.”
His heart shape lips curl with his name coming out of your mouth, and his slender figure bends towards you. “I’ll be nice.” His eyes focus on your lips for a second, and you do the same. You hate yourself for the first thought that came to your mind, reaching out and kissing the beautiful mole on his upper lip.
His manager coughs, and you both turn back to real life. You can’t help but feel a relief at the fact that he also looks as affected as you when he straightens back and averts his gaze.
Was he flustered?
No, you should be just imagining.
“What was it again?” You ask his manager. “Cover shoot right? What’s the concept?”
You already know the concept. You are the head photographer after all, you were there when his outfits were prepared. But, you needed a distraction. And this is the only thing you can imagine to buy some time.
“Same as the next album’s concept. Going for a darker look.”
“The stage for the shoot was prepared beforehand but I think we should still check it,” you say, focusing on work so you can act like he’s not standing so close that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. “There’s no specific room prepared for the artist though, and most people who take care of that stuff already left.”
It was nearly 8 pm now, way past your working hours. At least they pay you a lot, you thought. “You’re gonna have to use the common changing room, hope that’s alright.”
There’s silence for a second.
“Will you help me change?”
You don’t get it at first, but when you realize what he means, your body becomes rigid. You look up at him expecting a teasing look, yet, you’re faced with something totally unexpected.
His gaze is locked on you, and he looks restless, impatient even. And the intense look he’s giving you at the moment, as if he’s not here for a photoshoot but to consume you fully, does something to you. He looks like he yearns for you. Hoseok doesn’t yearn, you think. He loathes me. He’s trying to play with me.
Thankfully, you learned how to play his games by now, so you scoff, and straighten your spine as if there’s no heat rushing between your legs. “Are you a child? Dress yourself.”
He lightly chuckles, like that was exactly what he expected from you. However, the look on his eyes stays the same as his expression goes back to normal.
After three outfits and two hours, the shoot was about to be done. Yet, once again you were left in a very uncomfortable situation with him.
You did the huge mistake of letting the makeup artist leave an hour ago, only to find Hoseok smudging his eye makeup a few minutes ago.
Now, he was waiting for you inside the makeup room to fix his makeup.
In your head, you scream at him for being the most annoying person you know but choose silence when you walk into the room to proceed with your job.
You stop the moment you see him sprawled on the makeup chair, legs open wide, his naked torso on display under his leather jacket. You blink a few times, to see if you’re hallucinating but nope, he wasn’t wearing anything under that jacket.
“My eyes are up here, doll.” Amusement dances in his voice.
You furrow your brows, and your heels click as you walk up to him in the silent room. You put the brushes in your hand on to the desk, and nudge his leg so he would close them for you to work around.
Instead, he grabs your waist, and with one swift move, you find yourself on his lap.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“It’s only us, it’d be more comfortable.” You look at him as if he’s out of his mind, and he looks at you back. You feel restless as you reach for the brushes you put down a minute ago, not that sitting on his leg is uncomfortable, but on the contrary, you fear that you never want to get up.
Whatever this tension between the two of you was, it scared you. Something crawled under your skin every time you were in the proximity of him, because you remember how gentle he once was, and you craved that so badly. And it was stupid.
You order him to close his eyes, and surprisingly he listens this time. Your expression softens while taking in how beautiful he is, and as you grab the brush gently, you glide it over his eyelid, imagining it was your fingers touching his skin. Even though he annoyed you to the core, there was no lie that there were nights you touched yourself to the day you met. How perfectly his lips felt on yours, and the warmth his compliments caused in your heart.
You feel his warm breath over your nose when you lean in. A need to kiss him consumes you so bad, and that moment of distraction causes you to smudge the makeup. “Shit.” He blinks, and his eyebrow raises in a questioning motion. “I’ll fix it,” you say as you try to get up, but his hand stops you.
“I want us to be even,” he says. You give him a puzzled look, not fully understanding what he’s implying. He possibly cannot want to ruin your makeup, can he? “I want to, no-” His chest rises with the big breath he takes, and he groans with frustration. “I need to taste you.”
Silence fills up the whole space, the buzzing sound from the lights fill your ears. Your blood rushes to your face and you feel yourself burning. Your eyes do a whole rotation between his lips and eyes, and the more you linger, the more his gaze darkens.
You scoff, and say “It’s not the time to joke around.”
Because it’s not. Really not, when it’s only the two of you left at the building at this hour. Everyone’s left at least an hour ago, and you had no idea where the hell his manager was.
“Who says I’m joking?” He raises his hand to tuck a hair strand behind your ear and even though his eyes still burn with lust, his moves are gentle compared to the dark look on his face. His fingers move from your ear to your chin, and his thumb slowly grazes over your lower lip, feeling the softness and warmth of your flesh. “I’m very serious, doll.”
You open your mouth to say something but instead he sees it as an open invitation. His thumb finds its way to your mouth and unexpectedly your tongue swirls around, sucking it. You finally give up to your urges and welcome him to your body after five long years.
The way his skin tastes makes you forget everything in a second, and you curse the years you had to physically restrain yourself for not jumping on him. Hoseok, on the other hand, is surprised but nonetheless very pleased by your eagerness.
His finger leaves your mouth with a pop sound, smearing your saliva on your lips, and he brings his head closer to yours, inhaling your soft breath. “You look so beautiful when you look at me like that,” his voice vibrates against your mouth. “Like you need to be filled with my cock.”
You furrow your brows while you pull back, and he chuckles, not letting you go by holding your chin firmly. “You’re so annoying,” you say, and he simply answers by humming against you.
He places a wet kiss on your neck. You grab him tighter, leaning your neck to the side so he can keep going. He sucks the delicate skin, grazes his teeth along the length of your neck. His hand on your lower back finds an opening under your shirt, meeting with your scorching hot skin.
With one swift move, he stands up with you in his arms, turns around and places you back on the chair. Your faces line up as he kneels in front of you, and you try to catch your breath as you savor the view in front of you.
Hoseok, on his knees. Just for you.
“Are you gonna let me, baby? Hm, can I taste you?” He breathes into your neck, and you mumble a ‘yes, please,” in between your shaky breath. “Such a pretty girl with good manners.”
His praise sends shivers to your core, and you watch him with doe eyes as his hands find the zipper of your jeans. He removes it so slowly that you think he’s torturing you both.
However, he wastes no time lifting your legs up, pushing them back as much as he can to get a clear view of your wet panties. He gulps, blood rushes to his face with how transparent the fabric has become because of your wetness, and you realize a smug grin appear on his face. It was all because of him, for him.
“Hold your legs up for me,” he orders and you grab both your legs behind your knees and pull them even more to yourself.
He puts his right hand right above your heat, and his thumb starts drawing small circles around your clit through the soaked panties. Your whole body trembles with need. He keeps applying pressure, smearing your wetness all over the fabric. “Look at you, baby. So wet,” he bends down, placing a sloppy kiss on your stomach. “Is this all for me?”
You nod as he looks at you between your legs, and the view of his dark orbs makes your cheeks blush. Not that you are shy, no, but because of the look in his eyes that are purely primal, making you feel like a prey that will be devoured in a minute.
His eyes never leave yours as he continues going down on you. When he finally reaches your clit, he places one more kiss over the fabric to the swollen bud before sliding your panties to one side.
While his other hand keeps your panties on the side, his other hand smears your wetness from your folds to your clit. You grind your hips in the air, and beg “Please touch me.”
With that, his lips wrap around your clit. You yelp with the sudden contact, and your head falls backwards. Hoseok makes the most guttural sounds eating you out, as if he hadn’t eaten in days.
You swallow the moan you have coming, and when Hoseok realizes that he applies even more pressure with his tongue, going faster and faster. At one point, your efforts to stay silent becomes useless, and soon the makeup room is echoing with your moans. Yes, Hoseok, God…
Deep down you know that you’re being totally unprofessional, again, but you don’t even care about it at the moment. The fingers holding your leg moves downward, and he presses two long digits into your hole, in and out, and you leave your doubts behind. You only feel him.
Pressure in your core grows and grows.
Your orgasm quickly builds up, and it becomes harder to keep holding your legs up.
When he feels your walls clenching around him, his fingers start moving even faster, and he starts curling them inside. He goes feral, nibbling on your clit, stimulating the nub to the edge.
“I’m so close,” you shriek, and he purrs against your pussy.
“Come for me, baby.”
And that’s all it takes for you to let go, reaching that blissful, heavenly feeling. Your vision blurs, and you shake uncontrollably as he helps you ride your orgasm. Your mind goes blank, your lips curl upwards giddily. You let go of your legs, and he catches them for you, puts your feet on the floor gently before placing a peck on your thigh.
“You taste so good, even more than I could’ve ever imagined.” Hoseok caresses your thighs, and then your curves. “You look like a ruined angel,” he says, his hands massage your breasts over your button up blouse. “My beautiful angel.”
After a minute or five, when you finally feel your consciousness crawl back in your head, you sit up only to find Hoseok now standing right in front of you, his hip leaning on the makeup table, watching you with that rare warmth in his gaze.
His rock hard bulge under his jeans doesn’t escape your notice as you seize him up, and your hands reach out to his belt without much thought.
“What are you doing, y/n?”
“Removing your belt,” you bat your eyelashes at him, with the smallest of smile on your lips.
“Why?” He asks, his voice getting an octave lower.
You lean your head to one side like a puppy, and your fingers linger on the leather. “Need more of you.”
He straightens his posture, and takes a step towards you. He pats your head, massaging your scalp lightly. He keeps his chin high, looking like a Greek god from under, and he raises a brow. “Need me how, baby? Use your words.”
“Need you to fuck me, Hobi.” You answer immediately, and the nickname hits him hard. “I need to feel you inside me.”
“Shibal,” he murmurs under his breath, and you see his nostrils flare just a little.
“Would you?”
He tilts your chin a little, and his tongue pokes his cheek. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, pretty baby.” His free hand finds your fingers that are fidgeting on his belt, and he helps you undo it. “You are going to feel me for days.”
“Promises, promises…”
He chuckles, not giving into your mind games. You finally unwrap his belt, and move on with his pants. Soon, he is in front of you with nothing but his underwear and you can see the exact shape of his length under it. You wet your lips with your tongue, and hook your fingers around his boxers to remove it.
He lets you do it at your own pace, and you enjoy the slow anticipation building up in your core. His hardness greets you when you finally free him, and your fingers wrap around his cock, giving him a soft squeeze. You missed that feeling, no lies.
You’re practically drooling when you look up to him, your fingers coated with his pre-cum. His smugness doesn’t annoy you this time, instead, you’re filled with the desire to please him, taste him on your tongue once more.
You lean over, but you’re stopped on the track just when your mouth is inches away from him. “Uh-huh baby, we’re not doing that today.”
His hands suddenly wrap around your waist, and you’re maneuvered over the table in a whim. All the expensive makeup products scatter to the ground, and you yelp, but he doesn’t care. “You wanted me to fuck you,” he says, his mouth closer to yours than ever. “And that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”
He lines his cock, pulls your panties to side once again, and grinds himself to your folds. He keeps rubbing himself to you, and you both keep watching where your bodies meet. It’s insane how good it looks, as if he’s made to stretch you.
When he’s finally coated with your slick, he lines himself to your entrance. Inch by inch, he enters you, stretching your walls. You welcome the burning sensation that comes along with it, because it feels just right.
He rests his head on yours, and the tip of his nose pokes yours. “Fuck, you’re so tight-” He mumbles, and slowly his movements gain speed. “You feel so good.”
You mumble nonsense, it’s impossible to think when he’s so deep within you, and his cock hits every spot you did not know existed. You cry out his name, and your long nails draw red lines across his stomach.
You feel his core muscles tighten under your touch, and his thrusts become deeper. His pelvis hits just at the right spot on your clit, causes your senses to heighten with each movement of his.
The pleasure wraps you, consumes you as a whole. You forget where you are. You forget what were you doing. You nearly forget your own name. He makes sure to fuck you until you forget everything but him.
“I should’ve-” Thrust. “Done this,” Another hard thrust. “Much sooner.”
His words makes you blink and you bite inside of your cheeks. He looks as disheveled, as ruined as you. The expression on his face adds to the coiling up in your stomach, and you finally hold him from the dangly necklace he’s wearing and pull himself to you.
Your lips clash, and you moan directly into his mouth.
He slows down for a moment, only to go faster in the blink of an eye.
You feel tears welling up on your lashes, the stimulation becoming too much to bear each second.
“Would you let me cum in you?” He asks, his voice barely a breathy whisper. “Please.”
You clench with the word please, because it feels so intimate, so gentle. “Yes, fill me Hobi. Please.”
No more words get exchanged between you two, your walls tighten around him, your orgasm hits you and you scream his name. Your pleasure doubles when hot, creamy liquid starts filling your insides.
Your mind goes blank, and your head falls onto his chest, which is now wet with glistening sweat. You can feel his heartbeat right under you, and you stay like that until both of your breathing turns to somewhat normal.
Your legs wobble when he finally leaves your warmth, “Don’t!” you whine, craving to be filled once more as the emptiness hits you.
“We can continue later, baby” he says, caressing your cheek before kissing you deeply, and you’re glad that his voice is still gentle, and the warmth in his eyes are still very much present. And the thought of later wakes up the butterflies in your stomach.
Suddenly, you’re both dragged into the real world when his phone blinks twice.
He rolls his eyes, but when he reads the message on his phone you see him holding back a wicked grin. You furrow your brows, wondering what’s written on the text, but your curiosity doesn’t last long as he shows the message from his manager.
“If the two of you are done, we need to finish this shoot and leave for the flight.”
warnings: Hobi should be a warning himself, raw sex, oral (f & m receiving), lots of teasing, nicknames used (baby, doll), semi-public? maybe, fingering
a/n: so, I started writing this fic a while ago, but finally finished it. do I need to say that I'm such a whore for Hobi? and also, I suck at finding titles for fics so I go with whatever song I'm listening to.
-
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath as you turn to Kyle, your assistant, with fire in your eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me that his shoot was today?”
He stutters as he answer. “It’s not,” and while you give him a suspicious look, he hands you the weekly timetable.
You quickly skim the piece of paper filled with dates, and your eyes finally land on his name.
Jung Hoseok, 29 May. 14:30. Cover Shoot.
It was already 19:45, the timetable did not include any information about a cover shoot, and most importantly it wasn’t the 29th of May.
Without any thought, you crumble the paper in your hand before you start heading to his direction, with the best attempt to hide the murderous look on your face.
Hoseok was one of your first clients.
You met him back when you were still new in the field. You were working day and night then, trying to gain the respect of the head photographer of the company you were working for. Just when you became her second shooter for a magazine shoot, the universe simply decided that it wasn’t your time yet, and you met Jung Hoseok.
He was the most handsome man you’ve ever met, much more handsome than the photos you’ve seen of him online. His natural raspy voice was so hot, and you could listen him talk the whole that. Maybe that’s why he had you wrapped in his fingers from the very first moment you laid your eyes on him.
You were on your knees the second you were left alone with him in the changing room; sucking him off, intoxicated with the praises his godly voice was whispering between his moans.
You never thought you were the one to get off on another’s pleasure, but he changed that for you. He was extremely vocal, and his pleasure came along with words. Words that praised you, made you feel important. And you could swear you’ve never felt more beautiful in your life than the moment his salty taste hit your tongue, and he mouthed the word “Ethereal,” as his dark eyes locked into yours while he cleaned the cum stain on your lips gently with his finger.
He was fairly new to his rap career as well, and you were naive enough to believe that he would understand your nervousness given that it was his first big shoot.
It was his first big campaign, yes, but you couldn’t have been more wrong about him being understanding.
Jung Hoseok was a professional since day one, and he was a completely different person than the one who had you on your knees. He was calm, collected. He knew how to pose, he knew his best angles. And on top of all that, he was a total perfectionist. Just like him being vocal about his pleasure, he was very vocal about his dislikes too.
And he disliked your work, quite a lot.
You’ve seen him many times after that incident, dealt with his annoying comments in every collab, but refused to work with him, even if it meant losing big money.
And now marks five years since his cruel comments about your work got you fired.
An annoying smirk etches on to his face as he sees you coming towards him, but your eyes stay on his manager.
“I assume there was a misunderstanding with the schedule,”
“Ms. y/l/n! Thank you for accepting to change the schedule last minute!” His manager says smiling.
“What change?” You ask, still believing that it’s only a mistake and he’ll be out of your studio in a minute.
“I have to go to New York tomorrow, will be gone for a week.” That sweet, venomous voice fills your ears. “So you accepted my last minute request to do the shoot today.”
You grit your teeth as you finally look into his eyes. “I don’t remember such request.
He takes a step towards you, and his frame appears to be much closer to you then he should be. Now, you can smell his cologne, and it reminds you back to that day. Fuck, what was wrong with him? No, what was wrong with you?
“I contacted with the team manager yesterday, she said you had time.” His manager answers, but you don’t bother looking his way. In the studio behind you, you search for the said group manager who is a close friend of yours, Suki.
From the other end of the room, she watches your conversation with them, and her expression is far from guilty. A shit eating grin is what she has.
She was the only one in the team who knew about your acquaintance with Hoseok, so it wasn’t that hard to imagine what she had in mind when she accepted the offer in your place.
You show her your middle finger from afar, and completely ignore the team members walking around who seem to be surprised at your unusual attitude.
“When do we start?” He pokes your feet with the tip of his shoe. That annoying bastard.
“I’ll have to check if my second shooter is here today. His work was done a few hours ago.” You say, taking a step back. But his next sentence stops you on the track.
“I want you to take them.” There was a strong emphasis on ‘you’, which you did not expect at all. “I’ve seen your work, you definitely improved yourself.”
The audacity this man had.
You furrow your brows, and take a really deep breath.
“I’m not in the mood to handle your tantrums again, Hoseok.”
His heart shape lips curl with his name coming out of your mouth, and his slender figure bends towards you. “I’ll be nice.” His eyes focus on your lips for a second, and you do the same. You hate yourself for the first thought that came to your mind, reaching out and kissing the beautiful mole on his upper lip.
His manager coughs, and you both turn back to real life. You can’t help but feel a relief at the fact that he also looks as affected as you when he straightens back and averts his gaze.
Was he flustered?
No, you should be just imagining.
“What was it again?” You ask his manager. “Cover shoot right? What’s the concept?”
You already know the concept. You are the head photographer after all, you were there when his outfits were prepared. But, you needed a distraction. And this is the only thing you can imagine to buy some time.
“Same as the next album’s concept. Going for a darker look.”
“The stage for the shoot was prepared beforehand but I think we should still check it,” you say, focusing on work so you can act like he’s not standing so close that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. “There’s no specific room prepared for the artist though, and most people who take care of that stuff already left.”
It was nearly 8 pm now, way past your working hours. At least they pay you a lot, you thought. “You’re gonna have to use the common changing room, hope that’s alright.”
There’s silence for a second.
“Will you help me change?”
You don’t get it at first, but when you realize what he means, your body becomes rigid. You look up at him expecting a teasing look, yet, you’re faced with something totally unexpected.
His gaze is locked on you, and he looks restless, impatient even. And the intense look he’s giving you at the moment, as if he’s not here for a photoshoot but to consume you fully, does something to you. He looks like he yearns for you. Hoseok doesn’t yearn, you think. He loathes me. He’s trying to play with me.
Thankfully, you learned how to play his games by now, so you scoff, and straighten your spine as if there’s no heat rushing between your legs. “Are you a child? Dress yourself.”
He lightly chuckles, like that was exactly what he expected from you. However, the look on his eyes stays the same as his expression goes back to normal.
After three outfits and two hours, the shoot was about to be done. Yet, once again you were left in a very uncomfortable situation with him.
You did the huge mistake of letting the makeup artist leave an hour ago, only to find Hoseok smudging his eye makeup a few minutes ago.
Now, he was waiting for you inside the makeup room to fix his makeup.
In your head, you scream at him for being the most annoying person you know but choose silence when you walk into the room to proceed with your job.
You stop the moment you see him sprawled on the makeup chair, legs open wide, his naked torso on display under his leather jacket. You blink a few times, to see if you’re hallucinating but nope, he wasn’t wearing anything under that jacket.
“My eyes are up here, doll.” Amusement dances in his voice.
You furrow your brows, and your heels click as you walk up to him in the silent room. You put the brushes in your hand on to the desk, and nudge his leg so he would close them for you to work around.
Instead, he grabs your waist, and with one swift move, you find yourself on his lap.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“It’s only us, it’d be more comfortable.” You look at him as if he’s out of his mind, and he looks at you back. You feel restless as you reach for the brushes you put down a minute ago, not that sitting on his leg is uncomfortable, but on the contrary, you fear that you never want to get up.
Whatever this tension between the two of you was, it scared you. Something crawled under your skin every time you were in the proximity of him, because you remember how gentle he once was, and you craved that so badly. And it was stupid.
You order him to close his eyes, and surprisingly he listens this time. Your expression softens while taking in how beautiful he is, and as you grab the brush gently, you glide it over his eyelid, imagining it was your fingers touching his skin. Even though he annoyed you to the core, there was no lie that there were nights you touched yourself to the day you met. How perfectly his lips felt on yours, and the warmth his compliments caused in your heart.
You feel his warm breath over your nose when you lean in. A need to kiss him consumes you so bad, and that moment of distraction causes you to smudge the makeup. “Shit.” He blinks, and his eyebrow raises in a questioning motion. “I’ll fix it,” you say as you try to get up, but his hand stops you.
“I want us to be even,” he says. You give him a puzzled look, not fully understanding what he’s implying. He possibly cannot want to ruin your makeup, can he? “I want to, no-” His chest rises with the big breath he takes, and he groans with frustration. “I need to taste you.”
Silence fills up the whole space, the buzzing sound from the lights fill your ears. Your blood rushes to your face and you feel yourself burning. Your eyes do a whole rotation between his lips and eyes, and the more you linger, the more his gaze darkens.
You scoff, and say “It’s not the time to joke around.”
Because it’s not. Really not, when it’s only the two of you left at the building at this hour. Everyone’s left at least an hour ago, and you had no idea where the hell his manager was.
“Who says I’m joking?” He raises his hand to tuck a hair strand behind your ear and even though his eyes still burn with lust, his moves are gentle compared to the dark look on his face. His fingers move from your ear to your chin, and his thumb slowly grazes over your lower lip, feeling the softness and warmth of your flesh. “I’m very serious, doll.”
You open your mouth to say something but instead he sees it as an open invitation. His thumb finds its way to your mouth and unexpectedly your tongue swirls around, sucking it. You finally give up to your urges and welcome him to your body after five long years.
The way his skin tastes makes you forget everything in a second, and you curse the years you had to physically restrain yourself for not jumping on him. Hoseok, on the other hand, is surprised but nonetheless very pleased by your eagerness.
His finger leaves your mouth with a pop sound, smearing your saliva on your lips, and he brings his head closer to yours, inhaling your soft breath. “You look so beautiful when you look at me like that,” his voice vibrates against your mouth. “Like you need to be filled with my cock.”
You furrow your brows while you pull back, and he chuckles, not letting you go by holding your chin firmly. “You’re so annoying,” you say, and he simply answers by humming against you.
He places a wet kiss on your neck. You grab him tighter, leaning your neck to the side so he can keep going. He sucks the delicate skin, grazes his teeth along the length of your neck. His hand on your lower back finds an opening under your shirt, meeting with your scorching hot skin.
With one swift move, he stands up with you in his arms, turns around and places you back on the chair. Your faces line up as he kneels in front of you, and you try to catch your breath as you savor the view in front of you.
Hoseok, on his knees. Just for you.
“Are you gonna let me, baby? Hm, can I taste you?” He breathes into your neck, and you mumble a ‘yes, please,” in between your shaky breath. “Such a pretty girl with good manners.”
His praise sends shivers to your core, and you watch him with doe eyes as his hands find the zipper of your jeans. He removes it so slowly that you think he’s torturing you both.
However, he wastes no time lifting your legs up, pushing them back as much as he can to get a clear view of your wet panties. He gulps, blood rushes to his face with how transparent the fabric has become because of your wetness, and you realize a smug grin appear on his face. It was all because of him, for him.
“Hold your legs up for me,” he orders and you grab both your legs behind your knees and pull them even more to yourself.
He puts his right hand right above your heat, and his thumb starts drawing small circles around your clit through the soaked panties. Your whole body trembles with need. He keeps applying pressure, smearing your wetness all over the fabric. “Look at you, baby. So wet,” he bends down, placing a sloppy kiss on your stomach. “Is this all for me?”
You nod as he looks at you between your legs, and the view of his dark orbs makes your cheeks blush. Not that you are shy, no, but because of the look in his eyes that are purely primal, making you feel like a prey that will be devoured in a minute.
His eyes never leave yours as he continues going down on you. When he finally reaches your clit, he places one more kiss over the fabric to the swollen bud before sliding your panties to one side.
While his other hand keeps your panties on the side, his other hand smears your wetness from your folds to your clit. You grind your hips in the air, and beg “Please touch me.”
With that, his lips wrap around your clit. You yelp with the sudden contact, and your head falls backwards. Hoseok makes the most guttural sounds eating you out, as if he hadn’t eaten in days.
You swallow the moan you have coming, and when Hoseok realizes that he applies even more pressure with his tongue, going faster and faster. At one point, your efforts to stay silent becomes useless, and soon the makeup room is echoing with your moans. Yes, Hoseok, God…
Deep down you know that you’re being totally unprofessional, again, but you don’t even care about it at the moment. The fingers holding your leg moves downward, and he presses two long digits into your hole, in and out, and you leave your doubts behind. You only feel him.
Pressure in your core grows and grows.
Your orgasm quickly builds up, and it becomes harder to keep holding your legs up.
When he feels your walls clenching around him, his fingers start moving even faster, and he starts curling them inside. He goes feral, nibbling on your clit, stimulating the nub to the edge.
“I’m so close,” you shriek, and he purrs against your pussy.
“Come for me, baby.”
And that’s all it takes for you to let go, reaching that blissful, heavenly feeling. Your vision blurs, and you shake uncontrollably as he helps you ride your orgasm. Your mind goes blank, your lips curl upwards giddily. You let go of your legs, and he catches them for you, puts your feet on the floor gently before placing a peck on your thigh.
“You taste so good, even more than I could’ve ever imagined.” Hoseok caresses your thighs, and then your curves. “You look like a ruined angel,” he says, his hands massage your breasts over your button up blouse. “My beautiful angel.”
After a minute or five, when you finally feel your consciousness crawl back in your head, you sit up only to find Hoseok now standing right in front of you, his hip leaning on the makeup table, watching you with that rare warmth in his gaze.
His rock hard bulge under his jeans doesn’t escape your notice as you seize him up, and your hands reach out to his belt without much thought.
“What are you doing, y/n?”
“Removing your belt,” you bat your eyelashes at him, with the smallest of smile on your lips.
“Why?” He asks, his voice getting an octave lower.
You lean your head to one side like a puppy, and your fingers linger on the leather. “Need more of you.”
He straightens his posture, and takes a step towards you. He pats your head, massaging your scalp lightly. He keeps his chin high, looking like a Greek god from under, and he raises a brow. “Need me how, baby? Use your words.”
“Need you to fuck me, Hobi.” You answer immediately, and the nickname hits him hard. “I need to feel you inside me.”
“Shibal,” he murmurs under his breath, and you see his nostrils flare just a little.
“Would you?”
He tilts your chin a little, and his tongue pokes his cheek. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, pretty baby.” His free hand finds your fingers that are fidgeting on his belt, and he helps you undo it. “You are going to feel me for days.”
“Promises, promises…”
He chuckles, not giving into your mind games. You finally unwrap his belt, and move on with his pants. Soon, he is in front of you with nothing but his underwear and you can see the exact shape of his length under it. You wet your lips with your tongue, and hook your fingers around his boxers to remove it.
He lets you do it at your own pace, and you enjoy the slow anticipation building up in your core. His hardness greets you when you finally free him, and your fingers wrap around his cock, giving him a soft squeeze. You missed that feeling, no lies.
You’re practically drooling when you look up to him, your fingers coated with his pre-cum. His smugness doesn’t annoy you this time, instead, you’re filled with the desire to please him, taste him on your tongue once more.
You lean over, but you’re stopped on the track just when your mouth is inches away from him. “Uh-huh baby, we’re not doing that today.”
His hands suddenly wrap around your waist, and you’re maneuvered over the table in a whim. All the expensive makeup products scatter to the ground, and you yelp, but he doesn’t care. “You wanted me to fuck you,” he says, his mouth closer to yours than ever. “And that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”
He lines his cock, pulls your panties to side once again, and grinds himself to your folds. He keeps rubbing himself to you, and you both keep watching where your bodies meet. It’s insane how good it looks, as if he’s made to stretch you.
When he’s finally coated with your slick, he lines himself to your entrance. Inch by inch, he enters you, stretching your walls. You welcome the burning sensation that comes along with it, because it feels just right.
He rests his head on yours, and the tip of his nose pokes yours. “Fuck, you’re so tight-” He mumbles, and slowly his movements gain speed. “You feel so good.”
You mumble nonsense, it’s impossible to think when he’s so deep within you, and his cock hits every spot you did not know existed. You cry out his name, and your long nails draw red lines across his stomach.
You feel his core muscles tighten under your touch, and his thrusts become deeper. His pelvis hits just at the right spot on your clit, causes your senses to heighten with each movement of his.
The pleasure wraps you, consumes you as a whole. You forget where you are. You forget what were you doing. You nearly forget your own name. He makes sure to fuck you until you forget everything but him.
“I should’ve-” Thrust. “Done this,” Another hard thrust. “Much sooner.”
His words makes you blink and you bite inside of your cheeks. He looks as disheveled, as ruined as you. The expression on his face adds to the coiling up in your stomach, and you finally hold him from the dangly necklace he’s wearing and pull himself to you.
Your lips clash, and you moan directly into his mouth.
He slows down for a moment, only to go faster in the blink of an eye.
You feel tears welling up on your lashes, the stimulation becoming too much to bear each second.
“Would you let me cum in you?” He asks, his voice barely a breathy whisper. “Please.”
You clench with the word please, because it feels so intimate, so gentle. “Yes, fill me Hobi. Please.”
No more words get exchanged between you two, your walls tighten around him, your orgasm hits you and you scream his name. Your pleasure doubles when hot, creamy liquid starts filling your insides.
Your mind goes blank, and your head falls onto his chest, which is now wet with glistening sweat. You can feel his heartbeat right under you, and you stay like that until both of your breathing turns to somewhat normal.
Your legs wobble when he finally leaves your warmth, “Don’t!” you whine, craving to be filled once more as the emptiness hits you.
“We can continue later, baby” he says, caressing your cheek before kissing you deeply, and you’re glad that his voice is still gentle, and the warmth in his eyes are still very much present. And the thought of later wakes up the butterflies in your stomach.
Suddenly, you’re both dragged into the real world when his phone blinks twice.
He rolls his eyes, but when he reads the message on his phone you see him holding back a wicked grin. You furrow your brows, wondering what’s written on the text, but your curiosity doesn’t last long as he shows the message from his manager.
“If the two of you are done, we need to finish this shoot and leave for the flight.”
Pairing: Economics-Tutor!Jin x Fine-Arts-Student!Reader
Genre: Brother’s Best Friend, Age Gap (5 years), Forbidden Crush, Fluff, Smut
Rating: 18+ | Minors DNI
Warnings: strong language, explicit sexual content (masturbation, oral [f receiving], fingering, protected sex, praise kink, good-girl kink, size kink mentions, slight possessiveness), age gap, brother’s-best-friend trope, fluff overloaded, comedy, aftercare, Yoongi being the most dramatic brother alive.
Word Count: ~6.5k
[MASTERLIST]
You’ve been in love with Kim Seokjin since you were sixteen.
It started innocently, the day he leaned over your study table to help you with math homework. He smelled like vanilla and some expensive cologne you didn't know the name. His voice was soft, low, warm. “Little one, this part is easy, look.”
You didn’t look.
You stared at his jawline and thought, Oh no.
You were sixteen, and he was twenty‑one... grown, beautiful, already everything you weren’t.
He had those wide shoulders under soft sweaters, the kind that made him look huggable and unfairly attractive at the same time.
He wore glasses when he read, pushing them up with one finger.
And when Yoongi said something savage with poker face, Jin laughed with his whole heart... this big, bright, windshield‑wiper laugh that filled the whole house.
He never saw you. Not the way you saw him.
To him, you were Yoongi’s annoying little sister who stole French fries and argued during movie marathons. And you hated how much you liked him anyway.
Fast-forward six years.
Over the years, Jin’s visits became less frequent, but your crush on him never faded. He avoided coming over too often, because somewhere in his heart he had developed a soft spot for you... as you’d grown into a stunning, confident woman.
Though stubborn as ever, he would rather brush it off than face the truth.
You’re twenty‑two now, in your third year of a fine‑arts program, and microeconomics is ruining your will to live.
Yoongi decides he’s had enough of your whining.
He doesn’t even look up from his laptop when he says, “Stop crying. I’m calling Jin.”
You choke on air. “DON’T YOU DARE.”
“He’s literally an economics professor now, that too at SNU,” Yoongi continues, typing away like this isn’t the worst betrayal of your life. “Let the man save your GPA.”
“I’d rather fail,” you grumble.
“You already are...”
You throw a pencil at him. He ignores it. Five minutes later your phone buzzes with a text from Jin -
Jin: “Hey little one. Heard you need help.”
You almost scream, heart racing, but manage to reply,
You: “Don’t call me that… I’m already twenty-two.”
Then fall into your pillow and scream again until your phone buzzes again:
Jin: “Sure... We will start next Monday.”
Monday comes too fast, like time is betraying you.
You stand outside his apartment door wearing the most unproblematic clothes you own... oversized hoodie, leggings, messy bun.
When Jin opens the door, the world just… blinks out.
He’s in a crisp white button‑up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, neck peeking through the undone top button. His hair is a little fluffy from the shower, cheeks pink from the cold.
He smiles, warm and effortless. Like nothing changed.
“Hey, little one,” he says, stepping aside so you can enter. “Ready to suffer for the sake of knowledge?”
Your knees almost buckle. “I… yeah… I mean, sure. Suffering is fine. Love that.”
He laughs softly. “You haven’t changed. Still dramatic.”
“Because you’re terrifying,” you whisper.
“What?”
“NOTHING. START THE LESSON.”
Inside, the apartment is warm and smells like coffee and something sweet—probably him. You sit on the couch, and he sits beside you… way too close. Your heart starts beating too loud.
He opens your notebook. “Okay. Show me what part you’re struggling with.”
“All of it.”
He snorts. “At least be specific.”
“Fine. I don’t get… anything.”
He taps the middle of the page with his red pen. “Then let’s start here. Look at the graph.”
“I am looking.”
“At the graph, kid.”
You immediately stare directly at the paper like your life depends on it. But he keeps talking, low and smooth, leaning in just enough that you can feel his breath on your cheek. “Supply moves this way… and demand moves this way… See? You’re getting it.”
“I’m really not.”
“You are...” he says softly, nudging your knee with his. “You just panic too fast.”
You blink at him. He just smiles like your whole world hasn’t flipped upside down. And then he leans a little closer, taps your page again. “Hey. Focus.”
You inhale sharply. His cologne is right there.
Soft. Warm. Vanilla. Just like when you were sixteen.
You doodle tiny hearts around the word elasticity in your notes, praying he doesn’t see.
He absolutely sees. He just smiles at the notebook and pretends he didn’t. You walk out of his apartment that night knowing the truth in your bones that you are doomed.
You are so, so painfully doomed.
It happens on rainy Thursday.
Your phone buzzes.
Jin: Stuck in a faculty meeting till late. Can you drop your assignment at my place? Passcode is 0492. Leave it on the desk, I’ll grade it tonight. Thank you, kid ❤
You nearly die at the heart emoji.
Two identical navy folders sit in your desk drawer... no labels, no names, just the same midnight-blue shade.
You grab the left folder without a second thought, completely sure it’s the economics one. Last night, when you finished the assignment, you were half-dead from exhaustion and sleep, and you kept it on the right side—but in your tired, half-conscious mind, you’re certain it’s on the left.
You grab the left folder, shove it into your tote, and sprint through the rain to his apartment, oblivious to the tiny mistake that’s about to turn everything upside down.
You place the folder neatly on his desk and flee before you can reconsider.
Jin walks in around 10pm, soaked from the rain. He loosens his tie, pours himself tea, and sits down, expecting neat graphs and careful numbers.
He opens the folder.
The first line hits him like a punch:
“I want him to push me face-down over this desk, fist my hair so tight it hurts, and fuck me until the only economics term I remember is ‘demand’.”
He chokes on his tea, coughing so hard his eyes water.
His hand slams down the mug.
There are no names. No title. Just page after page in your familiar, careful handwriting, detailing every filthy thought you’ve ever had about him.
He should close it. He really should.
But he can’t.
One paragraph turns into another, and his breath catches.
“What… are you doing to me, princess?” he whispers to the empty apartment, voice shaking.
He drags a hand over his face, glasses fogging, heart hammering.
He’s spent years building walls. Calling you “kid” or “little one.” Keeping his hands to himself when you hugged him goodbye. Reminding himself every day that you were Yoongi’s baby sister...
Off-limits. Too young. Too bright. Too everything.
He buried every feeling he felt for you since you turned adult, every stray thought that made his chest tight when you laughed at his stupid jokes.
Every time you wore those shorts in summer, forcing himself to look away. Every time you fell asleep on his shoulder and he draped a blanket over you, careful not to linger.
He had been so careful. So good.
And now… here you are.
Writing about him tugging your hair, spreading your thighs, whispering filths, telling you to be a good girl while he ruins you.
His body reacts before his brain can. His cock throbs painfully against his slacks. He stands so fast the chair rolls back.
He paces. He should burn it.
He should text you about mix-up or pretend it never happened.
He sits down again.
He reads the part where fantasy-him pins your wrists above your head and says, “You’ve been teasing me for years with those little skirts, haven’t you? Time to take responsibility, sweetheart.”
His hand is shaking. He closes the folder. He opens it again.
He whispers your name like it’s a sin. He gives up.
He locks his bedroom door, strips off his shirt, palms himself once over his pants and groans at how sensitive he already is.
He shoves his slacks and boxer-briefs down just enough, lies back on his bed, and wraps his hand around himself.
“Fuck,” he hisses, head falling back. “Fuck, baby...”
He strokes slow at first, eyes squeezed shut, trying to pretend this isn’t happening.
But your words are burned into his brain.
He speeds up, breath hitching.
His hand moving on its own, groans escaping him in the dark. Every line, every detail you wrote, every fantasy you dared to put on paper—burns into his mind, sets his body on fire.
He murmurs to the ceiling, voice low and rough, "Wanted to stay professional… wanted to call you kid… but you… you wrote that you want me to fuck you… you want me, baby…"
Minutes pass in a haze of guilt, lust, and disbelief. He can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe he’s giving in.
And yet, he does.
His hips jerk into his fist.
“You want me to pull your hair and tell you how long I’ve been hard for you... fuck... since you grown up into beautiful stunning woman...”
His free hand fists the sheets. “Wanted to spread you open on this bed and make you scream my name so many times you forget every other word... princess, you have no idea—”
He’s leaking over his fingers now, stroking faster, the slick sound obscene in the quiet room.
“Thought if I kept my distance... if I kept pretending you were just Yoongi’s little sister, then I wouldn’t want to ruin you... but you want it too, don’t you? Want me to fuck you stupid, want me to...”
He comes with a broken groan, your name spilling from his lips like a prayer and a curse, hips stuttering as he spills over his fist and stomach.
He lies there panting, heart racing, guilt and lust twisting in his chest.
Twenty minutes later he’s hard again. He flips onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow, whispering, “Shouldn’t… shouldn’t think of you like this…”
But he does. Because you wrote it. Because you wanted him.
And he… wanted you too.
Eventually, he collapses, flushed, wrecked, utterly defeated by his own desire... and by you.
You arrive to Jin’s apartment the next afternoon with a pure sunshine energy, tiny pleated skirt, cropped cardigan, hair in a high ponytail, completely oblivious to the chaos you’d already unleashed.
He opens the door looking like he’s been awake whole night. Logically, he was... Hair messy, eyes red-rimmed, throat raw from groaning and coughing all night.
“Hi, Oppa!” you chirp, kicking off your shoes. “Did I do good on my assignment?”
He freezes. Just… stares at you for a solid five seconds, throat bobbing like he’s swallowing broken glass.
“I-I…” he starts, voice cracking, and then he bursts into a coughing so violent he has to turn away, hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking.
You pat his back, panicked. “Oh my God, are you okay? Do you need water?”
He gasps out between coughs, eyes watering, “Y-Yes… assignment was excellent. Very… very detailed.”
Your chest lifts with relief. “Really? I worked so hard on those graphs and numericals!” You clap your hands, grinning like an idiot.
He just melts. Knees wobble.
Mouth opens slightly, like he can’t believe you’re standing there in front of him, looking so innocent and adorable like you didn't just ruin his sanity by writing those wild imaginations about him.
From that moment on, he’s a walking disaster.
You reach across the table to borrow his eraser, and your fingers brush his. He drops his pen, which bounces off the table and rolls under the couch.
You lean over to pick it up, skirt riding a little higher than you intended. He stares at the ceiling, hands clenching, like he’s praying for strength. Every time you bite your lip while concentrating, he turns his gaze away so fast.
You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He stares for five full seconds, glasses sliding down his nose, mouth slightly parted, breath catching. He pushes his glasses up at least forty-seven times in the hour.
He calls you “Y/n” whole time. He doesn’t dare say “kid” since then.
At one point, you stretch, and your cardigan rides up just enough to show a sliver of your stomach. He makes a strangled noise, knocking over his entire pencil case.
Later, Yoongi Face-Times him.
“Bro… are you sick?” Yoongi squints at the screen. “You look like death.”
“No. Yes. Maybe. Shut up,” Jin groans, voice hoarse, hair still messy as ever.
Yoongi smirks. “Did my sister finally kill you with her… terrible graphs?”
Jin doesn’t respond. He just hangs up, leaning back in his chair, muttering your name under his breath like a curse and a prayer.
You, completely oblivious, grin and start humming while flipping through your notes, and he… well... he’s never survived a tutoring session like this in his life.
Two nights later, you’re sprawled on your bed in an oversized shirt and tiny shorts, legs kicking lazily in the air. You’re all set to start writing a brand-new fantasy titled “Professor Kim spanking me red for getting a question wrong and then kissing it better.”
You hum to yourself as you reach under your drawer for your secret folder... the folder that holds all your filthy masterpieces. The folder you guard with your life. The folder that should definitely contain the most recent story.
And instead of sinful sentences and dirty scenarios and paragraphs about Jin’s hands pinning you to his desk, you find your real economics assignment staring back at you.
Neat, perfectly labelled economics graphs.
Your soul leaves your body.
You blink once. Twice. Thrice.
You rub your eyes with the heels of your palms. No change.
It’s still supply-and-demand curves. Innocent. Pure. Holy.
Your entire brain short-circuits. You stare at the paper, and every single embarrassing moment from the last two days smashes into you like a train.
The violent coughing when you asked about your assignment. The way he avoided looking at your face, like it was dangerous.
The dropped pens... The shaky hands... The tight throat...
The fact that he didn’t call you “kid” even once.
Your stomach doesn’t just drop... it goes into a different dimension.
“NO. NO NO NO... OH MY GOD NO...”
You jump on your bed so hard the headboard slams into the wall. You snatch your pillow, bury your entire face in it, and let out a scream that could shatter glass.
You start pacing across your room like a cartoon character having a mental breakdown. Hair wild, eyes huge, hands flailing.
“HE READ IT. HE READ EVERYTHING. HE SAW MY FANTASY ABOUT HIM. HE KNOWS I WANT HIM TO SPANK ME. HE KNOWS I WANT HIM TO CALL ME A GOOD GIRL. HE KNOWS I WANT TO... OH MY GOD—”
You collapse onto the mattress face-first and kick your legs like a toddler throwing a tantrum. You roll onto your back dramatically, throw your arm over your face, and consider your options:
Fake your death...
Run away to Antarctica and start a new life...
Dig a hole in the floor and live there forever...
Actually die right here, right now...
You sit up slowly, hair sticking up everywhere, eyes wide with pure horror.
And then... like the final blow... your mind replays his hoarse, embarrassed voice. “…very… very detailed.”
Your soul leaves your body.
You grab the pillow again and scream into it with every bit of energy left in your body.
You show up at his door at 10:47 p.m… since he lives just two streets away from yours. You stand there clutching the real economics folder like it’s a bomb.
Your palms are sweaty. You knock once. Twice.
Your knees feel like they’re made of jelly. Your brain is screaming, DON'T BE STUPID, but your feet have already carried you here.
The door swings open.
Jin is standing there in grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt, hair messy like he’s been running his hands through it all night.
His eyes widen the second he sees you.
“...You?” he whispers, voice hoarse.
You don’t even step inside. You don’t even breathe.
“You read the wrong folder… didn’t you?”
Your voice cracks. The words fall out too fast, too raw, too scared.
Jin freezes like someone just unplugged his soul. His hand tightens on the doorknob. His throat moves as he swallows. Then...
“Yes,” he whispers.
He doesn’t even try to lie. “I… I did.”
Your stomach flips so hard you almost drop the folder. He takes a shaky breath, like he’s confessing a crime.
“I opened it thinking it was your assignment,” he says, voice soft and broken. “But the first line... it was about me. I should’ve stopped. I swear I tried to stop. But I… fuck... I couldn’t.”
Your heart slams against your ribs.
“I kept reading,” he admits. “And the more I read, the more I... Oh... God.” He shuts his eyes tight for a moment. “I shouldn’t have. I know I shouldn’t have.”
You can’t breathe.
His eyes open. He takes one shaky step back, dragging a hand through his hair.
“I used it,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. His cheeks burn red. His breathing turns uneven. “I touched myself after reading your words. Twice. Maybe more. I lost count. I just... I tried to forget, but everything you wrote... your thoughts about me—it drove me insane.”
Your own breath stutters. He steps back from the door like he’s afraid he’ll accidentally touch you.
“I’ll stop tutoring you,” he blurts. “I’ll delete your number. I’ll disappear if that’s what you want. Just... please don’t hate me. I never wanted to lose your respect. I never wanted you to find out like this.”
You blink. Then you step forward. One slow step into his space.
Close... so close you can feel the warmth coming off his body. Jin’s breath catches. His eyes widen like you’ve just broken all the rules of physics.
“...You’re not running,” he whispers. “Why aren’t you running?”
“Because,” you breathe, “I didn’t come here to be mad.”
His lips part in shock. You reach up, grab the front of his shirt, and tug him down. The kiss crashes into him so suddenly he gasps against your mouth. He tastes like chamomile tea and something sweet and warm.
For a moment he’s frozen.
Then his hands fly to your waist, almost desperate, almost hungry for you, like he’s been waiting years. He pulls you closer... more closer... until your toes barely touch the floor.
You gasp softly into his mouth, and he shivers.
“Sweetheart…” he murmurs against your lips, voice swimming with emotion, “do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”
Your fingers curl into his shirt. “Do you have any idea what you did to me all these years?”
He lets out a shaky laugh, forehead dropping onto yours.
“I thought you’d never talk to me again. I thought you’d run away.”
His thumb brushes your cheek, his voice barely holding steady.
“Tell me,” he whispers, nose brushing yours. “Tell me what I did to you in those fantasies.”
Your breath trembles. “Everything,” you whisper. “You did everything.”
He bites back a groan, but there’s sweetness in his eyes... warmth you’ve never seen before. “Princess,” he murmurs with a crooked smile, “aren’t your imaginations a little too wild for someone like me? I’m not that… intense.”
You laugh... because his embarrassed smile is the cutest thing you’ve seen in your entire life. “You sure?” you tease softly. “Because they made you lose control.”
He groans, hiding his face in your neck for a second. “Don’t remind me.”
You cup his cheeks gently, pulling him back to look at you. He’s smiling now, soft and shy and a little breathless.
“I mean it,” he murmurs between soft kisses. “I’ll give you everything you wrote… just maybe with less hair-pulling and more forehead kisses.”
Your heart melts. You laugh again, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Then show me,” you breathe.
He kisses you again... slow, deep, full of emotion, pulling you against him like he’s afraid to let go. And that’s where the world fades into something warm and breathless and yours.
The laughter fades into the softest kiss he’s ever given you, like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he presses too hard. Your breaths mix. Your foreheads rest together. Your noses bump in the sweetest, clumsiest way.
Jin pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes glassy with wonder and affection. “I can't believe this,” he whispers, voice trembling at the edges.
“Me too,” you whisper back, fingers threading through the hair at his nape.
He kisses you again, slower this time, savoring every second. His tongue slides gently against yours, tasting, memorizing, like he’s asking, Is this okay? Do you want more?
You melt.
Your hands slip under the hem of his t-shirt, tracing the warm, smooth skin of his lower back. He shivers, a tiny, helpless sound escaping into your mouth.
“Take this off,” you mumble against his lips, tugging impatiently.
He breaks the kiss with a breathless laugh, grabs the back of his collar, and yanks the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, except his glasses get caught in the fabric. The shirt ends up half-inside-out, glasses dangling from one ear like a drunk man.
You burst out laughing.
He pouts, ears crimson. “Stop it, I was trying to be cool.”
“You’re adorable,” you tease, reaching up to carefully rescue his glasses and set them on the coffee table.
“Don’t laugh,” he grumbles, ears turning cherry-red. “I swear I’m usually cooler than this.”
“Sure you are,” you tease, giggling.
He narrows his eyes. “Come here.”
And then he kisses you so deeply your giggles melt into a breathless moan. Your hands roam across his bare chest now—warm, solid, so real under your fingertips.
His big hands slide down your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your thin top. You arch into the touch with a soft whine.
“Arms Up,” he murmurs, tugging at the hem.
You lift them, and he pulls your top and cardigan off slowly... so slowly it makes your whole body warm. When your bra is the only thing left, he just stops and looks.
Stares. His mouth parts. His chest rises like he forgot to breathe.
“You’re…” He swallows hard. “You’re beautiful. I can’t think straight.”
Your cheeks heat up instantly. “Don’t say stuff like that,” you mumble.
“It’s true,” he says softly, stepping closer. “So true it scares me.”
He leans down and kisses your collarbone. A soft, warm kiss. Then another, lower. Then another, right between your breasts.
Your breath catches.
He kisses, lips feather-soft, tongue peeking out to taste your skin. When he reaches the lace edge of your bra he looks up, eyes dark and questioning.
“Can I?”
You nod, biting your lip.
He reaches behind you with one hand, unhooks your bra on the first try, and slides the straps down your arms like he’s unwrapping something sacred. The lace falls away and he actually sighs, long and shaky.
“Perfect,” he whispers, cupping one breast gently, thumb brushing over your nipple.
You gasp, back arching. He smiles against your skin and takes the peak into his mouth, warm and wet and gentle, swirling his tongue until your head falls back against the couch cushion.
“Jin...” you whimper.
He groans against your skin like the sound destroys him.
He kisses and licks you gently, worshipfully, his hand kneading your other breast as he switches sides, giving each one equal attention, slow and patient.
“Jin…” you gasp, fingers buried in his hair. “Feels so good…”
He lifts his head just enough to murmur against your skin.
“I know, princess… I know. I want you to feel everything. I want to learn every way your body likes to be touched.”
He kisses lower. Then higher. Then circles you again with his tongue until your thighs squeeze around him on their own.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion. “Let me make you feel good.”
Your skirt comes next.
Jin’s hands move so slowly. He finds the zipper at your hip and pulls it down one tiny click at a time, kissing every bit of skin he uncovers like he’s unwrapping a gift he’s waited years for.
“Come here, relax...” he murmurs, guiding you back onto the couch with gentle hands on your waist.
You sit, heart pounding. When his fingers curl into the waistband of your panties, you lift your hips without him saying a word, trusting him completely.
He drags the lace down your legs inch by inch, his lips following the fabric, kissing your thighs… your knees… even the soft, sensitive place behind them that makes your breath catch.
By the time your panties hit the floor, your whole body is shaking.
He kneels between your open legs, sitting back on his heels like he’s kneeling in front of something holy. His eyes travel slowly, hungrily, but with so much awe it makes your throat tight.
“Jin…” you whine, trying to close your legs out of sudden shyness.
His voice comes out low, ruined. “Don’t hide from me. Please. Let me look at you. Let me worship you.”
There’s no command in it. Just longing. You force yourself to relax, opening up again, and the sound he makes is almost a sob. He leans in and presses the softest kiss right above your clit, like he’s touching something fragile.
“Do you know how many nights I thought about this?” he whispers against your skin. “Every time you showed up to tutoring in those tiny skirts… I almost lost my mind.”
You shake with a breathless laugh. “You’re such a pervert.”
“Oh... Look who is talking,” he murmurs, and then his tongue slides up your center in one long, slow stripe.
You moan at the same time he does.
He’s patient... so patient, it hurts. Long, warm licks that make your toes curl… then soft, teasing flicks over your clit that have your hips lifting off the couch.
Every time you get close, he pulls away to kiss your inner thigh, smiling against your skin when you whine and tug at his hair.
“Easy, princess,” he says, voice muffled and sweet. “I waited so long. Lemme take my time.”
He pushes one finger inside you... slow, careful, watching your face like he’s seeing something precious unfold.
“Oh God…” he groans. “You’re so wet. Is this all for me?”
“Only for you,” you breathe, not even thinking.
His breath stutters. He adds a second finger, opening you gently, curling them until your whole body arcs forward. His thumb brushes your clit in little soft circles that make your legs shake.
Then his mouth is back, sucking lightly, tongue moving right where you need him. You’re gasping, trembling, thighs closing around his head like you’re trying to hold onto the pleasure.
“Come for me,” he whispers into you, voice vibrating against your skin. “Wanna taste you so bad.”
It hits you like a wave crashing... sudden and overwhelming.
You cry out, back lifting off the couch, fingers pulling his hair in desperate handfuls. He doesn’t stop. He licks you through every second, whispering soft praises between breaths.
“There you go… that’s it, baby… my good girl… my beautiful girl… I’ve got you.”
You feel him shift slightly, and your eyes widen when you realize... his boxers are damp. He’s come just from watching you, just from touching you and tasting your sounds.
His lips brush against your inner thighs as he exhales shakily. “Shit… baby, you have no idea what you do to me,” he groans, voice cracking. “Watching you… feeling you… it’s too much. I couldn’t hold back.”
When your body finally melts into the cushions, weak and loose and glowing, he climbs up slowly — kissing your knees… your thighs… your stomach… your chest… your throat… your collarbone... your jaw…
And when he finally reaches your mouth, you taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss is slow, deep, like he’s trying to merge with you.
“I’m still… still so hard for you,” he admits, cheeks flushed. “You make me lose control… even when I’m trying to be patient.”
You bite your lip, heart hammering.
“Jin…” you whisper, breathless.
His forehead touches yours. His breath fans across your lips. He holds your face like you’re something precious. And you’ve never felt more adored.
Your hands brush along his hips, fumbling at the waistband of his sweatpants. He groans softly and helps, tugging them down together. They get stuck around his ankles and he laughs breathlessly, eyes dark, finally kicking them off clumsily.
He’s already hard, flushed and slick from coming earlier, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. Your hand wraps around him instinctively, stroking slow, reverent, and he hisses, hips jerking involuntarily.
“Fuck... Baby...” he gasps, voice shaky.
“Condom,” you say, steadying him, eyes locked on his.
“Wallet… coffee table… don’t move,” he pants, fumbling to reach it. He nearly falls over, grabs it triumphantly, then drops it twice while trying to tear the foil with trembling hands.
You’re laughing so hard, breathless, that tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Stop laughing at me,” he whines, cheeks pink. “I’m nervous! Even after… that…”
“You’re cute,” you murmur, tugging him down for a kiss that melts the tension between you both.
He settles between your thighs, nudging your legs wider with his knees. Even after having come just moments ago, the head of him brushing against you makes your stomach flutter and heat rush between your thighs.
He meets your gaze, pupils blown, voice low and hoarse. “Ready?”
You loop your arms around his neck, heart hammering.
“Yes...” you whisper.
He exhales shakily, pressing in slowly, inch by inch, eyes glued to your face as he moves. Every movement is careful, reverent, like he’s memorizing you.
The stretch hits you hard, burning in a way that makes your breath hitch. You gasp softly, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by how full and strange it feels.
“Jin… it’s my first time,” you whisper, voice trembling, fingers clutching his shoulders.
His chest rises and falls quickly, forehead dropping to yours. His eyes soften as he sees the tiny tears forming. “Shh… I know, baby,” he murmurs, brushing them away with the back of his hand. “I’m here. I’ll be gentle.”
He leans down to kiss your tears, lingering with soft, slow pressure, then presses his forehead against yours. “Told you I’m not that intense… not like your imagination,” he whispers, voice low and soothing.
You nod, lips trembling, and he starts to move again... slow, careful thrusts that let you adjust, letting the burning stretch ease bit by bit. Every motion is filled with desire, but he watches your reactions constantly, pausing if you flinch, murmuring encouragement, placing soft kisses on your forehead, temples, and cheeks.
“I’ve got you, baby… just relax… breathe with me,” he coos, fingers stroking your arms and back, grounding you.
Your whimpers are small, shaky, a mix of pain and pleasure, and he hums against your skin, letting you feel safe even as your body opens up to him.
“So good… you’re doing so well, my perfect girl,” he praises, lips brushing yours in fleeting, gentle kisses between thrusts.
Every little sound you make — a gasp, a soft moan, a tearful whine, sends a thrill through him, but he never rushes. He’s patient, tender, making your first time feel… safe, cherished, and utterly, completely his.
“Feels… okay?” he asks, voice husky.
“Y-yes… Jin… don’t stop,” you whisper, clutching him tighter.
He smiles softly against your temple. “I’ll never rush you, baby. Just us… together…”
And even as your body trembles around him, overwhelmed, he keeps you steady, loving, and utterly cared for.
“God… baby, you feel so good,” he groans, lips brushing yours between thrusts, voice raw with emotion. “You’re mine… all mine… So warm… so perfect around me.”
You wrap your legs higher around his waist and he groans, pace faltering. “Like that?” you tease.
“You’re evil,” he laughs breathlessly, kissing you messy and open-mouthed. He slips a hand between you, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing soft, perfect circles.
“Come with me?” he asks, voice breaking. “Please, baby, want to feel you...”
You’re already there, clenching around him, crying out into his mouth as you shatter. He follows seconds later, hips stuttering, burying his face in your neck with the softest, sweetest moan of your name you’ve ever heard.
You stay tangled like that, sweaty, giggling, trading lazy kisses and whispered nonsense.
He eventually pulls out carefully, ties off the condom, then collapses beside you, pulling you into his chest like he never wants to let go.
You trace lazy hearts over his skin, arms tight, heart racing, knowing in that moment, he’s not holding anything back, and neither are you.
Afterwards, the world feels soft, warm, and golden.
Jin lifts you carefully to his bedroom, cradling you like you’re made of porcelain. “Careful, don’t move too much… I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice low and tender. He lays you down on the cool sheets, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.
He disappears for a moment and comes back with a warm, damp cloth, holding it like it’s a treasure. “Let me clean you, baby,” he whispers, eyes soft, full of awe.
He strokes you slowly, carefully... thighs, tummy, hipbones, pressing feather-light kisses to every spot.
“Does it hurt anywhere?” he asks, thumb tracing your skin gently.
“No… maybe a little... just… new,” you whisper, cheeks flushed, eyelids heavy. “But… it feels good. You’re so gentle.”
He smiles, shy, almost embarrassed. “I have to be gentle. Can’t have my princess hurt.” His hands linger, rubbing slow, reassuring circles, calming the last of your shivering.
“You okay, baby?” he asks again, voice hoarse from all the earlier moans.
You nod, sighing, feeling safe and floating. “More than okay. You were… perfect.”
He grins, brushing your damp hair from your forehead. “I’ve wanted this for so long… just holding you, keeping you close…” he confesses, nuzzling his nose against your temple.
You snuggle into his chest, nose against his collarbone. “Me too… even when you kept calling me ‘kid’ all those years.”
He chuckles softly. “I was trying so hard to keep my distance.”
“You were terrible at it,” you tease, giggling.
“Terrible… but look at us now,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. Each kiss is slow, sweet, like he’s trying to memorize you.
He shifts slightly, pulling the comforter over both of you and tucking you snugly against his chest. “I’m not letting you go now,” he murmurs, arms tightening around you. “Not ever.”
You rest your head against him, breathing in the warmth and the faint scent of vanilla on his skin. “Promise me we’ll… always be this close,” you whisper.
“Always,” he replies without hesitation. He presses one last lingering kiss to your temple. “Sleep now, baby. I’ll be right here. Always.”
You drift off to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, warm arms around you, his quiet murmurs of “I love you” drifting into your dreams, each one a promise, each one a safe place.
Morning sunlight filters through the curtains.
You’re curled on the couch now, wearing Jin’s oversized white shirt, legs tangled with his, his arms wrapped possessively around you. Jin is still half-asleep, nuzzling your neck, murmuring something about pancakes when...
Beep beep beep beep—
The front door lock disengages.
Min Yoongi walks in with two takeout bags of breakfast, still in yesterday’s hoodie, eyes bloodshot from an all-night studio session.
He spent the entire night locked in his studio, headphones on, oblivious to the fact that his little sister never came home.
He freezes in the doorway.
You are literally draped over Jin like a koala, hickeys blooming on your neck, thighs on full display under Jin’s shirt. Jin’s arms are around your waist, boxers riding low, hair a disaster, and he blinks awake with a confused
“Hm—?” Then it clicks.
He remembers... Saturday morning. Weekend. He told Yoongi to come over for breakfast and gaming because he was pulling an all-nighter… and Yoongi had already known his passcode.
His blood runs cold.
“YOONGI, DON’T LOOK...!” Jin shrieks, trying to cover you with his entire body.
Too late. Yoongi’s eyes go comically wide.
The breakfast bags hit the floor with a tragic splat.
“HYUNG!!!. MY SISTER???” he roars. “KIM SEOKJIN, I WILL END YOUR BLOODLINE—”
He grabs the nearest weapon... a rolled-up economics textbook from the coffee table.
Jin scrambles, holding a pillow in front of you like a shield. “YOONGI, WAIT... IT’S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE... okay it’s exactly what it looks like but—”
You squeak and dive under the blanket completely, voice muffled, “OPPA, I’M TWENTY-TWO, I CAN MAKE CHOICES...”
Yoongi charges. “CHOICES?? HE’S BEEN CALLING YOU KID SINCE YOU WERE IN DIAPERS—”
“THAT’S NOT TRUE, I WAS LIKE SIXTEEN… ANYWAYS WE BOTH ARE ADULT NOW—” you yell from under the blanket.
Jin is running backward around the couch, arms flailing. “I’M IN LOVE WITH HER, OKAY?? I’M GONNA MARRY HER—”
Jin, panting, red-faced, “I said I’m gonna marry her, put the textbook down—”
Yoongi blinks. You peek out from the blanket, hair a mess, cheeks flaming. “Morning, oppa…”
Yoongi lowers the textbook slowly. He looks at you, smiling proudly like an idiot despite the chaos. He looks at Jin... terrified but determined.
He sighs, long and suffering.
“If you ever hurt her,” he says calmly, “I will leak your nudes that you mistakenly sent me instead of some girl named Yoonji during our freshman year.”
Jin pales. “Those were artistic—”
“And I will produce a diss track,” Yoongi continues. “Featuring every embarrassing story from our college days.”
You burst out laughing.
Jin drops to his knees dramatically. “Yes, sir. Understood, sir.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes, picks up the fallen breakfast bags, miraculously not much damage done, and mutters, “Get dressed, lovebirds. I’m not eating with you half-naked.”
He walks to the kitchen like a tired dad.
You and Jin look at each other.
You both start giggling like idiots, leaning against each other.
He pulls you into his lap, arms tight, and presses a soft kiss to your temple. You lean into him, laughter still bubbling, feeling safe, warm, and dizzy with happiness.
From the kitchen, Yoongi’s voice cuts through, “Lovebirds, if I hear one more kiss, I swear I’m throwing this pan at your face, Hyung.”
You both snort, Jin nuzzles your hair, murmuring, “Guess we’d better keep it down… Can't let my handsome face get hurt.”
A/n: This one for the anon who missed my Jin ffs, since I was already working on it. ❤
᯽ genre: fluff, established relationship, slice of life
᯽ word count: 2.1k
᯽ summary: when your boyfriend won’t admit he’s scared after playing a new horror video game, yet you can tell from the way he needs to feel you close.
᯽ a/n: um, hello?? it’s been a while everyone omg. i haven’t written in agessss and can confidently say i was (am?) going through my worst writer’s block yet, but streamer guk made an appearance and so did my inspiration lol. if anyone is still here, i hope you enjoy this small piece~
Jeongguk wasn’t someone easily frightened. In fact, he took pride in being one of the most nonchalant among his group of friends when it came to horror media; and he most particularly took pride in the fact that he was the one to bring you comfort whenever you felt uneasy—watching horror films being secretly one of his favourite things to do with you, just because it gave him an excuse to pull you closer to him and reassure you that none of it was real and that, even if it was, he would be there to protect you.
So, when you went out with your friends that evening and Taehyung called him up to play a new horror video game that had just been released earlier that week, he didn’t think much of it. Granted, horror video games weren’t really at the top of his list, since so far not a single one had managed to actually give him chills, but he was willing to give it a try as long as it meant having some quality gaming time with his friend.
Three hours into the game, however, he had jumped on his seat and cursed at the screen more times that he could count—the hostile graphics and the overall dark vibes the game had been built around, managing to scare him like no other had been able to before.
It was interesting, though. Addictive, even. Just enough for him not to be able to turn it off and call it a night no matter how many times he had threatened with doing so after being mercilessly jumpscared over and over.
Entertaining enough for him not to notice his phone lightning up with the text you had just sent him, letting him know you would be home within the next ten minutes.
With the lights of his gaming room being off, the black headphones covering his ears keeping him from hearing anything other than the sinister soundtrack of the game and Taehyung’s uncensored cursing, and a new jumpscare threatening with showing up at any given second, he didn’t feel you come home by the time you had let him know.
So, when he felt two arms wrapping around his neck and someone’s nose lightly nudging his cheek, he did the only acceptable thing anyone could do in that situation.
“Ahhh!” He screamed, taking his headphones off as he pulled away like your touch had just burned him in the most painful of ways. “Fuck!”
You stood there dumbfounded, unable to choose whether you wanted to laugh or to worry about him when his gaming chair hit the wall next to him, as he had violently rolled away in his instinctive attempt to run away from the—apparent—danger.
Clutching his chest, he breathed out in relief when the adrenaline wore off and he realised it was you who had placed their arms around him, and not some sort of evil entity who wanted to vanish him from this world.
“Ah, baby” he whined, throwing his head back and letting out a breathy, shaky laugh, as he was having trouble catching his breath. “Don’t do this to me”.
“Sorry,” you apologised amidst a small giggle, offering him your hand to help him roll his chair back in front of his PC. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I tried talking to you but you wouldn’t hear me”.
He shook his head to let you know it was okay; turning his mic off and placing his headphones on his desk, ignoring Taehyung’s nosy questions before he paused the game and rested his head on his chair—just like that letting you know he was still trying to compose himself.
You didn’t hesitate to wrap your arms around him from behind again—gentler this time. When your chin rested on his shoulder and his hands held onto your wrists, drawing small circles on them, you smiled.
“New scary game?” You asked.
Jeongguk nodded. “It’s not that scary, actually…” he pointed out, having you biting down on your lip not to laugh at him right then. “You just caught me off guard”.
“Sorry, baby” you said again, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Won’t happen again”.
“It’s okay” he smiled sweetly, giggling under his breath when you pressed another one on the same spot, and then tilting his head just enough for your lips to press on his own when you leaned in for the third time. “I’m glad you’re home. What time is it?”
“Just a little past midnight” you let him know, looking down to the time displayed at the bottom of his PC.
“Did you have fun with the girls?”
“Mhm…” you nodded. “We’re all heading to Minie’s now, actually. Turns out we have too much to catch up on”.
“Oh, you’re heading out again?” He felt his heart sink.
“Yeah, I just came here to get that raspberry liquor my sister gifted me. The girls really wanted to try it out” you chuckled.
“Oh, okay” he gave you a small smile. “Have fun”.
“Will do” you pressed one last kiss to his mouth. “I won’t be back too late, you’ll probably still be glued to your PC when I do”.
Although he laughed lightly at your playful remark, he knew he fucked up the moment you closed the door behind you, leaving him all alone in the dark room, where the only light allowing him to tell a few things apart came from the game showing a blood stained room on the screen.
He felt way too uneasy to stay another second alone in there. So, letting Taehyung know he was calling it a night, he turned it off for once and for all—dying to run out of the room the moment the screen went pitch black and so did the room, yet walking out of there with a steady, non-urgent pace. He could still hear you in the apartment and he most definitely didn’t need you to know he was about to shit his pants because of a stupid video game he had been playing for three hours straight.
Relieved over the fact that the living room’s light was turned on, he walked over to the kitchen, where he could hear you rummaging through one of the top cabinets in search of the sweet liquor you had mentioned.
“Here, let me” he mumbled next to you—hand faintly resting on your lower back out of pure habit while he reached up to grab the pink bottle you were having trouble getting to.
“Thank you, baby” you cooed when he handed it to you.
Turning around to place it in your bag, you intended to head out right away, but were stopped by two arms snaking around your waist. Not ever dreaming of complaining, you let your boyfriend pull you to his chest before he could nuzzle your neck and place a few soothing pecks on your sensitive skin.
It was kind of crazy, how just holding you in his arms made him feel so safe.
“What’s wrong?” You asked after a minute, when you realised he had no intention of letting go of you just yet.
“Nothing” he was fast to reply—maybe too fast. “Can’t I love you for a little before you go?”
You chuckled, securely placing your hands on his. “You sure I’m gonna be allowed to go?”
“Yah,” he called you out, yet still wouldn’t lose his hold on you. “I’m not holding you hostage or anything”.
This time, you laughed wholeheartedly, resting your head on his chest and looking up at him lovingly. Watching the small pout on his pretty lips was all you needed to make up your mind. “I can stay, if you want me to”.
He perked up at that. Of course he wanted you to.
“But your girls night…” he reminded you, however.
He might’ve been scared, but that didn’t mean he wanted you to ditch your plans just like that in order to comply with his wishes.
You shook your head, with a soft smile letting him know he didn’t need to worry about that. “We can reschedule”.
When he didn’t look too sure about it, you undid his hold on you and turned around to look at him—feeling him give in to your touch when you tenderly cupped his cheeks.
“I’ll just tell them my boyfriend needs me here, they’ll understand”.
He scrunched his nose, leaning in to rest his forehead on your shoulder as a whine came out of his mouth. “They’re gonna think I was just horny”.
You cackled at his shameful remark, digging your fingers in his hair. “Wouldn’t be the first time” your words got him playfully pinching your hip—another small whine reaching your ears right as he did. “I can always just tell them you were playing a scary game and don’t feel like being alone at home now”
“I guess being horny isn’t that bad…” he gave up, earning another laugh from you as he straightened up to look at you. “I’m not scared though”.
“Didn’t say you were” you smiled cynically, getting a glare from him.
And he truly wasn’t. He just felt like following you into the living room the next second and staying glued to you while you called your friends to let them know you wouldn’t be coming that night anymore. He also just felt like following you into the bathroom later and keeping you company while you got ready for bed. He, too, just felt like brushing his teeth in your shared bedroom while you changed into your pajamas, and then leaving the bathroom’s door open when he headed back in to finish getting ready for bed as well.
He just felt like doing all those things all of a sudden. No ulterior motives were needed for it.
However, when you were lying in bed and he turned the lamp on his nightstand off, and instead of scooting closer to spoon you like he always did, he reached for your arms and pulled you closer to him as he turned his back to you, you could no longer play along with him.
“What’s so funny?” He wondered when he felt your chest slightly tremble against his back.
You shook your head no, scooting even closer to him as you pressed a lingering kiss to the back of his shoulder and embraced being the big spoon for once. “You’re so cute”.
“Just… you know, for a change” he incoherently mumbled.
“Oh, definitely” you did your best to play along once again. “So what was the game actually about?”
“It was just a generic horror game…”
“Yeah but, like, was it too graphic, or did it have to do with ghosts, or…”
“There wasn’t that much blood or anything,” he recalled. “But yeah, it did have to do with demons and just… jumpscares and stuff”.
Your eyebrows furrowed. “The supernatural and jumpscares don’t usually work on you, though”.
“Exactly,” he agreed, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know what happened tonight”.
This time, you couldn’t help but chuckle playfully. “Must’ve been since I wasn’t home to protect you”.
He chuckled as well, looking for your hand and intertwining your fingers before he brought it up to his chest. “Yeah, must’ve been it”.
“I’ll make sure to kick any demons that try to get you tonight,” you reassured him. “You can sleep soundly”.
“Oh, no, if any demons get inside I’m protecting you for sure” he pointed out, and you knew he meant it. “But just… don’t let go tonight”.
You felt your heart melt at his soft spoken plea.
“I’m not letting go any other night either, Guk” you promised, tightening your hold on him and nuzzling his nape—feeling him relax under your touch. “Next time you play a scary game, just let me know and I will hold you through the night”.
“Oh, I’m not playing any more horror games from now on”.
You laughed under your breath—knowing him too damn well to believe a single word from that sentence, yet still pressing one last kiss to his skin and drawing small circles on the back of his hand. You didn’t stop until you felt his breathing slow down and soft snores come out of his mouth. Even then, you didn’t let go of his hand through the entire night.
And one week later, when you heard Taehyung call him up to play the very same horror game that got him feeling so uneasy that night, you were true to your word—waiting for him wide awake in bed and opening your arms for him when he quietly crossed the door later that night, craving your presence as a whole and to feel safe in your arms one more time.
pairing: possessive!boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader (hoseok, yoongi and mingyu mentioned)
genre: smut, pwp
word count: 3.1k
summary: when an unknown problem appears and you realize jungkook is distant, you have to take matters into your own hands, and you do—quite literally.
warnings: faint silent treatment, emotional distance, relationship problems, anxiety, swearing, jealousy, possessiveness, fluid dynamic — dom/sub, nipple play, fingering, handjob, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), raw sex, teasing, edging, mention of threesome and cuckold.
note: hi my bubbas i’m sorry for being mia :( i was dealing with lots of mental health stuff, work was too much, i had two fics in the works that got me in a writers block in the end and yesterday i had too much to drink and right as i was slowly waking up, this is what i fantasized about sfhskfjslkfsjlkfjs. it’s kinda trash, but i just needed to WRITE, so that’s what i did. i hope you somewhat like it, let me know your thoughts! this might be my shortest smut fic? :O
Jungkook was mad at you, silently.
There was no fight. No exchange of words that would part the ever so incandescent dynamic between the pair of you, one that would even inflame the onlookers, igniting them with a fire so bright that it would burn them with either jealousy, envy or a passion so intense, they would leave your presence with a bubbly, buoyant feeling that there is still some good in this world. And in their curious, concerning wonder, you admitted to yourself that something was different.
Because despite his dissatisfaction, he still treated you with the same respect and love that you were used to.
Home-cooked meals three times a day with snacks in between. Water bottle ice-cold and filled every night. He slept facing you, and whenever heat crawled low in his abdomen, he would let you know by lightly touching your ribs, a physical language well-known and well-loved by you. You would arch your back and perch your bum against his groin in response, and he would take care of everything else. Slide down your pajama bottoms, take himself out of his own and slip it in, only to pull your body back to him by grabbing your neck because he can’t bear any distance. Skin to skin always, with his lips busy with some body part of yours.
Physical distance—there he never lacked, but in terms of the emotional one?
He fucked you good every night, but during the day, between the little hours you had for each other, you forgot the feelings that would pepper your chest whenever he would tell you he loved you. You forgot the kind of colors your flesh would flush with whenever he would mindlessly touch you just to touch you and not to initiate sex. You forgot the baritone of his voice whenever he would check in with you, talk profoundly and straightforwardly with you or the tenor whenever he would simply baby you. You forgot everything, and for the longest time you ignored the gnawing feeling that your relationship was sinking.
Until your friends spoke up, and their worriment tangled your thoughts into a dusty chaos of confusion, sparking up darkly a bundle of anxiety that made your body tremble throughout the day. Why wasn’t he acknowledging the obvious problem with you, coming to you as he invariably did, discussing things as if he were your boss and you were his employee? And why did you insist on wearing your rose-colored glasses, being as trained as you were?
When that regular night out ended, you didn’t sleep a wink. You untangled, as much as you could, the strings of your thoughts, pried away the large fluffballs of dust from it, and while Jungkook slept soundly beside you, you prepared yourself for the long overdue confrontation. Emotionally first, physically second. You wrote your new, night-scented thoughts down in your notes app, forcing your eyes open as they became heavy with tiredness, erasing and typing, thinking deeply. And when the sun rose and spilled its golden ink across the darkness of his room, you lost the war and let your eyes close, dreaming, without sleeping, of each step you were going to take.
What you didn’t expect was Jungkook’s manhood stirring you awake.
His arm has found your sternum during the sun’s voyage to the sky, pressing you tightly to the heated snugness of his body from behind. His cock digs right into your tepid heat as he’s positioned lower on the bed than you, his face buried in the nape of your neck. His heavy breath fans across the sensitive skin there, quickens the process of your sleepiness wearing off and arousal coming up to the surface, and it becomes shallow when your hips instinctively rock against his.
And then, silence. He stirs awake, too.
You become attentive to every morsel of the moment. Of the stuffiness of the room’s air. Of the warmth of his little breath against your neck, of the movement of his chest against yours, of his hand placed beneath your breasts, which now begins to function.
It slides up, brushing over both of your nipples that immediately perk up for him, tingles scattering down your body with a faint wave of pleasure.
You let out a soft whimpery noise, the confrontation slipping out of your mind. Especially when he maneuvers you by drawing you to your back, still against him, his other hand sneaking around your waist, joining the first one after it pushes down the covers. And Jungkook uses the same momentum to drag you down, your head beneath his, and bunch your sleep shirt up to your neck.
No eye contact, no words—until he comes across an obstacle.
You left your phone on your chest. Face up, notes open, sleep mode disabled. But you’re calm because for any other guy, your plan would be bare for his eyes to see, but not for his—not for his sleepily star-dotted eyes, not fully awake, not fully functioning. He discards the phone carelessly, throwing it somewhere out of your view, and you soon know where by the noise it makes when it hits its destination.
Oh, he’s horny. And there’s something different about the foreplay this time around.
Jungkook turns back to you and takes your face into his hand. While he leans down to kiss you, his other hand finds your nipple—his lips enclose around your top lip simultaneously as his fingers gently squeeze your nipple, and as your whimper deepens within his mouth at the feeling of him, of his cold piercings, of his hands, he grunts back in appreciation, zapping your clit with life. The hand that held your face travels down your neck, his tongue working its way into your mouth after a couple of mind-numbing, harsh kisses, and you let him. You let him squeeze your neck, you let him pinch your nipple, and when you gasp for air and he lets you breathe, you allow him to sink his fingers into your mouth and gather your saliva.
And that’s when you gaze into each other’s eyes for the first time this morning, and it’s as though you were looking through a portal of utter dystopian, upside-down realm.
Darkness swirls around his black irises, a whirlwind of emotions swooshing past, his disorganized eyelashes reflected in them—all beneath a coat of sleepiness across his eyes. Emotions of many names, of passionate origins, but none of which you know as intimately. There’s anger, there’s resentment and there’s pain, but none of them call out for your name.
And it hits you. His dry hand drags down your bottoms, your legs kick the covers all the way down, and his wet fingers graze along your swollen clit. Up and down, up and down, while your mind comprehends that he solves his problems by fucking them into you.
Which isn’t working very well. Hasn’t been.
And just like you erased your points in your notes app all night, you erase your plan altogether and begin writing a new one. Its complexity opens in your mind like the autumn sun across the canvas of the morning sky and develops as he slowly rubs your clit in lazy circles. You moan and he responds by deep hums and heavy breaths that hitch in his throat whenever you squeak as he puts a little more pressure. And when he can’t take it anymore and dips both of those fingers into your hole, the tightening of your walls against them takes the plan to utter completion.
You don’t let him make you cum. You rise from the bed.
“No.”
You don’t listen to his protest; you don’t yield to his ever consuming dominance, pushing against his hold and crawling between his legs.
His manhood stands tall and achy, stretching the black fabric into the air, a wet patch on his tip darkening it so deliciously that your saliva wells in your mouth. Jungkook rubs the sleep away from his eyes, and you can tell that a small twinkle of light parts the darkness in the middle—the very unbelief that your intimacy has taken a different route after such a long time. And when they finally function like the rest of his body, they soften.
Its darkness trickles into your own, and you use its potency to help him.
You move the fabric out of the way, sticking your tongue out to wet your lips. The sight of him up close takes your breath away, precum rolling down the veiny side of his fully hard shaft, and you can’t wait any longer. You catch the drop with the flat of your tongue, retracing its trail up until you can wrap your lips around his head.
Jungkook rolls his eyes back, growling, the noise melting into a soft moan of your name as you swallow him more. You can’t remember the last time you did this, and you don’t let yourself be led by your experiences, but by your intuition, which guides you to double-fist him and make up for the more than a half of him that you can’t take. Your hair shrouds you from him, but Jungkook is quick to fix it, gathering your hair in his own fist. His eyes narrow in an intense arousal when you spit on him and let your hands do the work, moving up and down, focusing on his tip to make his chest shudder, and the satisfaction you get when his chest does just that makes your pussy drool on his bedsheets.
And you can’t help but take him back to your mouth, throating him until you gag and light erases the rest of the darkness away from his eyes.
You straighten your spine and straddle him, attuned to his panting. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline coursing down your veins with its ichor, and Jungkook holds his cock steady for you as you begin to sit down on him and—
Oh.
The feeling of him entering you from this angle, your mouth falls open at it, your eyes getting lost somewhere in the back of your mind. Jets of pleasure paralyze your body when you bottom out, your bum against his thighs, and the sensation of being so wonderfully full propels you to lean down and brazenly kiss him in a personal thankfulness before your plan takes place.
Your hips lift and sit back down roughly, coaxing out his grunts. You play with his new piercing for a little while, tracing it with your tongue in circles before nibbling at his bottom lip, teasing him, getting him to a state of frenzy, in which you already swim. You bounce on him, straightening back up, letting him watch your breasts collide against each other. And when you speed up, high on his cock, his pheromones and the little dominance you’re experiencing, you begin to play with your tits.
Which drives him crazy.
He grabs your hips and takes charge. Fucks into you. Makes you scream, squeeze your eyes shut and knead your breasts a little more harder—but briefly. You peel his hands off, taking back what was stolen, slowing down the pace, but Jungkook furrows his brows, digging his nails into the high tops of your thighs on his way back to your hips.
And before he can catch a hold of them, you tightly grab them, and using the space above due to his low position on the bed, you pull them over his head, and laugh in his face.
“No,” you say, mimicking him, brushing your lips against his, the new piercing provoking you, your laughter ricocheting off the blush blossoming across his cheeks. “I want to fuck you.”
He’s stunned, speechless, swallowing thickly. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down, his cock twitching inside you, and you begin to grind your hips. He inhales sharply, his blush deepening and staining your own cheeks when he complies and intertwines his fingers with yours.
Butterflies kick against your stomach.
The frenzy absorbs your entire being, taking control of your mind, your mouth and your movements. You grind harder but slower, mewling as you move to his ear and search for his soft spot. Right there beneath his earrings, next to his seven tattoo. Your tongue laps the sensitivity there, your ears eager for his response, and Jungkook sucks air through his teeth, his moan but a whisper, an echo, but it’s enough.
“You woke up all big and hard,” you purr softly, pecking his soft spot before sucking it. He groans, squeezing your hands, his hips instinctively bucking up into you. Your chest flourishes with delight, but still you slow down the pace even more in punishment. “What did you dream about, huh?”
He scoffs inconspicuously, a noise not meant for your ears, but you heard it, curiosity tensing your muscles. He takes after his instincts and slowly, ever so slightly, he rolls his hips against you. “You.”
Fuck. You stifle your moan, leaping over to his neck, to his biggest weakness. More to pleasure him than to punish him.
“What did I do?”
He waits until your heart beats once. To prepare you or to trouble you.
“You don’t wanna know.”
You pepper a few kisses on the side of his neck, bothered by his response. You clamp down on the skin, using a little roughness laced with careful gentleness, and you decide to speed up your pace.
You decide to kill him, in fact.
Facing him, you begin to bounce on him hard and fast until his eyes roll back. Your tits swing in his face, and you can vividly see his desire to take your nipple into his mouth. As you stop at his tip, per your killing plan, and squeeze around him, you circle the nub around his mouth, never letting him catch it.
And you repeat this until he growls and sternly calls you by your name, the promise of his climax dripping off of him. And you use this very moment to unfold your original plan.
“Why are you mad at me?”
Your nerves broil, your own orgasm reaching the edge of paradise. Tingles nip at your fingertips squeezing his hands, and the adrenaline pumps harder in your system when he furrows his eyebrows even deeper.
“I’m not fucking mad at you,” he snaps, trembling, glistening with sweat, breathing irregularly, and this is perfection at its finest—him, letting his emotions out without hesitation, without his usual coping mechanism.
You stop at his tip again, your nipple at his mouth, and he closes his eyes to catch his breath. Calls you by your name again. Swallows. Croakily moans.
“I’m gonna cum,” he warns, his lips skimming over your nipple, sending shivers down your back, and you’re done for. The gravity of how much you love him dawns on you, and you yearn to help him, to make him cum, but not until he speaks up. “You’re so fucking tight, baby, I can’t last like this.”
“Tell me what’s going on and you won’t have to,” you say, lowering down your elbows as your arms begin to ache.
Jungkook doesn’t let your heart beat once before he speaks.
“Don’t move,” he orders, and you stay still, easily slipping back into your submissiveness as the feverish atmosphere offers it. You realize he would maneuver you to his liking if he could, but he can’t, and that brings a smile to your face.
One that just as quickly fades away.
“It bothers me how my friends look at you,” he reveals, his lips tightening in a straight line, dimples on full show. Your heart drops to your stomach. “Hobi, Yoongi. Fucking Mingyu can’t take his eyes off of you and would probably eat your leftovers if you threw them at him like to a dog. It pisses me off.”
You cock your head to the side, and it’s your turn to furrow your brows. Is this why he barely spoke to you? Is this what he fucked into you every night?
His jealousy?
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
But Jungkook continues.
“Whenever you speak, their eyes light up and they blush. They don’t even have the fucking decency to hide it in front of me. Fuck, they don’t even care that I’m there and that you’re mine,” he spills, fuming, red in the face, and you can only part your mouth in absolute disbelief. “And last night I dreamed about Hoseok fucking the shit out of you while I watched. I wanted to tear his head off but you wouldn’t stop looking at me. I didn’t know if you liked it or wanted me to step in or if you just enjoyed me watching you.”
You gasp. The imagery of his dream passes by your brain like a cloud, and your walls squeeze around him, your essence moistening him even more. Before you know it, your hips move back down again and Jungkook swears.
His possessiveness has always been a stronghold in your relationship. A thing that made you so wet that you oftentimes couldn’t wait until you got home and you left your regular night outs early and Jungkook had to finger you in his car. And the idea of it cracking, of him sharing you with his friends—
Jungkook rolls you over. Grabs you by your neck with both of his hands with precise gentleness and starts fucking you properly, his strokes a sharp, biting contrast to it.
“You like it? You like the idea of him fucking you?” he checks against your lips, kissing you roughly, just once, and your mind is swept clean. Numb, pleasured, cock-filled.
Cocks-filled.
“Is this how he fucked me in your dream?”
Jungkook bites his lip before he snickers, bitterly. He squeezes your neck, just a little. “No, he had you up in the air facing me. He was fucking you from behind, baby.”
You moan, arching your chest into his, writhing on the mattress, so close to your orgasm. His cock drilling in and out of you makes a wet, squeaky noise, accompanied by his now loud groans, and you need to cum, you need more.
“And it made you hard.”
He nods. “Yes,” he admits, despair radiating off of him like a wine-drunk perfume. “It made me rock fucking hard.”
His cock twitches, and it triggers your own orgasm. The rope tethers, an ecstasy bursting through the bond that connects you to him. Your vision fills with dots of stars, redolent of those in Jungkook’s, your body convulsing, and being lifted in the air and sat on his lap. He continues fucking his cum into you like this, and when you come down from the high, you bounce on him, milking him until he convulses just like you.
And then he kisses you. And he kisses you so nastily, all tongue and roughness, that you’re ready to go again, but you can’t. Not until you talk to him.
You rake his hair back with your long manicured fingernails, holding him like that. “You can’t do this to me.”
“What?” he asks, still dazed, heart-shaped stars drifting back and forth in his glistening eyes.
“You can’t not talk to me when you’re dealing with something like this,” you begin to explain, suddenly very aware of his cock being still anchored inside of you. “First of all, you should’ve brought this to me first, and then you should’ve talked to them.”
The corners of his lips drop down. “And tell them what? Stop looking at my girl like this?”
You blink at him and cock your chin to the side, furrowing your brows. “Yeah?”
He laughs, humorlessly, letting his eyes stray away before lifting them back to yours. “Nothing would’ve changed. It would’ve only made it worse.” He lays you back down on your spine and slowly pulls his shiny length out of you. His cum streams out of you, a rivulet of thick white—the liquid of his love, and he collects it with his fingertips and pushes it back into you, entering you. “It would be a form of provocation for them and next thing I’d know you’re being fucked in the air. Not happening.” He curls his fingers and sets a killing pace, fucking you so hard that you fist the sheets, a payback for your own killing technique. “Only I get to fuck you how I want, arasseo?” He leans down to your clit. “Say it.” He lays his tongue flat against it, sucks it briefly, before he begins to flick his tongue deftly.
You come so vivaciously that your body screams out the word he wanted you to say. You squirt, sprinkling him with your essence, and Jungkook laughs in delight, at last. Closes his mouth over your clit, humming as he kisses it. You come again, a mini orgasm zapping you.
And with your essence running down his lips, he kisses you deeply. “So, no. I won’t talk to them, but I’ll better myself and talk to you.”
You nod your head, satisfied. The baritone of his voice echoes in your brain, rooting in your every nerve ending, and the colors you forgot come back to you. The flush, the feelings, the warmth, it all returns to you at full speed, and you’ve never been happier.
And while Jungkook washes away the drops of cum from your thigh in the shower, all you can think about is how much you look forward to the next night out. And you know you need to ask him to cum on your panties to make the experience more fun.
— playlist: earned it - the weeknd, coffee - miguel, partition - beyoncé, boss bitch - doja cat, two weeks - fka twigs, touch & go - tinashe, spotless minds - jhené aiko, adorn - miguel
— summary: Onstage, Hoseok is fire — every move sharp, every detail perfect, every scream in the crowd feeding his high. Offstage, though, he’s something else: all sharp edges, messy hunger, and impossible heat. Which is to say… yeah. He makes the fucking fun.
— word count: 16.5k
— warnings: explicit smut (yeah, guys what did you expect), so much spit (yeah…. that one was entirely jus me tbh), rough sex, multiple positions, dirty talk, degradation (oh, girl….) edging, orgasm denial, spanking, reader might be a masochist, hair pulling, light breath play, dom! hoseok (lol in case you couldn’t tell already), he gets possesive in sex (way too cocky), some breeding talk if u squint and aftercare because He Is The Best💋
— note: for my next act i have written something so unbelievably filthy i actually had to take breaks like who the fuck let me write this??? i am personally suing him for being this hot (i love you killin’ it girl era). anyway pls enjoy me losing my mind for 16k words straight (going to hell soon cuz this is so horny)
“Hoseok-ssi,” you begin carefully, pulling his focus back to the table. “You seem a little distracted. Do you want to go over the setup scenario for the next performances once the new song is released?”
He leans back in his chair, long legs stretching out under the table. His eyebrows lift just slightly, and his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek — that small, telltale habit that always betrays his annoyance. The silence drags, filled only by the hum of the air conditioner and the muffled chatter of staff outside.
Hoseok exhales slowly, his jaw working as he looks back at you. “We went over the details yesterday, didn’t we?” The words are polite enough, but you know the edge in his tone; something about this isn’t sitting right with him.
“Right,” you reply, steady, flipping through your notes. “But you mentioned wanting a certain vibe for Lollapalooza — something closer to Water Bomb festivals. We wanted to revisit that, to make sure we’re aligning with what you had in mind.”
Before he can answer, Donghyuck cuts in with his easy grin. “Yes, and since the concept photos are already taken and styling has been locked in—obviously, the vibe should accommodate this new sexiness. Hoseok-ssi, it would be good if we could finalize this today, since you’ve got rehearsals for both Korea and Germany tomorrow.”
Hoseok doesn’t immediately reply. His tongue pushes against his cheek again, and he leans back further in his chair, arms folding across his chest. That tells you enough. The delay from last week’s styling approvals is still eating at him, and now every extra meeting feels like wasted time.
Finally, his gaze settles on you — sharp, unblinking. “It should’ve been wrapped up already.” The words are low, almost flat. “We’re behind.”
The words aren’t aimed at you, not really. They’re for the room at large, but the way his eyes stay locked on yours makes it clear: you’re the only one here who knows exactly why this bothers him so much. You know how obsessively he prepares, how much pride he takes in every detail lining up. And you know this — being even a little off schedule — eats at him more than he’ll admit out loud.
The room goes still. No one argues.
You clear your throat, flipping a page in your binder. “Then let’s focus on what’s ahead. We’ve got two encore shows left, and then Lollapalooza. For the encore stages, the plan is to keep the setlist and transitions tight so nothing feels dragged. Minimal changes — just polish.”
Donghyuck nods, already scribbling. “And then for Germany, that’s where we shift. The Water Bomb energy, right? More explosive, more playful.”
You glance up at Hoseok. “Yes. But it has to balance with the darker edge of the new track. Lighting and effects should complement the choreography, not swallow it. Especially with the outdoor stage.”
Hoseok doesn’t say anything right away. He leans back further in his chair, arms folded, eyes locked on you like he’s running every detail through his own filter. His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek again, that same tell you’ve learned to recognize: he’s still chewing on the delay from last week, still annoyed that the stage concept wasn’t locked in when it should’ve been.
Finally, his voice cuts through the quiet. “We don’t have room for repeats. Two nights, then Germany. Everything has to land clean this time
The scrape of chairs and shuffle of papers fills the room as staff start filing out. A few polite bows, a couple of quiet “thank yous,” and then the door clicks shut behind the last one. Silence settles in their wake, heavier now that it’s just the two of you.
You glance down at your notes, pretending to straighten the pages, though you can feel his eyes on you.
When you finally look up, Hoseok hasn’t moved. He’s still leaned back in his chair, arms folded, expression unreadable but fixed entirely on you. Without the buffer of the team, the edge in his gaze feels sharper, unfiltered.
“I did,” you admit, holding his gaze without flinching. “We tried to make it less obvious, but there were issues with the logistics behind the concert. It took longer than I planned.” Your tone softens, almost a murmur. “Hobi-ah, you know this traces back to the styling delay…” You hesitate for a second before adding, “And honestly… babe, you weren’t fully content with those pictures.”
His tongue clicks against his teeth, his jaw tightening before he exhales. “I know that, pretty.” The edge in his voice has shifted, not gone, but quieter. “I just—mmm.” He breaks off, dragging a hand through his hair, frustration simmering beneath his skin. “It’s like… I know it’s my fault. And I hate it, because once things start late, everything after feels off-balance.”
He leans forward, forearms pressing onto the table, his eyes locking with yours. “Honestly? I feel bad. It all started with me second-guessing those damn shots. If I’d just let it go, maybe none of this would’ve snowballed.”
You shake your head lightly. “Don’t put it all on yourself. You care about details — that’s not a weakness. That’s why everything you do comes out flawless.”
For a second, the tension in his face eases, his lips curving just faintly. “You’re the only one who would say that right now.”
“I’m also the one in charge of informing you…” You let the words trail just long enough to pull his eyes back to yours. “…that you look really hot when you’re mad.” A slow grin spreads across your face, deliberately breaking the heaviness that’s been hanging between you.
For a second, Hoseok just stares, as if debating whether to scold you or laugh. Then his lips twitch, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leans back again, arms folding loosely this time, his gaze raking over you in that way that always makes your stomach tighten.
“You shouldn’t say things like that in here,” he murmurs, though there’s no real warning in his voice — only amusement laced with the faintest bite. “Pretty sure the staff outside would lose their minds if they heard you flirting with me while I’m pissed off.”
You shrug, still grinning. “Good thing the door’s shut, then.”
His eyes narrow, but the smirk is fully there now. He shakes his head, tongue pressing into his cheek the way it does when he’s trying not to give himself away. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re hot,” you counter easily, like it’s the most obvious fact in the world.
That finally earns a low laugh from him, quiet but genuine, breaking the tension that had knotted between you. The sound fills the empty room, warm in a way that only you ever get to hear.
He shakes his head, that smirk refusing to leave his face. “You’re unbelievable,” he repeats, but his tone is softer now, threaded with amusement.
You tilt your head, refusing to back down. “What? I’m only doing my job. Keeping you informed, remember?”
He leans forward across the table, closing the distance just slightly — not enough to break any rules, but enough that you can feel the shift in the air. His voice drops, low and teasing. “If looking hot when I’m mad is part of the briefing, then maybe I should lose my temper more often.”
Your grin widens, but you keep your tone light, professional on the surface. “Please don’t. The staff already think I work overtime.”
Hoseok chuckles under his breath, shaking his head again, though his gaze lingers on you longer than it should. “You know, you’re the only one who’d dare say something like that to me in a meeting.”
“Someone has to keep you from grinding your teeth into dust,” you shoot back, lips twitching.
For a beat, the room is silent again, except this time it isn’t heavy — it’s charged, playful, the kind of quiet that makes your skin prickle with awareness. His eyes linger on you like he’s about to say something reckless, but he doesn’t. Not here, not now.
“Later,” he murmurs instead, a promise tucked beneath the single word. Then he straightens, the professional mask sliding neatly back into place, the easy grin returning as though nothing had cracked through it.
But when the meeting room finally emptied and silence pressed in, the weight he carried didn’t vanish. It followed him into the hours after — into rehearsal, into the stillness of his own thoughts.
It had been weeks since Hoseok last slipped into that jacket for the shoot. The jacket that was less clothing and more statement — worn with absolutely nothing beneath it. The fitting, the concept photos, the music video — all of it had demanded a version of him that pushed past the edges of what he’d done before. And he had delivered. He knew he had.
He wasn’t blind. He could look at the monitors, at the photos, at the way staff tried to hide their wide eyes, and admit it — he looked good. More than good. He looked hot. The abs, the sharp lines of his body, the way his skin caught the light — he knew he had the kind of presence that made people stop breathing for a second. He’d worked too hard for that not to be true.
Still… it wasn’t effortless. Not off stage, anyway. On stage, he could flip that switch. He could dominate the beat, make every movement cut like a blade, drive a crowd into chaos. That was instinct by now, muscle memory. But behind the camera, standing still with nothing but that damn jacket between him and full exposure? That was different. There was no character to slip into, no music to ride on. It was just him. Hoseok. Bare.
And that’s where the awkwardness crept in — that tiny flicker of doubt he hated admitting even to himself. Was the boldness convincing enough? Did it feel as natural as it looked? Or was he just faking it so well people believed it?
The rehearsal tonight had been brutal but satisfying. The dancers had killed it, every move tight, and he’d stayed after, drilling details until sweat clung to his back. Tomorrow mattered too much to leave anything loose. It wasn’t just another concert. It was the encore — the closing chapter, the anniversary, the point where everything he’d built with his members and fans circled back. And beyond that, Lollapalooza. A stage that demanded not just confidence, but ownership.
He had poured blood, sweat, even tears into this project. And he was proud. God, he was proud. But pride and doubt tangled together in his chest, tugging in opposite directions.
He exhaled, slow, dragging a hand through his damp hair. No — he had this. He had always had this. Tomorrow, he wasn’t just going to step on stage. He was going to own it. Even if part of him still felt the edge of awkwardness, the rest of him knew the truth: he was bold, he was hot, and he was ready to burn the stage down.
The creak of the door pulled him out of his thoughts. Hoseok’s head snapped toward the sound, half-expecting a stray staff member coming back for a bag or a forgotten water bottle.
But it was you.
You slipped inside quietly, a folder tucked under your arm, the kind of thing you could’ve handed off tomorrow — but you came tonight. Your eyes swept over him where he sat on the floor, sweat-soaked and raw, and Hoseok felt heat prickle at the back of his neck.
Of all the people to see him like this, it had to be you. Always you.
“Still here?” you asked softly, as though you weren’t sure if you were allowed to break the quiet.
He pushed himself up onto his feet, grabbing the towel he’d tossed aside. “Yeah. Just… needed to run it a few more times.” His voice came out rough, lower than he meant. He scrubbed the towel over his face, buying himself a second before lowering it again. “Big day tomorrow.”
You nodded, a little smile tugging at your mouth. “You know you don’t have to prove anything to anyone anymore, right?”
That made him huff a laugh, though it wasn’t entirely amused. “Tell that to the crowd. To the cameras. To…” He trailed off, swallowing. “Tell that to me.”
Your expression softened at that, and Hoseok hated how much it mattered — how much you mattered — in moments like this. He wasn’t supposed to let the weight show.
You set the folder down on a nearby chair and crossed the room to him, your steps unhurried but certain. Hoseok tried to hold himself straight, keep the mask of composure in place, but the closer you came, the harder it was to pretend.
You reached up, brushing damp hair off his forehead with a touch so light it almost startled him. “Hobi,” you murmured, voice low, meant only for him. “You don’t need to convince me. You’ve already done it. You always do.”
Something in his chest loosened. Before he could second-guess it, you leaned in and pressed the gentlest peck to his lips — soft, quick, just enough to remind him he wasn’t alone in this. His breath caught, and when you started to pull back, he moved without thinking, catching your mouth in a fuller kiss.
It was unhurried but warm, the kind of kiss that said everything words didn’t have to: pride, reassurance, belief. By the time you parted, Hoseok’s heartbeat had steadied, not from rehearsal, but from you. A crooked smile tugged at your lips, and for the first time all day, he laughed.
The next morning came fast, swallowed whole by rehearsals, last-minute stage checks, and an endless stream of staff running on pure adrenaline. The momentum carried you both forward, leaving no room to linger on kisses or whispered promises.
By the time you finally stole fifteen quiet minutes for yourself in the staff lounge, exhaustion had caught up to you. A boxed meal sat in your lap, chopsticks ready — and your phone burning a hole beside it. The music video had dropped hours ago, and somehow you still hadn’t watched it. Hoseok was still trapped in the styling room with his makeup artist, so you had a pocket of time — just you, food, and your phone.
A flu in Thailand had kept you bedridden during filming, and though Hoseok had filled you in afterward, talking about it and seeing it were two very different things.
You hesitated, chopsticks hovering mid-air. Then you set them down, thumb hovering over the thumbnail on your screen. “Alright,” you muttered to yourself. “Let’s do it.”
Click. Play.
The opening shots were stunning — the Thailand set glowing, dancers moving like waves, the whole thing dripping with production value. Beautiful, you thought, pride flickering warm in your chest. Then came the first verse, Hoseok sliding into frame like the stage was his home, his rap cutting sharp, commanding.
“Oh,” you breathed, swaying instinctively with the rhythm. This was good. No — this was dangerous. This choreography was a weapon. You could already imagine the screams echoing through the venue later tonight when the crowd realized just how bold it was.
And then it happened.
The jacket. Just the jacket.
Your jaw actually dropped. What the f—
Oil-slicked abs glistening under the lights, torso lean and sharp, every line of him carved out like temptation made flesh. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen that body before — God, you had, in every context imaginable. But seeing it this way, staged, stylized, framed for millions of eyes instead of just yours… it was something else entirely.
Your chopsticks clattered back into the carton as you sat frozen, heat crawling up your neck. This was worse — so much worse — than being in the room during his concept shoot. At least then you’d had context. Here? Here he was performing like he wanted to kill every last fan dead on the spot, and you were not immune.
And then she appeared — The dancer you’d seen plenty of times in rehearsal. Sweet girl. Professional. Watching her pressed that close, hands tracing near the same places you knew like the back of your hand? Your stomach flipped. You weren’t jealous, not really. Just… overwhelmed. Because it was hot. Too hot. Unfairly hot.
Jesus Christ, Hoseok. Staring at your screen as if it might combust. What the fuck did he just release into the world?
You stared at the dark screen for a long moment after the video ended, your reflection faint in the glass, cheeks flushed like you’d just run laps around the stadium. Slowly, you set your phone face-down on the table, because honestly, you weren’t sure you could survive a replay.
For a second, you just sat there, letting the heat in your body settle, letting your pulse slow back to something manageable. The distant noise of staff running through checklists and calling out cues filtered back in, reminding you the world hadn’t stopped spinning just because Hoseok had decided to be half-naked on camera.
Finally, you picked your chopsticks back up. The food was still warm, thank god. You shoveled in a bite, sighing when the taste hit your tongue.
Food had to be enough for now.
The stadium lights dimmed, and the roar of the crowd was deafening. Even after weeks on tour, the sound still rattled through your chest, a reminder of just how much power Hoseok held over people. Over thousands. Over you.
He came onto the stage with the others for the opening set, and from the first beat you could feel it — the energy radiating off him. It wasn’t just performance-high. It was happiness, raw and unfiltered, written in every grin he threw toward the sea of fans, every effortless move of his body. This was his space, his element, and he looked incandescent in it.
But nothing — nothing — compared to the moment the opening notes of Killing It Girl blasted through the speakers.
The crowd lost it. Screams pitched into something feral, shaking the rafters. Your skin prickled as the dancers filed in, formation snapping tight, and then he stepped forward.
And there he was.
The jacket. The skin. The attitude. The choreography you’d only seen on a screen now unfolding live, raw and larger than life. Every roll of his body was sharper, every snap more lethal, every line of his abs gleaming under the floodlights.
You gripped the comm in your hand tighter than necessary, half-tempted to bury your face in it just to muffle the sound that wanted to rip free of your throat. Jesus Christ, don’t scream. Staff doesn’t scream. Staff keeps composure.
But your heart was in your ears, and your body swayed despite yourself. Each beat seemed to hit harder live, every move amplified by the fact that it was him. The man you’d kissed in a quiet rehearsal room, now transformed into this magnetic, untouchable figure commanding tens of thousands like it was second nature.
And then came that part. Jacket hanging loose, skin on display, sweat-slicked under the lights. The crowd’s screams pitched into hysteria. Hitting every mark, every perfectly choreographed touch.
You bit down on the inside of your cheek, hard, because your brain was short-circuiting. It was art, it was performance, it was what he’d poured himself into — and yet watching it live, being this close, you wanted to scream right along with every fan in the building.
When the number ended, the music cut and Hoseok stood there grinning, chest heaving, soaking in the tidal wave of cheers. He looked like he belonged to the world in that moment — and yet, somehow, you couldn’t stop thinking about how later, when the lights went down, he’d belong only to you.
The rest of the concert blurred by in a rush of light and sound — stage cues, comm chatter, the endless press of fans screaming themselves hoarse. And through it all, Hoseok kept giving, kept shining, until he looked less like a man and more like pure electricity.
When the encore ended, the tidal wave of cheers still echoing in your bones, you couldn’t stay put. While staff bustled to dismantle props and reset equipment, you slipped away into one of the quieter side corridors. Your badge got you through the checkpoints; no one stopped you.
The further you went, the quieter it became — until finally, you reached the dim stretch of hall behind the stage where most people had no reason to wander. It was half-dark, lined with stacked crates and unused cables, the kind of forgotten corner where sound from the arena bled in muted and distant.
Your heart was still racing when you heard him — footsteps, laughter fading as he excused himself from the cluster of dancers and crew. He turned the corner, jacket slung over his shoulder, shirt clinging damp to his skin. His hair was a mess, makeup smudged at the edges, but he looked alive. Electric.
And when his eyes landed on you, his smile shifted — something softer, private, meant only for you.
“Hiding out back here?” he teased, voice hoarse from the stage.
You let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-relief. “Someone’s gotta catch you before the world eats you alive.”
He closed the distance between you in just a few strides, the scent of sweat and cologne still clinging to him, the warmth of his body practically radiating. His grin was wide, sharp with adrenaline, but his eyes had that flicker — the one that softened only when they found you.
“Eat me alive, huh?” Hoseok’s voice was rough, low in his throat, but threaded with a teasing lilt. He leaned down, close enough that the damp ends of his hair brushed your cheek. “Pretty sure I was about to do the same to you the second I spotted you back here.”
Your laugh came out shaky, nerves and desire tangling. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”
“Oh, I know what you meant.” His hand found your waist, fingers pressing into your side through the fabric of your clothes — not enough to pull, just enough to remind you of his presence, his strength. “But you should’ve seen your face during Killing It Girl.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks before you could stop it, and his smirk widened, triumphant.
“Yeah,” he murmured, nose brushing yours as he tilted in closer. “I felt it. You wanted to scream. Didn’t you, pretty? Had to bite it back so no one would know.”
Your breath hitched, words slipping out before you could censor them. “You’re impossible.”
“Mm, no.” His lips grazed the corner of your mouth, barely a kiss, just a taste. “I’m still buzzing. Whole stadium screaming for me, and all I can think is—” His grip tightened, pulling you flush against him, his smile wicked and electric. “—saving a little of that energy to make you scream later.”
The air between you crackled, every nerve ending awake, your body thrumming like you’d been plugged straight into the stage lights themselves. He was cocky, yes — but he’d earned it, and god, he knew exactly how to wield it.
The grin on his face tipped into something darker, adrenaline still sparking in every move. You felt it — the way the stage clung to him, the way the crowd’s energy hadn’t left his body yet. He was buzzing, burning, and when he finally crushed his mouth to yours, it felt like he was pouring every leftover scream of the stadium straight into you.
It wasn’t sweet. Not this time. His kiss was messy, all teeth and tongue, fueled by the high still pumping through his veins. You gasped against him, and he swallowed it down like oxygen, his free hand sliding down your back and gripping your hip hard enough to make you shiver.
It hit you in a rush — the same man who had once sat on a rehearsal room floor doubting if he could pull off that jacket now had you pinned against the wall, proving he was every bit as bold as he’d feared he wasn’t.
The jacket slipped, hanging loose from his shoulders, the bare skin of his chest slick against your front. You couldn’t stop your hands from roaming — across his ribs, over the hard plane of his stomach, fingertips skating over skin you’d already memorized but that felt brand new under the buzz of stage lights still clinging to him.
He groaned into your mouth when your nails raked lightly over his abs, the sound shameless and low, his hips pressing forward with zero subtlety. God, he was still wound up, still vibrating with the show.
“Mm,” he breathed against your lips, lips wet and swollen, “you feel that? That’s what happens when you leave me half-naked in front of a stadium.” His hand slid brazenly lower, cupping you through your clothes, rough enough to make your knees threaten to give. “Whole crowd screaming, and I’m out there thinking about what you’d sound like instead.”
Your body answered him with the same awe you’d felt in the crowd, when the screams of thousands had nearly drowned your heartbeat. Your head tipped back against the wall, and he kissed his way down your jaw, your throat, hot and open-mouthed. He was relentless, greedy, touchy in a way that made it clear restraint was a choice, not an instinct.
But just as quickly, he stilled. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his chest heaving. The sound of crew voices echoed faintly down the hall, grounding both of you in the reality of where you were.
Hoseok chuckled, breath still ragged, his lips ghosting over your skin. “Fuck. You’re lucky I remembered we’re not in a hotel room right now.”
You managed a shaky laugh, tugging at the lapel of his jacket to cover him back up a little. “I’d call it responsible.”
He leaned back just enough to look at you, eyes blazing, grin feral. “Yeah? Then I’ll be irresponsible later. You better eat something after this concert, pretty. You’re gonna need the energy”.
And he meant it. The promise clung to you both through the after-concert chaos, through staff wrap-ups, through the laughter of dancers spilling out of dressing rooms, through the quiet ride home when his hand never once let go of yours.
The second the door clicked shut behind you, the restraint snapped. Hoseok had you pinned. Jacket falling half-off his shoulders, sweat still glistening at his collarbone, the man was pure fire pressed against you. His mouth was hot, desperate, teeth grazing your lip before his tongue swept in, stealing your breath.
You whimpered into him, fingers fisting the bare skin of his back, sliding down to his waistband before he caught your wrist, chuckling darkly.
“Careful,” he warned, voice thick, nose brushing yours. “You start something now, pretty, I’ll eat you alive.”
His hand slid down your thigh, gripping, pulling you closer until you felt just how hard he was against you. You gasped, heat shooting through your veins, and he grinned — cocky, hungry. “See? Not just adrenaline,” he muttered, grinding once, slow, deliberate.
“—still tired, I know,” he cut in, lips dragging across your jaw to your ear. “But fuck, I can’t stop touching you. Look at me—” His hands were everywhere now, cupping your ass, sliding under your shirt, fingers teasing the side of your breast until your knees nearly buckled. “—look what you do to me.”
You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulder blades. He kissed you again, deeper this time, almost punishing in the way his tongue tangled with yours. For a moment you thought he might just say screw it and take you right there against the wall.
But then, with a groan that sounded like it physically hurt him, he tore his mouth from yours and pressed his forehead against yours, panting.
“Tomorrow,” he rasped, voice shredded. “Tomorrow, after the concert. After the dinner. I’m gonna take you apart, slow, and I swear you won’t leave that bed till the sun comes up.”
You swallowed hard, dizzy, lips swollen from his kiss. “Then what’s this?” you whispered, still trembling under his touch.
He smirked, thumb dragging across your lower lip, before dipping down for one last lingering kiss. “This?” His palm cupped you between the legs over your clothes, pressing just enough to make you shiver. “This is a preview.”
The morning after, he was all business — or at least, he tried to be. You could see it in the way his hand lingered at your lower back as you walked into rehearsal, how his fingers brushed yours when he passed you a coffee, how his eyes caught you across the room and refused to let go.
He didn’t say much — didn’t need to. That small half-smile curling at the edge of his lips was enough to remind you of the night before, of how close he’d held you, of how rough his mouth had been against yours.
By afternoon rehearsals, the touches got bolder. A hand pressed at your hip when he passed by. A whisper at your ear when he leaned in to ask about the set list, his breath warm enough to make you shiver. You tried to keep your focus, but the man wasn’t making it easy.
And the looks — god, the looks. On stage for soundcheck, he was pure performer, but the second his gaze found you near the monitors, it shifted. Darker. Possessive. A promise tucked between beats. You had to look away more than once, afraid someone else would notice.
By the time the concert started, the energy between you was a live wire. He was untouchable under the lights, every move sharper, hotter than yesterday, like he knew exactly who he was performing for. When Killing It Girl finally came, you nearly forgot how to breathe. Watching him grind through that choreography, jacket loose, body slick under the heat of the stage — it wasn’t just the crowd screaming. It was your pulse in your ears, your blood rushing so loud you thought you might burst.
And then it was over. The cheers faded into the staff dinner, tables set in a private hall, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. Hoseok sat across from you at first, polite, smiling, his laughter ringing out at jokes from his members. But his eyes never stayed away from you for long.
Every stolen glance over the table felt like a touch. Every shift of his leg under the tablecloth brushed against yours, steady. He was radiant with pride, glowing with adrenaline and exhaustion, but there was something else too — that spark, that hunger he’d promised last night.
When the speeches died down and glasses were raised for the final toast of the night, he leaned just slightly toward you, voice low enough only you could hear.
“Better eat up,” he murmured, lips ghosting against your ear as his hand squeezed your thigh under the table. “You’ll need the energy.”
The second you got home, the door hadn’t even clicked shut before Hoseok had you against the wall. His body crowded yours, chest pressed flush, the lingering scent of sweat and cologne mixing with the heat rolling off him. His lips found your jaw first, slow but searing, then dragged hungrily to your mouth. The kiss was rougher than last night — hungrier, wetter — like he’d been holding back all day and finally snapped.
“Finally,” he breathed against your lips, one hand sliding up under your shirt, warm palm splayed over your ribs. “Been touching you in my head since yesterday.”
You moaned into him, lips parting as his tongue pushed deeper, curling with yours. His other hand gripped your waist, yanking you hard against him so you felt exactly how much he meant it.
“Hobi-ah—” you tried, your voice already breaking on his name, “—you’re still tired…”
He groaned like the word offended him, teeth catching your lip before he pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were blown wide, dark, hungry. “Baby, I don’t care if I’m half-dead.” His hand slid lower, cupping you through your pants, pressing firmly until your breath hitched. “Been thinking about this for more than twenty-four hours. I need you.”
“Babe, maybe let’s—” You cut yourself off with a gasp, your head tipping back when his teeth sank into your neck. The sharp sting melted into a hot ache, his tongue soothing the bite as your moan filled the room. You hadn’t expected him to lose control like this, but god, it turned you on. He always had these moments when adrenaline still pumped through him after a show, when he felt untouchable — and right now, he was devouring you alive.
“My sweet girl,” he rasped against your skin, his voice rough, low, dangerous. “Always opening that pretty mouth to let the sweetest fucking moans.”
Before you could even reply, his hands framed your face, palms hot and firm against your cheeks. He tilted your head back, forcing your mouth open wider under his stare. His thumb brushed against your swollen bottom lip, pressing in slightly, testing, teasing.
“Look at you,” he muttered, thumb slipping into your mouth, pushing against your tongue. “You don’t even know how good you look like this. Ready to take whatever I give you.”
Your lips closed instinctively around him, a shiver running down your spine as you sucked gently. His groan rumbled out of his chest, hips jerking forward like he couldn’t help himself.
“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes burning into yours. “That’s it, pretty. Just like that.”
Your lips closed around his thumb, and Hoseok’s groan was guttural, vibrating against your skin as his other hand slid into your hair. He tugged, hard enough to make your scalp sting, tilting your head back until you had no choice but to look at him with wide, parted lips.
“That’s right,” he muttered, dragging his thumb out from your mouth, a string of spit following before he tilted your face and let it drip back onto your tongue. “Messy little thing. You like that, don’t you?”
Heat shot straight to your core. You nodded, breathless, and his grin turned feral. He shoved his thumb back between your lips, thrusting it in and out shallowly until you whimpered around it.
“Open wider,” he demanded, voice sharp, and when you obeyed, he spat directly into your mouth, his grip in your hair tightening. “Swallow.”
You did, and the curse he let out made your thighs press together.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he groaned, his mouth crashing back onto yours, sloppy and bruising. His free hand slid under your shirt and up, cupping your breast harshly before delivering a sharp slap across it. The sting made you cry out into his mouth, and he laughed against your lips.
“Sensitive,” he teased, squeezing your breast before slapping it again, harder this time. “Bet your pretty pussy’s already dripping for me.”
He was right — you could feel the wetness gathering, your body betraying how badly you wanted more. Hoseok dragged his hand down, gripping your hip, spinning you roughly so your chest hit the wall. His palm came down sharp against your ass, the sound echoing through the room.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, pressing into you from behind, grinding his hard length against your ass. “Bent over for me in seconds. Such a good girl, but such a fucking slut for me at the same time.”
You whimpered, pushing back against him, desperate for more friction. His hand tangled back in your hair, yanking your head to the side so his lips could bite down on your throat.
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” he whispered darkly, his breath hot against your ear. “My hand in your hair, my spit in your mouth, my cock filling you up till you can’t think straight.”
Another smack landed on your ass, harder this time, the sound cracking through the room. You jolted forward against the wall, but Hoseok’s grip on your hip locked you in place. His chest pressed tight to your back, his teeth scraping your earlobe as he ground into you slow and deliberate.
“You know what gets me, baby?” His voice was low, taunting, as his thumb brushed the hem of your shirt just under your breasts. The clothes were still on, but every nerve in your body was burning.
“It got you, right? The way you looked at me.”
You turned your head slightly, confused, lips parting to answer, but he cut you off with a sharp tug of your hair, forcing your head back against his shoulder.
“You think I’m hot.” His words were a growl against your ear, and you shivered. “You thought I was so fucking hot. Don’t even try to lie — I saw your face when you watched me. I see every goddamn thing you do.”
Your breath hitched, your thighs squeezing together, and he laughed, cocky, wicked, too sure of himself.
“That’s it. My girl can’t even hide it. You were drooling over me, weren’t you? Watching me on that stage, watching the video… imagining I was doing it just for you.” His grin was sharp as he pressed his hips harder into your ass, letting you feel how hard he was. “And maybe I was. Maybe I only look that filthy because I know it’ll make you this fucking wet.”
He slid his hand up, cupping your breast through the fabric and squeezing, his thumb brushing roughly over your nipple. “God, nothing makes me happier than knowing I can get my hot, dirty little girlfriend soaked just by existing. Just by letting you look at me.”
He chuckled darkly, lips dragging across your jaw, nipping the corner of your mouth before whispering, “And how I love when I make a woman wet.”
The words made your stomach flip, heat pooling low, and before you could even catch your breath his hand was yanking at your shirt, shoving the fabric up to expose your skin. His mouth dropped immediately to your chest, teeth scraping over the swell of your breast before he latched onto your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra, biting just hard enough to make you gasp.
“See? I barely touch you and you’re already begging with your body.”
Another slap landed, this time straight across your breast, making you jolt and cry out, your nipples tightening even more. He caught your chin in his hand, forcing your gaze up to meet his. “How sexy, my sexy little bitch”
Before you could recover, his mouth was on yours again, raw, nasty kissing. His tongue pushed past your lips, tangling with yours, his teeth clashing, spit slicking your chin as he groaned into the mess of it. One hand held your jaw in place, keeping you open for him, while the other roamed down to grab a handful of your ass, pulling you harder into the grind of his cock.
He kissed you again like he wanted to consume you, biting at your lower lip until it stung, licking back into your mouth like he couldn’t get enough. The sounds filling the room were obscene — wet, sloppy, hungry — and he swallowed every one of your whimpers like it was exactly what he’d been waiting for.
When he finally pulled back, both of you were panting, your lips swollen and slick. He smirked, dragging his thumb across your spit-smeared mouth before shoving it back between your lips.
He didn’t let up, not even a little. Your mouth was still wet from his thumb when he gripped your jaw again, forcing you to look at him, lips parted, breath ragged. “Yeah, that’s my good girl,” he muttered, dragging your bottom lip down with his thumb before spitting straight into your mouth. “Swallow.”
The heat pooled low in your stomach as you obeyed, eyes fluttering shut, and his laugh was cruel and pleased all at once. “So fucking easy for me. You love it when I get disgusting with you, don’t you?” His hand moved from your face to the back of your head, tugging your hair hard enough to tilt it back as he kissed you again, hot and wet and unrelenting.
Then he pulled back, chest heaving, and spun you from the wall in one sharp movement. “Bedroom. Now.”
You barely had time to steady yourself on shaky legs before he smacked your ass hard enough to make you yelp, pushing you forward with a firm hand at your lower back. “Run along, baby. If you don’t get there fast enough, I’ll drag you by your pretty little hair.”
The promise in his tone made you clench around nothing, heat rushing through you as you stumbled toward the bedroom. You could feel him right behind you, his presence heavy, electric, practically vibrating off him.
By the time you reached the door, his arm was already snaking around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His mouth found your neck again, biting this time, marking. “Bet you’re dripping already,” he growled against your skin, one hand sliding down over your belly, fingers teasing low but not giving you what you wanted. “Bet I could get you to soak the sheets just by putting my tongue on you for five minutes.”
He pushed you through the doorway and toward the bed, eyes gleaming, cocky and cruel in his control. “And lucky for you, baby, you know I love eating.”
Your knees hit the mattress, and Hoseok followed, crowding you back with a hand at your throat, tilting your head just enough to make you look up at him. His grin curved slow, wicked, but the warmth in his gaze burned through you just as much as the roughness.
“Look at you,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your lower lip. “So ready for me and I’ve barely touched you.” He let his spit fall into your mouth, watching the way your tongue caught it, and the low groan he gave told you just how much that sight ruined him. “Fuck. You’re perfect.”
He trailed his hand down your chest, over the thin fabric of your bra, pausing to cup you before rolling your nipple between his fingers. You arched up, the friction maddening, and his chuckle rumbled low in his throat. “Still covered, and you’re already shaking for me.”
With a flick, the clasp of your bra came undone, and Hoseok tugged it off with a deliberate slowness, letting his knuckles graze your skin as it slid away. His eyes lingered on your bare breasts like he was memorizing them all over again, then he leaned down to kiss over the swell of one, open-mouthed and wet, before dragging his tongue across your nipple. The sharp contrast of tenderness and filth made you gasp, your hands flying up to clutch his shoulders.
“Yeah,” he hummed against your skin, nipping lightly, “that’s it, baby. Give me those sounds.” He pulled back, eyes glinting, and gave your breast a rough smack just to hear the way you yelped. “You know I love them.”
His hands moved lower, gripping at your waistband, peeling your pants and panties down at once. He didn’t rip them away this time—he dragged them, inch by inch, watching your face as every new line of skin was revealed. When they finally hit the floor, he sat back on his heels, drinking you in, one hand stroking over your thigh before pushing it wider.
“God,” he breathed, almost reverent before his smirk returned. “Dripping for me already. All I did was look at you. Pathetic.” His thumb brushed over your slick folds once, slow and teasing, then he smacked you there lightly, laughing when your hips jumped.
“Lie back, pretty. Hands where I can see them. Don’t even think about hiding from me.”
He shrugged off his jacket at last, tossing it carelessly aside, and crawled down the bed until his face was level with your thighs. His palms pressed them open, anchoring you in place as he kissed once—soft, almost sweet—right above your clit. Then he looked up, his chin resting on your skin, eyes gleaming.
“Now,” he murmured, voice wrecked already, “be good girl and let me kill it, girl.”
His mouth hovered just above your folds, his breath hot against your skin, and you couldn’t help the way your hips shifted, chasing him. Hoseok chuckled, smug and cruel.
“Already begging without words,” he murmured, kissing the inside of your thigh instead, open-mouthed and wet. His teeth grazed your skin, biting down just enough to sting before he soothed it with his tongue. He repeated it on the other side, each kiss closer, but never quite where you needed him.
“Hobi-ah,” you whined, fingers twitching where they clutched the sheets.
“What?” His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and playful. “You want something? You gotta say it.”
You swallowed hard, embarrassed, but the smirk pulling at his lips told you he wasn’t going to move until you gave him what he wanted. “Please,” you whispered, barely audible.
He pressed a single kiss to your clit through your slick, featherlight, and then pulled back again. “Please what?”
The heat pooling in your stomach was unbearable, and you let out a shaky breath. “Please, I need my hot boyfriend to have eat me alive like he promised.”
That grin, wicked and triumphant, spread across his face. “Good girl.”
This time he didn’t hold back—his tongue flattened against you, licking a long, slow stripe from your entrance up to your clit. The noise you made had him groaning into you, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through your body. He lapped at you again, messier, wetter, like he was trying to drown himself in your taste.
“Fuck, you’re sweet,” he muttered against you before diving back in, sucking your clit between his lips and rolling his tongue around it. His hands gripped your thighs hard, keeping you spread open, holding you down when you bucked. “So wet for me already, baby. And I’ve barely started.”
He let spit drip from his mouth down onto your folds, spreading it with his tongue as he groaned low in his chest. “God, look at this mess. My nasty girl can’t help herself, huh?” He gave your clit a sharp suck, then pulled back to smack your pussy lightly, watching the way you jolted. “Bet I can make you scream just from my mouth. Wanna test it?”
He smirked against you, tongue circling slow over your clit before pulling back, eyes glittering with something darker. “Yeah, I know exactly what you need.”
Without warning, his grip shifted, strong hands curling under your thighs. And then he hauled you up, flipping you with shocking ease until you were straddling his face.
“Hobi—” you gasped, startled, but his hand cracked down on your ass, sharp enough to sting.
“Shut up and sit,” he growled, pulling you down until your soaked pussy pressed against his mouth. His tongue was already pushing between your folds, hot and greedy, lapping at you like he’d been starving for it.
You tried to hold yourself up, nervous at the intensity, but he wasn’t having it. His hands clamped hard on your hips, forcing you down, grinding you against his mouth until you were whining. “That’s it,” he groaned into you, voice muffled by your cunt. “Use me. Fuck yourself on my face. Don’t you dare hold back.”
The wet sounds were obscene—his tongue slurping, spit and slick dripping down his chin, onto his neck. He pulled back just long enough to spit straight onto your clit, spreading it with the flat of his tongue before sucking hard.
“Messy little bitch,” he snarled, shaking his head side to side so the friction made you scream. “Look at you—riding me like you’re desperate. You gonna cum already? Huh? You’re that easy for me?”
You moaned, broken and breathless, thighs trembling as you tried to grind against him. But just as the pleasure built, Hoseok pulled back, smirking, lips shiny with spit and your slick.
“Nah. Too soon.” He gave your ass another harsh smack, dragging you higher so his nose bumped against your clit without giving you enough pressure. “You don’t get to cum until I say. You’ll sit here, dripping all over me, until I’m satisfied.”
His tongue flicked quick and relentless, then slowed, then pulled back again, keeping you hovering on the edge, forcing moans and curses out of you. Each time you whined, he laughed low in his throat.
“Pathetic. My perfect little slut can’t even control herself. You’d cum on my tongue in seconds if I let you, wouldn’t you?” He smacked your thigh hard, leaving the skin hot. “Answer me.”
“Y-yes!” you gasped, grinding down without shame.
“Fucking right you would,” he muttered, before dragging you flush against his mouth again, devouring you with feral hunger. “And you’ll do it when I’m ready to ruin you.”
Your thighs were trembling already, body burning, and his tongue worked you mercilessly — long, slow licks followed by sharp, brutal flicks over your clit. You felt the knot in your stomach coil tight, your hips rolling helplessly against his mouth as the heat built higher, higher—
And then he pulled away.
A desperate, broken moan tore from your throat. “Hobi, please—”
“Please what?” He grinned up at you, chin and lips slick with spit and your arousal, his grip on your thighs bruising. He spat directly on your clit, rubbing it in with two lazy circles of his thumb while his tongue teased just below, never enough. “Please let you cum? You think you’ve earned that?”
Your answer was another cry, hips bucking in his grip, and he chuckled, cruel and cocky. “Pathetic. Can’t even talk, can you? Already brainless just from my mouth.”
Before you could gather a word, he shoved you down again, nose grinding against your clit as his tongue plunged into you, fucking your entrance sloppy and deep. You clawed at his hair, tugging hard, and he groaned like it spurred him on. The coil tightened again, fast, sharp—
And then he stopped.
You actually sobbed this time, frustration burning through your veins. He pulled back, giving your ass a sharp slap before licking his lips, smug. “Oh, baby… you were close, huh? Thought I was gonna let you cum all over my face like some easy slut?” He shook his head, mock sympathy in his voice. “Not yet.”
He smacked your pussy lightly, the sting making you jolt. “You’ll cum when I want you to cum. Until then, you take what I give you.”
He dove back in like a man starving — tongue flat, wide, working you with a brutal, intimate thoroughness that shredded whatever composure you had left. He sucked your clit into his mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive bud, then feverishly licked in a rhythm so fast your vision blurred and your knees trembled. Your hands were locked in his hair; you clawed, begged without words, and the sound that tore out of you was equal parts need and protest.
Then — cold, infuriating — he pulled away with a wet pop. The silence felt obscene. You were rocking on the mattress, chest heaving, cheeks burning with shame and want. Tears prickled hot at the corners of your eyes. “Hobi—please—” you managed, voice raw.
He looked up at you like you were the most delicious thing he’d ever seen. His grin was calm, cruel. “You look so helpless. You look like you’re going to break and I haven’t even started.” He spat on his fingers, slow and deliberate, then dragged those slick digits over your slit, rubbing the wetness that collected there. “And you love it. You love that I can make you sob.”
He slammed his face back between your thighs like he’d been called home. Tongue, lips, teeth — he alternated, sometimes soft and teasing along the inner lips, sometimes brutal and possessive on the clit, fingers splaying to keep you wide open. He hummed around you, the vibration a weapon, and every time your body inched toward release he eased off, switching to a slower, torturous lick that left you burning with need but empty of climax.
You begged with your body, high keening noises spilling out of you, and he answered with a low, satisfied chuckle that vibrated through his jaw against your wet skin. “Beg properly,” he commanded between sloppy sucks, tugging you tighter to his mouth with the strength of his neck. “Say my name. Tell me you’re mine.” Your voice broke, but you forced out his name, broken and desperate, and it only made him harder.
Round after round he took you to the edge — closer each time — then yanked back at the last brutal second. Each denial felt like being rewired: pulse spiking, vision white at the rims, then the slow, aching descent back into need. Your breaths came shallow, your legs shaking. You were practically sobbing now, not from pain but from the taut, electric ache of being withheld.
Finally, his hands tightened on your hips until you could feel the press of his knuckles, and his voice dropped low, intimate and dangerous. “You look so pretty crying for me,” he murmured. He pressed his forehead to your thigh, tongue flicking one final, deliberate stripe across your clit that had you keening into his mouth, body trembling on the brink — and then he held it there, steady, thorough, slow, making you hang on that edge until your whole world narrowed to the wet, hot pressure of him.
You were undone and screaming, everything raw and bright, and even as the tremors rocked you he didn’t let you fall into quiet relief. He fed you more — teeth, tongue, spit — relentless, riding your body through aftershocks, forcing you to ride out every last peak until your voice was shredded and your knees felt like water. He finally eased back only enough to smirk, chin wet, eyes glittering with triumph. “Pathetic and perfect,” he breathed. “And that was just the warm-up, pretty.”
Your legs move before your brain does. You sink to your knees, drawn by him, the curve of his hips and the heat radiating off his body dominating your world. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and gleaming, full of claim and amusement. A shiver runs through you, lips parting instinctively. Fuck, you love this — him like this, buzzing off the end of his tour, need pulsing through him. And you? You live for being exactly where he wants you.
“Babe,” you whisper, voice low, intimate, “let me reward you… for all your hard work… and that orgasm.”
“Tsk tsk,” he murmurs, a low growl threading his words. His hand snakes into your hair, tugging lightly, tilting your head up. “My little bitch wants to entertain me. You’ve been waiting, haven’t you?”
“Open your mouth,” he commands, and you obey immediately, lips parting, tongue darting instinctively.
He smirks, cruel and cocky. “Good. Obedient sluts get rewarded. You’re doing well… but don’t get too confident yet.”
Then — the unexpected — he presses you down. Hard enough to make you stumble, your forehead grazing the denim of his jeans. His hand grips the back of your head, tilting you flush against him. Not for penetration, not yet — just for him to feel your lips on him, face down, mouth open, begging silently.
“Try,” he hisses, voice low and feral, “try to make me hard with just that mouth. No hands. No tricks. Just you and me, little whore. Can you do it?”
You moan softly, dragging your lips along the hard line of his jeans, breathy and needy, heat pooling between your thighs. His hands tighten on your hair, tilting you closer, making sure every flick of your tongue brushes him, teasing, tasting, desperate.
He growls, low and possessive. “Fucking pathetic,” he mutters. “Knees on the floor, mouth open, and you’re already dripping. You’re so eager. You love this, don’t you? Knowing I’m watching, controlling every inch of you…”
Your breath hitches, lips parting wider, trying to take more of him between your mouth and chin. He hums, wicked and satisfied, pressing you closer, grinding slightly against you through his jeans. “Ugh, look at you… such a messy little slut. Just from this. You feel it? How wet you are already?.”
He presses his forehead down to yours briefly, eyes blazing, then tilts you back up, letting you catch your breath — only to shove you back down again, harder, making sure your mouth stays exactly where he wants it. Spit gathers at the corners of your lips from the effort, your moans muffled and desperate, and he laughs, cruel and low.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he groans. “Messy, greedy little whore. Face pressed to me, taking what I want. You love it… and you’d do anything for this, wouldn’t you?”
He growled low in his throat, one hand gripping the back of your head, the other tightening on your hip, holding you down flush against him. Your mouth was slick and wet, saliva dripping onto the hard line of his cock through the denim, and the sight made him groan — equal parts lust and cruelty.
“You’re such a pathetic little slut,” he hissed, eyes dark and blazing. “Drooling on me like this… horny and desperate… and you’re begging me?” His lips curved into a cruel grin. “Fuck, I love it.”
You whimpered around him, lips gliding over the jeans, moaning desperately. “Please… Hobi… please let me take you…”
“That’s better,” he murmured, voice low, edged with heat. “Talk to me like the desperate little whore you are.” His hand tugged your hair harder, forcing your mouth a little wider, the angle just right, teasing you and him both. “Pathetic, greedy little mouth. You want me in your mouth so badly, don’t you?”
“Yes!” you gasped, swallowing and licking through the fabric as you squeezed your thighs together, soaking through yourself. “Please, I’ll take you… I’ll take all of you…”
He groaned, bucking into your mouth lightly, the denim pressing against your lips just enough to tease, then finally — finally — he pushed the jeans down enough for the tip to spring free. His cock pressed against your lips, slick already from your saliva and your desperate, dripping need.
“Take it,” he commanded, harsh, feral. “Greedy little slut. Show me how much you want it.”
You obeyed immediately, lips sliding over him, tongue dragging along the sensitive tip, taking him in shallow at first, then deeper, breath hitching as you felt him twitch against you. He groaned, one hand tightening on your hair, the other bracing against your hip, lifting you slightly to make sure every inch of him was in your mouth.
“You’re such a needy little thing,” he growled, hips rolling against your mouth. “All dripping, all wet, making me this hard… and you begging. God, you look pathetic and it’s turning me the fuck on.”
You gagged slightly as he pressed into you, and he chuckled low, dragging his teeth along your jaw briefly before forcing you to take him deeper. “That’s it, baby,” he hissed. “Messy little whore… take it all. Show me how much you’ve wanted this.”
Your hands gripped the tops of his thighs, trying to anchor yourself as he pressed and thrust, hips rocking slowly, teasing, testing, letting you drool and choke around him. You moaned, desperate, gasping, wanting so bad to get him there.
He gripped your hair like it belonged to him — because it did — tilting your head back and shoving himself deep into your mouth. You gagged instantly, saliva dribbling down your chin, slick already coating the tip of him. He groaned low, dark, and triumphant.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, teeth grazing your jaw, hips pressing into you hard. “Pathetic little whore… drooling all over me, gagging like a desperate fuck”
Your eyes watered, your throat stretched, hands clutching his thighs for some control. “Hobi… please…” you whimpered around him.
“Please what, huh?” he hissed, sharp and teasing, pressing his forehead to yours. “You mean please let me fuck your mouth properly? You think you deserve it?” He laughed low and cruel, cock twitching against your lips. “You’re dripping on me already, choking… you’re such a greedy little bitch.”
You gasped around him, tilting your head, tongue working, trying desperately to take him all, to show him how much you wanted it. And he loved it — that desperation, the mess, the way you practically melted under his control.
“God, you’re pathetic,” he murmured, grinding his hips just enough to let you feel every twitch and press. “You’re gagging… drooling… taking me like the greedy little whore you are. You’re mine, every little sound, every whine. Admit it.”
“Y-yes… Hobi… I’m yours… please…” you moaned, eyes watering, body trembling.
He hummed, low and vibrating, clearly turned on, already close. “That’s my good little slut… look at you… making me lose my mind.” He pressed harder, fucking your mouth with strength and precision, watching your face go red, slick and desperate. “Gag on me… I want to see you choke… swallow it all.”
Your throat clenched, moans muffled and broken. Every push of his hips was deliberate, punishing, and yet intimate — the filthy claim of him, your obedience, your mess all mixing into something unbearably hot.
Then, finally, he trembled, groaning like a feral animal, hips stuttering hard. “Fuck… I’m gonna—fuck—cum. Take it all… swallow for me… you’ve been so greedy…”
He gripped your hair like iron, holding your head perfectly flush as his release hit your mouth, hot, thick, and overwhelming. You gagged, choked, swallowed, lips trembling, and he pressed his forehead to yours, panting, voice low and triumphant. “That’s it… pathetic, messy, beautiful.”
Even as his hips stilled, his hand on your head still firm, he groaned against your ear, whispering, “You look so perfect like this… dripping, desperate… my little whore.”
His fingers are still shoved between your lips, slick with his precum, when his other hand guides his cock to your cunt. The thick head nudges against your folds, spreading your wetness, smearing it over your clit in slow, maddening circles.
You whimper around his fingers, hips twitching, but he only pushes his digits deeper into your mouth, gagging you lightly. “Stay still,” he growls. “You don’t get to fuck yourself on me. You take what I give you.”
The tip presses at your entrance — just enough to stretch you, your walls fluttering desperately around the intrusion. You moan, eyes fluttering shut, but just as your body starts to relax, he pulls out again, dragging his cock back up over your slit.
He chuckles, dark and satisfied, watching your thighs tremble. “Fuck, you feel that? How your pussy clenches on nothing? Pathetic. So greedy.” He slaps your pussy lightly with the weight of his cock, the wet sound obscene. “But good girls don’t get filled just because they whine.”
He repeats it again — a shallow push inside, stretching you just enough to burn, then pulling out slow, teasing your clit with the slick head. Each time you think he’s going to give in, he denies you, his grin cruel as your body bucks beneath him.
When you try to roll your hips for more, he slaps your thigh sharp, the sting blooming hot across your skin. “Ah-ah. You think you get to decide? You don’t cum until I say so. You don’t get cock until I’m ready to breed this little cunt.”
Your eyes snap open, breath catching at the way the words slip out, low and obsessive. He smirks, thumb brushing over your spit-slick lips as he pulls his fingers free. Even stripped of the stage lights, he carried the same command — the same demand that every beat, every detail, fall exactly into place. “Don’t worry, pretty. I’ll give it to you.” His cock drags slow against your clit again, making your whole body twitch.
His precum-slick fingers leave your mouth with a wet pop, a thin strand of spit still clinging to your lips. He wipes it across your cheek like a mark before gripping his cock again, smearing himself along your folds until you’re whining under him.
“Listen to that,” he murmurs, voice low and cruel, dragging the thick head against your clit until your whole body jerks. The wet sounds echo in the room, obscene, filthy. “Messy little cunt, crying for me already.”
He pushes in shallow — just the tip stretching you, your walls clamping down desperately — and you gasp, eyes rolling back, chest arching. For one glorious second you think he’s giving in.
Then he pulls out again, leaving you empty.
A frustrated sob tears from your throat. “Hoseok—”
He slaps your pussy with the heavy length, the sting sharp, the sound filthy. “Don’t whine.” His grin curves, dark and merciless. “Good sluts wait until they’re told.”
He does it again. And again. Each time, sliding the head inside, shallow enough to drive you wild, deep enough to make your body clutch at nothing, then pulling back to smear wet circles over your clit until you’re trembling.
Your thighs shake, hips rolling despite yourself, but he pins them open with bruising hands. “Look at you,” he groans, eyes locked on the mess between your legs. “Dripping for me. Begging without words. You want cock that bad, pretty?”
“Yes—fuck, yes, please—” The words break out of you before you can stop them, voice wrecked.
But he only chuckles, low and cruel, grinding the head against your entrance without pushing in. “Not yet. Not until I know this greedy pussy’s ready to take it all. Ready to take every drop I give you.” His tone dips darker, obsessive. “Gonna fill you till you’re leaking me for days.”
You whimper, fighting against the grip on your wrists, trying to buck up into him. He slaps your thigh again, harder this time, the sting making your eyes water. “Pathetic. Fighting me when your body’s begging. You don’t even know how good I’m gonna fuck you, do you?”
The cycle repeats — in, stretch, almost there, out. Over and over until your vision blurs, until tears streak your cheeks, until your cunt is clenching around nothing like it’s starving. He watches every twitch, every gasp, every broken moan with feral hunger, dragging it out until you’re on the edge of sobbing.
Finally, he leans down, lips brushing your ear, voice a growl. “One more plea, pretty. Tell me exactly what you need”
Your breath comes in ragged sobs, every nerve stretched thin from the endless teasing. “Please—please, Hoseok, fuck me,” you cry, voice breaking, body trembling beneath him. “I need it—need you inside.”
That’s what does it.
His smirk twists feral, teeth flashing. “That’s my girl. Knew you’d break.”
warning, he slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt. Your scream tore into the dark, his name tangled in it, and he caught your mouth before the world could hear.
“Fuck—” Hoseok’s curse is guttural, torn from his chest as your walls clamp around him, tight, wet, greedy. His eyes squeeze shut, jaw clenched, sweat beading at his temple. “God, this pussy—made for me. You feel that? How deep I am? That’s where I belong.”
He holds there for a moment, cock pulsing inside you, letting the stretch burn, letting you feel every thick inch. Then he drags out slowly until only the tip is left—before slamming back in just as hard, the sound of skin on skin echoing filthy through the room.
You sob, clinging to him, nails digging into his arms as pleasure and pain crash together. “S-so full—”
“Yeah,” he growls, lips brushing your ear, hips snapping sharp again. “Full of me. And I’m not stopping till this pretty cunt knows who it belongs to.” He thrusts again, harder, knocking another broken cry from your lips. “I’m gonna fuck you till you’re leaking, pretty. Till you’re dripping my cum every time you move.”
He pulls almost all the way out, cock glistening, before driving in to the base, grinding deep, pressing against your cervix until you’re gasping. His grin is cruel, sweat-slick hair falling into his eyes. “Yeah, that’s it. Cry for me. Take it. Take every inch, like the good bitch you are.”
Before you can catch your breath, his hands slide under your thighs, and with shocking ease, he hauls your legs up over his shoulders, folding you in half. The angle rips another sob from your throat as he spears into you, deeper, harder, relentless.
“Fuck—look at you,” he growls, muscles straining, veins standing out in his forearms as he holds you down. “Bent in half, stuffed full of cock, and you’re still begging for more.” He slams in again, the bedframe creaking under the force. “So fucking pathetic. My little toy. My perfect fuckdoll.”
Your nails claw at the sheets, at his arms, anything to ground yourself, but he’s everywhere — pinning you, splitting you open, fucking you so deep you see stars.
When you whimper his name, he only chuckles, cruel and cocky. “What? Too much?” His hips snap sharp, punctuating each word. “Or are you just addicted to this dick?”
One hand leaves your thigh only to wrap around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, controlling. He leans down, his forehead pressing to yours, breath ragged. “Don’t lie. You fucking love it when I use you like this.”
Your voice breaks, a moan tumbling out with your words. “I—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” His grip on your throat tightens just enough to make your head spin, his thrusts bruising, relentless. “You can take all of me. You were made to take all of me.”
Then he flips you, strong hands manhandling you like you weigh nothing, shoving your chest down into the mattress while he stays buried deep inside. You scream, muffled against the sheets, as he pins your wrists to the bed with one hand, the other gripping your hip so hard it’ll bruise.
“Fucking perfect,” he snarls, slamming into you from behind, the sound of skin on skin sharp and filthy. “Bent over, helpless, dripping around me. God, you don’t even know how fucking good you look when I’m breaking you like this.”
He doesn’t give you time to breathe. After that bone-deep first shove, he pulls out just enough to let you taste the ache, then flips you without ceremony — hips hauling you up and over until your chest presses into the mattress and your ass juts up for him. From behind he claims you again, slamming into that tight, hot place with a force that makes the bed slam and your vision flare white at the edges.
“Ah—Hobi—” the sound rips out of you, half-cry, half-laugh. His name is a broken thing on your tongue as his hands find your hips and drive you into the sheets. Every thrust is a punctuation mark, hard and fast, rimshot after rimshot that leaves your skin buzzing.
He grabs your thighs and lifts, angling you so he can bury himself to the hilt each time. The angle hits a new sweet spot — the kind that makes you go completely stupid and loud, brain fizzing. Your legs tremble, knees shaking like jelly as he slams, pulls out, then hammers back in. You can’t form sentences anymore; your voice is just a high, helpless series of sounds: “Hobi—fuck—oh god—yes—please—” Collapsed syllables, ragged and continuous, spilling from you.
He flips you again, brutal and sure, and this time he pins your wrists above your head, palms flat to the mattress. His forearm presses across your throat for control, not enough to hurt but enough to ground you in the pressure, and he uses his free hand to pull your legs wide. He bottoms out hard, then starts a steady, punishing rhythm — in, out, in, out — each thrust designed to make you shudder and sob.
You try to choke out a sentence, something defiant, but it comes out as a desperate string of broken words. “I— I’m— so—” Your eyes roll up into your head, lids fluttering, everything narrowing to the hot burn and the thunder of him hitting you from the perfect angle.
He loves the noise. He leans over you, voice low and ragged against your ear. “Louder,” he orders, and you obey, letting your cries fill the room. He rams harder, and your whole body convulses with each impact — ribs trembling, back arching, toes curling.
Without warning he hauls you up so your legs wrap around his waist and he kneels back. Now he can thrust with brutal depth and slow, torturous control. The angle presses him right into your cervix, and your brain melts. Your sounds become rawer — howls and pleas tangled together. “Hoseok—please—please—harder—fuck—” you babble, words spilling out of you like you can’t stop them.
He responds with power: two, three heavy thrusts, then a long, grinding slide that leaves you seeing stars. He leans down and kisses the back of your neck, teeth grazing the sweet spot, then lifts you and flips you onto your back so he can stare down at you as he hammers in.
Face-up, he props himself over you and slams into you from a new angle, chest to chest. His hands are on your throat one moment, your jaw the next; he uses his weight to pin you immobile while he hammers. Your arms flail for purchase and then give up — you’re a mess of sound, a babbling string of moans and orders and half-sentences. “Don’t— don’t stop— I can’t— I’m gonna—” your legs twitch, flutter, quiver; they shake so bad they keep folding and folding against him.
He stands then, suddenly — muscles rippling — and lifts you like you weigh nothing, pressing you against the wall. The sudden change of position makes your head swim. Standing, with your legs locked around his waist, he pounds up into you with an angle that drills straight into you; the friction and gravity together force astonishing depth. Your voice tears out of you raw and loud: “Oh god—Hobi—harder—please—” You’re completely undone, teeth chattering as you sob and laugh and beg all at once.
He drops you back onto the bed like a claim, then drags you into doggy, hands yanking your hips up while he drives in from behind. This position is all speed and precision — hard slaps to your ass, breath hot on your spine. You throw your head forward and the only thing you can make are broken syllables and long, animal sounds. Your eyes roll up; your legs shake so violently his grip has to tighten to steady you.
“Scream,” he orders, hitting a rhythm that makes your whole body tremble. You answer like a freight train of noise — cries, curses, little incoherent praises to him. You’re loud enough that anyone listening would know exactly what he’s doing to you; your sounds are bright and raw and relentless.
He flips you face-up again, this time sliding you into a slow, slow grind where every inch of him slides in and out in a way that makes your toes curl and your stomach flip. He uses his arms to hold you by the throat and the jaw, leaning into every thrust, making you take him like a possession. You babble on, words dissolving into moans: “Hobi—mine—so full—so deep—don’t stop—please—” Your voice cracks into a sob and then into a high keening gasp, your eyes wet and rolled back, a laugh bubbling out of you in between moans. Too cock drunk to even care about what you are saying.
He picks up the pace, then slows again — the classic tease that has you nearly tearing out of your skin. Your legs wrap around him tighter, you claw at his back, and your knees tremble uncontrollably. You can feel the pull in your core as your body hunts for release; every nerve is ablaze.
“Gonna make you fill up with me,” he growls, words rough with heat. “Gonna make sure you remember this—remember how it feels to have me buried so deep.” The breeding talk is a low undercurrent now, threaded into his rhythm, the promise making your chest tighten in a new way even as your body rides the waves.
He brings you to the absolute edge — the point where your breath stutters and your vision goes white — and holds you there. Tiny, frantic sounds bubble out of you; you beg, babble, plead in a dozen half-formed sentences that mean nothing and everything. “Please—please—Hobi—now—please—” It’s a prayer.
Then he shatters the hold. He drives in with such force, such claim, that your body finally breaks: a scream tears out of you, long and volcanic, followed by the shaking, righteous convulsions of a shattering orgasm. Your muscles clamp around him, legs flinging and hugging and shaking, everything trembling like a live wire. You can’t form words — you just cry and sob and howl, sound piling on sound, helpless and ecstatic.
He doesn’t stop, even as your cunt spasms around him like it’s trying to milk him dry. His pace is reckless now, hips snapping forward, body straining as he fights his own edge. The noises tearing from your throat are high and broken, your nails raking down his slick back, but all he can think about is how tight you’re squeezing him.
“Fuck—” His voice cracks, guttural and raw. “You’re choking my cock, bitch. Fucking—suffocating me.” His hips stutter once, twice, as a ragged groan rips from his chest, head dropping into the crook of your neck.
You feel the twitch, the shudder that rolls through him—then the hot flood, his cock jerking deep inside as the first thick spurt of cum spills into you.
“God—yes—take it,” he snarls, voice shredded, thrusting deep to grind it in. “Take it all, slut. You’re mine to fill.”
A whimper escapes your lips, wrecked and hoarse. “Hobi—fuck—”
He laughs, cruel and breathless, still grinding his cock inside you as it pulses. “Listen to you. Filthy little bitch, whining while I paint your pussy white. Greedy fucking hole, clamping down like you’ve been waiting for this.”
Another groan tears out of him as he empties more, his body twitching, abs tightening with every wave of release. He doesn’t let go of your wrists; he keeps you pinned, keeps you open, his weight heavy on top of you while he pumps load after load inside.
“Fuck—look at you,” he pants against your cheek, thrusts sloppy now but still deep, still insistent. “Taking every drop like the cumdump you are. You feel it, don’t you? How full you are? How my cock’s stuffing it deeper, making sure it sticks?”
Your eyes roll back, tears streaking down your temples, legs shaking violently as the overstimulation rips another weak moan from your throat.
“Say it,” he growls, teeth dragging over your ear. “Say you love it. Say you love being my filthy little breeding toy.”
Your voice cracks, a sob tangled with the words. “I—fuck—I love it. Love it when you fill me up. Love your cum, Hobi—”
He groans, feral and triumphant, fucking the last spurts into you with savage determination. “Good girl. That’s my good little cum-slut. My perfect bitch. You’re not dripping a fucking drop unless it’s because I put it there.”
And even when he’s spent, cock still twitching inside you, he doesn’t pull out. He holds you there, pinned and trembling, his cum seeping deeper with every lazy grind of his hips.
He stays buried inside you, cock still twitching, cum leaking thick around the base. Your body trembles under him, spent, but he only smirks, watching the way you shake.
“You thought that was it?” His voice is hoarse, ruined from groaning, but laced with dark amusement. “Pathetic. You think I’m pulling out before this greedy cunt’s really ruined?”
Before you can answer, his hand slides down, fingers pressing hard against your swollen clit. The jolt rips a scream out of you, your back arching.
“Too much?” he taunts, circling ruthlessly, grinding his cock deeper at the same time. “No, baby. There’s no such thing as too much for a slut like you.”
Your hands claw at his arms, nails digging into his skin, but he catches your wrists easily, pinning them above your head with one hand while the other keeps abusing your clit.
The sounds tearing out of you are ragged and raw—sobs, cries, broken moans. “Hobi—I—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” He slaps your pussy once, hard, making your body jolt. “You’ll take it because I said so.”
He leans down, lips latching onto your tits, sucking harshly, biting until the skin bruises. His tongue flicks across your nipple before he bites again, harder this time, leaving you gasping. “Mine,” he mutters against your skin, then sucks again until you’re writhing beneath him.
You whimper, tears slipping down your cheeks, and he laughs—dark, delighted. His free hand slides up to your throat, fingers wrapping around it as he squeezes lightly, cutting off your breath just enough to make your head spin. “Look at those pretty eyes rolling back,” he growls, grinding into you harder. “You look so fucking good when you’re about to break.”
He lets go just long enough for you to gasp in air before slapping your tits, sharp and stinging. Then he’s back at your throat, pinning you down, fucking into you with ruthless persistence.
Your legs kick and tremble, thighs quivering uncontrollably as his fingers never leave your clit, circling, pressing, dragging you toward another peak even though you’re already spent. The pleasure burns, sharp and overwhelming, forcing sobs and babbling pleas from your lips.
“Please—I can’t—oh god—” Your words collapse into nonsense, your brain short-circuiting under the overstimulation.
He groans, watching you unravel. “That’s it. Cry for me. Cum for me again, bitch. Milk my cock like you’re made for it.”
His hips slam forward, his fingers torture your clit, and his teeth clamp down on your nipple all at once—your body convulses violently, your scream muffled against his shoulder as another orgasm rips through you, shaking you to pieces.
But he doesn’t stop.
He keeps his cock buried deep, keeps your clit under his thumb, keeps sucking and slapping and choking until you’re nothing but noise and tears, your legs shaking so hard they barely hold you open.
“You’re not done,” he growls, voice wild and ragged, sweat dripping down his temples. “Not until I decide you’re fucking ruined.”
He stays inside you for a beat, cock buried deep, your body trembling and wet with his release. Then he growls low in your ear and pulls out, cock dragging free with a wet, obscene sound. Cum gushes down your thighs, sticky and hot.
“Don’t think you’re done,” he mutters, and before you can breathe, his fingers slam into you — two thick digits driving straight into your dripping cunt, knuckles deep, curling hard against that raw, sensitive spot.
You scream, body arching violently, hands scrambling against the sheets. “Hobi—no—I can’t—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” His tone is sharp, commanding, breath hot against your cheek. “You’ll take it. You’ll cum for me until I decide this messy hole’s fucking empty.”
He pistons his fingers mercilessly, the wet squelch filling the room as he fucks his cum deeper inside you. His thumb grinds down against your clit, ruthless, and your thighs start shaking immediately, twitching uncontrollably.
Your eyes roll back, lids fluttering, vision swimming white. “I—can’t—oh god—please—” The words spill out between sobs, broken and meaningless, your body fighting but betraying you with every clench around his fingers.
He smirks, sweat-slick hair falling into his eyes, watching you crumble. “Yeah, that’s it. Look at you twitch. Pussy’s drowning my hand, begging for more while your mouth keeps lying.” His hand cracks against your clit in a sharp slap before he presses harder, circling until your breath turns into frantic little gasps.
Your legs kick weakly, toes curling, chest heaving as your breathing stutters faster, faster. Your nails claw at the mattress, tearing into the fabric.
“Hobi—f-fuck—I can’t—oh my god—”
“You’re gonna,” he growls, curling his fingers harder, hitting that spot over and over until your entire body bows off the bed. “You’re gonna cum so hard you’ll scream my name.”
And you do. The orgasm rips through you like lightning, violent and all-consuming. Your thighs clamp around his wrist, your legs twitching, shaking uncontrollably as your whole body convulses. Your eyes roll back, jaw slack, breath stuttering as sound tears out of you raw and loud — a scream, then sobs, then helpless, choked cries.
Hoseok doesn’t stop. He works you through it, grinding his thumb into your clit, fucking you on his fingers while you thrash and break apart beneath him. Cum drips out around his knuckles, coating his hand, dripping down your ass and thighs in a filthy mess.
You collapse into the sheets, trembling, tears streaking your cheeks, babbling nonsense through gasps. He finally slows, pulling his fingers out with a wet drag and holding them up, slick and glistening in the low light.
“Pathetic little bitch,” he pants, shoving the cum-coated fingers into your mouth. “Can’t even handle my hand without falling apart. But you’ll remember this — how I ruined you, how I made you cum when you swore you couldn’t.”
Your tongue curls around his fingers weakly, your body twitching in aftershocks, legs still jerking every few seconds.
Hoseok’s hand wraps around his cock like it’s a second heartbeat, thick veins standing out under his tight grip. He starts slow, stroking from base to tip, using the heel of his palm to smear precum across the flushed head. His eyes never leave you — wide, ruined, spread out beneath him, skin marked with his hands and teeth, body trembling from everything he’s dragged you through tonight.
Each stroke gets rougher, faster, more intent, the wet sound of his fist working slick around him filling the room. His breath comes ragged, chest rising and falling like he’s fighting to hold himself together.
“If only you could see yourself right now, baby,” he rasps, voice suddenly softer. “So fucked out, so messy. Prettiest thing I’ve ever ruined.”
Your cheeks burn, your chest heaves, but you can’t look away. You can only watch him — the sharp lines of his shoulders straining as he pumps his cock, the sweat dripping down his temple, the way his jaw tightens every time his thumb drags over the swollen tip.
He leans over you, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your hips, his hand working himself faster and faster. The muscles in his stomach jump with every twitch, every pulse. His eyes burn into yours, dark and desperate.
“God, baby,” he groans, lips parting, head tilting back slightly. “You make me so fucking hard. Look at you. Look what you let me do to you. My perfect little mess.”
You whimper, legs twitching weakly, body arching as if it’s reaching for him one last time. His other hand drags down your belly, smearing the sweat and cum already there, and he grins down at you — wild and tender at once.
“I’m gonna paint you,” he growls, the words breaking into a moan. “Mark you everywhere so you remember whose you are.”
His hand flies over his cock, faster now, his whole body tightening, trembling with the force of his release building. His voice drops to a ruined whisper, raw and reverent: “So fucking pretty—mine, mine, mine—”
Then he breaks.
With a guttural groan, his cock jerks in his hand, hot ropes of cum spilling across your stomach, splattering up onto your chest and breasts in thick, messy streaks. He pumps himself through it, shuddering with each twitch, forcing out every drop until you’re covered in him.
“Fuck—yes—” His eyes squeeze shut, then snap back open, fixed on the sight of you glistening with him. He strokes slower now, milking the last spurts, breath wrecked, his grin softened into something dazed and awed.
He collapses forward onto his forearms, chest pressing against yours, smearing the sticky mess between you. He kisses you hard, messy, then pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, “Perfect. Fucking perfect. No one else gets you like this. No one.”
His hand lingers on your cheek, thumb stroking softly, a shocking contrast to the filth he’s left painted across your body. “So pretty like this. My ruined angel.”
Hoseok slumps down beside you, chest still rising and falling fast, skin gleaming with sweat. He looks at you for a long moment, eyes soft now, the sharpness gone. Then he grins — sweet, almost boyish — and leans in to kiss your temple.
You let out a hoarse laugh, still catching your breath. “How the hell do you go from this possessed lust monster to… cute?”
He bursts into a laugh, warm and shameless, burying his face in your neck for a second. “I don’t know, babe,” he says, muffled against your skin, “but I almost killed you, didn’t I?”
You giggle, looping your arms around his shoulders, hugging him close even though you’re still shaking. “You definitely tried,” you mumble into his hair.
When he pulls back, his grin is smug again, but it’s softened by the way he brushes sweaty strands of hair from your face. “But you liked it.”
You roll your eyes, laughing even harder. “Liked it? I don’t even know how the hell you manage to have enough stamina for this. You literally went this hard after a two-hour concert, Hoseok. Are you human?”
He winks, leaning down to press a slow, sensual kiss to your lips. “Practice, baby. And a little bit of motivation.” His tongue flicks against yours for a moment before he pulls back, smirking. “You’re worth every drop of energy I’ve got.”
You groan, burying your face in his chest. “You’re insane.”
“And you love it,” he teases, kissing your hair.
After a minute, he sits up, sighing like it’s the heaviest thing in the world. “Alright, let me clean you up before you glue yourself to the sheets.” He pads to the drawer, grabs a soft towel, warms it with a little water, and comes back to wipe you down carefully. His touch is gentle, almost reverent as he works over your skin, and he makes a show of checking everywhere, just to tease.
When he’s done, he grins and scoops you into his arms before you can protest. “Bath time.”
“Hobi—” you start, but your voice dies in a giggle as he carries you straight into the bathroom. He lowers you onto the edge of the tub and sets the water running warm, adding soap with an easy familiarity that makes you laugh again.
“Can’t have my girl falling asleep all sticky,” he says, kissing your forehead as he helps you in. His hands linger, rubbing your shoulders, washing your back. Every touch is tender, a total contrast to the way he had you screaming minutes ago.
After the bath, he towels you off, presses another soft kiss to your shoulder, and carries you back to the bedroom. The sheets have already been stripped and replaced with fresh ones, smelling clean. He settles you into bed like you’re fragile, tugging the blankets up around you, and then slides in beside you, pulling you straight into his arms.
You curl into him immediately, sighing as his warmth surrounds you. He kisses the top of your head, fingers stroking lazy patterns down your spine. “See?” he whispered, the ghost of a smile tugging at his swollen mouth. “Told you I’d be irresponsible.”
“How the hell,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut, “do you always turn into… this? All soft and domestic after trying to destroy me?”
He chuckles, low and smug, tucking you closer. “Duality, babe. You get both sides. Don’t complain.”
You laugh weakly, nuzzling into his chest. “I’m not complaining.”
“Good.” His voice softens, almost a whisper, as he presses another kiss to your temple. “Now sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
And you do, drifting off in his arms, still wondering how the same man who fucked every sin out of you is now humming softly under his breath, holding you like you’re his whole world.
You wake up with the sun glaring directly into your face, your body on fire. Everything aches — more than you expected — but after all the positions he bent you into and how mercilessly he went, maybe it was… well, expected. Cringe as it sounds, you’ve never felt more thoroughly wrecked in your life.
Beside you, he’s already awake, arm heavy and warm around your waist. You shift and groan, and immediately his grin spreads wide.
“Someone’s awake,” Hoseok says, smug and teasing.
You squint at him, voice hoarse. “Oh, don’t look so happy, asshole.”
He chuckles, low in his chest. “Someone’s moody. Didn’t hear any of that last night.” His hand squeezes your hip, thumb rubbing over the bruised skin. “All I heard was you moaning, rolling your eyes back like a good little slut, begging me to ruin you.”
“Hobi—” you start, but he cuts you off, imitating you in an exaggerated falsetto: “‘Please, Hobi, harder—fuck—oh god, I’m gonna—’”
Your eyes widen, face burning. “Shut up!” You shove at his chest, but he’s unbothered, laughing louder.
“Don’t act shy now,” he teases, leaning in to peck your cheek. “You were screaming so loud I’m shocked we didn’t get a noise complaint.”
You groan, hiding your face against his chest. “I hate you.”
He grins, kissing the top of your head. “No, you don’t. You love me. Even sore, moody, and limping, you love that I fucked you until you couldn’t move.”
You pull back just enough to glare. “I actually can’t move. My legs are dead. How the hell do you even have the stamina for this? You literally went this hard after a two-hour concert.”
That makes him laugh again, bright and boyish. “Natural talent. And maybe a little adrenaline left over.”
You soften, brushing your fingers across his jaw. “Adrenaline looked good on you. Hobi… you were so sexy last night. On stage, you were glowing. Confident. Sharp. You killed it.”
His grin falters, his eyes searching yours. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You press a kiss to his lips, slow and sensual. “I was so proud of you, I thought my chest would burst. You were doubting yourself before, remember? You thought you wouldn’t be enough. But you were more than enough. You were breathtaking.”
His eyes shine with something softer, deeper. He exhales, forehead pressing against yours. “You always know what to say,” he murmurs, voice low. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”
You smile, stroking his cheek. “I meant every word. You were brilliant. And then you came home and destroyed me. Talk about range.”
That brings his grin back, crooked and smug. “Duality, babe. I’m multitalented.”
You laugh, hugging him closer, your chest warm with affection even as your legs still ache.
The teasing settles into something quieter, warmer. Hoseok strokes your hair back, looking at you with that soft glow you’ve only ever seen when it’s just the two of you. He leans down to kiss your forehead, then your nose, then trails down to your cheek.
You giggle softly. “What’s with all the kisses?”
“Because I love you,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. His lips brush against your jaw, your throat, down to your collarbone. “And because you look too damn pretty like this. I can’t stop myself.”
His hand slides over your stomach, thumb brushing just under the edge of the blanket. You catch it, pinning his wrist before he can go further.
“Hobi.” You give him a look — half-exasperated, half-amused. “I know you. This is not about love and care. This is you trying to start round two when I can barely move.”
He laughs, caught red-handed, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. “Busted.”
“Asshole,” you sigh, though you’re smiling as you say it.
He peppers more kisses along your shoulder anyway, softer this time, less hunger and more devotion. “Fine, fine,” he says against your skin. “I’ll behave. For now.”
You roll your eyes, tugging him closer for a proper kiss — slow, deep, lingering. The kind of kiss that makes your chest ache in the best way.
When he pulls back, he grins down at you, brushing his thumb over your lips like he wants to remember the shape. “Stay here,” he murmurs. “Don’t move. I’ll make breakfast.”
When he starts to leave the bed, you grab his wrist. “Wait—”
He pauses, brows raised. “What’s wrong?”
You sigh, cheeks warm. “I don’t… think I can stand. My legs feel like jelly.”
His grin spreads instantly, wicked and boyish all at once. “Oh, this is gonna be good.” He slips his arm under your back, hauling you up despite your weak protests, and plants you gently on your feet beside the bed.
The second you put weight on your legs, your knees buckle. You clutch his arm with a gasp. “Hobi!”
He’s already laughing, steadying you with both hands. “God, look at you. Can’t even walk. I really did fuck you stupid, huh?”
You smack his chest, half-mortified, half-laughing. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Of course I am,” he says, grinning ear to ear. “My girlfriend’s limping because of me. That’s a medal-worthy achievement.”
You groan, leaning into him as he starts guiding you toward the kitchen. “You’re unbearable.”
“And yet,” he teases, tightening his arm around your waist, “you keep coming back for more.” He presses a kiss to your temple, softening the jab. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take care of you.”
Your steps are small, uneven, and every time you stumble he makes another smug little comment.
He only laughs harder, kissing your cheek as he eases you into a chair at the kitchen table. “Sit. Don’t move. I’ll get breakfast started.”
“Should I get you a cane?” he snickers.
“Shut up.”
“Or maybe I should carry you bridal style everywhere. Really commit to the ‘ruined’ look.”
“Hoseok!”
You roll your eyes but can’t stop smiling, watching him move around the kitchen in sweats, humming to himself. Even after all the teasing, he keeps glancing back to check on you, like he can’t help but make sure you’re okay.
And sitting there, legs aching, chest warm, you realize — this is your favorite version of him: confident, ridiculous, caring, and all yours.
do not watch killin’ it girl performances when you're ovulating, these are the consequences.
you & your boyfriend decide to be adventurous one day and fuck in an abandoned home on halloween.
word count: 6.840
warning: mask kink, smut, semi-public sex, rough sex, hair pulling, knife play, chase kink, dirty talk, squirting, fingering, overstimulation, nipple sucking/pinching, breast play, this is just kinda filthy like yuhh, tit fucking or whateva, unprotected sex, dubcon/non-con elements, character death :(, blood/gore, ass slapping, nipple sucking, creampie,
halloween masterlist
The night October air causes your skin to prickle with goosebumps, the hair on your arm rising. The breeze is like a ragged knife that pierces through your skin, but all you could do is cross your arms over your chest and let out a few rushed breaths.
Your heels click against the pavement, the outdoors’ is silent besides the occasional murmuring of the leaves. You weren’t dressed to be outside walking like this - especially at night. In a few hours it’d be the 31st, which only meant that the parties would be in full effect not only tonight, but tomorrow night, as well. You dressed exactly how you would see any woman going to a Halloween party. Dark fishnets that matched the short, skimpy bodysuit. The bunny ears on your head only showing everyone who would come in contact with you exactly what you were dressing up as.
You stop directly in front of your destination. Of course, this wasn’t the party. This was nothing but an abandoned home - one that’s been out of residency for nearly a decade. There’s a saying that this home is haunted - but you weren’t a child. This is Magnolia, known for it's purity and security.
The real reason for its abandonment is because the owner, an old man who managed to cheat death countless times when you were growing up, had finally come face to face with death. His children had left the home how it was, taking whatever they could and selling the rest. Since then, the home has been left empty.
The front door creaks open as you enter. This isn’t your first time here. You’ve been coming here for the last month, as disrespectful as it sounds, to clean up the place a bit. Only enough for you to do what you and your boyfriend agreed upon.
“You want me to wear a mask.”
“Yes.” you nodded your head, though he couldn’t see you. Your phone was pressed against your ear as you were getting ready for the Halloween party you and he were going to attend later on.
“And…you want me to chase you…?”
You hummed your response.
“…and…have my way with you…”
He was beginning to sound nervous, you noted, and you could only giggle a bit. By now, your boyfriend knew you. He understood that you enjoyed rougher sex - the hair pulling, slapping, degradation was just the tip of the iceberg. Every once in a while, he entertains your wild fantasies, thinking that maybe it would be a great way for the two of you to bond and come together as a couple.
This, however, was different. Newer. Something more out there than your already “out there” relationship.
“It’s all consensual.” you decided to say after a few moments of silence. “It’s the day before Halloween. Wouldn’t that be spooky?”
You closed the door behind you, glad that there was a bit more warmth in the home than the outside. You’ve come by the day prior to setting up, knowing that your hard work wouldn’t be ruined as you’re positive you’re the only one who comes here. Your heels click against the creaky hardwood floor as you make your way down to the large living room area. It’s mainly vacant besides the couch that remains in the middle of the room, covered with a large blanket you’ve brought.
You began to light the candles around the room, some of them on the floor - as there was little furniture for them to be on - and some on the window seals.
“Perfect.” you murmur to yourself, your tongue running along the inside of your lips.
“And you want me to chase you around with a knife.” he asked, a tint of hesitation in his tone. You were looking yourself over in the mirror as he spoke. “Do all women have these insane secret sexual fantasies?”
“I can only speak for myself.” you said aloud, your phone on speaker and seated against your dresser. “You know what I like, babe. Do that just…a bit more extreme, alright? Act like the psycho killer you’re dressed up to be.”
You try to contain your excitement when you hear the familiar creaking of the front door. You can’t appear too giddy - that would break the illusion. You had to pretend to be wary of the sudden sound. Maybe even go investigate it - that’s what they did in horror movies, right?
The home is eerily silent, the candle-lit flames flickering. It causes your sauntering shadow to project onto the wall. Your heels click slowly, the wooden floors creaking beneath your feet, as well. Your heart pounds to see your boyfriend in his costume, the frightening mask covering his face that would only further excite you.
You swallow. “Who’s there?” you call out, your body trembling with anticipation. “Babe, is that you?”
Your head pokes out from the living room and down the hall. Your eyes catch the figure standing still at the end of it. You lick your lips, eyes zoning in on him. The costume is black entirely, a hooded cloth-like material. You notice he’s wearing leather boots that’s laced up to the very top.
You let out a gasp as the candle flickers once more, casting a shadow against the cream-colored mask. Its eye sockets are entirely black, appearing more similar to black holes than anything else.
The scene is creepy, you’d admit, but your stomach churns with the thrill. From down the hall, he tilts his head at you.
“Babe,” you call to him. “is that…you?”
You step completely into the hallway, your costume - if you can call a skin tight bodysuit that displays the majority of your ass a costume - in his line of vision just as his is to yours.
You swallow the lump in your throat, taking a step closer. You wonder what he’s thinking. Possibly calling you and your fantasies weird, but here he was entertaining it.
“Babe-“
Your heels make an abrupt stop when he begins to walk towards you. His footsteps are heavy, the boots clamping against the creaky floor. Your heart is pumping, adrenaline flowing through your veins. The anonymity of him wearing a mask, though you know exactly who is behind it, is what brings the excitement and sensuality.
You’re unsure when this started exactly. Possibly the amount of porn you’ve watched throughout the years that allowed you to explore your own desires - such desires that eventually became darker and darker over time, further desensitizing you to the content.
You snap back into reality when he draws closer. You turn on your heel, sprinting into the living room. Your heart continues to pump as his footsteps grow heavier and faster. There isn’t anywhere to specifically hide in this part of the house - especially not with candles all around. You do attempt to, however, find a door that you haven't attempted to open before. You do, the old door squeaking open for the first time in years. It’s a small closet that still has jackets hanging up. The smell is musty and stale, but you get into the small, dark area regardless. You don’t close the door, deciding to leave it cracked.
Your heart is pumping erratically as you clasp a hand over your mouth to attempt to control - and hide - your breathing. Through the crack, you see him. His mask illuminates in the candle-lit room, an eerie sight all together that causes a sudden throbbing between your legs.
He begins to walk until he’s out of sight, but heavy footsteps are booming through your ears.
Your eyes skint, your ears perking in an attempt to hear anything just outside the door. Your body trembles with excitement, your teeth sinking down on your lips just behind your clasping hand.
You nearly shriek when the closet door is yanked open and slammed against the wall with such force. Your eyes widen, your heart pumping more erratically at the sight of him. Those dark eye holes are peering down at you. Through the flickering candles, you notice the glistening metal in his right hand - a knife.
Your heart swells a bit at his consideration. He remembered the knife, you think to yourself, glad that he was pulling off the fantasy.
“P-Please don’t hurt me!” you squeal, waving your arms around to gather his attention. “Please, I’ll…I’ll do anything!”
You bat your eyelashes at him, wondering if you were a good actress. What was he thinking right about now? Is his cock throbbing similar to the throbbing between your own legs - you understood that something like this wasn’t exactly what he was into.
You, feeling adventurous, attempt to crawl beneath his legs, wanting to be chased even further. However, this time you’re stopped. A hand wraps around your ankles and begins to pull you back. Yelping, you attempt to kick yourself free, but you’re unable to.
“Please don’t hurt me!” you repeat again, a bit too much excitement in your voice. “I’ll be good to you…please.”
Your tone drops at the last part - breathy and sensual. You feel your ankle be let go, however, it’s replaced by a hand around your neck. It yanks you upwards a bit just to turn you around and aggressively push you back onto the hardwood. You managed to swallow down a moan, your eyes focusing on the man hovering above you. Before you could process it all, the knife is shoved inches away from your face.
Your eyes gazes at the edge of the pointy knife, pondering where he got it from. Then, you slowly look up at him, trying to appear as innocent as you possibly could. l
“I’ll be good to you…” you murmur, not breaking eye contact. “I won’t run anymore…I won’t scream.”
You, slowly, managed to kick off your heels. Your feet feel a bit cold without them, but you’ll make it work. Again, you bat your lashes at him, pleading for him to do something - anything.
When he doesn’t move - possibly waiting on you to take the next step - you lift your leg up, your foot touching his thigh . You find it cute at times that he follows your lead, you think.
You continue to watch as you slide your foot closer and closer upwards, sultry eyes feigning innocence. Just as you were about to reach his groin, a gloved-leather hand snatches your ankle.
You yelp, eyes growing wide with surprise when your body slides against the hardwood, bringing you directly underneath him. The gloved hand holding the knife raises, and for a second you are confused on what he’s doing. Your heart pumps with adrenaline of the unknown, both suddenly terrified and highly aroused.
The knife begins to fall, the candle lights flickering off of it that causes it to glisten only for a mere second.
The knife clinks inches away from your head, standing upright. Your eyes slowly turn away from the haunting white mask to the glove hand gripping the knife handle. The knife is wedged into the ground and before you could process, the hand unravels and harshly grips your cheek, forcing you to look up at him. His breathing is heavy - you can hear him through his mask. Still from this position, you don’t see his eyes. They’re just black empty vessels staring back at you.
You wonder if he notices the way your thighs clench together with how close he was to you. Does he note that your own chest is rising and falling right now with great anticipation for what he could do next? That even now, you’re utterly relaxed beneath him, willing to take whatever he offers?
Again, your face is shoved away harshly. However, the leather clad hand slides down your body, causing a shudder to run up your spine that he was finally touching you. You could only watch the way his hand slides past your breast, to your stomach to right between your legs that you open for him willingly.
His breathing is even louder behind the mask, obviously just as excited as you are. You knew that he would come around to the weirdness of your fantasies. That him having complete control over you would be something that he would like just as much.
Your bodysuit is tight, but not made of thick material that would keep him away. He forces those gloved fingers between the fabric and pulls them aside, revealing just how excited you were for him. Your cunt glistens in the flickering light, throbbing with need.
Your head falls back when you feel the pads of his fingers twirl circles against your clit, deep and precise. Your thighs tremble and you swallow the lump in your throat. He’s going all in now, adding more and more pressure to your needy clit, rubbing rapid circular motions that only has you moaning.
It’s even hotter when you look at him. The way the mask stares right at you, but you’re unsure if he’s looking at your now dripping cunt or your own face. Your eyes become watery, your teeth clamping down on your bottom lip as your breathing increases. You couldn't help but blink away overstimulated tears to continue to watch him - so hot in his costume. The mask and gloves only add on to the fantasy.
“That feels so good~” you sigh, widening your legs for him to take you more - to do whatever he wants to you until you’re begging him to stop. Or for more.
Your breathing hitches when you begin to feel his fingers entering you. Usually, he takes his time, admiring the way your cunt squeezes around him. This time, however, he takes advantage of the fantasy. He enters his fingers into you full force, not giving you a moment to process them. The leather gloves inside of you are different - warm and soft to the touch, wrinkling with each movement of his fingers.
Your pussy is squelching as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, the pads of thumb pressed firmly against your clit. He continues to rub circles around it, keeping the pace just fine. In the quiet, abandoned home, your moans echo off of the walls, mixing with the wet sounds of your cunt being stretched.
You allow your body to fall against the floor fully, your hips buckling in sync to meet his fingers. Your pussy greedily takes them, wanting them deeper and deeper inside of you. Your hands roam upwards to cup your breast, pleasured moans coming past your lips.
Before you could do anything with your breast - possibly just fondle them like you do any other time, another gloved hand slaps yours away. Your hand is replaced with the gloved one. He yanks the sleeveless bodysuit down, your breast pooling out of it.
“You’re so rough.” you gasp out, eyes flickering up to the mask. You lick your lips, eyes fluttering a bit. “My pussy’s…so wet for you.”
Your breast is squeezed harshly, your nipple pinched between his gloved thumb and index finger. You suppose your dirty words are getting to him - if his heavy breathing and rapid pumping fingers wasn’t enough of a sign.
It’s hard to watch the scene in front of you without wanting to cum all over him, your body shuddering and erupting in a million goosebumps. It’s everything you've ever imagined now - the mask, dark costume covering his body. How rough he was being with you, no regard for how you’d react to the harshness of his plunging fingers. It was something straight out of your latest fantasy.
Your breast is squeezed once more and it brings you out of your nasty thoughts of him. Your eyelids flutter, your stomach sucking in. Your walls squeeze around his hands as that familiar pressure begins to build up.
“‘gonna cum~”
Your cheeks are hot, a bit humiliated with how horny you were that you were going to cum so quickly. But if anything, your breathy moans only has his fingers curling in your, pumping deeper to further torture you.
His fingers spring out of you as soon as your arousal pools out of you messily, pattering against the floors.
You aren’t offered any recovery time, nor do you want him to. You’re enjoying the new found harshness far too much to care about allowing yourself a breather. He shoves you down further onto the ground, his knees on either side of your body. Your eyes flutter to look up at him, running your tongue over your bottom lip when you’re met with the mask. This time his hands engulf both of your breasts in them, squeezing them, his breathing as heavy as before behind the mask.
“You seem to like them.”
And you were relishing with how possessive he is right now, his thumbs twisting and tugging on your erect nipples. He always enjoyed playing with them, you think, never truly able to keep his hands to himself whenever you were around - and without a bra. This moment m, however, he appears more enthralled by them, his large gloved hands cupping them in his entire hands and bouncing them in his grasp.
“Why don’t you fuck them?”
His movement stops for a moment, as if fully acknowledging you. You swallow the moan in your throat.
“You like them so much, don’t you?” you ask him, playfully grinning up at him. “Why don’t you fuck them then? I told you I’d be good to you…”
The candles are burning faster than expected, the shadows dancing around the two of you. His dark clothing obscures him, the white mask appearing to be floating in darkness at certain moments.
You lay a hand on his calf, startling him a bit that he jerks, but you shake your head slightly. “It’s okay.” you murmur, tugging at him. “Cum all over me…I’ll be good. Let you use me all you want so you don’t hurt me.”
The squeezing hold on your breast grows tighter, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh with such possessiveness. Your fingers tap against his calf, coating your bottom lip with your tongue. You don’t say anything further, instead opting to watch him with what little light you do have to do so.
His hands let go of your breast, the cool air hitting them. His warmth is taken away as quickly as they came, but you hear shuffling and a distinct zip.
It’s difficult to see his cock fully now, but you feel it slide between your breasts as the gloved hands make their return onto them. He pushes them together so his cock is wedged between them, the sensual action having you moan.
“Wait~”
You only lift your head far up enough to allow your mouth to open, tongue falling out. A trail of saliva pools out of your tongue and down your breast and, hopefully, onto the tip of his cock. You must’ve been right because the heavy breathing behind the back is back.
“Now you can fuck them.” you say, laying back down.
The gloved hands squeezes your breast together, continuing to rub your nipples with his thumbs as his hips begin to rock forward. His cock slides between your breasts with vigorous need.
It was so lewd, you think, having him here fucking your tits. His wet cock appeared and disappeared with each thrust, growing more and more rabid as the moments passed on. You lay your hands on his thighs, encouraging him to continue. You couldn’t help but groan at how good it felt to be used like this. His thumbs continued to roll along your hardened nipples, growing more sensitive by the second.
“I’m so wet right now watching you fuck my tits.” you say, your grip tightening on his thighs. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t hurt me? Now you can use me all you want~”
Dirty talk always excites him. Soon, he replaces his right hand on your breast to your head, entangling the leathered fingers into your hair. His cock continues to slide between your breast, the tip of his cock hitting your chin with each powerful thrust. Your eyes flutter closed and you bite your lip, but that doesn’t halt the groan that manages to sound from deep within your throat.
He doesn’t hide his own moans behind the mask. His breathing increases, but so does the groans. He sounds animalistic even, fully engrosed in fucking your tits. The saliva mixed with pre-cum adds enough lubricant to his cock that it squelches softly, adding to the lewd act.
You wish he’d talk to you more - tell you how dirty you are. How pathetic it was that you were allowing him to do this to you; violate your body for his own amusement and pleasure. Maybe even demean you with his muffled voice behind the mask.
Or maybe you were just a sick individual with a filthy fantasy with far too many kinks to count.
Your pussy is throbbing, aching to be satisfied like once before. Slick coats your thighs entirely, the throbbing pain shooting up your body.
It’s a hot sight to see, you think as you open your eyes. His cock thrusting between your bouncing breasts - you ponder what his view was and if it was as hot as you thought it was from your end.
“Ah-”
The gloved hand releases your hair and captures your neck, forcing your head down further against the floor. He continues to pound his cock between your breast, the tight hold against your neck only has you moaning as if you’re the one being fucked.
“Please cum all over my tits.” you beg.
A muffled groan is what you got in response, but the rapid pace in which he goes tells you he was going to do just that. Your eyes watch what little you can see, the flickering candle light adding an eerie sight to the masked man above you.
He doesn’t stop pumping - not even when hot cum pours all over your breast, coating them entirely. He was assuring that he got every little drop out - and you wanted it. Your soft moans begged for more; for him to coat you entirely with as much as he wanted.
His final thrust has more cum pouring out of his twitching cock. The amount of cum on your breast begins to trickle down your chest, leaving it sticky and messy - but you wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Does that mean…you aren’t going to kill me?”
You had every intention of keeping up the fantasy until the last moment. You wouldn’t even be upset if you two didn’t end up at the Halloween party tonight if it meant that you can continue on being the helpless (yet slutty) victim right now.
One instant, it’s quiet. The light continues to flicker off of the masked man, his dark eye holes staring down at you - the mask is expressionless but you’d like to think you know what hems thinking (in fantasy terms). A woman like you, so willing to do whatever he - the killer - wanted as long as he didn’t kill you.
You’d like to think your boyfriend behind the mask is just stunned with how deep in your own kinks you were right now.
The next instant, the gloved hand is on your hair again, this time yanking you up and onto your feet. He shoves you towards the couch. Dust fills the air when your body slams onto it, and you choose to ignore it. It’s all a part of the fantasy, you think. It was easier to think that instead of being annoyed.
Your cheek is slammed onto the arm of the couch while your thighs are forced apart with his knee. His fingers make their way between your legs and laces through the bodysuit to pull it aside like he had once before. It’s sticky and doused with your arousal, a clear sign that you enjoyed every moment of this.
Your back arches, ass wiggling in the air for whatever he was willing to give you - this time you hoped it was his cock. You were so wet that it would slide right in easily. It had to be tempting for him, your wet cunt glistening in the candle light for him at his disposal - to use until he had his fill.
His cock slides between your folds, hardened tip twirling against your already throbbing clit. You swallow back a moan, eyes shutting for a moment to savor the feeling of him. Your walls clench around nothing, but you know you wish it was around him.
Your fingers grip the side of the coach as his cock continues to stroke along your clit, circling the sensitive bud faster and faster, only teasing you further. Getting you nice and wet until he fucked you. You told yourself that when this was done, you were going to have to compliment him on his new found skills of acting. Yet, maybe the mask was doing the majority of the work.
“Please fuck m-me.” you beg, voice cracking when you feel your stomach begin to knot. You wanted to cum around his cock this time. You needed to feel it inside of you - to be as rough as he wanted. The same way he was when he fucked your breast.
Those familiar gloved hands grip your hips, keeping you firmly in place. You’re so wet, your thighs coated with your slick that his cock slides right in you easily. You let out a loud groan, your eyes continuing to squeeze shut at the size of him.
Your begging was heard - and he decided to deliver. He pulls back so that the tip of his cock is inside you, then with such force, shoves it back inside of you. He continues the brutal pace, pounding his cock in and out of your wet cunt. It squelches, echoing off the walls of the vacant home.
The couch beneath you two scrapes against the floor in the rhythm of his pumps. Skin slapping is as loud as your shrieking moans. Your breast bounces furiously, nipples rubbing against the fabric of the couch. Your thighs are trembling, his cock so deep inside of you that you, your pussy squeezing lovingly around his cock.
You’ve had rough sex with your boyfriend before. You adored it - but this time it’s different. He’s rougher, his stamina unmatched from the countless times before. His hold on you is punishing, now allowing you to run away from him. He hasn’t broken character once - not that you were complaining.
“You’re so deep!” you exclaim, lifting your cheek from the arm of the couch to let out a ragged breath. There’s a sharp jolt in your stomach with each pump, driving you crazy.
Yours thighs are covered in your own juices, your mind swirling with such lewd thoughts - more lewd than being fucked in an abandoned home on Halloween. Your mind flashes with his covering you with his cum, fucking you and over again until you’re begging for him to stop - but by then, you’d be so fucked out that you couldn’t even muster out any form of pleas.
Your stomach churns, eyes fluttering. They’re glossy, hot tears threatening to pour out from pure pleasure - his cock is so deep, scraping against your velvety walls. Hitting that sweet spot over and over again.
“B…Babe?”
Your ears perk at the sudden sound of his voice, the thrusting stopping. You let out a sob, your eyes attempting to focus on anything. You trail them towards the sound of your boyfriend's voice.
Across from you.
Your boyfriend stands, mask lifted to show his concerned face - wide eyes as they dance between you and -
Your body grows cold and stiff. Your attention is fully on your boyfriend, whose attention is on you now. His eyes are hard, confused and hurt all at once.
“Wha…what?” you murmur, just as you feel yourself being pushed away, your once stuffed cunt now empty. “What’s going on? I thought you-“
“Who the hell are you?!” your boyfriend roars. He’s dressed in a costume, not the same as the assailant, but close.
All within a few seconds, the masked assailant pulls his pants up, stalks towards your boyfriend with pounding beets against the ground and grabs the knife along the way.
You scream when the knife slashes against your boyfriend's face. You fall off of the couch as your boyfriend falls onto the ground, attempting to shield himself away from the masked man.
Your heart is pounding outside your chest, the tears now pooling down your cheeks carelessly. You aren’t sure how you managed to get to your feet, but you do. You stumble out of the livingroom, turning the corner far too fast.
You let out a scream when you hear heavy footsteps behind you, but you don’t look back. Your mind is screaming at you to survive this nightmare. How could you have been far too much into your own fucked up fantasy that you hadn’t realized he wasn’t your boyfriend? The way he handled you so roughly, appearing shocked by the way you spoke to him.
Your hand squeezes the doorknob, but before you can pull it, your hair is yanked backwards. You’re thrown to the nearest wall, bouncing aggressively off of it and falling directly onto the floor.
You attempt to crawl away, but you know in your heart that he wasn’t going to let you. It’s comical truly, in a fucked up way, that you begged him not to hurt you. To take whatever he wanted as long as he left you alive. Now, you believe you were going to live through that.
“Please!” you sob, your ankle being yanked towards the masked man. “Please don’t-“
“Shut up!”
The voice is muffled, but you hear it clearly. The man drops his body onto yours, knees straddling both sides of your waist. His hands dig into your hair, pulling it back so that you’re against his back. The large knife is now against your neck, not pressing against your flesh, but far too close for your own comfort.
“You continue to scream, I’ll kill you right now like I did him.”
Your mouth snaps shut, however you’re whimpering pathetically in his embrace. The candles are going out and if you had to guess, it’ll only be about another 10 minutes left. 15 if you’re lucky - but with how things are going now, you doubt it. Down the hall you see it, a trail of blood seeping out from the livingroom.
“Now…”
The tip of the knife lightly jabs against your skin. He trails it down from your neck to your collarbones, assuring to be gentle enough to not pierce such delicate flesh.
Hoseok likes you, he admits. Not at first. Not when he saw you walking all alone at night. He admits he was intrigued, following you inside the home to see what you were doing. He thought about what he would do when he entered. Would he kill you like he intended to tonight? It was a tradition of his to harm someone - this time, in a new town where he isn’t known.
Hoseok got his answer when you spoke to him. Such lustful eyes, intriguing him even more. You weren’t scared of him. He soon realized that you were waiting for someone and he had been the first to arrive.
How lucky Hoseok was indeed.
“…remember how you begged me to not harm you?”
The knife trails down to your breast, still bare as you haven't bothered to fix yourself before running for your life.
“Remember how you said you’d be good for me?”
You swallow, body trembling. Your eyes attempt to tear themselves away from the blood, but you’re unable to.
“I want you to be good for me, okay? If not…”
The tip of the knife begins to gently pierce your skin, a stinging feeling against your breast. You gasp out.
“…you’ll leave me no choice but to gut you like I did your little boyfriend. But you won’t need me to, right? You’ll be a good girl for me, right?”
You nod your head, your heart pounding at you to do whatever in order to survive. Your mind, however, is screaming at you for being in this position right now. You had unknowingly brought your sick fantasy into existence.
“Say it.”
“I’ll…I’ll be good for you.”
There’s a whimper in your voice that shoots straight to Hoseok’s cock when he hears it. How pathetic you sound beneath him, whimpering and sobbing so meekly. Your body trembling with such fear that you couldn’t possibly fake it - you were absolutely terrified of him.
And it turned him on more and more.
“Stop acting scared.”
Hoseok drops the knife beside you. He didn’t need it. He doubted that you were going to fight him off, and if you did then he’s positively hurting you would be just as easy with his bare hands as it would be with the knife.
“Where’s the whore that begged me to fuck her?”
Surely he was teasing you in such a fucked up manner. The whore was you, the woman right beneath him. This, however, is far different than you wanted it to be. If you would’ve known that an actual killer had entered the home behind you instead of your boyfriend, then you wouldn’t have offered up your body in exchange to “live”.
The man’s warmth leaves your body, but you aren’t a fool to know that he isn’t leaving you alone. No, instead his gloved hands trail down your body and back towards your hips. He forces them up and, like before, presses his knees between your thighs. His right hand begins to slowly slide from your hip, to your ass.
“You’re still so wet…” he trails off, a chuckle coming seconds later. A finger laces between beneath your bodysuit, pushing it aside so he could see your pussy. Even in the dim lighting, your pussy is as beautiful as he thought it was before, so wet and still flushed from the harsh pounding.
You swallow back a moan when you feel the warm, wet tip of his cock slide between your folds. Your eyes squeeze shut, but still all you can see behind them is flashes of your boyfriend's bloodied body not too far away.
Instead of teasing you like he had before, he has every intention of cumming. He was pissed when he was interrupted by your boyfriend. He took his anger out on the poor fool - and now he had every intention of finishing what he started. He enters you whole, left hand squeezing your hip while his right lays onto your ass.
You bite your tongue at the menacing pace he does, an attempt to hide your moans. There’s no couch arm for you to lay on, so you have to keep yourself up with your hands. Your breast bounces even more aggressively than before, the sound of your ass hitting his abdomen grows louder and louder inside the quiet home.
“Why are you acting like you don’t like it?”
Hoseok’s right hand lifts from your ass, just to slam it down hard. The stinging sensation mixed with the suddenness of his action causes you to yelp out. A trail of saliva trickles from the corner of your mouth.
Your pussy - against your best wishes - squeezes his cock. It’s enough to get the masked man going, with each thrust he gives, he offers a punishing slap against your ass.
Your knees are going to be bruised in the morning. You already know with how cheap the fishnets are that they’re ruined, but the masked man doesn’t stop fucking his cock into you. Not until he has his fill.
Your eyes open, your thighs falling further apart. Your warm body - especially your pussy - loved what was happening. Your nipples are erect with pleasure, pussy gushing around the pleasant girth of his cock, stretching you more and more. You finally allowed yourself to moan freely, cheeks hot.
Your mind, however, is screaming at you to fight. To not give him what he wants - to find a way to get out of here. You weren’t supposed to enjoy this - not with your boyfriend murdered just down the hall. You can still see the blood trickling, a pool of dark crimson.
But this is what you wanted, you tell yourself - succumbing to your perverse thoughts. You wanted to be chased by a killer and used until they had their fill. You wanted to be taken advantage of, to be used as if you were nothing but a fuck toy for them.
“Please don’t stop~” you breathe, eyes rolling with each pounding against your sweet spot.
Hoseok chuckles. He knew with how sick you were that you’d eventually love the way he was fucking you. You were already so wet, your juices spilling onto the floor in a puddle that could resemble the one your boyfriend laid dead in.
“It’s like you don’t even care that your life is in my hands.”
Hoseok continues to pump his cock - in and out, in and out. Your body is shaking beneath him, thighs trembling and pussy squeezing. You’re whimpering so loudly - if this was a horror movie, you’d be the slut who is getting fucked right before the killer enters. But, this is a different type of movie; one he hasn’t seen yet - until now.
You cum, body spasming. You had to mentally tell yourself to breathe, your heart pumping erratically in your chest.
Your mind is still blank even when the mask man pushes you away from him just to turn you around, slamming your back against the ground. He enters you within seconds, continuing his brutal pace. You’re seeing stars, eyes rolled to the back of your head. He was going to fuck you until he had his fill - and you couldn’t care in the slightest.
This new sight of you - in the now flickering candle light that was mere moments from vanishing - you’re even more sickenly beautiful. Your tits on full display, bouncing erratically in rhythm of his thrusts. Your nipples are erect and ready to be sucked - and he finds that he wants to have a taste. You’re far too fucked out to notice him lift his mask and lower to your breast. He plops a nipple into his mouth, twirling it back and forth with the tip of his tongue.
You aren’t sure when the last time you came so hard before, but you’ll never forget this moment. Your body allows you to cum again when you feel his tongue on your breast, sucking sloppily. His thrusts become slowed, but deep. He’s breathing harder, and you can hear his groans clearer now that the mask isn’t covering his lips.
Hoseok pops your nipple from his lips and continues to fuck you, groaning loudy at the buildup in his abdomen. You hadn’t opened your eyes or focused on anything yet, but he still pulls down his mask just as he’s about to cum.
Warmth fills up inside of you, cock twitching deep in your pussy.
You’re too fucked out to reguster anything that’s happening - not when removes his cock from your pussy, drenched fully of his cum and your own slick. Not when he pulls himself away from you and grabs the large knife in his gloved hand and squeezes it. Not even when he stands directly above you, looking down at your fucked out appearance on the ground.
You’ve never been stabbed before and the feeling is fast - similar to a slap. Your eyes snap open just as part of the knife is removed from your shoulder. Your body jolts, acting before your mind does, and you push yourself away from him.
“Get out.” the masked man says, not bothering to follow you. “By the time you call the police, I won’t be here.”
You’re confused for a second. You had managed to push yourself away from him when your body hit the front door. Your hand is holding your bleeding shoulder, eyes on the masked man.
“W-What…” you swallow the rest of your words in your throat. Your free hand holds onto the wooden doors as you attempt to stand with trembling legs.
He was letting you go, you tell yourself. He wasn’t going to hurt you.
Your mind cannot wrap around why in the world he was doing that if it meant that you were going to run into the arms of the police, but you decide not to test him further. Your shoulder aches as your hand grabs onto the door knob and you open the door.
Adrenaline sets in when the cool air hits your body, your legs running down the street. You release a loud scream as tears prickle in the corner of your eyes as it dawns on you that your boyfriend is dead. You encountered a killer who had let you go and you were currently bleeding - all at once.
(okay so if you read magnolia, obviously this is set in the same universe :3 you know i like a good easter egg)
warnings: camboy jk, edging, he talks her through it, 'bunny' being used as a nickname several times, usage of toys, masturbation (f & m), smut with a little bit of plot obviously!
a/n: this is my first time sharing a fic so AAAAA!
-
As you watch his long fingers adorned with tattoos wander over his abs under the blue-purple hues coming from his light, your hand trembles. God, why was it so hard to press that button?
As if feeling your heartbeat on your mouth isn’t enough, an ache in your lower stomach starts to accompany it. And you know soon, the voices in your head will tell you not to do what you are about to. Because it feels crazy and wrong and dangerous.
You try distracting yourself by listening what he says. Kook. The name he has chosen to be his nickname on the internet. You found Kook not longer than a month ago, desperate to find some release at the end of the hardest week of your life, by mindlessly scrolling on the site for hours.
It was his blurry profile picture with a dog next to him that caught your eye first, and the moment you clicked on that livestream, you became addicted. He was the sexiest man you’ve ever seen, no doubt, but there was something else. He was so charming, knew how to be a total flirt and managed to make you blush through your computer screen. Oh, and his voice, which became your undoing so quickly.
Your most nights were sleepless since then. Stayed awake every night, just to watch him bring himself to that euphoria and paint his beautiful skin a milky white, and listen his heavenly moans when he reached that high. Just the thought of him was enough to get you wet for the past weeks.
What started as an innocent self-pleasure time turned into a full blown obsession quickly, though. You were just content with watching at the beginning, never commenting, never liking anything. Being unknown felt safe. You tried to get yourself to what people were commenting him to do, or tipping him. In the beginning, that seemed to be enough, until it wasn’t anymore.
As if they wanted to test your patience, none of the commissions or the comments were to your taste. And not to mention, you didn’t like how others got to talk with him while you were just an audience. So the next thing you knew, you had an account just for him; kookiesbunny.
Even though you’ve never seen him above his lips, you were hundred percent sure that his face was as beautiful as the rest of his body. So the first thing you commented was “You’re beautiful,” and it felt like a relief to finally hear him read your words.
And you knew you were right when he read your user name, because his lips curled into the most beautiful shape as he chuckled. “Hi bunny, thank you.”
The rest came so quickly. What started with small tips that just made him thank to you for a second turned into giving larger tips, that usually led him to edge himself, cursing under his breath as he mumbled bunny over and over.
You were intoxicated, never really caring that in two weeks you’ve spent half of your salary only to watch this camboy you found very attractive edge himself to delirium on your command.
You shift on your chair as you watch him palm his cock through his boxers, it had been three days since you last wrote anything to him. Because you somehow managed to make him angry, furious even, in that session of his.
You didn’t realize yourself hitting the button that sent him the enough amount of money that would cause him to edge for the sixth time. You couldn’t help yourself, he sounded so beautiful when he was all whiney and breathless. You loved watching his teeth leaving marks on his bottom lip, drawing blood, right next to his shiny piercings.
The only problem was your timing was disastrously wrong that moment. He was so close to relief, and your tip only ended up leaving him with a ruined orgasm after nearly two hours of edging.
He whined in pain, and then cursed. When he finally caught his breath, he just mumbled something under his breath you couldn’t understand. A moment later the live cam stopped. After a few seconds your phone blinked, with a notification that said the amount you sent him was refunded to you.
So, that’s why you are now hesitant to even type him a ‘hi’ to show that you were watching.
But what you have in mind today is not hiding in shadows, no. Your intention is to start a live chat with him, which would result in you eating plain pasta the whole week caused by the great damage done to your bank account.
A dark voice in your head keeps telling you it’s a stupid idea as you check yourself on the mirror next to you. Your black, transparent nightgown shines under the dim light of your room, and your hair done in soft curls hide your nipples peeking through the sheer fabric. You also check the light makeup you’ve put on, even though you aren’t planning of showing him your face.
Your wish is to be alone today with him, make it up to him. The how part was up to him.
While you’re drifting off in your thoughts suddenly his figure shifts on the screen, and you realize that he was about to take his boxers down just to reveal himself. So you act out of sheer panic and press the live chat button.
A blink sound came from the other side and his movement stopped, and you saw his lips tighten when he read your name.
“Sorry everyone, today I have a special guest to entertain. See you tomorrow,” he says and suddenly the tab you had open changes.
As the screen loads before you, your heart pace doubles. In a matter of seconds, it is only you two. And the silence, which is very loud.
His tongue plays with his piercings on his lower lip, and you can’t help but thought that maybe, this was actually a bad idea.
“Hi bunny.” His voice sends shivers down your spine, and every hair on your arm rise.
“Hi.” You barely manage to talk.
“I was wondering when we would do this.” He leans back on his chair, the camera angle slightly showing his nose too. God, if he were to show his full face to you, you might’ve faint.
“I wanted to apologize.” You say, your fingers fidgeting on your lap.
“So, you dolled yourself up all to apologize me, hm?” He grins, “For what, bunny?”
“That day,” you knew he wouldn’t be seeing your eyes but you still lower your gaze with a hint of shame behind them. “Sorry for ruining your orgasm.”
He laughs. Literally laughs.
“Why would you apologize for that? That’s why you pay me.”
“But you refunded the money. I thought you were angry.” Your own voice makes you cringe, because it looked like you definitely misunderstood things that day.
“I refunded you the money, bunny, because I came all over myself.”
Your lips part to say something, but nothing comes out. The image is still very vivid in your mind. The way he cursed as his cock twitched, and the thick white liquid flowing all over his hands… God, you wanted all of it in your mouth so badly. You needed to taste him. Fuck the screen in front of you, you would’ve devoured him if he was near.
“Though, I must admit, it was a bit frustrating.” He continues in your silence. “Would you like to make up for it?”
The question takes you by surprise, your gaze widens.
“How?” You put your hands on the handle of your chair, as you moved forward excitedly.
He wasn’t angry, and he surely was wanting to play. Well, maybe it wasn’t that much of a bad idea after all.
“Eager bunny, cute.” He mumbles. “You have a toy you hid in that little room of yours?” His finger twirls in the air.
Without even thinking, you nod. “I have three.”
His smile grew and his tongue grazes his lips. “Go and get your favorite one.”
You feel giddy as you stand up, checking the camera angle once more making sure that he would not see your face. Well, it was low enough to ensure he wouldn’t see your face, but it was obvious that he was gonna get a good view of your very visible ass under that nightgown so you made sure to sway your hips as you walk to the dresser you hid your most prized possessions.
When you open the middle drawer, what you are doing hits you for a moment. Kook is a total stranger, and could be a fucking creep as well. Did that really matter though, when you were the one who started it first? He wouldn’t even be seeing your face, there was no way he could find out who you were.
Without lingering any longer, you grab the vibrator and walk straight to the desk.
What you didn’t expect is seeing his cock taking up most of the screen, already hard and resting against his stomach, with veins reaching out to the pink tip. You freeze, the wetness between your legs suddenly becomes too uncomfortable.
“Like what you see, bunny? Did you bring your toy?”
You shake the vibrator on your hand as you sit back on your chair. “I love it.”
“You spoil me with your compliments bunny,” He fists his cock oh so slowly, torturing both of you. “Why don’t you get rid of your panties, and show me how wet you are already?” His teeth make a clanking sound as they clash with his piercings, and for a second, you think he is also very eager to do this with you too, not just for the money.
You don’t let your imagination run wild, though.
You slowly get rid of your panties, and throw them behind you into the darkness of your room. The way you confidently open your legs wide and put them on your table seem to please him as well, and he takes a sharp breath when you angled the camera a bit lower; the light coming from your computer directly reflecting the wetness of your folds.
His hand goes up and down one more time, and you could swear you see pre-cum leaking from his tip.
“Like what you see, Kookie?” You imitate him, and his dark chuckle makes your pussy twitch.
“If I were you, I’d be very careful with my tone, bunny. After all, you’re the one apologizing.”
Your hand slowly reaches between your legs, your middle finger dancing around your wet hole. Then, you gather some of that pooling wetness, only to drag it across your whole pussy until your fingers finally find your swollen clit.
“Touch yourself for me bunny,” he commands and even though you can’t see his eyes, you feel his piercing gaze on you.
The sensation is unmatched as you watch him touch himself too. It feels too intimate, and you imagine it was his fingers touching you. “This feels different,” you tell him.
“How so?”
“I feel like I’m gonna cum,” you admit, your index and middle finger pulling your folds apart but never daring to touch your clit.
He pouts mockingly, “Oh, poor bunny, but we are just starting.” His finger smears the pre-cum on his tip around and you gulp with how delicately his fingers move around. “Put that vibrator on your clit, now.”
The change in his tone drags your mind into submission, and you do as you’re told. The slightly colder silicone makes your legs shudder with the contact. After a second you manage to move it up and down to coat it with your wetness.
“Press the button,” he orders. “Lowest setting.” The second buzzing sound fills the room, you moan, dropping your head backwards. “Is this how you watch me?”
You nod, and mumble some words into the air that resemble the word yes. You came to watching him thousand times, in thousand positions, imagining that it was him ruining you. But right now, you couldn’t find the words to tell him that.
“So you found it fun to rub that little clit as much as you want, come as much as you want when you were torturing me?” The more he talked, the more his tone got darker.
It wasn’t that you wanted to specifically torture him. What you enjoyed was that it was you who got to make him cum, and not some other people’s comments or tips. It was just you being possessive over him in the only way you can. And if you were to spend time thinking about what you were doing, surely you would’ve founded it sick.
But you didn’t seem to think when he was the object of your desire.
“I loved it when you whimpered my name,” you say breathlessly. “You have a beautiful voice. Even more beautiful when you- ah,” The intensity becomes too much, and you move the vibrator around, feeling close already. “Moan.”
“You have a way with words, bunny.” The way he kept saying that nickname made you even weaker. “Are you close?”
“Mhmm,” You move yourself up and down, getting even closer. You were so ready for the relief, as if you hadn’t came for a month. “Gonna cum-”
“Stop.”
You freeze, the vibrator nearly flying away from your hand. You look at the screen stunned, your mouth agape. You want to ask why did he made you stop, but as the fog in your brain clears slowly, you understand. This is how he’s making you apologize. By edging you. By torturing.
“I was so close,” you whine as your pussy begs for attention. You first mistaken the molten lava feeling inside you with anger, for him not letting you come, but it doesn’t take long to realize that it’s actually pure excitement. Letting the control being taken away from you is a distant feeling, let alone from a total stranger, which your body seems to enjoy very much. “I wanna cum!” You fuss.
“You either listen to me, or I close the livestream.” Not that he would, no, he was now very invested in bringing you to that edge and watch you squirm, at least one more time, but you didn’t need to know that yet. So when he realizes that your breathing has turned normal, he orders again. “Keep going, set the vibration higher.”
You sulk, but press the button twice before putting it to your clit. Your free hand slowly reaches to your breast and you squeeze, finding and pinching your nipple over the soft fabric. You fix your eyes on his cock on the screen, and try concentrating on his breaths, which are getting intensified each second.
“Show me your tits, bun.”
“Please keep talking,” you beg him as you unwrap yourself like a present to him, only to pinch your nipples with the intention of pain to keep your mind off of the sensation growing between your thighs. Each moment, you were getting closer and you did not want to stop. Not ever.
“Such a beautiful girl,” he continues, complying your request. “You’re close.”
You nod your head quickly, begging for him to let you finally come. And for a second, you think he would.
That thought quickly vanishes into darkness when he demands you to stop a second later.
“Kook!” You plead, but you listen and draw the vibrator away. You feel tears welling up on your lashes out of frustration and you want to scream at him.
“It’s not even half of the cruelty you’ve shown me baby,” he grins, and you think of shutting away the computer and go on and come as much as you want. But you don’t, cause where’s the fun in that?
When you don’t respond to him right away, he shifts on his chair, adjusts his position to take a look at the screen better. “You okay there?” That’s what makes you move your limbs slowly, the warmth in his voice being the fuel for your body.
“Just needed a second,” you straighten and reposition your legs.
“If you don’t want to continue-”
Before he finishes the sentence, you press the button and set to the highest setting. You moan shamelessly, an indicator that you enjoy it as much as him, if not more. The filthy sound of the buzzing mixed with wet squelches fills the room quickly. On the screen, Kook fists his cock again, and this time he starts pumping himself quicker than the last two times.
You synchronize the movement of the vibrator with the pace of his hand.
“Wish it was you, Kook.”
“Yeah, is that so bunny?” He replies quickly, breathlessly. “You would look so good under me, you would be such a good girl taking all of me, wouldn’t you?” His tone lowers an octave as he keeps continuing.
You say yes once, twice and maybe ten more times along with his name. His breath intensifies along with yours, and you pray he lets you this time.
“Can I come, please- please,” you yelp.
“Go on baby,” he moans and that sound brings your climax like an earthquake.
Your legs shudder, your vision blurs as your whole body shakes, but your eyes remain on the screen.
“Fuck- fuck bunny,” Kook curses, and his cock twitches when he comes all over his stomach, his hands and you keep riding your high as you watch him come undone.
When you feel your senses come back after a few minutes without any movement, you finally find the strength to lower your legs to floor. You can’t help but smile at the vision in front of you, seeing him still trying to catch his breath as well makes you feel powerful somehow.
You reach out to the water beside your laptop screen, and as you take small sips, Kook straightens, his cock now softened and cannot be seen through the camera.
“Good girl,” he coos. “Take good care of yourself, I need you to be strong for the next round.”
“Next round?” You ask, your voice unable to hide your interest or excitement.
“Mhm, of course bunny,” he smirks. “I hope you’re free tomorrow as well.”
warnings: just jungkook being a perv, raw (wrap it guys)
a/n: this is so ass sorry. PLEASE read my rules before requesting, i will have the nanami ver of my gojo hcs tmr (hopefully) . not proofread as usual so ignore mistakes. first kpop post nervous
perv!roommate jungkook who looks like the sweetest, most innocent guy ever— polite smile, shy glances, always offering to help you with little things around the apartment.
perv!roommate jungkook who secretly can’t stop stealing your panties, jerking off with them stuffed against his face while groaning your name into the sheets.
perv!roommate jungkook who always tries to look at your body any chance he gets. he asks you to get the pan from the lower cabinet, knowing you have to bend over to reach it.
perv!roommate jungkook who finally slips up with the door cracked, cock in his hand, your underwear pressed to his mouth when you catch him.
perv!roommate jungkook who stutters, trying to cover himself, cheeks burning red when you catch him. he thought he was going to get yelled at, but he was surprised when you just smiled.
perv!roommate jungkook who nearly loses his mind when you climb onto his lap, kissing him rough, giving him exactly what he’s been dreaming about.
perv!roommate jungkook who pushes you down on his bed, fucking into you hard and desperate, whining your name against your neck.
perv!roommate jungkook who cums deep inside you, moaning about how much better you feel than he ever imagined, still holding your panties in his fist.
perv!roommate jungkook who can’t stop after just once — flipping you over onto your stomach, rutting back into you with messy groans, like he’s been starving for years.
perv!roommate jungkook who keeps calling you “his,” eyes dazed as he stuffs his cock in deeper and deeper, drunk on the feeling of finally having you.
perv!roommate jungkook who looks at you after, sweaty and fucked-out, eyes still wide and innocent, like he’s both the sweetest roommate and the dirtiest pervert you’ve ever met.
perv!roommate jungkook who falls asleep still buried inside you, soft little smile on his face, as if ruining you was the most natural thing in the world.
POV: Sitting in his lap while you yap about your current new quirky little interests and he wanders his hands all over you.
(Member x Reader) - Drabble
KIM NAMJOON
He’s in the armchair with a book in hand, glasses perched on his nose. You curl up in his lap, opening your own copy of the book he suggested few days ago.
“I just started it!” you ramble, excitement bubbling as you tell him your first impressions.
He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t even look up from his page, but his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile.
His free hand drifts lazily up your thigh, fingertips tracing idle circles that get higher and higher the more you gush.
He listens quietly, a soft smile tugging his lips, until you pause.
“I’m not boring you, right?” He chuckles when you ask.
Finally, he shuts his book with a soft thud and presses a slow kiss against your temple.
“Darling, do you realize how sexy it is when you get so passionate about things? Keep talking.” His hand rubs your inner thigh absently, making you gasp.
He smirks, nipping at your ear.
You smack his chest. “Stop distracting me!”
“But you’re the one distracting me,” he counters, smirking.
“Now I have to decide which I like better—your mind or the way you squirm in my lap when I touch you here.”
KIM SEOKJIN
He’s cutting fresh fruit, sitting at dining table in kitchen, lips pursed in concentration like the perfectionist he is.
You wander in, plop onto his lap at the dining table, and start yapping about a recipe you saw online—“So, it was something with cream, cheese, and way too many steps.”
“Baby, you’re literally describing a heart attack on a plate,” he chuckles, holding a slice of strawberry to your lips.
“Open. Don’t talk too much while eating, or you’ll choke.”
You pout dramatically but take the bite, letting the juice drip down your lips just to be bratty. He groans, thumb swiping at the corner of your mouth.
“God, you’re messy.”
He mutters, licking the juice off his thumb slowly, deliberately. “God, do you enjoy making me lose my mind?”
“Maybe,” you smirk, shifting in his lap intentionally. “Feed me more.”
He exhales sharply when your weight grinds down against him. The fruit bowl nearly tips as he steadies it with one hand, the other gripping your hip hard.
“Princess, if you keep squirming like that, dessert won’t be fruit anymore.”
MIN YOONGI
Yoongi is sprawled lazily on the couch, hoodie swallowing him whole, hair messy from hours of working on music in his studio.
You crawl onto his lap, straddling him without a second thought, your voice bubbling with excitement as you start talking about the new songs you found online.
“They seriously were inspired from your style—like the beats—”
“Mm,” he hums, head tilting back against the cushion, one eye lazily following your lips.
His hands settle heavy and warm on your hips, thumbs stroking the curve of your waist. “You’re cute when you get all nerdy like this.”
“Am I talking too much?” you ask shyly, chewing on your lip.
He opens one eye, smirking. “No. I like it. Go on.”
You flush as his hand drifts under your shirt, thumb rubbing lazy circles into your skin.
“You really listening, though?” you tease, shifting just slightly on his lap—innocent, but not really.
Yoongi’s breath hitches, smirk deepening.
“Every word. But if you keep grinding down like that, princess, I’m not gonna remember a single song you mentioned.”
JUNG HOSEOK
He’s fresh from practice, shirt clinging to his chest, skin still warm and damp when he flops onto the nearby couch. You don’t give him a second to breathe before straddling his lap, all smiles and sparkly eyes.
“Wait, wait—do it again! I also wanna learn that step,” you giggle, hands flying as you mimic the dance steps he’d just shown, bouncing on him without realizing how hard.
His breath catches, hands gripping your thighs.
“Baby… you do know you’re grinding on me right now, right?” His grin is sinful, sweat-slick hair falling into his eyes.
“I’m not!” you protest, still moving, still wiggling excitedly. “I’m just—enthusiastic!”
“Enthusiastic?” He laughs low, voice rough, his hips subtly pushing up against you. “Enthusiastic is gonna kill me. Keep bouncing like that and I’ll show you moves you’ve never seen.”
You smirk, leaning down close to his ear. “Maybe I like killing you a little.”
He groans, head tipping back as his hands slide up to your hips, holding you still.
“Don’t play with me. Keep bouncing like that and I’ll bend you over the mirror right now—sweaty, messy, and begging for me to ruin you.”
PARK JIMIN
Jimin is sprawled over the couch with one arm around you, peacefully. But the second you decide to straddle his lap, his peace is ruined.
“Babe, this character literally reminded me of you—so dramatic but so charming,” you tease, hands waving around, voice excited, buzzing about a show you binge-watched.
He laughs, tucking your hair behind your ear, as his other hand grips your thigh. “So you like the dramatic types, huh?”
“Only when they’re cute,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss his jaw deliberately slow, letting your lips linger.
His fingers tighten at your waist.
“You know exactly what you’re doing.” His eyes flick down to where you’re seated over him, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You’re squirming way too much for me to focus on anything happening on that screen.”
“Who said I wanted you to watch the movie?” you smirk and whisper against his ear, deliberately rolling your hips once.
“Fuck, you’re evil.” He groans as his hand slides down to grip your ass, squeezing. His head tips back against the couch, breath catching.
“Princess, if you keep teasing me like that, I’m gonna ruin you right here—blankets, popcorn, all of it.”
KIM TAEHYUNG
He’s lounging with your designs spread out on the coffee table, genuinely interested as you point out details of your upcoming launch.
You climb into his lap to show him sketches on your tablet, rambling about colours and textures, while he hums like he’s listening—except his fingertips keep brushing higher and higher on your thigh.
“Mm,” he drawls, leaning in so close his breath fans your ear. “You’re brilliant, baby. But you know what would make your designs better?”
“What?” you ask, already aware of the mischievous glint in his eyes.
“If I modelled for you.” He pauses, before adding with a wicked grin, “Naked.”
You gasp, smacking his chest with the tablet. “Tae!”
“What?” he laughs, unbothered, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “It’s artistic.”
“You’re impossible,” you mutter, cheeks hot.
“But you love it,” he sings teasingly, catching your chin to tilt it up for a kiss. “You love when I drive you crazy.”
His hand slides higher, cupping under your skirt this time, thumb dragging slow circles on your inner thigh.
When you open your mouth to protest, he smirks.
“Or, maybe you could sketch me—hard and aching for you—while you sit here squirming in my lap.”
JEON JUNGKOOK
Jungkook’s halfway through a heated match, headset on, trash-talking strangers online, when you slide onto his lap uninvited.
You start gushing about how you became MVP earlier using the tricks he taught you.
“See? I’m learning!” you beam, bouncing a little.
He freezes mid-match, arms tightening around you. “Babe—fuck—do you realize what you’re doing to me right now?”
His voice is low, warning, but his teammates in his ear are still screaming directions.
“I’m just proud!” You tilt your head innocently, grinding the tiniest bit against him. “Don’t you want me to celebrate my win?”
The joystick slips in his sweaty palms, his character dying onscreen. He slams the controller onto the desk, jaw tight, arms banding around you.
“You’re evil. Wriggling in my lap while I’m mid-game? You like distracting me that much, huh?”
“Maybe, yes.” Your lips brush his ear.
He groans, hips bucking up involuntarily.
His hands grip your ass hard, dragging you closer until you can feel just how hard he’s getting. “One more grind like that and I’m shutting everything off.”
Smirking, you rock against him deliberately, slow and taunting. “What if I want that only, gamer boy?”
The way he rips his headset off? Deadly.
“You wanted real MVP gameplay? Then you’re about to get wrecked in the filthiest bonus round of your life.”
A/n: First attempt at writing a drabble - short but little spicy. Hope you all like it. 💜
summary: when jeongguk finds out you were touching yourself without his permission while he’s gone in seoul, he’s not hesitant to remind you how cruel he can be.
warnings: heavy daddy issues (ofc), dom/sub dynamics, punishment, spanking, edging, food used during intercourse, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), nipple play, deep-throat, degradation kink, squirting, the horniness is too much, bratty behavior, smoking and vaping, dirty talk, no condom, multiple rounds, multiple positions, miscommunication trope, jungkook is delicious and cruel.
note: i jinja can’t believe this is real. jungkook came live on hoseoksluna’s comeback and i still haven’t recovered. i can’t believe that i finally wrote something that i’m proud of and that i’m finally showing it to you. while he was live, i was making the same matcha that is mentioned in the fic and it just feels like a dream come true, a story coming full circle. you’ll see what i mean by the time you finish reading this fic. please, don’t forget to give me a warm welcome and give me ALL of your thoughts. i missed you all sooooo much, and i’m already thinking about what to write about next. I LOVE YOU ALL, ENJOY READING. MWAH.
The days were cruel.
In an unimaginable way that made you cranky. The days were blistering hot; the sun grazed its round face against your skin too feverishly. The bees foolishly thought you were a flower, put together on this earth to refresh them and fill their backs with pollen, sending you into a spiral of fear of such great weight that the whole town heard you yelp and scream. And your boyfriend was out and about in the faraway city of Seoul, bulky and masculine, but still the same Jeonggguk, making his name bigger in the world by crafting an album with his closest brothers.
You were alone with the bees. And you were alone with your… loneliness, which had many shades.
Blue for when you missed the quintessence of his presence. His softness, and the gentleness that was the true core of his openness, his warmth and his lovingness. All of which was palpably manifested through his most prominent love language: acts of service. Making you breakfast, fixing you a quick lunch, making you dinner with snacks and desserts in between. Washing your fruits, then watching you eat them with the kind of joy only a person like him could radiate. Making you matcha. Filling up your water bottle without you ever asking. Tying the shoelaces of your favorite sneakers or helping you with the clip of your most-beloved heels. Washing your hair, lathering your body in your colorfully scented body butters and creams… massaging you.
The very gesture interlaced with the second shade.
Burgundy was for when you missed the physicality only a man like him could offer you. The big muscles he worked when he jackhammered his fingers in and out your heat just to see how many times you could squirt for him in two minutes. The rawness of his competitive nature that would come up to the surface more vehemently than ever, more eagerly and more yearningly than the world had even seen. For you, he would unload your burdens, your bad days and your moods with his mouth and his cock, fucking it out of you until your mind was blank, praising you for taking it so wonderfully, for letting him empty you out of the lousy and filling you up with something else he very much enjoyed watching leak out of you.
You missed him. You fucking missed him. And counting the days wasn’t helping when your body flushed with this burgundy shade. Has been flushing for weeks. Your own fingers weren’t much of a help, cramping when trying to mimic his speed and his technique, and cumming on your own was as dissatisfactory as not cumming at all.
You were coming home on your own. Getting the groceries on your own. Matcha, skincare. Even the cleaning was bland and dull without the melodious sound of his singing voice, the warmth of his humming, the depth of his conversational skills.
He isn’t supposed to be returning to the stillness of the town for another couple of days, but you can’t spend another minute delving any further into the realm of your memories with him. Living there, instead of the reality—of your life with him, the life he changed forever. You’re not the type to bother your partner while he is at work, but he has been gone for such a long time and the messages and phone calls haven’t been so frequent, and the liquid heat that pools beneath your panties just isn’t so bearable at the moment.
And you’re hot. Dying of heat. And you want some ice cream.
Before your mind is registering what your body is doing out of its own fervent will, you're listening to the ringing on the other side of the phone. A bee buzzes to the left side of you as you make yourself more comfortable on the plushy chair Jeongguk got for you on his balcony, the noise mingling with the repetitive other one. And when he picks up, you don’t even realize it—because the bee flies towards you.
You scream. Flit your hands. Shriek at it to go away, and the slender yellow creature quickly flaps its wings in the other direction. Away from you, frightened by your reaction, expecting a much different one.
Your heart thuds heavily in your chest and you take a minute to calm down. It isn’t until you hear Jeongguk calling your name that you snap back to the present moment, and the flesh relaxes at the sound of his voice.
“What happened?” he asks, a hint of amusement lacing his deep, raspy voice, which divulges to you that he might have a fraction of an idea of what just went down.
A pout naturally forms, the heavy feeling of his absence expanding in your soul. “A bee attacked me.”
He chuckles, but the sound is so soft and amiable that it doesn’t scar your heart. On the opposite, his sympathy reloads the void within your sternum, and you suddenly feel the need to grab onto something in order to ground yourself.
“No,” he coos, prolonging the vowel, and you squeeze the suppleness of your bare thigh as you feel his voice reaching the very middle of your lap. It doesn’t really make the situation better. “Are the bees bothering you?”
“Yes, they are,” you bite just as soon as he asks the question, as if it were his fault that they kept stumbling into his balcony. Perhaps, they miss him, too. “Because they’re looking for you.”
Jeongguk hums, thinking about what you just said. Clicks his tongue and sighs. “Are they?”
You hum just the same, in agreement. Don’t expect his following question.
“What about you?”
Your breath hitches in your lungs, and your heart skips almost immediately. The thought of what he would do if he were here skyrockets into the canvas of your mind, and the burgundy hue lengthens. You need him. You need him to protect you from the bees, fuck you on this balcony and then take you inside for a continuation of the pleasure, deepening it on the bed.
“Yes,” you admit, shamelessly, sinking your teeth into the pillow of your bottom lip. “Way more than they are.”
He chuckles, his raspy adoration spreading in the sound, and you can’t help but squeeze your thighs together. And you squeeze them harder when he says, “oh yeah?”
You nearly whimper. Or perhaps the noise does come out, you don’t know because you’re so overwhelmed with your need for him that everything feels stifling and tight and he has the right pair of hands to undo the knots and the damage. And soon, you do know—because Jeongguk does the thing you didn’t have the guts to ask for.
“Princess, put on a pretty dress and wait for me outside. I’ll be there in fifteen,” he murmurs into the phone, zapping you with an amalgamation of shock and pure joy. You gasp, springing up to your feet, and it takes a minute or two before reality descends over your mind, and you engulf him with your words of worries and are you sure’s, which you don’t really hear. Not over the drum of your heartbeat.
But the one who instigated it also stills it with the smooth, homely melody of his voice.
“Oppa will manage, don’t you worry about it,” he reassures you, smacking his mouth as he licks his lips. Momentarily, you think about the kind of noises it would make somewhere down below between your thighs until he continues his sentence. “You worry about that dress. The prettier it is, the harder I fuck you in it.”
You let him hear your sharp intake of breath. Let him hear the influence of his dirty words as they course down your body with the whimpery sigh that leaves your parted lips. And a bud of embarrassment opens and flourishes in your cheeks when he laughs.
At you.
And you’re reminded of how truly mean he can be in bed, even though he doesn’t look the part. For a blink of an eye, you fold yourself into the earliest memory you can find in your mind. Of him edging you with his fingers massaging your swollen clit until your tears lined your vision and you had to beg him to make you cum. You feel the center of your panties dampen at that, but you can’t go any further into that recollection. The teasing snarks of his band members and harmonizing voices in the background snap you out of it, and you feel so empty that your mouth corners downturn. Empty with the kind of void only Jeongguk can fill.
You’re horny, sweltering, and you miss his body. Miss him.
“Alright then. Can you get me some ice cream on the way?” you ask, tracing invisible patterns on your thigh, your sweat creating a heavy layer on your skin, one of utmost discomfort. The throbbing in your sensitive bundle of nerves only adds to that, despite your phony nonchalance.
And Jeongguk makes it so much worse.
“It depends,” he says, ever so seriously, and your bottom lip juts out in a bratty way. “Have you been good while I’ve been away?”
If being good meant you stroked your pussy while your face was buried in his pillow during those two long weeks of him sleeping in a cold, foreign bed somewhere in Seoul, then yes. You were good.
Exceptionally good.
And you tell him.
“Very good.” Your voice springs to an octave higher, playfulness lacing it sweetly, enough to coax out a soft grunt out of your boyfriend, only for your ears to hear. You surely do hope that none of his band members are around and that his phone is fixed to his own ear because you murmur: “I’ve played with my clit so much that it hurts now.”
Well, it was half truth, half lie. You did go hard enough last night that you couldn’t do another round, whatever number you were at—you can’t really remember. The muscle became so sensitive and so sore that a sting shot up your sternum when you tried to touch it again, so you let it be. And this morning, in the shower, there was no pain to speak of. You merely said it just to pull his attention to this very pressing matter: your fingers weren’t enough to satisfy your need for him, and you yearned for his own, for his tongue, and for the manhood between his legs that tore up your old life and construed a brand new one.
Jeongguk growls into the phone, and you can hear the loud, indignant thud of his car door closing. A smirk is drawn on your lips, that very easily. The promise of being redeemed by his ruthless strokes hangs in the air and sweat, excitement and a dark layer of a sensual craze coats you tighter, drives you mad, pushes you into that little role you found your home in the moment you met Jeon Jeongguk.
The sub space welcomes you, and your boyfriend locks you inside with his following words.
“That doesn’t sound like you were very good,” he disagrees, and you can almost see him flexing his jaw and gritting his teeth, the action causing that delicious dimple to make a dent in his chewy cheeks, the one you like cumming on so wetly. Because if there’s anything that he’s fundamentally against, it’s you touching yourself without him being present. He regards it unethical when he reminds you every now and then that he owns those dewy little princess parts. And whenever he leaves, whether it be for a tour or promotional events, he very sternly orders you to be good and to not touch your little clit.
You’ve never had the guts to disobey. You were always eager for his praise and validation whenever he came back to find you dripping wet and swollen, two, three weeks without an ounce of orgasm dopamine. This time, you gathered the courage to rock the boat—but not because you had the craving to be bad, but because there was something different about his absence.
Be it the aftereffect of the military, you simply couldn’t go any longer without this key part in your life—because truth be told, the sex was everything to you. Intimacy with Jeongguk was the tree of your spine that held your body upwards, its lengthy roots the pathways of your veins. His pheromones, sweat, the mint of his breath, the milkiness of his body wash clinging to his body—that was your oxygen. His grunts, moans, growls and whimpers were the music you needed for your soul’s and mind’s refreshments. And his cum…
You moan his name, brazenly and crazedly, at the thought of his cum. And you perceive what you’ve done when Jeongguk austerely calls you by your own, and you dumbly make a confused noise in response.
And he’s seemingly had enough.
“That’s it. I’ll deal with you when I get home,” he grumbles, and ends the call. The beeping noise signaling what you’re about to face takes its time getting through the mashed potato your brain has become, and it is the clamorous fluttering of another pair of a bee’s wings that propels your body to awaken and jump to action.
You grab your green glass of matcha and your phone, and you run back inside. Though the lack of solidness to your brain remains.
Your thighs are slick with your yearning, your mouth dry and ashy. You feel as though you’ve done something very wrong, and that a punishment awaits you. A great punishment that might elevate your relationship or utterly diminish its wonderful spell. The bee tries to get inside through the transparency of the window, and it reminds you of all the times you got in trouble on purpose for your father to notice you. You realize that you’re nearly doing the same thing now, though not with your father, but another equally important male figure in your life—bumping your head against the glass again and again, despite the fact you know and you’ve seen that the way doesn’t lead there.
Asking for his time, for his attention… not with your words, but with the rosy wickedness of your actions. Lies, pretense, challenge.
You’re ashamed of your actions, and it is an ice-cold, prickling sensation beneath your skin. And because of it, your matcha tastes bitter when you slurp it all in one go, no matter how much you sweetened it with the honey Jeongguk bought. The same honey he told you to eat a spoonful of everyday for good health and your throat, made scratchy with the persistent cough caused by your constant smoking.
How he cares for you, and how little you appreciate it.
A certain inkling to fix yourself inflames your heart, and because of that—you listen to what Jeongguk told you to do, and you pick out the prettiest dress you own. The one you can’t really wear outside, but only inside due to the sheerness of the fabric. Black and short, ending barely beneath the suppleness of your butt, with an additional slit to accentuate your thighs. Teeny tiny straps, easy for his teeth to tug down your shoulders. And the stretched, long tiger stripes that adorn the fabric, and that do absolutely nothing to cover your nakedness.
You don’t feel sexy in the dress. Not even when you fluff up your hair. Not even when Jeongguk takes his time and you smoke two cigarettes on the balcony, waiting for his matching black car to appear on the driveway. Not when you’re trembling with the weight that you got yourself in some serious, irredeemable trouble, which results in him not wanting to come home to you at all.
But the beeping of the lock does find your ears. The quiet shuffling of his feet, the rustling of a plastic bag, the jingling of the plush animal hung over the strap of his bag. You’re not smoking anymore, so you let the balcony door open, and you don’t look back when the shuffling of his socked feet draws closer and closer—
His warm, large, calloused palm touches the crown of your head.
No hello’s are spoken aloud, but shared intimately and silently between the interlocking of even warmer, plumper lips. You didn’t even get to get a good glance at him, and he’s deepening the kiss, as if compensating for all those weeks he didn’t get to kiss you at all. His body heat is soaring, dipping into your skin, melting down the severity of your guilt and shame, and if he didn’t pull away and almost fix everything with the intensity of his stare, you would break into liquid, sorrowful emotions.
Dark, doe eyes, twinkling. The extreme, bottomless outer space of utter blackness, which holds everything. The eyes of a wounded animal, having lost his mother and his home, belonging to a man, capable of making his own home. And that’s the essence of Jeongguk, this split persona that you will never cease to love.
Hardness and softness, meeting somewhere in the middle.
Silky hair, falling into that gentle creek of his eyes, damp with the summer air. He glints in the sun—in fact, the entirety of the star reflects off of him as he soaks it, and you soak him, too. Enough that you split into two sides, in which you’re happy to see him and at the same time, you feel as though you don’t deserve to see him at all.
But Jeongguk sinks his fingers deeper into your hair, bends at the waist again and sinks a tender kiss into the arch of your forehead, lingering there, inhaling you. Spreads the sun into your body until light catches you, takes a hold of the heaviness you carry inside. Doesn’t take it away, not at all. Merely holds it with you, for it’s his job to make it disappear.
And he does when he withdraws his hand to rummage in the white plastic bag in his other one, and pulls out your favorite strawberry popsicle.
The sun rays burst in your eyes. Push at the back of them, inviting your tears.
But they don’t come. Jeongguk stops them with his words.
“Do you deserve it?”
The intensity of the moment thumps between you and him, and your guilt threatens to seize your emotions, but Jeongguk crouches in front of you and unwraps the sweet treat you hankered for all day. Holds it up before you, seemingly waiting for your answer, but he doesn’t.
He speaks again.
“Did you miss me that much?”
Now he waits, now he wants to consume your answer with the way he narrows his round eyes, with the way the corner of his puffy mouth twitches upwards and stays there. The amusement fans off from him, and he’s not doing anything to hide it. As a matter of fact, he gladly allows you to see it, bask in it, settle in it.
That’s the core of his meanness. As small as it is, as shrouded and imperceivable as it has been all this time, its influence is boundless. It straps you down, renders you boneless. But something in its heart requests the presence of your former naughtiness.
And he proves it to you by his sudden impatience.
Jeongguk stands up. Your impassioned eyes travel far up with how tall he is, and you can’t help but regard how pretty he is against the gradient of blue and ochre upon the canvas of the sky. A momentary observation that steals the breath out of your lungs before the nerve center of your inner challenge is incited.
He lifts the hem of his oversized dark gray T-shirt and shows you his groin.
Not even the excessive bagginess of his jeans can conceal the hard-on he’s sporting.
His girth, pumped full and thick, creates an outline in his pelvis that causes you to salivate. It reaches his left hip, being fastened to the side like that by the tightness of his ivory Calvins, which peek out from the waistband. His fist also reveals a little bit of his tummy as he holds up his shirt, and there’s so much drool collecting in your mouth that you have a difficult time swallowing it all.
Your eyes flick back to his manhood, and you think about how easily your lips could glide along its side after you’d slobber all over him. That familiar heat brushes across your mound, your folds moistening, and your mind is wiped clean.
Jeongguk appears to be intently watchful of your return to your sub space, and you adore the feeling of it. Adore the feeling of him stepping into his own role as your dom. The dynamic is unspoken, always has been, and something tells you that this fact is about to change.
“You see what you’ve done to me?” he rasps, his arousal clawing at his voice, clawing at you, stimulating your body to want more, yet giving it the sense and the focus it needs to hear what he’s trying to tell you. The popsicle melts and drips at his side, making a mess on the balcony floor. “I had to drive so slow I had the cars honk at me and cuss me out because all I could hear and see in my mind is you moaning and touching yourself to the thought of me.” He grunts, and your muscles jerk in response, calling out for him. The sun is scorching hot inside you, swallowing every bit of your being. And you’re not ignorant to the pang of disappointment that collides with it, when he lets the hem of his shirt drop. “And when I get home, I see you in this dress. Tell me, why are you making it so difficult for me?” He lets his shoulders droop, can’t stand the distance, parts your legs with his, meets your forehead, one hand on the back of your chair, the other—the busy one—in front of you. “I need to fuck you,” he breathes out, fumes, bites his lip. “I need to spank that ass raw for making me rethink everything I’ve ever done or felt.” He pauses, tilts his head, and when that icy dollop of the popsicle plummets to the inner of your thigh, you mewl so devastatingly that he growls and sinks his nails into the plush of the back of the chair. Sucks in heavy breaths through his teeth, inches closer and closer to your lips. He can’t see what the popsicle has done to you, not just yet, because—“I need to watch you play with your little clit for me. I need you to misbehave. It’s just so—”
And he doesn’t finish his sentence because he kisses you senseless.
Promptly, he parts your mouth open and slips his tongue inside, groaning at the taste of redemption because he was wrong for forbidding you from being intimate with yourself. The movement of his lips closing is harsh, bruising, but you take it all, take in this newness, this change to the dynamic of the relationship, and you submit so easily that it feels freeing.
He’s in charge, but he’s given you freedom.
“I’m gonna make it nice and wet for you.”
And it is now that, as he kisses you for the last time—more tenderly than before, as if the indication of your pussy softened him, that he notices the ichorous pea of the pink popsicle that has dropped onto your thigh. His hand is tinged with the runny mass, creating veins of white and the same pink, which cascade down his wrist. One of the sun beams, the richest of them all, shimmers in his eyes, and the heaven’s canopy darkens when he swears and dips to your smeared thigh, without averting his gaze, and collects the pea with his wet tongue.
The moan that comes out of you in response instigates him to grip both of your thighs and push your hips forward, nearly over the edge of the chair. And he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t waste time, and nosedives into your scorched dewiness, seizing your pussy with his whole mouth. And the sensation of his flat tongue against your lips, your outer folds and finally your clit… you let your head drop back and flutter your eyes shut, your moans a continuous stream, which supports his tongue’s potency in licking that already swollen pearl over and over.
But Jeongguk doesn’t like that you’ve closed your eyes. His dominance manifests in full glory, and he withdraws, much to your disappointment. It takes some time for you to fully emerge out of that stupor he’s caused you with his prowess, but he hastens the process. Skillfully so.
“Look at me while I eat your pussy or I won’t,” he slurs, stupefied just the same, as if he craved your pussy just as you have craved him, and he’s drunk on the sentiment of it all.
Your eyes flung open, barely, drooping within this overbearing energy.
Jeongguk’s mouth cracks into a soft smile. “That’s it,” he praises from between your thighs, which he pushes further back into your chest and spreads as far as they can go. Then, he faintly kitten licks your clit. Makes your body zap with the delicate, yet strong surge of pleasure he gives you. Your moan is breathy, but he wants more. You can see it on him long before he voices it out. “Are you not speaking to me?”
Then, he shocks you with his following action.
He runs the tip of the popsicle over the top of your bare mound, stopping right at the sensitive spot before your clit. Your chest shudders, the stimulation so cruel but so good, evoking the memory of the first and the last time he edged you, the last time he was mean. You don’t even remember the reason, only the fervent moment was dug deeply in the soil of your mind. And you don’t even know why you’re not speaking—you’re overwhelmed, overfilled with yearning, which is dotted with the last bits of guilt and shame you have.
But the awareness of what you need dawns upon you.
You need a conversation.
“I thought I was in trouble,” you admit quietly, your lips forming that natural pout of sadness. Jeongguk’s eyes soften at the sound of your voice and at the meaning of your words, and time beats twice as he comprehends the information you’ve given him, his irises fixed on your own before they slope down to your pout.
He licks his lips. Meets your eyes again. Dominant, sharp, ready to resolve.
“You were,” he adds his own admission, keeping the eye contact intact as he slides the popsicle further down. Its iciness on your clit releases a vulgar moan out of your mouth, the pleasure so vivid and so loud within your body, unlike anything you ever felt in your life. Your thighs shake in his hold and he presses them harder against your chest, his fingers making dents in their thickness. He lets the popsicle dwell there, moving it up and down ever so slowly but firmly, and you feel your dewiness drip down your skin. You rock against it, your eyes flitting as they roll back, and Jeongguk laughs, bitterly. “Until I realized how much I liked it.”
You whimper. The coldness, his words—it’s too much. You furrow your brows and push his hand away, sticking your knees together in overstimulation. Jeongguk obliges, getting the message, replaces the popsicle with his mouth, warming up your pussy. He sucks your clit, watching as your long lashes fan over your eyes, but before you could focus on the pleasure and on your eventual orgasm, he’s gone.
Ponders his thought before he releases it. “I never thought you would do that,” he continues with his admission, kissing your clit, your fold, your pelvic bone. Your heart jumps, the subtle pleasure enabling your brain to think. “Rub your pussy to the thought of me, I mean,” he explains, brushing his lips over the skin of your inner thigh. Your hand extends out and rakes through the soft ebony of his hair above his ear, encouraging him to carry on. “I always thought you would do it while watching someone else, and I wouldn’t survive that.” A graceful patch of rosiness forms on his cheeks and he shies away, into your thigh, having shown his emotions and the apparent, deeply-set insecurity strung throughout your relationship.
And it clicks.
The reason why he doesn’t let you touch yourself is because he’s possessive. And his self-esteem is so insubstantial that he thought you’d rather watch other guys than envelop your self-pleasure around him and the memories he perfumed your life with.
Your heart sinks, heavy and laden with his burden. It wrecks you, the fact he thinks so low of himself, that he thinks he isn’t worth your alone time while he’s away, and you sit up. Surprise him as you do so. Grab his face, hug him to your chest and hold him like that.
Hold him as you affirm him of reality.
“I spent these past two weeks with my nose buried in your pillow because it made my memories of the way you fucked me seem more real,” you say into his hair, the scent of milkiness, honey and cotton filling up your nostrils, intoxicating your brain. Jeongguk listens with his mouth parted and cheeks flaring, his breath heavy against your bosom, and when he kneels and drags you down with him to sit you on his lap, you let him. Gaze into the darkened, dreamy creek of his eyes. Take a dip inside. Try not to grind against his hard manhood, but his wandering hands already begin to do the job.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans, tilting his head to go for your neck, peppering the column with the softest kisses and the graze of his teeth as his hands control the back-and-forth motion of your pussy against his denim-clad length by gripping your ass. The popsicle has been discarded forever ago, you guess, and his smeared, cold hands get warmed up easily by your scorching skin, which he fondles, squeezes, all while still maintaining the control.
But you haven’t finished. Not quite yet.
You run your fingers through his hair and sigh in all the world’s delight. “Why would I look at different guys in porn when I have the hottest man in the world? Just your selca would make me cum in a minute.”
He groans, and his hot breath is the last thing you feel before the sinking of his teeth overcomes your senses.
Jeongguk bites your neck. And you definitely need a cigarette or two after this.
The drumming in your clit heightens. You can almost hear its music in your head when he soothes the bite with the lap of his tongue, sucking the skin right after and… you’ve nearly forgotten what you two were talking about, had he not backtracked—right there, upon the column of your abused neck.
“I still want to punish you, just for the fun of it,” he says, and you take two seconds to remember what you did to deserve the play-pretend punishment he speaks of. That much he emptied out your brain with that one singular gesture. “Can I?”
Oh, and he asks.
“Please.”
He begs.
You whimper his name, his delicious, pretty name, and force him to look at you. Teary eyes, more rounder than ever, tender and lenient, so terribly weak and horny. And those cheeks, so cutely stained with his carmine meekness. You could eat him, you could chew him—and you wouldn’t have enough.
Such a lamblike man, begging to punish you.
“Punish me,” you purr, puckering your lips through the unfolding of your seductiveness. “I’ve been so bad, doing something you told me not to do.”
The game begins, and Jeongguk is a man of his time. Leads your legs to wrap around his torso. Raises himself to his feet with you clinging to him like this without huffing a breath of exhaustion, and you squeal in surprise—reckoning soon after that he probably lifts more than you weight. You’re not ignorant to the tingle it brings to your bundle of nerves, and you grind against his stomach, pepper the same kisses to his neck that he gave you, but when he shifts his hands and holds you with just one, you pause and see that he’s fetching the abandoned popsicle and incorporating it into the game.
Your stomach jumps.
In a minute, you’re thrown on the bed. The gossamery, white canopy, hung over it, rustles with the incoming summer wind rushing through. And with your legs spread, sticky and and half-soppy with your essence, you watch him watch you. Watch him suck on the popsicle and swallow the sweet delight, his Adam’s apple bobbing in that very way you find so appealing. The strawberry scent clasps to him, and you’re so hungry for him that merely the treat retracing its pathway down his ashy-pink wrist makes you drool. Your breathing accelerates, and you wonder why he’s not doing anything—just to soon realize that this is a part of the punishment.
And he confirms it with his following words.
“You’re not getting the ice cream,” he decides, sternly, coaxing out your slick. It’s bare and raw for his eyes to see, but he doesn’t look there. He intently studies your reaction, reveling in the way his power over you affects you, and all you can think about is how his meanness has finally come to take its rightful place. He smacks his mouth, hums, makes this so much worse for you, makes you crave something that only he can decide if you can have or not.
And he smirks.
“Besides,” he continues, sticking out his tongue to catch a large dollop, flattening it on the side as he drags it back up, pulling a pathetic moan out of you. Your body vibrates, your muscles tense up and your hands fist the covers. “I haven’t heard you apologize to me, have I?”
The two words collect in your mouth, but you swallow them. Just for the fun of it.
The hefty silence wafts between the pair of you, charged with the intensity of the moment. You narrow your eyes at him, playfully, and like him, you drag the tip of your tongue over the arch of your upper lip. His brows twitch, and you’re sure something else you’re severely hungry for twitches, too. The notion of it brings your hands to wander over your stomach, nearing dangerously close to your breasts and perked nipples, poking through the black, pellucid fabric.
“I have nothing to apologize for,” you say, your voice a low vibrato. Jeongguk chuckles, finishing the popsicle, his stained, tattooed hand glistening in the dimmed light. The yellows and blues outside have darkened to the fullest, too, resembling the coat of the bees you fear so much.
His smirks deepens and slightly widens, that dimple exceeding yet again in rearranging your guts. “Bratty fucking mouth.”
Your breath hitches, stopping your panting, and the dynamic impacts him just as well because abruptly, with his clean hand, he pulls out his pink vape and takes a hit. And you’ve never witnessed anything hotter.
And you were wrong. Prematurely wrong. Because as he puffs out the ivory, strawberry-scented smoke, he straddles you and kisses you, madly. Bites your lower lip when he pulls away. And then, then, he uses your open mouth to stick the middle two of his popsicle-coated fingers inside.
He hits your gag reflex, and he moans when he hears it, unbuckling his pants. Doesn’t let you clean his fingers in all entirety because as soon as he pulls out his drooling cock, reddened and swollen, he stains it pink with the residue of the sweet treat. Holds it for you at the base, grabs the back of your neck, and pushes your head to take him.
“Here’s your popsicle, baby.”
That is the hottest thing you ever witnessed.
The heavy feeling of him, the warmth, the veins all across your tongue when he swiftly fucks your mouth. It was all worth the turmoil, the waiting. Your eyes are fixed upwards, unblinking, boring into his as he grits his teeth, trying his hardest to last. And you can’t really believe it, having him in your mouth like this, finally. You feel as though you’re merely soaring on a cloud of dreams, and you need something to ground yourself with.
You grab his fingers. The dirty, tattooed ones.
Jeongguk slows down. Pulls out of your mouth. Bends to your level. Your heart skips a beat, regarding his sweaty, aroused countenance. “Did it taste good?”
You nod, without hesitation. “I want more.”
Your throat is raw. You missed this, missed being changed so visibly by something so vulgar. And you want to be devastated to smithereens, only to be put back together with the same healing hands and kisses.
But Jeongguk shakes his head. “No.”
But he fondles the knuckles of your fingers before he lets go, a fond reminder that this is just a game. Grabs a fistful of your hair to give you a nasty, wet kiss before he continues them down your neck and collarbone, only to hastily turn you around to your stomach. Your short dress has ridden up so much that he doesn’t need to do anything to see your full bareness. And he fleetly observes his favorite part on your body before the rough palm of his hand smacks down on it. Hard.
The burning sensation makes you yelp into the covers, but he wants to hear it. Comes over to the side and grabs your face.
“On your knees.”
You comply, sticking your ass up in the air, drawing out a pleased hum out of his chest. He follows the arched curve of your spine, landing another spank to the other cheek. Harder than the last one.
“Apologize,” Jeongguk orders again, inches closer to your lips until they’re almost touching, brushing up and down, ever so slowly and torturously. “I know you can do it,” he whispers, encouraging you, the words sending a thrill of shivers down your back. “I know you wanna be a good little princess for me.”
Goosebumps dot your flesh, and Jeongguk chases them. There, over the small of your back, connecting them as if they were sparkly beads of constellations, created for his slender fingers. He permits your heart to beat two times as you purposefully keep your mouth shut and, snickering to himself, he squeezes your ass harshly before he spanks both cheeks.
Shifting your mind from the acute pain, he straightens your body, letting you kneel on the bed as he tugs you flush to his body, one arm wrapped around your back. You’re so small before him, hidden by the mass of his muscles. If someone were to come in, they wouldn’t see you at all. Jeongguk coos at that, arching a little over you to place his lips against your ear.
The proximity, his breath, his cock pressed against your ribs, the hardness of his body rubbing up against your perked nipples—you can’t take it anymore. Your own breathing becomes irregular, and you grip and pull at his useless clothes, asking for friction, for relief, for the open oasis that his cock offers—
“Not tonight, huh?” he asks mutely, kneading the back of your thighs, your ass, the womanliness of your hips, stilling your motions. “Tonight you wanna be Oppa’s little slut?”
Your mouth falls agape, the soft gasp faultlessly emanating the shock your body is loaded with. Your heart pounds, painfully so, and you think he can feel it because he shifts into his gentleness by the way he draws back and cradles your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks. His nose pokes yours, as if to say—hey, I’m here, we’re playing, but I’m here, and it makes you smile, composes your emotions, settles you into a restful state, in which you’re ready for the next step.
“Answer me,” Jeongguk demands, and your smile grows, the most girlish blush adorning your cheeks. He squishes them at the sight, fighting his own grin from forming on his lips, and you feel so comfortable and so at ease, despite the fact you’re about to be absolutely ruined.
“I wanna be your little slut tonight, Oppa, and I want you to fuck me like I deserve,” you purr, giving him the answer he wants, and it is now that his proud smile finally blossoms. A meadow of flowers bursts open in your heart, seeing that fatherly smile, and you long to do anything he asks, anything he desires, just to have that soul-stirring, life-changing smile fixed on you.
He hums, pleased. “You know what I want,” he says, changing the course, closing the distance and planting a singular, hard kiss onto your lips, onto which he adds, “I want you to show me what you did.”
With that, he pushes you onto your back, lifting your legs in the process as he crawls on the bed. Nods at you to get to work while he pins your limbs back, your trickling dewiness and swollen clit on full fucking show for him. You can’t help but silently laugh to yourself, and your bratty ways propel you to grasp his leaking dick and pump it a few times. Jeongguk hisses, squeezing his eyes shut, swiftly grabbing your wrist in order to make you stop doing that. But you have your other hand, too, and it mirrors your previous action, enveloping the room in your loud giggles when Jeongguk sighs, moans and growls, pinning both of your hands back.
Forehead to forehead, chest to chest, drooling dick to your tummy.
“You’re a naughty fucking girl, you know that?” he scolds croakily, diverting your wrists to his singular fist, merely prolonging your giggle with that, in spite of the fact he doesn’t find your own game amusing. Your breasts bounce in their tight confinement and he notices, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip before he bites down. “Let me see those tits.”
And he tugs down the neckline, so roughly that he almost rips the straps. And when his large hand seizes both of your breasts, the callouses on his palm stimulating your nipples, your giggles fade out, replaced by irregular loud breaths that make the atmosphere so much more serious and desperate.
“That’s what I thought.”
Your nipples are the most sensitive part of your body, and Jeongguk knows. Leans down, and lightly laps at your pointed nub before facing you, smugly. A cruel tactic of discipline because he leaves it at that, doesn’t give you more. Even when you sway your body, puff up your chest so the bud gets to his mouth. No, he stays put, and that ever-relentless smirk on his face stays as well.
And the tactic lengthens when, all of a sudden, he slips his swollen tip inside your heat, keeping it there, not going any further. The unexpected stretch nips at your muscles, and you let out a huff of uncomfortable breaths, your brows scrunched, your face tense. It’s now him who laughs as he drifts a finger down the middle of your sternum, the place between your tits. Down and up, down and up, deflecting and moving towards your nipple, which he teases. Your hips lift, a natural reaction that he clicks his tongue at because with the motion, as small as it was, it helped you get him deeper inside you, but as it seems—Jeongguk plans to irrevocably destroy you.
“Don’t move.”
He pinches your nipple, sending violent surges of pleasure all across your body, and you don’t stop your hips from moving—because you need to be fucked right now. As a matter of fact, your motions vivify and quicken, circling around his tip, grinding until you break sweat. It happens so fast, time makes haste, and you just—
“I can’t take it anymore,” you cry, longing for the entirety of his cock, for his drive, stamina and roughness. His tip does feel good, but it’s not the same. “Please—”
Abruptly, you’re maneuvered over to your stomach, your hips sprung in the air by his hands in order for you to perk your ass up while your face is planted on the mattress. His tongue takes a long, proper drag across your entire cunt from the back like this, and you hear him moan indistinctly at the taste before he plunges his cock inside you, and doesn’t give you time to get used to the achy stretch.
He bottoms out. Digs crescent moons into the fleshy parts of your hips as he uses them to give you fast, hard, mini strokes that despotically scramble your brain. Your hair, a bird’s nest, unfurls around you like a pair of black wings, bouncing with each movement. You can’t breathe, you can’t think; you can only feel—the monumental weight of his cock, hitting just the right spot above, the very hastily rising heat in your lower tummy, its pressure heightening when he flattens you on the bed, and merely fucks you into the mattress.
You can only take it; there’s nothing else for you to do.
The pleasure is bigger and more all-consuming than anything you ever experienced. His balls slap against your clit, and his hand joins, too. Crawls from underneath, not only to lift your pelvis higher how he likes it, but to rub your clit to madness. Not once does his pace stop, nor does his pace ever falter. And now, with his fingers flicking your bundle of nerves, the pressure in your core is at its highest, needing so very little to throw you over the edge. His other hand comes to meet your jaw as he leans over to eclipse his body over yours, and his lips, once again, find your ear.
“Is this how you did it?” he taunts, and that is all it takes to make you cum.
To make you squirt, in fact.
Your vision fills with streaks of white as your body trembles, even under the tower of his body. Jeongguk holds you through your orgasm, grunting as he listens to you moaning his name over and over again. You feel his eyes digging into the side of your face while your own roll back and stay there, despite the fact you’re drenching his cock and every other guy wouldn’t dare to miss the show. He swears, he moans, but he doesn’t stop flicking your clit, even though your juices have long pushed him out. He puts you first, taking your orgasm to the finish line, paying attention to the telltale sign of your body slackening against him, your eyes opening and your hands reaching for him—which is precisely what you do, when you come out of the euphoric limbo he just put you through.
“Fuck, baby,” you call out for him, still dopey, still so out of it that you can barely catch your breath, and your baby brings you back to life by spreading kisses down your nape, after which he rolls to the side with you, his hand roam down your torso—across your tits, which he momentarily squeezes, down your stomach until he reaches his destination.
Your soppy little pussy.
His other hand wraps around your shoulders. “So prettily wet, shibal,” he comments, touching your cunt all over, just to look at his fingers. Glistening, your squirt juices leaking down his palm like the popsicle earlier. There are still dried crumbs of it that you didn’t get to clean off, and your head spins. “I can still feel you dripping down my balls. Fuck, I missed you so much.”
Oh. Your mind spins faster, the aftershocks of the orgasm rendering you utterly numb and powerless, but maybe you could clean them up for him… as a sign of gratitude for giving you more than you asked for or needed. You didn’t get to touch them after all.
You begin to move, but he disagrees.
“No, stay, we’re not done yet.”
Jeongguk locks you in his embrace, and it is now that you perceive he’s taken off his shirt in the middle of fucking your brains out because you sense the nakedness of his chest. You snuggle deeper within his arms, turning your head to look at him and ask for a kiss.
He’s as fucked out as you are.
Hair disheveled, silkier than it were with the amount of sweat that clings to the strands. Eyes shining with the merciful light of desire, wet, narrowed and deep. Not dark, not lustful, but pure. He’s love incarnated from forever ago when love, in its truest form, truly existed, and you’re so lucky to have him that you don’t know what to do with this blessing.
He slides himself back into your heat, his eyes rolling back as your tight walls constrict around him, welcoming him home. Jeongguk fucks you like this, from the side, while he busies his hands on your nipples and clit. Fucks you in missionary. Fucks you in the air until you’re giddy and crazy, throwing your head back, high on his cock and the constant pleasure he showers you with. Fucks you against the balcony window, upon which both of you simultaneously cum. You, for the fifth time; him for the first time. The glass is stained with this elixir of your shared love, and it’s something both of you embarrassingly laugh at once the game is over.
After a much needed shower, you sleepily wipe away the memory of your wildest sex while Jeongguk makes you a large glass of matcha. You wait for him on the balcony as soon as you’re done, your muscles sore and limp. Gaze at the last of the yellow hues before they fully disappear beneath the horizon, thinking about how much more devastatingly you’ll miss him when he’ll, too, disappear to Seoul tomorrow morning and you’ll be alone again.
The slow, homely melodies of his rnb playlist creep into the balcony, spreading across the canopy of the trees in full bloom, which lean forward towards Jeongguk’s voice as he harmonizes with the singers. You listen to him, fondly, regarding his vocals as tangible warmth whilst they lull you to slumber.
And in no time at all, you don’t hear him come in. Had he not caressed the back of your head, like he did when he came home in the afternoon, you wouldn’t know he’s joined you. Your favorite green, ribbed glass of matcha is in his now clean hand, the matching straw waiting for your lips, and you smile up at him.
Get up to your feet, kiss him, and allow him to fold you on his lap while he holds your drink for you. Milk and honey, with a green heart formed in the middle of the foam. Abel Tesfaye begins to sing Niagara Falls, his comforting voice the cherry on top, and you’re happy. Happy to be with him, happy to be listening to your favorite artist, happy to take your first sip of the matcha whilst Jeongguk lights up a cigarette with one hand.
But so is that unrelenting bee, unfazed by the thick smoke.
You yelp, clinging to Jeongguk, but he only chuckles, tightens his grip around you and hides you with his body. The story comes to a full circle—the bee looked for him and now has found him, sniffing his tattooed arm while you strain your muscles in fear so much that you can’t breathe, the bee too close to your liking.
“If you don’t move, she’ll fly away. Relax. She won’t harm you,” he comforts you, kissing your temple, your muscles unflexing as he draws back his lips. You let out a sigh, choosing to believe him. “She can probably smell the matcha.”
You doubt that, reminded of the conversation you had with him over the phone. “No, she was looking for you.”
He coos, smiling against the side of your head. “That means she’ll leave now.”
And she does.
She touches him for the last time, and, as if she listened to his words, she turns around and flaps her small wings away, going for the trees, which hold more promise for her than the pair of you.
Jeongguk takes a puff of the cigarette, placing it between your lips. You take after him, exhaling it out into the evening air, his free fingers quick to pull the glass straw to your lips, encouraging you to take your long-awaited first sip.
The taste consoles your senses, but also magnifies the homesickness that has begun to carve out a hole in your heart. He’ll be gone in the morning, and you’ll go back to going through your routine all by yourself. You’ll make your matcha alone and you’ll smoke alone. On this very chair, on this very balcony. And it saddens you so much that you can’t bear it on your own.
“I’ll miss you so much.”
Jeongguk rubs his nose against yours, kissing it sweetly. “I know, I’ll miss you, too. But I’ll be back. You have to be patient for me.”
You nod, knowing it’s true. You’ve done this before, and time and time again, it was proved to you that the distance made the heart grow fonder. The sex better. The romance more profound. And this time around, you both have something to look forward to when he comes back home.
“You have to come back soon. You know I have to show you the bad thing I did,” you flirt, grinning, and Jeongguk’s eyes widen as he comprehends what you mean.
And he laughs, heartily. “Yes, you have to show me how you play with your pussy.” He hums, kissing you twice on the mouth. Leans his forehead against yours, noses connected. “I’ll skip work. Call in sick or something. The members can cover for me. I’ll figure it out.”
You laugh with him, not realizing in the moment that he meant every word. Down to the last detail. And that they, too, will come full circle.
content you find jungkook in the jacuzzi, steam curling around him like sin, his body loose but his stare anything but. he doesn’t move, doesn’t need to — just lets the silence stretch, his legs spreading under the water, the weight of his gaze pulling you in. it’s quiet, filthy in the way only he makes it, like you already know what he’s asking without a single word
pairing bf!jungkook × gf!reader
warnings mature language, curse words, jungkook's ceo, oc's tries to relax him a bit, jungkook is obsessed with her, raw sex, creampies, hard sex but is also soft, overstimulation, big asf paragraphs bcs i was so fuckin' invested in it fr, oral 'n hand stimulation, teasing, foreplay, alcohol use, fingering
“honey, you home?” the sound rolls out from the bathroom, low and grainy, carrying through the apartment like smoke. it’s jungkook — and his voice is tired in that way it gets when he’s been wrung out completely, but still steady, still commanding enough to make you freeze for a heartbeat in the doorway.
you kick off your heels, the straps slipping loose with a sigh of relief, and drop your bag and keys on the shelf without ceremony. he’s already back. early, apparently. you can tell because the trail of his things — jacket over the couch arm, shirt half-crumpled on the floor — maps out his arrival like a story you weren’t there to watch. he never cares, never lingers on mess. “why bother?” he always mutters, “someone’ll clean it if i call.” he says it like he’s joking, but really it’s just exhaustion, pressed so deep into his bones that tidying up is the last thing you’d ask of him.
you spot him before he even notices you — his head tipped back against the edge of the jacuzzi, damp strands of black hair sticking to his forehead like they’ve given up the fight, chest rising and falling in that slow, heavy rhythm that only comes after he’s worked himself to exhaustion. steam curls around his body, twisting like ribbons in the low light, and his arms are spread wide along the sides of the tub as if he owns every inch of it, every bubble, every drop of heat. there’s something oddly vulnerable about seeing him like this, stripped of his sharp edges, shoulders slack instead of squared. and god, you can’t help it, the sight alone makes you want to slip right into that water, crawl onto him like he’s your personal throne, and remind him that he deserves to be touched softer after burning himself out so hard.
you giggle to yourself as you peel the day off you — shoes gone, bag tossed aside — leaving just the cling of that black mini dress he can never resist. the one that always drags his gaze lower than he intends, makes his jaw tighten like he’s trying not to show it.
the closer you get to the bathroom, the louder the soft churn of water becomes. steam leaks from the gap in the door, and when you push it open, there he is: half-submerged in the jacuzzi, shoulders gleaming, head tipped against the tiled edge. he looks both ruined and untouchable, every muscle taut even in stillness, like he’s carved himself out of stone just to sit there and simmer in it.
“rough day?” you breathe out, voice softer than you meant. he cracks one eye open, then the other, and the look he gives you lands heavy. it steadies you, reassures you, and makes your pulse flutter all at once. he doesn’t bother with words at first — just tilts his chin, a flick of his fingers beckoning you closer. when he finally speaks, it’s more a groan than a sentence, low and rumbling through his chest. “mm. you could say that.”
your hands find the zipper, the dress slipping down as you walk toward him, pooling at your feet like you were planning this all along. his gaze sharpens, and there’s the faintest bristle in him, a little pout tugging at his lips. “looked too good on you,” he murmurs, like he hates watching it go. you smirk, tossing the words back at him without hesitation. “thought you’d want me without it.” that earns a laugh, deep, throaty, his nose scrunching at the edges of his smile, though his eyes stay on you like a hawk.
sliding in, the water kisses your skin instantly, hot and silky, rising up your thighs until you’re knee-deep, then waist-deep, until you’re right there with him. you let out a soft gasp at the heat, half real, half put on for effect, and he chuckles again, eyes half-lidded as they track every movement. his body looks unreal under the waterline, all hard lines blurred into molten shapes by the distortion of bubbles and steam. his body is impossible — even in water, every muscle sits firm and drawn, like tension is his natural state. you settle closer, careful but deliberate, letting your weight press down on him just slightly. his head tips back, throat bared, a groan breaking free when he feels you lean into him.
your hand drifts lower. first a touch at his thigh, then a slow crawl upward, until your palm finds him, thick and hot even under the veil of water. he exhales sharply, a sound between a sigh and a warning, though there’s no real resistance in him. “you don't gotta—” the words curl out of him like smoke, not a challenge, not a plea — just quiet dominance, threaded with certainty.
your lips curve, refusing to let him own the silence. “i know i don't ‘gotta,” you murmur back, letting the repetition sink between you like a secret. your grip adjusts, your fingers curling firmer, stroking slow, deliberate. “but i want to.”
his reaction is subtle but devastating — a hiss pulled through his teeth, his eyes narrowing, the tendons in his neck tightening as he lets you work him under the heat. he doesn’t fight you, doesn’t push, just watches. always watching, like every movement is a test and he’s already decided how it ends.
“how was your day?” you ask, playful but a little breathless now, your hand sliding smoother with the water’s help. the laugh he gives is darker this time, a low scoff, his smirk twisting. “does that matter to you right now?” he bites at his lip piercing, teeth flashing in the steam.
“of course,” you insist, voice thin, almost too sweet, your arm curling tighter around him as if to prove it. his response comes in the grind of his teeth, the sharp sound of restraint. “fuck. don’t mess with me.” the way he says it is not a warning but a vow — the kind that presses into your bones, leaves heat sparking down your spine.
and suddenly you’re the one trembling, legs pressing tight together beneath the water, every nerve in you sparking as you keep your hand steady on him. his husky little groans rise with the bubbles, and you’re dizzy with it, caught between the burn of the jacuzzi and the quiet dominance simmering in the man before you.
your palm slides higher, deliberate now, wrapping around the thick heat of him beneath the water. even through the distortion, even hidden by steam, he feels heavy, pulsing, alive against your touch. he hisses, biting down on his lower lip, eyes snapping shut for just a second as if bracing against the flood of sensation. you work him slow, almost lazy, like the water has seeped into you too, made your movements unhurried and indulgent. his breath stutters out of him, chest heaving, and he tilts his head back again, neck exposed, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “fuck,” he mutters, broken and low, the word cracking at the edges like he can’t quite get control. and you love it, love watching him unravel in pieces under your hand, love knowing that even when he’s drained, burnt out, completely spent from the day, he still reacts to you like you’re the one thing that can push him past the edge again.
“bastards think they can set boundaries for me.” his voice lands first, low and edged with satisfaction, like he’s already won whatever fight he’s talking about. his head tilts slightly as if the thought itself pleases him, and he doesn’t tense, not a single flicker in his expression. he looks completely at ease, carved in stillness, while under the water your hand bears the full weight of him — thick, swollen, unapologetically hard.
then his own hand comes down, wet skin and inked knuckles slipping against yours, guiding you. “baby, hold it like this.” his tone is steady, quiet but firm, a correction masked as tenderness. he adjusts your grip with lazy confidence, moving your fingers until the stroke feels exactly the way he wants it, until your hand is steady, secure, deliberate. you repeat his rhythm, every slide smoother than the last, your whole body humming from the way he never has to raise his voice to make you follow. he doesn’t push or rush — doesn’t need to. his pleasure is in the fact that you don’t even notice when you’ve already given him what he wants.
the pulse of him thrums against your palm as you guide him upward, the length wide and heavy, and your free hand rises instinctively to press against his chest. when you squeeze, firm but curious, he reacts instantly — a hiss dragged through clenched teeth, head tipping back, throat bare and glistening in the dim light. “mhm… like that,” he mutters, nodding, his voice ragged at the edges, raw enough to sound like it hurts him to hold it back.
“foreign entrepreneurs again?” you ask, the question threading into the thick air as your hand keeps its pace. he groans low, brows furrowing just faintly, but the smirk in his voice bleeds through anyway. “they don’t learn. jerks.” his breath breaks when you toy with his tip, slick and flushed under your thumb, his chest rising sharper now, each inhale tugging at the tattoos inked across his skin. he reacts to every stroke, every flick — his hips shifting almost imperceptibly, his body syncing with yours until you realize he’s letting you lead him, until you feel the tremor of his control slipping.
“what’d you do with them?” your voice slips out softer than you intend, but steadier too, your confidence mounting with every gasp you drag from him. bubbles rise and pop in the silence between his ragged sighs, his groans cutting sharp through the steam-thick air. his eyes open just enough to catch you — wet hair plastered to your cheeks, water glistening against your chest, and he stares like the sight of you alone is enough to ruin him completely.
“told them to fuck off,” he rasps, voice husky, thick with both amusement and exhaustion. his hands move again, slow but purposeful, exploring every line of your body under the water, stopping deliberately where he knows he’ll pull a gasp or a shiver from you. he doesn’t need to press — his touch is casual, but exact, fingers finding every weak spot as if he mapped you long ago.
“creative,” you tease, laughing softly, though your hand never falters on him. it earns a laugh from him in return — deep, husky, chest shaking under your palm, tattoos rippling as his body moves with it. “practical,” he throws back, eyes narrowing at you through the haze, smirk tugging lazily at his lips as if to say he’ll always get the last word.
he’s trying, you can see it plain as day — that iron grip on composure he always wears like armor, fraying thread by thread every time your hand shifts, every time your body leans closer. his jaw flexes, his eyes drag over you with that mix of hunger and restraint, like he’s caught between devouring you and holding his ground. you know he likes the little games you play — the way you tuck your hair back slow, the way your lip catches between your teeth — but what kills him more is that you don’t even need the act. you could walk in bare, unthinking, and still break him open with one look.
his chest rises too fast for how still he’s trying to sit, a knot of nerves and want tightening then loosening all at once. when you press your palm to him under the water, he lets out a sound sharp enough to bite the steam in half. “let’s not—” his voice falters, eyes flicking down, “—talk about work when your hand’s on my dick.” there’s not an ounce of shame in him; if anything, he leans into the line, twisting it with pride, like he wants you to know how easy it is for you to put him under.
you swat at his chest, playful, the splash sending droplets down his skin. his hair clings wet to his face until he wipes it away, and then he’s grinning at you — that wild, edged smile that always makes your pulse trip. his hands find your hips, then lower, palms spreading wide over your ass, squeezing until he’s dragging you against him in one smooth pull. the motion steals your breath, a gasp caught behind your fingers, but he catches that too, prying your hand away and pressing it to your spine, holding it there. “want to hear you, princess,” he murmurs, voice thick and broken, not a request but a demand clothed in velvet.
heat floods you, water or no water, your body moving without permission, hips grinding against the hard line of him. “jungkook,” it slips out, nearly a plea, but you bite it back, remembering what you set out to do — tonight’s about him, about peeling him apart piece by piece until he forgets everything but you. your free hand slides lower, curling around him properly now, the weight of him hot and slick against your palm. his breath rips out of him, rough, and his forehead tips forward like he’s fighting not to lose it too soon.
his grin falters, melts into something harder, his brows pulling as he watches you test his edge. “let me—” you start, but before the words are even out he’s moving, catching your wrists, gathering them both into one of his big hands and pinning them against your back. the water shifts with you, splashing against the tiled edge as he crowds you, caging you where he sat only a second ago. his body is all heat and pressure against yours, and in his eyes, you see it plain — the control he swore he’d keep, slipping for good.
you don’t even realize how completely he’s claimed the space around you until you try to shift, only to find yourself locked beneath him. his shadow falls like a curtain, thick and suffocating, swallowing every inch of light, making it feel as though the air itself bends around his frame. he looms, this immovable shape, somewhere between a mountain and a stormcloud, and the sheer weight of his presence pins you down more than any grip ever could. his eyes catch yours, and it’s over—your makeup is already smudging, streaking, your face shifting into something messy, wrecked, honest.
jungkook watches it happen like it’s art being made for him alone, his cock twitching with nothing more than the innocence in your gaze that is anything but innocent to him. his tongue flicks at the silver in his lip, playing with the piercing like it’s a nervous habit, though the way he murmurs, “can’t miss this opportunity,” drips low and deliberate, that lazy dialect weaving through each syllable like smoke curling at your ears.
his hand trails lower, slow enough to drive you mad, slipping down until it hovers at the waistband of your underwear—already clinging uncomfortably, sticky with heat, the friction unbearable. you feel trapped in your own skin, and he knows it, fingers curling around your wrists just long enough to guide them, push them down until they rest at the small of your back. a command, unspoken but absolute: keep them there. the heat of his palms lingers against your hips, sliding along your waist, drinking you in. he adores this part—the slope of you, the give of your curves, the tiny imperfections you try to hide. stretch marks, uneven dips, the scattered constellations of your skin—he worships them, lets his gaze map you out like you’re some hidden landscape he’s sworn to explore again and again.
his fingertips skim your panties, teasing, and you jolt under his touch, squirming before he even bothers to peel them away, leaving you exposed, raw, stripped down to nothing but your pulse pounding in his hands. your bra follows, tossed aside without ceremony, and you stand naked in the glow of his hunger, his chest rising harder, faster, with the kind of greed that never dulls no matter how many times he’s seen you.
“we’ve got something here,” he hisses, almost a groan, almost a confession, and the sound vibrates against your chest. his fingers slip lower, find the wet heat waiting for him, and the breath he drags in sounds ragged, like it scorches his throat. “fuck—so wet down there, darling,” he drawls, lips curling at the corners, mocking but adoring all at once, like he’s whispering proof of what you already know he’s done to you. he thrives on this, on the pliancy he pulls from you, the way you let him take back the reins. even though you ache for more, even though your own half-started plan burns in the back of your mind, you give it up, because this is what he needs—control as his relief, the power of your surrender as his balm.
his hand spreads across your core, fingers finding your clit and circling, and the groan that rips from him is primal, guttural, like he’s the one being undone. you clutch at him instinctively, water sloshing, your hips jerking forward, chasing pressure. he flicks, presses, the rhythm he knows will send you spiraling, and the sound you let out is raw, loud, a moan that fills the steam-thick air. “s’soaked, baby,” he mutters, breath hitching as his muscles tense, focus etched into every line of his face. when you move your hips faster, exactly how he’s urging you to, he only laughs, soft and dark, “mhm..that’s it, my girl.”
his mouth finds your neck, pushing your hair aside, lips wet and open, tongue chasing droplets the water left behind. every kiss feels deliberate, reverent, as if he’s collecting you piece by piece. you melt into it, body slackening even as his fingers dip lower, sliding down until they press at your entrance. you jolt, whimper, hips bucking helplessly into his grip, and he laughs against your skin, the sound muffled by kisses. “so good,” you mumble, breathless, half thought spilling before you can catch it. he takes it anyway, takes everything you give him, his hand rubbing your hips in tender counterpoint to the ruthless circles he draws at your clit. his whole body is working, muscles flexing, mouth trailing worship, until you feel like he’s rewired you completely, every nerve alive, every inch of you dissolved under his touch.
“yeah? you— you really want more?” his voice drops lower, already husky but now rough around the edges, like he’s got no leash left on himself. the way he asks isn’t even really a question, more like he’s double-checking the chaos he already feels pouring off you. you can see it in his eyes—those heavy lids, darkened, hungry—that he knows you’ve completely undone every boundary he swore he’d keep tonight. that little smirk that tugs on the side of his mouth tells you he’s proud of the way you read him, the way you know his body better than he does. you nod too quickly, greedy, swallowing down the heat in his kiss, the rough drag of his mouth across your skin that feels feverish.
“fuck—fuck…” he stutters, shaking his head at how hard you grind into him, desperate for his length already twitching and straining against you. he curses like it’s the only language left in his brain, fists tugging his shorts down in one rough, careless motion, and his cock is in his hand before you can breathe. his tattoos twitch with every stroke, muscles shifting under damp skin, and you bite down so hard on your lip just watching that he actually growls, low in his throat, pressing himself up against your heat. he taps at your entrance like he’s teasing, like he wants to watch you shake for it, and when you do—arms winding around his neck, fingers sinking into his damp, wavy hair—he almost loses it then and there.
the sound he makes when you cling tighter is somewhere between a growl and a broken laugh, his chest rising faster under your palms. his cock slaps against your pussy and the sharp moan it pulls from you makes your whole body jolt. he drags himself over your folds, back and forth, again and again, slick spilling from you and smeared all over his length with every grind. “shit… baby…” he mutters, pressing his thumb down along his cock so it digs harder into your swollen core, and the hiss he lets out through his teeth tells you he’s as wrecked as you are. you can barely breathe when he keeps at it, grinding steady, smirking through the wreckage of his composure.
“fuck, baby. you’re—” he groans, shakes his head, voice cracked— “you’re a fucking dream.” the words unravel you, especially when his shaft glides perfectly, catching every sweet place until your hips move with him like instinct. he tests your edge, pushing in just barely, then pulling out again to smear his length over your lips, making you whimper and sob for more, your voice almost too thin to hold the sound.
you’re so close you can feel your body pulsing faster than your breath can keep up. your thighs tremble, your chest heaves, and you moan helplessly every time his mouth finds your ear, his teeth scraping it, his tongue dragging down your neck. every lick, every nip is fire, his breath scorching at your skin. “like this?” he hums against you, his accent slipping through when he doesn’t mean to, each syllable sharp, crystalline, unbearably sexy. “like it like this, huh?” and you’re nodding, whispering, “s’much—” as your head falls onto his shoulder, too gone to lift it again. his cock drags across your stomach’s lowest depths without even being inside you, his sheer size pressing in on places you didn’t know could be reached, and you swear your body can’t take it.
then he shifts, pushing his hips forward until yours meet his in a sharp clash, his laugh dark and under his breath when he sees you unravel further. “my girl… so fuckin’ unreal.” his pierced lip catches between his teeth, and his thrusts across your folds get rougher, sloppier, his self-restraint shredded. his mouth finds your throat, his hunger to leave bruised, blooming marks reawakened—he paints you in mottled purples and reds like it’s art he can’t stop making. each kiss deeper, each bite harder, until you’re marked from jaw to collarbone.
he’s starved. all day the world pressed down on him, drained him, and now it’s all turned inside out, the pressure bursting in this feverish rhythm he can’t slow. his hips drive frantic, his voice spilling out in raw groans and shuddering moans. you lose your own restraint, crying out for him, shaking under every push, your voice breaking in his ear until he’s nearly blind with the force of it.
“i can’t—can’t take it, not anymore…” you whine, chest heaving, every nerve lit up raw. the orgasm rips through you like a flashbang, white light eating up your vision, your whole body gone weightless, trembling, twitching, coming apart. his own release follows, ripped out of him with a curse, his hand pumping as thick ropes spill over your folds, messy and hot, smeared across your lips until he tells you exactly how much he’s marked you. your teeth sink into your lip, trembling, almost too hard, almost bleeding, and he still isn’t finished—slamming himself forward again, making your overstimulated body spasm under him, his voice rough and low: “good girl.”
there’s no room to breathe before he’s on you again, mouth crashing down, devouring you like he’s beyond himself. his breath is ragged, his kiss wild, and he swallows every sound you make, every whimper, every broken moan. you melt beneath him, spreading soft and pliant, and he pushes into your mouth like he needs to taste everything you are. he groans into the kiss, drowning in you, until he doesn’t even notice when his cock stiffens again, hard against your swollen heat. his body moves on instinct, desperate, reckless. by the time he realizes he’s hard again, he’s already grinding into you, lost to reason, only one thought beating in his brain: he needs to be inside you, right now, or he’s going to lose what little control he has left.
sliding into his arms feels less like a choice and more like an inevitability—like gravity’s been tugging at you all night until you finally give in, pressed chest-to-chest with him in the water, his heat bleeding into your skin in thick waves. jungkook doesn’t even give you time to think; he’s already on you, lips colliding with yours in that messy, starving kind of kiss that feels more like a demand than a request. his breath is ragged, his mouth insistent, like he’s trying to taste every last part of you he’s been denied. he mutters something against your lips—half curse, half prayer—and you realize he’s unraveling faster than you’ve ever seen, hands already locked on your hips like they’re the only thing keeping him tethered.
your gasp cracks between his groans as he pushes deeper into the kiss, tongue sliding over yours with a kind of clumsy desperation, like he doesn’t care about finesse, just about consuming you whole. his body crushes yours under the water’s weight, and the steam rising around you makes everything feel more fevered, more urgent. you don’t even register the shift, not fully, until you’re filled—completely, breathtakingly—his cock slipping back inside you like he’d been waiting, needing, aching to claim that space again. your moan breaks in your throat, sharp and high, and his answering groan makes the water tremble around you.
“princess,” he whispers into your mouth, like the word itself keeps him grounded, repeated again and again between frantic kisses until it sounds less like a pet name and more like a mantra. his hips roll, slow at first, just enough to test how easily you take him, and you arch into him, nails raking down his back as if to carve the moment into his skin. he laughs, low and ragged, but the sound dissolves into a curse when you squeeze down around him, pulling him in deeper. “fuck… i forgot how good this feels,” he admits, voice breaking, one hand slipping up to grip your breast, pinching at your hardened nipple until you whimper.
he moves harder now, faster, the slap of water and skin echoing in the small space, obscene and wet and too loud to ignore. you bury your face in his shoulder, moaning without restraint, clinging to him as if the sheer force of his thrusts might tear you away. jungkook holds you there, grounded under his weight, sweat dripping down his temples despite the steam. “please, deeper,” you beg, the plea cracking into a sob as your thighs tremble around him. he answers with a sharp snap of his hips that makes stars burst behind your eyelids, cock battering so deep your womb aches with the stretch.
he’s relentless, lost, voice dropping into that guttural growl that borders on unhinged. “gonna milk my princess,” he threatens, his smirk dangerous even as he pants, chest heaving. the words shoot straight through you, make your walls clutch even tighter, and his stuttering groan nearly makes you come undone on the spot. “gonna fuck you so full you won’t forget me for days,” he hisses, lips dragging down your throat, biting hard enough you know the marks will last.
you’re trembling, shaking, your head rolling back, but his hand clamps to your jaw, forcing your eyes open. “eyes on me,” he demands, and when you do—barely managing it—his stare is nothing short of feral, dark lashes shadowing the burn in his gaze. it’s too much, too good, the way he splits you open, the way your body just gives and bends for him. your moans climb higher, more broken, your nails carving crescents into his shoulders as you beg again, desperate. “i’m close, jungkook, i can’t—please, i need—”
“then give it to me. come on, princess. make me proud.” his tone is mocking and tender at the same time, a cruel sweetness that tips you straight over the edge. your orgasm crashes over you in dizzy waves, your body convulsing around him, and he laughs, dark and breathless, watching you shake and shudder against him. but his laugh cuts off into a strangled groan as he loses his own rhythm, his thrusts erratic now, shallow and brutal, chasing his high.
“tell me where,” he pants against your ear, thumb pressing circles on your clit so merciless you nearly sob. “inside,” you choke out, the word barely audible but enough to undo him. his groan tears from his chest as he slams in deep, and then you feel it—heat flooding you, filling you so completely you can only moan, too full, too wrecked to think. he keeps pumping, desperate, until he finally stills, cock twitching as more spills into you, his body shaking against yours.
you both sit there in the haze, chests heaving, water rippling around you, his forehead pressed to yours. there’s cum leaking out of you even before he pulls free, sticky and hot under the water, and he groans at the sight, eyes dark with a satisfaction that borders on dangerous.
the air is damp and heavy with steam, curling soft spirals along the glass walls, clinging to your skin until every inch of you feels flushed, almost feverish. jungkook is sprawled in the water like he owns it, head tilted back, black hair plastered to his temples, chest heaving with that lazy kind of breath that only comes after he’s wrung himself out to the bone. when you slide in with him, the water laps up your shoulders, and he shifts just enough to make space, that teasing little smirk tugging at his mouth even as his eyes burn tired and tender all at once.
he leans in, his lips dragging hot and languid over your neck, his words spilling against your skin in a low murmur, “that was gorgeous.” his breath tickles, then he’s kissing where he marked you, smug and unhurried. “perfect,” he adds, voice gruff around the edges, like the word itself means something heavier in his mouth. you try to chase his lips, but he’s already tilting your chin with those tattooed fingers, guiding you into a kiss that isn’t sweet so much as it’s consuming—his mouth devours yours, tongue sliding in like he’s starving all over again. the fatigue that once dulled his muscles is nowhere to be found; if anything, you feel his energy ignite, crackling between you like static.
his arms hook around you, pulling you in until your body melts into his, chest to chest, rib to rib, no space left but water rushing around. you swear you feel his heart pounding through you, like you’ve always been tethered this way—mind, flesh, soul—him refusing to imagine a world where you don’t exist. he squeezes tighter, like the thought alone makes him feral, and his lips are back on you, coaxing soft whines out of your throat as his palms knead at your breasts. he’s greedy, insistent, but not careless; he knows every shift of your body, every breath, always asking, always adjusting. he’s asked you before, sometimes sheepishly, sometimes blunt—what you like after, what makes you feel safe, what keeps you tethered to him. it matters to him, and you can feel it now in the way his touch refuses to let you think of anything but how cherished you are.
time blurs in the warmth, the intimacy easy and unbroken until he pulls back with a sly grin, brushing wet strands of hair off your cheek. “wait right here,” he says, voice husky but mischievous, and with a wink, he’s out of the tub, water streaming down his back, towel slung low on his hips. your gaze trails after him, and when he returns, he’s carrying a bottle and two glasses, the faint clink as they knock together making you giggle. “we’ll drink,” he announces, eyeing the label with mock seriousness before lifting it like a trophy. “bacardi. i know you’re more of a gin girl, but—” he gives the bottle a little shake, grin flashing before he lets the towel drop, sliding back into the bubbling water like he belongs nowhere else.
“you tryin’ to get me drunk?” you tease, adjusting your hair with one hand as you take the glass he offers. his body closes the space before you can think, heat rolling off him, his thigh brushing yours under the foam. “to seduce you, maybe. but this works too,” he shrugs with exaggerated nonchalance, filling your glass until the bubbles blur your vision and your head feels light, weightless. “you don’t have to try that hard,” you quip back, raising your glass, eyes catching the wicked glint in his. his smirk shifts—hungry, almost predatory—and it sends a tremor down your spine before the liquor even burns your throat.
“don’t play with me,” he warns, voice sharp but amused, and you know damn well he’s right—you’re poking fire with bare hands. but you like the blaze. you tilt your lashes up at him as you sip, watching the water slide in rivulets over his abs, muscles flexing as he leans back, arms stretched over the sides, cocky and commanding. droplets run down his collarbones, disappearing into the froth, and then he pats his thigh, voice dropping low, “or here, baby.” there’s no hesitation—you’re in his lap, tucked against his chest, listening to the quickened beat of his heart as though it’s syncing to yours.
he takes the glass from your hand with an easy slip of fingers, sets it aside, and replaces it with the warmth of his palms roaming your body. “fuck, you’re perfect,” he growls softly, hands flat against your stomach before sliding higher, worshipping every inch with that reverence you’ve only ever known from him. his cologne lingers faint, mixed with steam, familiar enough to unravel you on the spot. “how was your day, darling?” he hums, but the words come as his hand dips lower, skimming over your heat, fingers circling until you’re twitching, gasping.
“jungkook—this was supposed to be about you,” you manage, breath breaking, even as your body arches into him, even as his cock presses heavy against your back. “don’t wanna hear it,” he tuts, playful slap to your thigh, his teeth grazing your neck with a sharp little nip that pops when he licks over it. “but you're not relaxing.” you insist, your hips roll before you can stop them, and he just smirks, fingers sliding inside you with a practiced ease that makes the water shiver with every thrust. you clutch at his arm, your voice strangled with whines, and he only laughs, lips brushing your ear. “nonsense. makin’ you feel good—that relaxes me better than anything.”
the moment his words sink into your skin, you’re already gone, your body betraying you with every twitch, every clench around his fingers. the water rocks against the sides, waves lapping up, spilling over, but it’s his hand that feels like the real tide, relentless and steady, curling and pumping until your head’s tipping back and you can barely breathe. “fuck, jungkook—” your voice cracks, the sound high, needy, your nails dragging down his arm like you’re begging him not to stop.
he only hums in response, that low little rumble in his chest, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “so good for me,” he murmurs, and then he presses harder, his thumb flattening over your clit in messy circles that make you gasp out his name all broken. “you’re perfect when you come apart in my hands.”
you’re already trembling, thighs shaking in the foamy water, the world shrinking down to his touch, but before the edge crests, he pulls out. you choke on a whine, clutching his shoulder, your body still aching for it. “don’t tease me—” you pant, but he only smirks, shifting his hips beneath you, and then you feel him—hot, thick, heavy—sliding against your slick folds under the bubbling surface.
“shhh, baby. i know what you want.” his voice dips into a growl, his hand guiding your hips until you’re grinding against the blunt head of his cock, your clit dragging over the swell of him. “i’ve got you.”
you don’t even realize you’re pleading until it spills out, shameless and raw: “inside, please, i need you—jungkook, i need it.”
he groans, low and guttural, the sound echoing off the tiles. one broad hand cups your ass, the other steadies your waist, and with one smooth push, he sinks into you. the stretch is sudden, brutal in its fullness, and you both moan—his head falling back, your forehead pressing to his chest, your mouth open on a gasp that borders on a cry.
“fuck, baby, you’re still so tight,” he hisses, thrusting slow, deep, savoring the way you clutch around him like your body’s been waiting all day for this exact moment. his hands tighten, dragging you down onto him until he’s buried to the hilt, his cock pulsing inside you, water sloshing over the edge with each heavy movement.
his voice comes low against your neck, lips hot on damp skin. “how was your day, darling?”
you almost laugh at the absurdity, breathless and trembling, but he slows just enough to make you answer. “jungkook—seriously—” you gasp when he grinds up into you, his thumb sneaking back down to circle your clit. he kisses your jaw, stubborn. “talk to me,” he insists, his teeth grazing your skin, “i wanna know.” you try to hold the thread of thought, words tumbling out broken between moans. “we were—hah—we were out with the girls… had dinner… at that place downtown, the one with the giant windows.”
“mm?” he hums, pushing deeper, his chest shuddering with a laugh at how wrecked you sound. “did you have fun?” you nod frantically, nails biting into his shoulders. “y-yeah… it was nice. but i thought about you the whole time,” you confess, cheeks burning hotter than the steam.
that pulls a groan straight from his throat, his rhythm faltering as he tips his forehead against yours. “fuck, baby—don’t say shit like that when i’m inside you.” his hips snap up sharper, water splashing over the edge, his smirk feral as he swallows your next moan with a kiss.
“faster, please—” your words tumble out breathless, desperate, and he only laughs softly, kissing your damp hair before gripping your hips in both hands.
“my good girl,” he praises, voice thick with pride as he starts to fuck you in earnest, sharp, deliberate strokes that make your whole body jolt against him. his chest gleams with water, muscles flexing under your palms, every thrust precise, practiced, like he’s spent years memorizing exactly how to ruin you. your wet hair clings to your back, your skin sticky with heat, the air heavy with steam and the sound of your moans echoing through the room.
you can feel yourself unraveling too quickly, the tension in your stomach coiling so tight you can barely think. “fuck, jungkook, i’m close,” you cry, your voice hoarse, throat raw from moaning.
“me too, baby, me too,” he groans into your neck, his thrusts turning rougher, more frantic. and then you’re both there—your orgasm crashing into you, your walls clenching around him, pulse after pulse of heat squeezing him until his rhythm stutters. he curses, jaw tight, before spilling inside you, hips pressed flush to yours, cock jerking deep as he fills you.
the water trembles around you, bubbles fizzing against your overheated skin, but neither of you move. his forehead rests against yours, his cock still seated inside, softening but refusing to leave, as though he can’t stand the thought of pulling away yet. his hands wander aimlessly, stroking your sides, your breasts, like he needs to memorize every inch all over again.
you finally manage a giggle, half-drunk on the bacardi and half-drunk on him, tapping his chest with your fingertips. “still think you needed to relax?”
he tilts his head, lips quirking into that boyish grin that undoes you every time. “guess not,” he admits, playful, leaning in to steal another kiss. you splash a handful of water at him, making him laugh until he wipes his face with his palm, his nose scrunching in that way that makes your chest ache.
and right there, with the heat of his body still wrapped around you and the fizz of liquor in your veins, jungkook feels like the happiest man alive. nothing outside this room matters—not work, not time, not anything—because you’re in his arms, and he’s in yours, and that’s all the future he’ll ever need.
