synopsis IF YOU LET ME STAY THE NIGHT, I THINK I MIGHT JUST HAVE TO STAY FOREVER ⋆ 𐙚 ̊ in which you spend 7 days in cebu, and the fellow tourist you meet by chance makes it difficult for you to stomach the thought of leaving.
pairing choi soobin x (f) reader
genre fluff, smut, reader and soobin are both tourists, strangers to friends to lovers
a/n first fic on this blog kinda nervous :3 been feeling sososo much for my soobie doobie these days, my love couldn't help but spill all over tumblr. hi, new friends! ♡
It seems as though the whole universe has conspired against you.
Standing under the scorching heat, you could not help but think that you should have stayed in the confines of your sweet, humble abode. If only Karina hadn’t convinced you to, in her words, “Step out of your comfort zone, you homebody!”, then maybe you would have been 12 episodes deep in a new drama, or even getting your rank rating up in League of Legends.
It’s hard to gaslight yourself that your trip to Cebu is supposed to be a cathartic experience when it’s all starting so horribly already. Not when you are fresh off a miserable flight with the person in front of you reclining their chair all the way. Not when some businessman spilt their coffee all over your pristinely white hoodie, mumbling that you should have stayed out of the way because he has a flight to catch. Not when you are all alone while everyone else seems to be having the time of their lives raving about the beaches and parties this place has to offer. Not when you couldn’t even shoot a message to Karina complaining about how this was such a dumb idea for a raging introvert like you, because your stupid phone is betraying you and it can’t catch a stupid signal.
And while you are easily irritated, it’s also easy for you to come to terms with the fact that you will be stuck on this island by yourself for 7 days. You tried your best to convince Karina to come with you, but she kept insisting that it was time for you to attempt solo traveling just for the experience. Easy to say for someone as outgoing as her. You huff, feeling defeated as you slump to sit on your luggage, waiting for a cab to take you to your hotel, when you catch sight of a man bickering with… a cab driver?
“What do you mean I have to pay a thousand pesos? My hotel is 15 minutes away!”
If you thought you were already the epitome of irritation, this guy was far worse. He looks like he just clawed his way out of hell with how messy his hair is and how much sweat he’s drenched in. Not to mention the bags under his eyes and how flushed his skin looks from how hard he’s keeping his annoyance within and oh god, he’s beautiful.
He drags his feet to walk away from the cab, eyebrows still furrowed, and you had to begrudgingly stop yourself from checking this stranger out because you do not want embarrassment to lace all the exasperation you’re feeling right now. You feel your cheeks heat up when you realize he stopped to stand beside your slumped form, sulking like you’ve lost all your will to live.
“Jesus, it’s so hot…” you hear him groan as he types away on his phone. You assume he’s complaining to a friend because it’s what you would have done. That is, if you could catch a signal.
You giggle to yourself and he snaps his head to look at you, expression softening.
“Tourist?”
He’s talking to you. What the hell are you supposed to do when a man (who looks like he stepped out of a typical romance drama) strikes a conversation with you? You choose to face him, avoiding eye contact, and nod meekly.
He immediately whines. A behavior such a stark contrast to a man whose figure towers over you, “Can you believe that cab driver tried to charge me 1000 pesos for a 15-minute ride? My friend told me they overcharge tourists like crazy, so I should just act angry, but I guess I’m not scaring them off..?”
You finally make eye contact with him, skimming over his features. He’s handsome, but not in a way that suffocates you. He’s… cute. Makes you feel fuzzy inside with his soft features. Round, wide eyes, nose slightly scrunched, and the way his front teeth sit on his bottom lip makes him look like a bunny who wasn’t given enough carrot treats. What the fuck are you even saying at this point? He’s just some guy. Okay, a gorgeous one, at that.
You clear your throat, “Maybe you should try an Uber?”
“Ubers aren’t available in the Philippines…”
You nod, not knowing what to say. You’ve proven yet again that you are physically incapable of talking to cute guys.
“Shit. Now my phone is at 1%.”
You snort, “I’d offer mine, but this dumb fuck cannot catch a signal.”
He sighs defeatedly, now sitting on his luggage as well, “Aren’t you going to try and get a cab?”
“I was going to, but after seeing you with that cab driver, I might as well just take a flight back home already…”
He chuckles. Even his laugh is pretty.
“Maybe you’re better at haggling than I am?”
He seems to be right, because the first cab driver you hailed instantly agreed to drive you for 300 pesos. You nod at the stranger while loading your luggage in the back, and he smiles at you in return. You’re probably never going to see each other again. So much for a short-lived airport crush.
You fall back onto the expanse of your bed once you’ve checked in, relishing in the comfort after a pain-staking flight. Stretching your back, you’re relieved to find that the hotel wi-fi works like magic, finally satiating your need for chronically online personal time. After a few moments of scrolling through your feed to see what you’ve missed, you grew bored, pressing the call button beside Karina’s contact name. Her face lights up your screen immediately.
“Yah! Why are you on your phone instead of the beach? I just saw you repost a Tiktok 5 minutes ago!”
You roll your eyes, “Can’t a girl replenish her social battery before going out and about all alone?” She simply chuckles, giving you an avenue to start complaining to her about all the mishaps that have happened so far. You drone on and on until you’ve lost track of all the time you spent just grumbling over every inconvenience, and she reassures you that maybe you used up all your bad luck, and from hereon, everything will fall into place smoothly. You aspire to be as optimistic as she is. Soon enough, she yawns, saying that it’s time for her afternoon nap, and you’re left to scurry over to the bathroom to freshen up.
It’s 4PM when you step out of your hotel room, padding over to the lobby to ask for the pathway to the beach, when you catch sight of a familiar tall figure hunched over the receptionist desk. He seems to feel your presence, because he snaps his head towards you.
“Huh? Oh!”
It’s the cute guy from the airport. You swear you’re going to get a heart attack.
“O-oh? Hey,” you try to muster out. You really, really suck at talking to cute guys.
He smiles, “Didn’t know you booked the same hotel! We could have shared a cab, then.”
“Would be weird to tell a complete stranger which hotel I booked, right?” You didn’t mean for the words to trail off your mouth quite harshly, really, but your realization hits you too late when his face flushes in panic as he responds. “A-ah! Yeah! I suppose it would be really weird. Sorry…”
You glance over at the receptionist desk to see that there was no one manning. Great. Now you can’t weasel your way out of this awkward situation.
“Uh… I was going to ask the receptionist where the pathway leading directly to the beach was, but I guess there’s nobody here?”
He’s shocked. It’s almost animated how his expressions are painted on his face. “I was going to ask them too! I’ve been waiting for about 10 minutes now, but I have no idea where the receptionist has gone, so…” He trails off, and maybe it’s the impatience getting to your head, so you ask,
“You want to just fuck it and find it ourselves?”
He looks at you, and for just a moment, you’re terrified. What if he thinks you’re hitting on him? Wanting to spend time alone with a hot guy? You almost think you’re fucked until he flashes a grin.
“I’m already itching to get my feet in the sand.”
And that’s how you find yourself walking side by side with him. You learn that his name is Soobin, and that he’s from South Korea, working in corporate like you. Soobin tells you about his friend that was supposed to come with him, but he booked his flight incorrectly in an absentminded haze, thus he was traveling solo. You tell him that your friend practically had to bribe you into going on this vacation because of all the stress you have bottled up from your miserable job. He lets out a giggle, saying that he needed to get away from his laptop screen given that even typing was giving him a migraine.
Despite your closed off nature, it was surprisingly easy to fall into a conversation with Soobin. Maybe you enjoyed the conversation a little too much, because it’s only then that you realize you’ve been going around in circles, still not finding the beachside.
“Do you think we’re lost?”
He turns over to you and stops in his tracks, smiling sheepishly. “Maybe?”
And then it hits you. You’re lost. God knows where you are, and you’re stuck navigating your way back with someone you met less than 5 hours ago. Did you really put your guard down for a stranger?
“Shit,” you pull out your phone, only to be reminded that it’s practically useless. It doesn’t help that you’re in a dead zone. You see him fiddling with his phone, seemingly to find a way to map yourselves out of this, but he was met with disappointment upon reading the words “no cellular service”.
You groan, wanting nothing but to go back to your hotel room to curl up in your bed, but Soobin was still adamant on finding the beachside. Unfortunately for you and your aching legs, you had to choose between dragging yourself sluggishly or having a tantrum in the middle of nowhere. The latter was a no-go, obviously, unless you had a death wish?
The fatigue and anxiety were catching up to the both of you as dead silence remained in the air, save from the small huffs you were letting out occasionally. Soobin glances at you from time to time, seemingly to check on your pathetic state. The sun was starting to set, and you’re certain you were going to make it to the headlines as the 25 year-old woman who (a) perished in extreme fatigue and irritation, or; (b) got brutally murdered by a bunny-looking stranger twice her size.
You don’t notice that you were looking at the ground, questioning every life decision that has led you to this absurdity, when Soobin’s awed gasp snaps you back into reality.
“Heol…”
You look up to see a breathtaking view, all yours to behold. The sun was setting in the horizon, etched in the apricot sky. Palm trees breezed through the path, and the salt in the air barely grazed your tongue. Soobin has his mouth agape, eyes full of wonder. Okay, maybe he’s not a serial killer out to murder you if he brought you to such a beautiful part of the seaside. Unless this is all part of his grand scheme to let your guard down? But he looks clueless as he can be, perhaps you were more likely to be the murderer in this situation.
“Come! There’s no one around!” Soobin hurriedly waddles over to a spot just below the trees, inviting you to join him. Once you’re sat beside him in the sand, he stretches the entirety of his legs, letting out a hum of relief. He has a stupid smile on his face as his eyes glaze to take in the golden hour.
“I’m sorry I got us lost. I’ve never been good at directions,” Soobin smiles apologetically. “But hey, this view is nice. We have this all to ourselves.”
No one was around. Okay. Maybe this is the part where he brutally murd-
“I hope you’re not too tired. I… kinda heard you huffing a lot earlier and I figured you were getting antsy. Also it was probably because you were lost in god knows where with a dude you just met, so that must have been scary for you? I can’t convince you that I’m completely harmless because that would make me more suspicious, right? And oh god why am I rambling?” He’s melting into a puddle of embarrassment. Usually, you liked it when men learned to shut the fuck up, but you tolerated his rambling. He was quite… endearing, actually.
You let out a small chuckle, “Soobin, it’s fine. We’re chill. I was just tired of walking in circles, that’s all.” He sighs in response, fingers tracing shapes in the sand.
“The view is beautiful though. I’m kinda glad we got lost. We can gatekeep this experience,” you add, shooting a reassuring smile. Now you feel bad for ever thinking ill of him, because the way he perks up and grins at you just seals the deal that he was never a threat. Soobin turns away to continue watching the sunset, basking in the way the sun’s rays kiss his skin.
Time flew by too fast, and now you’re left with the problem of how you’re supposed to go back to the hotel, when a light suddenly beams at the two of you.
“Hey! This is private property!” Fuck. No wonder there weren’t any people around. The two of you get escorted out, with the security guard huffing about how “kids these days just fool around everywhere”, to which you and Soobin turn crimson profusely. You had no choice but to push your luck, asking him the way to your hotel no matter how embarrassed the pair of you were.
“Okay… that was humiliating,” you cringe and glance over at Soobin, who was not faring any better than you. His cheeks were still puffed out, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip.
“Kinda feels like we’re trauma bonded now,” he mutters, praying that this time around, you were going the right way. “Trauma bonded over a humiliation ritual…. today felt too long.”
You hum, “Yep. Might have to skip dinner. I just want to sleep and stock up on social battery for the next 6 days.”
His eyes widened, “Wow. We have the exact same hotel and trip duration.”
You nod, not knowing what to make of this new knowledge, but all the rummaging in your brain was instantly cut off by him.
“Do you, perhaps…” His voice turns small. “Perhaps you’d like to stick together?”
“A whole week together? You might get sick of me.”
He grins, “Well, if by chance I do, it would be totally fine. We’re most likely never going to cross paths with each other again anyway.”
You don’t know what compels you to, but you agree.
You hope Karina would be proud of you stepping outside of your comfort zone (and trusting that some guy doesn’t offer you as human sacrifice.)
The next few days went by like a dream.
On the second and third day, Soobin took you ziplining and leaping off waterfalls despite your protests. You remember how your heart skipped a beat at his proud, child-like grin when he got you to admit that facing your fear of heights ended up rather enjoyable. The day after, the pair of you decided to take a break from the adrenaline and wandered off to the cultural spots Cebu had to offer. You didn’t expect him to take such good shots of you, worthy enough to be posted on your wilting Instagram account. Karina had even bombarded you with question marks, asking if you’ve finally made a new friend. Imagine her shock when you sent her a selfie you had taken of the two of you, and she found out your new “friend” looks like he stepped out of a manhwa.
By the end of the fifth day of your escapades with Soobin, you had suggested trying out the beachside bars your Tiktok algorithm was raging about. It seems like Karina had magic senses, because your phone suddenly chirped with a text notification while you added finishing touches to your makeup.
rina<3: u crack cebu boy yet?
You furrow your eyebrows at this.
: huh
: we’re FRIENDS
rina<3: and he’s ur exact type
: well yes
: but it would be weird to get in a random stranger’s pants
rina<3: dude that’s exactly why
: u can just leave it behind
: what happens in cebu stays in cebu type shit
: esp if hes bad in bed 💀
: you are so…
: what if i catch something from him
rina<3: feelings?
: oh u meant an std
: i snooped through his instagram and mans looks bitchless anyway
: his following list consists of league gameplay accounts and 4 of his friends
: ugh idk man
: i just
: hes hot but
: i’d rather not put weird thoughts in my head about a dude i’m spending the remaining days with
rina<3: LMAO it’s okay i’m playing
: just sayin u only live once
: and i’ve prayed hard for u to finally get laid again
: especially after ur ugly ass ex
: and don’t tell me u haven’t snooped through his ig either
: ?
: i have but
: just out of pure curiosity
rina<3: love when u get defensive
: u in bed alrdy? do u wanna call and catch up
: im yearning for my best friend
: awww i’m going out
: trying the beachside bars
rina<3: oh? 👀
: enjoy <3
: hoping u break ur vow of abstinence
: ????
: love you
: i’ll call u tomorrow evening maybe
Karina sends a heart and a wink in response, making you smile and shake your head
Looking at yourself in the mirror, you adjust a strand of your hair and suddenly become antsy. All those talks about Soobin suddenly made you feel hauntingly self-aware. You hate to admit that you wanted to look pretty to him. Life has a way of making things fall into place so perfectly, because not long after your frustrated fussing, you hear three knocks on your door. Soobin.
You pad over, opening your door to see Soobin standing in true, awkward, painfully endearing Soobin fashion.
His eyes fall on your face, drifting just a millisecond to your bikini-clad and sheer covered body. You barely miss the way his cheeks burn despite the cold air from your room.
“You look-” he starts, but cuts himself off. Alarms blare in your head. Look horrible? A mess? You look like you tried to get all pretty for me but absolutely failed?
“Look what?” you squeak out, voice small. He scratches his neck, as if debating what words to say. You’re painfully fretting over every possible response until he eventually mumbles something after a few beats.
“You look beautiful.”
He says it so sincerely it makes your head spin. But alas, Soobin is Soobin…
“Not in a creepy way! The color of your outfit just fits you really well. And the way you did your hair and makeup is pretty cool. And-”
You shush him, trying to calm your heart that is about to beat out of your chest, “It’s fine, Soobin. You don’t look too bad yourself.”
Awkward silence then envelopes you in the warmly lit hotel hallway, both of you not daring to meet each other’s eyes.
You were the one to break the stillness, “Let’s go?”, to which he hums in response. He looked like he had much more to say, but you don’t dare to pry him on his thoughts in fear of further straining the situation.
One thing you liked about spending time with Soobin is how the two of you go well together. Platonically, you swear. It isn’t even five minutes deep into the walk together when you’re back to telling each other mundane stories about your lives back home. Soobin whines about how he misses his dog, Tori, to which you reply “so she’s far better company than me?”, causing him to ramble in panic. You, in turn, tell him about how you don’t want to come back to office paperwork when you’ve been having the time of your life getting your feet in the sand all day.
“I wish we could stay here forever,” he sighs, seemingly in a haze as the night breeze grazes his hair. “It’s been really fun just doing anything and everything with you.”
You take the chance to finally, actually look at Soobin. He towers over you, looking you straight in the eye like he doesn’t know your heart is about to beat out of your chest every time he does so. His hair is messy from the wind, the outline of his face perfectly chiseled by the moonlight gracing his skin.
In that moment, you know something starts shifting between your feelings and your ever-so rational mind. You can’t help it. Not when he’s looking at you like you hung up the moon. Not when his beauty is one you would only find once in a lifetime.
You’re done for.
Despite this, you push your thoughts down your throat, managing to whisper, “I’ll really miss you when we go our separate ways, you know?”
He chuckles, “Because I’m the only male friend you have that actually takes good photos of you?”
“Your words, not mine.”
He beams teasingly before adding, “I’ll miss you too. A lot.”
Suddenly confronted with the vulnerability of your words, you tear your eyes away from him and start kicking sand beneath your feet, “I don’t know why I got sappy, sorry. I still have 2 days with you.”
“It’s cute,” Soobin reassures you. As a friend would, right? You don’t want to overthink it. “I never would have thought we’d warm up to each other so fast, but maybe I was meant to meet you on this trip.”
“Just so you have someone to buy you vinegar for your jellyfish stings?”
“That, and we make quite a good pair for people who only met at the start of this week.” Your heart feels like it’s being tugged from all sides, painfully reminded of the fact that you’ve grown attached to him in such a short period of time.
Right. You really shouldn’t get too attached to someone who will be an ocean away by the following week.
Your forlorn musings are interrupted by the chants of people that cut through the bubble you and Soobin have placed yourselves in. He flashes an ever so sweet smile at you, taking your hand in his.
“You ready to get absolutely shitfaced?”
The world is spinning before your eyes.
“Sooooobieeee” you slur out, arm snugly wrapped around his. “Let’s drink more!”
You don’t know how much alcohol is flowing through your bloodstream, but it was enough for you to cling into Soobin like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. Literally. If it weren’t for him, you would have fallen face flat into the ground.
He squeaks, “No more! You’re red all over!”
“And you’re not!” you pout, “It’s like I’m the only one having fun!”
You would have thought he was starting to get sick of you if it weren’t for his grip tightening before he says, “I’m having fun. But-”
“Soobin. Soobin. I’m going to throw up.”
He mutters a profanity in his native language, dragging you up so gently and guiding you somewhere your inebriated mind couldn’t fathom. It’s only when you breathe in the stench that you piece out that he had taken you to the bathroom (more specifically, the line of people leading to it.)
“Don’t barf on me, please,” Soobin practically begs, rubbing circles on your back as you lean further into his grip, dopey smile plastered on your face as you admire him from the angle below.
“You’re really, really, reallyyyy cute, Soobie,” you squeeze the bicep you’re clinging onto, making the man shriek in surprise. “How are you even real?”
He chooses to look away from your eyes that keep raking all over him, cheeks now a carmine red.
“I told you earlier that you didn’t look too bad yourself, but I wanted to tell you that you looked absolutely fucking beautiful. Far prettier than me. Even though I spent so long trying to look cute for you,” you stumble over your words as he keeps his hold on your waist. You don’t even notice that it was your turn to enter the bathroom when he sighs and escorts you inside, oblivious to the stares you got from stepping inside together.
He positions you so that you’re hunched over the toilet, his annoyingly long legs folded to keep you at eye level while he bunches your hair up. As your drunkenness wills, you expel the intoxication out of your system as Soobin wipes the sweat off your face and neck. When all is done, you look at him and weakly ask for toilet paper to wipe your face with, to which he takes it upon himself to do it for you, gingerly padding over your mouth and tear-stained cheeks.
“All okay?” Soobin asks as he throws the toilet paper away and tidies up the bathroom the best he could.
“Mhm,” you purr, latching onto his arm as he opens the door, receiving pointed stares from the people witnessing you step outside together. You were all oblivious to it, wanting nothing but to curl up into the heat his body tenders. He’s silent as you stumble over your feet, and yet he traces his arm back around your waist once more.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you back.”
“But you haven’t even drank that much yet!”
“I’m not a heavy drinker.”
You sulk as he maneuvers you all the way back to your hotel room.
When he sets you down on the bed, your frown only gets deeper. He’s immediately rummaging through your bathroom, hurriedly asking where your cleansing wipes are before you succumb to slumber, and returns to your side albeit not telling him where it was. It’s funny, really, the way you could see yourselves falling into this routine in the future. A future that seems so out of reach, if only you wouldn’t be miles away from each other when all this is done.
“Stay still,” Soobin whispers, as if terrified of breaking through the air of tenderness sifting through your hotel room. He holds your face so delicately as he drags the makeup off of your lethargic state. He’s merely inches away and yet he seems so far from your reach.
“Soobin,” you let out, almost a pained, yearning whimper. You feel his fingers tremble against your cheek before he resumes his ministrations with a simple hum. “You’re even prettier up close.”
Maybe it’s the liquid courage. Maybe it’s all those talks with Karina. Maybe it’s the rare occurrence of you acting according to impulse– but you close the distance between the two of you, letting out a contented sigh as you feel his plump lips against yours.
The problem is Soobin stays unmoving.
You pull away, shame overcoming the entirety of your system.
“Soobin, I’m sor-”
“Good night,” he replies curtly.
All inebriety has fallen out of the window as you lay down, pulling the sheets all over yourself. You pray this was all just a dream. That you had actually dozed off as he was busying himself on tidying the makeup off your face.
The last thing you hear before sleep overcomes you are his faint footsteps and the clicking of your door.
page.soobin: let me know if you’re awake
: i bought painkillers for you
: i’ll come by then
It’s half past 3 in the afternoon when you awake from your slumber, groaning as you curse yourself for drinking like a maniac the previous night. You simply blink at Soobin’s texts, about to reply when you recall all the humiliation you put yourself in.
Fuck. Fuck. You’re fucked.
page.soobin: you awake?
: you have read receipts on by the way
Great.
: i just woke up
: it’s fine i can manage
: you don’t have to come over
page.soobin: stop
: at least let me take care of you
: i’m okay, soobin
: i swear
page.soobin: i’m still dropping by
: elevator rn
It all happens so quickly. One second you’re grimacing at the thought of seeing him in your disheveled and oh-so dreadfully humiliated state, and the next you’re opening the door for him. He’s dressed in a baggy shirt and shorts, hair disheveled as if he’s been running his hands through it the whole while.
“You should have gone out instead of worrying about my hungover,” you grumble under your breath, eyes not daring to land on him.
“Go out? Without you?” He says it like nothing significant happened between the two of you just hours ago.
“Yeah, I don’t know about that…”
Soobin puffs out a breath he’s been keeping for God knows how long.
“Listen-”
“We don’t have to talk about it, Soobin. I’m really sorry. We should just forget that ever happened and just go our separate ways for the rest of our days here.”
Your mind is in shambles as he stares blankly, debating what to say next.
“Please look at me.”
You can’t deny his request when his voice sounds like it’s about to break. When your eyes meet for the first time since last night, everything just comes crashing out on you. He’s staring so intently, you fear you’ll break upon his gaze.
“Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?”
“That you find me beautiful,” he pauses before adding, “That you tried to look pretty for me.”
You grimace at his prodding. “Why would I not mean it?”
“You were drunk.”
“Just because I’m drunk doesn’t mean I’m lying.”
Just like that, another awkward silence falls upon you. You could only hear his shallow breaths, like he was holding himself back. You pray he doesn’t hear the buzzing in your brain.
“I wanted to kiss you,” he professes matter-of-factly.
“You didn’t kiss me back.”
“I didn’t want our first kiss to be of us being drunk.”
You’re dumbfounded as you took in his feverish appearance.
“So, if you’ll let me,” he murmurs, “I’d like to have a do-over.”
This time, it wasn’t you who closed the distance between your lips. In a matter of seconds, all of you is filled with him. Soobin. Soobin, who didn’t want to make a move in fear of you not reciprocating. Soobin, who was patient enough to care for you in the most minuscule of ways. Soobin, who you have at the palm of your hand, giving you himself wholeheartedly. Soobin, who has yearned for you all this time.
His soft lips glide against yours so smoothly, his hands eventually slotting around the curve of your waist to pull you in closer. Kissing him felt like coming home. Pressed up against him is where you wanted to be forever.
Soobin pushes you to lay on the bed, with him following suit. He’s careful not to put his whole weight on you, but even so, you feel suffocated by the affection bubbling within you. He’s all yours, albeit just for this moment.
“Soob,” you manage to mewl out against the kisses he is peppering all over your collarbone.
“You alright, baby?” The endearment is enough to make your legs buckle around his waist, wanting to pull him in closer.
“More than alright,” you gasp as he grazes his teeth against your neck, leaving love bites. “I just can’t believe you’re mine today.”
He furrows his eyebrows, halting his actions, “Today?”
“Today,” you frown. “Last full day together and we’re back to our old lives.”
His eyes soften immediately, brushing the strands of hair from your face before he speaks, “It doesn’t have to be just today. I’m yours evermore.”
“But-”
“I’ll visit you every now and then. You can show me around your hometown, and I’ll fly you out to mine,” he traces his finger against your cheek, “And then you’ll meet Tori. I swear you’ll fall in love with her. And we’ll have all the time to ourselves.”
You snicker, “Do you say that to the girls back home too?”
Soobin chuckles in response, a low humming in his chest, “Home is with you.”
You feel like you’re going insane as you pull him in once more, so overwhelmed with the infatuation. Your kisses escalate from shy smacks to a full-blown makeout session, eliciting soft groans from the man looming above you. The way you touch each other feels as though you’re trying to memorize the feel of your bodies, your hands making their way to the skin of his chest under his shirt.
“Take it off if you want to, baby,” he prompts, half-teasing and half-desperate. You catch your breath before tugging on it, motioning for him to help you in pulling it over his head. Every part of him looks like it was sculpted by the gods so intricately. You really can’t believe he’s yours for the taking.
“You look like you’re about to devour me,” he teases.
“I am about to devour you.”
He moans at your words, taking you aback.
“You’re into that?”
“Only if it’s you.”
You don’t know how much time passes– all you know is that your clothes ended up on the floor and he’s inching his long fingers into your heat. His eyebrows are knit as he presses each knuckle to your walls, while you are left to whimper helplessly. His pace picks up, making your face scrunch up from the pleasure.
“Soo- baby, no,” you have a death grip on his arm, trying to stop him.
“Hurts?”
“No, good,” you swivel your hips, “Just want you inside.”
He gulps, a rush of heat going straight to his groin. “Condom?”
It’s irresponsible, really. Despite having previous experiences, you’ve never done it without. You don’t know why, but your brain compels you to heave in response, “No. I want all of you.”
“You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Death by dick seems pleasurable.”
Soobin almost can’t believe the humor laced in your words when he’s about to fuck the living daylights out of you, “Don’t die on me.”
He pulls himself out of his boxers, stroking himself. He’s achingly hard, and it took everything in you not to shoot up and beg him to let you have a taste.
“Soobin, you’re huge.”
“More surface area for me to love you with.”
You were about to shoot him a cringed out look when he guided his tip to your entrance. Both your faces scrunch up in pleasure despite the lack of penetration.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Baby,” your chest heaves, “I need you. I thought I made that clear.”
He beams, a stark contrast to him starting to inch through your insides. He’s biting his lip as he holds your hips down, “You’re- fuck.”
Your brain has officially melted into a puddle when he manages to fit everything inside. He gives you time to adjust to the intrusion, pecking your face all over. You swear this is the closest thing to paradise.
And he’s not far off. You notice how his knuckles are turning white from gripping your hips so tautly, trying to ground himself.
When you give him the signal to move, Soobin swears he could almost finish from the first thrust. He’s almost whining from the all-consuming pleasure, thrusts going from the softest brushes against your walls to calculated presses against the deepest parts of you. Soon enough, you’re babbling against his collarbone, leaving your own marks on his ivory skin. He’s yours, yours, yours.
“Fuck,” Soobin sobs, “I just want to stay like this forever.”
You can’t even bring yourself to respond verbally, resorting to clenching around him. His sobs grow even louder, hips unrelenting against yours. You wish you had met back in your hometown. You wish he was easily within your reach. You wish you had the liberty of being tangled up with him for the rest of your life. You don’t want to let him go. What can you do when the only person you’ve allowed yourself to feel everything and anything for lives oceans away?
“Baby,” your voice is weak as you scratch up his back, tugging on his nape. “About to cum.”
This only eggs him on faster, now slamming his hips roughly as he chases your orgasm. “F-fuck. I-inside?”
You hum, locking your legs tighter around his waist, “Nowhere else. N-need to have a piece of you with- in me before we fly back tomorrow.”
Your words seem to do wonders for Soobin. Your orgasm hits you at the same time he spills his warmth deep inside. You would’ve teased him about how he came so much if you weren’t twitching from the aftershocks of your release. He stays inside as the two of you unwind, him drawing circles against your hips, trying to soothe it from his death grip from earlier.
“You alright?” he mumbles against your neck, lapping at it gently. You hum in response, running your fingers through his tousled hair. You lay in silence, relishing in each other’s body warmth under the covers. He kisses the top of your head from time to time, breathing in your scent.
“I smell like vomit,” you grimace.
“You smell like sex.”
You roll your eyes, “That too. But I’m too lazy to take a shower. Just want to be with you.”
He taps your thigh, smirking, “Just say you want to take a shower with me.”
And that, you did. He takes his time with you, locking you in his embrace as the water simmers through your bare bodies. Mundane as it is, you bask in the feel of his body pressed against yours. You’d do anything to live in this moment eternally.
When it was time to fly back home, it took everything in you not to lock yourself inside Soobin’s luggage. You had walked hand in hand, waiting for each other’s flights back home. He kept kissing your knuckles, hushing sweet nothings. When your flight had been announced for boarding, you had cried in his arms, desperately wanting to take him with you. Soobin, ever the mediator, kisses the top of your head, promising to be by your side in a few months’ time. You don’t dare to look back when you enter the gate. You’re scared you’ll fall into another fit of sobs.
It’s been 5 months since, and you’re lounging on your couch, waiting for Soobin’s daily good morning message. He had been consistent in giving you even the smallest details of his life, the highlight of each of your days being the video call you hop on for your debriefings until you fall asleep.
soob ♡: good morning
: the heat is killing me
Your face lights up as his name pops up on your screen.
: good morning <3
: it’s 17° in seoul though?
soob ♡: wanna see something funny?
: baby it’s too early for your league of legends gameplay
soob ♡: heyyy :(
: but please say yes
: this isn’t related to league i swear
: ?
: okay yes i wanna know something funny
soob ♡: okay maybe this is borderline creepy instead of funny
: [Sent a photo attachment.]
You shriek as you open the photo, feet immediately waddling over to your front door.
There he is.
Soobin has a large grin on his face when his eyes land on you, a bouquet of lilies in his hand extended towards you. Even so, your favorite flowers dull in comparison to your favorite boy. The bouquet is all forgotten on the ground when you run to his embrace, one that you’ve been longing for. You don’t care if the neighbors could hear your squealing throughout the apartment hallway. He’s here. He’s here. He’s here, and he’s finally all yours.
Stepping over the boundary of 'friends' is your forte. The two of you are always meddling into the grey area where there’s no fine line between flashing each other for fun and actually hanging out. Just walking in on one of your conversations feels like an echo chamber of gradually lame inside jokes and dirty innuendos. So it’s no surprise that you’re video calling him at 2 in the morning with a hand preoccupied. Besides, a bit of cyber sex is nothing compared to whatever you and Beomgyu share with each other.
╰┈➤MDNI - NSFW content ahead...
…or in simple words…ғᴡʙ!ʙᴇᴏᴍɢʏᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ft. fwb!Taehyun
ᝰ.ᐟ wc - 20.6k
warnings!! and mentions!! switch!gyu (predominantly sub leaning) x reader, mutual masturbation, unprotected p in v, riding, sex over the phone and video calls, fwb!Taehyun x reader smut scene, sexual jokes, voyeurism, minor jealousy, fingering, oral!m rec, handjob, cum eating, instances where reader's sex tapes are shared, profanities, petnames, praise kink, whiny gyu agenda, creampie, light pinching and dacryphilia, gyu and reader work at a store <3
tyunningism's note: Very much delayed ackkk I'm sorry! But my Beomgyu redemption fic is finally here, and I hope my readers enjoy this new work hehe <3 (I have to add Taehyun in everywhere, he just reminds me so much of the virgin formula tyun and I love it gosh)
Beomgyu’s heard it all before. You know, the short-lived but nevertheless ‘juicy’ details of your private life. From dick size right down to the wacky kinks, he’d need another set of hands to count all your misfortunes and jackpots when it comes to your pound-town of a bed. That’s what six months of being packed with you into working the 5 to 9 shift has bestowed upon him: a listening ear to your oversharing. If only… he could put all that effort into his scut work instead of blabbering back about twice as much.
Normally, any other person has a secret they’d carry to the grave without making a peep; in his eyes you’re totally transparent. You wear your heart on your sleeve all year round, and your tits, but that came from you, not him. Even so, Beomgyu had to learn the hard way that trusting friends with secrets is a fragile concept he shouldn’t underestimate. The time Kai snooped through his phone ended up with his nudes on the screen and his best friend retching on the floor mere seconds later. He doesn’t need to get into the gritty details to explain that it was a tough pill to swallow. He figured it’d be better to speak with no filter than be caught trying to filter it out for everyone’s sake.
Being so open with each other never failed to lift a burden off your chests though. Whether it was about a customer giving either of you the hots, or the other end of the extreme, in which you’d both cuss out any of the pricks you encountered behind their back. It just never crossed his mind that your oversharing sessions could ever… backfire.
“Didn’t see you pay for that at the till.”
He raises his head just enough to narrowly avoid a sure-to-be-sore collision with the upper shelf, eyebrows raised as he turns towards the scoff in your voice. You didn’t need to point a finger directly at it for him to realise you’re doubting the opened can of beer that’s magically found its way in his hands.
“Awh-fuck. Must’ve picked it up without thinking after I restocked the beverages.” Beomgyu gives a half laugh, transcending back into the low hum his voice is permanently altered to whenever he’s lost sleep.
You’re hauling another crate of vitamins and over-the-counter pills when it lands with a thump on the floor, wiping your forehead glistening with mild sweat with the back of your hand. “Yeah, you look like you need it.” Your thumb rubs over the braille on the packaging as you set the boxes of pills on the shelves. “Haven’t seen you look so shit since Kai crashed your Ford.”
Standing around with a can of beer while you worked your back out trying to fill up the very back of the shelves only made him feel worse. He rubs his temples and takes the first sip of the night, knowing that glugging it down would only make the pounding in his head worse. “I-I know I usually talk more. Sorry, this must be bori—"
“Usually you don’t make stupid mistakes like dumping all of the Viagra stock on the shelf that clearly reads ‘vinegar’ Gyu.” It’s obvious you had more to pick on him for, but the shortage of breath from having to squat and stand up to empty the crate onto the shelves is tedious work. “It’s like you read condoms instead of condiments on the aisle sign.”
He blinks twice, then tightens his grip on the can until the metal indents with his fingers, and takes a larger sip.
“You actually did, didn’t you?” A kick to the half-full crate, mounted with piles of painkillers, causes it to slide across and land before his feet. “You’re lucky the pharmacists haven’t caught your ass for that.”
“Sounds like you’re saying I need another drink.” A lazy smile unfolds over his face, enough to flash his teeth but not enough to drawl out the endearing smile lines you’re used to seeing. Until disaster strikes again, and suddenly the tired lean of his head against the shelf is too much weight, knocking the vitamin gummies at the very top down to the floor.
“I’m saying that you should clock out early and sleep. I’ll cover for both of us for the rest of the shift, and I’ll pay for the beer since I love you so much.” Jokingly, your shoulder nudges his as you stack his crate of toothpaste onto your crate of vitamins.
Saying ‘love you too’ feelings-free wasn’t difficult back then, not like it is now. His throat dries up not because he’s exhausted and dehydrated, but because he’s never hid anything from you when you’re so used to sharing everything with each other.
“No, it’s fine I just—” a sigh leaves him, “I’ve been stressed.”
“Stressed? What…like, can’t get your dick wet?” This is how it should be. Laughing, cracking jokes, gossiping about whose sex tape was leaked by their best friend. But he doesn’t return the light-heartedness at all, awkwardly rubbing strands of his hair between his thumb and index.
“Y-yeah, something like that.”
The pause between you dwells for longer than he’d like; he watches the cogs in your head turn as you think of something borderline serious, even if it’s unlikely. “Get someone to stroke your shit then, you’re starting to sound like Micropeen Mateo.”
No one wants to delve into the history behind your disappointing ex unless you’re using it against Beomgyu whenever he’s whining on. For all he knows, Mateo’s tried harder to find a hookup than he’s ever had.
“The girl I usually see cut it off with me last week. She’s moving to the inner city.” Stumbling from the weight beginning to pile up on his hands, he attempts to set down the bottles of vitamin gummies you’ve picked off the floor from the accident nearby.
“Ooh! I liked her, the hot girl from Nepal who gave me her lip combo? Can’t believe you bagged her in the first place.” You observe the knit in his brows displaying the hurt he took to your obvious banter, which makes you turn away from him awkwardly as you finish your tasks.
You squat to pick up the last bottle of gummies. Your eyes flit between hurling it towards your co-worker, whose hands are full, and passing it directly to him as you have already been. It’s around then that your mind finds a better idea, a generous offer to help your good friend.
“Y’know, you can always ask me for help.”
Faced with your back, Beomgyu can barely grasp whether you were dead serious or joking without the aid of your expressive face. Like you dropped this entire bomb on him without warning, and he’d rather accept his fate than ask you for clarity to defuse it.
“Hah..ha…hah, HAH… holy fuck, that’s the first time you’ve ever been funny.” He tries to laugh it off, aggressively or not doesn’t matter, playing off the absurdity of your proposal with a couple of slaps to your arm as you turn back to face him.
Everything about you is composed. Not laughing alongside him even in an empty store, and to make things clearer, your hands cross under the swell of your chest as if you wanted him to take you seriously. Even if it really only brought attention to your tits instead of the adamant look on your face.
“I’m being serious Gyu, if all you need is a handjob to be functioning on something other than beer, I’ll do it.” The way your words seamlessly roll off your tongue can make even the vulgarest of sentences seem as natural as a simple ‘hello.’
You didn’t even stammer when you spoke. Now you were left waiting for him to speak up as unaffected as you are while you bat your lashes at him. On purpose? He can’t tell.
In hopes that the two sips of beer he had are enough to justify the blush creeping across his cheeks, he attempts to maintain eye contact with you as though his boxers aren’t suffocating around the growing boner he’ll have to pull his shirt over. If only you hadn’t sent one last blow to knock him over for good, pink tongue sticking out with a finger pointed at the wet muscle.
“Taehyun says I’m good at giving blowjobs too.”
Beomgyu swears he doesn’t mean to, but he clicks his tongue at the name anyway. Taehyun has grown accustomed to the slightly sour tinge in the roof of his mouth when he hears it. Sure, he’s never met the guy in the flesh, but he can piece together a decent image from the details in your exaggerated storytelling.
Truthfully, he’s never cared for the ins and outs of whoever you were sleeping with, because by the time it reaches your routine shift together, you’d have retold everything to him like he cuckolded the actual thing. Not that he’d mind if you suggested the idea. After all, it wouldn’t be exclusive between the two of you, and neither is it exclusive between you and Taehyun.
“The new roommate you slept with the second he moved in?” You’re applying red discount stickers straight off the roll when he says it, bottom lip tucked under the other, while you recall the memory.
“Mhm, and every other week since. He’s good at it Gyu,” he watches intently as you bend your middle and ring finger and rub the air in circular motions, “you’d understand if you saw him. Were you even listening to anything I told you on Monday?”
Tell him about it; he hasn’t been focused on anything you’ve told him this week. “The way you describe him makes me feel like a fucking chud jeez.” Taking the roll of stickers out of your palm, he peels about three and sticks them onto his fingers, plastering one on your forehead and the rest on the whitening strips instead of the toothpaste.
“Well then, chud. As I was saying on Monday, Taehyun and I tried masturbating togeth—”
“And?” Beomgyu huffs as he starts plastering discount stickers on everything that shouldn’t have— it makes you wonder how he’s not fired yet. But he’s charmed enough regulars to put in a good word for him to get away with virtually anything; he’s ‘eye-candy’ to be precise.
“— And it’s hot. So you should try it with me.”
Everything else became a blur after you left, subconsciously blocked out, even if he’s certain what you had to say was important. It just wasn’t important to Beomgyu when you’ve enticed him with something purely theoretical at the moment. Stay here for any longer than 6 minutes and 28 seconds, and he’s a goner. Poor guy’s been uncomfortably shifting in his pants since you went off to clean the store about 20 minutes ago.
It doesn’t help that he’s been ogling at you from afar as you locked up the tills. Within the time that’s passed you’ve tied back your hair, snuck yourself a lolly from the jar by the register, and scanned ‘n paid for your microwavable dinner tonight. For two, he notices.
The red flush inevitably grows on his face as he imagines it before him. Stepping into your apartment, feet tangling with your panties on the floor, and you lifting your shirt for real this time instead of joking that you will.
Is he some sort of sick perv? Yes, no…maybe? He shifts the blame onto being pent up, not because it’s you or anything akin. This feeling of being desperate makes him all the worse. Especially when the drool from his mouth leaks onto his uniform after being hypnotised by the way your lips purse around the tip of the lollipop, tongue swirling around the protruding rim, then sucking it whole. There’s only so much imagination needed to make it seem as lewd as it is in Beomgyu’s eyes.
“Gross dude. I know you guys have sex and all but it’s Thursday. This whole eye fucking thing you’ve got going on is unsexy.”
If there was one way to describe the look on Beomgyu’s face, it’s that he looks like he’s seen a ghost from how shrill he yelps seeing the dirty blonde come into view.
“Shit— you scared the crap out of me! And we aren’t fuck—”
“—We aren’t what? What are you and Jjun talking about?”
All colour drains from his face as he sees you pop your head around the other end of the aisle. In hand, you’ve bunched up your keys and his, a coat half pulled over yourself with the other sleeve still hanging. You fuss over the fact that it’s time to clock off as you tap your finger against the imaginary watch on your wrist.
“Let Yeonjun take care of closing up tonight. Unless you don’t want to come.”
“C-Cum?”
“Come with.” You mouth a soft ‘thank you’ in the other male’s direction before recklessly tossing over Beomgyu’s car keys. A small giggle emits from you watching him stumble to try catch them, oblivious to how hard he’s trying to multitask with catching the keys in one hand and pulling his shirt over his boner with the other.
Like some lost puppy he follows right after you, not beside but behind, accidentally stepping onto your heel whenever he mismatches your pace. You don’t even question him as you walk out of the store and into the parking lot, until you spot his busted-up Ford—that’s in desperate need of a trip down to the mechanics—parked miles away from your own Chevrolet.
“Need something from me Gyu?” Your head cocks as you climb into the driver’s seat, locking him out before he could even make his rounds to the passenger door while you roll down a window to talk to him.
Speechless is an understatement. Well, you told him you’d help him out if he needed it, no? He can barely make sense of why you’re as visibly confused as he is, biting apart the remains of your lollipop while the bare stick twirls between your fingers.
“Y-you were going to h-help me…with that thing.” The worst you could do is change your mind and tell him no, and give him time to wallow and wail over it later in his own front seat. Not cocking your head to the side and acting like you’re clueless when he’s been thinking about your offer for the past hour in the most degenerative state of his twenties.
Caught you right in the action, he did. He heard the little lies slipping past your tongue to rile him up. He let you roll back up your window with a laugh, pushing his buttons further as your voice grew muffled through the glass. “Ohmygod speak up Gyu! What thing?”
“I’m going to pop your tyre if you make me say this out loud—” Saying it’s cold in the parking lot is the equivalent of agreeing to the fucking allegations between you, not quite there yet, but sitting on the border. Mainly because in Beomgyu’s books it’s fucking freezing, a chill he can’t just shrug off, but leaves him shivering enough to want to screw over your offer and head straight towards his car.
Your hand cups behind your ear as you lean closer against the window, a lengthy ’huhh?’ dragged out just about loud enough for him to hear, and cuss at you over. “I didn’t get that Gyuuu!—”
“—You told me you were gonna help me rub one out or something!” The car rocks slightly as he thumps his forehead against the frame of the driver’s door. An arm tucked beneath his face to hide the blush spreading as he leans, unsure of whether opening his eyes to see your reaction or continuing to shy away in humiliation would give him less of a headache.
“Beomgyu! Don’t say that out loud!” The tiny glint in the smile of your eye tells it all, that you knew what he was getting at from the start, and he’s fallen a pawn into your own amusement. “How do I put this? I mean, we live on opposite ends of the city Gyu and you know how much I complain about the fuel for this thing. Just thought you’d catch on…that I wanted to do it over the phone. It’ll be easier.”
“O-over the...phone? Yeah— over the phone, that’s cool, fine uh— do I c-call you or?” Luck is always on the course to mess around with Beomgyu at the worst possible moments, including now as he stutters over each syllable, thoughts still processing in his head mid-sentence.
“Then call me tonight. I’ll be trying on the new lingerie I bought from Spencer’s if that helps you with anything.”
Shooting himself in the foot is all that Beomgyu’s ever known to do. Biting down on his nails but not chewing, eyes glued to your contact page on his screen while his fingers are set in stone. Minutes pass into hours, the small 22:00 in the corner winds back to 00:00, and by then he doubts you’ll even be awake to answer his procrastination-delayed call.
Hell, he doubts he can even remember how many times he’s stumbled out of bed to press his face flat against the mirror. Fingers rubbing over the rough stubble growing in, wetting the tip of his finger to slick back the stray strand he’s never able to tame for long. He looks a mess, and a desperate one at that. Still clad in his uniform when it clicks in his head that he should change, shower, flip his apartment upside down until it’s spotless before even bothering to dial you at this hour.
It's nothing but a voice call; it’s not like you’ll be able to see him anyway. Yet Beomgyu knows all too well how real it’ll start to feel once the buzz of your voice through the speaker brushes over his ear. He’d hate for you to see him squirm at the edge of the bed, nodding eagerly for no one but himself to observe in the mirror, the thought alone making him blush from the chin up.
Grinning like an idiot with his phone idle and right against his ear, his fantasy is cut short by his ringtone, a call sent from your end as he takes note of the round profile on display. You’re smiling gently, with your best friend’s face popping out in the corner to meddle in the photo, and for a second it’s too dirty to think about. Plastering your face on top of a body wearing lingerie seems unnaturally lewd, despite your mouth being the filthiest cove of words he’s ever heard. So he lets his phone ring for a millisecond longer, legs dangling off the bed as he hunches to press the phone closer against his ear to fend off anyone else from the luxury of hearing your voice in the late hours of night.
“Hey.” Beomgyu bites on the knuckle of his thumb, eyes screwed shut as if that would be any help to drowning out your simple greeting.
The traces of sleep that still lag your speech are apparent. Soft groans and mumbled words that enter through one ear and come out the other once it’s passed by his dick first. No one’s to blame him for thinking you’d forgotten about the offer for real this time when you’re still stirring awake.
“Couldn’t call any later Gyu. I dozed off on my bed in this…” your voice pauses, the softest snap of a band just about audible in the background, “lingerie waiting for you to call you know.”
“Y-yeah my bad, I was busy with something—”
“—Whoaa, really Gyu?? You got a head start on jerking off?” The sarcasm drips in your tone, honeyed and raspy as your giggles sound out the white noise in his room, and it turns him on more than it should.
“Where did you get that from? I-I’m not even hard yet.” With that, he plummets back onto his bed, arms spread out to give him more space to breathe before draping a backhand across his forehead.
“Should’ve taken the Viagra you misplaced if you needed help getting it up.” You’re soothing him as you speak, light hearted and playful enough to ease his nerves from sky high to still terribly high. “Would photos help?”
And then sky high again.
“Photos? Like, nudes?” Beomgyu’s speech slurs from word to word, gulping down every inch of embarrassment starting to seep in and pigment his cheeks a rosy hue. Who could’ve guessed that you’re an expert at leaving people hanging? Because as you hum into your phone, he’s listening and wide-eyed with a palm situated over his mouth to muffle the small whine that leaves him.
“I’d be impressed if you could get hard from photos of what I had for lunch.”
The buzz of a notification leaves him unsure of how to function. Whether it’s to check your message head first without warning, or mutter a cheesy thank you beforehand. It’s difficult for him not to have his hopes up when you’ve been leaving smidges and crumbs for him to fall apart in your hands like mush. In his head, that sort of reality isn’t far off Heaven, and as he opens up your message on the display of his phone he can only conjure a single semi-decent thought.
Tempting’s just too weak of a word.
Covered in nothing but a tight-fitted tank, the fabric bunches together into fine lines that carve out the swell of your tits. The lighting in your room isn’t the clearest. Slightly fuzzy areas of shadow and dull ambience from the lamp balanced on your nightstand, draping your skin in warmer, gentle hues. Your legs cross over each other, panties pulled down to just above one knee, torturing him with the urge to pry them open. Tempting him with the thought of how the flesh of your thighs would spill between his fingers, plush and pudgy where it’s softest.
Insignificant little details that may have slipped from your memory, he remembers. From the butterscotch lotion you snuck home with your employee discount, imagining how you’d rub down the inside of your thighs with the off-white cream. Right down to memorising your evening routine, and how furiously he blushed when you admitted to wearing nothing to sleep solely for comfort.
Little by little, his eyes trace over how your thighs smush together, the subtle rise of your chest that makes you appear as breathless and needy as he is. Perhaps you didn’t intend on it when you snapped a photo of something so suggestive, but with all his attention focused on you, it’s a total loss to look over the lacey lingerie peeking from under your top’s straps. Somewhere in between pink and white, the see-through fabric only amplifies his perverse desires. So much so that he nearly misses the muffled whimper in his ear.
Beomgyu doesn’t mean to parade on whatever you’re up to now that the line’s gone…quiet. But the sloshing that seeps into the audio of your mic opens you up to being read like a book. A part of him wants to break the chain of muted whines to ask if you’ve slipped in a finger or two yet. If you’re soaked enough for your fingertips to become prune-like and drenched in your juices, if you could lick down your digits and tell him how you taste.
“Gyuuu? You’ve gone silent again— don’t tell me you’re still looking at the picture.” The drag of his name enters the territory of a whine, catching him off guard as his vision unblurs from a lustful focus on your waist to the call icon hung at the top of his screen.
“S-sorry I forgot—” It would’ve saved his pride by an inch if he wasn’t turned on so easily by an amateur picture of your top half clad and your thighs crossed tight enough to hide it all. He’s seen filthier things: cunts gaping with cum he could only dream of being his, silicone sex dolls tearing apart from brute force, voice-guided masturbations from his ex-favourite fem-dom creator, who he suddenly grew tired of. Though none of them have pushed him to the extent where he can see the patch of precum leaking through his boxers, beading from his tip in generous enough intervals to soak through his thick sweats and leave them pathetically stained—nothing like what your photos do to him.
“Hard yet?” The sultry façade of your tone targets straight for his cock, the mass twitching in the restraints of his boxers.
“Y-yeah. I’m hard thanks..f-for the—”
“Let me see Gyuuu, come on! You told me you were pretty well off down there.” The buzz of your camera turning on tickles his ear, thoughts fluctuating between whether it’d be safe to bring his phone to his face or if he’d cum on the spot alone.
“This is different!” Your chuckles at him only make the heat spread across his face like a wildfire. Each staccato syllable of your laugh contributes to another bead of precum as it oozes from his slit, cockhead too sensitive to push his boxers past and relieve himself.
“You wanted to try out this whole masturbating together thing, didn’t you? When Taehyun’s away at the gym, he likes it when I guide him through the camera.”
“O-okay, I got it!” Beomgyu’s palms sweat with a nervous clamminess, gulping down the drool beginning to swash in his mouth as he observes the way you’ve positioned your phone.
You’re leaning against your headrest, knees bent, and legs opened wide enough for everything to be on display if only it weren’t for the hand shielding your dripping folds. A small pool of your juices staining the bedsheets is barely visible with the light emitted from your screen, turning the white sheets grey as you fiddle with your lingerie. The fabric protrudes where your nipples perk, the thin mesh grazing over the sensitive nubs as soft moans collapse from your lips.
Seeing you already prepared and past the awkward stage of fiddling with what angle works best, Beomgyu can only settle for flipping to his back camera to direct it at the rough bulge in his pants. He tries to shuffle away his fingers so you can’t poke fun at how they’re burning pale from how hard he’s digging his nails into the mattress, trying to make sense of the situation in his head and trick him into feeling natural. Even if nothing about stroking his cock to his co-worker playing with herself is natural to begin with.
“Whoa fuck— you’re not a minute man are you? Looks like you shot a load already with all that precum,” your thighs visibly tense up as you take him in, the shyness hitting him as he chews on the inside of his cheek, “wanna see it, take it all off.”
“I-I can’t— feels sensitive, I don’t know it’s never felt this…close before.” The line enters silence again. With fingers tiptoeing past the waistband, your voice fading into the background until he could hear the shuffling of footsteps outside your room, and his own breath still hitching.
“Shit, you nearly just made me squirt.”
Stammering, only a few incoherent noises of jumbled words leave his mouth. Dizzy in his head and only growing harder despite it feeling impossible. Your eyes never left their station on his bulge, glistening obscenely as you observe the way the girth twitches profusely and shifts about in his grey boxers.
“I’ll give you a close-up of my pussy if you touch yourself for five seconds without cumming.” Everything that emerges from your lips is nothing short of nasty, the grossest set of words he’d only be able to hear from a porn jackpot, only to refresh the tab for it never to be seen again. He’s more than conscious of how badly he should be savouring this, not shy of a little edging if it means he can drag on the call for even a minute longer.
Without communicating another word, his fingers weakly grasp around the waistband. His thumbs fumble over the drawstrings, trying to undo the knot he wishes he’d done earlier with a singular hand. The camera shakes out of focus, placed down on the mattress face-first and left recording the ceiling.
Of course you were a tad disappointed in the loss of any action to satisfy you, other than the overhead lights in his room that remain unlit. Impatience is your biggest enemy, you’ve always thought, but for tonight it’s your greatest friend as you pester him to hurry.
Back camera, foggy. Lighting, about as bad as yours. Except you struck gold with the bed of hair intruding in the far corner. Face framing pieces fall into place as he runs a hand through his hair, the upwards angle catching a small glimpse of the jawline screwed in concentration. Eyebrows furrowing until they touched the brim of his lashes, a mere bead of sweat rolling down the end where it drew your attention to the slight hissing of clenched teeth.
Beomgyu is hot, that’s never been a secret. At least twelve of your friends have nudged your shoulder until it popped out of the socket just to pry for his number, and you can see it in their eyes that it’s not just his face that they’re after, but what he’s hiding under the belt too.
Guess you’re not any different from them after all, definitely not with how your pupils are zeroed in on the bob of his adam’s apple as he finally undoes the strings, and the small expression of clarity and relief in his slack jaw that follows after the series of grunts.
“Tied it too tight, I-I’ll leave it alone next time.”
“Next time?” You hum amusedly as you lock back into action, squeezing the hand between your thighs as you press them together.
Your usually talkative co-worker hesitates to even respond, embarrassment kicking in as he pans the camera towards lifting the restraints of his sweats and soiled boxers in a singular, shaky movement.
“Holy shit Gyu…” He’s already set on rehearsing his essay-length apology with a thumb hovered over the ‘hang up’ button, practically scratching at his thighs to be pressed. It doesn’t help that you don’t utter anything after, your own camera wobbling as your face comes into view, attempting to get a closer look.
In Beomgyu’s eyes, it wasn’t much— even if he talked big out of his ass to prove a point. Just a view of his cock leaking in the most virgin-like way he attests to, snug under his belly button before waning to the side as he twitches. He was somewhat confident with every booty call he’s shown up to, ending with a mantra of praises for his size alone, but he doubts he could live up to whatever Taehyun’s been feeding y—
“I-Is that real?” The zoom in of your face as you inch closer towards the screen for long enough to feel invasive only catalyses the blush spreading from his face to his chest. “You’re probably the biggest I’ve seen, well not seen, but— I mean, I could make a couple of guesses with the slacks you wear to…work.”
Theoretically speaking, what’s more detrimental to Beomgyu’s urge to cum untouched right now? He can’t pinpoint whether it’s the pride that fills him seeing your tongue dart out to lick the drool leaking from your lips, or how you moan on cue as the lighting finally reveals the singular vein running down the side.
“So the entire month that I spent scrolling for a good dildo, you didn’t even nominate yourself to help? I thought we were closer than this Gyu.” Retreating to the backrest again, you smile softly while a finger brushes over the lingerie mesh covering your nipples.
“That’s crossing the line! What if you were grossed out? H-how am I ever going to work a shift with you again?” The patch of skin on his abdomen glistens with the precum continuing to leak, the rounded cockhead bouncing lightly against his skin.
“And talking about your diehard praise kink isn’t? Come on, don’t act like you weren’t jerking off to my voice when I called you after I posted those bikini pics.”
A shooting star must’ve passed by just now, and Beomgyu’s just wished for a ditch for him to bury himself in. You didn’t even call him out or act with any indifference. Could you blame him for thinking he was slick with it? “That was one time!”
“Mhm, you really like being whiny for a guy you know. Why don’t you put all that energy into touching your cock like a good boy? I gave you five seconds, remember?”
On command, he doesn’t bother to put up a fight. His free hand moves in time with your approving hums, amplified by the soft gasps from both of you when his fingers finally wrap around the base.
“S-shit— how do I—?”
“That’s right. Guide your first upwards, press against the slit and promise me you won't cum.” Only dread awaits him from here; he knows he won’t be able to hold back from whatever unfolds next if he obeys. Though he listens and follows attentively anyway.
His thumb hovers dangerously close over the slit, enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body as he hesitates. “C-can’t…I’ll cum too fast and then—”
“Three…two…”
Your countdown eggs him on. Choosing between the dirtier of the two evils means giving in to your instructions, hoping that you’ll give him another chance to redeem himself for such short lived bliss.
Neither of you could tell if it was even caught on camera, or at least visible, from how quickly he retracts his thumb after pushing down on the slit. The male lurches forward with his phone, shaking from the weak grip in his hand. The nerves in his cock tingle sensitively as blood flows without warning and flushes his tip a rosy pink. It takes more than a couple seconds for him to regain his train of thought, the orgasm on the brink of occurring flashing before his mind as he sighs nervously.
“I think you’re deserving of the reward I promised you earlier, hm?” Cooing at him, you spread open your legs again as you tease him with the slowest drag of your hand, unveiling nothing he hasn’t seen already as you delay the reveal.
“Please—”
Beomgyu swears with a cross on his heart that he didn’t mean to come off so desperate as a high-pitched mewl. Although sounding desperate was the least of his worries. Especially when all he could react with to seeing your dripping folds, spread open by the same fingers you touched him with at work earlier, was moaning at the top of his lungs for what felt like a minute straight.
Your fingers circle your clit, pinching at the sensitive bud whilst your other hand instinctively reaches up to appeal to your nipple. With every swipe of your fingers down your folds, they return with a new and thicker load of slick that pops and crackles through the audio.
“Feels s’ good—mngh— Wanna see you fuck your fist t’me getting off.” You pick up the pace by rubbing your clit, the nub growing puffy in real time as he watches you play with yourself. He catches on to the way you pinch at the flesh of your tits or your thighs whenever a surge of pleasure runs through you. Paying attention to each detail of how your back arches slightly and your chest heaves without mercy to catch more than just a shallow breath, pushing your mounds together to tease him tirelessly.
Within a matter of seconds, he’s following up. Giving no more than a couple of experimental strokes to ease the heightened sensitivity, gliding vertically down his cock with just the fingertips.
“Wish you were the one making me feel this good Gyu. Imagine it’s me jerking you off right now, wouldn’t I be going f-faster?”
The effect of your words on him leaves Beomgyu with no room to think for himself other than to listen to your sultry voice, like a siren luring him in with the lewdest gasps and soft pleas you meddle into your praises for him. His favourite being the way you gasp when his finger strokes up the vein and his entire cock throbs and twitches in response. Seeing how your jaw falls open into a breathy moan only makes him all the more curious about how pretty you’d look with your mouth around him.
“N-ngh— take it off p-please—”
Finally finding the courage to wrap his hand around his length completely, Beomgyu’s head throws back in pleasure as he chews on his bottom lip, eyes flitting down low enough to catch sight of how you slip down the lingerie, revealing the swell of your bare tits for him.
“Is that what you wanted Gyu? Being rewarded for touching yourself like a good whore? I’ll tell you all the things you wanna hear pretty.”
Fuck, if he could engrave one memory into his mind forever, it would be this. To frame it somewhere and grant a plaque in your name of all the filthy things you whisper in between the sound of your juices squelching as you flick and rub at your clit.
“Bet you wanna know how tight I’d feel when you’re inside me, I’ve never taken one as big as yours Gyu~” Appearing again, your two fingers spread apart your folds, revealing the way your hole starts to clench and gape open a tiny gap, fingertips caressing over your entrance as you whine out his name.
“N-no I can’t cum yet w-wait—!”
“Cumming already? Would a close-up help?”
Give him time to say no. Let him refuse and prove to you that he’s more than a minute man as long as you don’t zoom in. The hazy blur of pixels and slight lag on the screen is what’s keeping the sensual overload of the call rocking at bay; shuffle any closer to give him a better view, and he might empty his balls on his sheets by accident.
Time doesn’t rush you; the reward of an orgasm does. You shift your phone closer, resting it on its side with a fortress of pillows behind to support the weight, keeping it in focus and clear. Unlucky for him, the close and upfront view of your cunt acts as an invitation for him to bury his face in the heat between your legs, and it brings him to the edge, or already dangling off it.
Beads of sweat roll down the valley of your thighs, mixing with your wetness as your thighs squeeze together and rub from the touch of each circling finger. So brief he could’ve missed it, the sight of your slick stretching between the webs of your fingers. Strings of your juices snap apart as you spread out your greedy folds, clasping for the fist beyond the screen, brewing white at the knuckles to take over once your wrists start to ache.
“Hnnngh— b-been holding back too long, c-can’t!” Groaning, his slender fingers concentrate on the pink cockhead, flushing the same shade as the lipstick he gifted you, which you swore was too bright. Although the gift was put to use. Just for marking yourself in dirty, bold lettering to embody the whole ‘slutty’ look in the bedroom for fun, rather than dusting your lips in a shade even your mother refuses to touch.
“I’ll let you cum on my face if you stop muffling your moans Gyu. It turns me on when I hear how good I’m making your cock feel hmm?”
The comment by itself is enough for him to dig out his chin from his chest, his mouth catching pieces of fluff from his sweater as he tries to rinse the embarrassment dry. Letting out cute, little whimpers that wouldn’t have been caught by the mic if he had been any further from his phone, one by one.
“Nmph-mnngh— O-oh my god—” His vision crossfades until your face held above the camera covers the majority of his tunnelled sight. Your arm can be seen slightly jerking from the strain of your shoulder as you continue to fixate on releasing shortly after him. The loose strands of hair you clipped back at work earlier this morning now stick to your cheeks and forehead in a messy montage, curled ends reaching the corners of your lips as you gasp into a moan.
On purpose, you knit together your brows, squeezing and fluttering your eyes shut as you chew on the fat of your lip, whispering raspy mantras of his name that aggravate the pit of lust below his abdomen.
“C-cumming. O-oh my— oh shitt—!”
Mere seconds before release, he lowers his camera towards the sheets. A camera faced with nothing but bunched up wrinkles of white, with unrestrained grunts that could be heard in the background that made your core pulsate for him.
Beomgyu shudders as he strokes himself whole, thumb pressing against the sensitive vein from the base to the tip as he unloads his cum across your cheeks on the screen, cock twitching as he spots the way you loll your tongue out to catch his seed. The off-white appears grey as the light from his phone burns his eyes, and so does the image of his cum dripping down your cheeks in thick loads as you smile into the camera for him. Unpure at best, the deliberate gaze settles in your eyes, trying to harvest another round from him as you bat your lashes, still needing to cum yourself.
“Gonna need another load in you to spare until I c—”
Entering a silence he’s no stranger to once again, aside from his jagged panting, Beomgyu can barely adjust to the sudden relief in his eyes as the bright screen closes on its own. A relief that’s too short-lived when he can’t find the spread of your legs or your sweat-covered cheeks in front of him. He tries to knock the phone awake by tapping ruthlessly countless times, continuing long after it became hopeless.
“Charger— Charger…where the fuck’s my charger?!” There’s a guilt that doesn’t sit perfectly in his stomach. The regret of not being able to hold on to the one-time miracle of a call for long enough to see the face of pure ecstasy your features fold into when you’re feeling good.
Taking shortcuts, crawling along his bed flat on his stomach towards the other end, and fiddling with the tangled chargers he agreed to sort out two weeks ago. Still overly sensitive after coming down from his high, even the gentlest rub of fabric along his dick is enough for him to hiss out a half-whine.
Perhaps he should be investing in a new phone next, one that doesn’t die within seconds and doesn’t take centuries to charge, or meet him in the middle whenever he needs to go out for drinks late into the day. Has he ever considered religion as much as he does right now while praying that you haven’t given up and gone to bed unattended when he hung up without warning? Doubt it.
Fingers crossed too if that made any difference.
Blank loading screens have him on edge as they continue to stack on and delay the restart. By now you’d have probably pulled out the purple vibrator you were ranting to him about last week, come all over it in seconds like how you always praise it to do, and worst of all cuss him out for being an ass. A huge ass for dipping the second he cums like you’re fish food for every other pent-up loser whose fuck buddy left him, though he’ll have to explain the dead battery part before it leads to that.
Until the second his phone glows bright again, his lockscreen is covered by the swarm of your messages. Filled from top to bottom with ‘?’s and ‘what happened?’s until you gave up with a short and sourly sweet ‘goodnight gyu 💗.’ With courtesy of the heart you left next to it of course, until he sees the ‘nickname updated to selfish minute-man’ in fine print on his screen.
“I didn’t mean to hang up, you know that. My phone can’t be out of the vicinity of a charger for longer than five minutes.”
Stocking the shelves again— wasting another shift, and to make matters worse he has to make it up to you for leaving you hanging sober. He doesn’t even consider whether you’d offer to cover for his drink this time either. Hell, if you were really pissed about it, you might as well snitch for the beer he snuck on the clock last time, and Beomgyu wouldn’t dare to think of putting up a fight.
“And you should know that I’m not pissed at Gyu, promise! When you hung up I thought that…” Pausing, you examine his features carefully, as you have been for the past 5 minutes, poking fun at the sulky pout he’s subconsciously forming. You bump shoulders with him, carrying a bundle of packaged and sliced loaves to replace those on the verge of expiring, leaning into his ear to whisper something as you always do when it’s taboo to say in public. “I thought your cum got caught in your speaker and broke it Gyu—”
“Ergh— wait that tickles—!!”
By popular demand (you), you wished you had one of those video-recording glasses on hand to capture the way Beomgyu squirms away from the hot fanning of your breath against his ears. On the contrary, he’s much more opposed to how you don’t seem to ever have a reaction stored in you at all. Especially considering that you happen to both be working on a shift together when not even a day ago he was jerking off to you over a screen.
“If you’re feeling guilty because you didn’t see me finish then I don’t think you’re actually guilty, sounds more like perverted to me.”
Once again, it’s night and day between your individual shelves. Loaves packed and neatly shuffled into precise columns, versus the pastries he’s yet to have even touched, forget about restocking the shelf. He’s always slacking off around you. “Oh! And I finished with a little help anyway, so don’t worry that pretty head of yours around it before our revenue drops below break even.”
Way to go Beomgyu, always overcomplicating everything for himself. He knows better than to prod you on even further, like trying to light up a spark that’ll only end up setting off a firework in the end, not that it’ll stop him either way.
“Help?”
“I’m not sleeping through drenched panties Gyu. Not when Taehyun’s in the room opposite, I’d be stupid not to—”
“So, what exactly are you guys? Like…a thing? Oh god, don’t tell me you’re cheating on him by helping me get off.” About two steps in towards him to take matters into your own hands with stocking up the pastries, you don’t waste a second in flicking his forehead hard enough to burn a sigil for idiots on it. “Ow!— What the fuck?”
“Like hell we’d be a thing. I told you I thought he only liked guys when he first moved in. I mean…the stuff that Soobin guy says whenever he’s around gives me the creeps.” Beomgyu’s about to add in how your suspicions are more often than not baseless, but you seem to beat him to it with a finger pressed against his lips. The same fingers you were rubbing yourself with yesterday— webbed together by your slick. “Think of it as if Kai brought a guy back to your apartment, and you could hear him talking about how he likes to be punished and kicked around?! There’s no way you wouldn’t suspect something Gyu.Sounds like they’re discussing bedroom rules for hardcore shit to me.”
“Play detective all you’d like, but we talk about things like that too.” A small scowl leaves him as he rubs against the sore spot on his forehead. Reaching in to then tug gently on your ear to give the umpteenth mouthful about finding better evidence before accusing.
“Well I guess he’s only really had girlfriends— I’m getting distracted, aren’t I? Hff, it doesn’t even matter since we’re not each other’s type anyway. It won’t go further than some casual fucking.” Beomgyu blinks as if that’d help him to understand whatever spewed from your mouth, if it even processes in his head, that is. This whole ‘fucking without strings attached’ concept he can’t seem to grasp as loosely as everyone else does. And while it’s never been his intention to come off as easy, he’s already struggling to keep his heart in his chest after you called him.
“Right, you don’t even have photos of him in your camera roll—”
“—Okay, but how are you going to explain the dildo he keeps in his sock drawer?!”
22:15. Beomgyu should’ve been on the road ten minutes ago. With the radio repeating the one-hit wonder of the month as its lyrics are remixed by the static, and his box of takeout on the passenger seat, held still by his unoccupied hand, trying not to spill it all over.
Sometimes he’ll call. Ask Kai if he got into an argument with his girlfriend so he can stretch out his back before being left with the couch. Give his mom a quick dial to let her know his shift is over and that he’ll be coming home for the weekend. He’d call you once you hit the roads going 60, wringing out each and every last minute he could out of your day as you both drove home from work. Both rambling about whatever shitty customers you ran into in the hours you were stationed on opposite ends of the store, or something like that. In the same manner Saturdays always are.
Except this Saturday, for no other apparent reason but you. Where he’s not humming to the background noise of your car’s heater through a call, or asking Kai if he finally mustered up an apology for showing up late to his date. On top of missing the takeout box beside him too, only because he never left the parking lot in the first place. To which he should’ve considered signing himself up for an extra half hour of overtime if he knew he would’ve been sitting in his car with no push to drive back home to begin with.
He's empty-headed and overthinking all at once. Picking at his nails and chipping them slightly as that nervous, clammy feeling got to him again. The question still hangs heavy in his car. Whether it’d be greedy to ask for more tonight, whether he could be one of the guys you take back to your place.
Anyone could see the dazed trance he’s in, including Yeonjun who’s filled in as a substitute for a takeout box. He’s welcoming himself in and muttering an overly exaggerated ‘thank you’ before Beomgyu could even agree to let him unfold himself out of his work slump and into the passenger seat. Way too busy fixing his hair in the mirror despite it being too late out to notice the subtle improvement in appearance.
“Take me back to my apartment. Phea. Sant” The male fumbles his fingers along the sides of his seat while he cracks poor-landing jokes, struggling to find the recliner he needs to convert the already compact car seat into his bed.
“That’s ironic coming from you. Didn’t realise the rich are now hitching rides out of busted up Fords and working at supermarket chains.” Lifting open the tiny compartment, there are a couple of dimes that won’t ever be used for as long as the car lasts, a hair tie neither of them questions, and a stripped 12-pack of gum. Which he should’ve handed over to Yeonjun briefly, if only both of them weren’t so fixed on the contents inside as if they were expecting a pack of condoms to be hiding there.
“Looks like we both need a drink.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.” Truly speaking, he’s heard it almost 7 times today from worried coworkers, yourself included after you caught him wandering around the men's toilets every 6 seconds before stalling in there for another 4 minutes.
A second of silence passes, but it’s enough to throw off the atmosphere in the car alone as Yeonjun grabs hold of the phone to type in his address, scratching his head while re-navigating the GPS after accidentally clicking on a similar road 40 miles away.
“So who broke up with the other first?”
“Broke…up?”
“You and who else? All you do is give each other ‘fuck-me’ looks—”
“—I told you we’re not like that.” The passenger window rolls down as Beomgyu digs his finger into the switch, just in time for a rush of cold air to blow through, the chill causing the older male to curse and sit straight up.
“Kissed?”
“No.”
“Thought about it?”
“What are you getting at—”
“Fucked?”
“Maybe?—Oh God, look. I don’t know if it even…counts.” The engine is rusty, but it miraculously starts in its state anyway. Steering the wheel out of the parking lot, he can just about see his grey-washed reflection in the side mirror, taking in how rough he must look for Yeonjun to have known something was up from the get go.
“You’d look happier if you really got laid.” He chuckles as he undoes the first two buttons of his shirt, then licks around his lips before checking himself out in the mirror once more. Plus his phone in hand, ready to drop a picture to the first ten people in his contacts for the love of the game if it weren’t for the sullen mood of the driver. “Spit it out. What went so wrong?”
Well.
Wouldn’t he like to know too? “We videocalled, and we— w-we masturbated together.”
“—Holy SHIT!? You did?” Yeonjun jolts out of his reclined seat again, just without the window this time. His eyes are blown wide enough to see the vessels, his eyebrows look sharper to the point it seems discriminatory, and there’s that obvious look on his face that stands for ‘you…and her?’ that burns a hole through his pride.
“Y-yeah just, I don’t know. Feels like I was ten times more into it than she was, but it won’t go anywhere if I don’t ask her again.” Silence stalls again as the car takes a turn towards the inner city, providing a small period of reflection for him. All the while, his friend tries to make amends and assures him that anyone can tell you’re into whatever borderline foreplay you’re doing with him on the job. “We aren’t even dating or exclusive, she’s still bedding her roommate.”
“Then why don’t you ask her about becoming exclusive? Just actually get your dick wet in her first for a start, that roommate of hers is a nil ahead.”
“Ask my co-worker if she can drop her roommate she’s been sleeping with for months to fuck around with someone she doesn’t see outside of work instead. Sounds solid Jjun.” Frustrated, he rubs his temples, his throat starting to feel dry from the amount of complaining he’s done in the span of a couple minutes.
“No harm in trying. Don’t you like her?”
Like. It’s started to lose meaning after how many times he’s contemplated the question himself. Enough to have rewritten the definition in his head after spending his night dwelling over it, the new abruptness to these newly sown feelings.
“No, I—I’m not sure.”
“So you wouldn’t care I shoot my sho—? Fuck man, watch it!—"
In Beomgyu’s defence, he didn’t mean to slam down on the brakes as harshly as he did. Although an action done without regret as he ultimately eyes the way the blonde immediately holds up his hands to feign the question as a joke. Dangerously close to breaking his nose from hitting the panel, breathing in hefty huffs as the adrenaline pours out of him.
“Why don’t you just ask her on a date and get somewhere?” The dirty blonde doesn’t hesitate in tugging on Beomgyu’s ear, although less affectionate than how you’d done so. “And stop scaring the shit out of me dude! Any faster and you’d have a busted Ford and my busted lips on your windshield.”
“I jotted it down on my planner and everything! I read it before I had to attend the meeting, I swear!” Kai’s rambles take up most of the room. An endless rant of how he’s inexcusably turned up late to a date he planned two weeks in advance with his girlfriend again, already sulking into the pillow over how he’ll make it up to her. Or he could be entirely wrong since he wasn’t fully tuned into any of what Kai was saying from the second he crashed onto his mattress. Too focused on the extra weight on the bed that he’s too embarrassed to say he's turned on by when his thoughts are constantly revolving around you.
“Mhm.” There’s nothing sinister or bitter behind his short responses; he loves Kai as much as everyone else who’s met him does. But his eyes are constantly trailing away from his roommate and down the headrest where you would’ve lain back on your bed, the edge of the mattress he was fumbling his drawstrings on, and the phone he’s been eyeing for the entire hour you hadn’t sent a message.
“We can talk about something else if it bores you—”
“—No, speak. I’m listening.” It’d be better if he could learn to be a little less of a thinker like Kai is, constantly forgetting things as if they never bothered him in the first place. Aloof and easy going despite his misfortunes in keeping up with his girlfriend.
Kai rolls off his back and onto his side, poking his gaze at the older male to find the smallest smidge of integrity in his words, only to be faced with him zoning out again. “We can talk later, or maybe another day if you don’t want to hang out today. You seem out of it, that’s all.”
Perhaps that’s what’s so lovable about Kai, and what makes it so hard to deny him forgiveness despite the mountain of apologies he’ll spout. Even if it’ll only result in more forgetfulness as time passes. “I think I might— I might ask the girl I work with on a date.”
“You’re not just asking the ‘girl you work with’ on a date, call her by her name at least.” A gentle but reprimanding punch to his arm leaves Beomgyu sighing, picking up his phone to scroll the list of date ideas Yeonjun sent to him last night to search for something that matched you.
“Do girls like it when you take them on dates to a greenhouse?”
“Is she allergic?”
“Good point. Better safe than sorry, uh— movie date?”
“What if you pick something boring?”
“Restaurant?”
“No.”
“What do you mean no? W-where do you and your girlfriend go on a date then?” Beomgyu regrets wasting his breath on the question the second he sees the shrug of the male’s shoulders, or in summary, a hint that Kai’s never the one to plan them.
Defeated, he turns back to his phone. Clicking onto a small aquarium venue with high enough ratings to seem decent, already thinking of learning a couple of fish names beforehand to flaunt that his intelligence isn’t stuck up his ass for once.
Though he’s snapping out of it the second your notification pops up at the top of his screen like some sort of beacon of light. A short and sweet, ‘need you’ with a frowning emoticon beside it, and that’s all he’ll need to be shooing Kai away.
“Kai— aren’t you supposed to be at your girlfriend’s place right now? She asked you to cook dinner.”
“M-me? What?! She did?—”
“She mentioned it when she called to ask if you were asleep. You didn’t forget again, right? You gotta go Kai. Like..now. Unless you want to fall back on your word again—”
The door slams aggressively on accident as Kai leaves the room in a rush, unsure as to whether he remembered to change out of his pyjamas to be somewhat presentable and not like he just woke up.
Even if his girlfriend never called for him at all, it’s not like she’d complain about the thoughtful surprise.
A tap away from the call button, so close yet so far as the low battery warning punches him straight in the gut, and his balls that ache in disappointment. Humorous timing really. Just not when his luck is always cockblocking him at the last second.
“Come on, comeoncomeoncomeon where the fuck did I leave it?” His fingers graze every surface of the bed, twisting the knob of his drawers, and kicking over his guitar which he manages to save from complete havoc a centimetre off the floor.
When he mentally pleaded to share the same kind of forgetfulness Kai possesses, he pleaded for leniency too. In the sense that he could clear his mind of thoughts about you so he could think straight for once. Not that he’d be forgetting where he placed his fossilised laptop among all the scrap he and his roommate trashed around the apartment over the past two nights.
Krrrk—
“Holy fuck if that’s what I think it is—” Beomgyu doesn’t know whether opening his eyes to check on whatever he crushed with his heel is safe for his own mental health, well aware that this time it isn’t just a small dent or a jammed key.
Closed eyes? Check. Feeling nervously clammy again? Check. Sensing the boner that’s weirdly growing because even in the midst of this he’s still thinking of you? Gross, but check.
Hell, he doesn’t even try to lift his weight off the flattened mass at all, too afraid to look behind him to see a crushed screen he should’ve folded close before deciding to leave it hanging on the floor.
But not for long the second he remembers you’re still waiting on him. Thus forcing open his pinched-shut eyes to face what seems to be the sunglasses Kai drunkenly bought whilst on holiday, with the real laptop just a step behind it.
It’s that blinding ray of mercy that he gets onto his knees for, hugging close the garage sale bought device tighter than he’s ever hugged anything else. And while it sucks to load any better than his crappy phone, it makes do when it’s plugged into the mains at least.
Drawing his blinds to a close slightly, Beomgyu rests himself back onto his bed again with his fingers locked into position to call you before his laptop could even start up properly without the cursor lagging eons of years behind.
That’s when he notices it. You’ve changed your profile picture again, completely eradicating your friend from the frame to replace it with the beach photo from the summer you spent in Europe that you refused to show him for the longest time. Now fully on display for him to see on the big screen of you in the itty-bittiest bikini he didn’t realise was even legal to sell without a public nudity fine packaged with it.
Smiling with your hair down and a finger trying to wisp away the strands being blown into your face away, you could pass off as a front-cover model if you tried. Minus the bikini and you could pass off as the girl he’ll see in every sex dream he has from here on.
What a shame that he isn’t exactly nimble enough to screenshot it before your camera came into view too as you picked up the call. Fully undressed so you could giggle to the camera that you ‘beat him to it’ shifting your phone down to give him another lethal close up of your puffy folds that pulse around your fingers. The desperation in your soft mewls stemming from not being able to cum properly rather than having reached your third orgasm before bothering to ask him once you got bored.
“I-isn’t Taehyun home to help you?” Goddamnit Beomgyu, he ought to keep his tongue obediently put in his mouth unless he wants to stick his foot in it instead.
“You’re asking about Taehyun? Why— he’s got you jealous?” Another bait you threw out for him to fall for, giggling louder as you observed the way he immediately chews on his lip as if you read his thoughts completely. “Does it not seem like I want you Gyu?” You purr at how he subtly shakes his head, bringing the slick gathered on your fingers to your mouth for a quick taste, moaning around your fingers on purpose to rile him up.
“Is the camera fine?— I tried to answer on the phone but I—”
“Relax Gyu. It’s a little blurry, but you could always inch closer can’t you? Missed seeing your huge cock on the screen.” You grab hold of your phone to level it with your gaze, batting your lashes in a silent plea for him to do as you wish.
“T-that’s embarrassing! Don’t say tha—”
“Say what? That you’re huge? That I want you to struggle to fit it inside and fuck me until I can feel you all the way up here?” You glide your finger down from your chest to just above your belly button for him to see, rubbing small circles on your skin as if you’re marking a target for his tip to brute through. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about Gyu, I’m sure plenty of girls wanna be bred by a cock like yours.”
“Enghh—” If he was planning on trying to wallow himself in more shame then the twitch in his pants would be the one to stop it, alongside the heavy whine that accidentally leaves him. God, does he want to bury his face into the mattress right now.
“I can’t be the only one feeling good here Gyu, you wanna make me cum as an apology for last time right?”
Your hand sinks between the valley of your thighs again, drawing out clumsy little shapes around your clit as you slowly lose yourself in the fleeting pleasure. Your lashes flutter to try and keep up your eye contact with the bulge straining in his pants, fingers pinching your clit as you tease your entrance with your middle finger. Slick pools from between your folds, the splotchy sound of your arousal flicking between your fingers as you rubbed yourself repeatedly fills his ears. Beomgyu’s distracted by it of course, but he doesn’t hesitate to snap out of his trance the second he hears a whine barely a pitch higher collapse from your soft lips.
Without a word he’s tugging off his pants without as much of a struggle as the last time you rang, groaning heartily as the sting of the cold air latches around the cockhead, all angry and red as it slaps against his abdomen.
“I bet it’d take hours of prep for that not to hurt,” as your voice trails off into a moan your back arches, giving him a cleared view of perk of your nipples through the paper-thin shirt starting to lift from your waist up, “Mmph!— jerk yourself off Gyu, wanna see me cum for your cock don’t you?”
Grunting in response, Beomgyu spits into his palm to lube himself up with the saliva, easing himself into the ache in his forearm as he forcefully thrusts his fist down his cock. You follow in pursuit, eyes sparkling in awe from watching his cock grow harder with time, fingers bumping against the gentle ridge of your clit in bursts of pleasure that rob you of breath.
“Fffuckk Gyuu!— keep touching yourself like that, it’s so fucking hot.” Whimpering, you choke on your spit in response to the flick of his wrist as he pumps his cock and coats it completely in sheen fluid. The vein on his arm pops out from straining his muscles, sweat beading down his forehead where he could taste the saltiness on his tongue whenever his mouth gaped open to groan. And best of all, how his hair becomes dishevelled in the hottest sweat-slicked mess you could imagine, the kind that has your heart and pussy throbbing whenever you notice the lust in his eyes once the strands fall in front of his lashes once more.
“Look so needy when you’re f-falling apart on your fingers pretty— mnghh-ah—" His sentences are starting to emerge from pure brain-fogged lust, not having the bother in him to care any less about whatever humiliating rambles leave his lips which he’ll regret ten seconds later.
Because there’s only so much you can handle before you’re pushing your own limit too, crying out loud without second thought on how thin the walls are in your apartment. Tiny hiccup-like gasps emit from your lips as your face screws shut in pleasure. Your fingers repeatedly target its circular motions around your clit as your stomach tightens and your thighs tense, visibly shaking in immense pleasure as you near release.
“G-Gyuuu ohmygod ffuck!” Voice pitched higher than usual, lips quivering as your moans vocalise into needy whines, if this is how you looked every single time you orgasmed he wouldn’t mind volunteering to help you cum a couple times more.
“I told you to keep it down princess, can hear you playing with yourself from my room.”
Beomgyu visibly jolts at the sound of another man’s voice filling his ears, notably extremely different from Kai’s for it to be from outside his room, and way too obviously from yours with how you jump to cover yourself.
“I forgot I’m— sorry, I’ll keep it down so you can get back to making out with your pocket pussy pretending it’s Ev—”
Interrupting your casual banter, the thump of footsteps announcing his entry inside your room causes your brow to raise in the same manner that Beomgyu’s has. “Not the time princess, throwing me away already?”
Tufts of brunette invades the camera space as a man’s face appears blocks you out of view. Devilishly handsome, Beomgyu will admit much to his dismay, especially when his sharp canines appear when he flashes a smirk.
Only an idiot wouldn’t be able to piece two-and-two together that it’s Taehyun. A total hunk with a singular silver stud in his ear and a black tank that flaunts how the bulk of his biceps covers the entire screen. But one thing that he doesn’t admire quite so much is the slyness to his gaze despite the rounded shape of his eyes, the threat behind it stretching far more than who should be given the priority to dip their hand beneath your shorts.
“Can barely see the guy. Didn’t realise crap cameras like this still existed, are you sure you came from looking at a bundle of pixels?”
“Taehyun!” Your attempts to defend him are quickly overridden as the brunette sits himself onto the mattress beside you, a smug grin plastered over his face upon seeing Beomgyu’s cock still stiff in his hand.
“Greedy girl. Whoring yourself out for a bigger cock now? He hasn’t made you squirt yet, has he?” Burying his head into your neck, all that Beomgyu can really do through the screen is watch the salty performance in front of him, and jeer and complain to try attest the insults thrown his way by the other.
Not that it posed a problem to Taehyun. He was already drowning out the background noise the second he started pressing wet kisses against your neck, inhaling your scent while your fingers interlocked with his hair.
“Tyun! Gyu’s there, I’m spending time with him!” His ears perk upon hearing his name, inching closer towards the screen to see how your brows twitch as Taehyun nibbles along your ear. The growing erection peeking out from the corner of the screen making the older male wince in distaste.
“Through the phone? Isn’t that our thing? I’m sure he’ll cum just as easily if I show him how it’s done.”
“Gyu are you sure you’re—?”
It physically pains him seeing another man’s hands all over you even if it’s not directly in the flesh; it grieves him more to compromise with it as long as he focuses on you. Solely you.
“I-it’s fine.”
Seeing the smirk reappear on Taehyun’s face only fuels the jealousy further, biting down on his tongue as he glues his eye onto the way Taehyun smushes your tits together in an arm lock. Every movement of his is trailed by Beomgyu’s gaze, following in line with the slide of his fingers down to your dripping folds, noticing how your moans breach into higher octaves whenever he sucked along your shoulder.
“Don’t think he can hear you from there. I know you can be louder than this princess.” Using the sheer force in his grip, he widens the gap between your legs, prying apart your thighs roughly to stretch out your folds. “Have you told him how sensitive you are down here yet?” A low curdle of a laugh sifts through his lips, the upturn of his smile barely grazing behind your ear as he pinches the flesh of your inner thigh.
Anyone could tell that Taehyun knew your body inside out. Beomgyu spots it in the way you lean back into the brunette, thrusting your tits towards the camera, whining from the pain that seeps towards your core. He knows exactly what to feed into your ear, whispering just about loud enough for you to be squeezing your thighs together, only for him to pry them open again. Though for Beomgyu on the other end, he can hardly hear anything coming out of Taehyun’s mouth when your moans are constantly interrupting him.
“T-Taehyun—” Your breath hitches as a weak hand grabs hold of his, guiding his finger towards your entrance, and weakly inching him in. “Need more Tyun, s-stop wasting time picking a fight with ngh! Beomgyu!—"
Beomgyu twitches once more hearing you cry out his name, although the fleeting feeling leaves as suddenly as it came when you squeal at the thick finger your roommate doesn’t even bother to ease in. Rushing the process, thrusting and turning his finger down to the knuckles— you aren’t given time to breathe before he’s prodding a second finger against your hole.
There’s too much pride in him for Beomgyu to admit it’s hot. Because it shouldn’t be— it’s the exact same formula as all the other homemade porn videos that bore him. Especially not with Taehyun in the scene, who’s biting the inside of his cheek with knitted brows, focusing on strumming your clit while fucking your hole with pistoning fingers.
“Fuckfuckfuck yes!—” But he can swear with every single bone in his body that you rile him up to a dangerous extent. Cock twitching painfully after being left to cool in the air as Beomgyu examines each contortion in your expression, length tapping against his stomach in a fiery demand to be stroked. Touched. Buried deep enough inside of you that it’ll make sex with Taehyun feel loose.
He doesn’t recall when he started fucking his cock into the minuscule make-shift hole bunched together by his fist. All that he can focus on is memorising every movement that has you whining louder, needier, the dominance slowly being drained from you as slick protrudes out of your hole and stains the inside of your thighs. He takes advantage of the up close view of your pussy, which flutters around Taehyun’s fingers as he scissors his middle and index deep within your cunt, meanly stretching out your walls with merciless speed. Beomgyu goes as far as to take note of what drives you over the edge: when Taehyun licks along your neck teasingly over and over again without leaving a mark, when he groans into your shoulder and grips your waist to keep you from squirming, and when he digs his hard cock into your ass so you can plead for it.
Pfft. Getting cocky isn’t pretty on him; that goes without saying. But Beomgyu can’t help but scoff at the lacklustre in the brunette’s movement; your roommate doesn’t know what you tell him on your shift. How you like it when you’re in charge. That you get insanely wet when a guy pleads with his eyes— loving how sweet it is to hear your voice come out of their mouth in a girly whine instead of the opposite.
And so he’s following shortly, making a scene of himself as he pulls the edge of his top up to his teeth, pink nipples appearing with a blue-ish tint through the screen as he teases his tip with a finger. Whenever you’d whine, he’d press harder against his slit. A momentum he could catch up with until it became too tempting to bear, head tilting to the side with droopy eyes, breathing shakily as he grips around his base.
“Hnghh-ugh—” The crumpled audio draws your eyes towards the screen again, and fuck, you wish you could take a photo in the moment. Admiring Beomgyu’s softly toned stomach that heaves with each breathy exhale as he fucks his cock, rotating his wrist as he reaches the tip until he feels euphoric enough to squeeze his eyes shut and lean back in defeat.
You’d let him in on a little secret later. A small confession you doubt you’d be on the benefiting side of if you leaked it with Taehyun snug beside you, humping his cock against your ass and cunt until you stained his gym shorts with your essence. Since truthfully said, you’ve only been imagining Beomgyu in his place this entire time, swapping out your roommate’s grunts for his breathy whines. Going as far as to bite down on your lip to refrain from calling out for his name instead of Taehyun’s, soaking your eyes in the lewdness of how he weakly teases his tip until it becomes overbearingly sensitive for him to handle without cumming too soon. You don’t want to end up without someone to share the rent again if you told Taehyun that you were only throbbing around his fingers because your eyes were trained on Gyu.
“That’s it princess, clench around my fingers. It’s not enough, is it? You wanna be fucked stupid by a cock.” You do so on command, squeezing around his fingers as he prolongs pressing his finger against your gummy walls, the bliss of it coming down on you immediately as you throw your head back onto his shoulder.
“Ngh—Beomgyu holy shit—”
It’s comedic how time slows for everybody in that second alone. Your eyes widen, Beomgyu’s most likely wider as he whines, cumming almost instantly all over his screen and his thighs, thick seed continuing to drip moments after the initial climax.
And Taehyun? He pulls out his fingers altogether, frustration crashing upon you completely in the form of complaints and desperate whines that you’re immediately muting the second you face him.
“Where’s your head at hm? Are you trying to tick me off?” Taehyun’s leaning towards the camera before you can butt in another word, running his hand through his hair as he observes the mess Beomgyu’s made all over himself with null amusement.
Within the awkward period of silence, the brunette swipes his fingers between your folds, collecting your juices on his fingers while giving you a short-lived taste of pleasure since he last removed his touch from within you completely.
It’s strange, out of the norm for someone like Taehyun really, and your confusion lands and translates in Beomgyu’s body language as well as he inches closer towards his screen in unison. His eyes are slowly bewitched by what Taehyun has to show him, drawing his fingers close until the camera focuses.
The male spreads apart his fingers, chuckling obscenely so as he flaunts the lengthy strands of clear slick attached between his thumb and index in a giant web of arousal. Hell, for a second Beomgyu couldn’t tell if he was being sly or trying to tempt another orgasm out of him, until he opens his mouth, of course.
“Sorry man, I’d really like to get to know you better, but I’ve got your girl on my hands waiting to be shown some attention—”
“Taehyun you can’t—!”
“W-what?” The call ends without a second to negotiate, the second ring even goes straight to ‘missed’ when he tries. Left looking blankly at his cum-splattered screen opened up on your chat messages without a pitiful bye other than the harsh ‘read’ receipt he’s on the receiving end of. Wondering whether your roommate is mocking his confused, mixed with desperate, question marks. On top of the empty ‘next time?’ left unanswered while he’s most likely already balls deep inside of you, as he said.
“What the hell? She’s fuck buddies with a guy like that?” It makes his blood boil almost, the fumes huffing out his nose and his brows raised in disapproval as he hurriedly wipes off the screen until it’s decently clean of stains.
Beomgyu can’t even process what your girl friends would even think of him, a walking mass of red flags that correlate with what you all typed out in your little group chat, and he has the honours of being able to hit first.
A headache is one thing he’s dealing with, and the buzz of a notification he can already sense is Kai complaining about the small lie he told him will only make it feel like an extra bullet to the pain…
Or not! Definitely not when he gets a good look at the notification that he totally doesn’t rub his eyes thrice to check if he’s seeing it clearly, your message left sweetly on the panel, although it has to be deciphered due to all the typos. Not that he can complain about you getting your back blown out by your roommate, who he really doesn’t like, since he’s thrilled you even managed to remember him in the middle of it all anyway.
You don’t leave an emoji this time, or the small ‘x’s and emoticons. A sentence short and simple enough to remember for the rest of his days.
‘Come over to my place next time. Want it to be just us.’
Tuesdays are plain boring, and while it’s not mundane work like stocking up the shelves, any shift that you’re not working alongside him means that ten hours actually feels like ten instead of four. In fact he’s not exactly on close terms with anyone who clocks in for Tuesdays. For any sane person, Tuesday is the sole day of the week everyone could collaterally agree should be eradicated, serving no purpose at all other than being pointless. No customers, caffeine-functioning robots Beomgyu calls coworkers, the day taking its sweet-sweet time to overturn into night. The only positive he can list off the top of his head is that Yeonjun doesn’t work on Tuesdays, and he’d rather sacrifice himself into endless boredom than have a pounding headache for a shift with him.
Well, he doesn’t really know how to go about his day without you there monitoring him and directing him on the right path instead of a beeline towards the beer. Sort of like loitering around waiting for someone to assign him a task that’ll never happen because Tuesdays never had any foot traffic into the store to begin with. So he’ll hang around the aisles, scavenging for any good offers and hiding his favourite colours of things he wants in compartments so that no one else can snatch them before the end of his shift.
He probably needs to—
“Hey man, mind if you tell me where something is?”
Could he call it survival instincts? Beomgyu’s not entirely sure, but the familiarity of the voice he can’t quite put a pin on is enough to send shivers down his spine. Fuck, it’d be less embarrassing for him to run away than to stiffly unfold himself out of his crouching position after being caught looking at the lego sets. Eyes constantly glued to the floor before he musters up the courage to make eye contact with Taehyun— “Taehyun?!”
Sign him up for a reflex competition or something along those lines, because Beomgyu’s never slapped a hand over his mouth so quickly to cover up a slip of tongue; the speed itself is impressive.
“Sorry?”
“U-uhm I can try find it for you. W-what is that you’re looking for?”
The brunette is slightly shorter than he imagined, yet it’s overlooked by how striking he is in person compared to how…attractive he still was over the phone. The huddle of coworkers peeking from behind the aisle to spy on him ready to jump for an opportunity to service the guy says it all neatly and concisely.
Other than his appearance, it hits him harder that your roommate doesn’t seem to recollect him at all, cocking an eyebrow as if it were Beomgyu’s first day on Earth with how he nervously sweats and stiffly stands with his arms by his side.
“You’ll end up cramping a muscle if you keep standing like that. Relax.” Taehyun pats a hand against his shoulder, offering a subsidiary smile out of politeness he’d probably withdraw once he figured out that Beomgyu was the guy he ended the call on the other day. “Mind if you could point me to where the condoms are?—”
“—In my back pocket.”
“What?”
Now Beomgyu’s having second thoughts on agreeing to what you messaged him last time. Anything to avoid facing your roommate headfirst after revealing he has condoms tucked in the back pocket of his jeans. Two, to be precise.
After all, it was you who suggested you’d pick him up after work today. It’s just his luck that he crossed paths with your roommate on the job, slipping up his words one after the other until it came to painting himself as some pervert who packs condoms to work.
“Haha…ha! I’m just playing with you…man?— T-they’re next to the vitamins on the aisle next to the toiletries.” Ugh, and if it couldn’t get worse, Taehyun completely airs the fist bump he gives (which he somehow thought was a good idea in the moment) so Beomgyu ends up jabbing the side of his arm awkwardly.
“Gotcha—”
“A-actually I think we ran out.” At this point, there’s no turning back. Not when he lets his mouth run all in the hopes that the condoms your roommate’s buying aren’t for you. Beomgyu would consider buying out all the sizes, brands and weird flavours of condoms as long as the brunette goes back to the apartment empty handed and cockblocked by him.
“Of condoms?”
“Yeah, y-yeah a group of guys came by earlier and bought the whole lot. Freaky..I know. What did you need them for a-again?”
‘What did you need them for?’ If you were right next to him watching how he was handling customers you’d probably kick him in the shin for the utter stupidity drooling from his lips.
“Surely that’s against store policy.” Taehyun doesn’t do much other than look around, scroll on his phone for a while before closing it up nicely with a toothy smile, which Beomgyu swears the squeals that followed after were not out of pure coincidence.
“Sorry… I can check in the back—"
“No need.” He’s already retreating backwards while focused on his phone before Beomgyu could try fix up the terrible customer service he’s ever put his name to shame for, only managing to reach the end of the aisle before he stops completely. A smirk tugs on his lips, in a heart rattling sense more than a heart throbbing one, to which his heart stops beating completely when his phone notifies him with an airdrop.
A single attachment, from ‘Kang Taehyun’ at the very top. To open it? He doesn’t dare. Not until his curiosity breaches the limit and he’s quickly downloading the blurry thumbnail as it loads slowly, but surely. And there goes the famous saying in all its glory: curiosity kills the cat.
Beomgyu only needs a second to process the video before he hides his screen against his shirt, peeking around both sides of his head and even behind to check if anyone else saw what happened to have appeared on his phone.
Downsized into a small video attachment is a clip of you, completely in ruins with your hair tangled and knotted by Taehyun’s rough grip mere inches away from your scalp. Your makeup is streaky, natural skin appearing through which appears to be burning with tears, and lips pursed and wet with spit that collects under your lip messily. The cherry on top is your cheekbones that slightly protrude as you hollow your cheeks, deepthroating Taehyun’s cock to the best of your ability with glossy and wincing eyes. Lips suctioning around him as you bat your wet lashes prettily, latching onto the mauve cockhead trying to clean all the cum off Taehyun’s dick.
For the first time in his life, Beomgyu’s glad that he works the Tuesday shifts. Where there are barely any customers for anyone to notice he’s sneaking himself into the men’s toilets. Deep into the late hours when his coworkers are all too tired to notice the slight rise in his pants.
It doesn’t even hit him immediately that Taehyun caught on to who he was in the end; the airdropped video seems less of a threat and more of a reward if you ask him. But he’ll consider it as punishment for what he’ll put the video to use for later.
“So, did Tamsyn give you an earful?” Leaning over the console, you try to lock eyes with Beomgyu as he buckles himself into the car, pushing away the hair covering his eyes to finally jam in the seatbelt after missing it twice.
“Nah, your roommate did actually.” Ruffled up in his signature jeans that are torn at the ankles and a print-ironed tee from years ago, he’s not exactly in ‘first date’ couture. Having to settle with a tiny dressing room his limbs could barely squeeze into the second his shift ended wasn’t ideal.
You’re the first to tuck back the stray strand bothering him, thumb brushing over his ear as you speak. “Mhm, sounds about right. You look good though considering you just came out of a Tuesday shift.” Perhaps Yeonjun was right about anything other than Friday and the weekend being unsexy.
Beomgyu laughs— airily, in that sort of awkward but understandable tone practically screaming out to you that he’s trying to shut down all the pathways to his brain and nerves so he can put being tense on autopilot. Which means instinctively lifting up the compartment to check for the gum he forgot Yeonjun took the last strip of in his own car, and trying to turn on the radio which you immediately intercept.
“If you turn it on that’s basically telling me you want me to shut up and die.” Extreme, but he enjoys the sarcasm between you as he shifts in his seat, completely in a daze other than knowing it’s a date at your place.
“Don’t be dramatic, turning on the radio means I love you—” Déjà vu hits him like a bitch now more than it ever has before. The same screeching of tyres at a red light, the lengthy minute of silence neither of you wants to be the first to break, and the thoughts processing whatever the fuck he just said. “…Enough to share my great…music taste.”
“Didn’t take you for a radio guy.” You laugh it off so easily, brushing over the poorly-saved confession like knocking dust off your shoulder. Sweetly turning on the radio anyway to satisfy him even though the song that comes on has been the same formula of pop overplayed to the point he can’t help but hate it. “Besides, being dramatic is the passenger princess’ job.”
“What piece of clothing do I have to take off to bet that Yeonjun made you think so?” Snorting, Beomgyu almost forgets that this isn’t one of your conversations at work where words just flow through his mouth, suddenly starting to feel comfortable again in your company. He doesn’t even realise that his head has been turned 90 degrees on the dot just burning holes into the side of your face with his gaze for the past minute, all of a sudden rocking back shyly to retreat into his own zone.
Not that it’s effective in any sense, he still finds himself peeking out the corner of his eye to catch a glimpse. Noticing the length of your lashes from the side as they’re peeled open to focus on the road, the subtle blush you chose to put on today that softens up your cheeks, and the slight bob in your throat that goes to show you’re just about as nervous as he is.
“This is how openings to serial killer movies start by the way.” It’s sickening. You’re sickening. Just the way you smile after catching him staring out in the open is enough to make him feel sick to his stomach with butterflies. And as gross and cheesy as it may sound, he can’t find words to describe the feeling without sounding even more like an Italian love connoisseur. “I guess it could be romantic too though Gyu, what do you think?”
“Stick with serial killers.”
Your smirk only widens despite the raspberry you blow with your tongue at his boring answer. “No fun Gyu, get out of the car you loser!” He’s an inch away from kissing your window as you hurriedly push him out the door, following right behind him as you climb out of your seat, arms stretched to wake yourself up out of the driving drowsiness.
“I was thinking I’d cook for us. I mean, how does steak and wine sound? Or does that make me sound obviously more broke than actually going out to a restaurant?” Beomgyu doesn’t know what to answer other than a nod or a shake, suddenly choosing to distance himself from you by a metre as if he’s some sort of puritan. “Jeez Gyu you’re gonna make this date feel one-sided if you don’t try to even walk onto the first step of the stairs until I’m on the tenth.” Grasping him by the hand, you drag him with all your might to draw him closer, until your back and his chest were by definition, touching.
“I’ll eat whatever you cook, on Yeonjun’s life.”
“Pfft, doesn’t sound convincing when you carelessly throw around Yeonjun’s life like he’s fodder.” Both of you are out of breath by the time you reach your apartment. The elevator became a no-go when you told Beomgyu that walking out of it would leave both of you testing positive for multiple class A drugs and perhaps an airborne std if that exists. On top of the two of you running your mouths loud enough for the whole complex to hear you joking and bumping shoulders as you laughed too hard for what wasn’t even that hilarious.
“Aaaandd welcome to my apartment, date! Don’t mind the shoes, I thought I told Taehyun to tidy them up.” Kicking off your shoes, you don’t even register where they’ll end up, or that one of them was a second away from being stuck on top of your lampshade. Your shoulders immediately loosen up, making rounds to the kitchen before he does so you could steal the cuter apron before he could.
“Nice? Shit? You can tell me it’s shit, it’s alright. I’ll blame it on the little grumpy man today.”
“Grumpy man?” Beom’s eyebrows raise in confusion before ultimately concluding that you were rambling about Taehyun, only able to slip in a few mumbles before you finish tying your apron.
“Mind helping me with the mushroom sauce? It’ll be less boring than watching me cook for an hour, trust me.”
Okay, before anyone can judge. Beomgyu’s not known to be some sort of Michelin chef— or just a chef, by any means. But a sauce doesn’t sound nearly as impossible as whatever you were busying yourself with, already in the element of arranging the peppercorn spices and herbs ready.
Well that’s what both of you originally thought. Except who would’ve known that Beomgyu would end up burning the pan after turning the heat on too high, or that you’d end up with rosemary in your hair and flavourless mushroom sauce splattered all over his jeans by the end of it.
“Hah!— What the hell? How did you even get it on your cheek?” You’re rubbing off mushroom sauce from his face with your thumb by the end of it, a meal gone to hell far away from your portfolios. “I think we should just order takeout—”
“Dom’s!”
“Whoa! Hold your horses, I know you wanna dom this time but I—”
“W-what no?! The small pizza place near the parking lot— I saw the sign for it earlier.” It’s cute how frantic he is, flailing his hands all over the place to explain himself.
“I’m just playing Gyu, but I’m like a hundred percent sure that’s a money laundering scheme.” You quiet down for a bit, scrolling through your phone to search for another pizza place that could serve your failed homemade meal a slap to the face.
“U-uhm, is it a bad time to ask why Taehyun’s upset?” Beomgyu hopes you don’t take offense to it, but he’s already backing up behind the counter in case you were about to lose your mind recalling the events.
“If you ran into him at work today then you probably would’ve been able to tell he’s throwing a big-ball tantrum.” You lean your back against the counter, careful to not dip your elbow into the sauce as you sigh out, and if you were trying to catch his attention for another gossip sesh again, then Beomgyu is all ears. “I cut off the whole fuckbuddies thing, I’m lucky he’s only pissed because I didn’t tell him I was bored with it sooner.”
“Hold on— b-but, why? You guys were—!”
“Why else Gyu?” As you circle around the counter, your fingers are busy undoing the knot behind your apron, pursing your lips as his name rolls off your tongue smoothly. “I wanna take things seriously now, between us.”
Beomgyu’s breath hitches when you lean into the crevice of space below his chin, the hot breath fanning against his adam’s apple making it difficult for him to speak, let alone comprehend anything that came out of your mouth.
“I’m saying I think you’re cute Gyu, hear that?” The soft giggles that press like peppered kisses against his neck make his legs feel weak, ready to collapse onto the floor if it weren’t for the way you’re hovering close enough to trap him in.
“Y-yeah.” If you thought Beomgyu was blushing when he turned pink then you’re a liar, because he’s burning bright red with a palm covering his face as if to stop a nosebleed. Trembling excitedly but too shy and scared of screwing it all up to move anything apart from the eager nod of his head, exhaling shakily before snaking his arms around your hips to draw you in closer.
Heavy, shallow breaths. You can hear it in the gap between your lips, the thump of his heart, or yours, between them— an internal monologue of your own urging you to lean in and kiss him like you’ve been wanting to. Tangling your fingers into his hair to lure him in closer, suckling on the corner of his lips for an entrance to dive in your tongue against his, the heat lingering as you lick along his bottom lip. You nibble on the soft fat, tugging down on his flesh to let yourself in more freely, kissing his teeth while he lets you lead him into your touch. His lips feel plump against yours, the smallest hint of sweetness to them as you knock him into a couple of chairs while trying to navigate back to your room, hands sliding down to caress his upper cheek where his lashes flutter against your thumb.
In that moment alone, neither of you wanted to separate yourselves, only taking small breaths in between kisses before delving back into his mouth, kissing along his jaw and licking down to his adam’s apple to which he hums at.
“Off, hurry—” With your fingers curling under his waistband, he wastes no time in undoing the zipper of his jeans, letting the denim bunch up on the floor into a messy pile of your own top and bra. There’s only so much time that you have to strip yourself before he’s patiently waiting at the edge of the bed, round eyes awestruck by the swell of your tits as you place your palms over his knees, parting his legs to give you space to kneel between.
“I still can’t get used to this you know,” your hands run up his thighs in light, feathery touches, sending shivers down his spine as you cup your hand around the base, “it looks bigger than it did on camera.” Forming a loop with your fingers, you gently jerk him off to just below the tip, squeezing around the vein slightly to urge out the precum from his slit.
One hand flies to cover his mouth, losing it completely as he tries to hold your wrist still, halting it from moving altogether while he tries to bite back his moans. “Don’t t-tease me—”
“Heghh?” In a tone so innocent it sounds unfit for how your tongue sticks out dangerously close to his tip, you smile at Beomgyu with your eyes, crescent-like and sparkly with dirty intentions. Your nails barely scratch along the sensitive vein, the stinging pain driving him insane as his eyes twitch in pleasure, back straightening stiff as you press the flat of your tongue against his cockhead.
Warmth clouds him as you trail the slit with the wet muscle, fingers clawing against the sheets and loosening when you pull away, only to tighten again when he spots the string of saliva bridging your tongue and his pearly-wet cock. “W-wait baby—”
“You’re getting comfortable already.” You peek up at him through your lashes. All bug-eyed and seductive as you lead the eye contact, squeezing around the base of his cock again as a cheat to win, knowing that he’d immediately flinch and shut his eyes. “You wanna get your cock sucked so bad, don’t you Gyu?”
Making him feel dizzy with lust isn’t a challenge when all that it takes is playing a pout on your lips, jutting out the bottom fat as you whine just staring at his size. Wrapping your hands around him and licking at where your fingers join back round again is enough to send his head reeling, because he’s forced to see the way your fingers can’t wrap around the girth entirely, relying on your nails to bridge the gap.
Without warning, you finally clasp around him completely, jerking him off at an excruciating speed. In that absent-minded head of his you doubt he can even register the surroundings, struggling to keep up with every one of your moments at once as he gasps, feeling you lick a wet stripe along the underside of his cock.
“G-gah!—” Hearing his tiny mewls only fuels the heat growing between your legs, starting to feel sticky in your panties, uncomfortably rubbing your thighs together to gather some sort of friction which inevitably leaves you moaning against his cock. “Feels weird when you— mngh, do that.”
“You’re so cute Gyu, bet you’re sensitive here too.” You hum against his tip, thrusting your fist vertically along his cock while the other hand pinches his thigh, a smile forming across your face when he jolts up and bucks his cock into your lips.
His whines drag on only to grow in volume as you tug on his balls, shifting your weight into your arm as you jerk him off to the side, leaving enough room for your head to lean in and lick along the length. The tip bruises a deep pink as you lather it in spit, lubing it with a sheen gloss of your saliva to glide your palm along his dick, wrist rotating as you jerk him towards the tip.
“I like it when you’re obedient like this, whining so loudly when you haven’t even felt my throat yet.” You coo at him as you give sweet little kitten licks, fingers bumping against your lips where you peppered soft kisses against his vein. His cock feels heavy in your hands as he throbs in your touch, head thrown back and kissing his teeth in constraint, trying ever so desperately to hold back from pushing his cock past your lips.
“P-please just fuck— suck me off already, I don’t think I can hold ngh!— h-hold on for much longer.” Anyone else, and you probably would’ve leaned towards tormenting them a bit more. Though when you look up expecting to see him frustrated, you genuinely can’t strip your gaze from the way his eyes appear to be brimming with tears. Soft sniffles attempting to hide the desperation cracking through his voice as he leans his head back to hide the humiliatingly needy expression. Even if it’s present everywhere in his body language. The hands gripping his sheets until his knuckles burn white, his lip that’s been bitten so many times the blood has flushed them a rosy pink, and the way his body arches in as his stomach tenses whenever you tease him with your tongue.
So you reward him on a generous note this time, guiding yourself towards the tip of his cock as you try to measure out how far your lips would have to stretch to take him in. The corners of your lips burn as you try cover your teeth from scraping him, struggling to fit anything past the cockhead before your jaw begins to ache.
“O-oh ffuck—” This time, Beomgyu seriously can’t peel his eyes open for the life of him, knowing better than to stare straight down at you struggling to mould your lips around his cock.
Anyone else in his position wouldn’t be able to hold back from cumming in their pants when your breath is constantly fanning against him as your lips leave him for a breather. Nonetheless, you manage to reach just above halfway before your throat dries up from the stretch, choosing to jerk off whatever was left with your first, squeezing extra tight near the base. On instinct he thrusts his hips into your mouth, helping you adjust to the size slightly as you find a tempo to follow, bobbing your head up and down until a hitch in your throat causes you to gag.
“S-shit... feels— fucking amazing.” A compliment wrapped under a hushed whisper. He doubts you even managed to hear it when the lewd sound of his cock ploughing down your throat is all that you can focus on to keep you on track.
As you begin to settle around him, you hasten the pace unexpectedly, managing to reach further than you ever had to start with as you vigorously twist your hand around the base. With your other hand, you try to hide your attempt at snaking your hand out of sight and hidden between the flesh of your thighs, rubbing small circles around your clit until the pleasure causes your lashes to flutter.
By which it wasn’t a successful attempt at all in any sense since Beomgyu caught you in the act, gaze following your hands as they draw out small shapes along your folds, pressing the flat fingerpads against the wet patch in your panties as you whimper around him. It drives him over the edge more than anything. Suddenly feeling the knot start to tighten as your tongue swirls around his cock, leaving your spit dripping from his cock in thick, foamy blobs as you make a mess around your mouth.
“Let me cum i-inside please pretty, just this once—” You can’t find it in you to detach your lips from him as you grow obsessed with the pain of the stretch, choosing to hum and rub down his inner thigh as a yes while you purse your lips at the tip. Forearm aching as you squeeze harder around his cock trying to jerk him off faster, letting the sensitive cockhead twitch against your tongue as you tease the slit repeatedly.
“Mngh— w-who taught you that fffuck—” Clutching your hair in his hands, Beomgyu can barely catch his breath, automatically pushing down on your head to choke you further down his cock. His grip on your scalp is nasty, pain soaring through you as it delves into the territory of pleasure, causing you to yelp at the sting, a second away from needing to catch your breath.
Right in the middle of a moan, he’s locking your head airtight in place to spurt hot cum down your throat, buckling his cock into your throat still post-release like aftershocks. Sweat pearls along his forehead and drips down his temples, breath unstable and shaky as he blinks away his orgasm in bliss, slowly releasing his grip around your hair to caress along your cheek instead.
“A-ack! Sorry, I didn’t mean to hold onto your hair like t—”
“Seems like you want to take the lead this time Gyu, you wanna be in charge this time?” Lifting yourself off sore knees, you prowl towards him, pinning him further back along the bed to gauge his reaction in amusement.
Beomgyu doesn’t even try to hide how the thought excites him, eyes blown wide once more as a blush spreads along his face just thinking about it. Thinking about how he’ll fuck you harder than Taehyun can, read far enough to breach your womb where Taehyun can’t, stretch you out like he’s been dreaming of, feeling you clench around him for space.
Too eager to even give you a proper response, he’s already shifting ahead to lean against the pillows, dragging you by the arm with enough force to land you right in his lap. At first, you thought the stunt was on purpose— trying to hold down your hips in place so he could dig his newly rock-hard boner again against your panties. Or at least you thought so until you grasped the slight hiss that emerges from him. Noticing how his grip immediately loosens as he remains sensitive from his last orgasm, his eyes glossy for a mere second before they return to a more serious gaze, determined to take the lead this time.
“Gonna guide me will I ride your cock? Is that what you want Gyu?—” Originally, you had more to say, enjoying ticking him off like a time bomb to get him to snap. And when he does, he’s merciless as he hooks your panties to the side. Unbothered with wasting any time on stripping you completely when all that you’ve clouded his mind with are sinful, ravenous thoughts.
Slipping his finger under the band of your panties, he pulls back the band to snap the fabric near your inner thigh. The sight leaves him licking his lips watching the way your dripping folds leak with your arousal, cunt clenching desperately around nothing. Even running a finger between the slit is enough to have him groaning as he pushes a finger inside, giving the smallest window of time for you to adjust before he adds another.
Luring you into a trap of his own while he focuses on bruising his knuckles against your walls, curling them torturously slow as he stretches you out by a bare margin. Another hand focused on massaging the soft plump of your ass, kneading it in his palm as he sinks his fingers into it, tugging your cheeks apart to spread your ass before gliding down towards your cunt.
“Enough gyu just— hah, put it in already—”
Lowly, he chuckles. The sinister cast overtaking him almost sounds like a stranger in his body as your pussy throbs seeing him smile slyly, as if he were omniscient in the fact that you’d be regretting it soon enough if you got ahead of yourself like you are now.
“Trust me pretty, listen when I say you need a third finger for it not to hurt.” By the very look in his eyes, it's obvious he’s talking from experience, and it makes your stomach churn at the thought as you wrap your hand around his cock again. To measure the size beforehand, a slight precaution that was bearable to withstand when you took him in your mouth, but seeing the girth of it poking out from beneath you only made your spine shiver at the thought.
“Mngh— j-just hurry up then!” It would’ve been helpful to know that feeding ‘hurry up’ into Beomgyu’s ear means that he understands it as a command to absolutely brute his fingers through your cunt. The size of all three fingers practically mimics Taehyun’s cock rather than a bit of finger action to ease you in, slick coating his fingers as the wet, sloppy sound squelches from below.
“G-Gyu no you need to a-agh! stop or else I’ll cum too soon ohmygod—” Your back feels sore from trying to hold up your posture while your legs render themselves into jelly, managing to slip yourself a proper breath when he pulls the triad of fingers out of you. To make matters worse for your lustmeter, he’s licking up every crevice and surface of his fingers, tasting you on his tongue before popping his fingers out of his lips altogether.
“You’d taste even better if you let me cum inside.”
“I’ll reward you with it if you put on a good show.” You steady your legs with whatever energy you had left, hovering just above to give Beomgyu space to prod his tip against your entrance, the imprint of his cock becoming vivid in your memory as he eases it inside.
Slow, sure, but any faster and you genuinely would be in consideration for the emergency room if you happened to rip. He’s barely encased himself between your folds when you’re clutching onto his shoulders the next second, digging your nails into his skin subconsciously. “S-shit baby, don’t clench around me—”
“I’m not!!” No matter how long you must’ve prepped for, the pain still hits you like a damn bitch. Yelping through every inch you manage to take in, head hanging low to bite down on your lip as if that would hide any sign of struggle. Beomgyu’s quick to groan in response, head spinning just thinking about how tight you were even without clamping down on him. Suddenly feeling conscious of whether he’d be able to refrain from cumming too soon if you happened to have clenched around him.
Weight falls onto his shoulder as you rest your forehead on the broad surface, eyes shut as you whine, feeling unlike yourself considering you usually have no issue with sliding it in in the first place. “Doing so well pretty, you’re nearly there.” Beomgyu’s damn well a liar, because you haven’t even reached halfway when he’s drawing small circles on your back, grinning widely from the ego boost alone, knowing that no one else has managed to have you fall apart on their cocks quite literally as he has.
Perhaps what he has planned next is a little mean, but Beomgyu promises he’ll make it up to you in aftercare once he does this. “A-aah! G-Gyu too much!” You cry out loud into his shoulder, feeling way too full to try squirming away in case you’d rip, wanting to bite down on his skin for pushing your hips down onto him.
“Shhh, that’s a good girl. Let me guide you through it pretty— as you said.” His breath against your ear causes you to flinch, pulling away to flash the fat tears brewing in the corner of your eyes hoping to gain some sort of sympathy for yourself. Yet all that you’re left with is the violent throb of his cock as he pulses against your walls, the additional stimulation driving you over the edge as you automatically rock your hips to chase the feeling.
“Hnnngh— Gyu…I can’t move, curse you for being so big what the hell!?” Balling your hand into a fist, you lightly knock it against his chest as a light punishment in your own terms. Before ultimately pushing your tits against the lean muscle, the flesh feels sore as it smushes against him.
“I know, I know sweetheart just let me handle it.” Diving his hands to grab support of your thighs, lifting the weight to guide you up his cock. Groans falling in a non-stop current from his lips from how you suction around him so hard it becomes difficult to breathe.
Desire overtakes him as he thrusts you back down onto his cock with brute force, choking your cunt by overloading it with his girth as you cry out his name. You lose control over your legs completely, the limbs practically deadweight by now as you try to recover from the shock of being slammed back down onto him— balls deep and relentless.
He’s never been the type to fuck around until something works, particularly rhythmless with no exact tempo he’s limited by other than repeatedly throttling you down onto his cock. To which the tip kisses your cervix without even making any effort, managing to hit each spongy-sweet spot without having to try, and that’s what has your craving for seconds.
Finally gaining the courage to lean your weight onto your hands, the arch of your back unintentionally creates the perfect angle for his cock to poke jaggedly along your walls. Each thrust and even target against the same dent inside the lining of your womb stealing you of breath while your eyes roll beyond the back of your head, the overhead light starting to distort in your sight as the pleasure takes over your thoughts.
“Fuckfuckfuck Gyu! M-more!—” It’s impossible not to start babbling random erotic-coated thoughts when he’s curiously pressing his palm against your pussy pouch, the additional pressure driving you past your limits as you tremble erratically.
Beomgyu gives in to your wishes without a problem, grabbing hold of a tighter grip on your hips as he rocks your cunt against his pelvis, clit bumping roughly against his skin in desperation for release. Every stroke of his cock stretches you out in an addictive cycle of pain-filled pleasure, leaving you biting down onto your lip so harshly you can taste metal on your tongue, moving on your own without thinking as Beomgyu pushes you through to orgasm.
The echo of your wanton moans filling up whatever space is left in the room that isn’t the smell of sex doesn’t hinder Beomgyu from slowing down. He’s without a doubt burning through every energy store in his body just to completely brute his way through to your orgasm. His own stamina is at the very bottom of his concerns when the screwed-up expression on your face is all he needs to keep himself going.
Detaching a hand from one of your hips, he indulges himself in reaching up to grope your tits, sighing out in content as he watches the flesh spill out through the gaps between his fingers. And God, it’s these little additions he does on pure subconsciousness that have you throbbing around him desperately, each pulsation a cry out for him to drawl out your orgasm quickly.
“Y-you close yet pretty? Can feel you throbbing like crazy—”
Too embarrassed to admit it, you settle for a meek nod, the kind of obedience that has Beomgyu wanting to plummet his hips into you harder. Until you can’t think of anyone but him, marking the shape of his cock and every ridge and vein into your walls so that you’d only suffocate around him so snugly.
He doesn’t mind being struck by lightning if it means he can be a little greedy just this once. Stationing your hips in place to constantly hurl his pelvis against your folds, the plapping of your drenchedfolds making contact with his pelvis spiralling him into an endless rabbit hole of being enamoured by the warmth of your cunt engulfing him. The fat cockhead continues to repeatedly nudge against your g-spot ever so meanly, the stimulation making you see stars as you dumbly mumble his name over and over again in need.
“Cumming! O-oh my god ‘m cumming!” Your body tenses up as you tremble in his hold, pussy throbbing along the vein of his cock as you slowly ride out your orgasm, hands pinning him down as a smile weakly smears itself across your features. “Go on Gyu, cum inside it’s okay.”
You probably didn’t think much of it when you raspily urged him, just talking out of pure post-orgasm bliss most likely. But Beomgyu’s spilling his seed inside of you before you could even finish of your sentence, the warm fluid filling up and expanding your cunt as it spills down the side of his cock. Not enough space for it to stay buried inside without Beomgyu reluctantly pulling out and shoving his cum back inside with his fingers, eyes in awe just from glancing at how your hole remains stretched out so prettily for him.
“We didn’t even end up using the condoms I bought…and I-I don’t think I can go back to only seeing your cunt over the screen again.” A hand wipes off the sweat accumulating on your face, a bubbly laugh emerging from you as you pat him down to lay him on the bed again.
“Move in with me then, need to give Taehyun a constant reminder that the walls are thin, don’t you think?”
⪼ When Beomgyu texts you it's for one thing and one thing alone.
◞ criminal conscience!beomgyu x criminal conscience!reader (f)
「 !! 」 penetrative sex, unprotected sex + pull out, pentanes (dollface), really very toxic beomgyu, dom!beomgyu, cc!beomgyu confirmed thigh man, fingering, cum-eating, overstimulation, implied drug usage, multiple positions (doggy, missionary), skinship, very brief nipple stimulation, his hand around her throat but not quite breath play, body worship.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ Based on @saccharinezennie's ask about criminal conscience beomgyu in bed,, these head canons are not canon to the plot of the series, but are canon to how cc!beomgyu is in bed. read the criminal conscience series here!
── 𝖬𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖬𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳 | 𝖡𝖤𝖮𝖬𝖦𝖸𝖴'𝖲 𝖬𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳
CC!BEOMGYU is rough, even sloppy at times, especially when he's close. he gets this crazed look, dark eyes glazed over with lust and want — hands grabbing at any part of you he can access, though he prefers your thighs. the cold metal of his rings digging into your skin as he thrusts into you with messy jerks of his hips.
CC!BEOMGYU isn't a man of many words, no different in bed — except for when he's about to cum. beomgyu is always careful with labels, always close enough to stake claim but never lingering too long to make it feel real. except the way his breath ghosts along the shell of your ear makes cling onto the idea of something beyond just casual sex — if only for the moment.
"shit— you're perfect like this," he grunts, fingers squeezing your hip as he forces his cock deep inside your cunt, "my pretty doll, aren't you?"
mine.
that one word is treading dangerous waters — you both know that, even when none of you address it. but it's like he can't help himself, like the sight of you laid out beneath him, face warm with desire, unleashes something he fights so hard to keep buried — and beomgyu lets himself slip up over and over.
CC!BEOMGYU never cums inside, it's the one line he won't ever allow himself to cross, no matter the circumstances. always pulling out with a hiss just as you get your hopes up, he'll jerk himself off quickly as his hand smooths over the skin of your thigh. "hold still for me, dollface," he murmurs, head tipping back when he finishes over your thighs with a groan.
CC!BEOMGYU has restless fingers, often fiddling with his rings or tapping them against whatever surface before him. it's no surprise that one of his favourite things is stuffing your cunt full of them, only to have you cum all over his hand. cc!beomgyu can spend hours between your legs, cheek pressed against your thigh where his lips brush over your skin — dark gaze fixed on the way two of his fingers slide in and out of your dripping pussy.
CC!BEOMGYU loves the taste of you, coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of you just so he can bring his slick fingers to his lips and savor what you give him. "so addictive..." he murmurs as his fingers draw lazy circles on your overstimulated clit. "like a drug," he sighs when he licks himself clean again.
CC!BEOMGYU can go round for round, especially when he's had a line before. missionary is his favourite, purely because of the satisfaction he gets from seeing the way your face twists in pleasure, knowing that it was him and no one else that brought you this. though doggy is a close second. where he can lean his chest against your naked back, feel your feverish skin against his when he takes you from behind.
"you're warm," the admission slips out mindlessly, his words almost slurred as his hands roam your chest, fingers tweaking at your nipples before pulling on them roughly. "feel so nice against me." but he's not talking about the way your cunt clenches around his cock, no, it's in the way your breath stutters in your chest, the way he can feel every tremor and twitch of your body as he molds himself against you.
CC!BEOMGYU loves your throat, loves the way it bobs when you swallow, the way it contracts when you take him into your mouth. most of all he loves the way his hands look when wrapped around your jugular, obsessed with the way you give up such a vulnerable part of yourself without second thought.
cc!beomgyu is rough but always so so careful with your throat, his touch is almost frustratingly light, sometimes you wish he'd just squeeze. he never does. he never would. to him, your body is a temple, and the curve of your neck is where he prays. he loves it when the cold metal of his rings startle you at the first touch, the way your heart races under his lips when he drags them along the fragile skin.
CC!BEOMGYU always leaves before dawn. in his wake is nothing but the bruises on your hips and the ache between your legs. the room still smells of him, that sharp scent that prickles at your nose in such a taunting way, teasing you with something you can't have. but when he texts you that evening, you already know what he wants.
getting mad at ao3 for being against censorship and allowing all kinds of dark and fucked up fics to be on their platform is like getting mad at a library for not banning books
⟢ request | your childhood best friend lets you move in with him without consulting his roommate
⠀⠀⠀⠀[𐙚] soobin x fem!reader — fluff ; suggestive ; slight smut ; slight angst ; roommates to lovers ; fwbs to lovers
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[ᡣ𐭩] this was not supposed to be this long lol ; happy (belated) soobin day and happy (belated) moanniversary to me <33 ; reblogs n comments appreciated :)
#SYNOPSIS » you are mostly into girls. everyone knows that. soobin knows that. but that never stopped him from watching you like he knew something you didn’t. he’s your favorite boy, your quietest tension, you flirt with him because you think it’s fun. until one night, a horror movie, and a question you weren’t ready for — are you really not into guys? and maybe it was never about boys. maybe it was just about him.
✰ pairing: soobin x bi!fem!reader … ﹒smut, slowburn, friends to something, power play, pwp ✰ w/c: 15k #nowplaying 1980s horror film - wallows
✰ warnings: explicit sexual content (mdni!!), power dynamics, dom! soobin, oral (m receiving), praise + degradation kink, cum eating, consent is clear but push-pull tension, light pain, confusion around sexuality, reader is bi but leans heavily towards girls
you never really liked boys anyway. except for choi soobin, of course.
which was annoying. infuriating, really. because he was the one boy you let yourself like, just a little, back when college was still new and everything felt like it could be a movie. he was cute in a lazy, floppy-haired way. laughed too loud. had that smug look on his face like he knew girls liked him, and you hated boys like that.
but you liked him, just a little. you liked the way he always saved you a seat. liked the way he looked at you when you talked, like you were saying something important, even when you weren’t. and maybe, once or twice, you thought about kissing him. maybe, if he kissed you first, you wouldn’t have stopped him. and soobin, well, he’s just your friend. even if you’re always in his lap. even if you always call him baby when you’re drunk. even if sometimes he looks at you like he wants to ruin you.
but then you hooked up with that girl from your lit class and remembered: oh. right. you like girls. you’ve always known you were mostly into girls. since before you even had a word for it. barbie made out with other barbie. you had crushes on your best friends. and when you finally kissed a girl for the first time, it felt like everything made sense. you’re bi, technically. but girls were always easier for you. guys were… well, guys. loud, messy, handsy. they talked over you. and every time you tried to “give it a shot” with one, it ended in disappointment. sometimes disgust. you got tired of being disappointed, so you stopped trying.
but then there was soobin.
your friendship with him is… complicated. you watch movies together all the time. mostly 1980's horror films. bad ones, always. you eat from the same bowl of popcorn and scream at the same jump scares. he lets you paint his nails while you ramble about some bullshit while you’re high, and he acts like it doesn’t hurt when you say things like i think i’m into her.
but also, you caught him staring once. not in a gross way. more like… sad? like he wanted to ask something, but didn’t know if he should. well, you didn’t ask either. you just laid your head on his shoulder and said, “you’re my favorite boy, you know that?” and he said, “i better be."
you’ve seen him shirtless more times than you can count. not on purpose, just sleepovers, gym selfies, pool days. but still, his stupid abs live rent-free in your head. and maybe you’ve thought about kissing him. maybe you wonder what it’d feel like to let him touch you, like, really touch you. maybe your brain goes quiet when he calls you pretty. maybe you’re scared of what that means.
maybe you don’t know if you’re confused about him, or just confused about yourself.
and soobin? oh, soobin wants you in ways he can’t say out loud.
it is not sweet, nor soft. no, he wants you in the most carnal way a person can want someone. wants your thighs around his face. wants to hear you whimper. wants to fuck the brat right out of you. and it’s hell, you know, being your friend.
because you’re always touching him. always looking at him like he’s just soobin, your favorite pillow, your emotional support boy. you straddle his lap like it means nothing. call him baby when you’re tipsy. you whisper in his ear at parties like you’re telling him secrets, when really it’s just to feel your lips on his neck. he knows what you’re doing. or maybe you don’t. maybe you’re just like this. maybe you really don’t know what you do to him.
but he does, because he thinks about it way too often. you on your knees. you moaning his name. your lipgloss smeared across his skin. and he hates himself for it, for the way his cock aches just from being around you. for the way he jerks off after you leave his apartment, like some sad, pathetic, friendzoned loser. he wants to blame you, but he can’t. it’s not your fault you’re like this.
and tonight’s the worst. today is taehyun’s birthday party. everyone’s sweating through their clothes and the floor’s sticky and someone’s already puked in the sink. but you look unreal, you always do. little black skirt, bare thighs, something sparkly on your chest. and of course soobin wants to bite you.
you’re drunk, but not too drunk. just buzzed enough to be mean about it. to smile at him with that lipglossed mouth and say shit like: “you know you’re stupid hot, right?”
he freezes. “what?”
you grin. lean in, real close. “you heard me.”
he tries not to react. tries to keep his eyes on your face and not the way your fingers trail down his arm. but his skin’s buzzing, and you’re everywhere. your perfume, your voice, your thighs on his. you’re pressing into him like you want him to do something. and fuck, he almost does. but you’re gone again, like you always are. off to refill your drink, or to dance, or to do whatever the fuck you do when you’re tipsy and glowing and unstoppable.
he finds you later in the kitchen. kissing some girl against the counter, all teeth and tongue and fingers knotted in hair. and he shouldn’t be surprised. he’s not surprised. he’s just, well. soobin is hard.
and ashamed. and dizzy with it. so he turns away. drinks whatever’s in his cup. vodka? piss? who cares.
an hour later, you sit on his lap like nothing happened. like you didn’t just let some other girl bite your neck while he watched. like he isn’t the one unraveling.
“hey,” you whisper. one arm around his shoulders, nails grazing the back of his neck. “you okay?” he doesn’t answer. you tilt your head. “what’re you thinking about?”
he says it before he can stop himself. “don’t know what to say to you,” he breathes. “i feel… you’re always on my mind.”
you freeze for a second. then your face softens. not in the way he wants. “soobin…” you laugh, too gentle. “i’m really not that into guys.”
the words hit like a blade to the gut. or maybe like a jump scare in one of those shitty 1980s horror films you always make him watch. the kind where someone’s about to get gutted, but the music’s still cheerful. like the world doesn’t know something awful is happening.
and he’s sitting there, hard as a rock, hands on your waist, and he can’t even move. just smiles, swallows it down. lets the blood drain from his chest to somewhere lower. because fuck it, right? because he wants you so bad he’ll take anything. even this.
but after that night, things started to change inside you.
you didn’t want to admit it, not even to yourself. you played it off, laughed it off, because that’s what you always do when things get a little too real. but something shifted, something you didn’t know how to name. but you weren’t stupid. you knew what you were doing that night. you were drunk, yes. but not that drunk. just loose enough to let your hands wander. just tipsy enough to call soobin pretty and pretend it didn’t mean anything. just bold enough to climb into his lap and act like you belonged there.
and god, the way he looked at you. he always looked at you soft. like you were something delicate, something sacred. but that night? something in his eyes was darker. heavier. something that made your stomach flip and your thighs press together just a little.
you liked it, you fucking liked it. and then you said it — i’m really not that into guys — and watched it hit him like a punch to the face. you weren’t lying. well, not entirely. you are bi. you always have been. but it’s been a long time since a man made you feel anything. it’s been years since one touched you and your body responded like this. and it’s not like you didn’t try, you did. dates, hookups, situationships. they all fizzled out into nothing. no spark. no heat. just another guy thinking he deserved something just for showing up.
but soobin isn’t like them. soobin is sweet. soobin holds your hand when you’re hungover and makes playlists for your moods and never pushes, never assumes, never demands. he’s soft-spoken, polite, too damn good for his own sanity. and maybe that’s why you liked teasing him so much. maybe that’s why you started testing your limits.
you knew he liked you. he never said it, but it clung to everything he did. the way he lingered when you touched him. the way he looked away when you changed clothes in front of him, but not too fast. the way he let you flirt and flirt and flirt, and never told you to stop.
and well, you’re a little fucked up, you know that. you like playing with fire just to see how long it takes to burn. and with soobin? soobin had this face, all soft lashes and pink lips and that stupid shy smile, and yet you knew he wasn’t innocent, no, not really. you’d catch him looking sometimes, like really looking. not just at your face, but at your thighs. your chest. your mouth. the hunger was there, hiding behind the sweet boy act.
and it did something to you, something ugly. something hot.
so you started to lean in closer when you talked to him. started calling him baby more often, just to see how his ears turned red. you wore shorts that barely covered anything when he came over. you let your fingers linger a little too long on his hand when you passed him things. and when you caught him staring, you smiled.
but you told yourself it was just fun. you told yourself you were figuring things out, seeing if your body could still want a guy. if your brain could still go there. and if it was anyone else, you probably would’ve pulled away already. but it’s soobin, and you trust him. and that’s what makes it worse. because now every time you’re alone together, you can feel it crackling between you. every laugh, every brush of skin, every too-long stare— it all builds and builds until you feel like your bones might snap from the pressure of not doing anything.
you wake up thinking about his mouth. you fall asleep wondering how he tastes. you touch yourself and pretend it’s still just curiosity. you don’t know what this makes you. don’t know if you’re into him, or just into how he makes you feel. don’t know if you want him because it’s him… or because your body is begging for something and he’s the first person to really look at you like he’s starving.
and maybe that’s the scariest part. not wanting him, but not knowing why you want him.
so you text him two nights later.
[you]: hey, movie night?
[you]: u owe me horror and gore
he answers in under five minutes.
[soobin]: omw
you stare at the message longer than necessary, because you don’t know what you’re doing. but also— you know exactly what you’re doing.
you pick the movie carefully, not something classy. the slumber party massacre. a cult slasher soaked in tits and blood and bad acting. the kind of movie that makes you feel sticky just watching it. the kind of movie you’d make fun of together. the kind of movie where sexual tension is part of the plot, of course
you throw on a hoodie and tiny shorts. not for him, not really. you just want to be comfortable. or you just want to see what happens.
and when soobin shows up, he looks like he always does. hoodie, sweats, his hair slightly messed up from the wind. but his eyes flick to your legs when you open the door. just for a second. and that’s all it takes. that second burns straight through you.
“hey,” he says, voice a little too low.
“you brought snacks?” you ask, already turning your back to him, pretending your skin isn’t hot.
“yeah,” he says, and when you glance back, he’s still standing there, holding the chips awkwardly, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
“you ever seen the slumber party massacre?” you ask, flopping onto your bed.
soobin blinks. “uh, yeah. tits and blood, right?”
you grin. “exactly.”
you settle on your bed with the laptop open, lights off except for the screen’s dim glow. he kicks off his shoes and joins you, back against the pillows, a little too far from you. he swears his heart skips. or maybe it’s his dick. hard to tell.
you don’t say anything, you just press play. and the movie starts. basically: girls scream, clothes come off, fake blood splashes across the screen. it’s stupid. you’ve seen it before. but you don’t care. because all you can feel is the space between your bodies.
you stretch your legs out and let one brush against his thigh. you pretend it’s accidental. it’s not. he stiffens a little, but doesn’t pull away. fifteen minutes in, you shift closer. your bare thigh fully pressed to his now. he still doesn’t move, but his breathing changes, though. a little shallower. you don’t look at him, not yet. you lean your head back, neck exposed, hoodie slipping off one shoulder.
you’re not watching the movie anymore. you’re watching him watch the movie. he’s tense and quiet, too quiet. and then one of the girls on screen moans — loud and ridiculous and obviously fake — and you can practically feel soobin’s whole body flinch beside you.
you turn to him, finally, and your voice comes out low. teasing. “you okay?”
he nods, too quickly. “mhm.”
you smile and lean in a little closer. “you’re so jumpy. it’s just a dumb movie.”
he swallows hard. “yeah, i know.”
and then silence again. well, except it’s not silence. it’s the sound of his breath catching every time you shift. the rustle of sheets when your leg slides higher against his. the creak of the bed when you lean into his side and pretend not to notice how he holds himself like he’s about to explode. you rest your chin on his shoulder. your lips brush his neck. again— just pretend.
your eyes are half-lidded as you stare at the screen, though you’ve long since stopped registering anything happening in the movie. he’s so still beside you it’s almost funny, like he thinks if he doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe too loudly, the tension will somehow break on its own. but you feel him. the way his thigh tenses beneath yours. the way his hands are clenched, fingers digging into his own leg. the way he keeps his eyes on the screen like he’s being tested. like this is some exam he has to pass.
“you still think this movie’s just tits and blood?” you ask voice low, teasing. your lips graze the curve of his neck just slightly as you speak, enough to make him flinch.
he lets out a sound, half a laugh, half a breath he’d been holding. “that’s literally all it is,” he says, but his voice is tight, a little hoarse, like it’s caught on something he’s not saying. “plot? never heard of her.”
you grin, slow and lazy. “right. because you only watch movies for the plot.”
“i do, actually.” he turns his head a little, just enough to glance at you, and you catch the flicker of something in his eyes, maybe amusement, restraint, a quiet kind of want that makes your stomach flip. “that’s why i’m here. for the deep narrative of slumber party massacre.”
you laugh, you can’t help it. “mm, yeah. so insightful.”
“exactly,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping (not very subtly) to your mouth. “truly… cinematic.”
there’s a beat of silence where neither of you speaks, where the only sound is the girl on screen screaming as a power drill tears through a door. you shift closer again, just barely, and his breath catches. you can feel the way the air between you is thick. the push and pull of something neither of you wants to name.
you smile, almost wicked, and lean into him fully now, your weight settling half across his chest, your hand resting on his stomach, too casual to be casual at all. you can feel the tension in him, the way his body is coiled tight, like he’s holding himself back from something. “hey..” you whisper, voice syrupy and low. “you uncomfortable?”
he swallows hard. “no,” he says, way too fast. “why would i be?”
you let your fingers drag slowly, lazily over the hem of his hoodie. “dunno. you just seem kinda… stiff.”
you know you’re being cruel. you know exactly what you’re doing, and part of you hates yourself for it. and the other part (the louder one) is trying to make sense of the chaos inside you, the confusion, the heat, the sudden ache that’s been gnawing at you ever since that night at the party. you tell yourself this is about clarity, you just want to know.
he exhales sharply, like he’s trying to keep himself from combusting. “you’re really playing with fire right now,” he mutters, half under his breath.
you tilt your head again, wide-eyed and fake-innocent. “me? i would never.”
he turns to you then and suddenly he’s close, so close that his nose almost brushes yours, and all the tension from before condenses into a single, dangerous moment. “are you really not that into guys?” he asks, low and careful, like he’s trying to sound casual but can’t quite pull it off. “or are you just… not into me?”
the words hit harder than you expect. you blink, thrown for a second. you were playing a game, but suddenly you’re not sure what the rules are anymore. and he doesn’t move, doesn’t look away. he’s not teasing now, he’s just waiting. you open your mouth, then close it again. because what the hell are you supposed to say? you could lie. you could laugh it off. you could flirt your way out of it like you always do. but you don’t. because suddenly you feel a little sick, like something’s lodged in your chest.
“i…” you start, but your voice cracks, and you have to look away. you pull back just slightly, your hand slipping off his stomach, and the loss of contact makes you feel cold. “i don’t know.”
and that’s the truth, and it’s the worst answer you could give. but soobin doesn’t respond right away. he just watches you for a moment, eyes sharp, mouth tight. “you know,” he says finally, voice low and calm in that dangerous way, “i can’t keep pretending this is nothing. that you don’t know what you’re doing.”
your breath hitches. “i didn’t mean to—”
“yes, you did,” he cuts in, not harsh, but not gentle either. “you did mean to. you do it all the time.”
you want to argue, but you can’t. because he’s right. “i don’t know what i want,” you admit, your voice small now. “it’s not about you. it’s not— it’s not because i don’t think about you. i do. i think about you more than i should.”
he exhales slowly. “then stop acting like it’s a joke.”
you look up at him, and suddenly he’s too close again, and the space between your bodies feels like it might collapse. “i’m just... scared,” you whisper, and it’s the first honest thing you’ve said all night.
his expression softens, not completely, not enough to erase the frustration and the want, but enough to remind you who he is. that it’s soobin. that he’s not going to take advantage. that he just wants you to be sure. “then say that,” he says gently. “don’t play with me.”
you don’t say anything at first. you just sit there with your hands in your lap like some kind of penitent virgin, like you weren’t half on top of him five seconds ago whispering in his ear like a tease. it’s funny, in a pathetic kind of way. you don’t even realize how obvious it is, how you’re still pressed up against him, still breathing like you ran a mile, still watching his mouth like it might do something terrible. and soobin? soobin’s done pretending he doesn’t notice.
“you know what your problem is?” he says, voice calm in a way that’s somehow more dangerous than yelling.
you blink. “um—”
he leans in just slightly, not enough to touch, but close enough to make you feel it. “you think you can keep playing these games with me and i’m just gonna sit here and take it.”
your stomach flips. “i wasn’t—”
“you weren’t?” he cuts in, tone sharp now. “what was that then? just casual flirting with your friend since you are 'not that into guys’? calling me baby and crawling into my lap and rubbing up against me during a fucking slasher movie? just normal behavior?”
you open your mouth. close it again. because yeah. yeah, okay. you have no argument. he laughs, humorless. “you want to know what i think?”
you don’t, you really don’t, but you nod anyway. he shifts his body, finally, his legs opening just slightly, taking up more space, spine straighter now, eyes locked on you like he’s finally tired of pretending he’s not starving. he doesn’t touch you, not yet, but every inch of his posture says he could. would, if you let him.
“i think you like pretending you’re in control,” he says. “i think you like pushing me just far enough to feel powerful. but you never let it go further, because then it’s real. and if it’s real, you can’t hide behind your sexuality crisis or your drunk-girl flirty bullshit.”
you suck in a sharp breath. “wow.”
“yeah,” he says. “wow.”
there’s a long pause. you don’t move, but your skin’s buzzing, your thighs pressed together like that’ll help. it won’t. your whole body’s betraying you. and the worst part is that he knows. because he continues: “but here’s the thing,” he continues, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “you’re not in control. not anymore.”
“oh?” you shoot back, voice a little thinner than you want. “and you are?”
he tilts his head, eyes dark now, smile lazy. “wanna find out?”
you hate him. you hate that your legs feel weak and your face is hot and your stomach is doing flips like you’re seventeen and he’s the first boy who ever looked at you like he meant it. you swallow hard. “you think i’m scared of you?”
“i know you’re scared of how bad you want me,” he says, and it’s not cocky. it’s not a guess. it’s a goddamn fact.
and you hate that he’s right. so you laugh, mostly to cover the way your heart is slamming in your chest. “you’re full of yourself.”
“maybe,” he shrugs. “but you’re still sitting in my lap like, so.”
you blink. your brain short-circuits a little. “jesus christ.”
“say the word,” he says, voice dropping just enough to make your spine tingle. “say it and i’ll stop. we can finish the movie, you can pretend you’re totally unbothered, and i’ll go home like nothing happened.”
you look at him, and he’s still soobin. your sweet, smart, quietly hot friend who lets you paint his nails and listens to your drunk girl rants and always brings the right snacks. except now his eyes are blown wide, his lips are parted, and he’s looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. you’re not used to this version of him, but god, it’s doing something to you.
“i’m not saying stop,” you whisper, and it sounds like a confession.
he grins, slow and dangerous. “didn’t think so.”
you don’t have time to think before he moves. he’s grabbing your waist and pulling you into his lap like you weigh nothing. just grabs you, shifts you over until you’re straddling him, knees on either side of his thighs, face inches from his. like it’s easy, like he’s done it before.
your breath catches in your throat. your hands find his shoulders out of instinct, grounding yourself, but your head is spinning, because he’s so close. his hoodie smells like laundry detergent and something distinctly him, and you’re hyper-aware of how warm his hands feel on your hips, how his thumbs drag slowly against the waistband of your shorts like he’s barely restraining himself.
“you okay?” he asks, but there’s no softness in his voice this time. just control. “still playing?”
you blink at him, wide-eyed. “i’m not—”
“don’t lie,” he cuts in, eyes dark and steady on yours. “not now.”
your lips part, but no sound comes out. you can feel the tension in your own body of the pull, the ache, the raw want that’s been building for weeks, maybe months, maybe longer than you care to admit. and now it’s all boiling under your skin. he leans back slightly against the pillows, relaxed now, one hand still heavy on your hip. his other arm stretches behind his head, the picture of composure, like he’s not losing his mind with you sitting like this on top of him.
“so,” he says, almost lazily, like this is just another dumb conversation between friends. “what do you like?”
you blink. “what?”
“sexually,” he clarifies, casual as anything, like he’s asking what your favorite color is. “what do you like? do you even know?” you swallow hard and he tilts his head, watching you. “you’ve been playing this game for weeks. teasing me, acting like you don’t notice when i’m hard because you’re grinding on me. so i wanna know. is it just for fun? or do you actually get off on this?”
your cheeks burn. you should get up, you should say something. instead, you shift slightly in his lap, barely, and his hands tighten on your waist in warning. “don’t do that unless you’re ready to take responsibility,” he says, voice lower now, dangerous. “you wanted to know how i feel? this is it.”
you bite your lip, heart pounding. you feel too exposed, even fully dressed. like he’s peeled something open inside you and now there’s nowhere to hide. “you’re being mean,” you whisper.
he grins, sharp and slow. “good. someone’s gotta stop letting you play dumb.” you stare at him, chest tight, skin buzzing. “so,” he says again, voice softer now but no less intense. “what do you like?”
you hesitate. not because you don’t know, but because saying it out loud would make it real. and he watches your face, expression unreadable. and then he leans in again, voice low in your ear. “tell me what you want,” he murmurs. “or nothing happens. i’m not gonna touch you unless you ask for it.”
you don’t mean to move, not really, but your hips shift slightly, like your body’s trying to answer for you. your lips part, and for a second, you just breathe. you’re not sure where your voice went. everything’s tight in your throat, but soobin doesn’t rush you. he just waits, watching you from below with a look that’s way too composed for someone whose thighs you’re currently sitting on.
“i…” you start, barely above a whisper. “i like…”
he arches an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his mouth. “yeah?”
you glare at him, cheeks burning. “don’t be smug.”
“i’m literally just sitting here,” he says, all innocent, like his fingers aren’t gripping your hips like a fucking anchor. “you’re the one grinding on me.”
you huff, exasperated, but your body betrays you again— your thighs tighten, your nails dig lightly into his shoulders. you lean in closer so you don’t have to look at him full in the eyes when you say it. “i like…” you pause, then exhale hard. “i like being in control. usually.”
he hums. “yeah?”
“with girls,” you clarify, quieter now. “it’s just always been easier. they… let me lead.”
soobin’s eyes flicker darker, but he keeps the same calm expression on his face, his voice steady. “so you’re a top,” he says, teasing, like he’s just making an observation about the weather.
you roll your eyes. “not like that.”
“no?” he tilts his head. “how then?”
you bite your lip, struggling for the words. “i mean— i like the dynamic. i like girls with that…” your voice drops. “with that… innocent face. it’s hot.”
you feel soobin’s breath hitch under you, just barely. it makes your heart spike in your chest. he laughs softly, but there’s something sharp underneath it. “so is that how you see me?”
you finally meet his eyes. they’re unreadable now, but locked onto yours with a focus that makes your stomach twist. “no,” you say, and your voice is firmer this time. “you’re not like that.”
he hums again, this time low and slow. “so what am i like, then?”
you swallow, your hands sliding slightly down his arms. “you’re… harder to read. you play along, but i know you’re not passive. you pretend you don’t care, but i can feel it when you touch me.”
“yeah?” he says, fingers tightening just slightly at your waist. “and what does that make you?”
this time you don’t look away. “i don’t know,” you admit. “i like… control. but sometimes—” you pause, frustrated at how hard it is to say. “sometimes i like giving it up.”
“why?” he asks, and his voice is quieter now. not mean, just curious. like he genuinely wants to know what makes you tick.
you think about it. “it depends,” you say slowly, choosing your words with care. “on how the person treats me. if they make me feel safe or wanted. if they deserve it.”
his gaze doesn’t waver. “and am i treating you like that right now?”
that question hits somewhere deep, somewhere between your lungs and your core, and you can’t tell if it makes you want to run or stay forever, so you nod. and he smirks, not cruel, not cocky. just knowing. “good,” he says, voice low. “because i’m not trying to play pretend with you anymore.”
you nod again, smaller this time, your breath shaky. “i don’t want to play either.”
his thumb strokes gently along your side, slow and steady, grounding you. his other hand moves up to rest lightly against the back of your neck, just holding you there, close enough to feel his breath against your lips. “you like being in control,” he says, like he’s repeating it back just to make sure you know he heard you. “but you don’t need to be.”
you don’t answer out loud. your body answers for you, because your hips are rolling forward slightly without permission, the friction making you gasp. his grip tightens instantly, holding you in place. “ah ah,” he tuts, voice like velvet. “you still haven’t told me what you want.”
your head drops forward, forehead resting against his. “you’re so fucking annoying.”
he grins. “am i?”
you’re burning. your whole body is vibrating with need and frustration and anticipation. you feel like you’re going to scream if he doesn’t do something, or let you do something. “i want you to touch me,” you whisper, barely audible.
he leans in just a bit more. “gonna have to say that louder, baby.”
you grit your teeth. “fuck you.”
he smiles sweetly. “you wish.”
your fingers tighten in the fabric of his hoodie. your thighs are trembling now, and you’re so wound up you feel like your skin might split open. you inhale shakily, close your eyes, and say it again. louder this time. clearer. “i want you to touch me.”
you feel the way his breath catches, like even he wasn’t prepared to hear you say it like that. and then his voice drops, low and hot in your ear.
“good girl.”
you almost moan at his words, but you bite your lips and hold yourself back. his hands rest on your thighs like they live there. his thumb draws slow, absent circles against your skin, barely noticeable if your entire nervous system wasn’t screaming at you. his eyes are on you like he’s watching a storm roll in. and you’re trying not to come apart over a fucking stare. you shift a little, chasing friction, and he smirks immediately.
“comfortable?” he asks, voice too soft to be innocent.
you glare. “you’re enjoying this.”
“obviously,” he says. “you’re so easy to read it’s kind of adorable.”
you roll your eyes, annoyed and flustered, which only seems to please him more. his thumb trails higher, a little closer to the hem of your shorts, but doesn’t go any further. he’s doing this on purpose. you know he is.
“you’re not gonna kiss me?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
he raises an eyebrow, gaze flicking from your mouth to your eyes. “is that what you want?” your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. he smiles, slow and cruel and so fucking pretty. “then kiss me.” you freeze. his voice drops, lower now. “what? don’t get shy now.”
you want to hit him. you want to kiss him. you want to melt into him. mostly, you want him to stop talking. but you don’t move. so soobin leans in and exhales. “or do you just want me to do everything for you?”
you swallow hard. “you’re insufferable.”
he hums, grinning. his hand moves again, dragging up the back of your thigh, slow and deliberate, until he’s cupping the underside of it, holding you just a little tighter. “you gonna kiss me or what?” he asks again, voice practically a purr. “or are you scared of that too?”
“i’m not scared.”
“then what’s stopping you?”
you stare at him. you can feel your pulse everywhere — in your neck, your wrists, between your legs. he’s right there. he’s asking for it. and still, you hesitate. so he keeps going. “you want it to be me?” he asks, fingers now pressing into your thigh a little rougher. “you want me to make the first move? pin you down? take it from you?” you shiver. “i could,” he adds. “but i won’t. not until you ask for it.”
his words hit low and deep, and you can’t tell if your thighs are shaking from nerves or want. maybe both. so you reach up, slow and hesitant, and brush your fingers along his jaw. he doesn’t move, he just waits. and when you finally lean in and kiss him, it’s like biting into lightning.
he doesn’t move at first. lets you kiss him, tentative, searching, like he wants to see how far you’ll go on your own. but when your fingers curl into the collar of his hoodie and your hips shift forward instinctively, he groans low in his throat and grabs your waist tight. his mouth moves against yours like he’s been waiting. like he’s been holding back for weeks and now he’s finally letting himself want. well, because he is. so he kisses rougher, deeper, his tongue slipping into your mouth like it belongs there. and when you whimper, he pulls back just barely, breathing hard.
“that what you wanted?” he asks, voice ragged now. you nod, dazed. he kisses the corner of your mouth. your jaw. down your neck. everywhere but where you’re begging for it. “you’re gonna have to be more specific,” he murmurs against your skin. “i wanna hear exactly what you like.”
your hips grind down again. he grips your thighs harder, holds you in place. “you like being on top?” he asks, almost amused.
you nod, biting your lip. “sometimes.”
“but not tonight?” he asks, tilting his head. “you want me to take over, baby?” you can’t speak. you just breathe and nod. he grins. “you know what to do then.”
you press your forehead to his, shaky and desperate and so ready to say it. “please,” you whisper. “i want you.”
“how bad?” he asks.
“i can’t think,” you breathe. “i need you to do something.”
he chuckles — low, smug, wrecked. “good. now we’re getting somewhere.”
his hand is on your throat before you even process it. not squeezing, just resting there, firm enough to feel the beat of your pulse against his palm. he holds your gaze steady with his, like he’s daring you to pull away. you don’t. your breath comes out shaky and uneven, and his thumb strokes just once along the column of your neck. “say it again,” he murmurs, voice low and unforgiving.
you swallow hard. “need you to do something. please.”
he nods once, like that’s all he needed. his other hand slides up under your hoodie, knuckles brushing the bare skin of your waist. his fingers are cold at first, but the way they move is purposeful, not searching, not unsure. he knows what he’s doing. he drags his hand up slowly, deliberately, until his palm rests just under your bra.
“like this?” he asks, thumb teasing the edge of the fabric. “or do you want more?”
you gasp, breath catching. “more.”
he grins, lazy and infuriating. “thought so.”
he slides your hoodie up, not bothering to take it off, just pushing it out of the way enough to get what he wants. his hands move with a kind of patience that makes you ache, like he’s got all the time in the world to make you lose your mind. he cups your breasts through the thin fabric, thumbing over your nipple until it hardens beneath his touch. you arch into it without thinking. “you like that?” he asks, voice close to your ear.
“yes.”
“say it.”
“i like it.”
his hand dips lower, sliding down your stomach, teasing the waistband of your shorts. his fingers toy with the edge like he’s still deciding if he’s going to keep going. “you want me to take these off too?”you nod, dizzy. he clicks his tongue. “use your words.”
“yes. take them off.”
he drags them down slowly, watching your face the whole time. he wants to see everything— the way your lips part, the way your body tenses when he touches you, the way you shiver when the fabric brushes down your legs. you kick them off and now you’re in nothing but your underwear, straddling him, your hoodie still half pushed up, breath coming in shaky bursts.
“fuck,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “you’re really just gonna sit here looking like that and expect me to behave?”
“i like it,” you manage to say.
he smirks. “of course you do.”
his hands slide down slow, fingers splaying wide as they skim the sides of your thighs, tracing the shape of you like he’s memorizing it. and then they’re under your ass, lifting you just enough so he can shift your panties to the side, fingers brushing over where you’re wet and aching. he whistles low, mouth curling into a grin. “fuck,” he mutters. “you really needed this, didn’t you?”
you let out a shaky breath, gripping his shoulders like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. your whole body jolts at the first real contact, the drag of his fingers through your folds, slow and sure, like he’s testing what you can handle. “so wet for me already,” he murmurs, circling your clit with maddening precision. “and i haven’t even done anything yet.”
he rubs slow circles with the heel of his palm, watching you squirm. your hips jerk instinctively, but his hands pin you down. he keeps you still, makes you feel every slow movement, every teasing glide. he’s not in a rush. you might be desperate, but he isn’t. not anymore. still, he slips a finger inside you, slow, deliberate, and your whole body tightens around him. he groans low in his throat.
“tight,” he mutters, adding a second finger without warning. “jesus. you’d fall apart if i fucked you right now.” you moan, breathless. “you’d let me, wouldn’t you?” he says, curling his fingers just right. “after all that teasing.”
“yes—”
his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing tight, lazy circles as his fingers fuck into you deep and steady. you can’t breathe, can’t think, just clutch at him like you’re drowning. and then he leans in close, voice a growl against your ear. “you need someone to put you in your place,” he says. “you act like you’re in charge, but look at you now. look how easy it is to break you.”
your thighs tremble around his hips, pleasure building sharp and fast, overwhelming. “you like being handled like this, don’t you?” he asks again, his tone dark, laced with smug delight.
“yes,” you gasp, hips twitching.
“of course you do,” he says. “you like being fucked slow. deep. with a hand on your throat so you remember who’s in charge.” his other hand slides up again, fingers wrapping gently around your neck and your whole body tenses in response. “you make everything so difficult,” he says. “all your mixed signals, all your little games. but this? this is simple. this is what you really wanted.”
your walls clench around his fingers as your body tips over the edge, sudden and hard and overwhelming. your mouth falls open in a moan you can’t stop, hips jerking despite the grip he has on you. he doesn’t let up. just keeps fucking you through it, watching your face the whole time.
“look at you,” he breathes. “so fucking pretty like this. i should’ve done this a long time ago.” your body’s shaking when he finally slows down. he pulls his fingers out and brings them to his lips, licking them clean like he’s tasting something expensive. “mm,” he says. “sweet.”
you stare at him, wrecked and speechless, still trying to remember how your lungs work. then he leans in, takes his fingers back to your clenching cunt again, his voice rough in your ear. “tell me how it feels.”
you grip his shoulders tighter, fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie. “it feels good.”
“how good?”
“i don’t know—fuck—soobin—”
he presses a little harder, the friction just right now, and your hips jerk again. “you like when i touch you here?” he asks, eyes locked on yours, no trace of softness in his voice.
“yes,” you breathe. “yes, i do.”
his fingers slide between your folds, slick and warm, and he lets out a low groan. “fuck,” he mutters again. “you’re soaked.” you whimper, forehead dropping to his shoulder. his fingers move with ease, finding your clit again and circling it with infuriating slowness.
“look at me,” he says. you lift your head, barely. your eyes meet his, and the intensity there nearly knocks the air out of your lungs. he curls his fingers inside you, hitting just the right spot, and you cry out before you can stop yourself. your hips grind down, chasing the pressure. “needy little thing,” he says, amused. “so much for being in control.”
you whimper again, half shame, half desperation. he’s relentless now, thrusting his fingers in and out while his thumb circles your clit, pushing you higher, closer. “soobin—”
“tell me you’re close.”
“i’m close,” you breathe, eyes squeezing shut.
he leans in again, lips ghosting over your ear. “then say please.” you hesitate, and his pace slows. “come on,” he murmurs. “you’ve been bossing me around for months. let me hear you beg.”
you’re shaking now, thighs trembling around him, every nerve on fire. “please,” you whisper.
“louder.”
“please, soobin—please don’t stop.”
his mouth curves into a grin, and he gives you exactly what you asked for. “good girl,” he says again, and this time, you fall apart in his fingers, and god, this feeling is smoothing, something you don’t remember feeling it before.
you’re still in his lap, limbs loose, head buzzing, the movie’s looping on the laptop like background noise at a bad dream rave. his hand is parked on your waist—heavy but not pushing, more placeholder than threat—and you can’t decide if you’re melting into him or trying to keep from slipping clean off the planet.
he’s the one who breaks the hush. “you’re thinking again,” he says, voice low.
you don’t look at him. “i’m recovering.”
“that’s what i’m worried about.” his thumb taps a slow beat against your skin. “every time you start thinking, you talk yourself out of wanting me.”
you snort, tired and raw. “i literally just made a mess on your hand. i think the wanting part is confirmed.”
“for now,” he says. “in ten minutes you’ll start reciting the ‘i’m not that into guys’ speech again, and i’ll be back at square one.”
you lift your eyes, glare half-heartedly. “square one was me calling you pretty in a kitchen full of tequila fumes. i’d say we’ve upgraded.”
“fine,” he admits, lips twitching. “square two, then. still a demotion from where i’m sitting.”
you finally meet his gaze, and it is clear, unflinching, annoyingly perceptive, and something inside you trips. the room tilts a millimeter. because you realize he isn’t holding you tighter, he isn’t trying to start round two, he’s just… waiting.
the silence stretches. your brain tries to sprint off a cliff, but your body’s too heavy to follow. so you talk, because you can’t not. “i’m not gonna pretend i’m suddenly into guys again,” you say, words slurred around honesty. “and i’m definitely not in love with you, so don’t get weird.”
“bold of you to assume i want either,” he shoots back, all teeth.
you blink. “you don’t?”
“i like you messy,” he says, shrugging one shoulder. “in love is boring. this—” he gestures to the tangle of limbs and shame you’re both stewing in— “this is entertaining.”
you should probably punch him. instead you laugh, breathless. “you are absolutely dirty.”
he smiles, small but real. “dirty keeps you on my lap, apparently.”
you roll your eyes, shift, realize he’s still hard beneath you and freeze. he notices, of course he does, and tilts his head, studying your face. “thinking again,” he murmurs.
“wondering,” you correct, voice thin.
“about?”
“if i should, um… help you?”
his brows lift. “help?” he echoes, amused. “sound mighty altruistic of you.”
“shut up,” you mutter, cheeks burning. “i’m new at this.”
“new at what?”
“wanting a guy enough to… you know.”
he hums, all fake contemplation. “we could have a symposium. ‘introduction to blowing choi soobin.’” you smack his chest; he laughs, catches your wrist, threads your fingers through his. the joke dissolves, but the warmth sticks. “we can slow down,” he says, quieter now. “or stop. or order pizza. i don’t care—just don’t ghost me.”
you stare at him, throat tight. “i don’t want to stop,” you whisper.
his thumb strokes the back of your hand. “good. then tell me how you want to start.”
the question hangs there, simple but also terrifying. your pulse trips a little faster. “kiss me again,” you answer, voice steadier than you feel. “but slow.”
“slow.” he nods, serious. “any further instructions, boss?”
“don’t call me boss,” you mutter.
“princess?” you glare.
“soobin,” you warn.
his grin spreads, wolfish. “see? thinking stopped. progress.”
he leans in (slow, like requested) and kisses you softer than before, mouths parting, breath catching, no rush. your hands slide up into his hair, anchor there; his free hand cups the back of your neck, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. and when you finally pull back, you’re trembling again, but it’s a quieter shake.
his eyes search yours. “so?”
you laugh into his shoulder. “shut up and keep going.”
“sure,” he whispers, mouth brushing yours, “but remember—if you want more, you ask.”
you nod, firm. “i will. i promise.”
you don’t remember when his hands started moving again, but they’re under your hoodie again now. his mouth is still pressed against yours, but the kiss has changed. it’s deeper and slower. and he’s not letting you lead anymore. he tilts your chin up with one hand, holds you there like he’s adjusting the angle of something he owns. his other hand slides along your spine, dragging heat everywhere it touches.
his hands slide back down to your hips, pulling you toward him until you’re close enough to feel everything again. he shifts his leg just slightly between yours and applies the lightest pressure, forcing you to roll your hips against his thigh. your mouth falls open without meaning to.
“feels good?” he asks, low.
“yeah,” you whisper.
he hums, unimpressed. “what was that?”
“yes,” you say again, louder.
his hand moves to the back of your neck. not rough, just enough to hold you still. to keep you looking at him. “you’re gonna do what i say,” he says. “because you want to. not because i make you.” you nod. “say it.”
“i want to,” you whisper.
“you want what?”
“i want to do what you say.”
he smiles. “then take your hoodie off.”
your hands move before your brain catches up. you pull it over your head, toss it to the floor. your chest is rising and falling too fast, and he’s just sitting there, watching you like you’re a puzzle he’s already solved.
his gaze drags over your body, slow and hungry, but he still doesn’t touch. instead, he leans back slightly and says, “take off your bra.”
your fingers fumble a little, but you do it. it joins the hoodie on the floor. he exhales like it’s the first time he’s allowed himself to. and then he looks you in the eyes again. your body’s humming, nerves and heat and need all tangled together. his hands slide up to cup your chest, thumbs brushing over your nipples, slow and deliberate. he watches every twitch of your face as he touches you.
“you like being told what to do?” he asks, voice low, dragging.
“yeah.”
he raises an eyebrow. “say it.”
“i like being told what to do.”
he kisses you slow one last time before pulling back. “then get off,” he says quietly.
you blink, breathless, already lightheaded. “what?”
he tilts his head. “off my lap. on your knees. on the floor.”
you stare for half a second. then your body moves before your brain can argue. you climb off the bed and drop down onto the floor between his legs, palms pressing into the hardwood for balance. your knees hit the floor, and the air shifts.
he exhales like the sight alone is enough to wreck him. his legs spread wider, slow, deliberate, and he leans forward a little, one hand cupping the side of your face. his thumb drags along your cheek, down to your lip. “look at you,” he murmurs. “you ever been on your knees for a guy before?” you shake your head. he smiles. smirks, really. “good.”
his thumb presses against your bottom lip, slipping inside just slightly. your mouth parts for him on instinct. “open,” he says, and you do. he pushes his thumb in deeper, then pulls it out just as slow. “good girl.”
your breath stutters. he leans forward more, one elbow resting on his thigh as he looks down at you. “you’re doing so well for me. on your knees, waiting for what i give you. you don’t even know how pretty you look like this.” his other hand slides into your hair, not hard, but firm. guiding and steady. you can feel how calm he is—like this is just natural for him. like having someone kneeling between his legs is a position he was meant for. “hands behind your back,” he says.
you obey, slowly, feeling the shift in your own body when you do. your balance changes. your chest pushes forward slightly. your breath feels deeper and needier. he smiles. “you want to do something for me?”
“yes,” you whisper.
“then ask.” your throat tightens. he leans closer, almost nose-to-nose, his voice a quiet threat. “ask me what you want, baby.”
“can i…” your voice breaks. you swallow. “can i touch you?”
he leans back, sits up straight, eyes heavy on yours. “you want to touch me?”
“yes.”
“where?”
your cheeks burn. “your cock.”
his breath hitches. he doesn’t show much, but that gets him. a shift in his jaw. a slight flex of his thigh. “say it again.”
you breathe in. “i want to touch your cock.”
he smiles. “then take it out.”
you move carefully, your hands now free again, fingers working his waistband, slow and precise. you don’t rush. he watches you the entire time, like you’re a performance made just for him. and when you finally pull him out, hard and heavy in your palm, his breath leaves in one long, quiet exhale.
you look up, eyes wide. “now what?” you ask, voice barely there.
he smirks again, hand back in your hair. “first, you keep those pretty eyes on mine the entire time,” he says, voice low and dark. his hand tightens just slightly in your hair, not painful, just present. like a reminder: he’s the one leading. “start slow,” he says, voice steady. “get used to the way i feel in your hand.”
you swallow, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock. he’s warm and heavy. hard enough to make your pulse spike just from the weight of him in your palm. you glance up. “like this?” you ask.
he nods once, but doesn’t say anything. just watches. the corner of his mouth lifts a little. proud, curious and patient. you start to stroke, slow and careful, your thumb brushing over the head like you’ve done this before—you did, but it’s different with him. he makes it feel deliberate, like every movement matters.
“good,” he murmurs. “tighter. don’t be scared.”
you adjust, hand squeezing a little more, sliding down and back up in a steady rhythm. you’re learning how he twitches, how his breath catches, how his thighs tense a little under your arms when you get the pressure right. he lets out a quiet groan.
“yeah. just like that,” he says, hand sliding to cradle the side of your face. his thumb traces your cheekbone. “you’re so fucking good at this, fuck—” you blush, ridiculous considering the situation, and he smirks. “you like hearing that?” he asks.
you nod. “yeah.”
he hums, thumb brushing your lips again. “then earn more of it.”
your hand speeds up slightly, bolder now. you’re watching him just as much as he’s watching you, studying every reaction. every flicker in his eyes, every tiny breath that tells you yes, this.
“spit on it,” he says suddenly, and your stomach flips. you glance up again. he looks right back, unblinking. “go ahead. don’t be shy.” you lean in, let spit fall from your lips, and he groans when it lands just right, messy and perfect. “fuck, that’s it,” he mutters, hips jerking slightly. “that mouth’s gonna ruin me.”
you stroke him again with your now-wet hand, and his jaw clenches. he leans forward, hand sliding back into your hair, this time with more grip.
“open your mouth,” he says. you do, lips parting obediently. he taps the tip of his cock against your tongue, slow, dragging it over your bottom lip, and you hold still, waiting, not rushing. letting him guide you. “don’t take me yet,” he says. “just taste.”
you lick him, slow and soft, and his eyes flutter half-closed. “again,” he says. his voice is lower now, strained. you lean forward more, lips wrapping around just the tip, sucking gently. “fuck,” he breathes, thumb brushing your cheek. “you keep looking at me like that and i’m gonna lose it.”
you moan softly around him, just enough to make him shudder. his hand tightens in your hair. “you want to keep going?” he asks. you nod, mouth still full, eyes wide. he groans again. “then you’re gonna take what i give you.”
and you do. you let him guide the rhythm, slow thrusts, shallow, letting you get used to the weight, the stretch. his grip is steady, voice low as he talks you through every inch. “you’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “look so fucking pretty on your knees like this. taking it like a good girl.”
you press your thighs together, pulse pounding in your ears. your whole body’s on fire, but you don’t stop. you keep your eyes on his. you let him control the pace. you listen. because nothing’s ever felt quite like this. he’s barely holding himself back now, his hips rolling deeper into your mouth, hand fisted in your hair, jaw clenched tight. your throat’s sore, your lips stretched, spit dripping from your chin, but you don’t stop. you don’t want to stop.
“fuck, that’s it,” he growls, voice sharp. “you like this, don’t you? like being used like this.”
you hum around him, and his whole body jolts. his other hand grips the edge of the bed like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. he’s panting now, jaw tight, eyes locked on yours as your head bobs with the rhythm he’s set.
“look at you,” he hisses. “so fucking obedient now. you’ll take anything i give you, won’t you?”
you nod, gagging just a little as he pushes deeper. his thumb brushes your cheek again, almost tender, but not soft. “shit, baby,” he groans. “just like that. don’t stop. don’t you fucking stop.” his breathing gets rougher. his thighs tense. his grip tightens. “you’re gonna take every fucking drop,” he says, voice low and wild. “don’t even think about pulling back.”
and when he comes, it’s with a broken, wrecked moan, his head falling back, his whole body shuddering. he holds you there, deep in your throat, as his cock pulses between your lips. you stay still. obedient. take every drop, exactly how he told you to. he pulls out slow, panting hard, watching you swallow every bit like it’s a reward.
“fuck,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “you’re dangerous.”
your legs are shaking, your body’s buzzing and your throat hurts. but your eyes are still on him. and he smiles.
he leans forward, grabs your arms, and pulls you off the floor like you weigh nothing. places you back in his lap, one hand still wrapped in your hair, the other gripping your thigh. his voice is calmer now, but darker.
“so?” he asks, breath still a little ragged. “you like praise better?”
you blink. “what?”
“you like when i call you a good girl?” he says, fingers brushing your jaw. “tell you how pretty you look on your knees?”
you nod, a little dazed. “yeah…”
his hand tightens suddenly on your thigh. “or do you like it more when i talk to you like a fucking toy?” your breath catches. his eyes narrow. “like when i say you’re only good for your mouth? that you were made to take cock and nothing else?” you gasp. your body tenses, and he sees the reaction instantly. his smirk spreads slow. “that’s what i thought,” he says.
your voice is barely a whisper. “i like both.”
he raises a brow. “yeah?”
you meet his gaze. “you can do whatever you want.”
his eyes darken completely. something in him shifts. he leans in close, voice like a promise against your skin. “you don’t know what you just agreed to.”
he hasn’t let go of you. your legs are thrown across his lap now, arms limp around his shoulders, your chest pressed to his. and still he’s got one hand curled around your jaw like he’s not done claiming it. he tilts your face up and studies you. not like you’re fragile, but like you’re fascinating.
he chuckles, meanly. “you look wrecked, baby. wrecked and all fucking mine.” his fingers trail down your neck, slow and soft. “you like when i say that?” he murmurs. “that you’re mine?”
you nod, small. “yeah.”
he kisses the edge of your jaw. “you like being good?”
“yes.”
he smirks against your skin. “but you also like when i treat you like a dumb little toy.” your whole body tenses. he chuckles again. “you fucking melt when i talk like that, huh?” he says. “wanna be praised and spat on in the same breath.”
he pulls back just enough to look at you. your face flushed, lips swollen, eyes wide and glassy. “fuck, you’re pretty when you don’t know what to do with yourself,” he says, almost admiring. “bet you don’t even know who you are when i touch you like this.”
his hand slides down your stomach—over the curve of your hip—back between your thighs, over your ruined underwear. you gasp and twitch. he grins. “yeah. that’s what i thought.” he presses just a little harder, fingers rubbing through the fabric. “still this wet for me? even after everything?”
you nod, biting your lip. he tsks, shaking his head. “you don’t learn, do you?”
you swallow, trembling. “i wanna be good.”
he chuckles. “you are. but you’re also a little desperate. greedy. filthy.” his fingers tug your panties to the side and slide against you again, slow, controlled, so light it makes you ache. “should i finger you again like this?” he says. “while you sit in my lap like a good girl? or should i bend you over and fuck the brat out of you?”
your breath catches in your throat. “or maybe i shouldn’t touch you at all,” he adds, tilting his head. “maybe you don’t get to come unless you beg.”
“soobin—”
he grabs your chin again, eyes sharp. “say it.”
you’re panting now. hot and flustered and completely under him. “please,” you whisper. he waits. “please touch me,” you say again, voice cracking. “please make me come.”
his smirk is slow. cruel. gorgeous. “that’s more like it.”he slides two fingers back inside you without warning, and your whole body jolts. “you’re gonna take everything i give you,” he murmurs. “and you’re gonna say thank you when you come.” your legs shake. your grip on his shirt tightens. “say it.”
“thank you,” you breathe.
he kisses you—filthy, fast—and then breaks away, breath hot against your mouth. “don’t come yet.”
he’s not moving fast. he’s not giving you what you want, not really. and that’s the point. he’s watching you, studying you, like he’s waiting for something specific. a crack. a shift. the moment where your body stops trying to lead and just listens. he leans back slightly, his fingers inside you don’t speed up, and they don’t slow down either. just deep enough to tease, never enough to let you lose yourself. he’s giving you nothing and everything at once.
he watches your face closely, eyes scanning your mouth, your eyebrows, the way your breath catches. you’re close, he knows it. he can feel the way your body tightens around him, the way your thighs shake just barely. you’re trying to hold back. trying not to move too much. it’s cute, in a way. respectful, obedient even. but he doesn’t want nice right now.
“you’re doing it again,” he says, voice low, calm.
your eyes flutter open, confused. “what?”
“holding it in,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your waist. “trying to be good in the wrong way.”
you blink, breath trembling. “i thought you wanted—”
he cuts you off with a quiet laugh, not mocking, just amused. “i want you to be good, yeah. but not quiet. not frozen. not careful.” his fingers slide deeper and you gasp, hips twitching. “good doesn’t mean silent.” he leans in, mouth near your ear. “if i wanted a doll, i’d buy one.”
your breath stutters. your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging in just slightly, and that makes him smile. “there you go,” he murmurs. “there’s my girl.” he moves his fingers again, just a little faster now, just enough to make your whole body jerk. you bite your lip hard, trying not to cry out. “still fighting it?” he says. “you think i don’t notice how tight you’re clenching around my hand? you think i don’t feel how close you are?”
you shake your head, desperate. he pulls back slightly to look at you. “look at me.” you do, barely. your vision’s blurry, and your mouth’s open, and you’re so close it almost hurts. “you wanna come?” he asks, calm. direct.
“yes,” you breathe.
“you sure?” you nod. his voice drops lower. “you ready to say thank you when you do?”
you nod again, more frantically. he keeps his eyes on yours as his thumb finally finds your clit, rubbing slow circles while his fingers thrust deeper. your whole body reacts at once, tensing, jerking, then unraveling.
“come for me,” he says, and you do.
it hits hard, sharp and blinding. your legs tremble. your fingers dig into his arms. your mouth opens but nothing comes out except broken gasps and a soft, choked sob. and through all of it, his hand doesn’t leave you. he works you through it, slow, steady, like he’s memorizing every second.
your body slumps against his chest. he holds you there for a moment, his hand still resting between your legs but not moving anymore. you’re breathing hard, face pressed into his shoulder. then his mouth finds your ear again. “thank me.”
you whisper it without thinking. “thank you.”
he exhales, satisfied. his fingers slip out of you, slow and careful. he brings them to his mouth, licking them clean without breaking eye contact. you watch, dazed, and he grins. “good girl.”
he lifts you gently, shifts you until you’re straddling him again, your knees on either side of his hips, your body still shaky. his hands hold your waist firmly, steadying you like he knows you can’t do it on your own yet.
he tilts your chin up, and there’s something new in his eyes now—still dark, still dominant, but softer around the edges. like he’s trying to decide something. “you were made for this,” he says, quiet. “you know that, right?”
you swallow hard. “yeah.”
his thumb brushes your cheek, and then he leans back, legs spread, hands resting on his thighs like he’s just relaxing, like he’s not watching every single twitch in your body. you’re still on his lap, still catching your breath when he says, low and steady, “get on.”
you look at him, confused, dazed. “what?”
he grabs your hips, drags you forward slightly, then leans in just enough for you to feel his breath on your jaw. “you like being on top, right?” he says, voice calm but full of something sharper underneath. “so ride me.”
your heart stutters. your thighs are still shaking. he knows.
“go ahead,” he says. “show me how good you are.”
you shift back slowly, thighs trembling, one hand steadying yourself on his chest while the other wraps around his cock. he’s already hard again—how is he already this hard?—and thick in your palm, warm and heavy. you hold him there, just under the tip, as you line yourself up, and for a second, you hesitate.
you bite your lip. your body’s still sensitive, your legs sore, your mind fogged, and there’s a pressure building low in your stomach that has nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with the way your heart starts to race. it’s been a long time since you let a guy inside you. since you even wanted to. and even now, it feels foreign. like your body’s remembering something it forgot on purpose.
but you want this. you want him. so you press down slowly, barely taking the tip, and your breath catches in your throat. he doesn’t say anything, just watches. his hands resting on your hips, not moving, not pushing. but he’s tense and alert. like he knows you’re struggling and he’s waiting to see how far you’ll go on your own.
you lower yourself more, inch by inch, and the stretch makes your eyes flutter shut. it burns. not unbearable, but tight, too tight. your thighs start to tremble harder, and your fingers dig into his shoulders for balance. his grip on your hips tightens.
“breathe,” he says, calm. “take your time.”
you nod, shaky, and try to relax. you ease down another inch, and your whole body reacts—hips twitching, core clenching, thighs starting to cramp. it’s too much all at once, and not enough at the same time.
he cuts you off gently, one hand lifting to brush your hair from your face. “don’t stop now. you wanted to ride my cock, right? prove you can take it.”
you whimper, breath catching again, and finally sink lower, slowly taking more of him. your legs feel weak. your cunt clenches tight around him, and the stretch still burns, but underneath it, there’s something else. a pulse. a heat that starts to take over the discomfort.
he groans quietly, his jaw tense. “shit. you’re so tight.” you press your forehead to his collarbone, trying to stay steady. “don’t hide,” he says. “let me see you.” you lift your head, barely, and his eyes lock on yours. “good girl,” he mutters. “you’re almost there. just a little more.”
you shift again, forcing your hips down further, until you’re fully seated in his lap. he groans, deep and low, his fingers pressing harder into your skin. “fuck. there you go.”
you’re breathing hard, thighs trembling, everything inside you stretched to its limit. “hurts?” he asks. you shake your head. he smiles, not sweet. “good.” you glare at him, but there’s no strength behind it. “you’ll get used to it,” he says, voice low. you sink down slow, body trembling, and his grip tightens on your hips. “that’s it,” he mutters. “fuck—look at you.”
you start to move, unsure at first. he lets you find your rhythm, lets you work for it, but his hands don’t leave you. he keeps you steady, fingers digging into your waist. his eyes never leave your face.
“you like being in charge?” he says, breath rougher now. “then don’t fucking slow down.” you moan softly, trying to keep the pace, but your legs are tired, your body already wrecked. your movements falter, and he notices immediately. “what’s wrong?” he says, lips curling. “getting tired already? thought you liked being on top.”
you try to keep going, bouncing slow, your hands braced on his chest.
“keep your eyes on me,” he says. you do, barely, and he grins when he sees the look in your face. “you’re falling apart,” he murmurs. “and you’ve barely done anything.”
he doesn’t slow down. he grabs your chin again, makes you look at him. “ride me like you mean it,” he snaps, thrusting up into you suddenly, making your whole body jolt.
“fuck, soobin—”
“no. don’t whine. you wanted this. show me.” you try. you move your hips, faster this time, trying to match him. he watches you closely, hands on your ass now, guiding your movement, controlling the depth. “that’s better,” he says. “now you’re working for it.”
you gasp, leaning forward, forehead on his shoulder. he grabs your hair and pulls your head back up. “no hiding. i wanna see you struggle.” your thighs are shaking so hard it’s hard to keep the rhythm. your breathing’s uneven, your nails digging into his arms. “you can take it,” he says, voice lower now, almost gentle. “i know you can. you’re my good girl, remember?”
you moan again, louder, and he smiles. “there she is,” he murmurs. “knew you’d come back to me.” your hips stutter again, and he slaps your ass once, not hard, just firm enough to make you move. “don’t stop until i say,” he says. “and if you come first, you’re doing it with my name in your mouth.”
your fingers grip his shoulders harder, your thighs are burning now, trembling with effort, but you force yourself to keep going. up, down, again. you’re trying to stay focused, but the stretch of him inside you, the heat building low in your stomach, the pressure of his hands guiding you—it’s all too much, and not enough at once.
he watches you the whole time, eyes fixed on your face. you can’t hide anything from him like this. not the way your brows pinch together, not the way your mouth keeps falling open with each bounce, not the quiet, broken sounds that slip out no matter how hard you try to hold them in.
“you wanted this,” he reminds you, calm. you nod, desperate, hips moving faster now, sloppy and uneven but still trying. he lets you ride him, lets you feel like you’re in control, just for a second, until he shifts beneath you and fucks up into you hard, once, and your whole body folds forward with a gasp. “thought so,” he mutters.
your forehead falls against his collarbone, and he pulls your hair, tilting your face up again. “no hiding.” his mouth brushes yours, not quite a kiss. “you look like you’re gonna cry.”
“i’m not,” you breathe, though your voice is shaking.
“you will if i tell you not to come yet,” he says, like it’s just a thought. you whimper. his hand moves from your hip to your throat, loose but solid, just enough to hold you still. “you like this?” he asks. “being used like this?” you nod quickly, eyes fluttering shut. “don’t lie.”
“i’m not.”
he leans in, lips by your ear again. “you gonna come for me?”
“yes.”
“say my name.” you pause, too close to think. “say it.”
“soobin…”
he groans, deep and low, and that’s all it takes for his rhythm to break. he grabs your waist hard and starts fucking up into you, fast now, with purpose, like he’s chasing the end and dragging you there with him. “come on,” he mutters. “come for me. make it count.”
you do. your whole body shudders, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent moan. everything inside you pulls tight and snaps all at once, and you collapse against him, shaking. he holds you through it, breath heavy against your ear, his arms wrapped tight around your waist like he’s trying to keep you from slipping through his fingers.
then he moves. he lifts you off him slowly, carefully, lays you down on the bed like you weigh nothing. you’re still catching your breath, blinking at the ceiling, when you feel the mattress dip again and his weight settles beside you. his fingers slide down your stomach, soft now, slow. “you like praise,” he says, almost casual. “but i think you like it more when i’m mean.”
you glance at him, lips parted. he leans in close. “so tell me, baby,” he murmurs. “you want me to ruin you with my mouth or just make you cry again first?”
“i can’t,” you breathe, voice shaky. “i can’t take it anymore.”
he tilts his head, like he’s not sure he heard you right. his hands are already back on your thighs, spreading them open again, his body moving lower, slower, like this is nothing for him. like he’s just getting started. “can’t?” he repeats, tone light, mocking. “you sure, baby?”
you swallow hard, legs twitching under his grip. he presses his mouth to your inner thigh, kissing slow, warm, soft, too soft. like he’s pretending to be sweet again. and it only makes the tension worse. “you looked so fucking confident riding my cock,” he murmurs, right against your skin. “and now you’re what? tapped out?” you shake your head weakly, but he keeps going, lips trailing higher, breath hotter. “you want me to stop?” he asks, voice low.
“no.”
“then don’t say can’t,” he says, and bites down on the inside of your thigh, sharp enough to make your hips jerk. “say please.” your breath catches. “say it.”
“please,” you whisper, barely audible.
he smiles against your skin. “thought so.”
he kisses higher, right between your legs now, and you gasp when his mouth finally finds you again, tongue slow, deliberate, dragging over your sensitive skin with zero mercy. you’re already overstimulated, every nerve lit up and shaking, but he doesn’t stop. he knows you’re right there again, and that’s exactly what he wants.
“you’ve teased me for weeks,” he says, voice muffled against you. “walking around in those tiny fucking shorts. sitting on my lap like it’s nothing. saying shit like ‘you’re my favorite boy’ with that little smirk on your face.” you whine, twisting under him, but he holds your hips down with one arm and licks a slow circle around your clit without touching it directly. “you think i didn’t notice? think i didn’t see you bite your lip every time i looked at you too long?”
you’re panting now, legs trembling again. “and now you wanna act all shy?” he scoffs. “now you can’t take it?” his mouth finally closes around your clit, sucking slow and deep, and your hips buck hard, but he doesn’t stop. “you can take more,” he mutters. your fingers find his hair, tugging, trying to anchor yourself to something while your body starts to come undone all over again. “i’ll be gentle,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at you, mouth wet, eyes dark. “but only if you fucking ask.”
you stare down at him, dazed, lips parted. “go on,” he says. “ask for it.”
“please,” you gasp, voice breaking. “please, soobin—be gentle.”
he grins against your skin, slow and cruel. not because he wants to be mean. because he can. because you gave him permission. “that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he murmurs, lips brushing your thigh. “knew you could ask nicely.”
then he moves again, mouth right where you need him, tongue flat and slow against your clit this time, no teasing now. just heat, rhythm, and pressure. your hands grab at his hair, your back arching off the bed, and he doesn’t stop. doesn’t even pause. “fuck, you’re so wet like this,” he says, voice low, fingers gripping your thighs to keep you wide open. you moan, louder now, hips trying to move against his face, chasing the rhythm. “good girl,” he mutters. “you want to come for me like this?”
“yes—yes, please—”
“then keep your legs open.”
you do. you try. your whole body’s tight, burning, desperate. he knows exactly how to keep you right there, his tongue curling just right, lips pressing just enough, his hand slipping lower, fingers teasing your entrance without going in. “you close?” he asks, voice rough and muffed now.
you nod frantically. “so close—please don’t stop—”
he groans into you, and the vibration alone almost pushes you over the edge. his fingers finally slip inside, two of them, smooth and deep, curling just right, and that’s it. you fall apart.
your whole body spasms, legs trembling violently, a loud moan breaking from your throat as you come hard, everything clenching tight around his fingers. your vision goes white for a second, and you barely register the way he keeps going, slow now, helping you ride it out, dragging every last wave out of you until you collapse into the sheets, twitching and breathless.
he finally pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then crawling up over you, eyes dark and satisfied. “you’re so fucking hot like this,” he says, voice low. “all soft. all mine.” you can’t even speak yet. your chest rises and falls, skin flushed, lips parted. he leans down. “now,” he says, tone shifting—less gentle, more commanding again. “turn over.”
you don’t speak. you just move. your body shifts slowly, limbs still weak, and you roll onto your stomach like he asked, like he told you to. your face sinks into the pillow, and you feel his eyes on your back. you know what he sees: the curve of your spine, the way your legs part instinctively, the way you arch your back so he sees your ass available for him to take it. you hear him exhale, sharp through his nose. a pause, then the bed dips as he moves behind you, knees spreading yours a little more, hands running down your back with purpose, not care. he doesn’t soothe. he positions.
soobin stays still at first, taking his time. watching how you lay there for him, waiting. looking how your shoulders tense like you don’t know what’s coming next, but you want to. he likes that. he likes that a lot.
his hands drag down your back, not to comfort, but to arrange. he touches you like he’s correcting something. a tool out of place. a painting hung crooked. “lower,” he says. you sink deeper into the mattress. his palm lands between your shoulder blades, keeping you there. “stay.”
then nothing. just the weight of his hand. the silence. he takes a deep breath. “you have any idea how long i’ve waited for this?”
you don’t answer. he leans down, lips barely brushing your ear. “how many times i pictured you just like this?” his voice is calm, almost bored. “on all fours for me,” he mutters. “but you talk too much. always making jokes. always pretending like you’re not dying for me to shut you up.” his fingers slide down your side, pausing at your hip. “you don’t get to pretend now.” his grip tightens. “so stop fidgeting.” he forces your hips up, adjusts the angle himself like your body’s just another thing to be handled. “just like that,” he says. “good girl.”
he doesn’t rush. doesn’t say more than he needs to. because he knows you’re listening to every breath, every word, every shift in tone. and when his cock teases your cunt and he watches the way your body twitches. the way you don’t stop him. “still so sensitive,” he mutters. “but you’ll take it.” he presses slow, watching you squirm, watching you try to be still. “don’t you dare move.” you breathe out hard. he can hear it. feel it. “that’s what i thought.”
he pushes deeper. drags it out. makes sure you feel every second of it. then he leans back, sitting tall behind you, hands steady on your waist. this isn’t about what you want. not anymore. so he aligns his cock with your drooling entrance again, and smacks his hand in your ass, and you whimper, a whiny whimper. he chuckles, low and provocative. “you’re not gonna come until i say,” he says. “and if you do, i’ll edge you ‘til you cry.”
you whimper into the pillow. “but if you listen?” he continues. “i’ll let you come so hard you forget your own name.” he rolls his hips forward, just once, just enough to make you scream. his cock makes you feel so full already, especially in that position. your legs shake. “choice is yours. not mine,” he adds. “yours.”
he pauses again. then pulls back, only to snap his hips forward harder this time, controlled and deep. again. again. his pace isn’t rushed. it’s mean. efficient. every thrust timed with precision. he watches your hands claw at the sheets. hears the sounds you’re trying to hold back, and it makes him smile. “you were so sure you didn’t like boys,” he mutters. “but look at you now.” another thrust, harder. “fucked out like a bitch.”
his hand slides to your throat from behind again, just resting there. “you’re mine tonight,” he says. “say it.”
“i’m yours,” you whisper.
he grins. “louder.”
“i’m yours, soobin! please!” you choke out.
his grip tightens, choking slightly, just containing you, grounding you to the moment. then he leans in, breath hot against your ear. “yes, yes,” he says. “you are fucking mine.”
if anything, now that you’ve said it—i’m yours—he settles deeper into it, into you. into the full weight of what it means to have you like this: pliant, spread out, quiet except for the sounds you can’t hold back. it’s not just about the physical now. it’s the power. the permission. and he’s going to stretch it as far as it can go.
his hands stay locked on your hips, thumbs pressing into the dip of your waist as he fucks into you slow and heavy, no urgency in his pace, just control. all of it his. he watches your shoulders tighten with each movement, the way your back arches when it’s too much, the way your face twists into the sheets to muffle sounds you don’t want him to hear. he hears them anyway. he loves them.
your hand reaches for the pillow, gripping tight, but you don’t fight him. you don’t even ask him to slow down. he leans over you again, pressing down on your back with one hand to keep you steady, his chest brushing your spine. his breath fans hot against your shoulder as his hips drive into yours again, firmer now, drawing a helpless cry from your throat.
“you gonna keep taking it like this?” he asks, not because he needs permission, but because he wants to hear the sound of you begging again. “or you gonna fall apart like a little brat who talked too much?” your fingers dig into the mattress. “go ahead,” he mutters, almost laughing. “prove me wrong.”
you let out a shaky breath, half a moan, half something broken. he sits back up, dragging you with him by your hips, making you meet each thrust head-on. he doesn’t slow. he doesn’t give. he stays steady and mean, dragging it out just enough to feel cruel. “you wanted to be in charge, right?” he says. “whatever you tell your little girlfriends.”
he leans in again, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back just slightly. “but you came crawling to me. let me put you on your knees. let me fuck you like this.” he pauses, breath heavy. “so which one is it, baby?” he murmurs. “you like being in charge? or you like being ruined?”
you try to answer, but all that comes out is a moan. his grip in your hair tightens just a little. “nah. use your words.”
you manage to whisper, barely audible: “i like it—like this.”
he smirks. “i know you do.”
he lets go of your hair, both hands dropping back to your waist as his movements grow rougher, rhythm sharper now, like he’s chasing something but refusing to let either of you reach it until he decides. you feel your body tighten again, another orgasm building fast, threatening to take over, but you remember what he said earlier. not until he says.
you try to hold it. try to breathe through it. but your legs are trembling, hands fisted in the sheets, and he’s relentless now. he notices. he always notices. “you close again?” he asks. “tsk tsk… already?”
you nod desperately. he chuckles under his breath, dark and satisfied. “don’t come yet.” you whine, legs shaking harder. “nope. not yet,” he says again, slower this time. “you want it? then beg.”
you gasp. “please, soobin—i—i need it—”
“yeah?” he says, still moving, still holding you right on that edge. “wanna cream my cock again?”
“yes—please—”
“beg harder, angel.”
“please—please, i need it, i need you—”
he groans deep in his throat, and finally, finally, his hands shift, his pace changes, more erratic now, more brutal, like he’s losing his own control right along with you. “come for me,” he growls. “right fucking now.”
and you do, loud and raw and completely undone. your whole body tightens and shakes beneath him, and he doesn’t stop. doesn’t give you time to catch your breath. he fucks you through it, eyes locked on the way you break for him. his name’s the only thing that comes out of your mouth.
he follows seconds later, a sharp curse escaping him as he buries in your cunt deep and stills, hands gripping so tight they’ll leave marks on your hips. he breathes through it, shaky and harsh, chest heaving, body pressed to yours like he needs the contact just as much as he needs the release.
the room is silent for a beat. just the sound of two people wrecked and catching up to themselves. finally, he leans down again, presses a kiss to your shoulder, and murmurs against your skin—
“you really don’t hate boys, do you?”
you let out a laugh, a real one. exhausted and a little horrified. “don’t start.”
“no, i’m serious,” he grins, turning his head toward you, as you switch your body, turning around to face him. “i feel like i just contributed something meaningful to your sexual awakening.”
“that’s… such a weird sentence to say out loud.”
“yeah, well. you’re the one who was like, ‘i’m not into guys’ and then came on my cock like, what? four times or something?”
you groan and cover your face with your hands. “i hate you.”
“you’re literally still shaking.”
“shut up.”
he doesn’t. of course he doesn’t. instead, he sits on the edge of the bed right next to you, and his fingers start tracing light, absent-minded patterns along your spine, featherlight, soothing, almost tender. it’s stupid, really, how soft he is now, after everything. after the way he touched you, took you, like he had no intention of being gentle.
and yet here he is, brushing his fingertips over your back like you might break. and you hate how much you like it. how easily it melts something inside you. because it’s not just the touch — it’s him. the contradiction of him. soobin, with his filthy mouth and his gentle hands.
“listen,” he says, voice dropping into a mock-serious tone, he stretches his arms behind his head, still catching his breath like nothing monumental just happened. and then, in that same too-casual voice, he says, “if you ever feel like exploring your… curiosity more, you know, about your preferences or whatever…” you glance over at him, one eyebrow raised. his expression doesn’t change, except for the little shrug he gives, half amused, half dead serious. “i’m available for educational purposes.”
you exhale, slow and disbelieving. “you’re such an asshole.”
“maybe.” he turns his head toward you, gaze dragging over your bare shoulders, his mouth twitching. “but look where it got me.”
you shake your head, but you don’t move away. you don’t slap his arm or tell him to shut up again. instead, you let your knee knock against his, your breath finally starting to feel like your own again. the air shifts between you, not heavy or awkward like you thought it might be. just… different. charged, maybe. softer around the edges. there’s a quiet comfort in it now that you hadn’t expected.
minutes pass, the movie already ended, the blood-streaked screen frozen in place. then your voice breaks through, low and almost thoughtful. “do you think they survived?”
soobin blinks. “who?”
“the girls,” you say, nodding toward the laptop. slumber party massacre, paused on a cheap shot of cleavage and red corn syrup. “from the movie.”
he tilts his head, gives it a second of actual thought. “nah. they’re all dead. definitely.”
you hum in agreement, a small smile playing at your lips. “yeah. figured.”
there’s another beat of silence, and then he says, “but you would’ve made it.” you look at him, unsure what he means. he keeps going. “you’ve got final girl energy. like… the type who doesn’t run upstairs. the type who waits. watches. stabs the killer with his own weapon.”
you laugh under your breath. “i feel like that’s a lot to project onto me.”
he shrugs. “or maybe you’d flirt with the murderer and confuse the shit out of him until he gave up.”
you grin. “there it is.”
he smirks. “i’d be the dumb hot one who dies first.”
“you are the dumb hot one.”
“thank you for seeing me.”
it shouldn’t feel like relief, this moment. but it does. like something that could’ve broken just… didn’t. like maybe it bent a little, stretched out of shape, but held. and somehow, you’re both still here—naked, slightly dazed, watching a bad slasher movie with blood on the screen and probably some still on your thighs.
you peek at him again. he’s looking at you like he never stopped. “you okay?” he asks, voice quieter now.
you nod. “yeah. i’m good.”
his hand finds your knee again, thumb brushing idly across the bone. it’s casual. but it’s not. you let your head fall onto his shoulder, stare at the screen without really seeing it. plastic knife. overexposed skin. predictable death.
and next to you, soobin. the same soobin who still uses three-in-one shampoo and forgets to charge his phone. the same boy who always lets you pick the movie. who saves you the middle seat on the couch. who carries your bag when you complain and never says anything about it. the same boy you trusted enough to call when your heart was broken. the same one you teased too much and touched too often and didn’t admit you wanted until now.
maybe you were never that into guys. but soobin never felt like just a guy. he felt like a constant, a question mark that stayed open too long. and now, with his hand on your leg and that dumb horror movie frozen in front of you, it finally clicks:
maybe you were never into boys. but you were always, always into him.
author’s note: this might be one of the longest pwp fics i’ve ever written and ngl i was so hesitant to post it. the themes felt a little too specific, a little too personal, and i kept going back and forth like “do i really wanna put this out there??” but then i re-listened to 1980s horror film by wallows and my brain just went: okay but what if this was about beomgyu. or soobin. and suddenly i had 15k words of confused bisexual tension, dry humping, and one very persistent movie night. anyway. if you made it this far, thanks for reading!! and for letting me indulge in a character dynamic that’s messy and horny and kinda tender in all the wrong ways 🖤
He knows he’s the reason for your sleepless nights. he knows he’s causing you pain with destroying your garden, but he finds it difficult to stop. determined with love, water fairy yeonjun tries his hardest to make you look his way.
Somewhere beyond the border where the forest meets the sea, a guild master’s daughter hears the whisper of a song — and in the deep of trees far too ancient to name, kissed by memory lies the soft-spoken faerie boy who hymns it. the keeper of the fae kingdom and the girl with magic running hidden through her veins; when a corrupt sickness of dark and unknown origin begins to spread through the forest, rotting all that’s living into death and decay, will their fated, blooming love be enough to save it before it’s too late? or will everything be lost and wither away?
𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚂𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚜 @hiddenhornsclub
₊˚⊹⋆ Fire Fairy!Beomgyu x Frost Fairy!Reader
An unlikely bond grows between two fairies, which turns into love as they discover they are the only ones who can truly touch each other.
𝙽𝚎𝚠 𝙽𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝙰𝚟𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 @silvergyus
₊˚⊹⋆ Cyber Faerie!Taehyun x Human!Reader
A late night in a strange land finds you face to face with a stranger
𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖 @hyukalyptus
₊˚⊹⋆ Music Faerie!Kai x Human!Reader
Call me cynical (many have), but if your entire appeal hinges on your audience wanting to have sex with you, I wonder if there is any substance at all. I give it two out of five stars. The music? Serviceable. The show? Predictable. Me? Unimpressed, unaffected, and wondering why I was the only one in the room not devastatingly horny.
Both of you are 'know-it-all's in your own respective fields to some extent. You spend your Saturdays on calculating molar enthalpies and carrying out titrations, and he spends his staying the night at another girl's apartment— doing well, 'guy stuff'. It's not fun falling into Taehyun's Trinity of Virgins theory, but he's willing to break you out of it for a good cause. ᯓ
╰┈➤MDNI - NSFW content ahead...
…or in simple words… sᴇxᴘᴇʀᴛ!ᴛᴀᴇʜʏᴜɴ x ᴠɪʀɢɪɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
ᝰ.ᐟ wc - 15k
mentions!! and warnings!! unprotected p in v, prone bone, missionary, hand+boobjob, scratches, corruption kink, dumbification, dirty talk, facials, range of petnames (angel, slut etc.), masturbation, slight dacryphilia, one instance of spanking, praise and degrad, dom!tyun, nerd!reader themes, I never got past gcse chem so there’s probably inaccuracies, pocket pussy and bra stealing mention!!!!
tyunningism's note: special mention to my lovely @hiddenhornsclub bc it's her birthday today (oct 10, I don't know what timezone you're in but it'll be the tenth in like 2 hour when i post this.) !!! AND THANK YOU SO SO MUCH @nanilis for proofreading for me like that meant loads to me ilysb !! Something I also wanted to do for this fic was leave songs you can play during the scene since I wrote this whole fic based on songs I was listening to. This is my first work back from my hiatus so my writing may be rough, I'm still recovering the writing grind hehe. But hopefully this is a decent read in some way!
͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ "I don't want your love, All we did was fuck"
Would you say that you and Taehyun are close? Ehh…Relatively not.
Like acids and bases, you’re complete polar opposites— he lives his twenties partying with girls he doesn’t know the names of, slung under his arm as he chugs strong alcohols far too bitter for your taste like water. While you work with them in white lab coats, stanching of leftover chlorine, the most fun aspect of your week is squeezing the pipette’s solvent in perfect blobs onto small dimple trays. Yet whenever the two of you are gathered in a room, there’s an undisturbed and unspoken agreement of mutual neutrality towards each other. No opinions, like or dislike, just getting used to each other’s presence, considering there’s a middleman in between.
That being said, Yeonjun came in clutch to share the rent with you once your bills skyrocketed after your old roommate moved in with her boyfriend without your notice. And even if he has no awareness of how disruptive he is, shouting at the top of his lungs whenever he’s invited Taehyun over to game, you can’t exactly kick him and his friend out when he’s really doing you a favour by being there. Neither are you brave enough to complain and stand up to him despite the friendly front Yeonjun has.
On a positive note, the frequent dropping in and out and hogging the couch has become tolerable. You’re not on the deep and heartfelt conversations level with him at all, just regular small talk about your week like mutual friends would. Although most of your short talks together end up slandering your roommate in one way or another. But there’s no longer a need for you to walk around pins and needles whenever you’re making a trek to the kitchen for a glass of water during your study break, because Taehyun’s always catching you out on it and beckoning you to join him and Yeonjun, which isn’t so bad you guess, aside from the alcohol reeking from their breath.
Really, it’s more of a chance for you to spectate on them and their conversations that are also 70% of the time jargon you can’t really understand. Their friends and ex-girlfriends somehow would though. And you hate to belittle yourself as ‘utterly boring’ even if you can’t laugh along with the duo whenever a joke is made, solely because you don’t understand those buzz words they jeer at.
Including right now as Yeonjun slumps into the couch, scrolling on his phone while Taehyun drapes his legs over him, arms crossed and leaning his head against the armrest which you happened to sit under cross-legged now that two men have invaded your space.
“She told her friends she could barely feel it.” Taehyun scoffs at the recall right as he lightly kicks the older male for not paying attention, attempting to revive the conversation by delving into another ramble about his best friend’s ex.
"That's all crap. She’s upset I came on her lash extensions! I don’t need to flash her whole friend group to prove I don’t have a micro—”
Yeonjun is interrupted by his own yelp in pain, his arms clutching to his stomach in agony before sending an equally harsh kick back to Taehyun.
“Save it for later, she’s here.” You may be oblivious, but you’re not downright stupid, and so you’re immediately swinging your head back to questioningly stare at them with the remote pausing the show, blasting on the tv merely for decoration. “What’s wrong with me being here?”
“Just guy talk—”
“Relax dude, it’s only conkers and chemistry in her head.” Yeonjun stifles a laugh watching you bead your eyes at him, having heard the same thing over and over again to the point you’ve given up arguing.
Huffing, you slump and dig your chin into your chest. “Maybe if you tell me I can actually learn.” Your hand reaches over to grab a fistful of chips out of the bag snug in his hands, messily shoving them into your mouth in annoyance. “If I told you what they meant, your little pure-white bloomers would go flying.”
“So, did you prone bone her? We were all betting on it as you left.” Taehyun leans in for the remote in your palms, hoping to change the channel which you hand to him without issue.
Yet the switch of the tv channel to some football match doesn’t break your train of thought. “What’s a prone bone?” Curiosity left your unzipped lips like some fool before you could hold it back. And Taehyun wastes no time in directing a quirked brow and scoff in disbelief as he quickly straightens up more enthusiastic than he ever has been since he arrived at the doorstep.
“You don’t know what prone boning someone is?”
“Dude I’m telling you she’s like the ultimate virgin! She’s not going to know any of it!!” The snacking of chips from your roommate’s mouth disorganises your mind even further, too focused on the chewed pieces spitting out of it as he speaks to even realise Taehyun was leaning dangerously close over you.
“What about giving head?”
You jolt at the amplified voice inching in from behind, shaking your head no with brows knitted in concentration digging through your memory for some sort of definition.
“—Ever fingered yourself?”
“F-fingered?—” You shake your head once more, holding up your fingers to your face in confusion and looking back up at his stumped expression that Yeonjun doesn’t reciprocate. He’s well-versed in what you do and don’t know especially when the noise complaint you filed in was actually him and the girl from his weekend job having rough sex in his room.
“Hey nerd,” Yeonjun chimes in before Taehyun could ask any further questions, his phone camera directed towards your face, “you like doggy don’t ya?”
Your eyes light up from finally being able to understand a full sentence over the last 10 minutes of conversation you couldn’t decipher, eagerly nodding with your head.
“Uh yeah!—who doesn’t? I used to have a Beagle when I was younger I told you about this.”
The smile on your face nervously contorts into confusion upon the combined synchronisation of raucous laughter channelling through both men. A funny enough joke you’ve made, and once again don’t get the punchline behind, causing them to slap at their knees with tears brimming in their eyes.
The replay of your confident yeah! plays on loop from his phone, the audio slightly crackling from the numerous times he’s dropped it onto the floor from an ungenerous altitude. “Whaat?! Does my voice sound off today or something?”
After a solid minute or two of crying-laughing and poking fun at none other than you Taehyun finally calms himself down to a state where he can form coherent enough words to answer your question.
“So not only are you a Chem major who drinks apple juice when everyone’s taking shots, but you don’t know anything about sex too? Holy shit…you fit the Trinity of Virgins’ theory exactly—”
“The trinity of what? I-I know what sex is I’m not stupid!”
“Hold on now—” Yeonjun sits up from his slump that’s left an imprint in the back rest, an accusing finger struck towards your face to make a point the entire living room enters silence waiting for, “You thought I was a stem major or something because you mistook my pocket pussy for some sort of model. That’s when it clicked you’ve never been dicked down in your life.”
Mortified at the memory you scramble from your feet to cover Yeonjun’s mouth before he could spill anything about you placing it on his desk like the atomic model on yours, stolen off his bed and displayed next to his keyboard to paint him like a complete incel.
“Why would you even have that in the first place!??” You groan thinking about how you touched the used silicone without thinking, still muffling his mouth with your palm so that Yeonjun has no chance to defend himself. Aside from the male on the opposite end of the couch to do it for him.
“How else is he gonna get off? No one wants to fuck him and his microdick.” Taehyun leaves his spot on the couch just in time to save himself from the ear of his friend’s bickering, the vulgar language too much at once for you to process before he slips himself into Yeonjun’s room— usually the indicator he’s staying the night again.
The room enters much-needed silence until Yeonjun loads his Netflix account onto the screen, absent-mindedly scrolling down to watch the same episode of Suits for the tenth time while you fiddle with your shirt. “Did I say something to upset him?”
Your roommate slumps back onto the couch, caught in the middle of a yawn as his eyes start to flutter shut with fatigue.
“Nah, I’m pretty sure he just has a thing for virgins.”
͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ; [One Of The Girls - the weeknd, jennie, lrd]
It’s been bothering you since everyone headed back to their respective rooms once the clock struck 12, still stirred awake thinking over their words— his words.
You’ve reached your twenties too focused on working towards your future to even consider building up your social circle which is now limited to two girls from your chemistry lectures and Yeonjun, maybe Taehyun if you’re stretching it. It's the direct result of your strict abstinence from parties you missed out on to type up your kinetics research, not due until two weeks later, and you’re currently regretting it all by just a little bit.
So what if you’ve never had sex before? There are plenty of opportunities later on to give it a shot even if the idea of anything inside of you isn’t so pleasant. You’ve never felt the need to rush anything in the first place!
Oh but his questions stick in your head annoyingly, pestering you awake and not leaving your mind even with your head sandwiched between your pillows to drown out the mental echoes of them laughing. The Trinity of Virgins…even just saying it leaves a bad aftertaste on your tongue.
You never thought you were behind others your age in life, but for once you’re starting to feel out of the scene. After all, you don’t want to be holed up as a virgin forever— perhaps if you tried to sleep with someone you’d finally understand all the jokes you’ve missed out on awkwardly.
But where do you begin? And who wants to have sex with a virgin who only thinks of Avogadro’s constant and moles all of the time? Your hair bunches up within your palm as you rise from your bed in frustration, a hand feeling around the stand of your nightlamp for your thickly framed glasses taped together at its hinges to stop it from collapsing altogether.
But luck has never been on your side, a fatal blow to your knees with a thump from tripping over textbooks on the floor you forgot to organise, lifting yourself headfirst from the ground in a grunt. “Ugh…It doesn’t even matter gosh!” Swiping along your lockscreen with squinted eyes adjusting to the blare of blue light you’re caught off guard by the instant notification— that pops up on top of your calendar reminders to attend the chemistry fair at nine today; something you’re considering missing out for once because you haven’t slept a wink since midnight.
Taehyun: Can you keep it down? Trying to sleep. Ty
Right, he’s available too.
Even if it is a stupidly irrational thought on your end.
͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ "fuckin' all the time is wrong when you're not mine baby"
It’s comedic how you hurry to make yourself somewhat presentable at 2 in the morning despite anyone in their right mind being too tired to notice your shorts were on the wrong way ‘round and your shirt managed to get toothpaste stains on it. An effort has to be made at least because it’s not Yeonjun who’s behind those bedroom doors— he’s out like a light on the couch he’s dribbling all over through grumbled snores— but Taehyun who you nervously wait for to let you into his room after a series of frantic knocks.
“I don’t think my text asked you to come over.” His door creaks open wider upon seeing you nervously shifting your weight onto alternating feet, his hair slightly lifting on its ends from being flattened under his pillow and…and he’s completely naked. Apart from his grey boxers you’re fighting your mental capacity to not stare at it out of instinct. But it’s even harder to make eye contact with him when he’s openly showing off the built muscle running down his abdomen and how his biceps look slightly bigger than they usually do because a shirt doesn’t serve him justice at all. “Want me to put on something?”
“A-ah no! I mean yes but I— it’s just—”
“Just?” Taehyun flickers his gaze from your darting eyes to the loose shirt he can slightly see down where the curve of your tits rests, his stance straightening to get a better view when you interrupt him from doing so.
“What about me makes it obvious I’m a virgin?!”
He can’t give you a short and simple answer without being fearful that you’ll break out into tears if he had told you truthfully that a dead giveaway was the periodic table on your lockscreen, widening the door in a gesture for you to enter seeing the way your hands rubbed at your arms in a shiver.
You swerve and topple over piles of clothing discarded over the floor of Yeonjun’s bedroom, messy yet somehow tidier than it usually is— a small detail that you notice after shuffling yourself to the edge of the bed to create some sensible distance between a man and a woman meeting in a bedroom at early morning.
“How can I tell you’re a virgin? Look how you’re sitting 10 metres away from me,” A pair of sweats is lazily rolled up his legs with the strings dangling loose as the bed dips under his weight where your feet are hugged to your knees, “Tell me, do you get nervous when I’m close to you?”
The sudden lean in towards you steals the shaky exhale of breath held back in your throat as he turns his head towards the dip of your shoulders to move closer. The natural scent to him is much stronger at this barely-distant distance than when all three of you are squeezed up on the couch, shoulders and legs bumped and squashed against one another.
“N-no…it’s just a bit close that’s all.” His whispers are ticklish against your skin as hot breath concentrates itself along your ear.
Too close to what you’re used to, the primal instinct to run away kicks in to your racing heart while your hands defy it, gripping onto the bedsheets to stop yourself from chickening out the moment he eases in closer with his lips brushing past your neck.
“You’re lying straight to my face for someone whose breath hitches the second I get close,” Taehyun withdraws himself back towards the headrest of Yeonjun’s bed, a knee kicked up as he snaps his fingers to gather your attention.
Then once he has it he slowly drags his hand towards one of the drawstrings and twirls it around his finger. Your throat runs dry as you watch him let go of his grip, slide his palm down towards the stitch of his crotch in his sweats, and squeeze around the hump gently before you look away too soon to catch onto anything else.
“I can’t look at…that!” You stress the last few syllables of your sentence starting to feel shy once reality sets in that you’re in fact sitting on the same bed watching him— you’re watching a guy you’re barely close with touch himself like it’s nothing!
“Exactly, I’ll put it into little science-y words for you alright? All virgins follow the same formula— don’t know anything about sex, complain about it, and the moment they’re given the opportunity to be fucked they shy away. Am I wrong?”
Fiddling with the hem of your shorts you bite down on your lip contemplating this ‘virgin formula' you correlate with word for word; dread washing over you in large volumes of crashing waves as you whine at the accuracy.
“So is there not a formula to fix it? O-or make it less obvious?” Without even realising you’ve already started crawling closer towards him with both hands sunk into the mattress as you inched in with desperation. While his smirk is lightly illuminated by the soft glow of the ambient lamp beside him, his line of sight is directed away into the distance as his tongue pokes the inside of a cheek, a hand coursing through his hair.
“You can’t fix being a virgin on your own. ‘Need someone to take your virginity first—”
“—So can’t you do it?”
He blinks twice, and then once more.
You see him falter for a second, his jaw tensing and his eyebrows twitching slightly. Then the next second he returns to the laid-back demeanour Taehyun’s always given off; the heel of his palm pressed against his temple in a moral debate.
Because you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, naïve to the core without understanding the effect of your words on him, and how your rounded eyes plead for his help. For him to corrupt, teach, fuck you to make up for all the times you’ve missed out. He’d do it in a heartbeat. He’d do you, Yeonjun’s little nerd of a roommate who’s clueless about everything apart from burying her head in studying chemical equations. He’s already predicted the gist of how you’d moan his name from the rare occasions you whine at him for beating you in Mario Kart. And here you are, knees dipped into the bed asking for him to take your virginity.
“Are you sure you want to do this? You know what kind of favour you’re asking me for right now don’t you?”
You balance the pros and cons of letting Taehyun take your virginity, and in all honesty you couldn’t see a problem with it at all. It’s not like you’re tight-knit enough to awkwardly ruin a friendship like if you had asked Yeonjun, plus you get your virginity taken and join the rest of the crowd. And he— you guess you could teach him a bit of chemistry since there’s not much else you have to offer anyways. It’s just a slim strand of luck that Taehyun who’s always hanging around with girls and sleeping with them (multiple at once too according to Yeonjun) happens to be here in your shared apartment tonight. A sex expert at your very hands so surely it couldn’t hassle him to help out just one more girl.
“I do! What do you want in e-exchange? I don’t have much to give you but I can try—”
“I don’t need anything in exchange. I’m asking if you can handle it.” Two fingers are held up to his lips, scissored apart where his tongue sticks in between them, the muscle gliding down his middle finger which you cock your head at in confusion. “Would you let me eat you out if I asked? Could you suck my dick if you tried? I don’t tend to sleep with virgins you know.”
Taehyun…doesn’t sleep with virgins?
You can’t pinpoint whether you’re more shocked at his explicit choice of words or the fact that Yeonjun lied to you earlier, your lips immediately wilting into a frown as you try to resort to retorting over admitting defeat.
“Then just don’t make it hurt! Please? I can take it if you go slow…”
“How about I ease you into it hm? Is that easier?” You’re nodding keenly awaiting to learn from whatever he’s planning on doing to take your virginity. Though his grip on your wrist is strong as he places your palm above soft cotton sweats, a gasp shakes out of you as you process everything from the lustful droop to his eyes and the tired hum of his voice to the raised bulge your fingers lightly hover over.
“Y-you’ve got an erection Taehyun…” Squeaked out and timid, you don’t dare to remove your hand or shift it by even the slightest centimetre. Yet you can feel him growing under your touch and the light throb of his dick pulsing through your fingertips.
“Erection?" His laughter deepens by an octave, "When I said there’s a formula to virgins I didn’t expect you to drag in all the scientific terms too. I’m turned on— hard— whatever, so are you gonna sort it out for me and prove that you can handle it?"
The grip around your wrist tightens before he’s digging your palm deeper into the bulge; a squeal leaving your lips while a grunt leaves his, kissing his teeth and baring his canines as his brows furrow at the feeling.
“With your pants on?” Taehyun chuckles to himself upon your clueless question based upon nothing but your inexperience, gaudy as he shakes his head no in amusement.
“Then take them off, or do I have to teach you that too?” You swallow your own embarrassment and exchange it for the willpower to hook your fingers around the waistband of his sweats— only to be stopped by a gentle push to your forehead, “Ah-ah, if you want to impress me then you should learn to use these.”
His thumb pushes past your lips and grazes your teeth, pushing at your premolars before signalling your attention towards his sweats once more. And you follow as told, leaning down to bite down onto the cotton with your gaze flickering up at his for approval, tugging down the waistband with as much strength as you could.
The band snaps back against his thighs alongside his boxers, and your cheek dampens with the warmth of something foreign tapping against it gently.
“You’ve seen one before outside of textbooks right? A dick, angel, that’s what’s nudging your cheek right now.”
You haven’t seen one in the flesh before. Your eyes are blown wide when you pull back and spot the string of sticky fluid connecting from the apple of your cheek to the darker nude tip of his dick. Veins bulge from the base of it and slim towards the top where he’s thickest and your fingers dance on edge unsure of whether to touch him or not, nervously sweating at the fear of screwing it all up.
Until his hand grasps onto yours, cupping it to mould into shape and guiding it towards your lips instructing you to spit, watching as the saliva drips from your mouth filthily while your eyes bat with innocence.
Taehyun wraps his hand over yours and thrusts your cupped palm over his dick; the wet schlk of your spit lathers his tip in a sheen of lubricant— with every thrust picking up in pace as he leads you—growing in volume.
“G-God baby, you can barely wrap your hands around me.” Like your throat is clogged you’re unable to speak apart from the pathetic mewls you let out— words stuck in forbidden awe as your glasses start to fog from your unsteady breathing of beginner’s-play sex filling the room.
On command the tightening of his fist causes yours to squeeze and tighten around his length too, the shifting pressure against his tip causing Taehyun to throw his head back against the headrest with throaty grunts emerging from his lips. His hand starts to weaken and loosen his grip as he delves into the pleasure of your lacklustre hands jerking him naively, muttering under his breath soft groans which are overturned by the loud squelch of your saliva against the base of his cock.
“Ffffuck, that’s it baby you need to keep squeezing it or else— shit, it won’t feel as good.”
Heat spreads all over your body as you gather the strength within you to tighten your grip around his dick as you shift your hands in a stiff up-and-down motion, biting down harsher onto your lip as your lower core starts to swell and throb with need. Watching Taehyun start to unravel his typically calm and collective front into rushed pants and a sweat-slicked forehead only urges you to want to impress him more— to prove him even the littlest bit wrong about your inexperience even if you’re struggling to jerk him off properly or as well as any other girls he’s had sex with before.
But Taehyun’s addicted to the way you nervously seek his approval through your lashes, and chaste glances that begin to drip with the dirty immodesty of sex as you jerk him off amateurly with a stiff wrist and poor technique he can only gush at in adoration.
He’s trying his hardest to hold back from bucking his hips through the weak foundation of your clasped fingers around his girth, and fucking his own fist to near his release faster and cum over your stupidly flimsy glasses that have now slipped down your nose.
“Tyun, i-is this...right?” You’re shier than usual when you notice you’re slipping right off track without him guiding you, too embarrassed to accept that you weren’t any good at sex when you hear his grunts less frequently.
“You’re doing perfect angel, oh s-shit— ‘should twist your hand more…are you gonna be a good little virgin and listen to me? I’ll teach you how to give the best fucking handjob baby don’t worry.” Something stirs in your stomach at the small nicknames he throws into his sentences, endearing and yet makes you lust for more as you implement his advice.
Obediently, you tighten your grip even further and gently stroke along his length until you twist your wrist around the bulbous tip, spit coating and squelching onto your palms even more as you do so.
You didn’t even notice how you instinctively leaned in closer towards his dick until he groaned from the hot fanning of your breath against his slit, his hands finding placement on your head as he holds you still.
“O-oh wait— ‘f you kept doing that I would’ve cum on the spot, hah— you’re not too bad for a virgin.” A warm smile finds itself spreading across your face as you beam at him excitedly, the mellow gesture only making his dick twitch perversely watching you keen over barely anything— Taehyun hasn’t even really taken your virginity yet and you’re already over the moon.
So he drags his finger towards your low-cut shirt, pulling down on the neck of the fabric as he wets his lips, your breath hitching at the suggestive action he doesn’t seem to shy away from like you would, but instead pinches at the soft mound of your tits between his fingers.
“S-shirt off? You want me to take my shirt off?” You fumble over your every step in removing your shirt, hurriedly trying to pull it over your head when your elbow gets stuck in the fabric, revealing the onset of your chest to him for a couple of seconds longer before you’re finally free of your shirt.
Or more than just your shirt, because you’re left surprised when you look down at your bare chest on display instead of the light blue bra you had on earlier— completely slipping through your mind that you had removed it before you went to sleep, now leaving you with overwhelming embarrassment.
“Oh…I forgot to put a bra b-back on…I usually take it off when I—”
“You’re dirtier than I thought angel, knocking on my door without a bra on. Should’ve known you were tempting me the moment I let you in.”
Taehyun lays you back onto your stomach as you wait for his instructions, heated all over in embarrassment, choosing to keep silent rather than out yourself as a nervous mess when Taehyun’s supposed to be helping you— you owe him a favour.
Your tits press flush against the mattress as Taehyun jerks his cock slightly, drool spilling from your lips as you gulp down any remnants of awestruck words hearing him groan from a couple of fast flicks of his fist with expertise.
“Come on sweetheart, you know what I’m trying to get you to do,” Oh but you don’t, truthfully. Ideas short-circuit and don’t develop further as to what you could do, inexperience ridden all over your body language as you hic and pout in thought, “Pouting on purpose ‘cause you know I like it when you act dumb don’t you? I’m asking you to jerk off my dick with your tits.”
Stutters die on the end of your tongue as you’re taken aback by the sudden severity in his tone. Your heart races with adrenaline kicking in through your blood from repeating his sentence about twenty times in your head before you could even muster up the courage to ask him to guide you once more.
“Was that too vulgar for you?” Taehyun shifts close enough to tilt your chin with his finger, cupping your chest in his hands and slotting the mounds over his cock, clicking his tongue as they moulded into shape— wrapped around his dick as his flushed tip pokes through to the top.
“T-Taehyun this…will this even feel good?” Your head spins at the lewd image in front of you far too drastic for your virgin eyes to behold. Neither do you dare to make eye contact because you can sense the predatory stare on the side of your face as you look off into the distance, but you can feel it all the same as he continues to erratically twitch between your chest with restriction.
“Less words baby, cup them together and suffocate my cock like I want you to, how I taught you to.”
You don’t know how to, seriously, apart from squeezing the plush of your chest and dragging it along his dick weakly with hesitation radiating from your staggered breathing and uncertain hands.
“…Like that?”
Taehyun believes he could cum from just watching you struggle to find a rhythm with your flimsy technique, hell he adores the way your brows knit together to concentrate on making him feel good, how your tongue dabbles out cutely and how your fingers sink into the plush of your tits.
“Fuck— gotta pick up the pace baby, you need to squeeze me tighter.” Your glasses tip off and roll onto the mattress, your eyes prettily blinking up at him as you shift your tits to stroke his length, the tip submerging into the crevice of your tits before unsheathing again right before your very eyes.
You notice how Taehyun’s thighs tense and the clench of his jaw emphasises the angles across his face; the high nose bridge softly lit by the lamp as he slumps further into the headrest of the bed, his eyes squeezing shut whenever you’d slightly dwell around his sensitive cockhead oozing with the new glob of spit you’ve learnt to lather onto him.
You continue to glide your tits along his shaft, the saliva dripping over your chest in glistening droplets. It’s tempting how you drool to venture outside of what Taehyun teaches you, especially as his thickly rounded tip slicked in your fluids thrusts directly in your face, sometimes prodding too far and bumping into your chin.
Perhaps it’s the spur-of-the-moment thoughts after diving into a new territory of sex and the taboo image of your roommate’s best friend unclothed from the torso downwards which urges you to lean in a bit closer. To get a taste of him on your tongue purely out of curiosity when you give an experimental lick towards the bulbous head.
“What did you just—?” Taehyun’s eyes shoot open at the feeling of the warm muscle licking gentle strides, his posture straightening only to clasp his palm against his mouth to muffle the loudest groan he lets out when he catches sight of your tongue giving teasing kitten licks down his slit.
“Hehh?” You continue to give experimental licks, dragging the flat of your tongue for slightly longer as you take in his expressions, and the subtle jolts when your tits crush the base of his cock lovingly and your lips pout and upthrust against his tip, lust taking over your mind as you flutter your eyes with need.
“Angel shit— who taught you that? S’ fucking dirty I knew it, y-you’re gonna make me cum—”
The vibrations of your hums buzz softly against his length, the stimulation enough to drive Taehyun over the edge as he curses under his breath, his eyes rolling back once he feels your tongue drape itself and tease over his slit once more, and sucks in his stomach at the impending tension begging for release as his dick throbs repeatedly.
It’s only a matter of seconds before he’s cumming bucket loads all over your tongue and onto the plump of your cheeks as you blink in surprise. You remembered the fundamental basics of ejaculation but you never expected it to be so sudden; the fluid sticking to your skin and dripping viscously down your cheek, salty and thick on your tongue still stuck out for him.
“Maybe…hah, next time I should actually teach you how to take cock down here.” His thumb puts pressure on your throat before gliding the digit up to your bottom lip, folding in your tongue as if to swallow when he closes your mouth— the smallest audible groan hushed alongside a ‘fuck me’.
“I-It’s over now?” Taehyun quite pick up on whether you’re desperate for more or disappointed, still snug between his thighs as his dick softens between your mounds.
No, of course it isn’t over. He hasn’t even gotten a feel of what Yeonjun’s roommate’s cunt is like yet, how tightly you’d milk his cock and beg for him to be gentle and then whine when his thrusts just aren’t enough. He hasn’t tasted you on his tongue yet nor made you sit on top of his face and eat you out for hours. God, you haven’t even given him the green light to breed and stuff you full of his cum— he can’t just stop at handjob and some tit action.
“Not all of it, I don’t think you’d be able to handle it if I went any further.”
“So there’s…more?” You gulp at the thought of it, your stripped top-half starting to daunt on you as your arms quickly cross and cover your chest as if it could reverse any modesty back to them.
“There’s plenty we still have to do princess, you’re still a virgin until I’ve split you apart on my cock.”
͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ; [Belong to the City-PND]
͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ "You ain't gotta love to fuck, Girl I'm just tryna say"
Three times? Four times? Double digits?
Whatever it is you’ve completely rotted Taehyun’s brain to the core from how much he’s jerked off. It’s not an exaggeration to say that every second of his day is spent recalling the spitting image of you lapping up his cock cluelessly, and his cum messily spurted all over your face in the lewdest image his mind could conjure.
And whenever he’s not thinking back to the night you stumbled over to his room, tempting him with your loose shirt and desperate gaze and not expecting him to get hard, he’s pumping his dick until it hurts to the video Yeonjun recorded asking if you liked doggy. The sound kicked up to max without giving a damn what Beomgyu must be thinking in the other room.
Fuck, he’d lose his mind if you really meant it— he already had to go through hell and back and a lot of questioning just to get his best friend to send him the video in the first place. Never mind trimming the clip down to your sweet ‘yeah!’ to match the sick reality he dreams of where you’re gaping full of his cum, crying out sweetly that it’s too much for your virgin pussy to handle.
It's been a week since he last stayed over at your apartment, and a week since he’s last gotten anything close to fucking.
But it’s not like he’s turned down Heeseung’s nagging to spend a night out at the club for drinks and a quickie. He still turns up with that signature smile of his that lures in women without needing to lift a finger, but there’s no making out in the back alley or the car filling up with four instead of two. The problem directly lies in the fact that he seriously can’t get hard unless he’s thinking of you, only getting turned off when he can’t envision your face on the girls who cling onto his arm begging to spend the night with him.
There’s no way it could get worse at that, or at least so he thought. Since he’s clearly never liked sleeping around with virgins who cry and kick when he’s too rough and chase him for a second round like a kicked puppy the day after. He’s never going to fall into the vanilla sex propaganda Soobin preaches— that’s not him.
But God, do you drive him insane, specifically you, when your eyes filled with only the purest intentions start to taint with the sin of lust because of him.
Yeah, whatever, he wants to corrupt you; he wants your first time to be so fucking rough that any other guy who fucks you after him is by some grace worse than mediocre. Yeonjun’s little roommate whom he’s had his eyes on since the first day he came over, how you made him throb in his pants from the genuine smile and teeny-tiny shorts you paraded the apartment in as you opened the door. And Yeonjun was blessed enough to see this daily only to put it to waste by letting you confine yourself within your bedroom walls to study for hours. All the while he has to stop himself from getting hard for the short time he’s there to drink and game with his best friend.
Denial was the longest stage of this ongoing mental battle. Well, him? Kang Taehyun of all people masturbates to not only virgins but virgin nerds on top of that. Surely not!
For starters there’s nothing even obviously sexually appealing to the way you’re dressed when half the time you’re clad in the plainest shirts that are switched out for oversized wool jumpers on special occasions. You don’t even try to act sexy or seduce him in any sort of way; all of your vocabulary jumbles out of a mental dictionary that reminds him of his professor whenever you open your mouth. And you’re so wound up in all your chemistry nonsense about dynamic equilibrium and enthalpies of combustion to even spare him any attention, finding more appeal in your textbooks— there’s no way he’s into nerds, nada.
Yet when he’s frustrated and in need of a release he’ll go out of his way to spend an extra hour browsing for specifically ‘nerd’ porn. The kind of videos where the pornstar’s got crazy huge tits spilling out of her costume, her hair tied in pigtails, and she’s always giving a blowjob with black rectangular glasses that are obviously fake sitting on top of her nose bridge. But it’s not those weirdly off-putting videos which catch his eye. He’ll scroll past them all until he stumbles across a low-quality one posted by a woman with the same figure as you to a tee, her demeanour almost identical aside from some minor differences, and her whines the same pitch as yours had sounded when you were jerking him off with your small fist.
Had he have seen her on the front page of the website he probably wouldn’t have given it a double take. It’s filmed from a bad angle that doesn’t give much to satiate but leaves him begging for more, straining his eyes in case he’d miss anything vital for his imagination if he blinked. And it’s not as if she’s any good at fucking herself onto the thickest dildo she could find; too arrogant to size down until she realises it’s too big for her to handle by the time she’s grinding on the silicone. An amateur mistake you’d make, her tendencies just like how he’d imagine you would be, each quake of her thighs ushering him to fist his cock until his fingers burst from how firmly he was squeezing it trying to milk out his fourth orgasm to cheaply made porn.
And if he wasn’t spent enough he’d make sure he’d play the audio of your pitiful whimpers that slipped into the video he recorded of Yeonjun killing the bugs within the kitchen on full blast; closing his eyes and imagining you were whimpering for all sorts of other nasty reasons.
It’s become a real problem for him now and today is supposed to be the routine time of the week when he visits your apartment again— to look for Yeonjun of course, but there’s no harm in visiting a couple of hours earlier before he’s home is there? It’s not like he’ll be up to anything when you’re there to keep him in check.
So Taehyun doesn’t bother with ringing you up and disturbing you from your studies. He’s well aware of how to be a gentleman and use the spare key Yeonjun lent him to open up the door to the apartment. The soft click of the lock going unnoticed as he steps inside, but only up until the shoe rack of the front entrance before he could enter the open living-room.
Unable to cross the line any further when he can’t believe his eyes and neither can you as you squeal and stutter, scrambling to explain yourself. To explain why you were laid on your back, a hand snaked down your shorts and your phone held above your face. Although it’s since dropped to the floor in an ear-bleeding shatter with a woman’s voice playing through the speaker— guiding you to “circle your finger” around your clit repeatedly.
“Y-you’re here!? Ohmygodohmygod— Yeonjun said you’d be over at—”
“Five?” Taehyun observes how you whip your slick-dripping fingers behind your back, foot stepped over your phone to bury it into the carpet like it could drown out the speaker voicing the expert’s guide on how to masturbate like a pro, “I was planning on taking your virginity for real today by coming over earlier. Seems like you’ve already got a sexpert on your hands though.”
Hilarious how your eyes bulge like he’d predicted, guilt swimming through your blood once heat rose to your face at how humiliating it is to be caught trying (and failing) to masturbate by solely Taehyun.
Though could you blame him? You of all people trying to get a feel of what it’s like to cum when any other day you would have been typing away on a hypothesis for the practical over the weekend? There’s no reason as to why he isn’t laughing and mocking you in front of your face right now. In fact, he’s already placing bets in his head that you mistook your folds for the clit and, oh, how you’d whine at the utter stimulation of absolutely nothing.
“I couldn’t help it…I don’t know— got curious. I d-didn’t know when you were going to help me again…” You can’t bear to look him in the face, stomach churning with something worse than mortification.
What are the chances that he’s so disgusted he can’t stand looking in your direction anymore? How come the silence hanging over the room is ten times more suffocating than if Yeonjun had walked in on your virgin self experimenting?
“M’not trying to embarrass you baby, just thought that I taught you better. Next time you wanna get off you should go straight to me, not some sex guru off youtube,”
Taehyun kicks off his shoes at the entrance, striding almost condescendingly as he reaches for your phone pressed under your foot. He examines the video for a couple more seconds at the blonde woman with a whiteboard attempting to market her masturbating tips. As if she could do any better than his tongue.
“Why watch these videos when your sexpert is willing to do all the work for you? You’re too busy to even reply to my texts, this hurts me a little angel.” His laugh is sarcastic in nature as he seats himself next to you on the couch, but you can tell he’s far more interested in the state of your wet fingers than whatever excuse you have to make up.
“This is…embarrassing I-I… you’re a guy! It’s different—”
“But is it?” He shuffles and extends himself towards you, each inching movement causing you to retreat backwards shyly; a face too shameful to be seen up close by him. Until you end up retreating all the way to the arm rest, forced to be in direct eyeline with his strikingly handsome features that make your heart knock at your ribs, “I’m sure we stopped caring about that when you begged me to take your virginity at two in the morning.”
Bullseye. Right through your logical reasoning.
The one guy who’s willing to take your virginity today is right in front of you— so why do you get nervous and stutter whenever he’s too close, or feel the need to clench your thighs when he calls you all sorts of sweet-toothed nicknames?
You grab hold of his shoulders, chewing on the inside of your mouth as you study his expression and the flit of his glances from your lips to your eyes. “If we have sex today…w-we have to be quick before Yeonjun’s back!” Squeaked to a minimum, you’re barely given the time to take another breath before it’s stolen by the hard nudge against your inner thigh where your knees pressed to your chest, under the strength of his hands keeping you still.
There’s something even more thrilling about him being hard? this time than when you had last seen him in Yeonjun’s bedroom. Perhaps it’s the way you can feel each ridge of his tip as it rubs against the plush of your thigh that makes your cunt pulse with need. Or maybe it’s the reassuring muttering in your ear that eases your racing heart as he lays your back onto the couch, stripping off his shirt and smoothing its creases directly under the two of you.
“Princess, you understand what I mean by I don’t like to fuck sweetly don’t you? I like sex when it’s rougher, nastier— ‘think you can be good and handle it for me?”
A part of you wants to rush him slightly. Especially when all you can focus on is how his dick presses up against your clothed folds, thighs already shaking from even the slightest shift in movement from him.
“I can handle it! B-but if I tell you to stop you have to! I don’t want to be ripped apart…”
This is exactly what Taehyun adores so much about you: your confidence pushing through only to be contradicted in every other sense. He can promise you that he won’t rip you apart on his dick, but he can’t promise that it won’t feel like it.
“Good girl,” He kisses your forehead lightly as his last sign of gentility and respect before he’s leaving you gasping and alarmed from how swiftly he pulls down your shorts, and loops your panties over your ankles, pulling you into a kiss as he hassles himself in unbuttoning his jeans.
You couldn’t kiss, didn’t know how to or the etiquette behind pushing yourselves onto each other. But Taehyun’s lead was so strong you couldn’t help but melt into his mouth as he bites on the plush of your bottom lip, claiming dominance over you as you mewl into the addition of another tongue that leaves you out of breath.
Two fingers drag along the damp slick dripping around your hole and pull back with strands of your clear juices, his touch electric as you squirm and hold on to him.
“You’re gonna make a mess baby, cunt’s f’ckin dripping everywhere. Needs someone to fuck this pussy so bad doesn’t it?”
With his large hands he seizes your thighs and stifles his cockhead against your clit, where it bumps and prods at the warm flesh with desire leaking from his tip in milky-clear beads. For a moment you think he’s gone back on his word from the stalling, it’s just nerves you mentally remind yourself, that makes every second seem like minutes when he drags the length down your slit causing you to squirm.
Your hands are bunched and clutched to your chest as you bite on the nail of your thumb to distract you from how exposed everything became the moment he walked in; from your panties pulled down to your ankles to his dick now wedged between your folds.
“H-hurry we can’t let Yeo— mm-agh!”
The hands that previously tied themselves in bunched, nervous knots to your chest quickly ripped apart to grab at the padding of the couch as you squeal and flinch from the pain that shoots through each muscle in the form a stinging sensation.
It’s only reasonable that you lift your head from the armrest to stare at if he had seriously torn you apart like you feared. Only to be met with him still digging in his pelvis to shove another inch inside of your sopping cunt, groaning as he melted into each suctioned grip of your walls around him like a vice.
“Princess— y-you fit me like a glove, fuck.” He’s only just about reached halfway when your eyes brim with tears at the slight burn of the stretch, as your hole gapes to accommodate him, lips quivering in the most erotic form of pitiful that makes his cock throb and reverberate against the gummy muscle enveloping him.
“Tyun—mfgh, ‘ts not going to fit!” Maybe you underestimated how big he really was when you wrapped your hands around him under dim lighting, talking too highly of what you could handle as you now struggle to keep your whimpers quiet and god, do you drive him insane.
Insane enough to upthrust your legs in the air as he pulls your thighs towards him, slamming the entirety of his length inside of you within the matter of seconds; the tip lovingly nudging at the deepest crevice of your walls as he tore the whiniest moans he wishes he could replay in his head for eternity.
The first instinct is to grab hold of his shoulders, the pain mixing into pleasure as he pumps his hips profusely, the slch of skin against skin echoed by the slick splattered down your thighs with each abrasive thrust as he rocks you into the arm rest.
“Ffffuck, you need to..relax baby. Can’t fuck you good if you’re holding onto me so tight,” But what can you do when he’s drilling his dick as far as he could tirelessly? He barely even lets you squeak out a full sentence before your syllables stutter and merge into one another from each brisk thrust. Like you could feel him plunging his cock through to your stomach, filled full from the raw drag of his cock alone, coated in your juices as you clung to him even harder, “Too tight baby, I told you I fuck rough but you’re not gonna rip I promise you, taking cock so well— you sure this pussy hasn’t been fucked before?”
Shaking your head is all you can resort to as the grip around your thighs tighten in his hold, his tongue traces the inside of his mouth as he allows himself to be entranced by the way your cunt yearns for him with each plummet of his dick followed by the loud squelching of wetness starting to collect on his discarded shirt.
Something snaps within him when you call out his name in the sweetest tone you possibly could, begging him for more as the pleasure started to twist and tangle into need. His balls slap in sync with his thrusts as one last final jeer at how pathetic you looked squirming and fidgeting whenever his cock would press too deep against you. Or when your walls would constrict the moment he’d pull out to about halfway only to slam his entire length with enough force to stretch you whole entirely again. Moans spilling uncontrollably as the thought of being caught within direct eyeline of the front door circulates around your already spinning mind, and spreads down to the heat building below as you squeeze around him at the idea.
“What’s got you clenching around me like crazy, hm?— Oh ssshit princess, thinking about somethin’ dirty aren’t you?”
Even if you managed to refute that you weren’t your body language gives yourself away in an instant, your eyes diverted away from his interrogative gaze and hands gently massaging at your thighs. And your cunt embarrassingly throbs to his every word that spits from his mouth; praising and shaming you all at once for how dirty your thoughts had become just from feeling him puncture inside of you with no mercy.
“Doesn’t hurt anymore I bet. Knew I’d be able to train you to take cock, jus’ look how good you’re milking me baby, pussy’s just begging for me to teach her how good sex is isn’t she? Better than your textbooks I bet—”
The rough consonants emphasised with each grunt crawling on the border of growls makes your stomach flutter before it’s quickly converted into lust when the curved side of his cock moulds your dripping walls to cling to him. Your eyes flit in-between the sweat beading down his muscular chest and the hazed expression plastered along his face as he heaves your leg over his shoulder.
He licks his lips temptingly as the heightened angle gives him not only a better view of your glistening cunt, as the girth of his cock penetrates it unceasingly, but also gives him access to fuck further into your hole, his tip pressing against soft and squidgy tissue that make your eyes roll-back on command.
“T-tyun!! Too— too deep!”
There’re times where Taehyun wishes you weren’t so adorable when he’s in the middle of tearing you apart on his dick without shame, there’s just no way it could be healthy for him to be fisting his cock until death for another two weeks after he’s gotten a feel of your soon not-to-be virgin cunt. But you seriously do it in for him when you cry because he can reach deeper than your fingers ever will and whine when he fucks too rough for you to react aside from guttural moans and pulsing around him. How he’s the only one who gets to see this side to you, not Yeonjun or any other guy that’s got some perverse kink for nerds like he admittedly does, only he gets to hear how you moan his name so innocently in even the dirtiest of settings.
“Are you gonna beg me to stop? Is it really too much for you to handle?” His voice drips mockingly as you think it over, but for no more than three seconds until you make up your mind that you’ve practically been aching for this high since he left you dumbfounded on Yeonjun’s bed. And you wanted him to quench the growing need for release, the hastened pounding of his dick brings you for the split second his tip nudges at your walls lewdly.
“N-no, want you to keep mngh! Keep going— can handle it T-Tyun. Please!”
His tongue clicks in accordance with your words, pride written all over his face as he leans in to kiss the tip of your nose reassuringly. “That’s a good girl, listening so well and making me proud. You really make it hard for me not to breed you fucking full of my cum.”
Taehyun doesn’t have it in him to show you any mercy at this point, rushing to lift your hips impossibly higher to meet his pelvis as he drills his cock repeatedly into your cunt which gushes out juices that splatter and start to seep through the thin shirt below.
The couch rocks slightly from each brutal jut of his hips. Sweat subdues the apartment from the clammy heat radiating off your bodies as his fingers dug into your thighs, indenting them with his nails to ease you into a bit of marking Taehyun’s desperate to get you to try down the line.
“Shit shit shit, baby don’t clench— I’ll cum too fast if you do.” His warnings don’t entirely stick to your lust-filled mind, your hands reaching to wrap around his neck to bring him in slightly closer. “C-can’t! Feels too good Tyunnie want more!”
You should remember to think over your wishes before he really grants them, the sudden increase in pace doubling the stimulation around the bundle of nerves he repeatedly bumps into lovingly, your mouth slacking wide open in loud whimpers as you tightened your grip around him.
“Pull on my hair, bite on my shoulder— I don’t fucking care. It turns me on like a sick freak, I’m nasty aren’t I angel? Makes my cock throb thinking about it.”
Hesitation streams through you as you try to equivocate whether to really tug on his hair or bite like he asked. Yet by the time he’s pounding into you cruelly to the point you can’t catch your breath your hands are instinctively clawing down his bare back like second nature.
Your nails drag nasty streaks along the broad muscle trailing down the sides of his spine, his hisses only fuelling him further to fuck you into the couch as harsh as he possibly could, his dick aching with need when you begin to scratch at him again once your toes began to curl.
“Ever been able to make yourself cum angel?” His question stems with genuine interest even if you’re too shy to admit that you never really got the chance to explore, a weak shake of your head which you bury into his shoulder to hide your embarrassment. But you can feel every twitch of his cock as it drags through you, the low groans masked under his pants delved from his extreme stamina, “Mm, leave it to me angel I’ll make you cum so f’cking hard.”
One moment you’re being rammed into the couch and the next he’s hovering over you; breaking out of the weak locking of your hands that left flushed red streaks down his back and hoisting one of your legs above his shoulder.
His finger slithers from the plush of your waist to your neglected clit that throbs as the soft pad brushes over it teasingly, slowly evolving into faster, rigorous rubbing at the small bud that tips you over and causes your back to arch in pleasure; the knot in your lower abdomen starting to unravel as he continues.
“T-think I’m gonna cum— feels weird!”
Taehyun mutters nothing short of a hum as he focuses on reaching your climax, biting on the inside of his cheek as he drives his cock into you over and over again— each dig of his hips nearing him towards release as he catches sight of your fucked-out expression.
Your eyes are barely fluttering awake with every stutter of your name before you’re entirely turning silent. Thighs shaking, pleasure bursting throughout each of your nerves and your hair messily dishevelled as you came down from your orgasm with a needy whine, trembling as Taehyun continued to use your cunt as his own free-use sex toy to bury his cock into as he chased his own orgasm with fervor.
“W-wait Taehyun ‘m still sensitive!!” Your cries are overshadowed by the wet plapping of your cunt and his pelvis as he fucks you at another orgasm-inducing pace at this rate, refusing to take a break from the buckling of his hips as his groans increase in volume.
“O-one more minute ‘m so fucking close baby you don’t understand. You’ll let me use this pretty pussy won’t you?”
And you’re nothing but more desperate to salivate over the delicious drag of his cock through your clamping walls for as long as you can but God, does that minute drag on for an eternity as you bite down on your lip to muffle your moans.
You watch as he stumbles in the rhythmic thrust of his hips and falters, pulling out his aching dick as it rests above your abdomen, your hole still gaping after adjusting to the stretch you toiled for him.
“Can you still remember what I taught you last week princess?” His fingers grab hold of your wrist as he slots your palm over his twitching cock, gulping as you ran your hand down the length, stroking up the vein with the back of your fingers and twisting your fist at the top.
It surprises him how you remembered to spit on his cock as well even if it was already slicked with your juices, letting the saliva drape him in warm fluid, jerking him off as vigorously as you could to get him to cum sooner or later.
It’s only when you glide your index down his slit that he’s cursing and holding onto the hair at the crown of your head, cumming batches of white all over your face where he thinks you look the lewdest— and fuck, he wishes you’d just let him cum on your glasses one day with the brightest smile on your face. Or even better, he wishes you’d let him fuck you in front of Yeonjun with cum pooling out of your cunt, his face burning red as he envisions you in the dirtiest image he could while you wiped the sweat dripping down his forehead.
“Am I…no longer a virgin anymore?” Your eyes bat at him with excitement that brings you out of recovery immediately, channelled through your clasped hands as you await his response.
Except Taehyun doesn’t think he’ll get the opportunity to fuck you again if he told you the complete truth that you officially weren’t a virgin anymore even if you lacked experience; still he chooses to tell you a white lie, his greed acting on his behalf.
“Think what you’d like, but I clearly haven’t fucked you hard enough if you’re still walking and talking properly right after.”
͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ "I know that you got a side that you tryna hide from me"
“Are you still working on that Kinetics essay? I thought you handed that in months ago.”
Your head lifts above the border of your laptop screen to be met with your friend’s gaze and her own stack of books neatly weighted on the table, her sheets of notes scattered across the already tight squeeze of a surface. “What—this? I’m doing extra credit since Morgan said Professor McKenna rewards extended essays.”
Yujin blows away the strand of hair astray on her face, huffing all her held back exhaustion in a deep breath. “And here I am stuck with Baldwins, who’s making me type up mock patents this whole semester!!!” Giggling at her exaggerated performance, you take a break from clicking away at your laptop for a minute, holding the latte up to your nose as the aroma wafts in while you sip the drink, diffusing into the caffeinated air of the coffeehouse.
“Oh, and my dad wants me to visit over the weekend to help paint the fence. It’s like he thinks I’m still carefree and sixteen!”
Yujin has always been a complainer since you really got to know her well last year, and you’ve learnt to love it, but you found much more interest in the different decorative lights and framed artwork hung along the walls than whatever she had to moan about today. It’s plastered all over the display windows of the coffeehouse that they’re hiring—big posters taped to the glass Taehyun stood in front of— Taehyun?!!
Your eyes blink twice and then a third time for good measure, before he’s confirming your suspicions that it’s indeed him stood outside of the coffeehouse with his friends, his finger pressed to his lips as he shakes his phone at you with the other hand.
And it’s right on cue how the message notification rings on your phone, hurriedly picking it up from its position face-down on the table and scrolling to your messages before you’re coughed back into reality by your study date.
“Something up? You haven’t responded to any of my rambling in the last minute.”
“I-I haven’t? I’m sorry, I got distracted— I think my roommate’s messaging me to bring him something back to eat.” Yujin nods for you to scroll through your messages, albeit the texts from Yeonjun, but Taehyun instead. Her questions don’t cease even as you load the chat on your phone.
“What was that topic you were working on last time?—”
“Dickpeptides!??—” You squeal in enough shock to alarm Yujin as you quickly slam your phone back onto the wooden table; face down and turned off to clear your head from the message Taehyun signalled you to open. Your eyes scan for him and his group of friends outside of the window of the coffeehouse, but they’ve since disappeared and you’ve been left with his dick pic unanswered in your chat.
It's an insane shot you must admit. Taken from the side where his dick visibly curves upwards towards his toned abdomen, cum leaking from his tip as it drips towards the base where his fingers wrapped around it, the waistband of his pants pulled down to his mid thighs— the shadow-defined muscles bulked and rigid. A photo that reminds you of last Thursday when you had sex on the couch, making your thighs squeeze together at the memory as you engrave the image into your mind.
“Dick…peptides?”
“A-ah no! I meant dipeptides! Sorry uhm— it’s Mae’s birthday today, I got surprised.” A nervous laugh stammers out of your throat as you scratched the back of your head to make an excuse for how you could possibly jumble the pronunciation of a chemistry term you should be an expert in, hoping that Yujin would take the bait.
“Well happy birthday to Mae then. Pass that along to her for me, will you?”
You’re the first to be startled by the ten times more manly voice appearing from behind, immediately recognising it as Taehyun’s, causing your face to flush hot at what he sent you minutes prior, looking back down at your laptop now on sleep mode.
“Since when did you two get so close?”
“W-we’re not close!” Your rebuttal was said on a whim without proper thought, regret starting to berate your head as you felt the brewing of a chill stare from behind.
Clearly, that wasn’t the answer he was looking for.
“Shame. I thought we got pretty close when you were crying for me sweetheart. I’ll take my leave then.” Both you and Yujin watch bewildered as he saunters off with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, the small bells above the door ringing as he leaves into the swarm of busy streets outside.
“Explain to me everything. Right. Fucking. Now.”
Yujin slams your laptop shut from behind as she leans over the desk predatorily, her intense gaze putting you on the spot to make the tenth most viable excuse for all the lies you’ve been spouting. “I-I don’t know either!”
“I’m not stupid! He calls you sweetheart and he made you cry?! Did you break up with him or something?— When did the two of you even start dating in the first place?”
You couldn’t quite choose between what would be less awful to say to her: pretend that the two of you were dating or come clean about having sex with ‘supposedly’ no feelings with your roommate’s best friend. If there were a lesser of two evils somehow, it’s bound to come to light that you’ve been seeing him behind bedroom doors at some point.
“You can’t tell anyone this okay?” Extending a pinky finger out for her to link, you take a deep breath before unloading the dump truck of secrets you’ve been keeping hidden within your soul since the day you first overstepped the boundary of just bumping shoulders.
“You could kill someone and I’d be on your side.”
“No…don’t do that Yujin. It’s nothing really. I asked him to take my virginity and we’ve been having sex…like e-every week.” Your voice is hushed as indecency trails off your tongue, eyes wincing as you watch her face drop beyond shock, bracing yourself for the worst before it could hit you at full force.
͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ "You do me like no one's ever done it"
“Yeonjun? I brought back your ramen!!” Your voice echoes through the deadly still apartment as you shuffle out of your shoes, hanging your set of keys onto the hooks with the packets of noodles rustling in the bag, “Jjuuunnnn!!! Are you there?”
Silence is a rare phenomenon in this apartment whenever he’s around, and the absence of his music blasting is indicative that he isn’t.
So you let the bag of grocery goods disassemble from the tall structure. Ramen packets dominoed one after the other across the counter. You send a quick photo and message to your roommate confirming you’ve secured his lunch, and then head towards your own room where you’ll be locked inside for the next few hours.
The handle lowers under your grip around it with a soft click of your door, the carpet gruffs as you shrug off your bag onto it with a tired groan; wanting nothing more than to doze into deep sleep until the next day.
“I was right, you really don’t respond to my texts.”
“Aack! W-what are you doing here?” You visibly jolt seeing him laying on your bed with his arms behind his head, your chemistry textbook spread-out face-down over where the fly of his jeans rested, “You can’t expect me to respond to that!”
Taehyun smirks watching you flail about and scramble to lift your textbook from his crotch to place it where it was originally displayed on top of your shelf. Except the second you reach to grab the textbook, your mouth runs dry halfway through a gasp, your fingers stick to the pages where the ink smudges with dampness.
You gulp seeing his dick semi-hard and emerging from his unzipped fly, the slit dripping with cum as he snakes a hand to stroke himself at the base; unable to avert your gaze from how his cock stiffens immediately when you whimper instinctively. “Sorry angel, I’ll buy you a new one,”
His cum smears around your finger as you settle the stained textbook down onto the desk— too mesmerised by the temptation of everything about him, from his cockhead kissing his belly button to the seductive graft in his gaze, to even realise how hastily he’s approaching you.
“Thought I could get away with it, but it really fucking turns me on when you catch me red handed,” He corners you against your desk where your hips bump against it, pen pots knocking down from the sudden impact as he leaned in, “Tell me angel, there’s something else you want me to teach you isn’t there?”
It’s difficult to form coherent words when you can feel his breathing against your ear and his cock slung against one of your thighs from the miniscule distance between you. “The thing you and Yeonjun were talking about last time t-the prone…prone something!” Starting to feel shy, you try to hide the excited glint in your eye and the thought of something new— something that goes beyond just taking your virginity that he can teach you.
“Prone boning? God, you’re adorable.” There’s a laced sweetness to his taunts that make your panties dampen instantly as he wraps his hand around your wrist, lifting you from pressing against your desk to stumble out of your room in a frenzy, your glasses knocking off your head in the process and onto the floor.
He guides you into Yeonjun’s room before slamming and locking the door shut the second you follow in behind him. And he doesn’t hesitate in pushing you towards and onto the soft dip of the bed with both of your wrists secured over your head with his singular hand as he strips your skirt and underwear off with the tug of his other fingers.
“Tyun w-what if Yeonjun comes back?! We can’t let him find out!” You squeak as he flips you onto your stomach, handling and bending your limbs however he wants as he stuffs a pillow under your chin, grinning as he watches you moan into the cotton pillow-case when he slaps the plush of your ass.
“I don’t fuck girls who like to complain, I told you this before baby. Let him fucking watch if he wants to he’s into that shit anyway.”
Your eyes open wide in dirty excitement feeling him slot his dick between your ass, the tip gliding along your drenched folds begging for his touch as you whined at the sensation.
“So fucking needy, pussy was made to be fucked like this wasn’t it?” You mewl at the way his thumb presses at your clit as he starts to sheath his cock, your mind already dizzying from the drive of sex starting to kick in; lust pooling from your core as it desperately tries to suck in for more.
“Ye— mmagh! F-fuck!”
And Taehyun for sure serves you more. Because before you could even murmur out a soft ‘yes’, he’s thrusting the entire length of his cock into your poor cunt without mercy. His pelvis digs into your ass as you wailed at the stretch you’re still growing accustomed to, his tip slithering through your walls that suction his cock with a warmth Taehyun wouldn’t mind getting addicted on.
His thrusts are relentless as he continues to slam you into the mattress at a pace you couldn’t keep up with, mewls falling from your lips like a mantra as your pussy flutters from being stretched out all over again the second he’s pulling out just to stuff his dick back in with ardour.
“Tyun you’re too— hnghh— too fast!”
His pants can be heard from above alongside each hot fan of his breath that seeps through his lips as he stills his hands on either side of you, his hands digging into the mattress while yours disappear under the cover of the pillow pressed between them and your chin.
“Y-yeah? Too fast for you? I don’t hear you telling me to slow down though, you fuckin’ love it like some slut.”
There’s an attempt to shake your head no, which ultimately becomes useless due to your immodest cries when his cock pushes through your walls with a burn, the head of his cock rendering your thighs weak despite them being laid flat on the mattress; tired without having to even lift a finger whatsoever.
Your moans grew erratic as you tried to keep up with his thrusts, yet each plummet of his hips staggers your breath into small staccato gasps that only made each inch dragging through the vessel of your cunt feel ten times more intense— like he could pierce through your cervix if he tried to, tip wanting to reach your stomach as it pushes through to reach deeper each time.
“Mmmfff!! A-are you supposed to be g-going this deep?! — ngh! T-think I can feel you in my stomach Tyun I don’t wanna rip o-oh—"
He’s immediately moaning right after you, each genuine cry of fear that he could split you open on his cock only fuelling the ego burning bright within him, and that means he’s bound on fucking you stupid on it; until all you can babble for is his dick buried inside of you.
“Not going to rip sweetheart, breathe. You’d be better off being torn on my cock than suffocating around nothing,”
A shaky exhale leaves your lungs as your body tenses all over from his touch. Drool starts to leak and stain Yeonjun’s pillow without shame from your hung-open mouth to channel the pleasure of each stroke of his girth bulging through your core. While he laughs with sadism dripping from his voice hearing you mewl and whimper with each stretch of your gaping hole.
“How are you gonna explain the mess you’re making to Yeonjun later?” Taehyun leans in to grunt into your ear with a tone that reforms you into being dormant for him, tucking in your bottom lip as he whispers all sorts of nasty promises that make you throb around his cock, “You’re so nasty baby, you wanna show off to Yeonjun who’s fucking you like a good slut don’t you? You want him to see your juices all over the damn sheets.”
It's impossible for you to lie still when he’s fucking you into the bed, the flimsy framework creaking from the sheer force Taehyun exerted into each rut without any intention of holding back, using your cunt like his own sex toy flushed between him and the mattress.
“Keep your hips still. Need to teach you how to stop squirming s-shit— can’t handle it can you angel?”
Your hair sticks to the sweat on your neck and temples as he squeezes a hand beneath you to flesh out your tits, cupping them out of your bra as he fondles your chest, groaning as he watches your thighs shake from the hard groping of flesh.
“N-no I can take it! Mmf!— Tyun p-please don’t stop, wan’ your cock in me!”
Holy fuck could you turn him into a one-minute man if you kept staring at him like that; your cheek pushed up against the pillow as you turned your head to look at him from the corner of your eye, pretty lashes wet with tears that make his dick twitch with gross affection, brows drooping in desperation as your bitten-plump lips wet with saliva muttered soft pleas for him to continue.
Humiliation runs deep throughout you and the pathetic splatter of your wetness all over your thighs and trailing up to your ass, face starting to rise with heat as he collects your slick onto his two fingers, making eye contact with you as he cleans his digits by dragging them along his tongue. The smuggest grin plasters itself over his lips watching you suck your cheeks at him licking up the lewd glister of your juices without any shame, and Taehyun’s so so mean for taking advantage of catching you off guard.
He doesn’t bother dawdling around when it comes to grabbing hold of your hips with his fingertips digging into your skin with heightened pressure, ramming his cock into your gushing cunt, that squelches erotically in sync with your soft hiccups that only create an itch for him to fuck you harder, rougher, meaner than he should.
“Ohmygod! Hngh-ah! T-tyun too much— mmm p-please f-fuck”
“Please what?” His tone patronises you into burying your face into the soft pillow, aided by the pushing of his hand as he entangles his fingers into your hair; pushing you further into the soft compress, “Always begging for more then crying when it’s too much!~, shit princess, you talk big for a cunt that can barely fit my cock.”
He mocks your whimpers in a high pitched voice that causes you to clench around the thick shaft of his cock set on ruining you, hearing how pathetic you sounded to him only making your cheeks burn with embarrassment.
Taehyun brutes his cock through your tight walls, squeezing him for all he has as his tip prods at the soft lining with dominance, sliding along the gummy warmth to get that jaw-slacking reaction he loves to see screwed all over your face. Eyes rolled to the back of your head, knitted brows and nonsensical rants that stutter out with each grudging stroke of his dick.
Scoffs ring through your ears in contempt as your mind starts to fog and blur between your thoughts. There’s nothing more that you want but to cum on his cock, drool drenching the entire pillow by this point as you let him have his way with you as long as you’re trembling from the mean poke of his blunt cockhead against your cervix by the end of it.
You’re sure he said something, a question or maybe a statement— you couldn’t tell; hopeless in trying to think straight when he’s fucking you so good, when he’s plunging himself constantly, only to tease you when he pulls all the way out until the tip to then slam his cock as deep as he could into your pitiful cunt the next second.
“Not listening are you, baby? I know you’re smart, you can tell me what bond angle a Trigonal Planar has — I read it in your notes earlier,”
But your mind blanks itself, betraying you for pleasure as you try to scavenge through your fragmented memory broken by each propel of his pelvis for the angle. You know what it is— Trigo..no… Pair? Pyramid? You must’ve written it at least a thousand times in your bonding essay you’re sure of it, the answer on your tongue but dies as it rolls off the tip of it, replaced for small whimpers and whines instead.
“Or was that too hard for you hm? Should I go easy on you baby? Wanna tell me what covalent bonding is? Even I know that.” Taehyun groans against your shoulder, licking at the patch of skin and grazing his teeth gently above it as you try to drown out your moans into the pillow.
“S-sharing of…It’s the sharing o-of— a-ah! Did you say covalent b..bonding?”
There was something already humiliating in itself about being a virgin to begin with all those weeks ago. Although being fucked to the point you can’t remember what you’ve dedicated years of your time to studying over your roommate’s best friend’s dick is more than humbling.
“That’s it baby, shit— fucked stupid on my dick like a little cockslut— don’t think you’d remember your name if I bred you with my cum.”
Struggling to find the energy or the brain power to retort to his words, you’re suddenly brought back to a clearer state of mind when you pick up on the sound of the apartment door unlocking, the familiar musicality of Yeonjun’s hums as he steps through the door. Panic and dread run cold through your blood.
“T-Taehyun he’s back and w-we’re in his room!—”
Click!—
Your confusion is evident all over your face as you wait for him to halt his thrusts for even the littlest bit hearing Yeonjun’s footsteps pace around the living room. Except he never stills his movements at all, choosing to start the CD player your roommate treasures with his life, the small static buzz quickly tuning into the loud music both he and Taehyun are fans of. Not that playing music helps to ease your gut at all, because you know Taehyun likes to play dirty, that he’ll make you work for your conscience if you had any left after having sex on Yeonjun’s bed.
“Be a good girl for me and stay quiet hm? You’re the one who doesn’t want him to catch us.” His whispers are less reassuring than daunting as you try to register his hushed words in between your muddled thoughts, heat rising to your lower stomach as you clenched at the thought of being caught.
“Y/N?!! Are you homeee? Thanks for the food!” Your eyes squeeze shut unable to watch as he approaches the handle to the door of his room, his confusion barely audible over the music as he tries to jam the lock open.
“I’m fuck— staying over tonight just give me a sec.” Taehyun amplifies his voice over the CD player, trying to pry off Yeonjun from entering before he faltered in his speech— something you’re directly guilty for since your soaked pussy decided to throb around him with desperation, excited by the idea of him walking in on the lewd show the two of you are putting on.
The disappointed furrow of his brows only makes your stomach flutter as he leans in to lick along your neck, sucking softly to make your shiver but not enough to leave a mark. “And here I thought you didn’t want to get caught. Clenching around my cock like that, I’ll fuck you like the cockwhore you ought to be.”
“—What the fuck man?! I’ve slept on the couch every week that you’re here you fucker!...Whatever, did the virgin tell you where she went?”
Halfway through Yeonjun’s sentence Taehyun starts to fasten his movements, panting and huffing as he roughly fucks into your hole with his index slithering under your stomach to nudge harshly at your clit, circling the sensitive nub as fast as he could as he swiped his fingers along it, groaning as your slick started to splatter and coat his digits in your juices.
“Mmmngh T-tyun!!~” A moan slips from your lips on accident after feeling him rub and press at the perked bud, your eyes blowing wide realising your mistake which you hope was quiet enough to be inaudible over the music. But Taehyun loves it, how you tremble in both excitement and fear at your slight slip-up with adrenaline pumping through both of you. So he makes it a challenge to see how well you could muffle your moans if he kept ramming into the same spongy spot you’re always lolling your tongue out at, if he decided to work on your clit a little faster.
“Hey man? Are you good?”
“— Mffffngh! Hmpgh-ah!, pffwease fffffck!”
“Y-yeah, think she went t-to buy herself another coffee. G-God, she won’t be back for a while—” You can sense him practically grinning ear to ear as he fucks your cunt to the point you couldn’t feel anything but the ache in your core that begs for release, arching your back as subtly as you could to lift your hips so you could feel him slightly deeper.
“—aghmmmf! ‘m so mngh!— closefff!”
“O-oh shit, really? I’m gonna go out for a smoke break then.”
You whimper into the damp cotton of the pillow case snuck between your teeth upon hearing his footsteps start to fade away, and the excessively loud slam of a door in the distance, exhaling in relief before you’re quickly crying out for Taehyun to make you cum on his cock again, nails digging into your clenched fists as you felt your climax approaching.
“T-that’s right baby, cum on my cock f’ being such a good girl for me. Fuckfuckfuck— clench around me like that again angel I’m s-so close.” Taehyun’s stutters start to heighten in sensitivity as he groans from each thrust that prods against the bundle of the nerves against your walls. Where you’re quickly clamping down against each thick vein running down his shaft in response to the one last final drive of his cock through your warm walls, spasming around him as you mewled out his name in the softest way possible.
He's following not too long after, the contractions of your cunt as you pulsed around him sending the male into euphoric bliss as his hips staggered and hastily stressed to pull out just in time to stain your back in sticky streaks of his cum; his release spurted all over your spine in thick loads as he pants heavily, coming down from his high.
“H-hah angel, a-are you okay?” Taehyun rolls you onto your side with gentle fingers brushing away the strands of hair slicked with sweat sticking to your forehead and steamed cheeks where he pecks a small kiss— out of pride or reassurance, or something else you couldn’t quite describe apart from the thump of your hearts before you’re emerging into gentle laughter. “So that’s what prone boning is?”
“More or less so. Wash up with me today, okay?” You heave a sigh as he tightens you in his grasp, wrapping his arms around your waist and toppling you over onto your back so he could rest his cheek against the padded comfort of your chest much to your dismay.
“Stay here with me for a while longer, looked so f’cking pretty whining on my dick—”
“Tyun!! Yeonjun’s got cum stains on the sheets now because you flipped me onto my back! I-I need to go get my glasses before we wash up—” Your very own sexpert finds much amusement in how you scramble in complaint staring at the damp spot of cum now spread along bedsheets you’ll have to clean as well. There’s not much thought in dressing yourself up when no one else is home, choosing to roll your shirt back down as your legs weakly wobbled past the door.
There’s little energy within you to even hoist yourself upright as tenderness started to settle in between your thighs, feeling groggy as you stumbled over to the door of your room which you swing open with blurry eyesight in the hopes of finding your glasses on the floor somewhere without stepping on them.
And although your eyesight isn’t the greatest from a distance, you couldn’t mistake the fact that Yeonjun is sat before your very eyes on the edge of your bed right now. His mouth is slung open in the middle of a moan, which has now converted into speechlessness, as his still fingers wrap your purple bra around his pink-flushed dick having interrupted him from jerking off to it, precum leaking from the tip in mortification of being caught.
“Y-you’re jerking off to my bra?! Aren’t you supposed to be out—?”
“…Woah— I think we should address you being half naked first.”
- This is my first time actually writing full short story scenarios !! and i am so excited to share these with you guys as i’ve been working so hard on these.
-GENRAL CW!!// all strories will contain smut, somewhat crack-fix as it is inspired sabrina carpenters “tears” song, READER IS FEM! all fits will have individual warnings at the start.
- WILL try and have all 5 out by halloween! please give me ideas or what you’d wanna see for the rest ! i love you guys thank you so much for all the support recently !! <3333
“i get wet at the thought of of you”
c.yj : move in day !
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 0 · move in day c.yj · tears. series here !!<3
CW!!// porn with a plot. mentions of emotionally abusive relationships, kinda k
mad psychiatrist 강태현 & fem r ･ (OTHER). dubcon, dddne, smut, bondage, injection drugging, psychological manipulation, classical conditioning, uses orgasms to manipulate her brain, dark themes, stockholm syndrome, mentions of mental illness, incorrect medical information and advice, use of toys f rec, super overstimulation f rec, counting orgasms, dacryphillia, sex dreams, major power imbalance, mentions of being ‘insane’, fake medical practices, kidnapping, panty thief, he’s turned on by scent, dark themes
ash: oh wow.. i like them insane thooo. this is definitely the darkest ive gone but it’s kinktober babes this is the time (＞＜) this is going up unedited so if you see a freakishly ugly sentence no u did not
You sit drumming your fingers on your knees in a rhythm that’s vaguely familiar but unnamable. The restlessness has to have somewhere to go that isn’t just itching beneath your skin. His home office is immaculate and imposing around you, with tall book shelves that boast old leather-bounds and the dark woodgrain desk in front of you. It’s sterile, though. Meticulous and probably not usually put to use like today.
It’s always like this. The crawling, the tightness in the very center of your chest that bullies your lungs into shallow breaths. It’s ironic that even as you sit in this office with the prospect of maybe finally getting to the very root of what all of it is, you’re still afflicted with your anxiety. It’s both something that was always there and something that just one day pulled up a chair and sat down inside of you. But he’ll know what to do with you. The thought sends another pang of it through you.
His nameplate reads Kang on the desk in cold silver. You’ve been tracing the letters’ engravings. Up and down. It uncoils whatever is so convoluted inside of you when you can get lost in it enough. It always comes back, though.
God, you shouldn’t be here. There isn’t anything so wrong with you that it constituted personal appointments. You aren’t crawling up the walls. But when he had suggested you come here with a grim slash to his mouth, you wavered and took the pen and wrote down your availability for him. And you don’t know exactly why beyond the knot in your tummy that you have wanted to reach in and unravel for too far, too long.
The door clicks shut behind you. His approach is a whisper of fabric and dress shoes on the floorboards and then he appears in front of you. The hair on his head hangs a colorless black and sharp in his even sharper eyes. A pair of wireframe glasses sit on a tall nose and they glint in the window’s light. Even though the professional cut of him is not changed, he’s out of uniform. He wears a white dress shirt instead. It doesn’t make him any less a presence.
Dipping his head, he gives you the distant smile of a medical professional and says, “You’re earlier than me. I didn’t mean to make you wait, excuse me for that. But it’s nice that you know how to keep your times in line, right?”
You straighten your posture out. That’s your fault; it felt wrong to be late when he was already making exceptions to get this appointment for you. It’s not something that happens too often, you’re sure. He’s not making money out of it. This is his personal time and his personal estate. Why he’s even doing it at all, you couldn’t imagine. Being on time seemed like the least you could do for the kindness. “Sorry, too early?” you say, wincing.
“No, not at all.” Taehyun sets a metal pen and a patient file down then takes a seat himself. He steers right away from that airy conversation that a doctor usually starts with and into the orders of business. “Get comfortable, I’ll take a look at your file and we can start to discuss what we did last time.” Clean and efficient as he was back in the clinic, only he doesn’t have any patients or other duties to attend to after this. Just you.
You wet your lips and try to breathe out the anxiety that comes. His sleeves are rolled up to mid-forearm as he flips open all the patient data and records that have landed you here, in his office. All of it. The first time a nurse practitioner had taken you out in the hallway to fulfill the private mental health and safety itinerary just for the pediatrician to later come in and discuss their concerns about your answers with your mom, no doubt. Then the years following that you spent lying every time they asked after that, because she had looked at you sideways on the way home. Because when she asked you, with no lack of jeering on her part, why you told them that you felt a level seven for nerves and a eight out of ten for recurring sad thoughts when you weren’t beaten or abused and never had to go without at home, you didn’t have an answer. It was like opening up and examining it all over again. Because what if you are that girl in the hallway of the doctor’s office begging for attention, now just become a girl that’s embellished the state of her mind so much so that she’s made a highly decorated psychiatrist take the time out of his day to treat her?
Eyes narrowed on the print, he finds whatever it was he was looking for in the section that tells about patient measurements. Weight and height and all that stuff, for dosages or whatever a doctor might need from it. He props his elbows on the desk and looks at you over his clasped fists. Those eyes are all-seeing. It sets you squirming in your seat. Just what does he see when he looks at you? What does a man that knows the mind from the inside out think of what you can’t even decipher yourself?
“Have you been feeling the anxiety recently? Do you feel like it’s gotten better or worse?” he starts with. The light coming in from the big, grand window behind him gilds his hair, but the black eats up any color there. Just black.
You think on that. It comes and goes for what seems like no reason at all, just like it always has. “Kinda,” you answer noncommittally.
“Kinda, which?”
Cringing, you settle your hands in your lap and say, “I’ve been feeling it.”
Taehyun nods, resting his chin on his laced fingers to better see you. “There we go. We won’t get anywhere if you aren’t honest with me, but we especially won’t if you hide things from yourself.” He lets that settle for a moment, which it does in a prickle over your skin, and then he continues. “So it’s been aggravated recently, then.”
That’s not exactly what you meant, but you swallow thickly and nod. This isn’t the doctor’s office and your mom isn’t here to be told what you say. He knows what to do. “I don’t know what causes it,” you say, voice coming out meek and embarrassing. It’s you sending out feelers, gauging exactly how much you can say. “Sometimes it’s really nothing. I could just be sitting there and then my chest… tightens up. And it makes it worse, because I can’t not think about it.”
The line of his mouth tightens and his eyes flash like he’s got a catch on the hook, but he nods a slow dip of his head like he’s digesting what you’ve said. Like that incisor brain of his hasn’t already picked your words apart and understood them more than you did when they came out of your mouth, for the part of them that was formed in the brain rather than the throat. He sees your mind for what it is: a machine that operates in systems and fundamental biology. It’s a relief. You’ve become so stuck in it that it has taken its own shape as this big, tangled, dark mass that shifts and bends uncomfortably behind your skull like it doesn’t know what to do with its arms or legs. Like a visitor that’s always there.
“It doesn’t have an exact source,” he says, elaborating on your thoughts for you. The slashing plane of his jawline is highlighted on one side where the light finds it. He’s quite young for a man so venerable in his profession, for the prestige of facility he works for and how the front desk lady had looked at you when you told her you had an appointment with Dr. Kang. Taking a long, measuring breath like he’s deliberating, he continues, “This is why I thought I’d bring you here. It’s hard to prescribe drugs for something that I can’t fully understand and just throw them at you when it’s not clear what, exactly, is the root of it. I’m not going to do that to you. Antidepressants aren’t something to be administered too loosely.”
Your stomach sinks a little bit, the old familiar dread of not being listened to settling in it. There was a hope when you came here that he’d write you out a prescription and it would be an end-all-be-all. It’d rip the problem right out. Does even he think you’re bolstering the problem? Does he think you’ve overdramatized it like everybody else has? He’s a psychiatrist, administering drugs is what he’s supposed to do. He was supposed to be the one who would fix it.
“Is the medication bad?’
“No,” he simply says. He regards you with cold, steel eyes like he’s finding a loose thread to pull, and you’re sure there are many. “There is a place for it. I’m not saying that. I just want to make sure I understand the full scope before anything. And I don’t.”
A silence hangs, too long and too empty for you. Your fingers start again. It’s some song that you must’ve heard on the way but didn’t really listen to.
“Your mind is fascinating.” The set of his face doesn’t communicate the notion, but he doesn’t seem like the type of man to fabricate words like that. “There are a lot of other professionals that might have just given you something to try out and sent you on your way, but I believe there’s still a lot to be seen about what’s going on. What’s behind it.”
An unease worms up your spine and it wiggles between the worries you had already walked in here gnawing over. “Something’s wrong with me?” you ask, but the real question lies in the tone that you do. Can you help?
“I need to understand what sets you off,” he elaborates. It’s a careful, intentional choice of words. “And to see how your psychology reacts to stimuli. It’s the only way I can accurately treat it. Which brings me to why I wanted to see you here.” Leaning forward, the space between you shortens. He fills it with the motion. It keeps your mind from running off with the nerves that your racing heart asks it to. “There’s an advantage to inpatient treatment. It means that I get to see your behaviors closer up, without the pressure of examination making you too conscious of them.”
“Inpatient?” you echo, the numbness to your lips not sudden but an inevitability of the anxiety that’s been mounting the moment you woke up this morning and fought the urge to ghost the appointment. Because you knew that you might hear something like this, something that meant you were wrong in some sort of way. “Is it that bad?”
A grim, dry thing twitches on his mouth, like that was exactly the question he was expecting from you. It’s tinder to your burgeoning insecurity. Everything you do, he expects, and what does that say about you? “It’s something to be looked into.” It’s a distinct sidestep around your words. Dread solidifies coldly in your stomach.
Those eyes pin you, the same way they had back in the clinic when he had suggested an out-of-office meeting. He’s looking at you and wondering what state you’re in, if the silence is the hand of your anxiety snatching away a resounding yes, which would be the answer that he knows would be best for you. He’s looking at you and he’s seeing a girl whose mind is sabotaging her wellbeing. It’s what made you sign that paper back then, but it’s what makes you wish you were back home instead right now.
“When?” you ask. “I should probably go and pack up some stuff before heading to the clinic.” It’s an escapee’s answer that alludes to the idea that you have every intention of going through with it, but getting home would be the end of it. Inpatient? That makes no sense. It’s not something that sounds right.
Once again, his clinical black eyes pierce through your skin and then he’s right to the muscle of the matter. Like he sees the sham for what it is. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, closing the patient file and standing to his full height. “I’ll provide everything you need here.”
†
Taehyun doesn’t come to you room much. It’s not like you expected him to come hang out with you or anything; that’s not why you’re here. You’re not a guest, he is not a man you know. You are a patient that he dips in to check on. That’s nothing you can’t realize.
The walls are ornate and simple both. They’re all you have to look at. Your dinner comes to you on a filigree silver tray—a cup of water and pure nutrition. That’s all it took for you to know that the bathroom was connected to your room for a reason, and you weren’t supposed to be out walking those halls. You don’t intend to, either. This place isn’t a home, even if he lives in it. It’s quiet at all hours. The only other thing alive in it is him, the rest of its residents come in the form of the perennial leather chesterfield seat that faces your bed and fancy-footed side tables.
Strangely, you find yourself dreading his sparse appearances. The whole place makes you sick, and he comes with it. You miss home and the luxury of fighting down anxiety in your own bed. It hasn’t gone away, you just are forced to handle it in a place that is foreign and stale and lonelier. Why don’t you just tell him that? It’s up to you to call this quits any time.
When he pokes in, the words get caught up in your throat. It never happens. The thought of saying it the next time he does punches you right in the chest. You can’t name for yourself why you think he’ll be angry at you if you did.
The windowsill is cold and damp as you halfway sit on the ledge. It’s not particularly warm in here—in fact, it’s always the same temperature—but the air of chill that it emanates says that it’s warmer than it is out there. You take your fingers up and down the white frames, through the condensation. How long you’ve been here, you couldn’t tell. The first day you had a pretty good idea of the time, but it’s started to bleed. A while; that is pretty much all you could say.
“Are you feeling anxious today?” Taehyun says from behind you. His voice startles you. Your shoulders go rigid before you whip your head around to find him leaned back against the door with his arms crossed. The muscles of his forearms are corded and pale.
Your tummy whirls. “I don’t know.” Rooted in place, you at the very least straighten out your lean from the window sill. Something feels new about this time, and you don’t quite like new. Especially not here, where it surrounds you on all fronts. The walls. The smell of the bed.
He observes you a moment, then the line of his lips tenses in a way that suggests that the answer had told him more than you could know. Sighing, he says, “I told you about being truthful with me.” There’s no malice in the way he says it, but there’s a bluntness that feels like the cold steel that medical equipment is made out of.
Aren’t you? That’s the truth. You don’t know what to make of anything right now, and that especially includes him. But it’s not what he sees, so what does it matter?
“If you don’t speak to me, I can’t know what the problem is.” He unfurls his arms from his chest. Black gloves have been tugged over his hands, medical grade it looks like. That’s new. That’s different. “And you’re making this difficult for me, but it’s really in the end hurting you.”
“I’m sorry,” you say, eyeing those gloves.
Quick to see how you’ve pulled back, he tracks another way. “Take a seat on the best,” he says, “I’ll be right back.”
That, coupled with this new energy, makes you want to do exactly anything but that. But the way he had looked at you a moment ago, with veiled disappointment, makes you do it. Like he looks at you and pities you.
The bedding is plush and made of fine fabrics, clearly never touched or used before yourself. The garish floral pattern belongs exactly in a place like this. He’s gone for only a minute before he returns back through the door and shuts it behind him with a resounding catch of the handle.
In his hands, he had a tray. It doesn’t hold a tasteless dinner of steak and potatoes, which you would pick at for an hour until you had finally gotten it all down. A syringe, a glass bottle holding a clear, thin liquid, and bandages sit in place of it. Stomach turning upside down and a cold front starting in your toes and making its way up through your spine, you flinch.
All you see is the blurring around the corners of your vision. No, not that. The last time you had been poked by a needle you slumped over on the nurse. Acid climbs up your chest and you shake your head. You can’t wonder about why you would need to be injected with anything when a week ago he had said he didn’t want to medicate you, but the thought is there for the briefest moment before it’s overshadowed by ice sludge in your veins.
“It looks scary,” Taehyun says, setting them down on the bed in front of you as he takes a seat. “But it’s going to be good for you. Focus on that.”
In a subtle way, your body bends away from him. You don’t crawl away or kick or scream. This is bone-deep, the presence of him and that needle point so close. Too close. Closing in on you with the intention to stick you, claustrophobia comes with him. All you need is that thing away from you.
The blood’s drained from your face and he sees it. Taking the vial, he sticks the end of the needle through the cap and focuses on the milligram lines as he draws the liquid up. “You’re afraid of needles,” he observes, keen mind still at work even with another task at hand. He doesn’t elaborate or comfort any further. Satisfied, he sets the vial aside too fast for you to read the label. It’s not like you’d recognize any scientific drug names. Is that needle pinch the scariest thing going into your body?
“Wait,” you say, constricted lungs making the word tight and breathless and urgent, panic swelling as he flicks out the bubbles. In a way, it’s humiliating. This panicking. It’s an obstacle for him, another thing he has to deal with because of you. That simple embarrassment of being a grown up that wails and fights the doctor on a needle like a kid.
No trace of irritation appears on his face, though. He’s calm, purposeful resolve. Clinical like the needle he takes up after a quick alcohol wipe, freezing like the fingers he uses to push up the puffy shoulder sleeve plain, shapeless cotton shift he’s provided for you—each fresh one appearing folded at the foot of your bed when you came out of a steaming shower, which meant to some degree he keeps more of an eye on you than you would like to address—and the same ones he wraps around the meat of your upper arm.
“Just a pinch,” he preludes. It’s distant with the focus of getting this over with, and that’s what brings all that building terror to a point. A dizzying one.
The pressure gives way to the cold bite into your muscle. It’s uncomfortable, body locking up, but it’s also anti-climactic like it always is. You work it up bigger in your head. His fingers almost hurt more, holding you still like iron. The injection comes with a press of his thumb and then it’s out of your arm just like that.
For the briefest moment, he tilts your chin up and checks your eyes, your state. You stare dumbly up at him, still buzzing. The meeting of your eyes is oddly weighted and weightless. A necessity and something else that is impossible to read on him. He plasters a bandaid to the aching injection site, peels his gloves off with composure, gathers up the things, and says, “Take it easy for a while. I’ll be back in to check on you, but you’ll need some rest.” With that said, he disappears back through the door. Done. Whatever that was for, he was in then out and gone again.
Although the worst of it was indubitably over, the tangible fear of needles and pain, something else remained. Something in your body that seeped into places that it shouldn’t, and you think you felt it make its way through you. You think. Something tugs you under too quickly to fully concern yourself with it.
There was no seeing him that night. Not that you are aware of. The next fragile pieces of consciousness come to you too many days later, where the only way you could tell that so much time had passed was that the walls had whispered it to you.
†
The next time the needle comes, you know to fear it. Doses are good for you. It’s making you better. The shaking has stopped. But you hate the fog and the distance of your brain, how you couldn’t realize how far away you had gotten from yourself until it eventually was time for another. You hate it so much.
With your cheeks pink and your lashes heavy, you look up at Taehyun, who presides over your bedside. He sighs and brushes hair back out of your face. It makes your head more floaty, the image of him more clear and obscure both. He comes and he goes and it always seems like he’d only just left before he’s stepping into your rooms again.
“Are you feeling better today?” he asks. It’s a ratifying question, one that inevitably leads to his eyes going harrowed like your state is personally weighing on him. Like pity, the more you lie to him and the worse you get. He’s trying his best and you’re still falling apart in his hands. But you’re not too far to save. You swear you’re not. The image of him blurs around the edges before you blink it back to sharpness. Soon enough, the tired will come like it always has to, and you’ll fight it all the way until it’s won.
He knows that it’s hard for you to speak in this state; with the drug working its way through your system. The process has gotten slower, but it’s mostly unchanged. He says that it’s good you’re not building a tolerance to it as he wears that blankness that makes it hard to understand anything he really says when it’s been getting harder to fully grasp words. So he takes mercy on you and says, “Your dosage might need to be adjusted. It’s working through you right now, I can see it. But you’ve been doing worse between injections.”
The pad of his thumb, cold, always cold, over the curve of your cheek makes you shudder. When he touches you, the softness of your skin feels dirty. You want to scrub him off you, sometimes. Especially when he touches you with those awful leather gloves. Something passes over his eyes. Something that you’ve come to know through cloudy pieces of memories to be frustration. It’s there when you flinch away from the needle, and it’s here now as he knows with a certainty that you’ve begun associating those bad memories with him. Himself, his touch, the cold, his scent, all that exists between fading consciousness is him and the absence of him.
“If it’s not getting better by your next treatment, we’ll have to find something that’ll help, or we’ll have to up it.” He takes his hand off you and straightens up as he administers the bad news. There’s some part of you, the part that’s slowly going, that imagines that’s intentional. Taehyun is nothing but intentional. There’s no part of your mind that you can go to escape him in, because he already knows the way around and exactly how to pull it right open.
But you feel like you’re getting better. You do. Mouth like cotton, you speak. It comes out hoarse with misuse. “No,” you say, “I’m better.”
Pity. That’s what grates you from behind his glass lenses. “When you lie to me like that, it tells me what I need to know.” The thread of softness, or what sounds like it when his words otherwise come out flat and dead, is a suture knot. The words are exactly what you don’t want to hear. They make your skin crawl. But you lean into it. As fleeting as it is, it’s a gentle soothing hand over the frayed nerves that you are.
Dipping your head, you wish away a rolling wave of nausea. Hair obscures your face. You don’t want him upset with you.
“Look at me.”
The warping of the walls does not ebb, and neither does the slow simmer so hot beneath your skin. It takes everything you have. So he lifts your chin, manicured hand soft but still rougher by all measures than the skin there. You’re barely looking at him, pupils blown wide and the edges of him blurry, but his jaw flickers. “I’m not angry. But hiding things from me, it’s not going to happen anymore. I’ll be forced to intensify your treatment. The worse you’ve gotten, the more you’ve been lying. Do you understand why I’m telling you this?”
Nodding is all you can do. The warping is worse. Crawling around the edges of your vision like colors that are only there if you don’t look for them. It’s so hot.
“Would you like me to read for you?” he asks.
You would. Going dark and watching the pale walls weep is scary alone. He’s never stayed with you for it before. With your nod, he scours the shelves for a moment and takes a seat in the hard leather of the chair. It’s dark out, which is a strange comfort because he always looks less sharp without the cut of light over his skin. The spin cracks open to a random page out of hundreds.
What should be pretty words come out flat. He begins, and it’s like a methodical lack of allegory more than poetry. But it’s words that keep you grounded in reality, and for that they’re warm. They keep away the pull for longer.
Slow blinking comes as much as you don’t want it to. You shift against your pillow and insist on looking at him, only him. Not the perversions of reality that exist beyond his silhouette. The stuff that appears and reminds you why you’re here and that he has to treat you. That you’re sick.
You hang on to it for as long as you can. His speaking becomes a kindness, and your teeth ache for those. You take the silver of his voice and you solidify it in the center of you where a blue and yellow bruise exists. It’s something real, at bare minimum, as reality becomes something you can’t trust.
†
His mouth, his hands, they’re all over you. They cut and bite marks that go from red to a week-old brown too fast. But when his eyes come to yours for what begging words you wanted to say but couldn’t actually make, there’s not the heat of lust.
The words come from something that isn’t actually sound. It’s an amalgamation of the man that ruts in between your thighs, of all the things he is. You choke and you moan, knuckles white all twisted in his dress shirt. It’s not as it usually is, starched and immaculately ironed to the seam. The buttons are down, showing the pale brawn of his chest in a state of dishevelment that was distinctly not him. “Open your eyes,” he husks in your ear.
Your eyes open when you were sure they already were open, and then you’re seeing him on top of you from an outsider’s perspective. Looking down on the two of your rutting bodies. It looks like he could love you, the way that he’s shuddering and keeping himself together at the seams by staying right in your face. That tall nose, glasses slipping, brushes yours.
Here, it’s not a melt like the way things are after an injection. When you focus on something, it sharpens into a clarity before returning to fuzzy obscurity and you are tugged back to the scene of lust on the bed. It’s so obscene it seems wrong to be looking, even if it’s your body that writhes beneath his. “Please don’t go,” you say. The sound doesn’t actually happen, but Taehyun hears it.
“That better be the truth,” he says, a distortion of words that are blindingly familiar. But the you beneath him on the bed chases the sex without end. Your skin burns. “You better not be lying to me.”
†
As always, it’s time for the shot.
“Don’t touch me,” you say, a violent growl that comes from an animal backed into a corner. Taehyun pauses, the sterile scent of alcohol that both seemed to cling to his skin and also came up from the wipe he’s prepping your arm with. That spot is not so sore as has become customary; it’s been longer from your last dose than you usually go.
When he came in and set up and prepped that needle, you had not freaked out. You watched him. The dissonance has him narrowing his eyes at you. It’s a sudden outburst. Especially when you haven’t panicked over the needle in a long time. You can see the scientific mechanics working behind his eyes.
He asks, “Are you feeling bad today?”
You hate that question. You have come to hate it with the power of something in you that’s too big to try and understand. It’s bigger than you, who has become so small. “No,” you say, lip trembling. “You touched me. We… I remember it. Get away from me.” You want to scrub it all off until your skin goes red. More than that—you want to scrub off the fact that it’s something you had conjured. Or it wasn’t, and it was real. Both possibilities bounce off the walls of your skull. Maybe scrubbing yourself would reveal which, too.
There’s a break in the clouds. A moment where the sun is able to come through the heavy overcast, and you realize how different your voice sounds. Strangled and raw and brittle, yes. But also insane. You sound cracked open, exactly like somebody who needs intense, invasive treatment.
For the first time since you have known him, Taehyun looks genuinely taken aback. His brows shoot up over his frames. And then it hardens into concrete like it always does when he’s decided to capitalize on the tattered edges of you. The silence goes sterile like everything around you is. “We what?” he says. “You remember what?” They’re diagnostic questions.
There it is. That look he gets when he thinks your mental state is corroded. Pity, rather. It makes you so angry that your eyes burn with tears like a self-fulfilled prophecy. Everything you say and do just proves him right. Second guessing yourself, you speak less sure of yourself than you began. “In bed, this one. You..” Unable to finish that thought, you swallow it down. Because it sounds as crazy to your ears as it really is. “I saw it, I swear I did. You believe me, right?” The fight in your shoulders deflates. “Please. I’m not lying.”
Another moment stretches its ugly self out between you. It reflects your own words back at you and forces you to hear them. You cringe from inside your skin. And then he says, “This is worrying behavior.”
“No,” you say, fingers curling into the duvet so hard it aches. You have to let go to cover the sound that comes from your chest. “I’m not crazy. I’m telling you the truth. I think it was a dream.”
Something’s running wild behind the black of his eyes. It’s so perfectly shrouded that you wouldn’t be able to see it if he weren’t the only tether to reality you’ve had for so long. In a void, though, even a mote of dust is significant. “You’re dreaming of things and confusing them with reality, or it’s something you genuinely believe happened. Either way, distortion of reality is a symptom of a larger issue.” Like signing off his signature on a prescription document, his lips purse with a finality you know you can’t escape. Because he is the one who knows what’s wrong with you, and he has been right about it all the whole time. “I appreciate you being honest with me. We’re going to find a way to mitigate this, alright? I’ll be back later, I have a run to make to my office at the clinic. Get some rest until then.”
The dose, the one you spooked away by acting even crazier, doesn’t come by the usual time of midday, and then not even when night rolls in. You find yourself wishing it had.
†
The rest of Taehyun’s grand home is nothing like the basement. The basement is cold, dank, and it smells of stale mildew walls. The concrete is so cold, and you haven’t gone numb to it no matter how long you’ve been here. All it has done is go bone-deep.
More than anything, your wrists hurt. They ache so badly that as much as you want to move because your spine hurts or your hips do from sitting, you don’t. Any movement is four minutes of shaking as you try and stay absolutely still. Eventually, it goes away.
You should have never said anything. Shivering at the realization you’ve turned over a hundred times since he put you down here, you just wish you hadn’t. All it did was upset him and land you here. It’s a stone-cold truth almost as biting as the floor beneath your bare thighs. And you’ve only had time to think. The fuzz of the injection was not as bad as this. Will he ever let you back up into the room? You’ll take the needle. You’ll take the needle a thousand times.
Some clarity has returned to you with space away from your treatment. The memory of what you had said is a tight, queasy knot in your stomach. You told him that you had a haze-induced sex dream about him. You only get weirder and more grotesque with time. It’s dirty, what your mind made up. The look in his eyes, burned into the back of your eyelids, when you had said it…
A sound breaks you out of a trance that you’ve been in so long that it’s jarring. Infinitely loud. It’s been just the sound of your breathing for how long? The last time you heard the sound of that door was the last time you saw him. Each step of his oxfords down the staircase that leads down into the basement, you hang onto. Straightening up against the concrete wall, your heart jumps to life.
Taehyun catalogues your state briefly. “Are those bothering you?” he says. The sound of his voice settles in a film over you. A soothing balm for how frazzled you must visibly be. He doesn’t have to elaborate for you to know what he means.
“Yes,” you say, wetting chapped lips. “I’m so thirsty.”
Crouching down in front of you, he produces a tin from his pocket. A shudder rips through you. The tin opens to a pasty salve that reeks of bitumen ointment. It’s an ugly ochre, but comes off clear as he rubs it into his fingers. “I thought so. I’m sorry,” he says, working on the ropes with his free hand. “I brought this for you. It should help some, and we’ll get you some water.”
The coarse scrap of the rope coming away seizes your muscles, a fresh new wave of rawness shooting up your arms. Hissing, your head hits the concrete behind you. Now that the dank basement air is on the skin, it’s like they’re new. And the muscles of your shoulderblades twist, finally able to revolt against the position that your wrists bound behind you forced them into.
He curses. Taking your hands, he turns your hands over to see the extent of the irritation. Smoothing the ointment over your tender, rope-burned wrists is searing, but it’s a necessary evil. Even as your tummy twists up and you bite sounds down, you lean into the palm he checks your temperature with.
Croaking, you make sure to tell him what you’ve been sitting here wishing you could. “I feel better,” you say. “I think I’m ready for my treatment again. I didn’t have any dreams.”
A moment lasts too long in the wake of that, where he looks up from your wrists that he tends to search your face with diagnostic weight. There’s something there that makes your stomach flutter. He liked that. You want to tell him more things that make him look at you like that.
“That’s good.” He blows cool air over the coating of the salve the way somebody might wash a dish off before they use it. A creeping, hair-raising tremble wracks you. “I worry about bringing you back to a situation that was inflaming the issue when this one seems to be good for you.”
No. Being here has let you breathe, as damp and rusted as it is. But you couldn’t last another minute here. The thought makes you want to cry and grovel. That was what landed you here, though. So you rearrange your words, still wobbly but much more palatable. Something that he will also like. “I don’t like being down here. I just wanted you to come down, I feel better now that you’re here.”
Something flips in him. It’s not in the fact that you’re doing better, but that tidbit of information that he had been looking for. Searching your gaze for a moment, it seems as though he’s debating.
Your heart gives a painful throb, because that’s infinitely better than anything you’ve ever gotten from him. It’s not cold medical steel, it’s not hollow pity. It’s something else. You want to hoard it and also whatever it is that you did to yourself just so you can keep it always like this. And maybe if you did, you’d get better too.
“Let me go get you something to drink. Your lips are chapped.” He rakes his fingers through your scalp, tidying the mess that your hair has become. Closer than he’s ever been, there’s no noises to bounce off the concrete other than the drag of air he takes in. His nostrils flare like he’s caught a scent and a muscle feathering in the line of his impeccable jaw tells you that he has. A twitch to the corner of his lip and the creak of him clenching his fingers and then expelling it with a flex of them is how he shakes it off. “I’m proud of you,” he says, a veneer for something else he means. “Look at what happens when you’re not on your treatment. You don’t want it to happen again, right?”
I’m proud of you, he said. What a tender ache that it leaves you. You nod your head, trying to hang on to his eyes as he heads back up those stairs, and you pray that you haven’t lied to him this time. Because he will know, he will always know. Before even you. Better than you.
†
When you know what it is to be in that basement, what the strain of ropes around your wrists feels like, and the starvation of where the mind goes in a place like that, you come to appreciate what you have in a room. Where that place was necessary and spotted with rust, this place is where you want to be. Wrapped up in your blankets is where you want to stay, even if it’s a long, shapeless blur of days spent in bed and bird watching out the window. If you’ve gotten good once, then you can stay like this. You have to.
After Taehyun comes and gives you your shot, he checks on your wrists. The tenderness is still irritating when it brushes the sheets, but through the bandages he wrapped you in, it’s better. You are better, and the more space between you and the basement the better too. With some delicate cleaning by cotton swab and fresh wraps every day, the burn goes away. All that’s left is the ache.
He’s not home today. Outside of treating you, he is still a man with a demanding career and other patients to see to. None like you, though. And that’s a strange comfort. You wash yourself up, float around your room like a wraith, daydream in bed about things you want to tell him to please him but are too scared to commit to. The antique luxury of the room didn’t appeal to you before, but you at some point have come to know the shape of every flower in the comforter, the corners where the dust builds heavier, and all the books on the shelves. Especially the one he had read to you once. You relive it through his voice every time you pick it up and crack it open, sprawled out on your tummy.
Sitting with your knees drawn to your chest, you’ve exhausted all of those things. Sometimes you wonder if it’s all just stircraziness. Like a zoo animal that paces the lengths of its cage so much that it no longer sees the fake, plastic habitat around them. You’ve done plenty of that: pacing. Today you had made your bones tired with it. Each time you crossed back to the opposite side of the room, you turned over the words he had told you those days ago when you were getting your most recent dose. That you’re free to explore outside of your room if it pleases you.
You know he means it; you’ve proven to him that you’re in a state that you can. No matter what, though, you can’t trust it. Some part of you insists that he’ll be mad. Especially when you’ve gotten to a place where you’ve pleased him, surprised him. The depth of his trust seems too shallow and delicate to test.
Then so many hours pass and still, he hasn’t come home. Or at least he hasn’t dipped in to check you. A deeply unsettling thing worms through your brain. He’s never been so late. Should you go see if he’s okay? Or at least wander while he’s not here? You play with the notion until it makes you too sick to be still.
Opening the door yourself is what you start with. It feels big. Leaving this place at your own volition didn’t ever come up as a possibility. You haven’t considered it in a long, long time. Wandering down the halls with the cold floorboards at your feet and your fingers feeling the panelling of the pale walls as you pass, you believe in your gut at every step that this is wrong. You itch to go back to your room. But the long halls are harrowingly unfamiliar for a place you think you’ve spent so long residing inside the walls of. Taehyun is a simple man. The lack of decor doesn’t surprise you. Staleness in the air mingles with the utter lack of anything much at all speaks to what a home that a man who dedicates his life to nothing further than his science would look like. Forgotten. Lacking any true signs of life.
When the light of your room stops being able to illuminate the way for you, a voice startles you. It’s the only other living thing in these walls. Spinning on your heel, Taehyun watches you. “You’re up,” he observes.
A shallow nod is all you answer him with. That wrongness you had shoved down comes back with a vengeance. You’re braced for another trip to the basement.
“Is there something you need?” He’s still in his work clothes, his shirt askew with pulling off a tie and sleeves half-rolled the way he likes them.
You simply say, “You were gone, I…” Wanted to see where you were, it should go. The words tangle up and you can’t push them through.
Taehyun’s eyes cut from your silhouette to your mouth to your eyes. There’s a suffocating beat of silence in which you know for a fact he’s realizing what you meant. That the absence of his regularly scheduled visits bugged you, and that’s why you went out looking. Satisfaction washes over his features, made stark in the dim grey light. “There was a callout and I had to cover my colleague’s appointments for the day. How is your head feeling? Still feeling dizzy like you told me?”
Why does that send a twinge of panic through you? The thought of him treating anybody else. He doesn’t read to them, though. He doesn’t bring them to his home. “Not too much,” you tell him, “it’s started to go away.” The last dose was rough. It hit you just like the first one, so hard you woke up with an aching body with a brain fog in the same fashion and all. He had told you it’s because you lost your tolerance to it.
That tidbit reminds him of something. Rolling his sleeves up tighter, he says, “Head back to your room. I have something to grab. We’re going to run a few tests that I’ve been needing to do on you.”
A few tests… The last time you heard that, he came in and checked your eyes with a flashlight. He’s always got tests to run, but the way he says it this time. It’s different. It’s different in a way that forces you to fiddle with your fingers to fight down creeping anxiety as you do go wandering back. You don’t feel that anymore, the anxiety. You shouldn’t. He’d be upset if he knew. So you stave the nervous habit for fear that he might be watching you go and seeing it.
You wait on your bed, perfectly crisscrossed in a way that keeps your sleep dress proper on your thighs. Should you go get washed up? Should you count the seconds on your fingers? How long will he take?
He comes in carrying a tray of things like he always does. These things, though, that sit on the tray, freeze you and your ricocheting thoughts right over. Ropes. All you see are ropes. The panic surmounts you.
“What did I do?” you say, hands beginning to shake. Was it leaving your room? But he told you that you could? You don’t want to go back. The pink bracelets around your wrist have just faded so that all that’s left is the proof that it happened. And it’s proof enough for you.
Sighing, Taehyun sets it on the white oat desk beside the bed. “You haven’t done anything.” There’s rope and a softer strip of cotton fabric and then another thing beside them, too. A sleek wand vibrator with a fat rubber head. Your heart jumps up into your throat and chokes you. “I told you that there are some tests I need to run. There are some things that can only be observed when the brain is in a certain state. I need to see how you react under different stimuli,” he says. “Especially you. Especially considering how far you’ve come. You trust me?”
You take a moment to think about that. Do you trust him? It was so bad, for a while there. You existed in a state of bits of hazy consciousness. But he pulled you out of it, even if it hurt. If anything spoke to how well he knew what it took, it was that. “I do,” you breathe, skin clammy.
So much so that you mute your instincts as he unspools the rope that you still remember the dig of. Even as the hair on your arms stands at attention at the innate wrongness in the way he slides your panties down your legs, thumbing the fabric before it disappears into his pocket, and then secures your thighs open with the rope. It constricts you, cutting dents into the doughy fat there and keeping your calves sealed airtight to the backs of your thighs, where a loop around your ankles assures it. You wince when he binds your wrists to the heavy wood of the headboard, but the cotton isn’t like rope. Trying your wrists against it and the impossibility of the rope tie. It doesn’t budge. It won’t. A chill, innate and built into your DNA, explodes out from your center. Whatever Taehyun decides he is about to do to you, there’ll be no running from it.
“These ropes won’t hurt you.” He tugs a knot tighter, impossibly so, until it almost is just too tight. The air on your center, which you are painfully aware is exposed and no amount of trying to shy from it can you do when your thighs are wrapped in binds, is the start of a slow burn. He hasn’t even taken a glance yet and it sets you off kilter. “They’re there so I can get what I need from this. Do you understand?”
That clinical, doctor’s voice rears something in you. Because how can he be so clinical when you are so mortified? When the brush of his bare fingers, without the gloves that he insisted on touching you with otherwise, is enough to send static electricity up through your nervous system?
“You know better than to not answer me,” he says. The vibrator is a lewd thing in his sterile hands. You know he’ll find the answers in this. He’ll peel apart your brain and get to the center of it. Guilt gnaws at you for the way your hands tremble. He’s always found the answer, and you’ve doubted him before.
“Yes, I understand.” Your head cannot keep up with that train of thought. It lags and derails, so now all you are aware of is how, with that out of the way, Taehyun kicks on the tool of choice today.
It is not a syringe. It is not the walls of a basement. It’s the weight of your own mind and a device for pleasure that you could never have imagined watching him take up in his hand. It’s incongruent with the image of the man you’ve come to understand that he is; so disconnected from something like the basal thing that is sex that it’s almost the part that makes the nature of it so heart-stopping. Because he is a man that understands, better than any other man you think could, exactly where your mind will go when he puts that thing to you. What the mind wants and needs as he does it, too.
The first contact comes with a strike of lightning straight through you. It burns your nerves right up. Your entire body bends away from it, wrists raging against their cotton prison which only does it up tighter, back bowing off the bed before arcing the opposite way as you dig your spine back into it. Anything to get away from it—the too much.
There was no working you up with slow touches. Not with him. He watches as you scrabble and reel against your body and he knows that it’s a hard start. But that’s exactly what he needs from you. The way the world warps and rolls out like film around you, you know what it is beyond the vicious buzzing right up against your clit. This is another dose. This is breaking your mind down to its most basic pieces, inserting his presence when you are most simple, and then stitching it back up in a brand new shape that isn’t yours. It’s his. This is a man of psychiatry.
Sobbing hoarsely, your thighs jerk though they don’t have much else to go than against the nip of the rope. Your toes wiggle and it’s not enough to exorcise the knot in your tummy and the excess of the buzz that seizes everywhere else in you.
“It’s too much,” you choke. A new angle of that rubber head against your anatomy breaks the sentence. Right up into the very underside of your clit, where the vibrator’s wrath is even more terrible. You never get to the other words you want to say.
Taehyun echoes you, fascination gleaming in the light of his glasses. “Too much? You always say your treatment is too much.” He goes for loose circles, and you didn’t know the attention of that thing could get any more prevalent. The sound you make proves otherwise. “I could stop. We could come back later. Is that what you want?” Like everything, the questions come out clinical. It’s not different from the way he asks about your anxiety levels for the day, how the soreness in your bicep has progressed, if you have anything you need to tell him. As if your body is not writhing and bucking at the greed of his touch. As if you can even think to answer them.
With the deep tightening in your belly, there’s nothing more that you want than to make it go away. If it’s going to be by stopping it or working it out, you know, by the wild beating of your heart against your ribcage, which it’ll be. Tears burn a delicate path down your temples, into the mess of hair there, as you sob for him a definitive, “No.”
So he gets to work. His fingers are ice cold, the scent of him clean but understatedly male, as he presses a palm to the soft bit of body beneath your navel. And he holds you to it.
The first orgasm shakes the foundations of your frame. You can’t clamp your thighs around his wrist or dig crescents into it, but you try to. The ropes tighten sharply against your attempts, your nails biting into your own wrists. Everything closes up in white heat except for the point of contact where he keeps that tool pressed between your thighs and the snap deep in your belly.
“There,” he says. The muscle in his forearm strains as he pins you down into the mattress harder and he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even want you to breathe. “Open your eyes and look at me.”
No part of you wants to do that. No part of you has the strength to. But it’s the vivid memory of those words that you remember once in a dream, born of your sorry delusions, that lends you the strength to do it. Your eyes, sealed tight to fight the frantic realization that he’s not stopping down, pop open.
Two of his buttons are undone. On the expanse of chest that it droops and exposes, there’s a freckle right over his sternum where it begins to give way to his chest. That’s something that didn’t exist in the state of your dream, something that interrupts his pale, unmarred skin. It makes him human, makes this all the more haze-inducing. “Good,” he says, noting how the cotton digs into your wrists the more you tug and fail at grabbing him. “I have a lot I want to see in you. Do you like it like this?” Taking the wand for a trip down your cunt, he lets it reverberate through you. Only for a moment, though. Then it’s back on your swollen clit. You want to escape from your body, just to breathe, just for a moment. But Taehyun has plans of unmaking you. “Your body gets very wet. It’s an interesting look into what’s going on up there, isn’t it? It’s funny. I know exactly what’s going through your mind, all those chemicals…” Hair a mess with digging your skull back into the pillows, he reaches out and fixes it for you. A touch like that should be tender, but not with him. He just wants to see right through to your brain better.
This second orgasm tears right through you. It starts in your belly again, but it is so much bigger. It takes control of you, in your chest and your brain and all the way down your thighs to the curl of your toes. How you shake and the sounds that you make, you don’t know. They don’t reach you. All you know is feel; how the whimpers feel coming out of your throat, how the shakes feel as the buzz just never stops and it’s clear that one is not enough. Two is not enough. He is going to keep going. “Oh my god,” you sob, head on a wavelength apart. “Oh, god.”
Taking his hand, he cools the radiating under the soft skin of your cheek. Now more than ever it’s apparent just how cold he is. It’s something that at last, finally, cuts through the overwhelming sensation of hurtling toward another immense peak. Him. And that’s what he wants—to be, in a sea of nothing, the only thing that you notice. The only thing you can latch on to. There was nothing Taehyun ever did that was not with intention down to the very core.
“I like those sounds.” Another peak comes, quicker than the others. The feelings compound with each until now it seems like you’re already on to the next before this one is even over, tummy tightening. “Three,” he announces, eyes roving over the wreckage of you all dark and like steel. A tally, for what? Is he keeping track of how many times he can make you go over? Seeing where the boundaries of your mind sit? You fear that the truth of the matter will disappoint him. Those edges are so much closer now than he might think. The notion that he even intends to go for more sends cold dread twisting up with the carnage in your system. Your eyes burn hot, your lungs even more. You cannot get enough air to help the starvation of oxygen. “Did you know that the sounds you make are a social performance? It’s your brain, telling me not to stop. That you like what he’s doing and you want more of it. To encourage him,” Taehyun says, the scientific fascination behind his devouring gaze the only thing he wears on his face. It’s stone, otherwise. “But I don’t think that’s what this is. Because overwhelming stimuli does almost exactly the same.” A corner of his sharp mouth twitches.
You answer him with the same sounds he picks apart and lays out on the examination table as a trait of basic human biology. The part of you that is just an animal with one simple need. You don’t care what they are; only that you can’t keep them in your chest no matter how hard you try. And maybe he’s right in that—the fact that no part of this is performance.
Taehyun bends down in front of your face, which is thrown to one side as you try to examine every feature of the wallpaper as if you could ignore the forever buzzing against your poor clit. He doesn’t even move it anymore, he gets it right where he wants it and it’s going to stay there now. A few times he has to readjust it because you’re so slick that it slips, but it stays. Even that momentary respite is heaven and pearly gates. His fingers squish the roaring pink of your cheeks as he turns your blown eyes on him. “Four. Do you even understand how much is going on inside of you right now?” he says. His hand, wrapped around it, must be as numb from the insistent purr of the vibe as much as your cunt is. One sensation blurs into another. Refractory periods don’t exist. Pleasure and ache is constant and dulled but still, against all odds, all-consuming. “All those feel-good hormones your brain is pumping through your system right now. It’s the hallmark of the female brain. A wonder of biology. Made to bring you closer to me, to form bonds to the man that you can’t even realize are forming. Even my scent. My voice.”
Holding your swimming gaze, his face is blurred by tears. But you can see there that Taehyun will never be a normal man. It’s the wicked fascination that burns in it. “Look at that. Six.” The first sound that’s ever gotten close to a laugh comes out like a scalpel’s edge. Pressing a finger to the space between your eyebrows, he says, “It’s all happening in a place that you can’t reach. In the background. Right here.” His gaze flickers to your mouth, documenting the place you’ve broken the poor, soft skin there. “It’s not yours anymore. It’s mine.”
You wish you could metabolize the reality of what it is that he said. But he didn’t want you to, and that’s not why he said it. It’s why he’s shaved your mind down to this nothing. And nothing is what you are. You can’t handle another orgasm. The skin beneath the ropes and cotton have become red, your slick has drooled down your body and begun staining the bed with such mortifying excess, and your sounds are hoarse and breaking. “Please,” you say, a sweet rasp. Isn’t there irony in the fact that the only word you can manage is a plea? For what? For him to stop or to never stop? To come closer because you do itch to be near him, just like he said. You want the scarce presence of him to keep you afloat in this brackish water. You love him. You love him so much and so big that it competes with the tenderness between your thighs and makes it trivial when his approval is so much better and sweeter.
“I don’t think so,” he says, thumbing your nipple through the thin cotton of your chemise. It’s already tightened to a peak when he does, a prickle deeper than skin beginning in your breast and then spreading over the hair on your arms. “There’s so much in there that I still need to see.”
Tests, he had called this. This is your examination table, this bed. The cracking of the headboard, the droning of the tool he uses a medical tool in its own right. You’ll let him see it all even if it breaks you apart.
Taehyun files away each peak, each twisting of your muscles. How you react to them differently, how different stimuli and pressures such as brush here and a dig of his fingers there changes it all. Some he announces and some he doesn’t. Seven. Nine. Eleven. Everytime you think you will not survive the next, you do and it’s blinding. Your slick coats your inner thighs from when he pressed the head there. Your neck is sore, your cunt numb.
The absence of that buzz as he finally pulls the wand from you and clicks it off is impossible loud. Your thoughts are slow and you’re too lazy to enjoy the freedom of your limbs as he works the knots out and unfasted your binds. Whatever is running through your bloodstream, it’s more than bliss. It’s a drug. One not too different from another you know so well in your bones. They’re no doubt meant to do the same thing. He disappears from your periphery, leaving you slow-blinking until he returns to clean up your body. The touches of the warm rag are tender in the shadow of the unshaking sterility he just eroded your body down with. They make your brain happy. You lean into his touch as he fixes the bunching of your dress and maybe it feels a little less cold now than how you remember it.
“You did very good,” he says. That look on his face eats like black holes. “I knew I was right to bring you here.”
Lazy-boned, you lay in bed and those words oscillate and become something so irresistible in your slowed head. It’s your favorite thing to hear, so you spin it a few more times around. That he not only chose you, but he’s glad he did. That the rest of the people he sees ultimately disappoint him when he compares them to you.
When you go to slip on your panties, which you remember should be at the foot end of your bed, you find them missing and remember where they had gone. Out that door along with him, stuffed into the pocket of his impeccably straight dress pants.
What he intends with them, you can only tuck back into bed and drift off imagining. The memory of the flare of his nostrils, such a subtle thing but so impossible to miss on a face that doesn’t budge, in the basement when he had gotten closer than he ever had to you, does wonders in helping you. It paints a picture of something so lewd that you fall asleep pressing your thighs together and delighting in the soreness there. Because he had left it there.
†
Taehyun made the mistake of letting up on the doses. You can see everything so much clearer. It’s been so long since the last that you have finally, for the first time in so long, come to a point where you’re not in the throes of the drug nor the hazy in-between.
The thought of what all this means is something you don’t want to touch. This is the kind of stuff that happens to movie protagonists, all the stuff that’s scary because to some degree it’s rooted in reality. How could it ever have become yours, though? Some nights, the farther you get away from the last injection, you do slip down the slope of convincing yourself that everything was genuine medical practice. That you did go crazy. Whatever name that the great psychiatrist called your disorder, whatever he could create, that’s what you were.
Your tummy goes sick as you shake in bed. He’s not home. The window is closing, and you’re sitting here wasting time. It’s right now or it’s never, because you don’t know if the pinch of the needle will eventually come back. He could come tomorrow and send you back to that place. If you’re never in this position again… Your jaw aches from the tightness of your swallow. It’s too scary to think about.
It’s that time where daylight is a dark, gross grey giving into night that you get up even if your chest and legs protest. They’re too weak on you and you think you won’t make it, but you have to. If he’s not back by now, he will be. That’s an inevitability that you can’t let happen. Much like that first night, the hallways are lonely and unfamiliar with their paleness and it seems like they just don’t stop. If you keep going despite your weak legs, you’ll find a way. You have to. Chest tightening up to a point where it’s nauseating, breaths too shallow to properly feed your brain, you move faster. If you get out of here before the thoughts peeling around the edges can grip you, you’ll make it.
But he had just started to be happy with you. He trusted you so much he didn’t even think you needed the drug anymore.
The walls open up into a wide entryway. Above it the ceiling is tall, an iron-frame chandelier dim but enough lighting to reflect off the wood of the floors. You go stumbling for it, blood rising higher to the surface and roaring louder in your ears the closer you get until you think you might just fall over. Until you believe, with startling verity, that he’ll step out of the shadows and catch you. The ghost of what his voice would sound like if he did is enough to make your muscles jump. Goosebumps rise over your thighs and arms and it all reaches a head as you close your fist around the french handle and you throw the door open.
Taehyun doesn’t catch you. Because he isn’t here, but the chill of the air outside is. It wraps itself around you and you remember, finally, what it feels like. Did you ever think you would feel it again? Did you even know you were missing it? Tears prick your eyes. You run like hell.
The concrete and rocks tear at your bare feet. You have nothing, no more on than the same monotonous sleep shift that you want off. Even that is his. But you have the thrum in your blood and your mind, and that’s all you need. It’s come back to you. The pavement is cold, and you run straight up the road. Catching your foot on the ground, you go down hard. Your bones bark, your knees hiss, but you don’t have time to feel it. That place needs to be as far behind you as you can get it.
Headlights light up the road from behind you. You must look insane, a girl running wildly nowhere with wind-tangled hair and no shoes. But they’re people, and you have nowhere to go. The thudding of your heart against your ribcage finally catches up to you. You had managed to outrun it until now.
They pull up beside you. A middle aged man braces his arm along the passenger side window that he’s rolled down and he leans out toward you. The worry lines on his forehead crease as he says, with no lack of astonishment, “Where are you running like that to? You’re in the middle of the road, do you realize that?”
Your mouth is dry. Blinking at him, you can’t hear him well over the pulse in your throat.
He must see your gaunt face and gone eyes better up close, because his brow twitches and he straightens up. “Do you need help?” he asks, sharing a bewildered look with the man in the driver’s seat. “Are you alright? You look like hell, girl.”
You do. You do need help. Seeing the flicker of bare, real emotion on another human face tightens your throat.
“Can you not talk?” His voice becomes sharper in the way that an older person’s does when they’re deeply uncomfortable, but you don’t have to hear it to see it dawning on his face. For a moment he disappears through the window of the old beater truck and they talk. He gestures with his hand through it. “Hell, climb on in. Where do we need to take you? The police station’s a long way in the other direction. You got a boyfriend’s house?”
A long way. You can handle that. Closing the door behind you, the scent of old car isn’t something soothing anymore like the fresh air was. It becomes suffocating and it surrounds you. “The police station, please.” Your voice comes out all shaky.
They share another look and one looks over his shoulder at you, dragging his eyes up and down the state of you. “What’s going on with you, then?” he asks, with no particular delicacy.
He sounds so much like an uncle of yours that you just fall apart. A sob shudders through your chest. “Please take me there. I need to go. I need to get there soon, please.” Your shaking lips shape the words into something that must sound insane to them. Digging your fingers into your dress, your shoulders shake. “If he comes, then…”
Silence chokes the cab. There’s something in the driver’s eyes when they catch you in the rearview mirror that sends acid up from your stomach. It’s all pity. The familiar look wraps around your head like bandages and labels you what you will fight and scream against being. Crazy. A girl who’s lost it and is scary to the people around her. The same one was in his eyes once, which sears behind your eyelids. Less warm and human, but the same.
“I mean it!” you sob, pressing your back into the car door. You hadn’t even buckled in. “I’m not lying. You have to believe me. Please!”
Horror replaces pity. “We believe you,” says the one that drives.
The simplicity of that is a punch to the gut. These aren’t the man you have to plead with. They aren’t the man with the sharp mind that would, without a doubt in your mind, find you eventually. Even if you get to that police station, if you sang like a bird about what happened to you in that quiet estate in the nicer part of town and what kind of person lived behind those walls, he would.
And what would happen when he does? Guilt becomes heavy like lead in your stomach. He’s going to hate you. He’s going to take you apart harder. The burn of ropes echoes in the faded but still real marks on your wrists. Look what you went and did when he had finally started to trust you. He never will again, you’d taken a sledgehammer to something so fragile. Breaths begin to come too fast. The walls of the truck, even the windows which you can see the trees passing through, close in on you. You imagine him coming home to find you gone. How much that would upset him when you did so good making him pleased with you.
“Take me back,” you say. It’s a throaty, soft thing amid your sniffles. A dichotomy from what a flailing, cornered animal you were when you climbed in here.
The air stills and the driver looks at you through the mirror. “What did you say?”
Repeating it for him, more terrified but sure of the guilt’s claws in your chest this time than last time, you say, “I want to go back. Can you just please take me back? Or drop me off here, please.”
Pulling over onto the grass shoulder, he gives you a suspicious look. “Are you sure? We’re heading to the station right now.”
Throwing open the door, you wish you could stop. If only your blood didn’t turn to ice when he said that, and if only he had heard you and decided for you, anyway, that you needed to be taken somewhere safe. At least then it could be anybody but your own fault that you ran. But the only thing you did for yourself was the stupid thing. All you did was make it worse for yourself.
If you run, maybe you can make it there before Taehyun does. If you run like hell back. And then you could keep this deep in your chest, let it calcify in your bones, and you’d know better than to do it again.
†
The metal sound of Taehyun tapping his forceps against the water dish jolts you. You’re so jumpy, waiting for the explosion. It doesn’t come. He just narrows his eyes on the heel of your foot and tugs a shard of gravel from it. You bite down sounds with your head hung because anything might bring it—that sharp anger, a twisted downturn of his mouth. But that’s not who Taehyun is.
Silence is his punishment, this time. A tool he uses no different than a needle or a rope or the pleasure of sex. It’s suffocating. You want to break out into sobs and tell him that you didn’t really mean it. To offer yourself up to any other form of punishment just to make him happy that you’re accepting your treatment the way he was once. To pick up the pieces you had shattered and shove them back together because you are so, so scared of what deformation you’ve caused. Will he never be happy with you again?
Your feet ache now that liquid adrenaline’s solidified. All your limbs ache, and your lungs burn like they’ve been chapped with air. He takes meticulous care of the scrapes on your knees. The burn of disinfectant on your weeping, scraped knee burns and you can’t help the hiss it brings this time. He wraps bandages around them after dabbing antiseptics, holding your ankle with a distinct lack of pain or tightness that it’s almost more frightening.
Watching him with wet cheeks, you know now. What he meant when he told you that your brain isn’t yours anymore. Because it’s his in every way that counts. It may sit up in your head, but he had done something terrible. He’d taken his scalpel and opened your very system up to him. A man who understood that you are, horrifyingly, just a set of biological responses and conditionings that, with enough reshaping, could be undone. That the brain was not a rigid structure, but something malleable. He knew exactly where to position you so that his very scent, his very presence, worked in the background. Past the conscious mind, into the organ where he thrives best perverting upon. Like a dog whose mouth can’t help but water when the dinner bell rings, you lean into him still.
You had gotten away. Down the road, so far that you couldn’t even look back and see the silhouette of this place standing behind you. It had made you sick to your stomach. And then you came back. The walk was longer than the run. The cold of his face branded into your skull, clearer with every step you made back, and it wouldn’t stop.
Taehyun wipes his bloodied tool off and sets them down on the side table, the same bone white as the one you know so well beside your bed. His gaze falls on your face for the first time since you came limping in here with tears in your eyes. Curving his fingers beneath your chin, he looks right into your eyes. How could fire burn so cold? That’s what he is. He is angry. And his anger turns into this. “Do not,” he says, slowly for you, “ever run from me again.”
You worry with a twist to your gut that he’ll go get the needle. That he’ll go take up those ropes again. But why would he need to? They already did their jobs; you came walking right back into him. There was no getting away. Not from your head.
ash: i mean the most i can say is me next lets go ,, this one took my soul but that just means ur reading the stuff that comes from it :3 also yes this is pretty much my theme, but what a better way to start out the event??
