a/n: thigh riding but with a twist. (the twist being seeing changbins abs and pecks at the encore concert has me more feral than anything else possible. anyways enjoy ily mwah)
cw: SMUT MINORS DNI !!! abs/stomach riding, pet names (doll, baby girl etc), choking, kinda dirty talk, daddy kink. i think that’s it.
“thereee she is” changbin speaks softly with a smirk plastered on his face as he looks down at your bare pussy now straddling him just above his belly button. “sit down” he orders, his hand running up your stomach to grab your tit, catching your nipple between two fingers and squeezing harshly. the sudden stimulation causes you to throw your head back, subsequently grazing your pussy against his abs and you hiss in brief pleasure.
“binn-“ your whimper is cut off as his free fingers find your other nipple and twist teasingly and a long drawn out moan slips from your mouth.
“ride me baby” changbin demands and you quickly comply, rising to get up. soon enough, both his hands find your shoulders and shove you back down onto his stomach. “i didn’t say move, i said ride” he nearly spits out and you hesitate for a second before beginning to slide your now wet cunt up and down his torso, whimpering as you do.
“that’s it baby.. fuuuuck” changbin says, drawing out his vowel on the latter word as he leans back against the pillows once again, both hands behind his head and taking in your entire form. the desire in his eyes is driving you crazy. you can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed but the feeling of his abs rubbing against your now aching clit overpowers the humiliation and soon enough you’re desperate.
“ah- daddy..” you mutter, tilting your head up from the view of his pecks to his lust filled eyes. “please?…”
“please what?” he shakes his head, his eyes boring into you. “please let you come? please touch you? he asks as he runs a palm slowly up your thigh, your legs shaking even more so.
“mmmm” you reply, nodding your head violently in desperation, happily losing all your self respect. a smirk finds its way across changbin’s lips, one hand running up to your nipple once again, the other wrapping itself around your throat and squeezing firmly. you drop your body lower onto him with the support of his arm against your throat, giving you now the perfect angle for the most stimulation.
“oh fuck!-“ you shout, grinding slightly faster against his stomach now, chasing the blissful feeling as best you can. the hand against your tit now finds its way down to your knee and violently pushes your body back and forth against his abs.
“thats the spot isn’t it doll? yeahh it is. good girl” changbin torments with a sly smile over his face as your legs shake. “you’re gonna cum aren’t you baby?”
“hmm mm” you nod aggressively, focusing so deeply on the immense pleasure between your legs, your breath becoming faster and faster.
“what do you say?”
“fuck- please daddy, please oh fuck- can I cum?” you beg, your mouth speaking to quick for your mind to keep up.
“cum for me baby, make a mess all over me doll” and you do. you cum hard. every nerve in your body is shaking and you’re gasping for breath. before you have the chance to get your breath back, the hand around your throat practically throws you back onto the bed and you land on the duvet behind you.
“you’ve been such a good girl for me baby.. doing as I say… and good girls get treated don’t they?…”
Han Jisung x Reader
Synopsis: When mysterious packages show up to your door, you call your best friend Han to come over.
Warning: Smut, dubcon, cunnilingus, oral, p in v unprotected (b smart!), dacrophillia, praise, kinda rough.***Read at your own risk*** Due to plot, the author chooses to not reveal certain details to keep things a surprise.
A/N: For @breakmeoff 's Kinktober event! Thank you for letting me particpate! Hope you guys enjoy!
Four months ago
“I’m really sorry,” Jisung’s voice is soft as he holds you to him, tears streaming down your face.
“I mean, am I not enough?” your voice quivers as you look up at him.
“You’re way too good for him. Zack is a fool for cheating on you,” he says before kissing the top of your head.
“Thanks Ji,” you sniffle, “You’re a great friend.” you smile and lay your head on his chest, letting his arms hold you close the rest of the night.
–
Present Day
“AH!” Popcorn flies in the air and before you know it, Jisung is right by your side. You stifle a giggle as he shakes slightly.
“It’s not funny!” he says, a pout fixed onto his face as you two watch the scary movie. You laugh louder and pull him deeper into your side.
“Don’t worry, Sungie, I’ll protect you.” you coo teasingly. He groans and hides his face in your neck, breath warm against your skin. He stays cuddled up to you for the rest of the movie. A few more jumpscares later and the credits begin to roll on the screen.
“You good to walk home? Or do you need to stay the night?” you narrow your eyes teasingly at him.
“I’m fine… I think.” He gives you a nervous smile. You sigh as you give him a hug.
“Let me know once you get home,” you say and walk him out. Once he leaves the house is still. You’re in the kitchen putting the popcorn bowl in the sink when a knock at your door causes you to jump, the sudden noise startling you.
“What’d you forget your jacket or something..." you draw out the last word as you open the door to no one. You look around the entrance and don’t see anyone, and nothing at your feet. You shrug and shut the door, before you hear it again, this time you freeze for a moment before slowly padding your way back to the door, opening the door quickly to try and catch whoever it is. But this time there’s a box at the doorway.
You slowly pick it up, getting a whiff of a smell that’s somewhat familiar, and look around once more– no one in sight. You put the box on the counter, and pull the flaps open slowly. You notice a few pictures.
Some are of you, inside your house, walking down the street, some are of his body, one of his biceps, one of his abs. You gasp as you stare at the final picture; it's of you and Zack, your boyfriend out at a restaurant. His face has a red X drawn on it. Your heart jumps into your throat and you call him immediately.
“Hello?”
“Zack! Where are you? Are you okay?”
“Baby, I’m fine,” he chuckles, “Why do you sound so freaked out?”
“I um-” you take a breather and he speaks again.
“You watched another slasher film didn’t you?” His tone is a little too cocky as he already knows the answer.
“No, I mean yeah but-”
“I’m fine, baby. You gotta stop watching those films so late at night.”
“Zack, listen i got this box, it has our picture in it, there’s a red x on your face!”
“Really? It’s probably just some stupid prank. We aren’t far from Halloween, ya know.” he brushes it off and your gut tells you it’s not, but your head tries to rationalize it.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” you sigh and he tells you goodnight and hangs up. The rest of the night you hardly sleep. You keep your blinds closed, and you wear bigger, baggier clothes when you go out.
Throughout the next week you find yourself being the victim of what you can only imagine is a ‘ding dong ditch’ situation. Constant random knocks throughout the day, and each time you check, no one’s there. You start to get nervous, and call Zack. But he doesn’t pick up. So you call Jisung, and after four or five rings, he answers.
“Y/nie what’s up?”
“Are you busy? I’m lowkey starting to get freaked out.”
“What? Why?” You go into the spiel of the photos and now the constant knocking on your door.
“I can’t get in touch with Zack, so I was hoping you could come over?”
“I’m on my way,” he says and hangs up. It happens again, and you clutch your phone with a death grip, as you walk to your door, this time a post man stands there, with another box.
“I’m looking for y/n l/n,” he says.
“That’s me.” He hands you the signing sheet and you sign your name quickly and take the box from him.
“Have a good day,” he says and walks down the steps. You take the package and set it on the kitchen counter. As you’re about to open it, there’s the sound of a key in the door.
“y/n!” he calls out.
“Kitchen!” you answer. Jisung walks in and finds you staring down at the box.
“Hope you don’t mind, I let myself in-” he says and stops. You glance up and then back to the box.
“What? No it’s fine.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know,” your bottom lip finds its way between your teeth as you grab a knife and gently slide it to open the box. You find a bottle of perfume, one you’ve looked at buying multiple times.
“Perfume?”
“There’s a note,” you say, voice in shock.
“I can’t wait to inhale the scent on your skin, Seraph,” you read the note aloud and Jisung looks between the note and you with wide eyes.
“What the hell,” he asks quietly and inspects the note.
You grab the photos from your junk drawer.
“These are the pictures I was telling you about.”
“That’s Zack.” He points out with a cocked brow.
“Yeah I know. He suggested it was some kind of prank, someone wanting to mess with me but I’m getting really freaked out,” you say and instinctively move closer to him.
“I mean I know Zack and I have a rocky past with his infidelity but why would someone do this?” you ask mainly yourself.
“Why don’t I go check on Zack?” he offers and a look of relief spreads on your face.
“You’d do that?” He nods graciously.
“Thank you!” You throw your arms around his neck and squeeze him to you.
“I’ll be back, for now, just stay inside, lock the door and don’t answer it, okay?” You nod and watch as he leaves out the door, leaving you alone and vulnerable.
“Okay, y/n take a breath, turn on the tv and just relax. You’re safe in your own home. You’re fine, it’s all fine.” You say to yourself as you grab a blanket and cover up on the couch. Soon enough you fall asleep on the couch, waiting for Jisung as a movie plays in the background.
You wake up to a clanging sound in the kitchen. Your heart pounds in your chest, terrified of what you’ll find if you go in. Slowly, with a blanket wrapped around your body, you walk in to see Jisung with pans and a cake mix.
“What- when did you get back?”
“About half an hour ago, sorry if I woke you. I thought a sweet treat might help?” he offers.
“Felix gave me some tips on how to make a box cake mix taste better.” He offers you a smile as he holds up the cake mix.
“Well that’s sweet.” you say as you stretch, the blanket edges bunched in your hands.
“Go back and finish your nap, I'm all good here.” he smiles warmly at you.
“Are you sure? You’re not freaked out?” Your arms instinctively go around your body.
“Nah, I’m good. Oh and I checked on Zack while I was out, he’s fine. He said he’ll call you later tonight. He was just busy.” he grins and you nod your head.
“Yeah, okay. Thanks,” you yawn.
“Here, I made you some cider,” he hands you a glass and you smile before downing the glass.
“Wow, that’s really good.” you giggle as you see his stunned expression, before he chuckles.
“My secret is honey and a little bit of cinnamon,” he winks and you smile lazily.
“You’re a good friend Ji, thank you,” you wrap your blanket clad arms around his waist and rest your head on his chest.
“I’m always gonna be here for you,” he smiles and wraps his arms around you.
-
That evening you're laying on the couch, head in Jisung’s lap, when there’s yet another knock at the door.
“See,” you whisper as you sit up.
“Let me get it,” he mumbles and gets up. You hear mumbling at the door, before a polite goodbye is said and the door is shut.
“Someone looking for the duplex next to yours,” he says, easing your fears.
He lets your head rest on his shoulder. A little while later you notice you haven’t heard from Zack like Jisung said. So you pick up your phone and give him a call.
“Hello?” You sigh in relief as his voice comes through.
“Zack! God, you scared me!”
“I know, I’m sorry work got crazy today and I just had so little time,” he explains, “Are you okay? Jisung said you got something in the mail today.” Your stomach twists.
“Yeah, a bottle of perfume. But it's fine. He’s been here with me.”
“That’s good, listen, baby I gotta go, but I’ll call you tomorrow.” he says a little too quickly and hangs up on you before you can even tell him goodbye.
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah, he just sounded rushed,” you say with a puzzled look.
“If work has been busy he could just be tired.” he offers as you nod. But a feeling in your gut says otherwise. And the look on Jisung’s face tells you he doesn’t believe his own words.
“What do you see in the guy anyway?” Jisung asks out of the blue.
“What?” you giggle softly, “I mean, he’s really sweet, he’s attentive, a great lover-”
“Woah, TMI,” he throws his hands up dramatically.
“Come on Sungie, it’s not like you haven’t had girlfriends you could boast about.”
“I wouldn’t to my friends! Boundaries!” You blow him off, waving your hand at him.
“Anyway,” you side eye him, “He’s faithful, now, and he cares about me. He’s just a good guy. He’d do anything in the world for ya.” you smile genuinely. Jisung’s face is stoic as a beat of silence passes.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” he shrugs and continues watching the movie.
“You don’t like him, do you?” you ask a knowing tone in your voice.
“I didn’t say that,” he defends and you smirk.
“You didn’t have to say it, I mean I get it. Zack and I have had our ups and downs, but we worked through it. He’s good to me now.” you shrug.
“He’s still an ass for that,” he mumbles, a hand coming up to cover his mouth as he rests his chin on his hand.
“Let it go, Ji. I did.” you smile and lean your head on his shoulder, a satisfied smile gracing your face.
-
That night you’re laying in bed, Jisung laying next to you, trying to help you feel safe.
“Thanks for staying with me,” you whisper to him, head tucked underneath his.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he says lowly, voice rumbling in his chest.
“You don’t have to be here though-”
“It’s not about having to. This is what friends do.” You sigh and snuggle up to him, feeling safe in his warmth and company.
-
Over the next few days the knocking and the packages stop. Jisung leaves after a day with no disruptions and you finally feel like life can go back to normal.
-
“No I’m just saying, Felix, you’ve been playing league for how many years? You’re still bronze,” you tease your friend.
“Actually! I made platinum, so meh,” he playfully teases as he sticks his tongue out at you. Jisung comes out of the kitchen and sits beside the two of you on your couch.
You're in a fit of laughter when he sets the popcorn bowl down.
“You ready for another movie?” Ji asks and the two of you nod to him. He puts on Halloween, a classic, and the three of you get comfortable.
There’s a ring of your door bell and you hop up.
“Sounds like the pizza’s here!” you grin as you walk to the door, grabbing cash out of your wallet. Opening the door, you once again see no one. But a brown package is left on the door step.
You pick it up and shut the door, heart thundering in your ears. What could this person want now?
You open the box and see more photos- of Zack. He’s with some blonde, one has his arm around her shoulder, one has them kissing in a sweet embrace, one has them in the back of seat of his car, him on top of her; skin obviously showing.
You open the bag, an ear piercing scream leaving your mouth. Suddenly both boys run in and see your face etched in horror.
“What’s wrong?” Jisung asks frantically. You can’t talk, you just point to the bag.
Felix looks at Jisung and grabs the bag, seeing the severed oral muscle inside.
“Holy shit!” he yells and throws the bag on the counter.
Jisung is the last to see it, eyes wide and body squirmy as he throws it on the counter, shouting as he does so.
“Who would fucking do this?” He asks and you hide yourself in his body, wrapping your arms around his waist.
“There’s a note in it,” Felix says shakily. He pulls it out and opens it.
“Y/n, I think it's for you.” you peek out and take the note from his hands.
“What higher devotion can one have than to bleed for the one they ‘love’, my Seraph?” and your eyes widen as you recognize the letters aren’t written in ink, but in his dna.
“Oh my god,” you choke out and fall to the floor, crying, wailing, holding onto Jisung and now Felix who both try to comfort you.
“Who would want to hurt Zack?” Felix asks.
“I don’t know,” you answer through tears.
-
“You should go to the cops, y/n.” Felix says after the three of you are back on your couch.
“What if he sees me? He could- he could try to hurt me, or one of you! You guys have to go! I don’t need you getting hurt or being targeted.”
Felix gives you an apologetic look but grabs his things.
“Call if you need anything.” He gives you a half smile and tight hug before heading out.
“You too, you have to leave.”
“I’m staying with you.”
“No, I don’t want to put you in danger!” you tell him and he scoffs.
“If he wants you, he’s got to go through me,” he says defiantly.
“Jisung, no! I’m not risking your life–”
“Good thing it's my life to risk,” he says. You sigh, realizing it’s no use arguing with him. He’s got his mind made up.
-
You don’t get much sleep that night, the horrors of what he must have gone through play through your mind.
What had this madman done that you didn't see? Does Zach even have a pulse?
You sob into the mattress, body trembling as Jisung’s arm comes around your midsection, tucking you into him.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers, “He’s in a better place,” he says into your hair.
“He was my boyfriend! I loved him!” you raise your voice to him and he closes his eyes.
“I know, I’m sorry, I only meant to comfort you.”
“Then just be here for me! Words aren’t helping.” you sob into his chest now, loud, broken and angry.
“I’m sorry, Seraph,” he whispers and you both freeze. Your sobs stop, body stiff against him.
“What did you call me?” you whisper and you can feel how stiff he is.
“Nothing-” he panics.
“Oh my god!” you push away from him, falling onto the hardwood floor, looking up at him.
“You- you sent, you photographed me in my house! You cut his... oh my God!” You scream and stand up, backing away from him.
“Y/n, you’re talking crazy!” He gets up and corners you to the wall.
“You just called me Seraph! No one else has ever called me that except for him!” He cages you in, arms on either side of your body, his own pressed against yours. His face dips down to the curve of your neck, taking a strong whiff.
“You tried the perfume,” he says, voice dark, and low, “That tells me, you want this,” he whispers in your ear.
“Jisung,”
“Shhhhh, you want me,” he chuckles in your ear, “I’m just helping you see it.”
“Why’d you do it?”
“Because he was an asshole who wanted to hurt you, he wasn’t busy with work he was out with another girl!” He says and slams his fist against the wall, breathing heavily for a moment before he finds his composure again.
“He was going to hurt my sweet girl and I couldn’t have that,” he says, lips ghosting over your ear.
“I’m not yours-” you gasp as his hand slides into your underwear.
“Really? Then why are you so. fucking. wet. right now?” your hands go to his arms, knuckles white, fingers probably bruising his skin.
“Jisung,” you whimper as his fingers lazily collect your slick and smear it.
“Look at how your body responds to me,” he coos, “So ready and willing. So submissive.” He practically moans in your ear as he teases you entrance. You can’t contain the moan that slips out as his fingers draw circles on your clit; your hips twitching with his fingers.
“Mmmm,” he growls in your ear before chuckling slowly, “That's my girl, see, all you needed was a little encouragement.” His lips find the sensitive spot under your ear. He removes his fingers from your shorts and grips you, tossing you down on the bed. He hovers over you, lips connecting to yours harshly. He removes your top, taking a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, sucking lightly.
He moans against you, eyes flicking up to yours, watching your face scrunch up in pleasure.
“Fuck,” you gasp, lip going between your teeth when his teeth encase your nipple, gently biting.
“Ji,” you whimper as you can feel the slight heartbeat between your legs, your thighs rub together, desperate for friction. His tongue goes flat against your nipple, smearing his saliva on it, keeping eye contact with you the whole time.
“Shhh,” he says between kisses up your sternum and neck.
“I’ve got you, baby.” he promises with a gentle kiss below your ear. He moves himself down a kiss to each nipple before kissing down your stomach, dragging his tongue along your flesh, moaning with his eyes rolling back as he does so.
He rips off your shorts, panties coming with it. He sticks his head between your thighs, sniffing you.
“You smell so good, so fucking good,” he moans before burying his face there. His fingers separate your folds and his tongue laps at your clit like he’s dreamt of for years now.
You gasp, legs bending at the knee, thighs covering his ears.
“Shit,” you whimper out, hips jerking. Your hands fist the sheets as he spits on your clit, watching it drip down, only to lap it up on the tip of his tongue, tasting you in the process. He groans into your cunt, his nose bumping your clit as his tongue dips into your tight little hole, a slight squelching sound being heard.
Your back arches off the bed once he inserts his fingers, tongue working your clit like he’s a master of how to make your body tick.
“Fuck, Jisung!” you cry out, hips rocking against him, head digging into the pillow at the top of the bed. He sucks your clit into his mouth, humming softly as he watches your body writhe.
“Fuck, your body is amazing,” he murmurs into your cunt. He babbles to himself, tongue messy in the best way possible.
“You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” he asks, smirking between licks.
“Fuck,” you gasp as he inserts another finger, desperate to hear, watch and feel you fall apart on his face.
“Cum for me, make a mess for me,” he encourages. Your body trembles, legs shaking beside his head as your orgasm crashes into you, forcing you to hold your breath as you come undone.
You gasp for air, heart pounding as he cleans you up.
“Such a good girl,” he praises through moans and groans as he tastes you on his tongue. His tongue finds your clit again, teasing you, chuckling when your hips twitch at the overstimulation.
He continues working your clit despite the sharp inhales and buck of your hips. You cry out as the pain is also pleasure, body desperate for him, despite how you want to wiggle away. His arms hook around your thighs, forcing you to stay put.
“No running from me, baby.” His voice is muffled in your core. You can feel your orgasm quickly approaching, body going taut again, the white hot explosion ready to set your nerves ablaze. Your eyes roll back into your head, back arching, toes curling and thighs shaking. He sucks on your clit, a prideful confidence washing over him as his hips grind into the mattress, forcing a guttural groan out of him
“Can’t wait to feel you around my cock,” he whispers as he kisses up your body. You’re still dazed as he takes off his tank top, letting you see his body in person.
Your fingers trail his abs and he smirks proudly.
“Better in real life, huh?” he teases and you blush, putting your hands down.
He pulls his pants off and his length makes your eyes grow slightly. He watches the way you lick your lips, staring at his leaking head.
“Come get a taste,” he places his fingers on the back of your head and pulls you over, lips brushing the tip, just enough to feel his precum dab your lips. He grips your jaw slightly rough and smirks.
“Spit on it,” he grins and he watches as spit falls from your mouth onto his head and runs down it.
You wrap your lips around his head, and his hand grabs your hair at the root, forcing you to sink down on him all the way, gagging you,
“Breathe through your nose, baby,” he says as he works your head, pushing you down each time that you come up. You breathe heavily, forcing air through your nasal passages as he sinks your head down onto him repeatedly.
“God you’re gonna make me cum,” he whimpers, his grip in your hair strong as he works your head. Drool slips from the side of your mouth, his cock heavy and weighty on your tongue. You can feel it twitch, and feel his hips thrust up as he brings you down. The sound of your gagging fills the room, eyes watering as you look up at him.
“So pretty choking and crying on my cock,” he groans, face scrunching up.
“Fuck,” he gasps, lewd and pornographic noises coming from him and you as you moan against him, trying to force him to his high.
“Ah, fuckfuckfuckfuck!” he whimpers, body bending over as he forces your head down one more time, and your throat is painted in white ropes. The salty taste hits your tongue and your eyes roll back in your head.
He gasps for air, pulling you off, allowing you to swallow his essence.
“God you’re everything I knew you’d be.” he says against your lips. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, tasting himself, searching your mouth- claiming it as his own.
“You’re mine,” he growls. The bed creaks as your stomach meets the mattress, his arm coming around your throat putting you in a head lock, burying his face in the little crook where your shoulder and neck meet.
He sinks himself down into you, thrusting slowly at first, letting you feel every inch of him and where it hits.
“God you’re so fucking tight,” he groans in your ear as his hips start to piston into you, forcing your eyes to roll back in your head and your mouth to fall open.
“Fuck,” you gasp as he repeatedly hits your g spot, forcing your body to jolt with every thrust. He’s pure bliss, as if he’s known your body this whole time.
He growls a moan in your ear as you squeeze him, your walls desperate to milk his cock.
Your hand grips his forearm, desperate to ground yourself as your mouth opens in an o shape, right on the edge before he pulls out completely, forcing you to your back.
You whimper at the loss before he picks up your leg, throwing up and slamming back into you.
“Wanna see that pretty face when you fall apart on me.” he huffs, face flushed. You can feel him twitch inside you. Your fingers flex, gripping your sheets as he rubs circles on your clit.
“It’s okay, baby, cum for me. Show me- fuck- show me how much you like it.” He puts his chin to his chest, trying to hold himself back as he watches your back arch off the bed and feels your walls squeeze him like a vice.
“Ah-ha,” he chokes out as he pounds you through it. He lets your leg fall, bracing himself above you as his hips stutter, his own orgasm crashing into him, hard and heavy. His eyes screw shut, mouth hangs open and you feel it leak out and drip.
“Fuck,” he whispers in your ear, bodies slick with sweat. He pulls back and looks at you, finding something he doesn’t expect.
A lazy, satisfied smile.
“See, I knew you-mmph,” he says as you bring him down for a passionate kiss.
“I see it,” you whisper, hands splayed on his cheeks, “You’re the only one who could ever love me like I need to be loved.” you grin, mind totally gone.
He smiles.
“Thank you,” you giggle.
“For what?”
“Not making me be the one to,” you look to the side for a moment, “Dispose of him.”
“Huh?”
“What, you thought this was your idea?” You giggle.
“I wanted you all along. I wasn’t sure, but when I smelled your cologne on the first box I thought it was you. The perfume; you’ve been with me many times and I’ve told you about it, repeatedly. So when it got sent, I thought it might be you, but the tongue, well, that was the icing on the cake. I knew you hated Zack, and I knew that if I tipped you off that I hadn’t heard from him and you’d investigate, because you just can’t resist protecting me,” you coo at him, “I knew he was cheating on me the whole time.” Your smile is wicked, manipulative and Jisung can’t believe what he’s hearing.
“Fucking hell, you’re crazy.” he says before grinning like a mad man and kissing you fervently.
“Marry me,” he says, eyes slightly glossy and you laugh underneath him.
The familiar scent of your shared cabin, cedar, ozone, and Chan’s clean, masculine scent, is suddenly contaminated. The air is so thick it feels like velvet on your tongue, heavy with something metallic and sweet, like burnt sugar mixed with raw, untamed power. The heat has come early, fierce, and entirely unexpected.
You find Chan in the center of the room, shirtless, his muscles corded and twitching. He is pacing, a low, frantic energy radiating from him. His skin is flushed with fever, glistening with sweat that is already soaking the collar of his jeans. His eyes, usually crinkled in a familiar smile, are blown wide, pupils dark wells drowning out the gold.
He sees you and stumbles back, hitting the wall. “Don’t,” he groans, the word ripped from his throat, layered with a warning growl. “Get out. My suppressants… they.... I can’t be around you right now.”
But you refuse to leave. You are his best friend. You know this raw, dangerous side of him is still him, and you can’t stand to see him in such excruciating suffering. “Chan, you’re burning up,” you say, reaching a hand out.
He flinches away, his breath ragged, smelling of musk and panic. “If you stay,” he warns, the growl now dominant, “I won’t stop. I can’t.”
His heavy, intoxicating scent thickens in the space, pulling at something primal deep inside you, a low, insistent ache you never knew you had. It’s no longer just his fear you smell, it’s his raw, pheromones, a demand you suddenly crave to meet. His skin, where it shines with sweat, feels like a furnace against the sudden clamminess of your own. You take another step toward him. His entire body trembles, his struggle visible in the way his fists clench and unclench.
“Stop,” he begs, but the plea in his voice is fractured, desperate, asking you to break his discipline.
The first touch is accidental, but so desperate and devastating. You reach for his arm, and his hand clamps down on your wrist, hard, his grip too tight for friendship. Before you can register the pain, he drags your arm forward, pulling your scent gland right to his muzzle.
He doesn't bite. He simply breathes, taking in your scent in a deep, shivering inhale that drags raggedly over the delicate skin of your throat. His nose is rough, cool, and wet. The friction makes a wave of dizzying heat rush straight to your core, turning your insides soap-slick and trembling with immediate need.
He stumbles out an apology, but instinct is already winning. His hands are already on your waist, pulling you against the hard ridge of his erection, which is hot and straining against his denim. He closes his eyes, his voice desperate, feral, barely tethered to humanity.
“Please, just this once. Let me? Let me claim you. I need you.”
You can only nod, the single movement a surrender that sends the feverish gold back into his eyes. Once you give in, it is raw, messy, and urgent. He rips your remaining clothes away, his hands hot and possessive, driven by pure instinct. He slams you down onto the furs, his weight heavy, his scent overpowering, and his mouth immediately claims your neck again, nuzzling deep and hard. You are already slick with your own rising heat, dripping and aching for him. He doesn’t waste time. He prepares you with brutal, skilled efficiency, fingers pushing deep past comfort into desperate necessity, the friction of his hand against your slick core making you cry out.
“So warm- fuck,” he groans, his hips already aligning. “You’ll take it, won’t you? Take all of me.”
He pushes forward with the full, heavy force of his rut, burying himself in one deep, commanding thrust. Your back arches against the thick fur, the deep, full possession stealing the air from your lungs. He immediately begins the bruising rhythm, hard, fast, and purposeful. His intent is clear… Fill you completely, to seal the bond. He uses one hand to clamp your hips down, pulling your pelvis into the precise angle required to ensure maximum depth and retention.
“Mine. You are only mine now,” he snarls, the words punctuating every deep, punishing stroke.
As he reaches his peak, his entire body tenses, and you feel the unmistakable pressure of his form shifting, the knot swells and locks you together. It’s an agonizing, magnificent feeling of physical entrapment, holding him deep, deep inside your core. He groans, the sound of his cum spilling hot and heavy into your heat-driven body. But even after his first orgasm, he doesn't stop.
The knot slowly recedes, allowing a sliver of separation, but as he pulls back slightly, a thick, white trail of his seed spills onto the fur between your thighs. Chan's exhausted sigh immediately turns into a low, murderous snarl.
"No," he commands, his voice thick with rage and desperation. "Need to keep it in, baby, or it won't take."
His wolf demands more. He pushes up on his elbows, panting, eyes blazing gold. He flips you roughly onto your stomach, pushing your hips up to expose you completely. He yanks you back against his hip, holding your waist tight. He takes you again and again, the new angle leaving you overstimulated, gasping, dripping with sweat and his essence. He pushes faster, harder, flooding you with hot seed until you feel swollen, heavy, and completely bred.
When the fever finally begins to fade, the primal frenzy giving way to exhaustion, he collapses heavily on top of you, panting, the knot still locking you together from the second, more aggressive round. The feeling of being so full, so thoroughly claimed and sealed, is overwhelming. He refuses to pull out, grinding his hips lazily, the friction dull and deeply possessive.
“Mine,” he mumbles into your throat, his breath hot and ragged. “You smell like mine now. You’re full of me.”
He licks the sweat from your throat, a low, rasping sound, then gently nuzzles your jaw, scent-marking you like a sated mate claiming his prize. The gesture is both fierce and tender.
“Don't you dare move,” he whispers, his voice thick with satisfied dominance. “Gotta keep it in you. My knot belongs inside you. We’re done cleaning up. Just stay.”
You lie tangled beneath his heavy, protective weight, utterly spent. The line between best friends is gone. You trace the sharp curve of his jaw, pressing closer, realizing with a deep, calm satisfaction that you can’t even bring yourself to regret a single second.
synopsis: following the morning-after rules jiyong set to keep you safe, the tour became a constant game of push and pull; him breaking his own boundaries, while you’re left to enforce them. the tension built quietly; tangled in stolen glances, subtle touches, and one nickname you never meant to take seriously…until halloween night.
warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content | oral (f. receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, daddy kink, dom!jiyong, brat!reader, power play, semi-public sex, begging, teasing, praise kink, multiple orgasms, light overstimulation, consensual rough sex | age gap (legal), slow burn, angst, workplace power imbalance, swearing, idol/fan dynamic, jealousy, pushing boundaries, generational humour differences.
author’s note: happy kinktober!! i am so excited to be participating in this event with so many amazing and talented writers! i figured, what better way to start off the month than with the part two that everyone has been begging for, along with some gdaddy content 😈 if you haven’t read part one, i’ve linked it below for some context on their relationship dynamic! i am super happy with how this turned out, and i hope that you all enjoy it as much as i do!! i love you all ♡
part one | part two | bonus scenes
sunlight pushed weakly through the curtains; enough to nudge you awake, but not enough to demand you move.
your cheek was pressed to jiyong’s shirt, the steady beat of his heart filling the quiet.
his arm was heavy around your waist, holding you there like he hadn’t meant to fall asleep with you tangled across him, but also hadn’t let go once he did.
zoa and iye had taken the other side of you, their small bodies warm against your back.
his fingers were already in your hair. slow, barely-there touches that felt more instinctive than conscious.
memories from yesterday started to collect, hesitant at first.
the early morning meeting. your boss hating you. the job offer. the studio. the boys. his penthouse. him.
the smaller details followed in fragments.
what it felt like when he kissed you. how possessive his hands had been. the way he held you like he meant it, even though it made no sense.
he hadn’t even known your name yesterday morning.
now, not even a full day later, you were in his bed, curled into his chest, in his hoodie, with his fingers threaded through your hair like they belonged there.
you stirred without thinking, inching closer into the warmth of him. your leg drifted higher, slipping over his and settling just above his hip bone.
his hand paused when you moved, just for a moment, before settling back into the same slow rhythm through your hair.
“morning, trouble,” jiyong spoke softly, his voice still rough with sleep.
you shifted against him, one hand drifting up to rub the tiredness from your eyes.
when your gaze found his, your smile followed without hesitation.
there was a softness in your eyes, still glazed with sleep, like your heart had already recognized him before your mind could catch up.
“hi,” you whispered, voice cracking from disuse as you let your head drop back onto his chest, eyes closing like the morning had already asked too much of you.
he hadn’t been prepared for this version of you; sleepy and quiet, melting into him like you’d done it a thousand times before.
he brushed your hair away from your face without thinking, pressing a quiet kiss to the top of your head.
“how did you sleep?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“like a baby,” you mumbled, voice muffled where it pressed into his hoodie.
he let out a soft breath of laughter, warm against your hairline.
“figured,” he said, thumb brushing lightly over the curve of your neck. “you drooled on me.”
your head lifted fast, eyes wide with sleepy offense. “no, i didn’t.”
“you did.” he grinned as he tapped the fabric of his hoodie with his pointer finger. “right here.”
“that was probably zoa,” you muttered, weakly pushing at his chest before hiding your face in it again.
his chest shook beneath you with a quiet laugh. “also,” he added, dragging the word out, “did you know that you talk in your sleep?”
you cracked one eye open. “excuse me?”
“mmhm,” he said, the grin on his face already forming. “clear as day. ‘kwon jiyong, i swear to god—’”
a laugh burst out before you could stop it, your hand flying to cover your mouth. “shut up. no way.”
“way,” he said, laughing as he rested one of his hands on your thigh. “you were dead serious. sounded like i owed you money or something.”
you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “what else did i say?”
“hard to say,” he shrugged, shifting just enough to try and catch your expression. “the rest was mostly gibberish…but i’m almost positive you said ‘don’t test me’ at one point.”
your eyes narrowed as you looked up at him, chin still resting on his chest. “what the hell did you do to me in my dream, kwon?”
his brows pulled together, caught somewhere between amused and alarmed. “me?”
you nodded, stone-faced. “don’t act so innocent. if i was threatening you in my sleep, you obviously did something.”
he blinked hard, like you’d just accused him of a felony. “okay—but like, how would i know what happened in your dream?”
“i don’t know,” you said, poking his chest. “but my subconscious clearly clocked some shady behavior. you were up to something.”
he let out a short, confused laugh. “you’re actually blaming me for something dream-me did?”
“oh, i’m not blaming dream-you,” you said, eyebrows raised. “i’m blaming you-you. dream-you is just the whistleblower.”
jiyong stared at you, mouth opening slightly like he wanted to protest, but couldn’t find the words.
“i was literally half-asleep,” he said finally, dragging a hand down his face. “right next to you.”
“which gave you access!” you argued, sitting up slightly like you were presenting evidence to the jury. “you probably infiltrated the dream.”
he let out a sharp laugh, throwing his head back onto the pillow for a second before looking at you again. “you’re insane.”
“you’re deflecting,” you replied, squinting at him. “that’s textbook guilt.”
he groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “oh my god.”
you didn’t flinch. “apologize.”
“for what?!” he asked, voice cracking a little. “something dream-me did?”
“no,” you said sweetly, “for whatever real-you did to make dream-you act like a dickhead.”
he let out a long, suffering sigh as he closed his eyes. “i’m sorry for infiltrating your dreams, or whatever you said earlier.”
“that didn’t sound very sincere,” you said, scrunching your nose.
one of his eyes cracked open, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “alright—i formally apologize for dream-me being a asshole. real-me takes full responsibility for causing you emotional damage in an alternate reality.”
you nodded, satisfied. “see? that wasn’t so hard.”
“i hate it here,” he grumbled, but his thumb never stopped moving on your thigh.
you hummed softly, triumphant, and let your head fall back to its place on his chest.
the grin on your lips still lingered, but your eyes had softened; fluttering shut as his hand resumed its slow drag across your thigh, his thumb moving absentmindedly over your skin like muscle memory.
the room went still again.
not completely silent, thanks to the hum of the heater and the muffled sounds of the city, but the kind of quiet that only settles when something else is waiting beneath it.
jiyong didn’t speak, but his fingers continued to move. he threaded them through the ends of your hair, carefully untangling knots that weren’t even there.
it was comforting. addictive. the kind of intimacy that was too easy to get used to.
you didn’t say anything either.
you just lay there, suspended in that weird, quiet space between sleep and whatever came next.
and maybe you could’ve stayed like that.
maybe, if you stayed still long enough, he wouldn’t say what you knew was coming.
but when he inhaled a little deeper, you felt it.
the way his chest lifted beneath your cheek. the way his fingers slowed in your hair. the subtle shift in the air.
“y/n?” his voice was softer now. careful.
you swallowed. “hm?”
he hesitated for a moment. “can we talk?”
your fingers curled slightly against his shirt. “you’re already talking,” you mumbled.
he huffed, a quiet breath through his nose. “don’t be annoying.”
you smiled, just barely. “speak your mind, ji.”
he didn’t answer right away.
he kept tracing through your hair, each pass slower than the last; like if he just kept his hands busy, the truth of it all might stay buried a little longer.
“i’ve just been thinking,” he eventually said, voice low and a little rough around the edges.
you didn’t answer. didn’t even blink.
just kept your head on his chest, eyes fixed somewhere in the space between his collarbones.
his throat moved beneath your cheek as he swallowed. “about…this.”
your hand twitched slightly where it rested against his side; barely a flinch, but he felt it.
“last night. this morning. all of it,” he went on, a little quieter now. like the words were still forming, even as they left his mouth.
you gave the smallest nod, almost imperceptible.
you weren’t surprised. some part of you had been bracing for it since last night.
since the moment he whispered ‘we’ll figure it out’ into your skin like a promise he never planned to open.
you hadn’t expected the conversation to come this soon.
not while you were still wrapped in each other. not with your leg draped over his hip and his hand tangled in your hair.
but deep down, you knew it was inevitable.
it lived in the quiet between his words.
in the way he’d held you a little too tightly afterward, like he already felt the clock ticking.
in the way your chest tightened every time you remembered that none of this was simple.
not you, not him, and especially not the world you were about to step back into.
“you’re gonna be with me,” he said, slower now. “working by my side every single day.”
he didn’t have to spell it out. you knew exactly what came with that.
“people are gonna notice,” he continued, eyes fixed somewhere past you. “they’ll talk. twist things. make it a whole thing before we even figure out what this is.”
his hand was still in your hair, but his voice had gone soft; measured in a way that told you he’d been thinking about this all night.
“you already know how it gets,” he said. “they’ll dissect everything. turn you into a headline for just…being near me.”
the wall beside his bed blurred slightly as you stared it down, gaze locked like you could keep the moment from moving forward if you just didn’t look at him.
“i know you’re tough,” he said softly. “but that doesn’t mean that you should have to be.”
his eyes searched your face, like he was hoping you’d stop him; give him an excuse not to keep going.
“i just…” he hesitated, breath catching slightly. “…i still feel like i have to protect you.”
you didn’t answer. silence felt safer than risking saying the wrong thing.
instead, you shifted closer, as if the warmth of his body could shield you from what you already knew was coming.
“i just think we need to draw a line,” he said, each syllable steady and deliberate. “no more…this. not while we’re working. not when other people are around. it’s smarter that way.”
your cheek stayed pressed to his chest, eyes fixed on the slow rise and fall beneath you. the sound of his heartbeat filled your ear, steady and unflinching, even as yours stumbled.
“okay,” you said quietly, your voice steady in a way that almost convinced you too. “if that’s what you want.”
the steadiness of your words only made him ache. it was the kind of calm that didn’t belong to you; the kind that almost sounded like retreat.
you remained still, swallowing down the lump in your throat, forcing the ache back far enough that it wouldn’t show.
“hey,” he whispered, brushing the side of your face with his fingers, coaxing you to look at him.
you let his hand guide your face, your eyes lifting to his despite the sting gathering at the edges.
his gaze softened instantly, guilt etched in every shade of brown that looked back at you.
“this isn’t because of you,” he murmured softly. “i like you. way more than i should, considering we just met.”
you gave a small shrug as you let your head fall back down onto his chest. “i know,” you replied calmly. “we can do whatever you think is best, ji.”
his hand stayed tangled in your hair, waiting for the lean-in that never came.
“we can still be us,” he said quickly, trying to fill the silence. “joke around, hang out. i’m not asking you to stop being you.”
“sure,” you answered, your voice clipped but light.
his thumb brushed against your temple, restless, as though the motion could hold your attention. “i just mean…” his words dragged, uncertain. “no more kissing. no more hooking up. no touching when people are around.”
“okay,” you breathed, as if it were the simplest answer in the world.
he studied you in the quiet that followed, thumb still restless against your temple.
“y/n,” he said finally, your name breaking low from his chest.
“i’m good,” you murmured, lifting your head just enough to meet his eyes. the smile you gave him was bright, practiced, like it cost you nothing. “boundaries are healthy.”
his brows knit together, suspicion flickering. “you’re being weird,” he said slowly, as if naming it might pull the truth out of you.
“i’m being reasonable,” you argued, breaking your gaze away from his once again.
his eyes narrowed, studying you. “reasonable doesn’t look like this.” he muttered. “you’re shutting me out.”
you let out a weary breath. “i’m just agreeing with you, ji. that’s all.”
“you won’t even look at me,” he whispered, his voice coming out softer than he meant it to.
your eyes flicked up just long enough to catch his before slipping away again. “i’m just tired,” you said quietly, as if that explained everything.
he breathed in, unsteady, the rise of his chest uneven beneath you. “y/n…” he said again, softer this time, almost careful.
“what?” the question slipped out with more bite than you’d planned. “you want me to fight you on it?”
he let out a short, embarrassed laugh. “yeah,” he admitted, shaking his head. “part of me did want you to fight it. which is stupid, considering i’m the one who’s supposed to know better.”
your lips curved, though the ache in your chest didn’t ease. “maybe,” you teased lightly, “but you’re also the one making the rules. if this is what you want, i’m not gonna argue with you about it.”
he sighed, a soft laugh caught in it. “the worst part is, i don’t even want the rules. i just…feel like it’s the only way to keep you from getting hurt.”
you looked up at him, a smile tugging at your mouth despite the tightness in your throat. “that’s the thing, ji. you don’t actually believe in your own rules.”
his thumb lingered in your hair, guilt shadowing his eyes. “maybe not. but i believe in protecting you.”
you let your head drop back against him, your laugh quiet, almost fond. “then you’ve gotta make up your mind. either we have boundaries and you keep them, or you stop pretending like you can.”
he chuckled, the sound rough in his chest. “you make it sound so simple.”
“it is simple,” you said, smirking up at him. “you just like to complicate things.”
his mouth curved, but before he could answer, you tilted your head. “actually…wait. if i’m not allowed to date you, does that mean i can date seunghyun instead? since he’s, you know…” your grin widened, “sort of the deluxe version of you.”
his head jerked back like you’d slapped him, eyes wide. “deluxe version?” he repeated, scandal dripping from every syllable.
you bit down a laugh, nodding solemnly. “mhmm. taller, older, deeper voice. seems like an upgrade to me.”
“upgrade?” he sat up half an inch, staring at you in disbelief. “yah—are you out of your mind?”
you bit your lip, eyes glinting as if you’d just discovered the best game in the world. “don’t act so shocked. everyone knows seunghyun’s got that whole…broody, mysterious, man-of-few-words thing going. total bonus features.”
he scoffed so loudly it made your chest shake with laughter. “bonus features? what am i then—basic model?”
“exactly,” you teased, patting his chest like you were confirming it on a receipt. “starter pack. great for beginners, but eventually you wanna upgrade.”
his jaw dropped, disbelief painted across his face. “starter pack? yah, you’re unbelievable.” he pushed a hand through his hair, muttering half under his breath, “deluxe version, my ass…”
your grin only widened, delight bubbling out of you. “hey, don’t be mad. these are your rules, remember? no kissing, no cuddling, no you. so technically…nothing’s stopping me from going after him.”
his head whipped back to you so fast you thought he might hurt himself. “nothing’s stopping you—” his voice broke into a disbelieving laugh. “you’re actually insane.”
“i’m just following your boundaries,” you sang sweetly, resting your chin on his chest like the picture of innocence.
he pointed a finger down at you, eyes narrowed, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, twitching upward. “you’re evil.”
“mm.” you smiled, smug as ever. “but at least i’m respecting the rules. can’t say the same for you, mister ‘no more touching’ with your hand still in my hair.”
his hand stilled instantly, caught red-handed. “…shit,” he muttered, dropping it to his side.
your laugh rang out, triumphant. “see? you can’t even last five minutes. how are you gonna survive an entire world tour?”
“easily,” he shot back, smirking like he believed it.
he did not survive easily.
in fact, he barely made it ten feet into the airport before he broke his own rule.
the tour hadn’t even started, and already the crowd was swallowing him whole; fans screaming his name, camera shutters clicking like machine guns, staff waving badges and shouting updates into headsets.
it was the kind of chaos he knew all too well. the kind he could usually drown out.
except today, his focus refused to stay on anything but you.
you were walking beside him; noise-cancelling headphones on, phone in hand, scrolling through the pictures you’d just taken while humming whatever throwback song you were currently obsessed with.
with you running his new instagram, 88llow88llowme, it wasn’t unusual for your eyes to be glued to your phone, capturing little moments of him into frames only you knew how to find.
however, this meant that you were everywhere he was; in the chaos, in the quiet, documenting every angle of a life most people only saw in pieces.
you were so absorbed in your gallery that the noise around you blurred into the background. every swipe seemed to pull you further into your own head, a half-smile tugging at your lips as you lingered over each shot.
somewhere between steps, you started to drift.
it was barely noticeable; just a quiet shift as your steps pulled you a little sideways.
but he noticed. of course he noticed.
you didn’t look up until a familiar hand landed at your waist, guiding you back without a word.
your hand shot out immediately, smacking his away like a reflex. it wasn’t hard, just enough to make a point.
“kwon jiyong,” you said, sharp with mock-offense. “boundaries.”
he turned his head toward you, eyes shimmering. there was laughter tugging at the corners of his mouth already. “you were about to walk into jaeho.”
your eyes lifted, scanning ahead. jaeho was a good few steps in front of you, fully in his lane, looking unbothered and unaware.
“sure,” you nodded slowly. “blame the innocent man just doing his job.”
jiyong bit his lip to keep from smiling, but failed spectacularly. “i was helping.”
“you were breaking your own rules,” you countered, voice light and smug.
he sighed like the world had wronged him. “you’re never gonna let this go, are you?”
you gave him a sweet, unbothered shrug. “nope.”
he laughed, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. “unreal.”
his hands disappeared into his pockets as he fell back into step beside you, close enough to brush shoulders but just out of reach.
you narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously.
he met your gaze with wide, innocent eyes. “not touching,” he said, all fake sweetness. “see? i’m learning.”
you snorted under your breath. “sure, ji. we’ll see how long that lasts.”
it didn’t last long at all.
barely a day into the tour, you felt the weight of his head tip onto your shoulder during the morning briefing.
everyone was crammed into the hotel lobby, half-awake and pretending to care what the tour manager was saying about call times.
you didn’t even look up from your phone.
“ji,” you said calmly, tilting your shoulder just enough for his head to slide off.
he made a wounded noise. “why are you like this.”
“why do you act like i’m the one that made the rules,” you replied sweetly, still scrolling.
he muttered something about regrets and betrayal and stomped off dramatically, tripping over a suitcase on purpose just for dramatic effect.
two days later, you found a rare pocket of quiet backstage and wasted no time claiming it.
you stretched out across the greenroom couch, earbuds in, phone balanced on your stomach as you sifted through photos from the last show.
you barely registered the sound of the door before you felt a sudden weight drop onto you, knocking the breath from your lungs. “oh my god—”
jiyong dropped onto you without warning, chest-first and sprawled out like you were the couch. his chin pressed to your shoulder, one arm flung carelessly across your side.
“what’re we watching?” he mumbled, voice muffled by your hoodie.
you yanked out one earbud and glared at him. “my life flashing before my eyes.”
“cool, cool.” he shifted slightly, just enough to rest more comfortably. “seems cinematic.”
you stared at the ceiling, defeated. “you are literally suffocating me.”
“just tryna bond.” he craned his neck to peer at your screen. “oh, that’s a good one. save that.”
you didn’t dignify him with a response.
instead, you rolled your hips to the side with one sharp twist, and his balance gave out instantly.
he slipped right off and hit the floor with a dramatic thump.
“ow—” he yelped, clutching his side like he’d been shot. “you’re so violent.”
you propped yourself up on your elbow and gave him a look. “you’re so touchy.”
his eyes narrowed. “you used to like that about me.”
“used to,” you nodded solemnly, voice flat. “back before you had rules.”
he groaned from the floor, flopping onto his back in defeat as he flipped you off.
you smirked and slipped your earbud back in, already returning to your edits.
“love you too, by the way,” you added, just loud enough to make sure he heard.
he didn’t respond, but you caught the small grin tugging at his mouth before he turned his head away.
the next week passed like every other since the tour started; long days, late nights, and jiyong still breaking his own rules like they were suggestions instead of boundaries.
he touched your waist in crowded hallways. rested his chin on your shoulder during van rides. threw his arm across your chest while you were napping, like he was your personal seatbelt.
every time, you called him out.
every time, he pretended to be shocked.
after the show earlier that night, you’d barely made it back to your room before collapsing face-first on the bed, half-scrolling your phone, half-dozing off, when a knock rattled the door.
“nope,” you called, not even lifting your head.
“yes,” came his voice, muffled but smug.
you groaned. “you’re not invited.”
“i just wanna hang out,” he said quickly, knocking again. “i swear. nothing illegal.”
“illegal?” you laughed, sitting up. “you’re thirty-six. everything you do with me is illegal.”
“yah,” he sounded offended, but couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out. “don’t start.”
“i’m serious,” you went on, smirking as you padded to the door. “this is textbook harassment. i should call hr.”
“i am hr,” he shot back. “open the door.”
you cracked the door just enough to look out.
he was leaning against the frame, hair pushed back like he’d already decided to cause trouble.
the grin on his face confirmed it.
“hm,” you squinted at him. “i’ve seen that look before. nothing good ever follows it.”
“i don’t have a look,” he shot back immediately, as though you’d accused him of a crime.
you tilted your head, already easing the door shut. “uh-huh. keep telling yourself that.”
his hand shot out, slapping against the door before it closed, and the next thing you knew, your feet were off the ground.
“what the hell is wrong with you?!” you shrieked, kicking as he threw you over his shoulder. “put me down, you asshole!”
he adjusted his grip, laughing as your fists pounded his back. “not a chance. this is way easier than arguing with you.”
“easier?!” you yelped, fists thudding uselessly against his back. “you can’t just pick people up when they don’t agree with you!”
he chuckled, shifting you higher on his shoulder. “worked, didn’t it?”
“worked?!” you twisted, trying to kick free. “you’re deranged! this is harassment!”
the commotion carried down the hall until jaeho stepped out; his eyes flicking from you, dangling upside down, to jiyong’s smug grin.
“help me!” you cried, reaching dramatically towards him. “he’s abducting me!”
his mouth twitched, fighting back a laugh, and with a small shake of his head, he slipped back into his room.
“unbelievable!” you yelled after him, smacking your palm against jiyong’s back. “i thought i was your favourite!”
jiyong’s laugh cracked, loud in your ear. “see? no one’s buying your victim act.”
you twisted, glaring at him from over his shoulder. “that’s because you’ve got everyone brainwashed!”
he let out another laugh, carrying you the last few steps before shoving his door open with his hip.
he barely cleared the doorway before tossing you onto the bed, grinning like he’d just pulled off the heist of the century.
“that’s better,” he said, brushing his hands off.
you shot upright, outrage written all over your face. “better for who?”
“for me,” he replied, not missing a beat.
before you could even respond, he grabbed a towel off of the chair and slung it over his shoulder, already moving towards the bathroom.
“excuse me? where are you going?” you asked, eyes tracking him across the room.
“to shower,” he answered casually.
your jaw dropped. “are you kidding me? you couldn’t have showered before coming to kidnap me?!”
“obviously not,” he shot back, glancing at you with a shameless grin. “had to leave the option open in case you felt like joining.”
your laugh came out sharp and disbelieving as you grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at his head. “you’re disgusting.”
he caught it with ease and immediately tossed it back at you while still laughing. “it was worth a shot.”
the pillow landed back in its place as you flopped back onto the bed with a dramatic groan. “unbelievable.”
he was still laughing when he backed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
you sighed, rolling onto your back and staring at the ceiling for all of ten seconds before boredom won.
your phone was within reach, so you grabbed it, scrolling with lazy flicks of your thumb.
one clip caught your attention; slowed concert footage of him dragging a hand through his hair before snapping into the beat, hips rolling like he owned the stage.
you watched it twice before forcing yourself to open the comments, already laughing at what you might find.
you didn’t even make it past the first comment before you cracked, laughter spilling out so hard your stomach hurt.
‘ok g-daddy we see you’ it read, racking up almost as many likes as the video itself.
you were still gasping for air with tears forming at the corners of your eyes, when the shower cut off.
the room went quiet except for your laugh echoing against the walls.
“yo,” jiyong’s voice floated out through the door. “what are you laughing at?”
you tried to smother the sound of your laughter with your sleeve, but failed miserably.
“seriously,” he called again. “what’s so funny?”
you cleared your throat, trying to keep your voice casual. “nothing, g-daddy.”
the silence that followed was deafening.
you buried your face in the pillow, shoulders shaking, tears slipping out as you tried to keep the laughter quiet.
“wait—wait, wait, wait—what the fuck did you just say?” his voice cracked out.
you bit your knuckle to keep yourself from laughing, which only made it worse.
the bathroom door slammed open a second later, steam pouring out behind him like a stage entrance.
he stumbled out in a cloud of heat, towel barely hanging on,
you were already doubled over, clutching your stomach.
his steps were erratic, like he couldn’t decide whether to flee the scene or interrogate you with his entire soul.
“g-daddy?” he choked, practically wheezing. “did you just call me g-daddy?!”
you nodded through your laughter, eyes sparkling. “it suits you, don’t you think? has a nice little ring to it.”
he stared like you’d grown a second head. “no. no, absolutely not—”
“g-daddyyy,” you repeated, dragging it out this time, just to be annoying.
“no,” he cut in, voice cracking again. he pointed at you like he could physically reverse the words. “you are not calling me that.”
you were already laughing too hard to speak. “you—you did this! this is my revenge.”
his eyes narrowed. “revenge for what?”
“for your stupid boundaries,” you cried, turning the screen to him. “they’ve been calling you g-daddy all week. how have you not seen this?!”
he stepped closer, squinting at the video. his mouth opened. closed. opened again.
you caught the shift in his face before he could hide it; the split-second ‘oh no’ that flickered behind his eyes.
your grin turned slow and dangerous. “wait,” you said, sitting up straighter. “oh my god—you like it.”
he scoffed. “what? no.”
you tilted your head, narrowing your eyes like you were solving a puzzle. “you totally do.”
“do not psychoanalyze me right now,” he warned, towel slipping lower as he tried to gesture vaguely at your phone. “that’s not what’s happening.”
“mm,” you mused. “sure it’s not. you’re bright red.”
“that’s sweat,” he said too fast. “from the shower. obviously.”
you leaned forward. “is it?”
“shut up,” he said, one hand flying up like he was trying to block the soundwaves. “you’re being annoying on purpose.”
“me?” you gasped, mock-offended. “i’m just a humble staff member trying to document your legacy, g-daddy.”
“stop saying it!” he cried, pacing toward the dresser like the movement might save him. “this feels like a hate crime.”
“you’re the one with a daddy kink,” you called after him, biting your lip.
he stopped dead in his tracks, his entire body stiffening as though your words reached a part of his brain that he’d been actively avoiding.
“excuse me?” he said, voice climbing several octaves. “i do not have a daddy kink.”
you propped yourself up on your elbows, brows lifted. “oh, okay. so i guess the be-a-good-girl-and-beg-for-it energy was just a coincidence?”
he turned around slowly, needing to see your face to make sure you were being serious.
he looked traumatized.
you, however, were having the time of your life.
“you—” he sputtered, eyes wide. “that was—i was being—dominant. not…” he trailed off, expression contorting like the word itself betrayed him.
you nodded solemnly, biting back a grin. “sure. because telling your much younger employee to beg for it is just normal workplace dominance. nothing to unpack there.”
he looked violated. “don’t say it like that. you make it sound—”
“like a daddy kink?” you offered, fully smiling now. “that’s because it definitely is.”
“okay, no. nope. shut it down. i’m not doing this with you.” he said, pulling open the dresser like finding pants would save his dignity.
you propped your chin in your hand, still grinning. “so what now? just…parade around half-naked until i forget what i said?”
“no,” he muttered, yanking a pair of sweats from the drawer. “i’m just getting dressed.”
you squealed, immediately rolling onto your stomach, face buried in the blanket. “boundaries! hello?”
“are you serious?” he cracked up, tugging them on. “you’ve literally seen it all.”
“that was private!” your voice came out muffled against the comforter. “this is workplace harassment.”
“workplace harassment?” he repeated, still laughing at your ridiculousness. “need i remind you, you’re in my room.”
you peeked up just long enough to glare. “you dragged me into your room, which makes me the victim here.”
“oh, please,” he dropped onto the mattress beside you, water still dripping from his hair onto your arm. “you are not a victim. you live for this.”
you rolled onto your back, smirking up at him. “what i live for is enforcing the rules you made.”
“i hate those rules,” he said, though his grin gave him away.
“good,” you shot back. “that means they’re working.”
he leaned closer, bracing one arm on the pillow beside your head. “one kiss,” he murmured. “just one. no one would know.”
your pulse skipped for just a second before you shoved his face away, laughing. “nope. that’s a violation. i’m filing another complaint.”
he laughed into your palm, catching your wrist and pressing it flat against his chest. “complaint denied. i’m the boss.”
you pulled back with a shit-eating grin plastered on your face. “that’s cute. kind of hard to take the boss seriously when he’s this desperate.”
he groaned dramatically, collapsing back onto the hotel bed with a grin. “you’re gonna break eventually.”
“maybe,” you said, sliding off the mattress with your phone in hand. you tugged your hoodie straight and headed for the door. “not tonight though, g-daddy.”
his laugh cracked, boyish and helpless. “i hate you!” he shouted after you, voice breaking from how hard he was laughing.
you stopped at the doorway, half-turned with a smirk. your wink was quick and smug. “love you too, g-diva!”
you pulled the door shut behind you, leaving him sprawled in his sheets, groaning like you’d just ruined his whole life.
the next few days passed in a haze of flights, late nights, and too little sleep.
by the time any of it registered, you’d landed in australia for the final show before a much needed break.
soundcheck was already underway, bass rattling through the empty arena as jiyong moved under the lights.
you sat cross-legged on the floor at the side of the stage, phone in hand, snapping pictures between scrolls.
every so often, he glanced your way, a quick grin flashing before he turned back to the mic.
it was a habit by now; something he always found himself doing when you were around, and somehow, it tugged a smile out of you every single time.
your phone started to ring mid-photo, the name ‘seunghyun’ flashing across the screen.
your eyebrows shot up, and a grin spread before you even answered.
you scrambled to your feet, clutching your phone tight as you wove past the speakers and ducked further backstage.
when the noise finally dulled to a manageable level, you swiped the screen and lifted it to your ear.
“hello?” your voice came out a little too bright, betraying the grin you couldn’t hold back.
“rookie,” he drawled, warm and amused, just like how he always sounded when he called just to bug you. “tell me you’re coming to the party.”
your brows knit, confusion flickering across your face. “party?” you echoed. “what party?”
“the halloween one we’re hosting. don’t tell me jiyong didn’t—” he cut himself off, the disbelief clear in his tone. “yah, you’re joking. he never mentioned it?”
you blinked, forcing a laugh that came out lighter than you felt. “nope. first i’m hearing about it.”
“really?” he questioned, his voice filled with surprise. “that’s so weird. i figured he told you right away.”
your chest tightened as possibilities tumbled over each other.
maybe he’d just forgotten. maybe it slipped his mind in the chaos of tour.
it wasn’t long before other possibilities pushed their way in; ones that you didn’t necessarily want to unpack.
maybe it wasn’t an accident. maybe he didn’t want you there.
maybe he already planned on showing up with someone else; someone who wouldn’t spend the whole night throwing his own rules back at him.
the thoughts knotted tighter the longer you stood there.
against your better judgement, your gaze slipped back towards the stage.
he was already looking at you.
the smile he’d been wearing slipped the moment he registered your expression, his eyes darting to the phone pressed to your ear before settling back on your face.
his brows pulled together, worry flickering across his face. his eyes stayed on yours like he wanted answers, but the track carried on, pulling his focus back to rehearsal.
the moment his attention shifted, you let a breath and steadied your voice.
“guess not,” you said into the phone, leaning back against the wall, twirling the drawstring of your hoodie between your fingers. “but if you want me there, i’ll come.”
“of course i want you there,” seunghyun said easily. “what kind of party would it be without you?”
the tightness in your chest eased, just a little. “smooth,” you let out a laugh, quiet but real. “you always talk like that, or is this special treatment?”
“only for you,” he teased. “seriously though, the boys miss you. i miss you. it won’t be the same if you’re not there.”
you rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your mouth gave you away. “fine. only because you asked so nicely.”
“nicely? rookie, that was me begging,” he laughed. “don’t let it go to your head, though.”
“too late,” you teased. “what’s the dress code anyway? do i have to match you guys or something?”
“as long as it’s a costume, you’re fine,” he said easily. “though sexy is always a bonus.” he added with a grin you could practically hear through the line.
your laugh slipped out before you could stop it. “a bonus for who, exactly?” you teased, raising your brows even though he couldn’t see you.
“for everyone,” he replied without missing a beat. “but let’s be real—we all know you’re ji’s girl.”
you huffed out a laugh, heat creeping up your neck. “i am not his girl.”
“uh oh,” seunghyun jumped in right away, dragging it out like he’d been waiting for this. “sounds like somebody’s mad she didn’t get the invite straight from him.”
your mouth fell open, a laugh slipping out of you. “i’m not mad!”
“sure,” he teased, voice smug. “you’re practically foaming at the mouth.”
“okay, okay,” you shook your head, grinning despite yourself. “maybe i am a little annoyed, but that still doesn’t make me his girl.”
“sure, sure,” he said easily. “so if you’re not his girl, that means you’re fair game, right?”
“fair game for who? you?” you questioned, already knowing what his answer would be.
“obviously,” he responded without hesitation, the grin in his voice unmistakable. “i’m taller, cooler, less bossy. i’d never make you follow dumb rules.”
your laugh burst out before you could stop it. “that’s literally what i said! i told him months ago that you were the deluxe version!”
seunghyun broke into full laughter on the other end, so loud you had to pull the phone back a little. “no way. you actually said that to his face?”
“of course i did,” you said, grinning as you pinched the bridge of your nose. “he looked like he wanted to strangle me.”
“oh my god,” seunghyun managed between laughs. “this is why i love you.”
“careful,” you warned, biting back another laugh. “say stuff like that and people might actually believe it.”
“good, let ‘em.” he shot back, still chuckling. “see you at the party, rookie.”
you shook your head, smiling as you said your goodbye and ended the call.
when you glanced back toward the stage, jiyong’s eyes were already on you, once again.
the confusion from earlier hadn’t gone anywhere. if anything, it was sharper now; threaded with something you couldn’t quite name.
you forced a small smile in his direction, hoping it was enough to smooth over whatever he thought he saw.
his mouth twitched like he wanted to return it, but the music pulled him forward before he could.
you slipped your phone into your pocket and headed for the dressing room, not bothering to stay through the rest of rehearsal.
the couch welcomed you like it knew the weight you carried, the soft cushions swallowing you as you tugged your hood up and leaned back.
the ache in your chest clung on, quiet but insistent, no matter how many times you told yourself you didn’t care.
the door cracked open a little while later, the hinges giving the faintest groan before it shut again.
before you could even look up, his voice cut through the silence.
“who called you?” he asked, steady on the surface, though the edge underneath gave him away.
your head snapped up. “seriously?” you shot back, hood still tugged over half your face. “so it’s fine for you to keep secrets, but i have to give you a play-by-play of every call i get?”
his mouth opened, then closed again, confusion flickering across his face. “what are you talking about? i just—i wanted to know—”
“it was seunghyun,” you cut him off, a little sharper than you intended.
he stilled mid-step. “…okay?” he tried, cautious. “why’s he calling you though?”
you tilted your head, feigning confusion. “why wouldn’t he?”
he blinked, caught off guard. “i mean, he doesn’t usually—he could’ve just…i don’t know—” his words tangled, shoulders shifting like he couldn’t quite find his footing.
you didn’t bother answering. instead, you sank deeper into the couch and unlocked your phone, scrolling like the conversation was over.
his brows knit, confusion tugging at his features as he watched you ignore him. “…what did he want?” he asked finally, the caution in his voice making it clear he was still trying to figure out what he’d walked into.
you hummed like you had to think about it, eyes still on your screen. “oh, nothing important,” you said at last, casual enough to sting. “just wanted to know if i was coming to the halloween party.”
he froze. “…the party? in seoul?”
you finally looked up, gaze sharp. “yeah. apparently everyone knew about it—well, everyone except me.”
his mouth parted, words stumbling out before he could shape them. “i was gonna tell you. i just…things have been—”
“don’t say crazy,” you cut in, tossing your phone aside. “don’t say busy, either. we spend every waking moment together, and somehow i’m the last to know? come on, ji. that’s not an accident.”
“i didn’t think—” he started, shifting his weight like he couldn’t decide whether to step toward you or back off.
you let out a sharp, humorless laugh, pressing a hand to your forehead. “yeah, no kidding. do you know how embarrassing that was? him sounding shocked, like, ‘yah, you’re joking, right?’ and i’m standing there looking like an idiot because you ‘didn’t think.’”
his jaw clenched, teeth pressing together hard. “you’re not an idiot. you know i don’t see you that way.”
“then explain it,” you fired back, your chest tightening. “because either you didn’t want me there, or you already planned on taking someone else. which one is it?”
“it’s neither,” he bit out, the pitch of his voice rising before he forced it lower again. “you’re twisting it—”
“i’m not twisting anything!” you snapped. “if i mattered, you would’ve told me. it’s as simple as that.”
his mouth opened, and quickly shut again, like he couldn’t line up a defense. “it wasn’t about that,” he managed finally. “i wasn’t hiding it from you.”
“right,” you muttered, arms crossing tight. “funny how seunghyun thought to ask me, though. at least he thought i was worth telling.”
his expression faltered, your words hitting him harder than you meant them to. “…so what? now seunghyun cares more about you than i do?” his voice rose, sharper than before. “that’s not fair.”
“what’s not fair,” you argued, heat rising in your chest, “is you making me feel like some afterthought. you knew for weeks, ji. weeks! and you said nothing. but god forbid i get a phone call when you aren’t around—and suddenly i have to explain myself?!”
his brows pulled together, confusion twisting into something tighter. “that’s not what this is—”
“isn’t it?” you asked, leaning forward. “you get to make all the rules, pretend like you don’t want me too close, but the second someone else gives me the bare minimum of attention, you’re looking at me like i’ve done something wrong!”
something in him cracked at that, his jaw tightening before his face shifted; hurt flashing first, frustration chasing close behind. “jesus, do you even hear yourself? you’re acting so childish—”
you froze, breath catching sharp in your chest. “childish,” you echoed, soft but trembling underneath, like you couldn’t quite believe he’d actually said it.
it wasn’t just his words that stung; it was what they implied.
you’d always believed he looked past the years between you, that he saw you standing beside him rather than behind.
the thought had been a comfort, something you clung to in the quiet moments when the gap felt too wide. now, it pressed against your ribs like a bruise, leaving you feeling much smaller than ever before.
regret washed over his face so fast it almost looked painful. “wait—no, that’s not what i meant,” he rushed, words tripping over themselves. “i didn’t mean it like that, i just—”
you let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking your head as you grabbed your bag. “don’t bother. you clearly meant it enough to say it.”
he moved toward you, hands half-raised, like he could undo it if he just explained fast enough. “y/n, please, i didn’t—”
“save it,” you cut him off, yanking the strap over your shoulder. your voice cracked once before you forced it steady. “if that’s how you see me, then fine. but i’m not gonna sit here and be talked down to by the same guy who can’t even decide what he wants from me.”
he flinched, almost like you’d hit him, but you didn’t give him the chance to recover.
“get someone else to take your stupid fucking pictures tonight,” you added, brushing past him hard enough that your shoulder clipped his.
he was on your heels the second you reached the door. “you can’t just leave—you’re working—”
you didn’t so much as look back. “then fire me,” you snapped, the words flung over your shoulder as the door slammed hard against the frame.
you tugged your hood further down your forehead as you walked, hoping the shadow it casted was enough to hide the sting in your eyes.
the door behind you flew open almost instantly. “y/n!” his voice ripped down the hall, cracked and desperate, almost like he thought sheer volume might drag you back.
his footsteps followed quickly behind you, each one hitting the floor harder than the last, until they cut short in a scuffle.
“jiyong,” jaeho’s voice came firm, his grip closing tight around jiyong’s arm.
“let me go!” jiyong roared, twisting against him, his voice breaking as he shouted again. “y/n! please!”
heads turned as you passed, a hundred questions written across their faces. curiosity, pity, judgment; all of it clung to your skin with a weight you couldn’t quite shake.
you didn’t give any of them the satisfaction of meeting their eyes, choosing to fix your stare on the floor instead, praying that if you just kept moving, they’d eventually look away.
behind you, jaeho’s voice cut through the noise, steady and immovable. “enough, ji. don’t make this worse.”
“i said let me go!” jiyong’s voice broke, rough with desperation as jaeho dragged him back.
his shoes scraped hard against the floor, fists jerking like he still thought he could fight his way free, but the older man’s grip didn’t budge.
your name ripped out of him one last time, echoing down the corridor, before the door closed behind them and cut the sound in half.
by the time you reached your hotel room, your phone had been buzzing non-stop in your hand with calls and text messages; everything lighting up the screen faster than you could swipe it away.
the moment the door shut behind you, you let your bag fall wherever it landed and threw yourself face-first onto the bed.
the mattress dipped hard under your weight as you buried your face into the comforter, a muffled sound ripping out of you before you could swallow it back.
you kicked your feet once, twice, sharp little bursts of frustration that made the bed jolt.
your phone wouldn’t stop, the vibration rattling against the nightstand like it was mocking you. you didn’t even have to look to know who it was.
you rolled onto your side, arm flopping out blindly until your fingers found the screen. the messages blurred together as they filled the display.
jiyong: where are you??
jiyong: i’m sorry.
jiyong: i didn’t mean it like that.
jiyong: please answer me.
the screen lit up again before you could even finish reading through all of the messages, his name flashing across the top.
you declined the call without a second thought and tossed your phone face-down onto the bed, but it wouldn’t stop; buzzing again and again, as if he wasn’t going to stop until you finally caved.
it went on for what felt like hours, breaking only when he was pulled onstage. for a while, there was quiet; long enough for you to almost believe he’d finally given up.
but after the show, it started again. call after call, message after message, each one more frantic than the last.
the only pause came when you realized he wasn’t on the other end of your phone anymore, but on the other side of your door.
first, it was his voice; low and hoarse from the night, coaxing, apologizing, begging you to just say something.
when that got no response, everything went quiet.
no more calls flashing across your screen. no more words piling up in bubbles you refused to open.
the silence should have been a relief, but it wasn’t. it pressed in heavy, filling the room until it was impossible to ignore.
he was still there; you could feel it, as if his presence seeped through the walls, steady and unrelenting, a quiet vow that he wasn’t leaving.
you lasted only a few minutes on the bed before the pull became too much. eventually, your steps carried you across the room, slow and unwilling, until you sank down in front the door.
you didn’t make a sound. you couldn’t. you didn’t want him to know you were there. still, being this close, separated by only a sliver of distance, dulled the ache just enough to let you breathe.
at some point, exhaustion pulled you under. you stayed curled against the door, cheek pressed to your knees. the position was uncomfortable, but the faint comfort of knowing he was still there on the other side kept you from moving.
when you opened your eyes again, morning light was already seeping past the curtains. the knock that came wasn’t his this time, but staff, reminding you that it was almost time to leave for the flight back to seoul.
the rest of the morning blurred. you packed without thinking, every motion stiff and mechanical, your chest still heavy from the night before.
he didn’t knock again. didn’t try to stop you in the hall. didn’t say another word.
still, you felt him. in the car to the airport, on the walk through the terminal, even on the plane.
his eyes lingered, his gaze thick with regret, but you gave him nothing; keeping your attention locked on everything but him.
by the time you landed back in seoul, the weight of everything hadn’t lifted. if anything, it only grew heavier when the terminal doors opened and the chaos flooded in.
cameras. voices. fans pressed shoulder to shoulder. flashes of light cutting across your vision.
you stayed back instinctively, your hand already reaching for your phone. “i’ll call someone to come get me,” you told jaeho quietly, in an attempt to avoid jiyong all together.
but before jaeho could answer, jiyong was already there.
his arm hooked over your shoulders, pulling you in tight, his hand steady at the back of your head to shield you from the swarm of bodies and flashing lights.
“i don’t care how mad you are at me,” he said, voice rough but steady against the noise. “i’m not leaving you alone in the middle of this airport.”
his words left no room for argument.
every step he took angled your body into his, his hold a shield against the swarm of fans and cameras until the car door finally closed, cutting off the noise.
his arm slipped reluctantly from your shoulders, the heat of his palm still lingering at the back of your head.
you leaned towards the window, eyes fixed on the blur of lights, even as you felt him watching you.
he stayed quiet for a long moment, head bowed, before finally speaking. “i should’ve told you,” he said, voice rough. “about the party. about all of it. you deserved to hear it from me.”
you exhaled sharply, your forehead pressing against the glass. “yeah. i did.”
his hand dragged over his mouth, restless. “it wasn’t on purpose. i wasn’t hiding it. i just…kept putting it off, and suddenly it was too late.”
your head tilted toward him, eyes narrowing. “too late? ji, we spend every minute together. you had a hundred chances to tell me. you just didn’t.”
he flinched, guilt flickering clear across his face. “i know. and i’m sorry. i hate that i made you feel like you didn’t matter.”
your throat tightened, words catching before you forced them out. “it’s not just this, though. it’s those stupid fucking rules. you set the boundaries, not me. and i’ve tried to respect them, i really have. but you’re always the one breaking them—” you cut yourself off, shaking your head.
his chest rose with a shaky breath. “i know it’s not fair. i don’t mean to confuse you. i just…” he stopped, searching. “i don’t know how to want you without risking everything. but i don’t know how to stop wanting you, either.”
you turned fully then, your eyes locking on his. “i can handle the risk. what i can’t handle is feeling like an afterthought, or like this is something you can switch on and off whenever it scares you.”
his gaze broke first, dropping to his lap. he sat there for a long beat, jaw tight, like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find a single word that didn’t make it worse.
“you’re not an afterthought,” he said finally, his voice low and raw. “you’re the only thing i ever think about.”
“if you really mean that, then prove it,” you spoke quietly, the fight finally slipping out of your voice, “stop making me feel like i’m something you have to resist.”
he nodded once, slow, like the weight of your words landed heavy in his head. his fingers tapped restlessly against his knee, the silence thick between you.
“are you still going tomorrow?” he asked after a pause, cautious, almost like he was bracing himself for the answer.
your arms folded across your chest. “yeah. i told seunghyun i’d be there.”
his head turned, eyes sharp even in the dark. “what are you wearing?”
you leaned back toward the window, a faint smile tugging at your lips even as your chest tightened. “you’ll find out tomorrow.”
you hadn’t spoken to him since.
after everything that was said in the car, you thought he might reach out. a knock at your door. a half-hearted excuse. maybe even a real apology, if he was feeling brave.
instead, there was silence.
you didn’t let it bother you. at least, not enough to let it ruin tonight.
the bow tie was still loose around your neck when your phone lit up on the counter. the buzz carried through the quiet hum of the bathroom, breaking your focus for just a moment.
seunghyun: car’s downstairs. told the guys you’d be on time. don’t embarrass me, rookie.
your mouth curved, soft at the edges.
you clipped the bow tie into place, fingertips brushing over the satin until it rested perfectly against your skin. it was the smallest part of the costume, but somehow it pulled everything together.
you wouldn’t be a real playboy bunny without it.
the rest of the outfit framed it perfectly; a black corset pulled snug at your waist, a skirt so short it felt more like suggestion than fabric, fishnets mapping clean lines over your legs, and heels that raised you three inches higher than you were used to.
you picked the ears up from your dresser and settled the band over your hair, nudging it into place with careful fingers.
your eyes lingered on the mirror longer than you meant them to, and the longer you stared, the easier it was to let the confidence sink in.
a small smile curved at your mouth before you finally turned away, slipping your phone into your purse and pulling the strap over your shoulder as you walked out of your apartment.
by the time you reached seunghyun’s house, the front steps were scattered with people in costume; some smoking, some laughing, most of them unfamiliar.
a few faces stood out, ones you’d grown up idolizing, but that didn’t make walking through them any easier.
you slipped your phone from your purse and opened jiyong’s chat without thinking. it was a habit by now; texting him the moment you arrived, knowing he’d meet you outside so you wouldn’t have to walk in alone.
but when you opened the thread, there was still nothing waiting.
your thumb hovered for a moment, but you didn’t type anything. he hadn’t said a word all day, and you were definitely not about to be the one to change that.
with a quiet sigh, you backed out of the thread and opened the group chat instead.
y/n: i’m here.
you tucked yourself against the edge of the front steps, just outside the swirl of bodies moving in and out of the house.
daesung: omg finally!!!
youngbae: door’s open, just come in.
your eyes flicked towards the entrance, catching flashes of movement and loud voices as more strangers pushed through the door.
y/n: i’m not walking in alone. absolutely not.
y/n: i think someone just barked at me???
y/n: i’m too sober for this.
you shifted your weight from one heel to the other as you waited for a reply.
daesung: bark back and assert your dominance.
a laugh slipped out before you could stop it. you shook your head, already typing a comeback when another message popped up.
seunghyun: i’ll come get you, scaredy cat.
the door cracked open a moment later, and seunghyun stepped into view dressed in dark jeans, a fitted tee, and a worn cowboy hat that somehow made too much sense on him. he spotted you insantly, that same easy grin lighting up his face.
“i guess you’re not a scaredy cat,” he called out as he strolled toward you, “you’re a scaredy bunny, apparently.”
you groaned. “i hate you.”
“no, you don’t,” he said, stopping a few feet in front of you. his gaze dragged from your heels to your collarbone with no real attempt at subtlety. “rookie, what the hell are you wearing?”
“what?” you looked up at him, feigning innocence. “you don’t like it?”
he let out a short laugh. “i didn’t say that.” he leaned back slightly, giving you another once-over, slower this time. “you look really hot, actually.”
you rolled your eyes, trying not to smile as you crossed your arms over your chest. “you’re ridiculous.”
“says the girl in ears and a bowtie,” he shot back, still keeping his eyes locked on you. “you really went full playboy, huh?”
you smirked. “you sound surprised.”
“i’m not.” he said, head tilting just slightly. “i’m honestly impressed. you might’ve just saved halloween showing up like this.”
you bit your lip, fighting back a laugh. “oh my god.”
“i’m serious.” he gestured vaguely down your body. “i should’ve brought you one of those little trays. you could be walking around with shots on it right now. men would be on their knees.”
“you would be too, don’t kid yourself,” you said, poking at his chest.
he held up his hands in mock surrender. “i never said i wouldn’t be.”
your eyes flicked to the drink in his hand, and without a word, you plucked it from his fingers and knocked it back like it was yours to begin with.
“unbelievable,” he said, watching you with a mix of disbelief and amusement. “do you ever get your own drinks?”
you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, smug. “why would i? yours always taste better.”
he shook his head, laughing under his breath. “you’re actually the worst,” he muttered, nudging you gently with his elbow. “come on, bunny. we’re getting you your own drink before you rob anyone else.”
you let him lead the way, following closely as he pulled the front door open. the air shifted instantly; thick with heat and sound, the bass pulsing through the floorboards like a second heartbeat.
bodies pressed in from every side, voices echoing down the hall as the party spilled deeper into the house.
you hooked your fingers lightly around his arm without thinking, just to stay close. he didn’t seem to mind. if anything, he shifted a little, making room for you as you moved through the crowd together.
“is jiyong here?” you asked, ducking your head toward him so only he could hear.
he glanced sideways, raising an eyebrow. “what, you miss him already?”
you shot him a look. “don’t be annoying.”
his mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh. “he’s here,” he said, way too pleased with himself.
your brows pulled in. “why do you sound like that?”
“i don’t sound like anything,” he said, way too quickly.
you narrowed your eyes, but he was already steering you towards the kitchen.
“you’re gonna need this,” he muttered, grabbing a glass off the counter and filling it without waiting for your input.
“what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you asked, giving him a look.
he didn’t answer. just turned, lifted the drink towards your mouth, and tilted it ever so slightly until you had no choice but to take a sip.
“trust me,” he added, fingers still wrapped lightly around the glass. “you’ll thank me later.”
you swallowed, eyeing him over the rim as he finally let go. “you’re actually insufferable, sometimes.”
“probably,” he said, already nudging you out of the kitchen. “but you’re about to be real glad i did that.”
you didn’t get a chance to ask what he meant by that.
the music pulsed heavier as you followed him down the hall, the crowd thinning just enough to move without bumping into every person in your path.
still, the occasional shoulder grazed yours, causing you to tighten your hold around seunghyun’s arm for balance.
“they’re over there,” seunghyun said, tipping his chin towards a cluster of couches near the window.
you spotted them just as they spotted you.
“finally,” daesung called, already pushing to his feet. “what took you so long?!”
youngbae stood too, a grin spreading across his face as his eyes flicked over you. “rookie, you look insane,” he said, pulling you into a quick hug before you could even answer. “definitely worth the wait.”
“seunghyun made me stop for a drink,” you answered as daesung pulled you in for a hug of his own.
this side of the living room was a little calmer. the smoke still hung in the air, curling lazily toward the ceiling, but it wasn’t as dense. the music bled in from the hallway, bass heavy and slow, muffled just enough to make voices easier to hear.
groups of people lounged across the couches, plastic cups balanced on their knees or cradled in their hands. the lighting here was low and violet-toned, soft enough that everyone looked a little hazy around the edges.
daesung leaned back, still grinning as he looked you over. “wait, where’s your drink?” he asked, glancing at your empty hand.
you shrugged. “finished it already.”
“damn,” he laughed, reaching behind him to grab another off the low table. “guess that means this one's yours now.”
you took it before he could change his mind, raising it in mock salute. “you’re a good man, dae.”
“i try,” he said, flashing a grin.
youngbae hadn’t taken his eyes off you. his head tilted, gaze narrowing a little like he was trying to line something up in his mind.
“wait,” he started, the words dragging out slowly as he glanced over his shoulder. “did you and—”
“yo, ji!” someone shouted from one of the couches beside you. “one of your little bunnies are here!”
the words sliced right through the loud music, causing a few heads to turn your way; including his.
he shifted from where he was standing and turned towards the noise, a lowball glass dangling from his fingers.
the movement was casual until his eyes landed on you.
everything around him seemed to blur out. the smoke, the music, even the girl standing beside him. none of it mattered anymore.
his fingers tightened slightly around the glass in his hand, but he didn’t move. not right away.
he just stared, eyes dragging down the length of you like he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
“oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you muttered, eyes drifting over the silk robe slung low over his shoulders, the dark shirt half-unbuttoned beneath it, and the pipe on the table next to him.
he was dressed as hugh hefner. of course he was.
beside you, seunghyun’s low laugh was almost a whisper. “told you you’d need a drink,” he muttered, his mouth close to your ear.
you lifted your drink to your lips in acknowledgment, taking a slow slip as if that might dull the heat crawling up the back of your neck.
he still hadn’t looked away.
for a second, you thought maybe he wouldn’t move.
maybe he’d stay exactly where he was; frozen in place, trying to blink you into something less dangerous.
but the moment the alcohol touched your tongue, he took a slow step forward, then another, weaving between shoulders and couches like nothing else in the room existed.
he stopped a few steps in front of you, not quite close enough to touch. his gaze dragged over your outfit again, much slower this time, before returning to your face.
“you made it,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
you gave the smallest nod, not knowing how to respond to him.
“you look…” he started, only to trail off mid-thought.
“smoking hot,” daesung offered casually.
“drop-dead gorgeous,” youngbae chimed in with a grin.
“absolutely lethal,” seunghyun added, deadpan.
jiyong exhaled, jaw flexing once before he finally cracked a smile. “yeah,” he said, nodding slightly. “that.”
you tilted your head the slightest bit, letting the silence stretch before answering.
jiyong flicked a look at the boys, not subtle in the slightest, a silent order to give the two of you space.
to your surprise, they actually listened, peeling off towards the kitchen with the worst attempt at casual you’d ever seen.
“you look good too,” you said, voice deceptively light. “hugh hefner, though? really?”
his lips twitched, eyes flicking down for a second. “wasn’t my idea.”
“sure it wasn’t,” you replied, arms loosely crossed over your chest. “it’s very on brand.”
he raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “how so?”
you took a slow step closer, your mouth curling at one corner. “old. rich. dramatic. craves attention…” you paused, leaning in just enough for only him to hear, “it’s all very g‑daddy of you.”
his body went still, so subtle anyone else would’ve missed it, but you caught it.
the flicker in his eyes. the way his breath dipped for half a second. how his grip on the glass tightened.
his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, eyes dragging over your mouth like he was already imagining it parted around his name.
“you’re not playing fair,” he said, voice rough.
“i’m not here to play,” you said softly. “you know that.”
he stepped closer. not quite touching, but close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off of him.
he let out a quiet, rough laugh, almost more breath than sound. “you’re gonna be a fucking problem tonight.”
you didn’t flinch. instead, you lifted your chin, eyes locked on his like you were daring him to do something about it.
the space between you barely existed now; one breath, one slip, and you’d fall right into him.
“funny,” you murmured, voice low and deliberate, your words curling between you like smoke. “i thought that’s what you liked about me.”
his eyes darkened instantly, like you’d hit a nerve he’d been trying to keep buried.
he leaned in just enough that your noses nearly brushed, voice low enough to vibrate through your chest.
“i like a lot of things about you,” he said, each word thick with restraint. “but that mouth might be my favourite.”
his voice rolled through you, low and deliberate, like it knew exactly where to land.
your body reacted before your mind caught up; heat curling in your stomach, a slow throb of want that settled deep in your bones.
you smothered it before any of it could reach the surface.
your lashes lifted with calculated ease, gaze locking on his like you were reading every filthy thought behind his eyes, and choosing not to act on a single one.
you lifted your drink with slow, measured simplicity, letting the rim graze the edge of his skin on the way up; a fleeting, but deliberate touch.
his muscles tightened in response, subtle but unmistakable, like the slip of control had caught him off guard.
you tipped it back and finished the rest in one long swallow, allowing him to watch the movement of your throat.
his gaze tracked every shift — your lips, the curve of your neck, the rise and fall of your chest — devouring you without the slightest hint of shame.
when the glass came down, your lips were damp, parted, and just inches away from his.
you didn’t move. neither did he.
his eyes lingered on your mouth for a beat too long, almost like he was weighing the consequences of closing the gap between you, or maybe fantasizing about all of the ways he could make you beg for it first.
“i’m gonna get a refill.” your words brushed his mouth more than his ear, soft enough to be mistaken for a promise.
you stepped past him slowly, your fingers skimming the back of his hand.
before you disappeared into the crowd, you looked back once, shoulder turned, eyes gleaming with something that wasn’t quite innocent.
“try not to miss me too much,” you added sweetly, with a smile sharp enough to draw blood.
you didn’t wait for his reaction.
the crowd swallowed you in seconds; music pulsing, bodies everywhere, and heat pressed from all directions, but none of it compared to what you’d just walked away from.
you didn’t make it far before familiar fingers wrapped around your wrist, halting you so abruptly your breath caught mid-step.
you didn’t have to look to know it was him.
his fingers tightened just enough to make you stop. heat rolled up your arm a second before his chest brushed your back, his breath ghosting the side of your neck like a warning.
“upstairs,” he said, low enough that only you could hear. “now.”
the words cracked through the noise, quiet but absolute. it wasn’t a request.
you felt the tug of his hand before your mind caught up. the crowd parted for him without a glance, his grip steady as he pulled you through it.
his hand stayed locked around yours as he cut through the party like it wasn’t even there. shoulders and cups brushed against you, a blur of faces and smoke, but no one tried to stop him.
your pulse matched the bass underfoot, hard and fast, even as the sound dimmed with every step up the stairs.
your heels barely hit the landing before he was unlocking the last door at the end of the hall; seunghyun’s in-home studio.
the room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of a red interface light.
you barely had time to register the space — the cluttered desk, the low hum from the equipment, the scent of wood polish and smoke still clinging to the walls — before his grip shifted.
his hand moved from your wrist to your waist, and in one smooth, unrelenting motion, he turned you.
your back hit the door hard enough to make it slam shut behind you; the sharp, echoing click of the latch sealing the room, and sealing you in it.
your gasp caught on his mouth before you even realized he was that close.
his hands bracketed your hips, wide and possessive, fingers digging in like he was daring you to move.
his chest pressed flush to yours, keeping you pinned with nothing more than his body and the heat rolling off of it.
he didn’t say a word. didn’t give you a second to breathe.
he kissed you like he was starving; the kind of kiss that knocked the breath right out of your lungs and left your knees weak.
you moaned against his mouth, a sound he swallowed eagerly, hands already sliding under your ass.
“jump,” his voice was low, wrecked, and demanding.
you obeyed without hesitation, legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck.
he caught you easily, palms spreading over the back of your thighs as he pressed you back against the door, like he needed every inch of you flush against him.
his mouth dragged down your jaw, hot and open, and your head hit the wood behind you, causing your bunny ears to fall to the floor without either of you even noticing.
“fuck,” you gasped, breath hitching when he rocked into you.
he was already hard, and already so far gone.
“you’re such a fucking tease,” he growled, biting lightly at your neck. “walking away from me like that—”
his hand slid up your side, fingers grazing the edge of the velvet corset. “—acting like you didn’t want me to do this.”
he didn’t wait for a response.
his hand gripped your waist, steady and hard, anchoring you in place as he rolled his hips into yours again, rougher this time, like he wanted to hear you break.
your breath caught, the moan slipping out before you could stop it.
“you wore this just to test me, didn’t you?” his breath was hot against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. “knew i wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.”
your legs flexed tighter, forcing him closer. “don’t get too cocky now, kwon,” you whispered, nails dragging lightly along the back of his neck. “not everything is about you.”
he let out a short breath, eyes still fixed on yours like you were the only thing in the world.
“you’re right,” he said, voice rough and edged with amusement. “it’s about you.”
his hands slid higher, up your thighs and under the hem of your skirt.
he pressed you harder into the door with the weight of his body, growling something low and nearly incoherent when your fingers gripped onto the back of his hair.
“you’re really not gonna say anything now?” he muttered, voice wrecked and laughing against your jaw. “mouthy all night, but the second i touch you—”
your hand fisted his shirt, yanking him back to your mouth.
“shut up,” you breathed against his lips. “you talk too much.”
his laugh was low against your mouth, swallowed almost instantly by another kiss. this one was hungrier, his lips parting yours like he’d been waiting his whole life for this.
you met him with the same heat, nails still dragging along the back of his neck, pulling him closer until there was no space left to take.
his grip under your thighs tightened, lifting you higher with a sharp tug. your gasp spilled into his mouth, legs squeezing around his waist.
the shift tore your back from the door, your weight settling entirely into his arms as he carried you.
you barely realized where he was taking you until the edge of the desk pressed up against your hip.
his arm swept across the desk in one quick motion; monitors, mics, and cables crashing to the floor in a violent clatter. the sound rattled the room, sharp and jarring, but he didn’t flinch.
you jerked in his arms, laughing in disbelief. “holy shit, ji—” your voice broke on a gasp, eyes wide. “do you have any idea how much that shit costs?! it’s not even your—”
his mouth crashed against yours before you could finish.
the kiss was chaotic and hungry, his teeth catching your bottom lip before his tongue soothed the sting.
your laugh dissolved into a moan, hands clawing at his shoulders, pulling him closer even as you tried to catch your breath.
he pulled back just enough to smirk, lips brushing yours as he spoke. “you think i give a fuck about seunghyun’s shit? i could buy him a new studio by tomorrow,” his grip on your thighs was bruising, forcing you higher against him. “the only thing i care about right now is you.”
heat flickered low in your stomach, enough to shake your smugness for a beat. you pushed it down fast, tilting your chin like you still had the upper hand.
“mm,” you hummed, soft and teasing, though your pulse betrayed you. “that almost sounded sweet.”
his mouth twitched; not quite a smile, more like a warning. “almost?”
your lips curved, eyes glittering with defiance. “guess you’ll have to work harder if you want the full compliment.”
his laugh scraped low against your lips, rough enough to vibrate through your chest.
in the same breath, he shifted his hold, lowering you onto the desk in one smooth motion until the cold wood pressed into the backs of your thighs.
“is this how you’re gonna act all night?” he asked, eyes burning into yours.
“depends,” you murmured with a shrug, eyes gleaming.
his eyes narrowed, the amusement in them razor-sharp. “lay back.”
you stayed where you were, lips twitching like you might say no just to see what he’d do.
his grip slid higher on your thighs, fingers pressing hard enough to drag a gasp out of you. “i said lay back.”
the command rippled through you, leaving no room for argument.
still, you dragged it out, easing yourself down slowly across the desk, just to test him. the cool surface pressed into your back, your legs dangling until he pushed them higher, heels landing on the edge of the desk.
he crowded closer, breath hot against your mouth, hands prying your thighs wider until you couldn’t fight the heat pooling in between them. “that’s better.”
your laugh came out shaky, teasing, the sound skating along the tension. “bossy tonight.”
his mouth grazed your jaw, hot and claiming. “you like it.”
your pulse stuttered, the curve of your smile faltering slightly, but holding just enough to keep your game. “maybe i do, daddy.”
his head tilted, eyes narrowing like a predator catching movement in the dark. “you still think you’re in charge, huh?”
your smile only widened, the brat in you refusing to back down. “a little.”
his mouth hovered just above yours, his words scraping against your lips. “last time you thought you were in control, i made you beg. do you remember that, baby?”
your breath hitched, the memory flashing hot in your mind, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crack. “vaguely,” you murmured, tone dripping with fake innocence.
“if you want to come tonight, you’re gonna behave,” he murmured, voice so calm it made your pulse stutter harder. “because if i even think you’re trying to play me again, i’ll keep this pretty pussy begging all night. you understand?”
your lips curled, smug even as your chest rose too fast. “i guess i’ll behave,” you murmured, tone feather-light like you were humoring him.
his eyes narrowed, the warning in them flickering darker. the grip at your waist shifted, palm sliding higher until his thumb brushed the edge of your corset.
“be good and say it right,” the words came out rough, scraping against your lips like a spark waiting to catch.
your pulse jumped, but you dragged it out, lashes lowering like you might make him wait. the look in his eyes warned you against it.
your throat worked once before you let the words slip out. “okay, daddy…i’ll behave.”
his approval roughened his voice, a shadow of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “good girl.”
his hands slid down the curve of your thighs until they hooked into the fishnets. the sound of fabric tearing split the air, harsh and unforgiving.
your eyes widened, a shocked laugh breaking free before dissolving into a shiver. “ji—” his name caught halfway between disbelief and a moan, your hips already lifting into his grip.
any thought of protest evaporated under the rush of heat roaming through your body, leaving nothing but want.
his hands didn’t hesitate. the ruined edges of the fishnets curled against your skin as he shoved your panties aside, his fingers sliding through the heat of you like he’d been waiting all night for it.
a ragged sound left your throat, sharp and needy, heels digging into the desk as your legs spread wider for him.
your skirt had already ridden up, bunched high on your hips, and the air felt cold against your bare skin compared to the burn of his touch.
he dragged his fingers over you again, slower this time, like he was remembering every slick inch before pressing two of them deep inside of you.
your back arched, a choked gasp breaking free, your head tipping back against the desk.
“fuck, daddy—” your voice cracked when his thumb circled your clit in a steady rythym. your heels scraped uselessly against the desk, the sharp click of them hitting wood echoing in the small room.
his gaze never wavered, locked on your face like he was memorizing every flicker of you unraveling. “look at you,” he rasped, voice low enough to scrape down your spine. “already so desperate for me.”
he bent without warning, dropping to his knees at the edge of the desk. his palms spread you wider, forcing your thighs open until the arch of your platform stilettos braced hard against his shoulders.
“keep ‘em there,” he ordered, gaze flicking up once. “don’t you dare move.”
you barely had time to nod before his mouth replaced his hand, tongue hot and unrelenting as it dragged through your folds.
the moan that ripped out of you was raw and shameless, hips jerking up into his face like you’d been waiting for this all night.
“oh fuck—daddy, oh my god,” your moans broke free like a plea, wrecked and unplanned, your heels digging into him harder as if you could lock him there.
his laugh vibrated against your clit, smug and rough all at once. “that’s it, baby. feels good, huh?”
your answer dissolved into a gasp. “y—yeah—”
he dragged his tongue once more through your slick before pulling back, the heat of his breath ghosting over you. his two fingers slid back inside, quick and deep, until your spine arched against the desk again.
“not yet,” he murmured, voice rough, his thumb still circling your clit without pause. “you don't come until i say.”
your nails scraped across the wood, the desk creaking under your grip. “daddy, i—” your voice broke into a moan. “i'm try—trying—”
“hold it,” he ordered, pace quickening, the wet sounds obscene in the small room. “you can take it, baby.”
your legs trembled around his shoulders, thighs taut, heels digging into his shoulders. “it’s—fuck—it’s too much—”
his gaze flicked up, steady and dark. “good. that's the point. stay with me.”
his fingers curled deep, pressing the same spot again and again, while his thumb continued its relentless motion on your clit.
“please” you gasped, chest heaving. “please, daddy, i can't—”
“yes, you can,” he snapped quietly, his rhythm never faltering. “don't you dare let go.”
your hips jerked anyway, your body betraying you. “i—i can't—oh god—”
“wait,” he said, calm as ever, while driving you harder into the desk. “you wait until i tell you.”
you shook your head, breath breaking into sobs of pleasure. “i can't hold it—”
the orgasm ripped through you before you could stop it, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your whole body clenched around his fingers.
he didn't let up, dragging every tremor out of you until you were squirming under his hold.
when he finally pulled his hand free, slick glistening down his wrist, his eyes stayed locked on yours.
he stood slowly, the height difference suddenly overwhelming as he loomed over you, your back still pressed to the desk.
your chest heaved, every nerve still buzzing, the desk cool beneath your back.
he slid a hand beneath your back and pressed firmly, coaxing you upright.
your legs wobbled as he guided you to your feet, stilettos clicking unsteadily against the floor. your body leaned into his without thinking, still weak from the force of your release.
his palm came up to your jaw, firm but not rough, tilting your face until you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. “you didn’t listen,” he said, voice even and unshaken. “you told me you’d behave. you lied.”
your throat tightened, the sting of his words hitting harder than his touch. “i’m so—sorry,” you breathed, shaky and soft. “i didn’t mean—”
he cut you off with his mouth, the kiss rough and punishing. you gasped against him, tasting yourself there; the filthy reminder making your body jolt with a mixture of shame and want.
“sorry doesn't fix it,” he said evenly. “you lied to me. and now you don't get a thing until you earn it.”
before you could reply, he spun you in his grip and bent you forwards, pressing you down against the desk until your cheek met the wood.
your skirt bunched higher at your hips, fishnets torn wide between your thighs, but his hands left you there — completely untouched.
the silence dragged, your pulse pounding loud in your ears. you shifted your hips back, searching for him. "really?" you muttered, breathless but taunting. "you're just gonna make me stand here like this?"
"that's exactly what i'm gonna do," he said, voice low at your ear. "until you remember how to be a good girl and beg properly."
your stomach twisted, heat pulsing low. you had begged before, exactly the way he liked it, and you knew that's what he was waiting for.
still, the stubbornness in you didn’t let up. “i thought you liked it when i misbehaved, daddy,” you said, words edged with a shaky laugh.
his hand pressed between your shoulder blades, firm enough to make your chest flatten against the desk. "don't play dumb. you know better."
your lip caught between your teeth, pride buckling under the ache between your legs. "please," you breathed. "please, daddy..."
"not good enough." his tone sharpened, the grip at your back unrelenting. "say it right."
you squeezed your eyes shut, humiliation and want tangling hot in your chest. "please, daddy, please fuck me. i need you—need your cock. i'll be good, i swear."
his breath ghosted over your ear, voice low and rough. “there we go, that’s more like it,” he murmured, using his foot to nudge your legs a little further apart. “good job, baby.”
you barely had time to breathe before the rasp of his zipper filled the silence.
he stepped in close, pressing the thick head of his cock against the mess between your thighs, dragging it slow along your slick folds just to hear you whimper.
“are you gonna behave now, hm?” he asked, voice still even but edged with threat. “be a good girl?”
“yes—” your answer broke into a moan as your hips rolled back without permission. “yes, daddy, please—”
his fingers dug into your hip, pinning you still. “i didn’t say you could move.”
your breath hitched, your cheek still pressed to the desk, hands clawing at the edge. “i’m sorry—”
he lined himself up at your entrance, one hand sliding to the back of your neck, holding you down, the other still gripping your hip. “stay right here, baby.”
before you could catch your breath, he drove into you with one hard push, burying himself to the hilt in a single thrust. the sudden stretch tore a cry from your throat, the sound splintering as it left you.
“oh—my god—” the words stumbled out, raw and uneven, caught between shock and the rush of pleasure.
he gave you no time to recover, driving his hips forward in a ruthless rhythm, every thrust slamming you harder against the desk.
“daddy—fuck—too much—too—” the fragments tumbled after, broken and desperate, every syllable dragged from you in pieces.
your breath came in sharp gasps, eyes fluttering shut as you tried to adjust to the sudden intrusion.
he didn't allow you the chance to catch your breath, setting a punishing pace that had the desk creaking beneath you. “fuck, you're so tight,” he grunted, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks. “you like it rough, huh?”
you could only moan in response, your body stretching to accommodate him.
every thrust sent sparks of pleasure racing up your spine, your walls clenching around his thick length.
he leaned over you, hot breath ghosting over your ear. “that's it, baby. take my cock like the good girl you are.”
his words sent a shiver down your spine, your toes curling in your heels. you arched your back, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts.
“please—” the word tore from your throat, high and uneven. “please, daddy—i—oh fuck,”
he pulled out slow, almost to the tip, drawing a shudder from you, then slammed back in hard enough to skid your palms across the desk.
a broken moan escaped you, catching on a sob.
“you’re going to take every inch,” he murmured, his thrusts steady and brutal, “and stay right here until you’re shaking for me. understand?”
“y-yes—” your answer cracked into another moan. “yes, daddy, i understand—”
he let out on a rough exhale, the sound laced with possession. “that’s my girl.”
he didn’t falter, every thrust deliberate, drawing you higher, winding you tighter with a rhythm that left no room to breathe.
each stroke carried an intent you couldn’t escape, knowing exactly what your body would cling to, what would push you closer and closer to the edge.
“daddy, please,” you gasped, voice breaking under the strain. “i'm so close—please, let me—”
his fingers clamped harder into your hips, his answer a rough growl. “not yet. you lost it too soon last time—this time, you hold it.”
your breath stuttered, head shaking. “i can't—i can't hold it—”
“yes, you can,” he cut in, steady and unrelenting. “be good for me. prove that you know how listen, and maybe i’ll let you come.”
a helpless whine tumbled out from your lips, your whole body trembling, trying to hold back the unrelenting pressure of pleasure.
“that's it,” his voice rasped, rough but laced with praise. “you can do it, my girl.”
his rhythm faltered, breath catching, every word strained with control.
“now,” he growled, sharp and final. “now you can—come for me, baby.”
you broke with a cry, nails scraping the desk as your legs gave out slightly beneath you.
his groan followed, low and guttural against your back, his grip holding you firm as he drove through the last waves of his release, leaving nothing but the sound of the two of you unraveling together.
for a long moment, neither of you moved. the bass from the party was still thudding through the floorboards, but it was too faint to belong to the world you were in now.
he pulled out of you with a rough exhale, causing you to hiss at the sudden loss; your body still raw from the intensity of it all.
his hand moved quickly, tugging your underwear back into place, the torn fishnets stretched clumsily over the evidence he’d left behind.
it wasn’t a careful gesture, but more like a claim; a quiet way of keeping you his, even in the smallest details.
he let you go just long enough to yank his pants back into place, the harsh scrape of the zipper cutting through the muffled bass that rattled up from downstairs.
before you could move, his hand was on you again, gripping tightly at your hip like he had no intention of letting you go twice.
“we’re leaving. now.” he said, each word bitten off like he could barely hold them back.
you blinked, still bent against the desk, a laugh bubbling out of you, light and mocking. “leaving? we’ve been up here, what—twenty minutes? the boys are gonna wonder why hugh hefner disappeared with his bunny so fast.”
“let them wonder. i don’t give a fuck.” his words came fast, urgent, like he couldn’t get them out quick enough. “i can’t stand another second of this party, not with you like this. i need you out of here. with me.”
you pushed yourself upright on unsteady legs, turning to face him, your body swaying until you were pressed flush against his, the air between you gone before you even realized it.
“what if i say i want to go back downstairs? grab a drink, dance a little?” you teased, testing just how far you could push him when he was already strung so tight.
“always running that mouth,” he muttered, his breath brushing yours, eyes burning into you as he shakes his head. “trouble. you’re nothing but trouble.”
the laugh slipped out of you instantly, soft and breathless against his lips, your smirk curling as you tipped your chin higher. “mm, but you can’t get enough of it, can you, daddy?” you murmured, daring him to deny it.
his grip tightened, dragging you even closer, your chest pressed hard against his. his reply came fast, every syllable pronounced like he was hanging on by a thread. “you’re right—i can’t. that’s why we’re leaving.”
you opened your mouth to argue, or maybe to make another smart comment, but paused when he took a single step back.
without a word, his hands moved to the collar of his robe, sliding it from his shoulders in one slow, practiced motion.
“ji,” you started, confused, “what are you—”
he stepped in close again, though something in him had shifted.
the intensity that had driven every touch just minutes ago had softened; melted into something quieter, like the hush that follows a storm.
he reached for you without a word, settling the silk robe over your shoulders with a touch so careful it made your chest ache. his fingers ghosted along your collarbone as he adjusted it, smoothing the fabric down like he never wanted to let you go.
“covering you up,” he murmured like it was obvious. “your skirt’s riding up, and your tights are…” he let the sentence trail off with a breath. “yeah.”
you laughed, shaking your head at the memory of him aggressively ripping them a few moments ago. “and whose fault is that?”
his eyes met yours, something softer flickering behind the usual fire. “mine,” he said simply. “that’s why i’m fixing it.”
the robe was warm from his body, smooth against your skin, smelling faintly like cologne and something expensive you couldn’t quite name.
it settled heavily over your shoulders; not in weight, but in meaning.
you turned around, the fabric shifting with you, and spotted something of yours that was left on the floor earlier.
your bunny ears.
you walked towards the door and picked them up, turning back to him with a grin. “since i’m taking your clothes,” you said lightly, holding the ears up between you, “it’s only fair.”
before he could protest, you reached up and placed them on his head, adjusting them with exaggerated care.
he blinked at you, bunny ears crooked on his head, looking both ridiculous and completely unbothered.
“seriously?” he asked under his breath, shaking his head with the faintest smile.
you smiled, leaning up without thinking to brush a soft kiss against his cheek. “you love it,” you whispered, just close enough for him to hear.
his grin came boyish and lopsided, like he knew you were right and had no intention of pretending otherwise.
his hand found yours a moment later, fingers lacing tight with a grip that carried more urgency than words ever could.
“let’s go,” he said, already tugging you towards the door.
you followed, stepping over the mess he’d made; seunghyun’s monitor flat on its face, the mic stand snapped clean in half, the mix table halfway under the desk.
“you’re telling him about this,” you said, eyes sweeping the wreckage.
jiyong barely looked back. “he likes you more.”
you gave his hand a squeeze, shooting him a look. “that’s not how this works.”
“sure it is,” he grinned, tugging you along. “i cause the damage, you soften the blow. it’s a team effort.”
you were both laughing by the time you hit the hallway, hand in hand, trying not to trip over each other or the sheer chaos that the two of you had left behind.
the closer you got to the stairs, the louder the party became; bass thudding through the walls, voices bubbling up the stairwell, laughter spilling over the music.
you were almost halfway down when the three of them came into view.
seunghyun, youngbae, and daesung stood clustered at the bottom landing, drinks in hand, mid-conversation. their heads turned at the sound of footsteps, and all three sets of eyes landed on you instantly.
youngbae blinked first. “wait—what are you wearing?”
“is that his robe?” daesung tilted his head.
“why are you wearing her bunny ears?” seunghyun asked, genuine confusion laced in his voice.
jiyong didn’t even pause. “she gave them to me.”
the three of them froze, eyes flicking between you and jiyong like they were piecing together a puzzle they weren’t sure they wanted solved.
seunghyun seemed to be the one who connected the dots first, his gaze narrowing, cutting straight through the two of you.
“you better not have fucked in my bed,” he said flatly.
you didn’t even blink. “we didn’t,” you said, voice light with innocence.
for a moment, it almost worked. seunghyun’s shoulders loosened. youngbae raised a brow. daesung looked like he might believe you.
“but,” you added, like it was an afterthought, “he does sort of owe you a new studio.”
seunghyun’s voice went flat. “my studio. what the hell happened to it?”
“nothing happened,” jiyong said quickly, his hand tightening around yours as he started nudging you towards the door. “absolutely nothing. we’re leaving.”
“leaving?!” daesung shouted, stepping slightly in front of you. “you just got here.”
“you’re not even drunk yet!” youngbae added, almost offended.
“i made you a drink,” seunghyun said, holding out the glass like a peace offering. “a good one.”
you took it from his hand without missing a beat. “perfect. for the road.”
jiyong looked like he was about to combust. “baby—please.”
you grinned at the boys as you backed towards the door. “love you all. invest in locks for your doors, oppa. they would have saved you a lot of money tonight.”
“what did you do—” seunghyun shouted, but jiyong had already dragged you outside before you could answer.
the car door had barely shut behind you before he exhaled hard, hands gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
you turned towards him, the buzz of chaos behind you replaced by something softer. “you okay?”
he didn’t answer right away. his eyes stayed fixed on the dark stretch of driveway ahead, the crooked bunny ears still clinging to his head like some sad attempt at comedy.
you reached across the middle console, fingers brushing his temple as you straightened them. “you look ridiculous.”
he let out a small breath, barely more than a sigh.“you look better in that robe than i ever did.”
the words came quiet, almost offhanded, but something in his tone made you pause. there was no teasing behind it; just honesty, laid bare.
your hand lingered near his face before falling to your lap, fingers curling slightly.
the shift in energy was subtle, but it settled heavy between you. whatever rush you'd both been riding earlier had finally begun to settle into something slower. something real.
you caught the way his jaw moved, slow and tense, like he was chewing on something he didn’t know how to say.
“what’s going on in that head of yours?” you asked gently.
he exhaled again, slower this time. “i just keep thinking about that night.”
you stayed quiet, allowing him the space to open up.
“the night of the concert,” he clarified. “when you left.”
your stomach turned. not from guilt, but from the way his voice shifted; like it physically pained him to think about it.
“you ignored every call. every text.” his eyes stayed on the driveway, unfocused. “i kept checking the side curtain like an idiot. like maybe you’d just walk back in.”
you swallowed, heart thudding against your ribs.
“i was supposed to be working. performing. everyone was screaming my name, and all i could do…” his hand lifted like it might explain something, but dropped again. “all i could do was stare at the empty spot where you should’ve been standing.”
you turned a little more towards him, silk pooling at your elbows, the scent of his cologne rising with the shift.
he still wouldn’t look at you.
“i don’t ever want to feel that again,” he said, his voice so low it barely reached you. “not the silence. not the distance. not you walking away like that. it felt like i lost the other half of me.”
his hand flexed where it rested near the gearshift, fingers twitching like they still remembered reaching for nothing. “i don’t care who’s watching, or what it looks like from the outside, or how messy it gets. i don’t care anymore. i just can’t lose you like that again, y/n.”
your chest ached in the quiet that followed. his words didn’t feel rehearsed; they felt scraped out from somewhere deeper.
honest. tired. a little scared.
you reached for him again, your fingers brushing his before lifting up to his face, coaxing him to look at you.
“you didn’t lose me,” you said gently. “not that night. not ever. i was mad, yeah. a little hurt too.”
his eyes stayed fixed on yours, searching for something in your expression.
“when you were outside my door that night,” you said evenly, almost like you’d been waiting to get the words out, “i heard you. every word. the knocking. the way you kept saying my name.”
you squeezed his hand, your thumb tracing slow over his skin. “i slept on the floor,” you admitted, “right up against the door—because it was the closest i could be to you without actually opening it.”
his gaze lingered on you for a moment, before a quiet laugh escaped him. “you’re so damn stubborn,” he said, shaking his head, though the fondness in his voice betrayed him.
the sound loosened something in your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile. “maybe. but you stayed out there too.”
“of course i did,” the words came sure, without a flicker of doubt.
his thumb kept moving over your knuckles, slow and absent, like he couldn’t stop touching you now that he’d started.
“i’m done pretending,” he said quietly, the words steady but stripped bare. “done acting like you’re not the best thing in my life. i don’t want pieces of this anymore. i want the real thing. mornings. nights. shows. silence. all of it.”
your chest pulled tight at the certainty in his tone, a slow ache rising under your ribs. “so what does that mean for us?” you asked, your voice barely above a breath.
he didn’t waver. not even for a second. “it means i want everything,” he said. “whatever it takes. however messy it gets. i just want you.”
you leaned in until your forehead touched his, your breath mixing with his in the small space between you.
the bunny ears on his head brushed against your hair, ridiculous and perfect all at once, like a quiet promise neither of you needed to name.
“good,” you whispered, a smile curling at the edge of your lips. “because you’ve got me.”
he raised your hand slowly, brushing his mouth over your knuckles with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
your smile tugged softly at first, but it shifted as you leaned back into your seat, mischief sneaking into your voice. “now drive, g-daddy,” you said, biting back a grin. “round two’s not gonna start itself.”
warnings: MDNI, vampire!hyunjin, establish!relationship, blood play, biting, frottage, unprotected sex
event masterlist: Star-Crossed Sins
The room is draped in shadows from the sliver of moonlight slipping through the barely open heavy curtains. Candles, tall and flickering, cast long, hungry orange tongues across the black satin sheets, illuminating the sheer, dark canopy above the bed. The air is thick and heavy, smelling faintly of cedar and the sharp, coppery scent of anticipation.
Hyunjin is pressed against you, his body a cool contrast to your skin, flushed with heat. Tangled beneath the canopy, your bodies are barely covered, the silence broken only by your ragged, uneven breathing. His hands, pressing an unignorable weight on your skin, skim the curve of your collarbone. They are familiar touches, yet today they feel restrained, laced with a heightened animalistic hunger he so rarely lets you witness. His eyes, usually warm, are dark predatory pools, glints of red shining through every time you move in his hold.
You grip the silken strands of his hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel the cool edge of his jaw against your neck. “You’ve made me wait long enough,” you murmur, the words tight and demanding.
He chuckles, the low, husky sound vibrating deep against your chest. “My love, I want everything.” He breathes his promise against your skin, a soft hiss of air that raises gooseflesh. The subtle, metallic tang in the air only grows stronger, fueling the desperate need coiling low in your stomach.
Hyunjin shifts, maneuvering you until the vulnerable junction of your neck and shoulder is exposed to him. You feel the cold tips of his fangs as he tests the skin, a momentary, sharp pressure that is more promising than pain. Your breath hitches.
His teeth sink in, carefully, deeply. A sharp, dizzying warmth radiates from the point of contact, mixing the clean sting of the bite with a wave of heady pleasure. A muffled cry escapes your lips as Hyunjin’s large hands reflexively clench hard around your waist, anchoring himself to you.
You let your head fall back, indulging in the dizzying sensation as he drinks. He makes a deep, ragged sound of satisfaction that is utterly devoid of human restraint, his tongue working against your skin to ensure every drop is captured.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are heavy-lidded, dark with satiety and lust. He licks the immediate wound closed, his tongue a warm, rough contrast to the cooling bite. But he leaves one thing behind: a slow, shimmering drop of blood, thick and crimson, pooled at the edge of the mark.
The sight and scent of it seems to do the job. Even before he moves, the undeniable press of his straining hardness is emphasized between you, a sharp, immediate physical response to the fresh blood. He doesn't give you time to recover. Hyunjin leans in, taking your mouth in a deep, consuming, and possessive kiss. His mouth is still slick with your essence, transferring the warm, metallic taste of your own blood directly onto your tongue. It is a dizzying, pure moment of shared, primal intimacy.
As the kiss deepens, a drop of the excess blood that has trailed down your chin escapes, tracing a slow, crimson path toward your lower lip. He breaks the kiss just enough to track the fallen drop. He uses the tip of his tongue to slowly, deliberately lick the blood from your lip and chin, ensuring not a single drop is lost to the sheets below.
A shared gasp of air follows, your breaths thoroughly mingled, shallow, and increasingly labored.
Hyunjin breathes out against your mouth, his voice a low, heavy sound of total possession. “Perfect. You taste like mine.”
The shared consumption ignites something animalistic, stripping away the last remnants of slow desire. With a growl torn from his chest, he presses your bodies completely flush, beginning a frantic, driving force against you. It is pure, desperate friction, driven by a need that is now impossible to contain.
Your hands find his back, nails scoring light trails into the cool skin of his shoulders as you match his raw urgency.
To deepen your pleasure and ensure your release, Hyunjin slips a hand beneath the dark fabric of your remaining clothes, fingers finding your aching core and applying desperate, skilled pressure. The internal rhythm he initiates immediately intensifies the frantic nature of your grinding friction.
Your breathing becomes the central sound of the room, choked, wet against skin, sounding like the total loss of control. “Please… faster,” you manage, your voice tight with a plea for the release he is building.
He doesn’t answer with words, only a heavy groan of your name as he drives the friction higher, the rhythm of his hand and his body converging into a single, brutal pace. His fingers curl inside you with practiced precision, each thrust dragging along that sensitive spot until your legs shake with the effort of holding on.
You clutch at him desperately, nails raking red trails across the smooth, pale skin of his back. He would probably bleed if he could but he welcomes the sting nonetheless, groaning into your mouth, his tongue invading you with the same hunger as his hand below. The mingled taste of your own blood still lingers between you, metallic and intoxicating, making his kiss feel like both devotion and consumption.
Hyunjin tears the last barrier of fabric away with little care, leaving you utterly exposed beneath him. His cock presses insistently against your slick entrance, the swollen head sliding through your folds, coating itself with the wetness already spilling from you. The sharp contrast of his cool skin and your molten heat makes you shudder.
He pauses only long enough to drag his lips across your throat, tongue tracing the still-bleeding mark, savoring it as if your pulse alone could sustain him. His fangs graze, threatening, promising, before he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes glow with raw hunger, every inch the predator about to claim its prey. Then he thrusts in, deep and merciless. Your cry splits the silence as your body stretches around him, the sudden fullness making your walls clench hard. He hisses at the sensation, forehead pressing to yours as he bottoms out, his entire length buried inside you. For a heartbeat he holds there, the tremble in his arms betraying just how tightly he’s holding back.
When he finally moves, it’s with brutal, grinding force. Each thrust drags your body higher on the sheets, his hips slamming into yours in a rhythm that grows faster, rougher, unrestrained. His hand finds your throat, not to choke but to anchor, holding you in place as his fangs scrape once more against your tender skin, a silent reminder of his power over you.
The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room, blending with your broken moans and his guttural growls. Every drive of his cock hits deep, ruthless, angled to push you closer to that edge. His other hand dips back between your thighs, thumb circling your swollen clit in relentless, punishing strokes, doubling the pressure until pleasure becomes nearly unbearable.
“Mine,” he snarls against your ear, punctuating the claim with another hard thrust that makes you see stars.
Your body arches violently beneath him, release tearing through you in a hot, shaking rush. You convulse around him, squeezing his length so tightly it wrenches a feral, strangled groan from his throat. He pounds through your orgasm, unrelenting, using your spasms to drag himself closer.
The moment he finally lets go, it’s devastating. His hips slam forward and stay there as he buries himself to the hilt, his release spilling deep inside you in thick, pulsing waves. His fangs finally pierce your skin again, timed with his climax, so that the sensation of being filled is bound to the sharp ecstasy of being bitten. The combination makes you sob his name, trembling, utterly undone. Hyunjin growls into your throat, drinking deeply as his body jerks with the last aftershocks. He pulls back only when he’s sated, lips and chin stained crimson, his cock still sheathed inside you, keeping you stretched and claimed. His tongue laps lazily at the fresh punctures, sealing them closed again with gentle care even as his weight pins you down.
You’re left gasping, limp, your body trembling from overstimulation and the consuming force of him. He licks the final trace of blood from your neck and kisses the wound softly, a stark contrast to the savagery from moments before.
“Perfect,” he whispers hoarsely, chest heaving against yours. His eyes, though heavy with satiation, still glow faintly red as he pressed a bloody kiss on your lips. “Thank you Doll.”
freakmin in the building 🗣️🗣️‼️‼️ (i kinda went off the rails w this one…. uhhh my bad shshdfs)
i honestly think sex with seungmin would be absolutely insane and depraved as hell. like he misses you for maybe a week and suddenly he’s acting like he hasn’t eaten in months bc the moment the door shuts behind him, it’s a wrap. he’s grabbing at your waist, lifting your shirt just to spit directly onto your tits before burying his face between them. he’s hard as fuck already, grinding up into you like it physically hurts him not to be inside you. muttering something filthy like, “missed this pussy so fucking bad,” while he’s sucking on one nipple and pinching the other, making them shiny and raw and all his.
he doesn’t even make it to the bed. you’re bent over the couch with your panties shoved down to your ankles, his jeans barely off his hips, and he’s shoving himself in like he’s gonna die without it. fast. rough. no build-up. the kind of fucking that has you clawing at the cushions for any sort of grounding while your legs start shaking before he’s even halfway through. one of his hand’s wrapped around your throat from behind, the other under you to slap your clit repeatedly as he’s balls-deep inside.
“y’know how fuckin’ hard i’ve been? thinking about this sloppy little cunt milking me every night,” his voice in your ear is all too much for your to bear. you’re so far gone all you can do is mumble incoherent nonsense as you clench around him, his spit drying on your chest, his dick punching into your cervix as if he’s trying to leave a mark there too.
and when he flips you over to see your face? it only gets worse. pushes your legs up until your knees are next to your ears, chest fully exposed, spit trailing down your cleavage from earlier, and he spits again, right on your tits, smearing it in with two fingers before taking one into his mouth and groaning around your nipple. doesn’t stop fucking into you either, just keeps it going with this intense, locked in stare. he’s obsessed. pussy drunk. your moans, your gasps, the way you cream all over him, it’s fueling him like oxygen.
by the time he’s close, it’s even nastier. he’s got you begging, drooling, legs trembling and twitching. pulls out to slap his soaked cock against your clit a few times, watching you squirm. he spits on your pussy this time, rubs it in with his tip and groans, “so wet for me. i’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you.” and he absolutely does. comes back in even deeper, holding your legs open with both hands, driving in with an even more increased speed than before, and when he finally fills you up, he’s biting your shoulder and moaning so damn loud the whole neighborhood could probably hear. you’re such a mess under him, and he loves it.
but even after all that? he still doesn’t pull out. he just kisses the rim of your jaw, still buried inside, and goes, “one round’s not fixing shit. i need it again. and again. don’t even fucking think about sleeping yet.”
💕 super quick hard thought(s) bc im going insane - NSFW, MDNI. happy birthday Seungmin <3
Seungmin mocks you in bed :(
His sheets smell like his laundry detergent. The same sheets you woke up in this morning, the same blankets he pushed you down onto what feels like hours ago. They press against your nose each time he pushes into you. You’re surrounded by him, filled by him, but it’s not enough.
He has you on his bed, face smushed into the mattress, drool that you gave up on wiping away coating your chin, ass arched for him. His hands grip your waist, keeping you in position, as your trembling thighs have already given up. For now, your whining is going completely ignored.
He takes his sweet time watching his cock drag almost completely out, then thrust inch by inch back into your dripping pussy. Your wetness is coating your inner thighs, glistening around his cock, and fuck, he’s never seen anything more beautiful.
It’s near torture for you. The angle pulls him in deep, his head brushing the perfect spot inside you, but he seems too entranced by the sight to care that he’s going too fucking slow for you.
“S-Seungie, pleasee,” you whimper, blindly reaching behind you to grab for his hand.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “S-Seungiee, pleaseee,” he mocks in a purposefully poor interpretation of your voice, drawing out the vowels and pitching it higher to sound even more pathetic.
Your muffled groan is music to his ears. He doesn’t miss the way your walls flutter at his words. He loves you like this – frustrated, begging, whining for more of him while he knows for a fact you would cry if he stopped.
And he’s feeling nice. He’ll give you what you want.
His hips snap forward, his hips pressing firm against your ass. You nearly fall forward at the sudden intrusion. His fingers tighten around your hips. “You asked for this, pup,” he groans, “now take it.”
Or.
I.N had asked Seungmin how to properly perform oral on a girl, thinking he would show him a video or something, but no. Instead, your boyfriend had offered a practical demonstration. Seungmin would use you as a prop to show I.N how to flick his tongue, how to suck a clit, how to make a girl weak. He was a little too excited to be able to share his knowledge with the maknae.
Now, I.N lies between your legs, licking and sucking like he’ll fail some kind of test if he ever stops. Your boyfriend is squeezing your hand while kissing you, absorbing your moans and curses as the younger man continues. You’re quickly approaching your third orgasm of the night, but neither seems to have any intention of stopping any time soon.
Every so often I.N’s eyes flick upwards, humming satisfactorily into your dripping cunt before continuing how he was taught. He was a quick learner. Seungmin barely had to lick up your folds and push his fingers into you before I.N had the motions memorized.
Burning heat is quickly pooling in your center. You know better than to cum for another man without your boyfriend’s permission, but his lips are still working against yours, still muffling your whines.
Of course Seungmin knows you’re close. He could identify the signs in his sleep. Seungmin pulls away, breaking the kiss to watch how you’re on the verge of falling apart. As he does, you pout at him, wordlessly begging without letting I.N know just how needy you are. Seungmin pouts back, false sympathy filling his eyes, before pulling you back in for another kiss.
He smiles as you groan, the sound barely audible over I.N working between your thighs. Your hips jerk as you try to hold back your building pleasure.
Seungmin looks down at I.N trying to keep up with your movements. “Hold her hips,” he commands. I.N shoots him a questioning look, never stopping his tongue. Seungmin lets out a dramatic sigh and says, “Like this.”
He lets go of your hand to move further down your body. You whine at the loss of contact, but he only mocks you again by pouting up at you, just like he did before. Seungmin presses down on your hips, showing I.N just how to hold you still. I.N’s hands replace his, his long fingers gripping around your waist.
It’s all becoming too much. Seungmin knows. He makes eye contact with you from beside I.N and nods once in a silent approval. That’s all you need. Your release washes over you with a choked cry, writhing as much as you can with I.N holding you down.
I.N pulls away, his chin glistening, and mutters, “Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” Seungmin agrees. “But you can do better. Try it again.”
not proofread. you didn’t notice any mistakes/bad writing.
➥ Person of Interest: VENOM (feat. BC)
➥ Experiment Class: Tutorial 🎲 — 2.2k (~9 min. read)
➥ Research Topic(s): Glory hole · Cuckolding
⚠ — Mean doms everywhere (see casebook for more)
➥ 2/3 of Venom have a lucrative dick appointment whereas the other 1/3 is bored as fuck at the club, thinking this year's welcome party is a total bust.
Until he notices the stranger by the bar.
*a/n: If this one sounds familiar, you are correct because it's "Dangerous When Wet". We just added 5 more players to the game 🎲💦
The Demon Twins have been to many private parties to date, sure, but not one where they were asked to fuck the birthday girl in front of her boyfriend.
At his request.
“Tsk, I know. You’d much rather I lick you,” Hyunjin places a chaste kiss on her pussy as if he hasn’t been edging the shit out of her for the past hour, “but this is all you’re gonna get.”
He can’t remember the name of the gagged girl currently writhing in Felix’s lap in extreme pleasure. It starts with an S. Or an R. Or was it an M? He doesn’t care.
All that matters is that she is worth 40 grand tonight.
He carefully empties the vial in his hand on her mound and shapes a perfectly straight line with the white powder. She looks down at him with huge eyes prickling with tears, desperately hoping that maybe, maybe he will lick her this once. It’s fucking torture having this lust incarnate right in front of her pussy and not getting him to taste her once.
Just once!
“Never seen one who got this wet from getting her ass fucked,” Hyunjin jeers with a smug grin. “A bit of a slut, are we?”
Felix moves deeper inside her with equally derisive chuckles and quietly moans in her ear when she clenches, fondling her breasts and caressing her nipples with his thumbs.
“Shh, it feels good, yeah baby? We’re gonna make you cum from this,” he softly kisses her earlobe. “Look how much your man is leaking watching you be our plaything.”
She can’t care less. She has one-third of Venom deep inside her ass and the other third teasing her dripping pussy. She would love to have the final third down her throat instead of this useless gag, but…
Oh, well…
“You know, I could eat it,” Hyunjin ghosts his lips on her soaked folds. “All you gotta is ask.”
That’s when the taunt reaches its peak. He fucking knows she’s in no position to produce anything other than begging sounds, but where would the fun be if everything was that easy? When she starts thrashing in Felix’s arms out of pure frustration, the sound of her boyfriend finally echoes in the room for the first time.
“Now,” he pants while squeezing his rock-hard cock. “Do it now!”
Upon command, Hyunjin snorts the line clean off of her, then closes his mouth on her throbbing pussy. When he establishes that wet contact she’s been absolutely yearning for, she screams so loud that it would alert the people in the vicinity if her mouth weren’t busy.
“Clench harder,” Felix growls in her ear, his thrusts hitting a whole new level of sharp. “Milk me good like the slut you are.”
She is nothing more than a mere Marionette doll for them. When the blond beauty instructs her that firmly, she has no choice but to squeeze her ass cheeks hard. Anything to please him. To please them. With nowhere to run, he unloads inside her with sharp hisses, painting her white through and through.
But of course it doesn’t stop there.
When Felix’s moans reach their peak, Hyunjin starts teasing her clit so fast in his mouth that she would roll out of the bed for how hard she’s convulsing if Felix weren’t pinning her down. The second her high starts to recede into darkness, Hyunjin pumps his cock to full hardness in his palm and immediately slides inside her, refusing to finish anywhere else.
“Look at him when I fuck you to your demise,” he grits his teeth. “Look at him so he knows his fucking place, whore.”
She just lets herself go, fully allowing this demon to use her as his bespoke fleshlight. He is about to break her in half with how hard he’s fucking her, but she doesn’t care. She revels in the feeling of being used as Venom’s fucktoy, more so with her boyfriend watching the whole thing while violently cumming all over himself.
“Happy birthday, princess,” Hyunjin unbuckles her gag after squeezing the last drop of cum off his cock and watches his paint job leak out of her as he pulls out.
If that’s not beauty in its rawest form, then what is?
“So, about the rest of the payment…” the man of the hour approaches the duo with only half his wits intact.
“Strictly no cash, man,” Hyunjin informs while zipping up his jeans. “You have the account number. You can send it by Monday.”
“Otherwise… You know,” Felix shows the recorder in his hand containing a memo of this entire encounter. “Chk chk boom!”
“I won’t forget this,” he gives a bro hug to both guys. “You’re the fucking men.”
“We’ll leave you to clean up,” Hyunjin flashes a charmingly crooked smile, and both men head out the door.
“Who knew?” Felix chuckles to himself as they walk out of the building. “Your dad’s offshore accounts actually came in handy for once.”
Right at that moment, both their phones go off with a notification.
“Lassman wants company,” Hyunjin looks at Felix after reading the text. “Do we ride?”
“We ride,” the freckled man triumphantly highfives his partner in literal crime and hails the cab approaching them.
The Saturday to be at Lobos is during the second week of August when the annual welcome rager takes place. The entire club crawls with fresh meat — er erhm, well, freshmen — and ever the generous hosts, Venom gladly volunteers to show the newcomers the ways of Carlton Tech by corrupting the shit out of them starting day one.
The trio may have a little something to do with Carlton Tech’s party school notoriety, which is probably the reason why there are more incoming students each year. It’s an unspoken rule at this point — if Venom is involved, you’d better drop everything for a night you will never forget, period.
Because the rules apply to everyone else, not them. And nothing compares to the thrill of being a part of that lawless cult in whatever capacity.
The crowd in the club is as appealing as ever as if the school secretly requires boudoir shots as part of application packages. Minho is lounging in his usual booth, the bottle of Patrón before him about to hit rock bottom. Past midnight is usually when he finishes hunting, but that night, he hasn’t even moved from his seat once. He is about to die of boredom, just staring at the dance floor blankly, turning people down left and right, which is very unlike his usual MO.
Because this has become too easy.
There is a reason he goes by ‘Lasso’ — no one is safe from being bound rigid by his diabolical seduction. He misses that chase. He yearns for that feeling of triumph when someone finally caves to him. He can’t remember the last time he felt it because he doesn’t even have to lift a finger anymore.
He grabs his phone and texts his debauched clique in an attempt to be saved from his misery, not expecting much with that birthday appointment they have.
While debating whether he should crack open a new bottle or not, his eyes fall on the two people by the bar talking to each other. He recognizes the man instantly. It’s Chris—simultaneously the poster child of academic excellence and the chief executive whore of his crew, disguising his perpetual horniness under an obscene amount of citations. But he has never seen the woman before.
Intrigued by the first-timer in his den, he immediately besieges her with his eyes.
The beautiful stranger is most definitely not a freshman. She exudes boss bitch energy, impossible to unsee once you take notice of her, and she’s clad in black jeans and a biker jacket, jarringly contrasting these washcloth-wearing hoes. Captivating package, ass on point, seems to hold her liquor well considering how she is rock steady despite all the empty shot glasses stacked in front of them.
Fucking finally. Time to hunt.
Before Minho can take three steps, however, the duo starts walking away from the bar towards the restroom. Not the public one, the one for staff use you can only enter with one of the three keys if you have enough to bribe the bartender.
…which means this could play out in one of two ways.
Time is of the essence here. Minho counts to five once that door closes in the distance, then starts walking with firm steps. He is so laser-focused on his target that every girl throwing themselves at him along the way is rendered completely invisible to him. His palm, moist with sweat, lingers on the doorknob for a while, and after taking a deep breath, he attempts to turn it.
The door opens.
Even if he were deaf to the loud sounds echoing, Minho would still be able to tell what’s going down in here since the smell of sex has permeated the entire room. His eyes immediately dart to the space under the doors to do a quick headcount. None of the stalls is occupied except for stall three.
He gulps thickly while locking the door behind him.
Everyone familiar with the inner workings of Lobos knows that this particular stall holds grave importance. It’s like leaving a sock on your dorm room handle, but as an invitation rather than a ‘Do not disturb’ sign, thanks to the strategically carved hole between the second and third stalls.
“Louder, slut, or I’ll make sure you won’t be able to sit for a week!”
“You’d better make sure I can’t fucking walk if you’re man enough!”
If it weren’t for the sounds of skin against skin, Minho would suspect an altercation was taking place. Even after listening for a while, he can’t be sure if the two people in that stall are moaning because of pain or too much pleasure.
As if it fucking matters…
He confidently enters the stall as though this was an arranged encounter all along, quickly unbuckles his belt, and shoves his throbbing cock into the hole.
“Oh, look, someone entered the chat,” Chris’ psychotic laughter is heard from the other side. “Now’s your chance to show me if you’re worthy of sucking my cock. I’m gonna grade your technique, and god fucking help you if you flunk.”
When Minho feels the pair of lips wrap around him that tightly, tongue swirling around his thick girth, the sensation is so intense that he slams his hand on the wooden surface separating them. Now he is 200% sure this can’t be a freshman because who the absolute fuck has insane head game like that? He grows bigger and bigger in her mouth, but she doesn’t even gag—better yet, she takes him deeper. He doesn’t moan anymore, he growls like an animal in heat, fucking her throat with too much need like he is about to pass through that wall. He battles the urge to barge into that stall and fuck whichever hole of hers is available because, as great as this feels, it still isn’t comparable to watching his preys’ eyes roll back in real time.
He has to keep a souvenir of the best head of his life.
He reaches for his phone resting on the lid, barely sane to remember how to operate it, and hits record. He wants to relive everything from this moment when the craving hits. He wants to perfectly capture her muffled moans while she’s getting fucked into the next week with his cock in her mouth. He maniacally smiles at himself when he sends the voice clip and receives instant notifications in return.
Who knew? Maybe it was for the best that the Demon Twins weren’t around tonight.
Content with lighting the horny fire under the duo’s asses, Minho starts fucking her throat faster, his moans climbing to a pitch that signals he is about to douse her soon. It’s not long before his faceless seductress takes the hint and begins screaming on his cock, swallowing every string of cum as he shoots it down her throat. He cums so hard that his legs turn to jelly, and even though he has barely exerted any effort, he is sweating all over like he’s run a mile.
“Good girl,” Chris utters in absolute satisfaction. “Give me a kiss.”
No one is to face each other when they are done; that’s the cardinal rule. Minho waits for them to leave first, but he still catches a glimpse of the woman walking out when he exits the stall. Rather, something on her. The hint of a lower back tattoo peeking under her biker jacket, also known as a ‘Carlton City license plate’. He sinks his teeth into his smile, wits still nowhere to be found, and about to melt into a puddle on the ground.
“God…damn, baby,” he stupidly chuckles to himself.
✉ Enjoyed this? Your feedback & reblogs free my chapters from the draft prison.
Summary: What begins as weeks of teasing glances at Jiyong’s hands finally breaks during a quiet movie night. He positions you between his legs, forces you to watch as his fingers edge and wreck you, dragging squirt after squirt from your trembling body. When you’re left spent and ruined, he cleans you up himself, makes you wear his shirt, and holds you close — possessive even in his tenderness.
Warnings: Explicit sexual content (18+), fingering, edging, overstimulation, multiple squirting, possessive/dom behavior, degradation + praise mix, overstimulation/tears from edging, spit play (sucking slick off fingers), aftercare
//
It started small.
You told yourself it was nothing, just a slip of attention, a passing thought. But somewhere along the line, you couldn’t stop watching Jiyong’s hands.
The way he flicked a lighter open and shut as he leaned against the balcony rail, cigarette tucked lazy between his fingers. The precise snap of his rings against the wood as he drummed a rhythm without even thinking. The curl of his knuckles around a coffee cup, steam rising into the pale morning light.
You noticed everything.
How his veins shifted when he flexed his wrist. How his nails, short and clean, caught the light when he reached for a pen. How his fingers spread when he typed across his laptop — swift, elegant, commanding. And every time, your mind betrayed you, wandering into the same dangerous territory: how those hands would feel inside you. Around your throat. At your mouth. You’d stare too long, heart thudding, then force yourself to look away before he caught you.
Except Jiyong wasn’t blind.
One evening, the two of you sat at the kitchen counter — him hunched over his sketchbook, rings gleaming as he flipped a page, you pretending to scroll through your phone. Your eyes slipped down again, following the sweep of his pen, the effortless curl of his fingers as he sketched out something abstract and sharp. “You’re quiet,” he murmured without looking up. Your throat caught. “Just tired.”
He hummed, unconvinced, his pen pausing for a moment as he twisted a ring back into place. His gaze flicked up, sharp and knowing, and your stomach lurched as you realized you’d been staring again. “You like something?” he asked, voice low, amused. You blinked quickly, scrambling. “What?”
His smirk was lazy, deliberate, as he held his hand up — flexing his fingers, spreading them out like he was presenting them. “You’ve been staring. Don’t think I don’t notice.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks, your pulse skipping. “I wasn’t—”
“Mm.” He leaned closer, his voice a whisper against your ear. “You’re a terrible liar.” His hand brushed over your thigh then, casual at first — but his thumb lingered, stroking slow circles into your jeans, teasing. You sucked in a breath, eyes flicking down to where his fingers rested. “See?” he murmured, almost smug. “You’re staring again.”
You swatted his hand lightly, trying to laugh it off, but your voice shook. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” he pressed, and this time, his palm slid higher, fingertips pressing faintly into your inner thigh. Just enough to make your breath hitch. Your phone screen dimmed, forgotten. The only thing you could focus on was the heat of his hand inching higher and the sharp, glittering look in his eyes — the look of a man who’d caught you red-handed and wasn’t about to let it go.
It went on like that for weeks. You thought maybe he’d let it slide after that first night at the kitchen counter — the lazy accusation, the smug smirk. But Jiyong wasn’t the type to let things go.
If anything, he doubled down.
Every day felt like a test you were bound to fail.
He’d stir his coffee deliberately slow in the mornings, metal spoon clinking against porcelain as his fingers wrapped tight around the handle. He’d tap rings against tables, spin pens between knuckles, pull lighters from his pocket just to flick them open and shut while looking straight at you. And always, always, that smug little smirk when your eyes inevitably dropped. Sometimes, he’d push it further — brushing his hand across your lower back when he passed you, letting his thumb skim your waist, drumming lazy patterns on your thigh if you sat too close. Nothing enough to call him out on, but more than enough to keep you flustered.
He never said it outright. He didn’t need to. The silence of his knowing was worse. And then there was the ice cream.
It was stupid, domestic — the two of you slouched on the couch one humid night, spoons digging into a carton of vanilla like kids. A movie hummed in the background, the light low, the air heavy.
The apartment was thick with the hum of summer — windows cracked open but doing little to fight the heavy, humid air. A fan ticked lazily in the corner, its rotation squeaking every so often.
Jiyong had other ideas.
He sat sprawled comfortably, hair falling in his eyes, shirt unbuttoned just enough to tease. One hand held his phone, scrolling lazily. The other — the one that had been tormenting you for weeks — clutched the carton. His rings glinted in the low light, his veins taut where his knuckles flexed.
You told yourself not to look. You failed.
Your eyes slipped down every few seconds, tracing the tendons in his hand as he adjusted his grip, the curve of his thumb pressing into the cardboard. The metal of his rings caught against the carton edge, scraping soft, sending goosebumps down your arms.
Then his phone buzzed.
He answered with his usual drawl, balancing the carton in one hand, the phone pressed to his ear with the other. “Yeah?”
It should’ve been nothing. Ordinary. But as he leaned back into the couch, his hand tilted just slightly — and you noticed it.
The ice cream had softened, melting around the spoon lodged inside. A slow rivulet of cream escaped, trailing down the handle, slipping over his fingers. One droplet curved across his knuckle, sliding into the crease of his ring. Another pooled against his skin, glistening in the flickering light of the TV.
Your throat tightened.
He kept talking, distracted, his voice low and casual in the phone speaker. “…no, tomorrow’s fine. Yeah, just send it over.”
You forced your eyes to the screen, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into your mouth. The sweetness sat heavy on your tongue, doing nothing to distract you from the sight of his hand — relaxed, careless, utterly beautiful as the ice cream dripped down in slow, mocking lines.
The more you looked, the more you couldn’t stop. The slick shine along his fingers. The way he absently flexed them when the carton wobbled, making the drip spread further.
Your thighs pressed together without you realizing. Another rivulet slid, slower this time, curling along the side of his index finger. You clenched your spoon tighter, staring blankly at the TV, pulse hammering. If you just focused on the movie, maybe you wouldn’t…
But your eyes betrayed you again.
And there it was — his hand, sticky with cream, the silver of his rings catching the light like they knew your secret. Jiyong cursed under his breath suddenly, glancing down. “Ah, fuck.”
He shifted the carton onto the table and reached for a napkin, phone still tucked to his ear. “No, sorry, not you. Just—hold on.”
And that was when you moved.
Your hand shot out, catching his wrist before he could wipe it clean. His brows knit, startled, mouth opening — but before he could speak, you guided his hand to your lips.
His body went rigid. “What are you—”
You didn’t let him finish.
Your lips parted, warm and deliberate, and you slid his fingers into your mouth. The taste of sugar flooded your tongue, sticky and sweet, but it was nothing compared to the taste of him — the faint tang of skin, the cold press of metal against your tongue, the weight of his hand trembling in yours.
You sucked slow, licking along each knuckle, tracing your tongue against the line where cream had dripped, moaning faintly at the indulgence. Jiyong froze, phone almost slipping from his ear. His eyes widened, sharp and stunned, his lips parting as if to speak but no sound came out. You hummed, savoring it, your tongue curling between his fingers before slipping them free with a wet, obscene pop.
Then you licked your lips, wiped the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, and leaned back casually against the cushions. “It was dripping,” you said simply, as though you hadn’t just undone weeks of teasing in one move. He stared at you, completely wrecked by nothing more than your mouth on his fingers.
And for the first time in weeks, you were the one smirking.
You turned back to the TV, spooning another bite of ice cream into your mouth as though nothing had happened. Jiyong stayed frozen beside you, hand still raised midair, eyes locked on you in utter silence.
For days after, Jiyong didn’t bring it up.
He didn’t ask why you’d licked his fingers clean. Didn’t tease you for it. Didn’t even give you the satisfaction of that smug smirk. But his silence was worse.
Because now you caught him watching you.
When you sat at the table, he’d stir his coffee slow, his spoon clinking in measured rhythm — his eyes flicking up to see if you’d notice. When he lit a cigarette, he’d drag his fingers across his lips as he exhaled, smoke curling like a dare between you. When he adjusted his rings, he’d pull them off one by one, sliding them back with deliberate care, his tongue pressed to his cheek as if waiting for you to break.
And you always looked.
Every time, your eyes betrayed you. He never said a word, but you saw it — the tiny twitch of his lips, the flicker of amusement in his eyes. He knew. It turned into a rhythm, a game neither of you admitted to playing.
One night, you were sprawled together on the couch, a vinyl spinning low in the background. He rested an arm behind you, fingers tapping idly against the cushion. Every few beats, his knuckles brushed your shoulder, light and careless. You tried to focus on the music, but your skin burned where he touched.
“You’re distracted,” he murmured, not even looking at you, his hand still drumming. Your breath hitched. “No, I’m not.”
“Mm.” His hand stilled, his fingers curling into the fabric just beside your bare arm. You felt the warmth of him there, so close. His rings pressed faintly against your skin when he finally leaned closer, his voice brushing your ear. “You keep staring.”
You swallowed hard, shifting in your seat. “You’re imagining things.” His laugh was low, sharp, almost cruel. He reached forward suddenly, plucking your glass of wine from your hand and lifting it to his lips. His fingers brushed yours deliberately in the exchange, lingering longer than necessary. “Am I?” he asked again, eyes glittering as he sipped from your glass.
You hated the way your body betrayed you — thighs pressing together, stomach clenching tight, your gaze fixed helplessly on the slide of his fingers down the stem of the glass.
And he knew.
The weeks blurred into more moments like this:
His hand on your lower back when you walked ahead of him, thumb pressing just above your waistband.
Him reaching across you at dinner, his fingers brushing yours as he set down the plate.
Lazy afternoons where he’d rest his hand high on your thigh, too casual, the weight of it burning through your clothes until you squirmed.
Each time, he left you wrecked with want — never pushing, never giving, just teasing until you were dizzy with it.
But the ice cream night lingered. Sometimes, when the apartment fell quiet, you’d catch him looking at his own hand — flexing his fingers absently, lost in thought. His gaze would flick to you, sharp and unreadable, before he smirked and looked away.
You never asked. He never told.
The game continued.
And every day, your hunger for those hands only grew.
//
The apartment was dim except for the flickering light of the TV, the hum of a movie spilling through the speakers. A bowl of half-eaten popcorn sat abandoned on the coffee table, wine glasses sweating faintly beside it. You were curled against Jiyong’s side on the couch, his arm draped loosely around you, your head resting on his chest. His body was warm and steady, his heartbeat slow against your cheek. From the outside, it was the picture of comfort — two people unwinding after a long day.
But your mind was elsewhere.
Because while the movie played, you weren’t following the plot. Your eyes kept slipping lower — to where his hand rested against your arm.
At first, it was innocent: his palm spread loosely, thumb brushing idly against your skin every few minutes. Casual, unconscious. The kind of touch you should’ve been used to by now.
But you weren’t. Not anymore.
Not with the way his fingers flexed faintly when he shifted. The way the veins along his hand caught the soft light from the TV. The way his rings pressed cool against your bare skin. Every tiny movement set your thoughts spiraling. What would those fingers feel like if they slipped lower? If they curled deep inside you the way you kept imagining? The thought pulsed hot through your veins, making it impossible to focus on the screen.
You swallowed hard, pressing closer to him, as if that would ground you. It didn’t.
Jiyong shifted again, this time reaching with his free hand for his vape on the table. He brought it to his lips, inhaling slow, his chest rising beneath you. You watched the way his fingers curled around the sleek device, the slight hollow of his knuckles as he held it. He exhaled a thin stream of vapor toward the ceiling, his eyes fixed on the TV, completely relaxed. His thumb brushed your arm again, absent, like he didn’t even realize he was touching you.
But you noticed. God, you noticed.
Your thighs pressed together under the blanket, your breath catching when his nails skimmed lightly across your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Mm,” he hummed absently, eyes narrowing at the screen. “This part’s good.”
You couldn’t even process what was happening onscreen. All you could think about was the weight of his hand, the drag of his rings, the rhythm of his thumb brushing your arm in slow, endless strokes.
And the way he alternated between touching you and lifting the vape to his mouth — lips wrapping around it, fingers curling, smoke sliding past his lips — only made the ache worse.
You tilted your head just enough to glance up at him. He looked completely absorbed in the movie, eyes glinting faintly in the light, jaw relaxed. He didn’t seem to notice the way your body was tensed, your chest rising and falling a little too fast.
But deep down, you wondered.
Because Jiyong always noticed.
Always.
You shifted against him, hoping he wouldn’t notice how flushed you felt, how uneven your breathing had become. But Jiyong wasn’t blind — never had been. His thumb paused on your arm for the first time in what felt like forever. The movie droned on, but his gaze slid down toward you, sharp and deliberate. “You’re not even watching, are you?” His voice was low, almost amused. Your chest tightened. “I am.”
“Mm.” He inhaled from his vape again, smoke curling soft past his lips as his eyes lingered on your face. “Liar.”
Heat rushed through you at the single word, the quiet authority in it. You forced your gaze back to the TV, but it didn’t matter — his hand began to move again.
Not on your arm this time.
The lazy rhythm of his thumb drifted lower, sliding across your elbow, down toward the soft skin of your inner forearm. The touch was featherlight, almost teasing, but deliberate enough to make your breath catch. “You’re warm,” he murmured, eyes still fixed on the screen as though he hadn’t just set you on fire.
Your pulse hammered. “It’s—hot in here.”
“Mm.” His thumb traced slow circles over your wrist now, the cool edge of one of his rings grazing your skin. “Sure.”
He shifted slightly, letting his hand fall to your thigh under the blanket. At first, it rested there innocently — heavy, warm, anchoring. But then his fingers flexed, squeezing lightly, before trailing idle shapes against the fabric.
Your body tensed, thighs pressing together instinctively.
He noticed. You knew he did. Because his hand stilled for just a beat, then slid higher — an inch, maybe two, but enough to make your breath stutter. His smirk curved, barely visible in the blue light of the TV. He took another slow drag from his vape, his other hand holding you steady against his chest.
“You’re flushed,” he said finally, exhaling smoke upward. “You should tell me why.”
You swallowed, words caught in your throat. His hand squeezed your thigh again, firmer this time. Still nothing overt — still perfectly deniable — but every brush of his fingers screamed with intent.
And he knew it.
The weight of his hand stayed heavy on your thigh, warm even through the blanket, through the fabric of your pants. For a moment, he didn’t move — just rested there, like nothing was unusual, eyes still fixed on the movie. But then his fingers flexed. A slow squeeze. The drag of his thumb over the seam of your jeans.
Your breath caught. Jiyong smirked faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’d been waiting for that exact sound. He exhaled from his vape again, smoke curling between you, then lowered it lazily to the table. All his focus, now, on you.
His hand slid higher, palm pressing into the curve of your thigh, fingertips skimming closer to the place you needed him most. The pressure was light, almost absent-minded — except you knew better.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
You shifted against him, thighs pressing together instinctively, trying to relieve the ache building low in your stomach. But the movement only drew his hand higher, until his palm hovered over your center, the heat of him seeping through the thin barrier of fabric. Your pulse hammered, your lips parting in a shaky exhale.
He chuckled softly, finally tilting his head down to look at you. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
You couldn’t answer. Not with the way his thumb began to stroke slow, deliberate lines along your clothed slit, dragging the pressure just enough to make your hips twitch. It wasn’t enough. God, it wasn’t nearly enough. The friction dulled by the fabric, the way his touch lingered right where you needed more but never pressed hard enough.
You whimpered, low in your throat, and his smirk deepened.
“Spread your legs.”
The command was soft but sharp, leaving no room for refusal. You hesitated only a moment before obeying, thighs parting slowly under the blanket. His hand followed, sliding between them, cupping you fully now over the thin barrier of your pants.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his thumb pressing just a little firmer now, dragging across where you throbbed for him. “So warm already… and I’ve barely touched you.”
The praise hit hard, making your stomach twist, your hips jerk helplessly into his palm. But still — it wasn’t enough. Not skin on skin. Not yet. And Jiyong knew. He always knew. Which was why his smirk turned downright wicked as he leaned close, his voice brushing against your ear.
“You’ll take what I give you. For now.”
His thumb circled once more over your clothed clit, drawing another helpless sound from your throat. Your hips twitched against his hand, your body begging without words for more friction, more pressure. He chuckled low, shaking his head as if you were the one being ridiculous. “Already squirming,” he murmured, his voice honey-smooth, laced with amusement. His fingers pressed a little harder, dragging over the damp spot forming in the fabric. “So wet you’ve ruined your pants.”
Your face burned, shame and need tangling, and still you couldn’t stop grinding helplessly into his palm. “Patience,” he whispered, leaning close enough for his lips to brush your ear. “I’ll give you what you want. But you’ll let me take my time.”
He let the words hang there, his hand pulling away just long enough to make you whimper at the loss. Then, with deliberate slowness, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants.
“Lift your hips.”
The command was quiet but absolute.
You obeyed instantly, your body moving on instinct, and he slid the fabric down over your thighs inch by inch. Not hurried. Not messy. Controlled, savoring. The blanket slipped off completely, cool air rushing against your heated skin. His rings glinted faintly in the TV light as he peeled your pants lower, past your knees, until they bunched at your ankles. He took them off fully, leaving you only with ur panties and ur shirt.
His eyes lingered shamelessly between your legs, then flicked up to your flushed face. His smirk was devastating. “Better.”
His hand returned, this time against your bare thigh, the warmth of his skin searing against yours. He let his fingers trace idle patterns higher, higher, until his knuckles brushed the edge of your panties. You sucked in a breath, your thighs twitching open further. He tilted his head, pretending to study you like art. Then he slipped his thumb beneath the thin fabric, dragging it slow across your slick heat.
The sound that tore from you was broken, needy. “Fuck,” Jiyong muttered, his composure cracking for the first time, his fingers glistening when he pulled them back. He brought them up between you, close enough that you could see the shine in the TV light. “Dripping already. And I’ve barely touched you.”
He pressed his thumb back against your clit, this time skin on skin, rubbing slow, tight circles that made your body jolt against him. “Spread your legs wider,” he ordered softly, and when you obeyed, his smile turned feral. “That’s it. Let me see how much you can take.”
His fingers slipped lower, teasing at your entrance — shallow at first, testing, before pushing in just enough to stretch you.
And all the while, he watched your face, sharp and focused, as if your every reaction was exactly what he’d been waiting weeks for.
The air between you felt thick, the movie forgotten, your body already buzzing from the way his hand had teased you over your clothes. But Jiyong wasn’t finished — not even close.
“Stand up,” he murmured, his tone velvet-wrapped steel. You blinked at him, breath unsteady. “W…what?”
His smirk curved, dangerous and amused. “You heard me.”
Hesitant, trembling, you pushed yourself up from the couch. He stayed seated, legs spread lazily, head tilted back as his eyes dragged up and down your body with unhurried hunger. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he crooked two fingers at you. “Come closer.”
Your knees nearly buckled at the authority in his voice, but you obeyed, stepping until you stood between his parted legs. He leaned forward, his hands gliding up your thighs, his rings cool against your skin. “These…” he muttered, his fingers finding the waistband of your panties, “…don’t belong here.”
Before you could reply, he hooked his thumbs under the thin fabric and tugged them down.
Not fast. Not careless.
Slow.
Deliberate.
The elastic grazed your hips, dragged across your heat — the barest friction that made your breath stutter. His eyes never left your face as the fabric slid down your thighs, pooling at your ankles. He tapped your foot lightly, smirking. “Step out.”
You did, shivering as he picked the panties up from the floor, twirling them idly around his finger before tossing them carelessly onto the coffee table. “Better,” he murmured, satisfied. Then his hands were back on you, gripping your waist as he guided you down, down, until you were seated against him — your back pressed firm to his chest, your legs draped over each of his thighs. The position spread you wide, caged by the length of his body, your skin flushed and bare in the dim light. His thighs held you open, unmovable, while his arms curved around you like a trap.
You whimpered, squirming instinctively, but he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Shh,” he whispered, voice low, steady, devastating. “Stay like this. I want you open for me.”
His hands slid slowly up your thighs, tracing lazy patterns higher, higher, until his knuckles brushed against your slick folds. He didn’t touch yet — just hovered, teasing, letting the anticipation burn. Then his mouth found your ear again, his words a dark caress. “Watch,” he commanded, his hand finally sliding down between your thighs. “Don’t close your eyes. I want you to see what my hands do to you.”
Your thighs trembled where they rested over his, spread wide and helpless. Jiyong’s chest was solid at your back, his breath warm against your ear, his scent thick in your nose — cologne, smoke, and something uniquely him.
And then his hand moved.
Slow. Deliberate.
His fingers skimmed down the inside of your thigh, brushing over heated skin until they reached the slick between your legs. He didn’t push in. Not yet. Instead, he let his palm cup you fully, pressing against the soft heat of your pussy. You gasped, your hips jerking into his hand. His smirk curved against your ear. “That’s it. Let me feel how desperate you are.”
His fingers spread, dragging through your folds with unhurried precision. Up, down. Over and over. Gathering your slick, smearing it until you were glistening in the dim TV light.
The wet sounds filled the quiet room, obscene and intimate, echoing louder in your ears than the movie playing forgotten in the background. “Listen to you,” he murmured, his thumb circling lazily over your clit now, slow, featherlight. “Already dripping. And I haven’t even fucked you with my fingers yet.”
Your back arched against him, your thighs trembling as your breath came ragged. “J-Jiyong…”
“Shhh,” he soothed, kissing the curve of your ear, but his hand never stopped moving. His thumb pressed tighter, circling in deliberate patterns while his fingers slipped lower, rubbing against your entrance without entering. Teasing. Testing.
The pressure built, unbearable, your hips grinding helplessly into his palm. “Spread wider,” he ordered softly, his thighs nudging yours further apart. When you obeyed, a low groan rumbled from his chest. “Good girl. Stay open for me.”
His middle finger dragged up again, pressing firm against your swollen clit, rubbing in slow circles that made your vision blur. He alternated — sliding back down to trace your entrance, dragging up to smear more slick over your clit, over and over until you were whimpering. “Look,” he whispered, his free hand catching your jaw, tilting your face down so you couldn’t avoid it. “Watch my hand ruin you.”
Through the hazy light, you saw it — his long fingers glistening as they stroked over your folds, his rings shining faintly as they moved, deliberate, ruthless in their slowness. The sight made your chest tighten, your body clench, your moans spilling freely now. And still, he kept you on the edge. Rubbing. Circling. Teasing. Never giving you the relief of being filled, no matter how desperately your hips bucked. „Not yet,” he muttered, his teeth grazing your ear, his voice wrecked with control. “You’ll wait until I say.”
His thumb circled your clit in lazy, maddening arcs until you thought you’d snap. Your hips rolled helplessly, chasing more pressure, but Jiyong only chuckled low against your ear “Impatient,” he teased, his tone silk and smoke. “But I’m not done playing with you yet.”
And then he shifted his hand. Two fingers slid lower, pressing against your folds — not entering, just spreading you open with a practiced curl. The air was cool against your swollen, slick heat, and the obscene sound of your arousal squelching between his fingers filled the quiet room. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his composure slipping for a heartbeat as he dragged his fingers slowly up through the wetness he’d exposed. “You’re soaking my hand, jagi.”
You whimpered, shame and heat flooding you in equal measure, your thighs twitching against the cage of his. Jiyong smirked, his eyes glittering in the low light. “So messy.”
And then — without warning — he pulled his hand away.
Your body jerked at the sudden loss, a broken sound spilling from your throat. But before you could protest, his slick-coated fingers pressed firmly against your lips. “Open.”
Your breath stuttered. His fingers pressed harder, smearing your wetness over your mouth. His voice dipped low, commanding, devastating. “Taste yourself.”
Shame curled hot in your belly, but your lips parted on instinct. He slid two fingers into your mouth, pushing deep, his slick spreading across your tongue. “Good girl,” he murmured, watching your lips close around him. “Suck.”
You moaned around his fingers, your tongue swirling against them, the taste of yourself heavy and obscene on your tongue. He groaned, low and sharp, his hips shifting under you as his cock strained against his pants. “That’s it,” he whispered, his voice breaking with hunger. “Choke on how wet you are for me.”
When he finally dragged his fingers out, they glistened with spit, strings of it catching in the dim light. He guided them back down between your thighs, pressing into your folds again, smearing the mess over your clit. And this time — finally — he pushed two fingers deep inside you.
The stretch made you cry out, your head falling back against his shoulder. His lips curved against your ear, satisfied, almost cruel. “Watch,” he rasped, curling his fingers until your body jolted. “See what my hands do to you.”
The first push of his fingers inside you stole your breath, your body arching back against his chest. His touch was deep, curling immediately, finding that spot that made your vision blur. “Ah—Jiyong,” you gasped, clutching his thighs for balance.
His smirk curved against your ear, his breath hot. “That’s it. Watch my fingers.” Your gaze dropped, helpless, to where his long, pale fingers disappeared inside you. They glistened in the dim light, slick coating every motion, his rings catching the faint glow of the TV. It was obscene, intimate, devastating.
He set a rhythm — slow, deliberate thrusts, his thumb circling your clit with agonizing precision. Every curl of his fingers made your thighs tremble, every drag against your walls sending heat coiling tighter in your belly. It built fast — too fast. You could feel release rushing toward you, your hips jerking helplessly into his hand, your breath breaking into desperate gasps. But just as the pleasure crested, he slowed.
His fingers stilled inside you, his thumb easing off your clit until the wave receded, leaving you trembling and empty, tears prickling in your eyes from the denial. “Not yet,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You don’t get to come until I say.”
You whimpered, your body clenching around nothing, desperate for the friction to return. He chuckled darkly, resuming his pace — sliding his fingers out almost all the way before plunging them back in, harder this time, deeper. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing cruel little circles until your hips bucked. The pleasure built again, sharper now, your body tensing, thighs shaking against his.
And again — he slowed. Pulled his fingers out to just the tip, circling your entrance, smearing your slick around without giving you the satisfaction of fullness. You sobbed, broken. “Please—Jiyong, please.”
His laugh was low, wrecked, his lips brushing your ear. “Hear that? Begging already. You’re so easy for my hands.” He pushed back in suddenly, hard, curling his fingers deep until your entire body jolted. The wet sounds echoed filthy in the quiet room, his thumb relentless on your clit now. Your orgasm surged again, higher, closer, your nails digging into his thighs.
And then — he stopped. Completely.
You cried out, your head falling back against his shoulder, tears welling from the sheer frustration. “Jiyong—please, I can’t—”
“You can,” he whispered, licking the shell of your ear. His free hand caught your jaw again, forcing your gaze down. “You’ll watch what I do to you. You’ll feel it. And you’ll wait until I say you can break.”
His fingers plunged back in, ruthless now, pounding into you, curling hard against that spot inside that made stars explode behind your eyes. His thumb pressed firm to your clit, faster, tighter, wrecking you. Your orgasm rushed again, unstoppable this time, and when your body started to shudder, your moans raw and desperate—
“Hold it,” he growled, his pace slowing just enough to keep you teetering on the edge. “Don’t you dare come without me.”
You sobbed, your body twitching, your thighs straining against his. He held you open, unmovable, his fingers deep inside you but cruelly controlled, keeping you right there in unbearable limbo. “Beg me,” he whispered, his voice wrecked with desire. “Beg me to let you fall.”
“Beg me,” Jiyong whispered again, his voice a rasp of smoke and silk, his fingers still curled deep but maddeningly slow.
You whimpered, broken, your head shaking. “Please, Jiyong… please, I need it—”
His smirk curved against your ear, satisfied. “That’s better.”
Then everything shifted.
His pace snapped from lazy to brutal — fingers plunging hard, fast, curling up against your walls with ruthless precision. His thumb ground tight circles into your clit, relentless, every movement sharp and devastating. Your scream tore from your throat, raw and high, your nails clawing into his thighs.
And then you felt it — his free hand pressing down firmly on your lower belly, pinning you against his lap. The pressure sent shockwaves through you, forcing his fingers deeper, harder, each thrust driving against that spot that made your entire body quake.
The wet sounds were obscene.
Every stroke squelched loud in the quiet room, slick coating his hand, dripping down your thighs. With each thrust, the noise grew wetter, louder, until it filled the space more than the forgotten movie on the TV. “Listen,” he growled, his voice rough with arousal. “Listen to how messy you are for me.”
Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, your hips jerking helplessly into his hand, the pressure unbearable. The orgasm hit so suddenly, so violently, that you could only sob his name, your body clenching hard around his fingers.
But Jiyong didn’t let up.
“Give it to me,” he demanded, his fingers pounding faster, his palm pressing harder against your belly. “Don’t hold back. Let me feel you gush for me.”
And then you broke.
Your body convulsed, pleasure ripping through you in waves so intense it almost hurt. Slick gushed out of you in a sudden, messy rush, soaking his hand, his rings, his thighs, dripping down onto the couch. The sound was obscene — a sharp, wet splatter with every thrust of his fingers, louder and wetter as he drove you through it. “Fuck,” Jiyong hissed, his composure breaking, his hips grinding up against you as he kept fucking you with his hand. “That’s it. Squirt all over me. Show me how good my hands wreck you.”
You cried out, tears streaming down your face as wave after wave hit, your body writhing in his grip. The couch beneath you was soaked, his thighs drenched, his fingers glistening as they moved mercilessly inside you. Finally — finally — he slowed, dragging his hand out of you, your slick dripping down his knuckles, strings of it catching in the low light. He held his hand up, forcing you to look. “Look at this mess,” he murmured, voice ragged, his lips brushing your ear. “All from my hands. All mine.”
You collapsed against him, boneless, your chest heaving, your body trembling with aftershocks. And Jiyong, smug and breathless, pressed a slow kiss to your damp temple, his slick-coated hand resting heavy against your thigh.
You slumped against him, limp, your chest heaving, your thighs trembling where they rested wide over his. The couch was wet beneath you, his hand soaked, your body still pulsing around the ghost of his fingers.
But Jiyong wasn’t finished.
He shifted behind you, his voice low, dangerous. “One isn’t enough.”
Your breath caught, your head snapping weakly against his chest. “Jiyong—please, I can’t—”
“You can,” he rasped, already pressing his slick-coated fingers back to your entrance. “And you will. I want every drop you’ve got.”
You whimpered, but his mouth was at your ear again, his tone dripping with command. “Open wider.”
You obeyed without thinking, your thighs spreading shakily across his, exposing everything to him again. He hummed his approval, his hand pressing firm against your belly once more as two fingers slid back inside you. The stretch was immediate, the friction brutal, your body jolting from the overstimulation.
“Ah—!” you gasped, clawing at his thighs, your legs twitching.
“Shhh,” he soothed mockingly, already curling his fingers ruthlessly against that tender spot inside you. “I know it’s too much. That’s the point.”
The wet sounds started up instantly — louder this time, sloppier. His hand was merciless, pumping fast, the squelch of your slick filling the room with every brutal thrust. His thumb ground down on your swollen clit, circles sharp and unrelenting. Your hips jerked, your body thrashing in his grip, but his thighs caged you, his arm around your waist holding you down as his fingers drove deeper.
“Look at you,” he growled, watching his hand disappear between your thighs, glistening, drenched. “Dripping everywhere. Making a fucking mess of my couch.”
You sobbed, your head falling back against his shoulder, tears streaming as the pleasure built sharp and unbearable. “Come on,” he urged, his voice wrecked, his pace brutal. “Squirt for me again. Let me see you gush.”
The pressure on your belly intensified, pushing his fingers deeper, harder, until the wave hit again — violent, unstoppable.
Your entire body convulsed as liquid burst from you, soaking his hand, splattering down his wrist, flooding his thighs. The sound was obscene — a raw, wet rush, filling the silence with every messy spurt. “Yes,” Jiyong snarled, fucking you through it, his hips grinding against you as his cock strained under his pants. “That’s it, baby. Give me more. Make a mess all over me.”
You screamed his name, your voice breaking as another gush spilled out, soaking everything beneath you. His rings glinted wet in the light, his hand a blur as he milked you mercilessly, chasing every last drop until you were sobbing, your body wrecked and twitching. Finally, he slowed — but he didn’t stop. He dragged his soaked fingers out of you, spreading your folds with a slick squelch just to watch the mess glisten between your thighs. “Ruined,” he whispered, almost in awe, his lips brushing your ear as his free hand stroked your trembling thigh. “Completely ruined… and I’m not even close to finished with you.”
Your chest was heaving, your body limp against him, the couch soaked beneath you. Your thighs twitched where they sprawled wide over his, every nerve in your body screaming from the overstimulation.
But Jiyong didn’t let go, again.
His soaked fingers traced lazily over your folds, smearing slick up and down, gathering every drop of the mess he’d pulled from you. His breath was hot against your ear, his voice dark silk. “Twice isn’t enough,” he murmured. “I want to see you break again.”
You whimpered, your voice hoarse. “I… I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” His tone was sharp now, commanding, as he pressed his palm flat against your belly again. “You’ll come for me until you’ve got nothing left. Until all that’s left in you is my name.”
And before you could protest, his fingers slid back inside. There was no gentleness now — no easing you into it. He pushed deep immediately, curling hard, ruthless, his thumb grinding down on your raw, throbbing clit. The wet sounds were deafening — squelches, slaps, every brutal thrust louder than the movie still flickering forgotten in the background.
“Listen,” he growled, his pace unrelenting. “Hear how soaked you are. Hear how your pussy begs for my hand.”
You screamed, your nails digging into his thighs, your hips thrashing against him — but his grip on your waist pinned you down, forcing you to take every merciless thrust of his fingers.
“Jiyong—please, it’s too much—”
His teeth grazed your ear, his voice a ragged snarl. “Don’t beg me to stop. Beg me to ruin you again.”
Tears streamed down your face, your moans breaking as the pressure coiled sharp and unbearable in your belly. Every drag of his fingers, every grind of his thumb, every press of his palm pushed you higher, tighter, past the point of control. “Good girl,” he rasped, feeling your walls flutter, clench. “You’re right there. Don’t hold back. Squirt for me again.”
Your body convulsed, the orgasm tearing through you violently, and this time it was brutal. Liquid gushed from you in heavy, messy bursts, soaking his hand, splattering across his thighs, dripping down onto the floor. The sounds were obscene — wet slaps, slick gushes, each wave louder than the last.
“Yes,” Jiyong snarled, fucking you through it, his hand a blur as you sobbed and screamed against him. “That’s it. Fucking soak me. Ruin everything for me.”
You shook uncontrollably, your body collapsing against his chest, your vision blurring as another spurt shot out, soaking his rings, his knuckles, painting him in your release. When the last wave ebbed, you were trembling, gasping, completely undone. Finally, finally, he slowed. His fingers slipped out of you with a filthy squelch, glistening, dripping down to his wrist. He held them up, turning your face with his free hand so you had no choice but to look. “Look at this mess,” he whispered, voice ragged, wrecked. “All of this — all mine.”
Your body collapsed back against his chest, trembling, completely spent. The couch was soaked, your thighs glistening, your skin sticky with the mess he’d wrung from you.
But Jiyong wasn’t done.
He slid his fingers out of you with a loud, wet squelch, strings of slick clinging between his knuckles. He raised his hand slowly, deliberately, letting the light of the TV catch on the glistening mess he’d pulled from you. “Look,” he whispered, his free hand gripping your jaw and tilting your face toward his. “See what I dragged out of you.”
Your eyes, heavy with tears and exhaustion, fell helplessly to his hand — fingers soaked, dripping, a filthy testament to how completely he’d ruined you. And then, instead of pressing them to your lips this time, he brought them to his own mouth.
Your breath caught.
He parted his lips and slid two fingers inside, sucking them deep, his tongue swirling around the knuckles, groaning low in his throat. His eyes stayed locked on yours the whole time, sharp and hungry, drinking in your wrecked expression. The sound was obscene — the wet drag of his tongue, the hollow pull of suction, mixing with the faint squelch of your slick. He pulled them out just enough to show the mess coating them, then shoved them back between his lips, sucking harder, until his cheeks hollowed.
You whimpered, your thighs twitching weakly against his.
“Mm,” he hummed around his fingers, eyes narrowing in satisfaction. He slipped them out with a wet pop, strings of spit and slick glistening in the dim light. “Sweet. You taste fucking sweet when you’re wrecked like this.” Your cheeks burned, your chest heaving, the sight of him licking his fingers clean somehow filthier than when he’d been buried inside you.
He smirked, slow and devastating, dragging his tongue along his thumb, savoring every trace. Then he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear, his voice low and dark. “See what you do to me? I could live on this.”
You shivered, too weak to move, too consumed by the sight of him indulging in your ruin. He kissed the corner of your damp cheek, his cock straining against you, his hand gripping your thigh possessively.
The room was heavy with heat, the air thick with the smell of sweat and sex, the couch beneath you still damp from the mess he’d wrung out of your body. You slumped boneless against him, chest heaving, tears drying on your cheeks. Every nerve felt fried, your thighs still twitching faintly where they lay spread over his. You couldn’t catch your breath, couldn’t think — you were nothing but wrecked.
And then Jiyong shifted.
Not to push you further. Not to drag more from you.
His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest. His other hand smoothed slowly up your thigh, no longer ruthless, just steady and grounding, his palm warm as it traced lazy circles into your skin. “Breathe,” he murmured against your ear, his voice softer now, quieter. “That’s it. You’re okay.”
You whimpered faintly, your eyes fluttering shut, and felt his lips press to the damp corner of your temple. “Good girl,” he whispered, the words no longer sharp with command but heavy with praise. “You took it so well. So fucking well for me.”
He reached for the blanket crumpled at the edge of the couch, tugging it up over your bare legs. The gesture was clumsy, his fingers still slick, but his determination to cover you made your chest ache. “You’re shaking,” he noted, his tone shifting toward concern. His hand slid to your belly, pressing lightly — not cruel this time, not demanding — just grounding. “Can you feel me?”
You nodded weakly, leaning back into him. “Good.” He kissed the crown of your head, lingering there.
For a long moment, there was only silence — his hand rubbing slow circles against your stomach, his chest rising steady under your cheek, the low hum of the TV still flickering forgotten in the background.
When your breathing finally evened out, he tilted his head down, his lips brushing your hairline. “You’re mine,” he murmured, soft but unshakable, the smirk barely there in his voice. “All of this mess… all of you. Mine.”
Your lips curved faintly, too weak to argue, and he smiled against your skin. He tucked you tighter against him, blanket wrapped snug, his hand resting firm over your hip. And for the first time that night, you felt safe in the ruin he’d left you in.
You were limp in his arms, your body heavy and trembling with exhaustion. Jiyong kissed your temple once more, then shifted beneath you, sliding out from under your weight with surprising gentleness.
“Stay,” he murmured, pressing his hand to your thigh when you tried to sit up. “Don’t move. I’ll handle it.”
Your chest ached at the command — not sharp this time, not edged with dominance, but protective. He disappeared briefly, returning with a damp towel. He crouched between your legs on the floor, his dark eyes flicking up to you before dragging the fabric slowly, carefully along your thighs.
The touch made you flinch from the sensitivity, but he only shushed you softly. “I know. Easy, baby. Just let me take care of it.”
He wiped you clean with surprising patience, rinsing the towel once, twice, until the worst of the slick was gone. When he was satisfied, he tossed it aside and leaned down, pressing a slow kiss just above your knee — reverent, almost worshipful.
Then he straightened, tugging the blanket tighter around you. “You’re freezing,” he muttered, shaking his head. Before you could argue, he vanished again — this time returning with one of his shirts. Oversized, soft from wear, smelling of him.
“Arms up.”
You obeyed, still dazed, and he slipped the shirt over your head, pulling it down until you were completely swallowed by him. The hem fell to your thighs, the sleeves covering your hands, making you feel small and kept. “There.” He tugged at the collar, satisfied, then cupped your jaw and kissed you softly — nothing like the brutal wreckage from before, just lips brushing lips, grounding you.
When he settled back onto the couch, he pulled you into his lap, arranging you so your face was tucked into his chest, the blanket wrapped around you both. His hand stroked your hair, slow and steady, while the other rested heavy on your hip, claiming you even in tenderness.
“You’re mine,” he murmured again, quieter this time, his breath warm against your hair. “Don’t forget it.”
Your lips curved weakly against his chest, your body finally relaxing fully into his. And in the dim light of the room, wrapped in his shirt, his arms, his warmth — you knew you didn’t want to forget.
genre: smut, with little plot, a lot of talking, fluffy, but there be angst in this part
word count: 10.7k
warnings: sex work, smut: pentrative sex (no contraceptive mentioned - birth control discussion happened off-page), oral (fem receiving) ; a lot of kissing, older woman, chan goes by chris, reader shorter than chris, more 'babys' and 'yeonins' because it's chris, more book talk because it's me, CHRIS IN A SUIT, the most ethical escort service ever, cursing, some therapizing (do not take for gospel as i have no degree in counseling). if i've missed something, let me know.
rating: 18+/M
summary: seeking a solution to your lack of experience, you assume the process will be business-like. you're entirely wrong.
a/n AGAIN I"M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! Moving was part of it, but in general my life is just...something right now. also, this section originally should have been just the reunion and smut...and then it became a lot more. you'll see what i mean. big thank you to anyone who cares enough to read the end of this. you have my heart. as always, gracias to @dpr-moni for reading and encouraging because who knows where'd we be if i lived in a vacuum.
part one part two
Part Three
Is there anything you’d like to add to inform The Company of your experience?
He was perfect.
–
Six Months Later
You send off another email after reading it over three times. This is your life. A constant stream of the typed word, either your own or someone else’s, and you spend your hours reading and fixing, reading and tweaking, reading and polishing. You must make sure someone else appears perfect (without error).
No wonder you need reading glasses.
You push away from your desk, raising your arms over your head to stretch out that constantly curved spine of yours. You glance at the time, recognizing that the early afternoon hours are always the worst because post-lunch always feels like a good time to nap. You tell yourself that you will go walk a lap or something after you edit and review the next press release in your inbox.
You hear one of your coworkers say something under her breath and you almost ask her to share because trauma-bonding is the best way to get through the day, right? But you need to focus and your space may not be a tiny cubicle, but with the partitions dividing desks and computers, it’s a lot to get up and get the attention of someone behind that four feet of unknown office supply material.
You wish you had a window to look out. It’s early autumn. The weather is beginning to turn to brisk and clean. You can’t wait to pull out all your sweaters from the plastic bins under your bed at home. As it is, you have a cardigan draped on the back of your chair for when the aircon gets too much.
Your workplace is by no means particularly formal, but you dress nicely so you feel like you will work. If you wore something comfortable, you’d be full-on napping now.
You open the press release and let out a heavy sigh when there’s the use of ‘cite’ for ‘sight’ in the very first sentence.
This is gonna be a long one, you can tell.
At some point in fixing another comma splice, you feel a presence at your side.
“I’ll be right with you. Give me one second.” You can see black trousers and equally nice-looking black shoes. One of the interns? You don’t get much face time with anyone here, other than those in your department of three. Only an eager intern would be dressed that well and seek you out. No one comes to this company to do what you do. But a hopeful, idealistic college co-ed looking for a recommendation letter or a foot in the door would have no clue to avoid you. You are not the person to offer a leg up in the corporate world.
You hear a grunt or hum of understanding and you continue to peruse through the press release.
Then you hear whispers, nothing you can actually comprehend, but the ‘sssss’ sound of those around you engaging in conversation, but super hushed. It seems dramatic whatever it is. New gossip? Probably.
The intern waiting for your attention is patient, doesn’t move away, or tap his foot or anything to betray his feelings.
But then something falls on your desk. It distracts you enough that you look away from your monitor. You pick it up, something relatively scathing on your tongue to say to this intern.
It’s your business card. Your never-used, never-reordered business cards that sit in your bag or purse, never to see the light of day.
The corners are rounded, as though it’s been handled multiple times. It’s even bent in the middle slightly, possibly from being stuck in a pocket for a period of time.
Who on earth would have–?
“Chris.”
He rests a hand on the top of your partition, smiling at you. “Hi.” His hair has grown in the months since you’ve seen him, but his smile is the same. It takes you several seconds to see the rest of him, the black sleeves encasing his arms, shirt cuffs revealing a sliver of white before his beautiful hands.
He’s wearing a suit. Crisp white shirt, narrow black tie, perfectly tailored.
You jump up, banging one knee on your desk. He winces when you do, but you’re too embarrassed to appreciate his sympathy.
Standing, you can see your coworkers all paying close attention to you and your visitor.
“You’re here?”
He nods, straightening up, hand falling to his side. He reaches for the business card. You give it, brain too overwhelmed with HE’S HERE to take in anything else.
“I showed that to Mr. Park Siwoo downstairs, and that was enough to be allowed up here.” His smile has lessened into something tentative. “He seemed to think you didn’t give these out very much.”
“I don’t.”
Slightly bigger smile.
“Um.” You again see that all your coworkers are watching with avid interest, like someone might start eating popcorn while they observe. “Come on,” you say, grabbing him by the wrist and leading him toward one of the empty conference rooms. You can actually hear the whispers reengage from your colleagues, but you ignore them.
Chris’ hand laces with yours during the short trip from your desk to the conference room with its frosted glass that kind of provides privacy for the many meetings bosses feel are necessary. You falter at the hand hold, but keep going, pushing through the doors until you reach the large oval table.
You turn and release him, half-sitting on the edge of the table. “You’re here.”
“Yeah.” He scratches the back of his head, right at the nape.
It strikes you as almost fidgety, which seems unlike him. Is he nervous?
“That’s okay, right?” he asks. “That’s why you gave me this?” He holds up the business card.
“Yes,” you hurriedly reassure him, reaching out as though you can just touch him in comfort. You freeze halfway. It’s not that weekend, the rules of ‘carte blanche’ are no longer in effect. You draw back immediately, looking at the floor. “Yes, I…I didn’t want to hope you might actually find me.” You look back at him, as though aware he might scold you for those words. “I just…didn’t want it to be a locked door. To have no chance of seeing you again.”
“You saved me the trouble of convincing Felix to hack our database and find your information.” He moves away from the door, several steps closer to you. “Which is pretty illegal.” He stops with about a meter between you. “So thank you.”
You stare at him, taking in how his hair is pushed back, except for one strand, curling against his forehead.
“You look so good,” you blurt out, your filter well eradicated at the surprise of him.
There it is, that spread of pink along his cheeks and ears. “Oh…thank you…you do, too.”
You doubt that, in your work clothes, rumpled from sitting for too many hours, hair reacting to when you mess with it in frustration.
But it’s Chris.
“Thanks.”
It’s quiet, awkward for a few moments. What do you say? You had sex with this man, multiple times; for you an experience unrepeated. You’ve thought of him easily every day since you last saw him. He popped into your mind at incredibly inconvenient times, but you were always happy to get lost again in the memories of that weekend.
“Do you have dinner plans?”
“Tonight?” your voice is high and squeaky. “I mean, I usually just go home.”
He half-smiles. “Can I take you to dinner?”
Your mind is sputtering like a car that won’t start. “Tonight?”
He chuckles and you haven’t heard his laugh in six months. Some of the tension in your shoulders releases at that sound.
“I feel like I can be a little more appealing than dinner at home.”
“Of course you can.” You clasp your hands, not sure what to do with them all of a sudden. “Yes. I mean…” You look down at yourself. “I don’t have a change of clothes…and you’re…you’re in a suit.”
He tilts his head to the side a little. “You’re perfect. What time should I meet you downstairs?”
Buffering at ‘you’re perfect’, it takes you a minute to remember what time you get off work (in a job you’ve had a decade and has rarely deviated in schedule).
“Is six okay?”
He places his hand over your clasped ones. “You tell me. I came to see you. I don’t have anything else to do today.”
“To see me?”
He ducks his head, so you’re at eye level with him. “To see you.” It’s hard to keep his gaze, so you look down, at his hand on yours. His warm hands that you’ve remembered but also forgotten as time has continued, every day it’s a little less vivid. How he felt, how he sounded, how he laughed.
You take a deep breath before looking back up at him. It’s hard to believe he’s real and in front of you. Again.
“I’d love to have dinner with you, Chris. Six would be good.”
His smile stretches, pleased. “Okay.” He draws his hand away and you miss it, him, already.
The loss flashes red in your mind. If you missed him so much after one weekend with him, will seeing him now just make it worse? Saying goodbye again might be irrecoverable.
“After all, I want to know if you liked that book.” His words cause you to pause in walking back toward the doors. You turn to him. “You did read it, right?”
“Of course I did.”
His dimples. You didn't forget his dimples, but you also didn’t realize how much more enticing they were in person than in your memories.
“Great.” He moves to follow you back into the office, but you stay put.
“You read yours?”
The smile hints at arrogance; just a touch. “Of course I did,” he parrots you. “Both books.” There’s an implied ‘so there.’ It reminds you of the teasing, the fondness of the weekend. How it wasn’t all heat or softness. There was humor, joking, and amity.
“So…you’re better than me.” You look over your shoulder up at him as he’s close behind you.
He laughs, squeezing your shoulder. “I wouldn’t say that, but if you wanted to…”
It’s on the tip of your tongue, but you hold back. You have no idea if such an admittance would weigh on him. He’s likely in town for something unrelated to you or that weekend. It could mean much less than you want it to.
You missed him. So much.
“I’m really glad to see you, Chris.” This seems safe to admit. His smile straightens, as though he hears the weight of sincerity under such simple words.
“Me too,” he replies. “A lot.”
You’ve been away from your desk for far too long at this point, so you don’t give into your desires: to linger, to kiss, to gaze. Instead you return to the main part of the office, more amused than annoyed now at the most unsubtle stares and whispers.
“So,” he whispers as you turn around to face him. “I’ll see you at six?”
You nod. “Yeah.”
He smiles as though he knows by showing up here, he’s made your work life hell. He heads toward the elevators, but stops and spins around as you get to your desk.
He holds out his phone. “Just in case.”
It’s such a common thing to exchange phone numbers. But after not being sure to even drop that business card into his bag months ago, wondering if you’d screwed up by not just asking him for his last name, his social media platform username, his phone number…to do so now feels incredibly notable.
You input the list of numbers, saving them under your first and last name and hand the phone back to him. As you do, you have a moment of fear that he’ll take it, but not return the favor in anyway and you’ll still be unable to reach out, and he won’t show up this evening for dinner and all the hope and anticipation of this moment would be destroyed as if by a bulldozer.
Then you hear the buzzing sound from atop your desk. Your phone is vibrating.
“Now you have mine.” He slips it in his pocket. “See you in a few.”
“See you.”
The parting is so significantly less heart-wrenching than the one previous that you almost feel light-headed. Because you’re going to see him again. In…you check your monitor for the time…less than three hours.
You know the afternoon now will seem even more interminable than it did before he showed up.
–
You somehow survive those near three hours. You even get some work done. At least four different coworkers ask you about ‘the man in the suit’ and it gives you pause on how you could even answer.
A friend.
You’d like to think that perhaps you and Chris could be friends had you met in a mundane way. He’s certainly more than acquaintance, but anything more familiar than friend feels incorrect.
No one seems to believe you that he’s only ‘a friend.’ One coworker tells you point blank that you were making ‘heart eyes’ at him.
You wouldn’t be surprised though you thought your expression would have been more shock than affection.
“He’s gorgeous,” the same coworker gushed. You couldn’t argue with that.
But the rest of the minutes are full of emails and more words. You almost forget that you have plans later when six o’clock finally shows up. You do a quick check in the bathroom, though there isn’t much you can do with work clothes and only concealer in your purse.
You suppose he’s seen you far worse as ‘morning you’ was surely a sight.
You don’t look away from the mirror, remembering. Remembering that you got to see him roll out of bed, messy hair, sleep lines on his face, slow-to-stretch smile.
Maybe other clients got to see him like that, but you’ll hold on to it forever.
With a sigh that clearly says ‘the best it’s gonna get’, you leave the bathroom and head down to the lobby via elevator. Your nerves start to vibrate as you watch the floor numbers descend. You have a million questions, but you know that you probably won’t ask a single one that means anything deep.
Can you just be pleased to see him? Do you have to put so much pressure and meaning on every little thing?
You cross through the lobby at 6:05 and as you push through the revolving door, you don’t even have a moment to worry that he won’t be there because he is there. He’s standing on the sidewalk, hands in his trouser pockets, shoulders up like he might be a little cold.
This wind brings the sharp clarity of autumn.
He turns to see you when you’re only a couple feet away and his eyes light up. You add it to the treasure chest in your soul: bright eyes, turned up lips, dimples.
“Hiya,” he greets.
“You weren’t waiting too long?”
He shakes his head. “Not really. Also, I people-watched. And there’s some really interesting ones coming out of your building.”
You wouldn’t be surprised.
He steps up to you, eyes never wavering. “Figured I shouldn’t do this at your place of work, but is outside okay?” He opens his arms.
“Yes.” It probably was just rhetorical but your answer is so emphatic that he’s laughing when you fall into his arms, wrapping yourself around him as tight as you can without seeming too boa constrictor-ly. “I don’t think I spoke enough about how good your hugs are on that survey.”
When you draw back to look up at him, his cheeks are so pink.
“So you did fill out a survey…”
“Of course. Wait, do you not see those? At all?” It’s such a strange conversation to have, to reference the strange way you two met.
“I get it quarterly…so it’s more general…you know.” He shrugs, his hands still on your arms, almost like he doesn’t even realize it. You don’t mind. The dreams you’ve had, remembering his touch…glad you didn’t put that in the survey.
“Oh. That’s…huh.”
He smiles at your inability to articulate before squeezing your arms. “Should we head to dinner? We can walk or I can get us a taxi.”
There’s another gust of wind the moment he says that and he makes a sound that only a cold person can make. You pull the more-decorative-than-functional scarf off your neck and wrap it around his, tying it loosely.
“Oh, you don’t–”
“Brings out your eyes,” you say, more teasing than serious. The scarf is green and does look nice on him, with the color of his skin and hue of his eyes. “We should get a taxi. There’s usually some around here at this time.” You see one in your periphery and raise a hand to flag it down. Once you’re both in the backseat, Chris tells the driver where to go. “That’s…I’ve never been there.”
“One of my mates, Changbin, says it’s the best.” Chris settles back into the seat, eyes on you.
“How are your friends?” You think of the little he shared about them over that weekend; how colourful and vivid he made them seem.
“Good. Insane, but good. What about you? Your job seems…focused.”
You laugh at his diplomatic phrasing. “It’s boring I suppose to anyone who walks in. It’s…” You look out the window. “It’s okay. I’m good at it. And well, it’s a paycheck, right?”
He half-grins. “Right.” He goes quiet, and you go quiet. You don’t know what he’s thinking about, but your mind is bouncing a billion thoughts around, ricocheting like pinball.
You want to tell him how much you missed him. Again and again.
“How are your friends?” He finally breaks the quiet. It’s often easier to talk about those you love than yourself, so you regale him of a new baby born, a muddled breakup, and a night of noraebang that ended with you all nearly getting kicked out. Your tales finish up just as the taxi pulls up to the restaurant.
He tuts at you when you pull at your purse to pay the driver.
“We’re doing this again?” he asks once you both are on the curb and the taxi is disappearing down the street. “It’s not tax-deductible this time, so I am paying.” You’re half-surprised he doesn’t set his hands on his hips like a beleaguered mother.
“You’re so stubborn about this.”
He holds his hand out. “I am.” When you take his hand, he pulls you to his side before walking toward the front doors. “Especially about this.” He speaks to the host, apparently having already made reservations, which surprises you. As you’re walked to your table, you ask him:
“What if I’d wanted McDonald’s?”
“I’d have cancelled…or persuaded.” He flashes you that confident, almost smug grin. You want to stay there. In his smile, in his hand, pressed to his side.
“I can be stubborn too,” you argue because you can, not that you think you’d be all that good at withstanding his persuasive skills if he ever really used them on you. He pulls out your seat (it’s not exactly that kind of restaurant, but you appreciate it nonetheless, even if it throws you on how to sit when someone does that) and sits across from you.
You open the menu too, glancing over it at him several times. He catches you at it, his eyes squint with the smile you can’t see.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me…like…” he trails off, his eyes losing the mirth and filling with wonder.
“Like?” You know full well how you look at him. Your coworker called you out on it not two hours ago.
He shakes his head, looking back at the menu. You let it go. It’s not like you want to be open with how much ‘heart-eyeing’ you’re doing.
It takes several minutes of focused perusal of the menu and engaging with the server before you get to look at Chris, without menu to block any of him.
“So…the books…” you begin and he chuckles, taking a sip of his water before gesturing to you.
“No, you first. You actually knew the books that you recommended to me. I went out on a complete limb for you.”
“I’m on the third book in the series.”
“It’s a series?”
You laugh at his shocked countenance. “There’s four, I think, journals of her time there. I’d honestly be done with them, but they’re kind of heavy.” You hurry to explain at his worrying lip-biting. “No, it’s good. It’s so good. It’s just a lot about her thoughts on writing, story, and life. Even God.”
“Damn. I had no idea.”
“Me neither, but it’s lovely. I’ve underlined like a million sections, put random comments in the margins. I just can’t read it super fast because I have to really ponder certain parts of it.”
“You…underline?”
You’d be embarrassed by your silly scholarly habits if it wasn’t for how expressive his face is right now. He’s so confused by you.
“Yes, I write in my books. Unless they’re like…antiques or special editions or something. If I think something or resonate with something…out comes my pen or pencil.”
He tilts his head to the side like he’s trying to comprehend you. “I had no idea you were that…”
“Crazy?”
“Nerdy.”
You laugh harder before covering your mouth and looking around at the other tables, which aren’t super full as it’s a Tuesday night but still. No one needs to hear your cackle on volume 11.
“Really? I thought that was pretty obvious.”
You see the light change in his eyes, the heat and memory come in. “I thought other things.”
You don’t have any alcohol to blame for the flush in your face, but you take a sip of water anyway.
“What about you? Did you like Frankenstein? Or Ripley? I spent way too much time thinking about whether or not you would enjoy them.”
The light is still there. “That’s all you thought about me?”
“Christopher.”
His blinding grin in response to your no-nonsense tone makes you both chuckle.
“It was one of many thoughts,” you admit softly.
“Oh…” he clears his throat, cheeks taking on that beautiful rosy tint. “I read them both.”
“And…?”
He shrugs. “They’re so different. I loved Frankenstein…once I got into it. The whole thing with the letters at the beginning really threw me.”
“Yeah…no one really talks about that. I don’t think it shows up in most movie iterations.”
“But I…I felt for the monster…Adam.”
“As you should. Frankenstein himself is a stupid kid who has no sense of responsibility.”
He laughs. “No compassion for all he loses?”
“Nope. Those poor people though. I feel for them. Not for Victor.”
The food is delivered then and it takes a few moments of bites and chewing, and trying the other’s meal before you return to the book conversation.
“And Tom Ripley?”
“Jeez, that was…that was something.”
“Too dark?”
“No…I mean, it was dark.” He chews a bite before cutting part of his steak and placing it on your plate without explanation. He then steals one of your perfectly-cooked asparagus. “So dark, but really interesting. I see what you mean about it being related to acting and such.”
“You ever played a villain?”
He shrugs. “Kinda? More like a sidekick to an antagonist.”
“A henchman?”
“Yeah, that. It’d be fun to be the main villain, for sure.”
“I think you’d do it well.”
He pauses in cutting the asparagus for a bite. “Be a villain?”
“Yes.”
He puts his utensils down and leans against the edge of the table. “I don’t know how to take that.”
Your eyes widen. “No…it’s because you aren’t like that, that I think you’d be good at it. I mean…you’re good at what you do.” You drop your eyes from his, flustered. “I think you’re very good at reading people, it’s part of your job. It would lend itself to do well in seeing the ‘bad guy’s’ point of view. Which would make your portrayal…you know…good.”
There’s a long pause and you finally look up at him after what feels like twenty years.
“You think I’m good at reading people?”
“Yes…” You’re happy you’ve moved from the ‘you’d make a bad guy’ direction. “That’s why…that’s why you’re so good at…your work.”
He’s definitely blushing. “I…I never thought of it like that.” He picks up his fork to take a bite, but the piece falls back onto the plate and he sets it back down.
It strikes you again. He’s nervous.
You don’t understand why. How this man who is so stupid confident (for good reason) and so kind can be nervous about anything.
You move before you can really think about it. You sit in the chair next to him, noticing that his hands grip the cloth napkin across his lap. He looks at you with wide eyes.
“Is this okay?” you ask, voice quiet.
He nods.
“I meant it as a compliment. I hope you know that.”
“I do…I just…” He looks at his food. “It’s a weird thing to talk about right now.”
“Why?”
He looks back at you. “I don’t work for The Company anymore.”
To say you’re shocked doesn’t cover it. “What?”
He half-smiles at your surprise. “I don’t work for them anymore.”
Your mind starts racing. “Did something happen? Were you mistreated?” You will absolutely write them a strongly worded letter or something worse if he was ever in danger or–
“No, no, no.” He lets go of the napkin to place his hand over yours, squeezing in reassurance. “Nothing like that.” He lets his hand linger for a second before pulling back. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you. I just got nervous.”
So you are pretty decent at reading him. “Why?”
He gazes at you, eyes dropping to your mouth for a split second. You can feel your heart skip at his attention.
“I’ve never done this.”
“Done what?”
“Gone out…with a client, but no longer a client.”
Oh…
“I mean, it’s just me.” You are now the reassuring one. “I’m hardly intimidating enough to induce nerves. Just talk to me like you did before. Only there’s no expectations.” You cover his hand, squeezing it back.
He turns his hand over and slots his fingers with yours, his eyes drawn to them. “I know my role when there’s a contract in place. I’m a little out of my depth here.”
“Why aren’t you working for them anymore?”
He looks up. “Because I did a pilot…for a show. And it got picked up.”
“Oh my god Chris! That’s amazing!” You know you’re being way too loud for this restaurant but you don’t give a damn because you throw your arms around him in a huge hug. “I’m so happy for you.” You murmur into his hair. His arms hold you tight for a second before loosening. You draw back, only a little embarrassed for the display. “That’s just…that’s fantastic.”
“It really is. Still kinda can’t believe it.”
“Where is it filming? Do you get to travel?”
“Um…mostly here.”
“Here. In the city?” There are several studios, but you don’t really think about the shows that are filmed here. It’s usually New York or Los Angeles or some exotic locale.
“Yeah. Great, huh? I live here, now work here.”
“You live here?”
He smiles softly before tracing down your arms to your hands to hold. “Yeah. You wouldn’t believe my surprise when I saw the address on your business card.”
“Holy shit.”
“So I quit. I mean, the show could do horribly, but I…it was time.”
You nod like you understand, even though your brain is vibrating. “I thought you enjoyed it.”
“I did. But…” He lets go of your hands. “It’s kinda a strain on any of my relationships, with friends, family, or anyone else.” He laughs self-consciously before taking his fork in hand. He offers you a bite. “Not that an acting gig is much better, but I think it will be.”
You feel discombobulated, shaking your head at his food offering. “I…no, I’m excited for you. It sounds like the kind of change you’ve been wanting.” You carefully make your way back to your seat. “Not that I could any time soon, but I guess I can’t hire you again,” you joke, but you can tell it falls flat.
“You would’ve?”
“I mean, I have to save up again…” you force a smile, feeling like perhaps this entire night is just a long goodbye. Maybe you can get closure in real life, even if it’s not the closure your heart craves. “I missed you.”
There. You said it.
The wide eyes, partially open mouth, disbelief on his beautiful face.
“Chris,” you chide gently. “You were wonderful that weekend. You know that, right?”
“I…” His face is more red than pink now. “I thought it was good. But it’s been months since. I just wanted you to feel better about yourself and…your life..” He leans again against the table. “You went out, right?”
“On dates?”
“Yes. On dates.”
“Three.”
He groans. “Three?”
“I did dating apps, Chris. I tried,” you explain. “I hate apps, by the way. And I went out with the lowest expectations I possibly could, and they still disappointed. They weren’t you.”
Shit. You didn’t even have liquor to loosen your tongue like this.
“That’s hardly fair. I got an interview and thoroughly written questionnaire before I met you. Of course these guys wouldn’t…wouldn’t know.”
“Are you defending them?” You’re laughing now. “Defending the one that asked me what positions I prefer? Once we were halfway through the meal?”
He groans again. “He didn’t.”
“He did. Another decided that I used too big of words and told me I was patronizing him, except he didn’t use that word because apparently that’s too big.”
“It’s fun to learn new things.”
“And the last one never asked me a single question, except at the end ‘his place or mine?’”
He curses low. “I’m sorry for my gender.”
“So you see…” You fiddle with your knife. “Of course I missed you. How could I not?”
“You’re…You’re a lot bolder now than then.”
You’d like to think so. Whether it was because of Chris or not, you’ve spent these months trying to do better for yourself. Not just the dates, pitiful as they were, but even how you talked to yourself. Maybe your college counselor was right. Saying nice things about yourself did help.
You shrug. “Well, I figure. There’s some things I regret that I didn’t say to you back then. And I’d rather say them and be embarrassed than not say them.”
He reaches for your hand as you continue to toy with the knife. You still at his touch.
"I…” he pauses. “There are things I want to say too.” He takes a breath like he might begin right then, but then shakes his head. “Not here.” He looks around. “It’s…not here.” He sits back. “But…I missed you too.”
The very idea that you would enter his thoughts in the months that have passed, with the work he does (or did) sends your brain and heart into a dangerous realm of hope. Of anticipation. Of daydreaming when you know that daydreaming tends to sadden you in the end.
“Good,” you reply, going back to your meal. He chuckles at that, returning to his steak as well. Conversation veers from possible too-deep topics to his pilot and his experience in filming it. He tells you stories about the cocky male lead (replaced early in filming), the sweet kids that film with him who call him Uncle Chris, and the director of photography lets him (Chris) shadow and gives him short breakdowns of how something is shot. It’s so fun to listen to him, watch his animated hand gestures and ever-changing face.
"Come on," he says when you're both finished with the food. You're surprised that he doesn't want to look at the dessert menu, but you forget that thought the moment he takes your hand in his as you both leave the restaurant. "Wanna walk a bit?"
"Sure." Like you'd do anything to cut short your time with him. You glance over at his profile multiple times as he leads you down the sidewalks and across busy streets. The quiet is getting to you, but he looks thoughtful, like something is going on in his head.
So you wait.
It takes you several moments to realize that you're in a park and there's a bench.
And it's familiar.
"You said you lived in the city…" you begin as he sits down, tugging you next to him. "I thought maybe you'd done research beforehand."
"I live on the other side of the city. So, yes, some research." He doesn't let go of your hand, but turns so he faces you. "But filming will be mostly on this side."
"Oh?" You look from his and your hands to his face. His brow is furrowed.
"Yeah, actually. I have to look for something temporary so I'm not making that trek home every night." He presses his lips together, thinking. "I…I won't be working all day or every day. I'm sort of a secondary role." He meets your eyes. "Would it be okay to meet up with you on days that I'm here? Like if I have a half-day or something, I can take you to dinner again…or something?"
You hear his words, but they don't make sense. Like you speak the same language he does, but right now it feels like nothing is computing.
"You want to see me again?"
He squeezes your hand, leaning toward you more. "Yes."
"Like…a date?"
His smile grows at your question. "Yeah."
The same smile fades when you don't say anything.
"Look, I get that what I used to do, what you know me from is a bit weird, and though legal, kind of on the outside of normal, and maybe that's too much for you and I would get it. I thought about you so much since we said goodbye. Not even like, what we did, but just how you were. Something would happen, good or bad, or hilarious and I wanted to talk to you about it. I wanted to know if you thought of me…" he trails off, face bright red. "It's okay if it's too weird for you."
"I thought of you every day."
"You did?"
"Yes." Now it's your turn to feel flushed and warm from embarrassment. "And not just…sex, though that too."
He chuckles and you can't blame him.
"I would love to see you. As often as you can, really." You gesture blindly to the quiet trees. "I told you I missed you."
"I missed you, too." He moves even closer, with little space separating your noses. "I like you. I feel like I never really said that. I couldn't truthfully. But I did. Do. The moment we started talking. I liked you so much."
It hard to believe. Hard to accept, to hear and absorb. But he's not on the clock right now. He's here. Looking at you with those stunning brown eyes that entreat you to believe.
"I like you too."
His smile could rival the sun. "I hoped so."
"I mean, when you can, with your filming, I'd love to see you."
"Okay." He looks at you for long enough that you think maybe, maybe, you might be kissed. You might—
"But…" he starts and you straighten up immediately, tugging your hands from his. "I have to tell you about some stuff." He looks up at the sky, still dusk with a few stars making their appearance. "This is…not the moment by any means, but I need to explain why…" He meets your very worried gaze. "Why I can't go home with you tonight."
You know you're flustered and stuttering: "I didn't, like assume…"
He says your name, takes your hands in his again so carefully. "I want to. I would…but…" he turns away from you a bit, one hand still linked with yours. "There's an exit process with The Company."
"How long ago did you quit?"
He laughs, almost without humor. "Last week." He leans back against the bench and heaves a sigh. "My last job with them was a month ago…anyway, There's a process. like…therapy…counseling."
"Really?"
He glances over at you. "It doesn't weird you out?"
"I am never bothered by therapy. I think we all should have it."
He laughs again, this time more genuinely. "There's a lot to work through. I mean…sex for a job is…different." He's staring out into the space in front of him but you don't think he's really looking at anything. "I haven't been in a relationship pretty much since I started. I haven't had sex that wasn't paid for in…" He takes a deep breath. "Years."
"Wow."
"So, they…my exit counselor recommends not being intimate until well, we work through all that."
"So…"
He tightens his hold on your hand. "So I'm kinda defying her, my counselor right now? Like, I'm not supposed to even attempt a relationship right now, but…" He cups your cheek in his other hand. "I didn't want to wait. To talk to you. To see you. I just…we can't do a lot for awhile."
"Okay."
He blinks. "Just like that?"
"I told you it wasn't just sex with you that made me like you. I don't fantasize about…well, not only that."
He rests his forehead against yours, trying not to giggle and failing miserably.
"I remember ice cream, and playing with dogs, and going to the bookstore and the diner…and it was all wonderful, Chris. And that was just you."
"Mostly."
You lift your head to meet his eyes. "Mostly?"
"Tonight has been strange for me. I usually know what to say, how to say it. What to do. I study my client before I meet them. I learn what I can. I go in prepared. And, yeah, I knew you six months ago. But a lot can happen in six months. So, I'm not sure what I'm doing."
You smooth the lines from his forehead, and draw your finger down his nose. "Well then…I'm looking forward to learning more about you, like this."
He smiles shyly. "Really?"
"Really."
His eyes drop to your lips. "I want to kiss you, but I'm already breaking a big rule…" He pulls away. "I"m sorry."
"You absolutely do not have to be sorry. I think this whole thing, the exit process, sounds healthy. You are going to tell them about me…us?"
"Yeah. I'm not really good at lying to her." His eyes are wide. "You…are really okay with all this? I don't know how long it'll be until we can…"
"Chris." You beam at him. "I thought I would never see you again. Any time I get to spend with you, in any way, is more than I thought I'd get. So I'm happy."
He tugs you close for a hug, tight and warm. "Okay, okay, then. We're doing this."
"Absolutely we are."
—
It's not immediate, not only because of his therapist's decrees, but his work schedule as well. That first month, you see him only two times. He's deeply apologetic about the lack of in person contact, but you dismiss his 'sorrys' and say that you love seeing his messages in between pointless work meetings.
"Really?" he says before yawning through the phone. You're already tucked into bed, pillows propped at your back and an open book laying next to you. "I always send them then see the billion mistakes after."
"Chris…you think I care about that?"
"It's your job."
"Which means I'm less likely to care when the man I think about all the time messages me despite being on set for so many hours a day."
"All the time, huh?"
"Concerningly so."
His laugh, even through a phone, is the best sound. "Unless there's last minute changes, I could come out next Wednesday? For a late lunch?"
"I'd love that."
"Me too."
--
It's the second month that Chris admits that his therapist wants to speak with you. You feel oddly like you've been called to the principal's office when you get that phone call.
Turns out, his therapist thinks you're great.
"I was not pleased that he sought you out right after quitting The Company, but I gotta say, I think you're really good for him."
Praise from a therapist? It's like a huge gold star.
After thanking her, incredibly flustered, you ask, "Is there anything specific I can do, or not do to help him?"
"He's so used to fulfilling someone else's projection or idea of him. He twists himself into knots to be exactly that. My goal is to get him just to be himself. In all of his life. Other than healthy relationship expectations, just let him muddle through?"
"Sure. Anything else?"
"He asks every session when he can kiss you. I'd rather you lead that."
So here you are, walking hand in hand with him after seeing one of his friends, Jisung, perform spoken word poetry at an open mic night. There were drinks after (for you and Jisung as Chris made a face when trying your sidecar cocktail), a lot of embarrassing stories about Chris courtesy of his friend and now after Jisung has bid you both goodbye, you're walking along the street toward your apartment.
"He's very talented."
"Annoyingly so," Chris replies, watching as the stars start to come out. "You had a good time, though?"
You slow down and wait for him to stop and turn to you. "Of course I did."
He smiles bashfully.
"You're good at this whole dating thing, Christopher."
You don't need much light to know he's blushing. "Ah, well…I'm trying." He rubs the back of his neck. "You too, you know. For saying you don't do it all that much."
"Well…" you draw out the 'L,' stepping closer to him. "I had a feeling, just a hunch really, that if I ever went out with someone I really liked, dating wouldn't quite be as terrifying." You tilt your head up to look at him with fondness. "Turns out I was right."
"You're just so smart."
"Obviously." You're putting on a good facade right now. Yes, you're happy to be with him, but you're also debating if this is a good time. You don't want to push him in any way that isn't healthy.
You're nervous, in a good way.
He nuzzles immediately when you place a hand on his cheek. All your life, you wondered what you'd want in a partner, hoping that affectionate would be on the list. You still can't believe how down for cuddles Chris is, pretty much all the time.
As he makes eye contact, his eyes widen when he sees how close you are. His lips part, your name a whisper.
It's soft, your first kiss since so many months ago. He doesn't stop you, or turn away, or even say anything in protest. It's barely a kiss, a light graze of lips. You settle back on your heels, watching him carefully. His eyes are closed before the flutter open.
Before he says anything or questions, you hurriedly explain what his therapist said and that if you crossed any boundaries, you're sorry. You thought it was the right time.
He kisses you back.
Grabs you by the hips, pulls you in and kisses the hell out of you. Your brain shuts off as he holds you so firmly, mouth destroying yours. You're two seconds away from turning into goo.
"Chris," you murmur, pushing slightly on his chest. "Where's the fire?"
He breaks away, breath short. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just…we don't have to rush." You run your hand through his hair, following the curls at the end.
He rests his forehead against mine, his breathing still heavy. "I know, I know…I've just…god, I've missed kissing."
"Really?"
"Really." He seems to think you need convincing so you get another kiss. This one softer and slower. One hand slides to your ass.
"Chris…we have to take this slow."
"This is slow." He's grinning at you as you try to chastise him, but you're smiling too. "I'm moving at a tortoise's pace."
You kiss his nose. "Cute, but we're gonna follow the rules."
He pouts and you kiss him again, which you'd say you regret when he presses you to the side of a building, all tension and muscles flush against you. He feels so good.
He breaks away, but keeps his hand on your neck, warm and protective. "We don't have to…"
"I do not want your therapist to think badly of me. I like that she likes me."
"Such a good girl," he murmurs before kissing you again and then fully drawing away. "Right, so I guess…I take you home and see you in a couple days?"
You hug him, face smashed against his chest. "Until next date."
--
In the third month, you and Chris have your first proper argument. It doesn't help that he's exhausted from a particularly grueling filming week and you had to pull overtime because certain supervisors cannot get things done in a timely manner, leaving you to polish everything very last minute.
"Just because it's steady doesn't mean you should stay," he mutters, his words biting. "You're not happy there."
"Oh, so just leave the job I've been at for ten years because what…some publisher will hire me without any publishing experience?"
"At least it's worth a try!" He walks away, hands shoved through his hair.
"Sorry I'm not a risk-taker. You knew that when you met me."
He looks over, eyes fiery. "Says the woman who hired me."
You plop down on your sofa and cover your face.
It's quiet and he comes over and sits next to you after several minutes.
"I know you're right. I'm just—"
"It's your life, yeonin. I shouldn't have—"
You let your head fall to his shoulder. "No. That's not how this works. I want your thoughts, your say, your influence in my life. It…it was just a bad week."
He kisses the top of your head. "It was." Another few minutes of listening to the other breathe. "Still sorry."
"Me too."
He tilts your face to his, kissing you. "Wanna go get pastries before the bakery closes?"
"Absolutely."
When you see Chris's set up for his temporary apartment, on this side of town, lodging, you are aghast.
"It's spartan."
"I don't need much…just a place to crash."
You're shaking your head even before he finishes his sentence. "Nope. I have an extra room. You can stay at mine."
"What?"
You lift his duffel bag onto the cot-like bed. "We'd have to share a bathroom, but it wouldn't be the first time."
When he doesn't say anything, you look over at him, still in the doorway.
"Do you not want to?"
"Of course I do, but…isn't that…a bit rushed for us?"
Your face heats up immediately at the implication. "I mean…oh god, I just meant that you can stay in the spare room. I wasn't like…implying we should properly move in…"
There was still no sex per his therapist.
"I'd pay you rent."
"Chris."
"I'd pay you rent."
"Fine. Now let's cancel your lease here and go back to mine."
When he kisses you that night outside your bedroom door, it takes everything in you not to pull him into the room.
--
In the fourth month:
"You look tired," you say, pushing his hair out of his eyes. It's Saturday and he'd stumbled in from filming at probably one am or so. The door to the spare bedroom remains shut until lunch time when he comes out, hair a mess and plops down next to you.
"You know just what to say to a guy." He lays down with his head on your lap. You comb your fingers through his hair as you put down the book you were reading. "I have my appointment later…but do you want to do takeaway tonight?"
"Sounds good." You trace his ear idly. "I have an interview on Monday."
He pops up. "For?"
"Just a proofreader for a small publisher, so nothing—" You don't finish because he has hugged you so tightly, there's no air to continue speaking.
"That's awesome. Forget takeaway, we should go out to celebrate."
"It's only an interview…and I like takeaway," you say once he released his death grip on you.
"But—" He pouts and you lean over to kiss his protruding lower lip. "Fine."
He rummages in your kitchen for lunch before disappearing to the bathroom for a shower and then bedroom to change. You get a glimpse of him in a towel and it's enough for you to wish and want and remember.
You do not begrudge The Company's exit process and desperately want Chris to feel safe and healthy, but that doesn't mean that the last four months have been easy. Once kissing was 'allowed', the two of you evolved (or devolved) into teenagers who try and do everything but what's not allowed. Not even that far, really. But you both push the boundary.
When he gets back after his appointment, you are still in stretchy pants and a sweatshirt, cleaning the kitchen. You turn at the sound of the door.
"Starving," you say as greeting. When he doesn't answer, you look over and see him, bags in hand, the door open still. "Chris?"
He shakes his head a bit, like he was in a fog before walking over to you with the takeaway bags.
"Sorry…I…" he stare at you for a few moments. Enough to make you wonder if you have dust or something on your face. "You good?"
"Yeah, I'm alright. You?"
He nods and starts taking out the boxes of knife-cut noodles from your favorite place in the city. He's quiet for dinner, eyes going unfocused, making eye contact with you only to look away. There's the rubbing the back of his neck, head; messing up his hair (recently trimmed, but you're so grateful to the makeup people on his show for wanting him to keep the longer locks). His fingers tap on the arm of your sofa, his leg, your thigh.
You recognize the signs of his nerves by this stage in your relationship, but you also wish he would feel comfortable enough to bring it up. He still seems to worry about you over himself, and you know that's probably a long time of therapy to help him temper his people-pleasing traits.
You're barely paying attention to what's playing on the television, and you can't imagine he is. He's eaten some, but again, his attention is lost somewhere else entirely.
"Was today's session good?"
His eyes snap to yours. "Whhh— why do you ask?"
"Christopher. Something is going on. You don't have to tell me. I'm just checking that you are okay."
"I'm okay."
You are not convinced by any means. His back is ramrod straight, and there's several feet between the two of you on the couch. He's as touchy as you are, possibly more so. There has rarely been a time that you two have been together where one of you isn't touching the other.
Your curiosity is intense, and some worry. But you know the kind of emotional and mental hangover that can occur after a therapy session. So you wait.
It takes another scene or two on the television for him to speak.
"She gave me permission."
"Permission?" You turn toward him, finished with your takeaway, and curled up in a fuzzy blanket.
He swallows, eyes on you. "Permission."
It shouldn't take that long for you to put two and two together.
Permission. To make the relationship fully physical.
Sex.
You can't say you hadn't imagined it a million times since seeing Chris again. How it would go, what would happen.
Him staring at you, not unlike the proverbial deer in headlights, was not a scenario you foresaw.
"Okay," you reply as casually as you can. "That's good, right?"
"It's brilliant," he breathes. "I think not having sex for as long as its been has rewired my brain into thinking about it all the time. Like I'm sixteen again." He inhales and exhales deeply. "And I'm terrified."
You instinctively move closer to him, hand to rest on his knee. "Terrified, why?"
"It's you. It's us. It matters, not that it didn't before, but it mattered because of employment and me wanting to always do a good job for the client. Now…it matters because…" He trails off, eyes finally leaving you to look at his lap. "Because of how much I care about you. "
It's difficult not to tear up at that. How you went from resigning yourself to having sex only because you paid for it, a belief that you can't be like others and have someone who walks beside you, to now be with Chris for four months, ups and downs, but so unbelievably joyful to get to be with him.
"I think that's a really good thing," you say gently.
"It is…I just…I don't know how to go about this. When I worked…I knew the rules, the moves, the words ."
"You said the same about our first date. And here we are, you've been amazing."
Cue the red cheeks and ears.
"Thanks," he mutters before looking back at you. "I haven't been able to think about anything else since she said something about it in our session."
You try not to laugh at his pained expression. He's clearly embarrassed and insecure, but you adore this man. Because you remember his confidence, nary a slip in his armor when you met him. The man you met is still that man, you are just lucky enough to see his other facets; a prism you've now spent enough time with to catch most of the angles.
"Ruminating? Spiraling? Or fantasizing?" you ask, eyes careful and steady.
"All of the above?"
You lean over, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "That's okay."
He turns his head, kissing you back. It takes moments, not even a minute before he's pulled you onto his lap, one hand up the back of your shirt and the other cradling your face. When you rock into him, you both freeze at the groan he lets out (you also made a noise, but infinitely quieter than his).
He whispers your name, "please."
"Please what?" you ask just as softly. "What do you want?"
His eyes flutter open, looking up at you. "Can we?"
"I thought you were all about stating what you want clearly." You want as much as he does, but you can't help but tease. You grind on him to add to the teasing.
He rests his forehead against your collarbone, another groan at the friction. "I am not going to last long, yeonin. I'm so fucking hard right now that if you do that again, I'm gonna come in my pants."
"Is that a problem?"
He raises his head to glare at you. "Yes, it fucking is."
It's fun when he's cursing up a storm like this.
You slide your fingers through his hair, watching as his eyes close again. "It's not, you know." You start to roll again and he moves so fast, so you're flat on your back and laughing at his chagrined face.
He kisses to get you to stop laughing, not that it really works, but having him lay on top of you, mouth working furiously on your mouth, your neck, and your shoulder moves you eventually from giggling into outright whimpering. His hand sneaks into your pants and you jolt from the contact, even with your underwear in the way.
"Chris, you don't have to—"
"Yeah, I do," he mutters against your skin, fingers tucking under the fabric of your underwear. You shudder. "You first, baby."
You grab his wrist, which takes whatever brain power you have left, and tug him away. He lifts his head to stare at you, shocked.
"What are you doing?"
You force yourself to sit up, pushing on his shoulders to do the same. It takes a couple minutes for him to understand, but soon positions are reversed with you on top and him on his back, cushioned on your sofa.
"You first," you state calmly, despite a bout of nerves. He starts to protest (of course he does), but you tug down his pants and boxers. He springs free and you lean down to kiss his mouth, before getting rid of your own bottoms.
"I won't last," he says again, panting as you take him in hand and ease yourself down.
"That's okay," you reply, dazed at how full you feel. It takes a moment to adjust before you lift yourself and slide down again. He groans, his fingers digging into your hips. "Baby…just let go."
You and he barely get a proper rhythm going before he does just that. He stutters apologies as he comes but you kiss them away. The apartment is quiet but for the television and his breathing.
It's…so domestic, it hurts in the best way.
"No 'sorrys', Chris," you whisper as he shakily pushes himself up to his elbows. You kiss him again before climbing off. You start to reassure him when you realize that having sex without a condom changes a major thing. "Oh…well…"
He starts laughing before picking you up, princess-style.
"I can walk—"
"And I can carry you," he interrupts, plopping you into the shower. "Arms up." He pulls off your top before ridding himself of his remaining clothes. You stand awkwardly, dripping cum and when he turns on the shower, you shriek at the cold water, hands out to block some of it.
He's chuckling as he enters, standing in front of you while the icy spray hits him instead. "Fuck that is cold." He shivers once, but the water starts to heat and he maneuvers you back under the water. "Better?" He soaps up the loofah and begins at your shoulders and arms, breasts before cleaning carefully between your legs. Before he can turn you around, you raise up on the balls of your feet to kiss him squarely on the mouth. He hums against your lips, his arms wrapping around you tight. He rubs the loofah down your back, mouth still on yours.
"My turn?" you ask, cleaning him thoroughly because you still enjoy his 'curves', arms, shoulders, ass. You don't say anything, but you do notice that his refractory time is…short.
After tying a towel around his waist, he follows you into your bedroom and lays down beside you, hand inching across the duvet to tug on the edge of the towel tucked and wrapped around you.
"Christopher…"
"Don't even act like you don't want me eat you out," he says, grinning when you cover your face. "You can't be embarrassed. You aren't the one who just orgasmed in like three minutes."
You roll to your side, facing him. "There's no rush, right? Someone told me that once."
He scoots closer, nose touching yours. "Cheeky." He kisses you, rendering you brain-hazy. He rids you of the towel, fingers seeking where you made him abandon minutes ago. You gasp before he lifts your legs over his shoulders and reminds you that it might be months since his last job for The Company, but he's still really good.
You can't make fun (not that you would) at his quick release earlier when you're coming within a few minutes.
"God, we're both easy tonight," you breathe when you can speak again. He's lying next to you, chuckling at your words. You pull at his towel.
"No rush?"
"Fucks sake Chris…"
You wonder if other couples laugh as much as the two of you, especially in bed. He's giggling when you finally get the towel off of him. He smiles softly as you let your hands follow along the lines of him.
"It's not like I forgot," you breathe, kissing his collarbone, "you're still so gorgeous."
He looks away, and it's a mark in his therapist's (and yours, you hope) favor that he doesn't say anything about his body now that his job and his life are different. You prefer this version; healthy and happy.
You kiss his mouth gently before lining him up at your entrance. He pulls you close, hands hot on your waist and arm before he slides into you. His forehead meets yours.
"You know we'll need another shower after this."
"And a change of sheets," you murmur, kissing his face. He can't not smile. "Easy enough, we'll move to your bed."
He draws back and thrusts, and you moan, clenching around him. He continues, fingers on your clit. You're so dizzy with how good he feels that you don't think about it until later, but it is different. He is different. Maybe you both are, but sex is more now. All those months ago, you enjoyed every minute of being with him. You liked him, within minutes of meeting him.
The sex was good, life-changing in its own way back then.
But now, after knowing Chris on a level you couldn't have even fantasized about that weekend, sex is more.
More connected, more intimate, more loving.
He's quieter, murmuring praise, but you think he gets lost in the moment, in how you feel around him.
"Yeonin," he whispers, breath harsh and short. "I can't…"
"Go on," you say back, uncaring that you aren't there yet. You can see the worry, but you clench again, hips moving to help him along and he shudders, collapsing against you. You snuggle into him, inhaling his scent of sweat and body wash.
His breathing slows and he lifts his head to look at you, eyes glossy and adoring.
"You good?" you ask, laughing. He kisses you, fumbling, but you jump when his fingers are back at it, escalating you to soon break and tremble in his arms. He holds you tight as you do, pressing kisses in your hair, your temple.
"Very good," he answers your question. You stare at him, unwilling to move. He bumps noses with you. "What're you thinking?"
"Mostly thinking about high-fiving past me for deciding to hire someone to have sex with."
He rolls his eyes, snorting. His hands rub up and down your back.
"You?"
"Not looking forward to telling my therapist about all this…I've told her so much, but this…" He glances down at your bodies, still entwined, then back to you. "This is private."
You kiss him quick. "You tell her whatever you're comfortable with." You smooth his hair back. "I know I said we should move to your bed, but I'm thinking I wanna stay here."
"Sure."
"In our bed." Is it too soon to say things like that? Maybe. But it feels right.
He blinks a couple times, staring at you. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. If you want."
"I want. I always want," he mutters, pulling you against his chest. "Wanna high-five past you as well."
You laugh, but he covers your mouth with his, pulling you on top of him. You stare down at him, stupidly enamored.
"I love you." Too soon? You don't care.
It's the same expression from when you said 'our bed'. Eyes wide, shocked, and disbelieving. But the soft smile that stretches his lips is adorable.
hiiii i have a request plss. can it be a stray kids one? their reactions when she comes without permission in bed and is being bratty the whole time? you don't have to do it if your not comfortable i will totally understand! no pressure and take your time! tyyyy 🫶 (also, lee know is my bias so if you could just zoom in on his reactions a little more that would be awesome) tyyyyyy.
How would the boys react to you finishing without permission?
Thank you for the ask! I’m doing things a little out of order, but I’ve had some good requests, so I’m going to try to get to some of them.
Please excuse any time it takes me to write; I’m currently becoming a victim of the fanfic writer curse. Again.
word count: 1.6k
warnings: brat taming, light choking, spanking, rough handling (manhandling?), mean!skz, degradation, they are rather impolite
One of the unspoken agreements between you and your boyfriend was that if you acted like a brat, you got treated like one. And today, you acted out of line all day. Rolling your eyes, ignoring him, testing him.
His patience had run out. By the third time you bet him he couldn’t make you cum before him, he was fuming.
“Alright, then.” His voice was quiet, but commanding. Your stomach dropped. You knew what was coming.
So really, you can’t blame him for the situation you’re in now! Leaned over the bed, him jackhammering into you and making your head fuzzy. He had left any regard for your body behind.
And, god, it felt good.
Your body felt light, the rubber band in your stomach tightening more and more against his relentless attack on that spot that made you see stars. You knew you weren’t supposed to give in.
You knew you had to behave, but before you could stop yourself, you were squeezing him like a vice and whimpering his name into the bed.
Chan’s first reaction was to tighten his grip on your hips. After a moment of surprise, he cocked his head to the side. He pulled your head back by your hair, craning your neck to make eye contact with him.
“Did I give you any sign that you could cum without my permission?” His voice was low, menacing.
“No, sir.” You stuttered, still breathless from your orgasm. He smiled a little bit at that, seeming to find your answer incredulous.
“That’s what I thought. Well, now we’ve gotta keep it going, huh?” His voice sounded playful.
Oh, shit.
He was going to overstimulate you until you couldn’t feel your legs.
Your eyes widened as the weight of your own actions hit you, and he saw it on your face. His reaction was to shove your face down into the bed by your hair, giving you a harsh smack on your thigh.
The moment you squeezed around him and whimpered lowly, he froze. His eyebrow rose, and a smirk spread across his face. You were trying to keep your legs still, to see if you could get away with what you had just done.
You knew you wouldn’t be able to when you heard a low chuckle behind you, a mix of disbelief and condescension. Your head fell into the bed with disappointment as he pulled out of you. Every move was too slow, and you were still eager.
But you weren’t allowed to be eager anymore. He stood behind you for just a moment before flipping you over and pulling you by the ankle until you were flush together, and his painfully hard dick was lying against your stomach.
“You said you would be good.” His smirk was humiliating. You knew you’d fucked up.
“I–”, you started to speak, but before you could get the sentence out, his hand was around your throat.
“Let’s put this mouth to better use than lying, yeah?” His chin tilted up, and he made eye contact with a quiet dominance that put you right in place.
“Don’t worry, you’ll look even prettier when you’re ruined.”
At first, he seems like he doesn’t notice. His hesitation to stop gave you a false sense of security, one that he quickly pulled away.
You knew by a sharp smack on your ass and then the feeling of his hand moving to your back. Your mind stalled with confusion until his fist pushed your spine down to manually arch your back. With him still inside you.
“You tease and joke all day, but when the consequences come, you really can’t handle it at all, can you?” You hear the grit in his voice, and you whimper with the new position he’s got you in. He’s pressing right into you, the arch in your back just pushing him deeper.
He slowly starts to pull out, and a short moment of disappointment hits you. Suddenly, he slams into you, and your arms falter. Your face hits the comforter, and he starts pistoning into you at speeds that make your mouth fall open.
“Act like a brat, get treated like one. You knew that. Now take what you knew was coming.”
Hyunjin tends to be a lover, not a tamer. But you knew what you were getting into when you bothered him all day. Teasing him at the mall, making fun of him in front of your mutual friends, it was only expected that he’d punish you.
But you didn’t expect him to completely pull out and away from you when you came unexpectedly. His knees rested on the bed behind you, and he sighed.
“You still can’t behave, can you?” You turned to look at him, and he just shook his head. Whenever he got like this, your body usually betrayed you. You wanted to be good so bad. He knew it.
He moved to position himself at the headboard and simply patted his thigh twice. You moved towards him slowly, settling on top of his lap.
His head tilted as he looked up to you, and a small smile settled on his face.
His hips only stuttered for a second. He groaned at the feeling of you gushing around him, but he was quick to furrow his brows together.
“All that acting up, just to fall apart when I finally get you alone.” His voice is almost small as he stuck his eyes to where you connected. Without much pause, he leaned over your body so that his lips were next to your ear.
“How many more can you give me, now?” His breath tickled the shell of your ear, and your chest shuddered with anticipation.
He started to hammer into you without much regard for the bed creaking or your pathetic whimpers. It wasn’t long before you were shuddering around his dick again, collapsing into the mattress.
A muffled groan of “too much” left your lips, and he smirked behind you.
Felix didn’t get angry often. You knew better than to push his buttons, but every now and then, you wanted him to get rough with you.
You didn’t expect rough to be denying you again and again. Every time you even got a little close, he stopped completely, leaving you to squeeze around his little bit of stimulation.
So, it’s surprising you were able to cum without permission at all. But he knew, immediately. He understood your body like nothing else, so he just stilled inside you through your high, simply feeling the frantic tightening of your walls.
When it calmed down, he leaned over you.
“Would you like to tell me when I said you could cum?”
“You–you didn’t.” Your words were breathy and uneven, and you squeezed your eyes in anticipation of the punishment.
“That’s right. Do you know what happens when you cum without permission?” Your head shook slightly into the blankets. You felt his fingers circle around and press to your clit.
As soon as he felt you spasm around him, he pulled out and flipped you over onto your back. Your widened eyes met his, and you started shaking your head, almost trying to pull away.
His eyebrows rose, and he started shaking his head along with you mockingly.
“What, you don’t want the consequences of your own actions?” He smiled, looking like sin in the low lighting of your bedroom. “Okay… what do you say?”
Your words started tumbling out of your mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to– Min, please– I’ll do anything.”
“Anything?” You froze a little bit at his clipped answer and met his eyes again. As you nodded, he grinned at you and pulled your legs over his shoulder. He slid back into you with a maddeningly slow pace. He was pushed right up into that spot that made your mouth fall open every time.
“Then take whatever I give you. Don’t make the same mistake twice.”
The thing with Jeongin is that even if you cum, he’s not stopping. You weren’t allowed to cum, you knew that. So when you do, he stutters for just a moment and then starts thrusting into you impossibly faster.
You don’t get to be sensitive, not when you knew the rules and broke them anyway.
“If you can’t control yourself–” You were pressing choked moans into the pillow, but he continued muttering and hammering into you. “--then I’ll just have to treat you like the slut you are.”
You moaned loudly at his words, but he didn’t even slow his movement.
“Squeezing around me so hard, you want me to be mean, huh?” You could practically feel his foxy smile behind you. You nodded, face down on the pillow.
hello! could i request some lovey dovey hurt/comfort where reader goes into subdrop, with jeongin or seungmin please
drabble | the drop after the high
pairing: seungmin x reader
genre: comfort
warnings: subdrop, implied!sex, implied!dom!seungmin, author that has never had sex...
word count: 500
masterlist: A-Side (texts) | B-Side (written) | Special EP (events)
The sheets were a tangled mess beneath you, every nerve in your body humming like an overstretched string. Seungmin hovered above you, chest heaving, his dark eyes soft despite the intensity still lingering in his gaze. He leaned down, brushing a tender kiss against your temple, so gentle, such a contrast to the sharp, commanding tone he’d used only moments before.
You let out a shaky laugh, trying to steady yourself, but the sound caught in your throat. Your body still burned in the best ways, but the warmth of it began to drain too quickly, replaced by a hollow ache that left you trembling.
Seungmin didn’t move away, even as he pulled the blanket up to cover your bare skin. His hand found yours under the covers, lacing your fingers together. He pressed them to his lips like a vow.
“You did so well,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. “So perfect for me.”
That should have calmed you. Instead, your chest tightened, and a rush of tears prickled behind your eyes. It hit you suddenly, the weight, the vulnerability, and the fragile little voice.
It's not enough? Not right?
You tried to swallow it down, but Seungmin felt the way your body stiffened, the tremor that rippled through your hand in his. He shifted immediately, rolling onto his side and pulling you against his chest.
“Hey,” he coaxed softly, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “What’s happening, pup?”
You shook your head, tears threatening to spill. “I don’t know… I just…” Your voice cracked. “I feel really… Empty.”
The words tumbled out broken, humiliating, but Seungmin only tightened his hold, tucking your face against his chest so you could hear the steady rhythm of his heart. His other hand slipped into your hair, stroking slowly, grounding you.
“Shh, pup. That’s okay,” he whispered, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “That’s just a drop. Your body gave me everything, and now it’s looking for balance again. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
The dam broke. Hot tears spilled across his skin as you clutched at him, sobs muffled against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” you hiccuped, voice trembling. “I shouldn’t…”
“Stop,” he interrupted gently but firmly, tilting your chin up with careful fingers. His gaze was unwavering, soft but serious. “You don’t ever apologize for this. You trust me enough to fall apart, and I’m honored to hold you through it.”
His lips pressed against your damp cheek, then your temple, each kiss tender, deliberate. He whispered between them, each word an anchor pulling you back to solid ground.
The sharp edge of panic dulled with every repetition, until your sobs melted into quiet sniffles. Seungmin tucked the blankets tighter around you, cocooning you against him. He shifted just enough to guide your legs over his, wrapping you completely in his embrace.
“Breathe with me,” he murmured, chest rising and falling slowly. You followed, shaky at first, then steadier with each inhale, each exhale.
He kept whispering soft things in your ear, his voice a lullaby of warmth. “That’s it. Good. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
Your body relaxed gradually, exhaustion pulling at your eyelids now that the worst had passed. Seungmin noticed, of course, he always did. He kissed your forehead once more, lingering there as he whispered the last words you heard before sleep claimed you.
dad!skz series | when he's leaving for tour (maknae line)
ot8 reactions | dad!skz x f!reader au
genre: crack | fluff | light angst (just in case bc of baby separation!)
summary: when leaving for tour for the first time since you're parents is harder than he expected
hyung line | ✧ maknae line
han (8 months old bbg)
you really think he’s joking.
but then you walk into the bedroom and your 8 month old daughter is asleep inside his duffel bag.
like. inside.
“jisung. what the actual hell.”
“she fits!!” he whisper yells, crouched beside the open luggage. his eyes are wild. his logic is worse. “look at her! snug like a little croissant! she didn’t even wake up! that’s elite travel baby behavior!”
you’re too stunned to speak.
not because your child is literally inside a carry on. but because the bottom is lined with her favorite blanket. and three plushies. and a mini neck pillow.
“you were gonna zip her up? and just...what? carry her through incheon like a pair of socks?!”
“no” he scowls like you’re the unreasonable one. “obviously i was gonna poke a breathing hole. i’m not a monster.”
you blink. she yawns in the bag. he gasps
“see?! she wants to come! baby, do you wanna come with appa on tour?” he coos, leaning down and baby talking into the duffel like a lunatic“you wanna hear appa sing ‘topline’ live? be our tiny ninth member? help me do my makeup backstage with your tiny fists”
you sigh and cross the room, gently lifting her out of the duffel bag. she immediately clings to your shirt and whimpers softly.
your baby sneezes. he tears up instantly. “oh my god she’s already catching emotional sickness from me i knew this would happen”
“babe” you step forward and rest a hand on his shoulder. his face crumples “i love you” you say gently “you’re insane. but i love you.”
“i can’t leave her” he sniffles “10 days is like… a year in baby time. what if she learns to moonwalk while i’m gone? what if she eats a lemon and makes a tiktok face and i miss it?!”
“relax, she’s not even a year old”
“which is why she needs to see me in 4k hd facetime every hour.”
“and she will. we'll call everyday”
he pauses. sighs “…can you record her poops for me too?”
you start walking out “goodbye.”
“WAIT WAIT OKAY JUST VOICE MEMOS OF HER FARTS—”
you close the door on him mid plea.
later when it's time to leave, he’s quiet by the door. hoodie over his head, duffel bag on his shoulder (without a baby inside this time), passport barely hanging out of his pocket. you’re holding the baby on your hip, her cheek squished against your collarbone
he just stares.
“you okay?” you ask.
he nods. then shrugs. then sniffs a little too dramatically. he sighs and leans in to kiss her forehead. then another one. then like three more. rapid fire. she lets out a sleepy little laugh
“my heart” he whispers. “i’m not strong enough for this. she’s so powerful.”
“you’re crazy.”
“i know.”
you watch him for a second before he steps closer, brushing a kiss to your cheek. then your jaw “i’ll miss you too, you know” he murmurs.
“i know” you say.
he pauses, then looks you dead in the eyes. serious “…but i’ll miss her more.”
“obviously”
“…but also your ass. and your boobs. equally.” you burst out laughing. he nods “it’s hard being a family man with needs”
“get on the van.”
he pulls you both into a final hug. he kisses your daughter’s head one more time, kisses your shoulder, then jogs backward toward the elevator “text me every five minutes!” he calls.
“absolutely not!”
“record her babbles!”
“maybe!”
“voice memo the boobs too!”
“han jisung”
the elevator closes.
felix (7 months old bbg)
you notice something’s off.
you’re just trying to put away the little pink hoodie she wore this morning. the one with the ears on the hood that makes her look like a tiny bear. you open the drawer...
and pause. it’s empty. you squint. open another drawer. then another. no socks. no baby hats. no ridiculous frilly dress you said you’d never put her in but did once for photos. all gone.
“…felix?”
“yeah?”
“what did you pack for tour?”
he pops his head into the nursery with your baby on his hip, he’s been stress cuddling her for the past thirty minutes “...just the essentials”
you narrow your eyes “define essentials”
he panics immediately “for comfort. emotional support”
you walk to your bedroom and open the duffel bag on the bed ...“you packed her entire closet”
“not all of it!”
you pull out:
-6 onesies (sizes newborn to current)
-her entire collection of baby hats
-a single tiny shoe he refuses to explain
-a literal ziploc bag of her hair from her last haircut
-her fuzzy bath towel
“felix!”
“i miss her already”
you point. “you packed her bath towel.”
“it’s the soft one!”
“you didn’t even pack pants for yourself.”
“i was busy thinking about her socks!!”
you sigh as he gently adjusts her tiny head on his shoulder. she babbles softly in her sleep, and felix looks like he’s about to cry again for the fourth time this morning.
you cup his cheeks. “babe. you’ll be gone for a week.”
“that’s a week too long.”
“you can facetime.”
“it’s not the same” he chokes, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead “she’s my twin flame.”
“she’s your daughter”
“same thing”
twenty minutes later, you finally repack his bag with his actual clothing. he doesn’t help. he just lies face down on the couch whispering “be strong, be strong” to himself while holding her sock. you hand him his hoodie. he sniffles again.
then, when the driver texts that he’s outside, he turns to you and looks destroyed. he kisses your daughter’s forehead then turns to you, teary eyed.
“…i’ll miss you too.”
“i know.”
“but i’ll miss her more.”
you nod “that’s fair.”
“…but also your boobs.”
“there it is.”
he hugs you both one last time and he kisses you. it’s soft and a little pouty and definitely lingers longer than usual
“tell her i’ll be back soon. and if she poops in her bath again, it’s okay. appa still loves her”
“i think she knows”
“also tell your boobs to think of me.”
“felix.”
“not in a weird way!! okay maybe like a little weird way”
“GO.”
he waves at the baby all the way into the car.
seungmin (1 year old bbg)
“you sure you have everything?” you ask
“yes” seungmin says flatly, zipping up his backpack
“passport? charger? socks that aren’t all the same pair?”
he gives you the most deadpan stare known to man. “yes”
“okay” you nod. “just making sure.”
“i’m fine.”
you narrow your eyes. “…i didn’t say you weren’t”
“you were thinking it”
you slowly turn your head toward the couch, where he’s already snapped at the baby monitor twice this morning for being “suspiciously silent”
to be clear: he’s ABSOLUTELY not fine.
he’s been “not fine” since 6am when he changed her diaper unnecessarily “just in case.” then he lined up all her plushies like they were his tiny soldiers and told them they have “one job. don’t let anything weird happen”
he’s still not holding his coffee. you are. because he forgot he made one. because he was too busy folding the same baby blanket three times in a row.
“you sure you’re okay?” you ask again gently, watching him lace his shoes with more aggression than necessary.
“do i look not okay?”
you look at him. his shirt is inside out “…no” you lie.
he straightens up “she’s gonna be fine. she’s not even gonna notice i’m gone.”
“right” you nod
“and she’ll forget my face in 0.2 seconds because babies are...are—”
he chokes. turns away.
“aw minnie”
“i’m fine” he says quickly, voice tight. “i planned for this. i’m emotionally mature.” you wait “why is the monitor still quiet. is she okay? go check.”
you stare “she’s napping.”
“check anyway. what if she woke up and decided she hates me?”
“oh my god.”
—
when it’s finally time to go, he walks over and gently presses a kiss to his daughter’s forehead. she stirs in her sleep but doesn’t wake.
he stares at her for a long second. then mutters “traitor.”
you snort.
“what?” he snaps.
“nothing. just grumpy seungmin being soft is always cute.”
“i’m not grumpy. i’m fine.” he opens the front door “text me if she even frowns. or sneezes weird. and also tell her to look at my photocard at least once a day. it’s in the fridge so she sees it during meals.”
you blink. “…why the fridge?”
“she likes looking in there.”
“she’s one year old.”
“she’s curious.”
you kiss his cheek. he pretends not to smile. but he does pause before leaving, looking at you like he’s memorizing your whole face.
“…i’ll miss you too” he says, voice low. “but don’t get clingy about it.”
“never.”
i.n (5 months old bbb)
“okay, you packed?” you ask, glancing at the clock. “car’s coming in ten.”
“yeah” jeongin mutters, double checking his backpack
you peek over. toothbrush. hair stuff. hoodie. airpods. and a ziplock bag labeled ‘emergency drip control’ with two baby photos inside.
“…drip control?”
“in case i get sad.”
you squint. “…these are literally just pictures of his outfits.”
“exactly.”
jeongin is currently not mourning the time apart. he’s mourning the fits.
because your baby boy is his son. and his son? does not wear socks with sandals. his son does not wear joke onesies with phrases like “i still live with my parents” in ugly fonts. his son is a fashion icon in training and jeongin has worked hard on that baby closet.
he’s already reorganized it twice this morning, muttering things like “she’s gonna put him in a minion hoodie, i just know it” and “no son of mine is leaving the house in cargo shorts with fifteen pockets and a monster truck on the butt.”
“okay, you’re spiraling” you say, watching him restack the folded baby jeans for the fourth time.
“i’m being realistic.”
you snort.
he turns slowly “what are you planning to dress him in while i’m gone?”
you blink. “clothes?”
“be specific.”
you shrug. “probably the ‘chick magnet’ onesie.”
his face does a full shutdown.
“with the...wait. with the snapback?”
“…maybe.”
he looks physically ill “you can’t keep giving him ironic 2012 frat boy energy” he pleads. “last week you put him in a tank top and tiny fake gold chain.”
“he looked cute.”
“he looked like he was gonna steal your vape”
ten minutes later, he zips up his hoodie and leans over the crib, brushing your baby’s soft little head with a sigh. he melts instantly.
“you’re gonna be so big when i get back” he whispers dramatically. “you’re gonna forget how to say ‘appa’ and start calling the cat ‘daddy’ huh?”
the baby lets out a fart in response.
“don’t let her put you in ugly shit” jeongin says seriously “stay strong.”
“he’s literally 5 months old.”
“he has standards.”
“he has a onesie that says ‘born to fart.’”
“i regret letting you shop alone.”
before he leaves, he hugs you both for a solid three minutes. he kisses your cheek, then the baby’s whole face, whispering a list of threats to anyone who tries to replace him as favorite parent.
then right before he closes the door, he points at you dramatically “no socks with sandals.”
“yes jeongin”
“no slogan onesies”
“okay jeongin.”
“and no fake tattoo sleeves.”
you gasp “i would never!”
“don't lie! i saw your last amazon order!”
“...okay but admit it. he'll look badass”
“Y/N!”
you just smile “guess what he’s wearing when we pick you up from the airport.”
his jaw drops. you close the door.
you text him the next day a pic of the baby in camo shorts, a shark bucket hat, and green socks
jeongin sends back:
🦊: i’m coming home early
🦊: you’re a menace
🦊: i should’ve packed the baby
⤷ main m.list ❟
DISCLAIMER : This blog and all related content (fics, fake texts, headcanons, imagines, etc.) are entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. I do not know Stray Kids personally, nor do I claim any of this reflects their real personalities, actions, or relationships. All characters and their personalities—including Meena King—are original creations.Please enjoy responsibly and remember : real people = real boundaries.
a/n: inspired by @hyunjinx42 (specifically this), suggested by @arestoucries
-as you sink down on his c*ck after a long day of work- @hyunjinx42
Just a short little something something to try break feed the absolute chokehold Railway Chan has us all in. Inspired by @hyunjinx42, suggested by @arestoucries. As always, smut under the cut, minors dni.
Content warnings: breeding kink, daddy kink, size kink, ancient vine references (just the one, let me know if you found, I made myself laugh and then I couldn't take it out). 1.9k
I accidentally posted this earlier today when I was still working on the draft 🤣 this is the complete version, so if you were disappointed earlier hopefully this will make up for it
T a k e a S e a t
You know exactly what Chan wants when he sits down in that chair.
Tie loosened, hair mussed, eyes dark as he looks you over like a cat eyeing the most delicious bowl of cream.
“So, you were watching me all day.”
“Of course I was watching you. It was your MV shoot.” You keep your voice light, but the intensity of his gaze is making you tingle all over. Not to mention the hint of the devil in his smile, quirking the corner of his mouth.
“Well, I was watching you too. Come here.” He beckons you over, that familiar come hither motion of his fingers sending a strong jolt of arousal to your belly and your mind straight into the gutter.
It might just be because he's been playing a vampire all day but you feel powerless to resist him. Walking towards him, and that chair, like a woman hypnotised.
That devil's smirk spreads as you move into arms reach, shivering as he reaches out a hand to stroke your leg. Just the inch of bare skin, above your knee and below your skirt.
“Did you choose this outfit just for me, sweetheart?”
This outfit being a not-quite-knee-length pleated skirt, a silk shirt buttoned up to the neck, and what the fashion magazines might describe as a smart casual blazer. It's giving “slutty schoolgirl meets business casual.”
Had you chosen this outfit especially for Chan, knowing about his purity kink and the fact you'd be in his eye line but just-out-of-reach all day?
You bet Chan's sweet ass you did.
And he knows it too, knows it in the way you shiver as he lightly runs those fingers, a barely there feather touch, up your leg. Under your skirt. Slowly, closer and closer to where all that want is bubbling in your gut.
“I thought so. Such a tease.” Under that playful tone there's something low, something dark. Something that makes itself known when scrapes his nails back down your thigh, not quite hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough that you know if you were to look there’ll be five red lines marking your flesh. Dragging his fingers away from where you want them, where you need them, taunting you with a smile that tells you he knows how your cunt is clenching over nothing.
“I wasn’t the only one watching you though, was I?” Marking. He’s fucking marking you.
“Channie…”
“That’s not my name.”
“...Chris?”
“Not today sweetheart.”
Oh. Oh.
Oh boy.
“...Daddy?”
“Good girl.” His voice is all low and growly, and he tugs you forward by your knees until you’re standing astride his lap and hands are running up the backs of your thighs again, alternately stroking and scratching as he smiles up at you.
“Do you even know what you do to me? What it’s like having to pretend you’re not mine. Having to watch guys like that following you all day, flirting with you, eyefucking you, and not being able to do a damn thing about it?”
Ah, so that’s what this is about. Chan is jealous. You were training the director's new PA today, some guy who’s name you’ve already forgotten. And Chan is jealous.
As if he isn’t the most gorgeous man on the planet, a professional wet dream, and your long term boyfriend who’s been dicking you down dumb for the last 4 years.
And if he wants to talk about unfairness, let’s talk about work. Watching him film that scene today, in this very chair, where an orgy of dancers were writhing on him. In fucking handcuffs. And he was sitting there with that look on his face. Yes yes, work is work, and acting is acting, the hazards of dating an idol etc etc…
But watching your man sit with a crowd of strangers slithering on his lap, that special expression on his face you only see when you’re sinking down on his cock after a long day of work, in that goddamn chair…
“What are you thinking about, sweetheart?” The question is innocent, the look in Chris’ eyes is not. He's completely Chris now, all signs of sweet Chan gone, replaced by the hungry, almost feral creature that likes it when you call him daddy. “Are you thinking about all those dancers from earlier, sitting on me, touching on me…”
“Yes, Daddy…” you whisper, blush creeping across your ears. It's like he's staring right into your soul, reading your thoughts and revelling in how you put up no resistance. He can invade all your private places and you let him, you're an open book to him
“Did it drive you crazy?” His voice is a low whisper, heavy with lust and wanting. “Did you want to come and sit on my lap instead, come and claim what's yours?"
You're too turned out to speak, your voice a whimper rather than words. “Daddy… don't tease…”
He smiles slowly at you, reaching up your skirt and slowly dragging your panties down your thighs.
“Then come warm this cock my love. Daddy's been waiting all day.”
It's almost musical, the sound Chris makes as you sink down on his dick, somewhere delicious between a moan and a grunt. It's almost too much, the way he stretches you. You cling to his shoulders and hide your face in his neck as you whine, nipping at his neck as you desperately try to ground yourself.
“Mmm… so good…” Chris has his hands on your hips, guiding you until you're settled on his thighs, his cock fully sheathed inside you. “Such a good girl. So perfect for me.”
He's almost too big to fit, your pussy stuffed fuller than full, at it's absolute limit. Teetering on the cusp of what feels good and what doesn't.
He's mercifully gentle, running his hands up your back, stroking your skin in slow, soothing circles.
“You're doing so good, baby. Just relax, relax for me baby.” He hisses when you lean a little more forward, mewling into his neck into his neck and holding him tighter as the change in angle causes your pussy to spasm and stretch, barely able to bear it.
“I want.. I…”
“What do you want, babygirl?” Concern creeps into his turn, worried that maybe his dick is too big, maybe you’re not enjoying it. “Am I hurting you? We can stop if it's too much.” He presses kisses into your hair, brushing some out of your face as he tries to look you in the eyes.
“No Daddy… please don't stop. You feel… so good…” Chris sighs in relief, stroking your face tenderly. “Will you… will you…”
“Yeah, baby? What do you need?”
“I can't… I want…” You shake your hips lightly, barely moving but Chris' dick is stretching you so full it feels as intense as if he was pounding you out, hips snapping as he tried to fuck you through the mattress.
Chris makes a strangled sound, the drag of your velvety walls almost driving him to madness.
“What do you need, babygirl.” His voice is hoarse with the effort of holding still. “Just tell me. Tell me baby, please, you're driving me mad…”
“Daddy,” your voice is almost a sob, “Daddy, please… It feels so good. You feel so good, inside me…” Chris has to bite his lip to keep from swearing at how good you're making him feel. He loves is when you talk dirty.
“Baby, if you keep saying things like that…”
“Breed me, Daddy. Please. Please.” Chris presses a shaky kiss to your lips, gentle and tender, trying to distract himself from how every single muscle in his body tenses up and he's pretty sure his balls just turned blue.
“You sure…” He has to be sure, has to check, before the last strip of his sanity is stripped away and he loses control.
“Please Daddy. Breed me. Claim me. Make me yours… please.”
“Okay baby, okay.” He starts moving, gently, rolling his hips slowly, tantalisingly, doing his best not to go too fast or too quickly. “Daddy’s gonna breed you, okay? You're so tight baby…”
He's not sure what's gonna explode first, his heart or his testicles.
It doesn't take long, every tiny thrust driving both of you closer to the edge,Chris closing his eyes and urgently trying to think of something unsexy. Socks with sandals. Being called “Bang Channie”.
That one weird nude Han accidentally sent him at Christmas. What the hell was he doing with all that BBQ sauce on his titties?
But not even deep philosophical musings on the strange behaviour of Han Jisung can distract Chris from how you've started to bounce on him, your pussy finally adjusted to his cock enough that you can ride him a little, thighs tight around his waist.
He almost loses it, when the little gasps and moans spilling from you get so loud he has to muffle them with his hand. No badly how much he wants everyone to hear how good he fucks you, you're still supposed to be keeping this a secret… Definitely not fucking on stage props quickly relocated to a nearby dressing room. Thank fuck the door locks.
But then you bite his hand, losing control of your sanity and bouncing on his dick like a rabbit, whining, so close to cumming but you just can't quite reach it by yourself.
The sting of your teeth on his fingers pushes Chris over, all restraint gone, hands snapping to your hips as he bucks up into you, holding you still so he can pound your pussy.
He feels you coming undone on him, your pussy spasming, clenching, sucking his dick in deeper until he could swear he's pressing against your cervix.
It's not until you collapse in his arms, shaking, trembling, that he finally gives in and lets himself cum. And he cums hard, the aftershocks of your orgasm making your pussy twitch, milking his cock until he's got nothing left to give.
Balls empty, dick aching, cocksore and thighs shaking, Chris holds you close, his seed dribbling out as his cock starts to soften inside you. You both moan when it finally slips out completely, clinging to each other tightly as you both come down from your respective highs.
“I think… I think we might have ruined the chair, Channie.” You giggle as you look up at him, all blissed out and happy.
“Oops.” He shrugs, before leaning forward and brushing your noses together in an Eskimo kiss. “I guess we'll just have to smuggle it home.”
You rest your head on his chest, happy and sated. Eevelling and how quickly Chris can switch back to Channie, all cosy and cuddly and sweet.
“So…”
“So?” Chan is already starting to look sleepy, all fucked out and giddy. He tilts his head at you like a curious puppy, like he didn't just fuck you into th fifth dimension.
“...are you still gonna try tell me the song is about trains?"
Chan blinks, and you can see the cogs in mind turning as he tries to figure out what trains have to do with anything that just happened.
He flushes bright red when the penny drops, eyes going wide, mouth opening and closing as he tries to think of a good comeback. In the end he just hides his face in your neck and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like a whiney “shut up”.
You laugh and snuggle down in his arms. He groans, knowing you're gonna tease him about trains once the post orgasm contentment passes.
That's what he gets for being a liar.
Okay, I'm just about happy with this one. This isn't even the No Thoughts/Hard Thoughts fic, but apparently I have breeding kinks on the brain. Oops. Hope you guys don't mind two in a row. In other news, Channie’s big dick problem is the subject of another fic. Yay size kink? Anyways, thanks for reading, reblogs and comments are so much appreciated and motivating and stuff, let's enjoy this highly educational science gif of Channie to end the post:
tagslist: @sthaay @arestoucries , @chrizzztopherbang, @avnche, @kemkem33, @mikaelless, @lvrgrl-xo, @eevenus , @furioussheepluminary , @sheerfreesia007 , @aasthamoon , @amazinglystay @delulustardust (I got my lists mixed up, I only post skz fics on this account so lemme know if you want me to take you off)
My beloved @auroramirage has more than once compared me to Chan with the way I'll tell her my ideas and promise to write and post things and give her teasers and such...
Here's another thing we share: cringing at the things we make when our alter egos are in charge 😅🫣
pairing: han jisung x f!reader genre/tags: fluff + smut, mentions of weed (obvi), sub!jisung, fingering, oral (f. receiving), piv
[ note. ] — made this bc i was rlly bored but also i was craving plug ji and nerd ji at the same time so i was like fuck it why not both :p
jisung was the last person you’d expect to be your plug. he’s quiet, always sits in the back of class with his hoodie pulled up, minds his business and never really speaks unless the professor calls on him. so when your friend goes, “oh, i’ll text my guy for you,” and drops you his contact, you brace yourself for some intimidating frat dude, but instead you get… han jisung. the boy who stutters when he asks for extra napkins at the dining hall.
the first time you meet, it takes you a full thirty seconds to even register he’s the plug. he’s genuinely shy at first, keeps looking at you then away, and mumbles a lot. the way he says “so…uh- you want indica or sativa?” makes you giggle because he sounds like he’s giving a school presentation, not offering weed.
he’s pathetically infatuated with you from the start. like when you’re perched all prettily in his lap at a party, he pretends it’s because the couch is ‘too crowded’, but really he pulled you down, hands laced around your hips. he’s rolling a blunt with shaky fingers, lights up, takes the first slow drag, and when he leans forward to blow the smoke into your mouth, his jeans are already straining. gets flustered that you notice, stammering “i-i can’t help it, you’re like right on me.”
everytime you come by, he insists on giving you free shit or giving more than you asked for. he’s just like, “nah, just take it, seriously. don’t worry about it.” and when you insist on paying him he blurts, “you can just…hang out with me for a bit if you feel bad,” immediately regretting how desperate that sounds.
he always stalls when you’re around. if he’s rolling something for you, he’s suddenly ten times slower, asking random questions about your classes, your favorite food, weekend plans, etc. anything to keep you there longer. if you try to leave, he’ll scramble for an excuse, “oh- wait, do you want some water? or snacks? i, uh, got pringles?”
most definitely the type to info dump when nervous. you ask a simple question like “what’s this one called?” and suddenly you’re getting a ten minute explanation about how he named it ‘blue exorcist’ because he was rewatching that anime when he bagged it. you can’t help but find it adorable.
beneath all the shy, nerdy exterior, jisung is a complete and total mess for you. being your plug just feeds into his obsession— he loves that you rely on him for something, that he’s the one you text late at night.
he lowkey just wants to hang out. sometimes he doesn’t even bring up weed, he just plops down beside you on his bed and asks, “wanna watch me get bodied in mario kart?” and hands you the extra controller.
always gets hard around you, it’s ridiculous. even when you’re not doing anything inherently sexual like just sitting on his desk chair, legs crossed, skirt riding up— he has to adjust himself and pray to god you don’t notice.
the first time things turn physical, he moans so loud he slaps a hand over his mouth in embarrassment. his voice gets all whiny, breathy, almost desperate. you playfully mock him for it, which only makes him squirm harder.
he’s big on smoking with you and then fucking while he’s high because he swears it makes everything feel a thousand times better. loves the way your laugh sounds a little looser, feeling your body a little warmer against him.
lovessss giving you head, gets real sloppy with it too. he’ll have your thighs shaking while he’s moaning and mumbling into your cunt about how good you taste in between licks. if you tug his hair or hold him down, he may or may not cum in his boxers untouched >_<
he’s such a people pleaser too. the type to say “tell me what you want, i’ll do anything” with wide eyes, hands gripping your thighs. when you ride him, he’s begging you to go faster, to use him. when you choke him lightly or call him your good boy, he melts instantly.
sometimes, he gets wayyy too needy. he’ll text you stuff like, “pls come over. i can’t stop thinking about you sitting on my face” “i’ll give you all my stash if you let me eat you out rn” “fuck y/n i’m so hard it hurts, i need youuuu ;(”
he’ll whine about how he can’t concentrate on his anime because he keeps picturing you bouncing on him. sometimes when he’s fingering you, his glasses fog up and slide down his nose, and you tease him for being such a nerd while he’s literally making you gush all over his hand.
his favorite position will always be you on top. he likes looking up at you, glasses crooked, lips parted, hands squeezing your sides while babbling about how perfect you feel. he always ends up crying a little when you overstimulate him, clinging to you and moaning “can’t…can’t cum anymore but you feel so good.”
Other Characters: Minho mentioned (MinSung is a thing here)
Summary: Han needs help. Felix obliges.
Genre: smut, pwp, member x member, mlm
Content warnings: praise kink, edging, explicit sexual actions, oral sex (m receiving), anal fingering (m receiving), anal penetration, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid), light aftercare
Word Count: 2.377
A/N: Inspired by Lee Know's bubble updates about "passing out" immediately after their concerts - what if Hannie still needs help? Well, here you go. Also, thanks to my fav lil blueberry @blueohs for putting the idea of JiLix in my head and beta reading this one <3
Jisung closed the door to his hotel room as quietly as humanly possible, fingers gripping the door knob just a bit too tightly. With his hoodie pulled over his head, he looked up and down the hallway, making sure nobody saw him. It was empty and dark, which was no surprise given the time.
1:43 am.
Walking wasn’t the most comfortable thing right now, but that was exactly why he found himself sneaking around after midnight. Step by torturous step he made his way down the hallway, until he reached his destination. He let out a breath he’d been holding all the way over there - not that it had been that far of a journey - and lifted his hand to knock softly on the door.
Uncomfortable with his current predicament, he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Which only made the predicament worse. Impatience joined the feelings that were already stirring in his gut. He bit his lip to keep from whining, just as the door opened, and Jisung was met with a pair of soft brown eyes. They were widened in surprise for a second, but then the expression on the pretty face shifted into a knowing, anticipating smirk.
“Hi hyung”, Felix said, voice so low it almost pulled a sound from Jisung. “Hi”, Jisung gave back, sounding way smaller than he intended. Felix’ eyes wandered over his hyung’s figure, right down to his crotch. With a chuckle he tilted his head.
“Again?”, the blonde one said with a grin, but stepped aside to let his friend enter the room. Jisung slipped past him, surprised there was any blood left to rush to his cheeks, but blushing all the same. It wasn't the first time he made use of the agreement between Minho, Felix and himself. And it wouldn't be the last time, either.
What else could he do? Jisung had needs.
"Lie down for me, Sungie, hoodie off”, Felix ordered as he followed his friend back into the room, and Jisung complied without question. Of course Jisung wasn’t wearing anything underneath his hoodie. Of course Felix had already guessed as much. ”He passed out again, huh?", the blonde asked, as he crawled onto the mattress, where Jisung was lying on his back now, topless and waiting.
Gently, Felix parted the other man's legs to sit in between Jisung's knees.
"Right after the shower", Jisung nodded with a pout. "Left you all hard and needy, hm?" Felix's hands were already hooked into the waistband of Jisung's sweatpants. The sunshine boy never wasted any time when Jisung came to him for help - because Felix was nothing if not happy to oblige. “Uh-huh." The nod became a little more frantic, as Felix slowly pulled down the straining fabric.
Jisung’s hard cock landed on his stomach with a soft thump, which pulled a sinful little noise from him.
"Damn Ji", Felix mused, "that's quite the problem you have there." Jisung whined. "Please, Lix." His eyes were big and pretty as his pout grew more desperate. "Please what?" The freckled boy was visibly enjoying himself as Jisung pathetically dug his hands into the sheets. "Please help me out?", he whimpered.
But Felix was not gonna let him have it that easily. The agreement was that Felix and Jisung could have fun whenever Minho was not available, and Felix was about to make the most of it - like he always did. "I think I need you to be a bit more specific, hyung", he said as he trailed his fingers along Jisung's hip bone, pulling another pathetic little sound from Jisung's lips.
"Please...ngh...please touch me, Lix", he got out, and Felix had the audacity to chuckle. "But I am touching you", he replied, running his nails over Jisungs abs. "Fuck...Lix, please....please, you know what I want." Jisung sounded positively wrecked already and Felix hadn't even done anything yet.
"Oh, I don't know Ji", he said, "I think you might have to spell it out for me."
"Fuck", Jisung cursed, trembling under Felix's teasing touches, "fuck...okay, okay...ngh...please
...please jerk me of, Lix....please, I need you, I need to cum...please, Lix, I need you..." He ended with a desperate sigh, Felix's hands now dangerously close to the base of his cock.
"That's a good boy", Felix praised his hyung, finally wrapping his small hand around Jisung's dick. "Oh my...fuck", Jisung immediately let his head fall back against the headboard, as Felix started stroking. Slowly, deliberately, running his thumb over the tip ever so often. "Ngh...fuck...Lix...don't stop, don't stop....ahhh...so good...." Jisung was babbling, rambling between moans, brain clearly already turned off.
But it wasn't enough for Felix. He wanted to wreck the man beneath him, thoroughly ruin him, so he leaned down, and without warning, wrapped his lips around Jisung's tip. "HOLY SHIT", Jisung gasped, fingers tightening where they gripped the sheets. He was barely holding on to his last shreds of sanity, as Felix slowly began to take all of him into his mouth. "Fuckfuckfuck...so good...so warm...nghhh...fuck, Lixie....aaahhhh..."
Jisung was gone, completely gone, panting and gasping and moaning, giving Felix all the incentive he needed to speed up. To run his tongue over Jisung's tip. To suck and lick and taste his hyungs dick with the hunger of a man starved. Meanwhile, Felix's hands were half pinning Jisung down to keep him from bucking his hips, half painting soothing patterns on his skin, and it drove Jisung all the more insane.
"ahh..not gon-gonna last....Lix, fuckfuckfuck...'m close...close...ahh" The words tumbled from Jisungs mouth without filter, along with some pretty, filthy, sinful sounds, and Felix could already feel the telling twich in Jisungs cock - so, he pulled away, leaving it to flop back against Jisung's stomach, untouched and throbbing angrily. "What-", Jisung swallowed, head snapping up. He stared at Felix with a confused and almost pained expression on his face.
"You didn't think I'd let you cum this easily, did you?" Felix smirked, seductively wiping his mouth with
his thumb. "You knew what you signed up for when you came to me, hyung."
Jisung watched with big eyes as Felix slipped off the bed, now sporting a very visible errection himself, and disappeared into the bathroom for a moment. He came back fully naked, and holding a bottle of lube. "I left the condoms", he said, "that okay?" Jisung swallowed. Hard. "Yeah..yes, that's cool...", he gasped. Taking Felix raw was always worth it, and they were both clean - regular check ups were also part of the agreement after all.
"Legs up", Felix commanded when he returned to his spot on the mattress, and once again Jisung complied, providing his friend with easier access to his ass. With a teasing smirk, Felix leaned down and licked a slow stripe up Jisung's cock, pulling a strained gasp from the older one. Then the click of a bottle opening could be heard, and shortly after, Felix slowly pushed a lubed up finger into Jisung's needy little hole.
"Fuckfuckfuckfuck...." The curses fell from Jisungs lips like prayers, as Felix slowly pushed in further, stretching his friend, preparing him for what was yet to come. "Taking it so well, Sungie", Felix purred, slowly leaning over his friend. "Relax for me, baby", he whispered into Jisung's ear, and the man beneath him did his very best to obey, letting out a shaky breath as his legs fell open. "That's it, very good", Felix praised, voice low and sultry.
It didn't take long before Felix could add a second finger, slowly scissoring Jisung open.
Jisung, who was gasping beneath him.
Jisung, who was almost drooling, eyes shut and mouth open, as he took and took and took whatever Felix was willing to give him.
And Felix, who was generous, pumping into him slowly, careful but deliberate.
And just when Jisung thought he could take a moment to breathe, Felix curled his fingers ever so slightly, pushing against his prostate.
"ahh...fuck...Lix....fuck....too much...I can't....can't...", Jisung half rambled, half moaned, but once again Felix just chuckled. "Oh, you can, Sungie, we both know that. You're already doing so well for me." Jisung was whining now, squirming beneath his friend and feeling his orgasm creep up once again, sending waves of pleasure to his untouched dick.
"Ngh...please...please, Lixie...'m close...please", he whimpered, begging his friend for release. It was just what Felix had been waiting for. "Ah-ah-ah", he scolded, as he suddenly withdrew his fingers, leaving Jisung feeling uncomfortably empty and painfully edged. "Not yet, baby", the blonde said as he wiped his fingers on the sheets. Then he reached for the lube again.
"I think you're can take some more for me, hm?", he asked with a self-satisfied grin.
Jisung's eyes went from Felix' face to his rock hard errection, which Felix was stroking lazily to spread the lube. "You want me, Sungie?" Jisung nodded frantically. He was so needy for release by now, he couldn't even form words anymore. “Alright, turn over, baby." Felix gently helped his friend turn around, ass up and face pressed into the pillow.
"Ready?", Felix asked, tip already prodding Jisung's entrance. The older one nodded, but Felix scolded him again. "No, baby. I need words, you know the rules." "Yeah..yes...please, Lix....need you, want you", he got out, more a whine than anything else. Felix leaned forward, so that his lips grazed Jisung's ear when he spoke. "Good boy", he whispered when he finally pushed in.
The stretch was everything. Jisung let out a long, lust-filled groan as he took every damn inch of Felix's cock, and it felt even better than how he’d remembered. "Fuck, Ji", Felix gasped when he bottomed out, panting and gripping Jisung's hip hard enough to bruise. Minho might scold him for that, but then again, Felix did quite enjoy Minho's way of scolding. "Feels so good", the blonde murmured against the soft skin on Jisung's shoulder.
Felix stayed still for a moment, letting his friend adjust and relax around him. Eventually, he started to move. Slow thrusts at first, controlled force, making sure Jisung felt more pleasure than pain - that’s what he was here for after all. Felix knew that Jisung was very close to his limit to begin with, having edged him twice already, but he couldn't help himself - he had to drag it out just a bit longer. So he held back, just for a few more minutes.
Just until it happened - a single tear of pleasure, slowly rolling down Jisung's blushed cheek. "Such a good boy", Felix purred into his friend's ear, "taking me..ngh...so well." "Please", Jisung whimpered beneath him, breathless and fucked out, "please...need to cum...please Lix...." His words were broken up by gasps and moans and sobs. Felix pressed a soft, lingering kiss onto Jisung's back.
“Alright then”, he said.
That’s when he stopped holding back. Felix leaned back, gaining a better angle, and fucked into his friend at a primal pace. Beneath him, Jisung was all but screaming, forgetting about how thin hotel room walls were, because all he could think about was how sinfully good Felix's dick felt as it was dragging across that perfect spot inside him over and over and over.
Felix had also lost any and all concern for being heard by others. He was driven purely by lust and pleasure and ecstasy, his fingers digging into Jisung's skin as he felt his own orgasm approaching. "ahh..close...gonna cum...gonna..pleasepleaseplease", Jisung panted, before his orgasm finally ripped through him with earth shattering force. He spilled himself onto the sheets beneath, clenching hard around Felix's cock.
Jisung went limp in Felix’s grip, but the blonde one kept him in his position with a firm grip. He kept pounding into Jisung, hard and deep, recklessly chasing his own high. Jisung was an overstimulated, panting, gasping mess beneath him, letting Felix fuck him into oblivion, even though his body could barely take it anymore. It was hot, Felix thought, so damn hot, and with a few more frantic thrusts he came, filling his hot, whiney, messy best friend up.
For a long moment, the room was filled with silence, safe for the sound of panting and some broken sobs from Jisung. They were a good sign, Felix knew. He always made Jisung cry. Jisung always bought him chocolate the next day to say thank you.
Somehow, Felix managed to pull out eventually, tipping both of them over to the side, so they didn't lie fully in their self made mess. Felix wrapped his arms around Jisung, who was still panting, gasping for air - and full on crying. "You're okay", Felix whispered against his friend's skin, "it's okay. You did so well. Such a good boy for me." He pressed soothing kisses to Jisungs back, slowly helping his hyung to find his way back to reality.
When he was sure Jisung was stable enough to be left alone for a moment, Felix slipped out of bed to head to the bathroom. After cleaning himself up, he came back with a soft towel to take care of Jisung. Looking at the mess beside Jisung's curled up body, Felix couldn't help but chuckle, which caused Jisung to stir. "Was funny?", he slurred sleepily, as if his tongue was too heavy to speak properly.
"You made quite the mess, Sungie", Felix said with his velvet voice and pressed another kiss to Jisung's shoulder. "I think we have to sleep in your room tonight." "Mhm", Jisung hummed in agreement, clearly not quite catching what was going on.
It was quite the task, getting Jisung dressed and all the way back to his own room, but somehow Felix managed. Soon enough, the friends found themselves in bed, facing each other, limbs loosely tangled, finding comfort in each other's warmth. "Thanks", Jisung breathed, eyes already closed, breath already slow and steady. "Anytime, Sungie", Felix whispered in return and pressed a kiss to Jisung's forehead.
They fell asleep in each other's arms, close and safe and exhausted, and that's how Minho would find them the next morning.
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