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zzz tired (ia)

[holybibly]

Unholy thoughts of the day, my sugar bunnies: A little late-night workout never killed anyone… or is that what you’re thinking when you sign up for a private session with two unfairly hot personal trainers who can’t wait to show you exactly how deep and thorough their stretching techniques can get.

“Gonna stretch this tight little pussy so fucking good, princess.” San whispered sultry against your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver straight down your spine. That lewd promise hit your needy cunt like a spark, making your empty hole clench hard around nothing, dripping even more for them.

“That’s right… ruin her nice and slow. We’ll feed this greedy little slut so well her cunt will remember the exact shape of our dicks for days.” Yeosang’s low chuckle brushed your other ear as he pressed closer to you. His voice was velvety and filthy, full of the most depraved promises.

San slid his thumb between your parted lips, running it slowly over your tongue as he added, dark and possessive:

“Gonna leave that pretty hole swollen and gaping, leaking our thick cum like the perfect little fuck doll you are.”

The full version will be available at the end of May. Stay tuned 💖

[kysstar]

BABY, I'M YOURS | CHOI JONGHO

pairing : : choi jongho x fem!reader

synopsis : : jongho has always loved you quietly — not with big gestures, but with small, consistent things: walking you home, remembering how you take your coffee, holding the umbrella even when he’s getting soaked. you’ve dated other guys, chased louder versions of love, but nothing ever felt as safe as his silence.

genre : : established relationship

warnings : : none

word count : : 0.6k

[ series masterlist ]

—Jongho hears the jingle of your keys before the door even clicks open. The soft rustle of your coat, the weight of your bag dropping onto the floor, and your voice — low and tired but still so familiar — calling out from the hallway.

“I’m home.”

It’s only two words, but it still makes his chest go warm.

He doesn’t call back right away. He’s in the kitchen, stirring the pot on the stove with one hand, scrolling through a half-followed recipe on his phone with the other.

Then, he feels it — your arms slipping around his waist, your face pressing into the middle of his back, cold from outside and completely exhausted. He exhales, breath catching slightly at the contact. Your presence wraps around him in that slow, familiar way — like a favorite blanket pulled over shoulders.

“You’re early,” he says quietly, glancing over his shoulder though he doesn’t expect a reply.

“Mmm,” you hum, barely audible. “Boss let me leave before I started swearing in front of clients.”

He laughs under his breath, letting the rhythm of your breathing sync with his. “Sounds about right.”

“Pasta okay?” he asks, stirring again, keeping his voice low like he doesn’t want to startle the peace that’s settled around you both.

“You could serve me burnt toast and I’d still say thank you,” you mumble, breath warming the cotton of his back. “But yeah. Pasta sounds good.”

Dinner ends up on the couch, in mismatched bowls, eaten under a shared blanket. You sit curled into his side, knees drawn up, your feet tucked between the cushions, your head resting lightly on his shoulder. You talk a little — venting about your coworkers, complaining about the commute, laughing in that tired way that sounds more like relief than amusement.

He listens, nodding, occasionally adding in a soft comment or chuckle. But mostly, he watches. Watches the way your eyes get sleepy halfway through a sentence, the way your fingers curl around the rim of your bowl, the way you lean into him like gravity just keeps pulling you closer.

When the dishes are abandoned in the sink for tomorrow and the lights are dimmed, you both end up back on the couch, wrapped in each other more than the blanket. You’re in one of his shirts now, sleeves rolled up messily, and your hair is still a little damp from a quick shower. He sits first, back against the cushions, and you climb over him, half-asleep already, shifting until your head finds his chest and your legs tangle with his like it’s second nature.

Your arm drapes loosely across his waist, palm splayed warm against his side. Your cheek presses into his chest, your breath slow and steady, syncing with the rise and fall beneath you.

Jongho tilts his head slightly until your hair brushes under his chin. He lets his hand rest on your back, rubbing slow circles through the fabric of his shirt, on you now, like he could soothe even the echoes of your bad day.

He lowers his eyes to look at you, your face relaxed in sleep now, no tension between your brows, no tightness in your jaw. Like the weight you carried all day has finally settled somewhere gentle.

He brushes a few strands of hair away from your face with careful fingers, then rests his hand there, lightly against your temple, as if holding you in place would keep the moment from slipping.

He kisses your forehead, barely a breath against your skin. Then leans back, lets his eyes linger, a small, helpless smile forming as he watches you sleep.

He could stay like this forever.

And if the world asked him to move — he wouldn’t.

© kysstar

[bombuni]

the post-show high

summary: Jongho spots you in the crowd once and can’t let go of you. Unfortunately, so does Yeosang. Good thing they don’t mind sharing. (Or Seonghwa and Hongjoong are terrible wingmen, but they get the job done.) genre/pairing: lead singer!jongho x reader x bassist!yeosang, smut, band au, ft. drummer!mingi, guitarist!hongjoong & seonghwa’s there for vibes wc: 4.8k (i have issues when it comes to jongsang) warnings: SMUT MDNI, threesome, cursing, mentions of drinking, mean!dom!jongho, soft!dom!yeosang, sub!fem!reader, fingering champions jongsang, box munching king jongho, name-calling (jongho loves sluts), edging, creampies, spit kink, degradation, finger sucking, sloppy seconds, sort of cum-eating, aftercare, idk why it gets so soft at the end bom note: i had this thought and i said ‘i must bring chino moreno jongho to life’ jongsang stans pls fw my vision. also here’s a playlist i made! i think the music they’d make in this au is very much deftones style. lmk if i missed anything for the warnings!

It’s hot.

You don’t mind supporting Hongjoong and Mingi in their musical escapades, but it’s crowded. When they’d told you they were in a band, you half-expected them to be playing in a low-down unknown bar with 2 patrons. You hadn’t expected to be crowded by fans, all (not) patiently waiting for the set to start. Seonghwa stood beside you, pouting every time he was shoved into. He looked out of place, elegant and prince-like in a sea of punk-rockers wearing crust pants and in yesterday’s makeup.

He seems at ease, though. Having been to multiple of Hongjoong’s shows at this point, he’s become accustomed to the intense pits, the broken noses, and the lingering stench of weed. The multitudes of drinks he’s been having seem to help too. You stand by and watch as his cheeks get redder and redder throughout the night.

He points his drink at you while he speaks, “You know, Hongjoong wants to set you up with the singer, Jongho. Said he seems like your type,”

You scoff at that, “No way! The last guy he tried to set me up with ended up being a total weirdo,”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes, “A foot fetish isn’t the weirdest thing out there. Besides, Yunho’s actually pretty cool,” he raises his brows at you, but continues when he sees you’re not changing your mind, “Fine. Go with my option. I wanted to set you up with their bassist. You like nice guys, right?”

The lights dim, giving you an easy out to Seonghwa’s terrible match-making ideas, “The fact you think I’m ever trusting you or Hongjoong again is laughable.”

Seonghwa can’t respond as the band steps on stage, a rush of excitement flowing through you when you see Hongjoong and Mingi in their spots. They both wave at you in the front row, Hongjoong’s smile growing extra wide when he sees Seonghwa. The bassist smiles at the crowd, his pink cheeks shining in the light. You wonder how such a cherub-looking guy ended up in a hard band like this. Though, his black tank top revealing his muscular form makes your head spin from how different his body is from his innocent-looking face.

Hongjoong seems at home on the stage, “How we doing tonight?” His hype seems to work as the crowd cheers loudly and unapologetically, “Thanks to KQ bar for having us. I’m Hongjoong, that’s Yeosang, our bassist, and we got Mingi on drums. Seems like we’re missing someone, though,”

Mingi’s voice rumbles through the microphone, “Bring Jongho out!”

The crowd seems to squish you impossibly more, their screams nearly drowning your own thoughts. Rightfully so, as the lead singer walks out with a confidence that you envy. His leather pants shine under the stage lights, and he seems to bask in the attention he gets. His smirk grows with every step he takes towards the main stage. You feel he’s cocky, and you hate that you like it.

“Hello, KQ,” He seems to command the room, silence enveloping the crowd when he speaks, “I’m glad you could make it tonight-“

Jongho scans the crowd, but he seems to pause at the sight of you. He still wears the smug look, ego wafting in the room and getting under your skin. It’s a smaller venue and you’re somewhat close, so it’s easy to tell that he’s staring at you and no one else.

He points directly at you, finger seemingly digging into your soul, “Let’s have fun tonight.”

With that, the set starts. Mingi’s drums burst through your chest, the slow start to their first song hypnotizes you. The sound of the bass is what draws you in, and you look towards Yeosang, who’s putting his entire heart into the sound. His fingers are delicate and pretty, the complete opposite to most bass players you’ve seen. They strum expertly, long digits reaching to find the right note every time. You figure they could reach anywhere.

He must feel your eyes on him. Yeosang looks up with a focused, stoic look plastered on his face as he watches the scenery. As he looks around you lock eyes with him, a shy smile growing on his face when he realizes you aren’t looking away. It seems to fuel his performance when he goes back to looking down at his bass.

The music is intense, Hongjoong and Mingi clearly pouring their passion into it. You know them and expected this fervor, but it surprises you when it comes from Jongho and Yeosang too. Jongho’s voice sends chills down your spine with every high note sung. It reaches out to you, pulling the passion and feeling from you and taking that energy for his own growth. Watching him is watching art being made.

The set ends, and the 4 sweaty men on stage bow and thank the crowd. You feel Jongho’s eyes on you again, that same soul-marking finger calling your attention to wink at you before he walks off the stage. Yeosang seems to call your attention too, a subtle wave landing your way before he too disappears behind the curtain.

As the lights flicker back on, Seonghwa turns to you with a sparkle in his eye, “That was amazing! We need to go buy them drinks,”

You shrug, imposing nonchalance even though your face is turning red at the thought of meeting face to face with them after that, “Sure, sounds good.”

Seonghwa raises a brow before laughing at your reluctance, “Don’t think I didn’t see that by the way. Yeosang was totally into you,”

You scoff and turn to walk towards the bar, “Shut up, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa harrumphs, but follows behind you. It’s easy to spot Hongjoong’s blonde head of hair among the sea of people, “Joongie, stop hogging all the talent,”

He turns laughing at you, his warm arms wrapping around you, “Can’t stop, won’t stop, baby,”

“Hongjoong! That was your best performance yet. But can we talk about how Yeosang was totally eye-fucking Y/N the entire time?” Seonghwa’s somewhat tipsy, you conclude.

Hongjoong leans on the bar, “Uh…no. I’m still betting on Jongho and her. You know he was asking about you?”

You roll your eyes at their insistence, “You just finished a set, why're you worried about my love life?”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes at you as he’s given a tray of drinks, handing some off to you and Seonghwa before walking ahead, “Come on, Jongho wants to meet you.”

He leads you towards the backstage. Hongjoong opens a door marked with a flimsy sheet of notebook paper, their band name written in purple marker. You hear Jongho’s voice before anything else. It’s embedded in your brain at this point. As you walk further in, his large frame and slicked back hair intimidates you. You fear you’ve fallen for him already. With his hands in his leather jacket, he greets you with a lazy smirk. You can feel the stardom radiating off of him. It lets you know that whatever arrogance he has is completely warranted.

Before you can even say anything, Hongjoong makes a dumb excuse about forgetting something that requires him, Seonghwa, and Mingi. They leave quickly, knowing your protests would come faster.

You sigh inwardly to yourself, but Jongho seems all too pleased to be alone with you, “How ‘bout a drink?”

He sits on the battered leather couch, legs spread and waiting for you to sit next to him. He raises a brow when you sit on the seat opposite him before handing you a shot glass, “Hongjoong said you’re looking for a date,” His voice is quieter, softer now. There’s certainly a step down from his stage presence to the Jongho you’re talking to now. Maybe you were just being harsh in the assumption he’d be a pompous asshole earlier. You don’t let yourself soften, though.

You snort, “Well, Hongjoong doesn’t know what he’s talking about,”

Jongho downs his glass in a flash, turning to you with a charming smirk that makes you want to kiss it off his face, “So it’s off the table?”

He says this like it’s an easy, everyday question. His poignant flirting sends a blush to your cheeks that glows under the dim lightbulb of the broken down room. Jongho thinks it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. You down your shot and he’s ready to up the ante on the flirting before Yeosang appears, wiping a towel over his sweaty face and greeting you with a soft smile that sends butterflies down your tummy.

“Yeosang, this is-“

“Y/N, right? Seonghwa told me about you. How’d you like the show?”

God, you did not expect a voice like that, to come out of a face like that. His brown hair sticks to his forehead and his pale skin glows under the light, those same fingers you were admiring on stage are much more daunting close-up. They distract you as he taps on the arm of the seat across you, almost tauntingly.

“Oh-um, it was great. You guys seem to really enjoy what you do,”

They stare at you with half-lidded gazes, like they’re chewing on your words in their heads and analyzing you as a person. You’d believe they hate you, if it weren’t for the teasing, venemous grins they wore on their faces. They’ve been around groupies long enough to recognize them, and you might not be one of them, but God, Jongho wants to train you until you only remember their names.

Jongho doesn’t take his eyes off you, but he addresses Yeosang, “Y/N was just telling me about how much she loves the band,”

Yeosang leans his head on the palm of his hand, his biceps popping in the lighting, “Hmm, do you?”

You scoff to try to shake off their gazes, reaching for another glass, “You guys believe Hongjoong way too much,”

Jongho grins at you like a predator, “I heard it from Mingi,”

Yeosang’s smile is teasing, “I heard it from Seonghwa,”

You’re outnumbered, so you don’t even bother saying anything about the teasing. The overflowing chatter outside and booming music drowns out any thoughts you attempt to have. You fear they can somehow hear your beating heart, like they’re zeroing in on you and preparing to eat you alive. Yeosang’s hands tap against the chair again, your eyes flying to study the way they flex.

Jongho pipes up again, “You seem to like Yeosang’s hands a lot. You know, he’ll play whatever song you like.”

Yeosang stretches his fingers, watching the way your blush grows and the way your grasp tightens against the glass in your hand, “I’ll do whatever you want,”

Yeosang stands from his seat and moves to stand in front of you. It forces your eyes upwards, his body heat and proximity turning your entire body into jelly. Suddenly, Jongho speaks up and his soft voice is the worst vice you’ve faced yet, “Why don’t you let us give you a private show? Hmm?” His head tilts softly, the smug smile on his face as he leans back into the couch filling you with annoyance and desire.

You nod softly, mind a haze and heat pooling inside you. Yeosang reaches his hand up to your chin, pulling your mouth open with his thumb before pushing it between your lips. He watches with rapt interest as your tongue swirls around his digit, lips fighting to pull all of the sweat clean off his hand. The sound turns them on more than ever, the feeling of your saliva coating his fingers fueling the fire in his gut. He removes his thumb, playing with your lips as you leave tiny kisses over his fingers before he inserts his forefingers. You work on them again, saliva strings building between his hand and your mouth every time he pulls away.

“You’re nasty, baby,” Jongho’s smug voice pipes up.

Once Yeosang deems his hand wet enough he sits down next to you, slowly trailing his hand down your tummy and into your jeans. It’s a tight fit, but Jongho reaches over to unbutton your pants for him. As soon as he does, Yeosang’s hand slips into your panties and finds your clit, rubbing gentle circles over it and groaning at the wetness that grows underneath his fingers.

Jongho seems content with watching you break. You writhe underneath Yeosang’s fingers as he expertly finds just the right spot and abuses it. You feel dirty with the wet spot that continues to grow on your pants, quiet moans filling the room alongside Yeosang’s panting breaths. Your hand grasps Yeosang’s when he runs his fingers along your folds, spreading your wetness against your skin and moaning at the feeling of you so turned on. He takes his hand out of your pants, the shine of your slick glistening in his eyes. He brings his forefingers to his lips, running his tongue along the length of them before he sucks them clean. He makes sure to be lewd about it, licking every single drop of your juices and smiling at you with your slick on his lips.

“Hmm, you liked that didn’t you?” Jongho hums as he stands to you, pulling your pants off in one swift motion. He kneels in front of you, running his palm over your wet panties. His large hand is different from Yeosang’s delicate fingers. He has a domineering touch that doesn’t stop as he holds your thighs over his shoulders, pulling your panties down. His hands send tingles of pleasure down your spine when he kneads your skin, taking his time to feel and memorize every inch of you.

Jongho’s fingers run through your slit, smearing the wetness that drips out of you. He teases you, watching as your impatience grows while his fingers stray from where you want them most. Suddenly, his lips are on you. He devours you like you’re the first meal he’s had in days, a man starved of the fruit between your legs. His tongue slips inside you and over you, tracing every inch of you and leaving a path of pleasure. He ravishes you while Yeosang watches beside you, his hands making quick work of your shirt.

They seem to have developed a system. They’re far too comfortable with sharing. The thought doesn’t really form in your head as Jongho keeps marking you with his mouth, small kisses landing anywhere he can reach. He smirks at you when a whine slips from your lips when he spreads your thighs further, a glob of spit flowing from his pouty lips and onto you. He hisses at the sight, the shine of your pussy filling his gut with desire. His lips latch back onto your clit, his forefingers making their way inside you. He curls them ever so slightly, fucking you over and over again as his tongue flicks your button. Jongho’s already figured out how you work, destroying you with a smile and a glint in his eyes from below.

Yeosang giggles when he sees you aren’t wearing a bra, “You got a nice rack.”

You admit if anyone else spoke those words to you, you would’ve found it demeaning. But the way Yeosang’s soft voice compliments you sends a new wave of flames over your body.

Jongho grins and removes his lips from you, “Knew you were a fucking slut,”

You shake your head, but Jongho’s got you pegged. The feeling of having two men’s attention on you at once is exhilarating. It has you on cloud nine. Jongho raises the speed of his fingers, the squelch of your pussy sounding out into the room. Yeosang’s hands fondle your tits, his thumb brushing over your nipple and bringing a sigh out of you.

He sends butterfly kisses down your jawline, “Hmm, she’s a nice slut, though. The prettiest one I’ve seen,”

He’s too angelic. Everything about him is elegant and graceful, even the way he touches you. His low tone vibrates through your body, clashing with the harsh way Jongho keeps fucking you. He dominates the lower part of you, as if his hands have found their home. The juxtaposition between them sends your system into overdrive.

“You wanna cum?” You nod frantically, “Use your words, slut.”

“P-please, Jongho…”

Yeosang coos, “Even the way she begs is cute,”

Your legs are shaking at this point and Jongho’s cock is leaking in his pants, weeping to be let out. Still, he lives to torture, “You can’t cum without my permission,” Your leg muscles clamp up, pouring all of your energy into not letting your orgasm slip out of you. Jongho notices your strain, “Look at you. What a good fucking slut you are.”

His fingers slip out of you and you whine at the loss, Yeosang’s gentle fingers playing with your nipples is simply not enough friction. Jongho stands, pulling you up with him, “If you can take Yeosang’s cock, I’ll let you cum on mine. Deal?”

You don't even understand what you’re agreeing to, but you follow Jongho’s orders. You feel Yeosang stand behind you, his arms wrapping around your torso and walking you until you’re in front of the coffee table in the middle of the room. He bends you over it, your knees knocking onto the soft carpet underneath. You don’t think about how long ago it must’ve last been cleaned. You just think about Jongho sitting cross legged on the couch in front of you, his hand resting on his hard cock in his pants. He’s eyeing you like a piece of meat as Yeosang leans over your back, his nose nuzzling against your hair. His long fingers run over the expanse of your back, the cold feeling sending shivers down your spine.

He leans back and spreads your ass, groaning at the sight of you dripping. You hear the sound of his belt buckle dropping and your nerves rise before a soothing hand drops onto your hips, massaging your skin. His voice rings right into your ear, “Don’t worry, angel. I’m not as mean as Jongho,” Said man scoffs, the slightest hint of a blush noticeable under the light. Before you can say anything, Yeosang’s cock teases your entrance, playing with your pussy with his tip. The feeling makes you whine, already edging into dangerous territory.

Yeosang slides in entirely, his long cock reaching the deepest parts of you. Your entire body goes numb as he gently thrusts, bouts of pleasure rising through every part of your body. He’s whining pathetically, trying not to lose his mind and keep control at the feeling of your pussy squeezing him, “S-she’s so tight, Jongho, shit.”

Jongho’s fidgeting in his seat, palming himself like there’s no tomorrow and attempting to hide how weak he is already, “How tight, Yeosang?”

Yeosang steadies himself on your hips, the speed of his thrusts increasing. He’s like a desperate puppy trying to get his rocks off, his sweaty shirt on your back as he leans his head on your shoulder. He’s lost himself to the pleasure. He moans into your ear, his heavy breaths a performance made just for you.

“This is the best pussy I’ve had. Right, angel? You’re being good for me?” he pants out.

You moan at the praise, “Y-yes, Yeosang, all for you,”

Jongho’s restless now. Watching the way the table shakes from Yeosang’s thrusts and the way you take it so well has him anxious to get inside of you. His cock strains in his pants, but he’ll wait until Yeosang’s had his fill. Yeosang’s balls slap against your ass, the lewd sounds of his cock ramming in and out of you filling Jongho’s ears. You feel yourself dripping down your thighs as Yeosang’s hand comes down to your clit. That seems to reignite you, an unbeatable wave of pleasure flooding over you. As Yeosang rubs circles on you, you clench down on him. He moans at the tightness, his hips and hand stuttering against you.

Jongho senses your struggling, “Remember what I said, slut,” your thighs tremble, “Or are you too cock-dumb right now?”

You shake your head but quickly fix your mistake, “N-no, Jongho,”

Your voice shakes against Yeosang’s hips pistoning into you, all rhythm lost as he chases his high. He’s practically breathing for you now, his arms wrapped around your chest while his head rests on yours. He exerts all of his power, which is quite a lot surprisingly, into making you feel every inch of his cock. Jongho’s eyes bore into yours as he watches you unravel, your glistening skin and teary eyes making his cock jump.

Just to make your torture worse, he leans into your face. His thumb pries open your lips, inviting itself into your mouth and taking control of you, “You’re the best cock-slut I’ve seen. Taking Yeosang so well. Is he making you feel good?”

His voice is silky and entrancing and you can’t help but give an honest answer, “S-so good, Jongho. Can I cum? Please?”

His sick smirk grows, “Nope.”

A desperate whine drips from your lips, the burning desire bursting through to Yeosang’s cock as you squeeze him again. This time, a myriad of beautifully pathetic whines fall from Yeosang’s lips as he’s drained by you. He stills deep inside you, letting himself fill you and mark you as his property. He watches it drip down your thighs, the pearlescent liquid falling in droplets as you tremble.

Yeosang catches you before you can fall onto the table, “I think she’s broken,”

He carries you, again with surprising ease, onto Jongho’s lap. You lay limp against him, the leather of his jacket waking you slightly as he wraps his arms around you, “Already? I haven’t even fucked you yet,”

You nod your head, “I-I can take it, I wanna cum, Jongho,”

He laughs at you, head tipping and revealing the kissable dot on his neck, “See? You’re a fucking slut, baby,” his arms wrap tighter around you, one of his hands coming down to your clit and rubbing lazily, “Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of you,”

Yeosang sits next to you, sitting and watching the way your pussy tries to keep his cum inside. Jongho’s fingers stuff it back in, catching any that’s still stuck on your thighs and putting it back where it belongs. He brings his hand up to your lips, your mouth opening automatically and accepting what he gives. Your tongue swirls to clean every inch of his hand, licking the sweat and cum off of his skin. Jongho lets out a shaky breath behind you.

Yeosang feels his cock standing again, the sight of you so easily submitting to Jongho getting him ready to go all over again, “Fuck, I need to feel that pussy again.”

Jongho unzips his pants underneath you. You feel his cock at your entrance as he slides it in between your folds, wanting to torture you even more. He’s smaller than Yeosang but much, much thicker. Yeosang’s cum lets you take Jongho’s cock much easier, the stretch from before easing him in. You moan at the feeling, the fullness overtaking your senses.

Jongho leans back and stables himself on the floor. His voice is powerful against you, the sound of it alone making you shake in anticipation, “I’m gonna fill you up with my cum, and then you can cum all over me. Understand?”

He doesn’t even let you answer before starting a wicked rhythm. He claps against you with no mercy, his grip on your hips holding you steady on his lap. It’s delicious, the way he bounces you up and down on his cock and thrusts up into you at the same time. Jongho growls as your cream and Yeosang’s cum makes a mess of the both of you. Yeosang watches your tits bounce. The stench of sex fills the room and depravity fills his senses.

The power of Jongho’s thrusts almost has you toppling over. He’s ravenous with the way he fucks you, thick cock ramming into you over and over from below. Jongho fucking loves the feeling of having you broken atop him, having you at your most vulnerable and sensitive right under his fingertips. He squeezes your hips, groaning when you squeeze back.

His head drops to the couch, letting you drop and feel every inch and vein of his cock. The stretch of him is painfully delicious. Yeosang takes this moment of pause to snake a hand to your clit, causing you to jolt when he begins rubbing circles.

“Y-yeosang…” you plead as you feel a tsunami of pleasure coming closer and closer to falling atop you.

He kisses along your neck, the ticklish sensation sending you into overdrive. Along with Jongho’s cock filling you and taking over your very being, you feel like you’re fighting a losing battle. You’re determined to follow Jongho’s rules, though.

Yeosang chuckles into your neck, “Just let her cum, Jongho,”

“Yeah, baby? Do you need to cum?” He asks flatly, slamming you down harshly onto his cock again.

“P-please, I need to cum so b-bad…”

You feel like you’re about to burst and you’re sure Jongho can feel it too. He doesn’t care, laughing as you continue to writhe and moan against Yeosang’s fingers, “I told you I’m gonna fill this pussy with my cum first, okay? Stop being so fucking cock-dumb already,”

He leans back further into the couch, bringing your back to his chest as he gathers his last bit of force to fuck up into you. He hangs off the edge of the couch slightly, but that’s not even a thought in his head as he continues to ram himself into you unforgivingly. Yeosang continues to tease and probe your bud, an evil smile forming on his face the longer he watches you unravel atop Jongho’s rabid hips.

Jongho hisses when he feels you tighten. Your hole is too fucking good, draining him for all he has. He gives one last powerful thrust before releasing his load inside of you, his balls tightening up against you as he jolts and spasms underneath you. His cock twitches inside of you and with the feeling of him finally filling you and Yeosang’s relentless fingers, you come undone. The pleasure that’s been building this entire time finally releases like a broken dam. It washes over you, unabated even after all this time. You feel every single one of your nerves explode inside you, your body seizing up against Jongho’s as your pussy tightens impossibly more to take all Jongho has to give.

Yeosang sighs against you, “Oh, angel, you take us so well,”

Just knowing that you have Yeosang’s and Jongho’s cum flowing inside you has your entire body tingling. It sends you into an even higher tier of gratification, your orgasm prolonging every time Jongho spurts another shot of cum into you.

Jongho’s voice is strained as he speaks, “Fuck, look what a fucking dirty cum-slut you are.”

It’s hard to get off of cloud nine once you’ve reached it. You can distantly hear their soft voices in the back of your head, vastly different from their tones before. You feel the leather couch underneath your back, their cum dripping out of you, and Yeosang’s hand gently running through your hair.

He tries to lure you fully awake, but that doesn’t happen until Jongho brings a warm towel to clean you. Your teary eyes squint under the light and you’re surprised at how weak you feel. Your body feels like jelly as Jongho hands Yeosang a towel to clean up the sweat on your upper body.

You’re not entirely sure what’s happening, but a blur of emotions is still flowing through you, “Hey…you don’t have to…” you sleepily let out.

They don’t say anything in return so neither do you. Jongho slips your panties back on, Yeosang pulling you softly upwards to put your shirt back on. You feel surprisingly cared for after getting your brains fucked out. You hadn’t expected it from two guys who probably do this every night.

They sit with you as you gather your bearings. Jongho traces patterns onto your legs, mindlessly staring at you. It sends a different kind of heat to your body. The kind that has you shrinking into yourself, blushing and hiding your face in your hands. You pretend it’s from sleepiness, but Jongho knows better. Yeosang hums beside your head, still running his hands through your hair delicately.

You feel more alive after a while, finally gathering the energy to sit up, “This doesn’t mean I’m your groupie now, by the way,”

“You would’ve been my favorite,” Jongho grins.

Yeosang pouts, “I don’t think Hongjoong would approve,” You both raise a brow at him, “What? He has the power to kick me out of the band, I have to be careful.”

Jongho laughs aloud as you giggle alongside him. You sort of feel at home with them, and not just because they rearranged your guts. They touch you softly, in ways that say they know everything about you. You’d rather not fall into that hole. Right now, you lay content in the moment in between them in this dingy room with their hands on you.

[way2jellyous]

dirty work

pairing: model!San x model!reader x model!Wooyoung

synopsis: content: mfm, porn w/ a little bit of plot, model au, fem reader, double pen, fingering, them kissing also, wooyoung is reader's bf, asking for consent is hot, but doing it w/o protection isn't! some breeding kink hidden in there, squirting, dirty talk petnames (doll, love, princess, baby) wc: 3.5k

⭑루안: i never wrote this much smut in one sitting, esp not this many words. take it from the freak that overtook my brain at these fine dawn hours. also take this as a late valentines gift or an early birthday gift idk guys likes comments and reblogs are appreciated!! will proof read it in the morning

“Just like that, yes”, the director called out, flashes and clicks of cameras everywhere around you. “A little bit closer to his - oh my god - so good, yes” The photographer was just shooting shots mindlessly, as he heard the director call out instructions, his voice authoritative and bouncing off every wall in the big space.

Wooyoung was watching you from behind the scenes like usual. Phone dangling from his hand as he scrolled on social media, not particularly paying attention to his best friend and girlfriend on set.

“Okay, now, maybe just seductively pull her panties out and let it snap back”, he called out again, and San did just that. “Amazing, do it a few times again.” He hummed appreciative noises in the back of his throat, eyes shining as he took in your tempting poses.

“Do we have the video cam on? I feel like this would work well on that,” he called out to no one in particular again. Staff came with video cameras now, swarming the scene you and San were creating. “But what would I even think of two such good models?”

The bright lights of the set were melting the minimal makeup you had on, making your face feel sticky and uncomfortable. How could you even feel comfortable? This was hell on earth. the constant clicking of cameras around you, letting them photograph you in underwear, not saving a piece of you that won't be on the internet. But at least it paid well.

The director could've been more subtle in checking you out, especially in front of the guys. If Woo were paying attention, he would've already killed him with his gaze - and San, too, for his hand placement.

The frown was begging to break through the masked emotion on your face. Something about this set was way more intimidating and alluring than your normal; maybe it was the sweat running down your side where San has been touching you. The knowledge of other people being in the room while he was doing it so sensually - especially in your boyfriend's presence. Not like he would ever share…

—

Turns out he would.

"You've been practically begging to get our hands on you, doll," Wooyoung whispered in your ear while San worked on your bra's clasp, freeing your tits to the cold changing room's air, making your nipples perk instantly. "You think he didn't smell your arousal from right next to you?" he bit your collarbone, hard, pulling a deep and raw moan from your chest. You felt him smile against your chest before he looked deep in your eyes, "Hell, be grateful if the director didn't get a whiff of it," a chuckle rumbled in from his ribs.

San's palms danced along your sides, feeling up your silky skin, just to wrap them around you and get the branded bra off you. As soon as it left your body, his hands fondled your breasts, moans escaping your mouth at his mere touch.

While that happened, Wooyoung peeled your wet panties back, pulling them to the side to slide a finger through your folds, dipping them knuckle deep into you, only to pull them away just as fast as they came. Everything was happening so fast, the sensations of San's fingers rolling your nipples, Wooyoung sinking to his knees in front of you - it was way too fast, catching you off guard.

But there was no time to stand there and stare at your boyfriend, trying to figure out his intentions, because San got a hold of your chin, forcing you to turn your face to him as he kissed you deeply. His kiss was different from what you were used to. Wooyoung kissed slowly, biting your lips teasingly, and pulling back here and there to put his forehead against yours and smile at you.

San was all teeth and tongue, harshly reminding you of the fact that it wasn't your boyfriend. He kissed with haste, yet deliberately, and unapologetically, almost as if he was trying to say, "turn off your thoughts."

The kiss broke when you pulled away from him, at the feeling of Wooyoung's tongue touching your clit, making your hands grab a handful of his blonde hair, tugging on it like a lifeline. One of San's hands stayed on your chin; it was soft, but demanding. The other joined yours on the blonde's head, guiding his face on your cunt, where he was rougher with his touch.

"Let him make you feel good, huh, princess?" he whispered, lips touching your earlobe, gently nipping at the skin. "You worked so hard today, looking pretty in front of a camera isn't something anyone could do," his chest rumbled against your back as he chuckled mockingly, but pushed his hardness into your ass. "Mmh, and you do it well too, huh?" he tsked, sarcastically puckering his lips, but still his eyebrows furrowed.

Wooyoung pushed one of your legs into San's hand, opening you up to his mouth for better access, so now he could lick his way from your hole to your clit, drawing a deep moan out of you. "fuuck… Woo, baby, that's so good," you stretched the syllables, throwing your head back onto the other man's shoulder. He moaned into you, the vibrations sending a chill down your spine, arching it against the other man, whose breath hitched at your ass, pushing back into him.

His tongue worked hard on you, switching between licking deep and sensual strokes and slow little nips on your clit. He was looking at you and San from under his lashes, a wicked glint shining in his eyes at both of your heated gazes. He pulled away from your cunt, stopping the stimulation fully. But he didn't bother to stand up before spitting on your mound, letting it run down between your folds.

He looked proud of his work, head tilted playfully, looking deep into your eyes as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, but never really kissing you as you thought he would do so. Instead, his hand left your face, wrapped around the other man's, and he kissed him intensely, both of them moaning from the moment of the first touch.

They exchanged your taste in their mouths along with spit, and San's hands wrapped around your hips to easily let him rut his hips into your ass. Wooyoung didn't break from his lips, but let a hand fall from the taller man's neck to dip his fingers back between your folds, stimulating you while they kissed. Little did he know them kissing might've made you more aroused than all of the things they've done to you before.

It was a sight that's for sure, the two most prominent figures in your life - your boyfriend and his best friend - two very attractive people kissing right next to you while they both touched you, and hadn't left your skin. Something you will never tell them, but it's been a deep fantasy of yours.

Watching San wander around your and Wooyoung's house like he was at home, sweatpants low on his hips without a shirt on, getting casted to the same photoshoots with Calvin's, Diesel's and Skims' underwear line, letting him touch your body intimately, but just for the sake of pictures, and only professionally because the heat of his gaze always left his eyes when the cameras turned off. He never made a move before today, never let his hands wander on your body, finally letting him get a taste of you.

Your walls tightened around his fingers as he massaged that spongy spot in you, and the moan it drew out of you, making them finally break their kiss and turn their attention back to you. Hungry gazes settle back in your writhing body, which was still held by San, and your hole scissorred open by Wooyung.

Wooyung's face had a wide smirk on it. He stretched his neck to the side, tilting his head in the process, and fastening the pace of his fingers at the same time. Your moan was ragged, high, hands flying to San's hands on you for a better hold, nails already pushing crescent moons into his tan skin.

"You're taking it so well, m'love." his tone was honey sweet, overly sweet, and that's how you knew he could withdraw the pleasure from you any second now, but first, he would let that knot tighten in your lower abdomen, playing you dirty.

Your whines got closer together, and higher in pitch, and that's when he knew to pull his fingers out of you, robbing you of the feeling of euphoria. "Such a good girl, taking whatever is given to her," San whispered in your ear, his hand wandering for your hip to join Wooyoung's between your legs.

"Sannie," your boyfriend thought out loud, "She's so wet," his lips curled, "She would let you do anything, right baby?" Uncoherent moans and whines came from your mouth, and both men chuckled at your desperation. "So worked up, ready to take cock, hm?" he questioned, as he felt San's fingers start rubbing your clit, in soft circular motions, making your hips chase the stimulation. "Maybe you even want to take two today…" That wonder got both men groaning.

Both of their hands left the place you needed them to touch the most, backing you up against the table in the break room, turning you around and folding you over it in one motion. "Please…" your voice was weak, whiny, ready to voice anything to get one of them inside you.

"What do you need, love?" San asked from behind you, gently pulling your panties down your legs, letting them fall where they may.

"You," a breathy moan left you as his hips ruttend into you. Your wetness unmistakably staining the cotton of his briefs, making his eyes roll back into his head at the feeling of it on his sensitive mushroom tip. Wooyoung settled next to you, resting against the edge of the table, his hand smoothing down your hair, with a lopsided smile on his face.

San, behind you, was pushing his shorts down with a quick movement, pushing his head through your folds with ragged movements, pulling moans out of both your mouths. His head lolled back with the contact, savouring your wetness on him. He was teasing at first, not pushing into you quite yet, but thrust his length forward, letting it glide between your folds all the way to your clit.

His cock felt girthier than your boyfriend's, but sensations were quick to overtake your senses already, eyes closing gradually with each slide of his dick, and mouth opening wider and wider until your chin pushed against the hard surface of the table.

Wooyoung tried to look at both of you, San's pleasure-ridden expression and your falling apart one. His hand travelling to palm his own cock through the rough denim of his pants, trying to relieve his painful arousal.

"Stop teasing her, Sannie, don't be so cruel." Wooyoung chuckled over your whines' rising volume, "let her have it, she was so good…" freeing his own cock as he spoke, extending his hand in front of your head, "Spit in my hand, love."

As your saliva hit his hand, San thrust into you with one quick motion, pushing all air out of your lungs, with a breathy moan, oh, and was he girthier than Wooyoung. "Fuck..." his head was still hanging towards the ceiling, praying to every God not to come as soon as he hits your cervix.

His pace was brutal, punishing even though all you've been is pliant and good in their hands. The table's creaking, wet slaps, and breathy moans bounced off the four walls, making the atmosphere so much more intimate and close.

"You're so tight around me," San grunted from behind you, walls pulsating with every snap of his hips, so devoted to chasing his pleasure, dying to paint your insides, "made for us, right?"

A chuckle escapes from the man next to you, his hand matching the pace San's hips have in you, "such a wonder why we never done this before…" The pleasure was overtaking your senses, eyes rolling back into your head, that specific tightness in your lower stomach becoming more prominent with each time his head pushed against your pulsing spot.

The orgasm had you seeing stars, with the previous teasings, coming hard around his cock with a loud moan, only to Wooyoung slide three fingers into your open mouth, "Baby, you have to be quieter, some staff are still outside," he murmured as he leaned against your ear, his breath hot on your cheeks. "We can't exactly let them know two men are ruining you, can we now?"

You shook your head as best as you could with his fingers stuffing your mouth, trying to escape San's iron-hold on your thighs from the overstimulation. Still, he didn't seem like he was about to stop any time soon, pushing you into another orgasm so quickly after the first. "n-no.. stop, ah- Sannie," body burning in a way it rarely did, muffled moans and words escaping around the fingers in your mouth.

"Can I come inside her?" he tried, calmly talking over your ragged moans, his cock pulsing inside you. Wooyoung couldn't even let a word out before the other man's release painted your insides, mixing with your own, but his cock was still half hard inside you, still pushing his load deeper.

Wooyoung's hands were tugging your head up so his lips could connect with yours in a kiss, letting your body relax in his hold. His hand never stopped on his own cock, it only slowed down its pace, dragging it out as slow and measured as he could. He was moaning inside your mouth, tongue mapping out every part of you.

San slowly slid out of you, as he watched your boyfriend kiss you, a moan escaping both of your mouths, making Wooyoung pull away from you, resting his forehead against yours, "You think you could take both of us, doll?" his thumb played with your lower lip, gently pulling it down and letting it snap back, as a smile played on his lips.

You felt San's gaze on your bare back, even dropping back down to your cunt, where your mixed juices flowed out of you, wetting the inside of your thighs artfully.

You nodded against Wooyoung's head, gulping a bit of spit down your throat, even though your mouth felt so dry. You never took two at the same time before, especially not someone their size. Wooyoung liked to play around in bed with you, sometimes putting his fingers inside you with his cock, stimulating both of you further, stretching you beyond limits.

Maybe he had always been prepping you for this, to take him and his pretty best friend in you at the same time. Let them rub against each other inside your pulsing walls, making you come around them, pushing them over the edge with only a few thrusts.

His hands settled on your waist, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead before guiding you to the couch. He looked at San with a wicked glint in his eyes, before kicking his jeans down, while you tugged the shirt over his head. Then he settled on the couch, hands instantly going back to your hips, tugging you down with him.

"Are you gonna be a good girl and take both of us, baby?" you could only nod at his question, feeling both his tip prodding at your entrance, and San came closer to the couch behind you, stroking his already hardening dick. "I can feel San's come in you," he grunted, looking down where you were about to be connected, before throwing his head back with a groan.

You pushed him down, with a soft shove from your hands, reaching down to line his length up with your entrane before sitting down on it, "better push it right back then." All three of you moaned as you sat down on him, his cock easily gliding through your walls with San's release. If he could also slide in this easily.

Wooyoung's hands found their place on your waist, pulling you up from him, as the couch dipped behind you, and another hand joined your boyfriend's below your ribs. "Are you still sure about this princess?" his voice was husky and low, making the hairs stand on the back of your neck.

"Yes, please, Sannie, put it inside-" you whined breathily, brows furrowing together, just like when you first came, but this time in frustration. Wooyoung was already inside you, but held you so still that no stimulation came from it, and San was just lining up with your entrance, moving so calmly like you had all day. "Please, just put it in, I can't take it any-"

The words died in your mouth as he started pushing in, a hiss came from both men's mouths, eyes closing in the overwhelming pleasure. San was slow with it, not as mean as he was before with his hips, letting all of you get used to the new sensation.

When he bottomed out, a guttural moan came from them, their tips rubbed against each other, almost already making it too much, and you were already done for. As soon as he started pushing into your walls, they were pulsing around them, the stretch so good, making you feel so full.

"Oh my-" Wooyoung moaned under you, his breath hitching when San started moving, his hands holding onto your waist - and Wooyoung's hand, grabbing at it hard, grounding himself. He had never been with a woman and felt the immediate need to come, and you've done that to him twice already today, but this was different from the earlier stimulation. Your insides were stretched around them, making it tighter, warmer, and so much more intense to feel.

There was something so intimate about this; other than the actual intrusion of both of them in you, their praises hit your ears, but never actually made it to the point where you could comprehend it over the overwhelming sensations.

They started moving in tandem, Wooyoung's hips working up into you while San did the same from behind you, splitting you way beyond your limits. You were a moaning mess, no actual thought behind your eyes, and Wooyoung clearly saw when his chuckle hit your ears, "already fucked dumb princess?"

His words went over your ears, you folded over him, both men working hard so you don't actually fall from the couch. "Such a pretty sight-fuck," San moaned, looking where you were connected, hypnotised by the way you took their lengths.

It didn't need too many thrusts from them to have you shaking in their hold, thighs begging to let your weight fall against the man under you, but they held you up, fucking you through your orgasm while whispering sweet little nothings to you.

The sight of your eyes rolling back into your head, and the endless moans reverberating off the walls, got Wooyoung closer than he would've liked, "'nna fuck you full of our come, baby," he groaned, thrusting harder and faster up into you, making San even more vocal than he was before. "make you pregnant with one of our's baby alright?"

His hand came down on your belly, caressing the silky skin there, right over the bump their cocks caused, and he pushed down there softly, his own moan escaping from his mouth, "Feel this, baby?" You nodded at him, head rolling back against San's shoulders, thighs burning as you bounced on them, helping their movements.

It took one perfect trust from San against your spot for you to come again, tightening even more around them, as liquid spills down your thighs, soaking your man's abdomen, and San's thighs, "Fuck, princess-" one of them moans, following you close with their high. Your thighs shaking from the overwhelming feeling, tears running down your cheeks, messing up whatever makeup you still had on.

The other follows with their orgasm too, twitching and pulsing deep inside you, as you collapse against Wooyoung's chest. His hands instantly wrap around you, pulling you closer, but making you all whine as the movement makes San slip a little bit out of you, but he doesn't stretch the euphoria long.

He pulls out of you, crashing against the side of Woo, his head resting against the shorter one's chest, with a content sigh. "How come we've never done this before?" your voice muffled against Wooyoung's skin.

Both men chuckle at your question, but don't actually have answers for you. They are good in the comfortable silence that has settled over the room, letting all of you rest after an exhausting day. But then the realisation comes over you, you're still in the changing room at a studio, both sets that were on you and San ruined, with bodily fluids you are sure the brand won't ask for back, but there is still a bigger question at stake, "How the fuck do we get out of here without getting it to everyone's knowledge what happened in here?"

taglist (open): @belongjoong @kisssan @strhwa @thatateezgirl @karlee10261990 @stxrrywoo @minkieater @moooonandroses @redemptions

© 2025 way2jellyous

[cyb3rtron]

[way2jellyous]

dirty work

pairing: model!San x model!reader x model!Wooyoung

synopsis: content: mfm, porn w/ a little bit of plot, model au, fem reader, double pen, fingering, them kissing also, wooyoung is reader's bf, asking for consent is hot, but doing it w/o protection isn't! some breeding kink hidden in there, squirting, dirty talk petnames (doll, love, princess, baby) wc: 3.5k

⭑루안: i never wrote this much smut in one sitting, esp not this many words. take it from the freak that overtook my brain at these fine dawn hours. also take this as a late valentines gift or an early birthday gift idk guys likes comments and reblogs are appreciated!! will proof read it in the morning

“Just like that, yes”, the director called out, flashes and clicks of cameras everywhere around you. “A little bit closer to his - oh my god - so good, yes” The photographer was just shooting shots mindlessly, as he heard the director call out instructions, his voice authoritative and bouncing off every wall in the big space.

Wooyoung was watching you from behind the scenes like usual. Phone dangling from his hand as he scrolled on social media, not particularly paying attention to his best friend and girlfriend on set.

“Okay, now, maybe just seductively pull her panties out and let it snap back”, he called out again, and San did just that. “Amazing, do it a few times again.” He hummed appreciative noises in the back of his throat, eyes shining as he took in your tempting poses.

“Do we have the video cam on? I feel like this would work well on that,” he called out to no one in particular again. Staff came with video cameras now, swarming the scene you and San were creating. “But what would I even think of two such good models?”

The bright lights of the set were melting the minimal makeup you had on, making your face feel sticky and uncomfortable. How could you even feel comfortable? This was hell on earth. the constant clicking of cameras around you, letting them photograph you in underwear, not saving a piece of you that won't be on the internet. But at least it paid well.

The director could've been more subtle in checking you out, especially in front of the guys. If Woo were paying attention, he would've already killed him with his gaze - and San, too, for his hand placement.

The frown was begging to break through the masked emotion on your face. Something about this set was way more intimidating and alluring than your normal; maybe it was the sweat running down your side where San has been touching you. The knowledge of other people being in the room while he was doing it so sensually - especially in your boyfriend's presence. Not like he would ever share…

—

Turns out he would.

"You've been practically begging to get our hands on you, doll," Wooyoung whispered in your ear while San worked on your bra's clasp, freeing your tits to the cold changing room's air, making your nipples perk instantly. "You think he didn't smell your arousal from right next to you?" he bit your collarbone, hard, pulling a deep and raw moan from your chest. You felt him smile against your chest before he looked deep in your eyes, "Hell, be grateful if the director didn't get a whiff of it," a chuckle rumbled in from his ribs.

San's palms danced along your sides, feeling up your silky skin, just to wrap them around you and get the branded bra off you. As soon as it left your body, his hands fondled your breasts, moans escaping your mouth at his mere touch.

While that happened, Wooyoung peeled your wet panties back, pulling them to the side to slide a finger through your folds, dipping them knuckle deep into you, only to pull them away just as fast as they came. Everything was happening so fast, the sensations of San's fingers rolling your nipples, Wooyoung sinking to his knees in front of you - it was way too fast, catching you off guard.

But there was no time to stand there and stare at your boyfriend, trying to figure out his intentions, because San got a hold of your chin, forcing you to turn your face to him as he kissed you deeply. His kiss was different from what you were used to. Wooyoung kissed slowly, biting your lips teasingly, and pulling back here and there to put his forehead against yours and smile at you.

San was all teeth and tongue, harshly reminding you of the fact that it wasn't your boyfriend. He kissed with haste, yet deliberately, and unapologetically, almost as if he was trying to say, "turn off your thoughts."

The kiss broke when you pulled away from him, at the feeling of Wooyoung's tongue touching your clit, making your hands grab a handful of his blonde hair, tugging on it like a lifeline. One of San's hands stayed on your chin; it was soft, but demanding. The other joined yours on the blonde's head, guiding his face on your cunt, where he was rougher with his touch.

"Let him make you feel good, huh, princess?" he whispered, lips touching your earlobe, gently nipping at the skin. "You worked so hard today, looking pretty in front of a camera isn't something anyone could do," his chest rumbled against your back as he chuckled mockingly, but pushed his hardness into your ass. "Mmh, and you do it well too, huh?" he tsked, sarcastically puckering his lips, but still his eyebrows furrowed.

Wooyoung pushed one of your legs into San's hand, opening you up to his mouth for better access, so now he could lick his way from your hole to your clit, drawing a deep moan out of you. "fuuck… Woo, baby, that's so good," you stretched the syllables, throwing your head back onto the other man's shoulder. He moaned into you, the vibrations sending a chill down your spine, arching it against the other man, whose breath hitched at your ass, pushing back into him.

His tongue worked hard on you, switching between licking deep and sensual strokes and slow little nips on your clit. He was looking at you and San from under his lashes, a wicked glint shining in his eyes at both of your heated gazes. He pulled away from your cunt, stopping the stimulation fully. But he didn't bother to stand up before spitting on your mound, letting it run down between your folds.

He looked proud of his work, head tilted playfully, looking deep into your eyes as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, but never really kissing you as you thought he would do so. Instead, his hand left your face, wrapped around the other man's, and he kissed him intensely, both of them moaning from the moment of the first touch.

They exchanged your taste in their mouths along with spit, and San's hands wrapped around your hips to easily let him rut his hips into your ass. Wooyoung didn't break from his lips, but let a hand fall from the taller man's neck to dip his fingers back between your folds, stimulating you while they kissed. Little did he know them kissing might've made you more aroused than all of the things they've done to you before.

It was a sight that's for sure, the two most prominent figures in your life - your boyfriend and his best friend - two very attractive people kissing right next to you while they both touched you, and hadn't left your skin. Something you will never tell them, but it's been a deep fantasy of yours.

Watching San wander around your and Wooyoung's house like he was at home, sweatpants low on his hips without a shirt on, getting casted to the same photoshoots with Calvin's, Diesel's and Skims' underwear line, letting him touch your body intimately, but just for the sake of pictures, and only professionally because the heat of his gaze always left his eyes when the cameras turned off. He never made a move before today, never let his hands wander on your body, finally letting him get a taste of you.

Your walls tightened around his fingers as he massaged that spongy spot in you, and the moan it drew out of you, making them finally break their kiss and turn their attention back to you. Hungry gazes settle back in your writhing body, which was still held by San, and your hole scissorred open by Wooyung.

Wooyung's face had a wide smirk on it. He stretched his neck to the side, tilting his head in the process, and fastening the pace of his fingers at the same time. Your moan was ragged, high, hands flying to San's hands on you for a better hold, nails already pushing crescent moons into his tan skin.

"You're taking it so well, m'love." his tone was honey sweet, overly sweet, and that's how you knew he could withdraw the pleasure from you any second now, but first, he would let that knot tighten in your lower abdomen, playing you dirty.

Your whines got closer together, and higher in pitch, and that's when he knew to pull his fingers out of you, robbing you of the feeling of euphoria. "Such a good girl, taking whatever is given to her," San whispered in your ear, his hand wandering for your hip to join Wooyoung's between your legs.

"Sannie," your boyfriend thought out loud, "She's so wet," his lips curled, "She would let you do anything, right baby?" Uncoherent moans and whines came from your mouth, and both men chuckled at your desperation. "So worked up, ready to take cock, hm?" he questioned, as he felt San's fingers start rubbing your clit, in soft circular motions, making your hips chase the stimulation. "Maybe you even want to take two today…" That wonder got both men groaning.

Both of their hands left the place you needed them to touch the most, backing you up against the table in the break room, turning you around and folding you over it in one motion. "Please…" your voice was weak, whiny, ready to voice anything to get one of them inside you.

"What do you need, love?" San asked from behind you, gently pulling your panties down your legs, letting them fall where they may.

"You," a breathy moan left you as his hips ruttend into you. Your wetness unmistakably staining the cotton of his briefs, making his eyes roll back into his head at the feeling of it on his sensitive mushroom tip. Wooyoung settled next to you, resting against the edge of the table, his hand smoothing down your hair, with a lopsided smile on his face.

San, behind you, was pushing his shorts down with a quick movement, pushing his head through your folds with ragged movements, pulling moans out of both your mouths. His head lolled back with the contact, savouring your wetness on him. He was teasing at first, not pushing into you quite yet, but thrust his length forward, letting it glide between your folds all the way to your clit.

His cock felt girthier than your boyfriend's, but sensations were quick to overtake your senses already, eyes closing gradually with each slide of his dick, and mouth opening wider and wider until your chin pushed against the hard surface of the table.

Wooyoung tried to look at both of you, San's pleasure-ridden expression and your falling apart one. His hand travelling to palm his own cock through the rough denim of his pants, trying to relieve his painful arousal.

"Stop teasing her, Sannie, don't be so cruel." Wooyoung chuckled over your whines' rising volume, "let her have it, she was so good…" freeing his own cock as he spoke, extending his hand in front of your head, "Spit in my hand, love."

As your saliva hit his hand, San thrust into you with one quick motion, pushing all air out of your lungs, with a breathy moan, oh, and was he girthier than Wooyoung. "Fuck..." his head was still hanging towards the ceiling, praying to every God not to come as soon as he hits your cervix.

His pace was brutal, punishing even though all you've been is pliant and good in their hands. The table's creaking, wet slaps, and breathy moans bounced off the four walls, making the atmosphere so much more intimate and close.

"You're so tight around me," San grunted from behind you, walls pulsating with every snap of his hips, so devoted to chasing his pleasure, dying to paint your insides, "made for us, right?"

A chuckle escapes from the man next to you, his hand matching the pace San's hips have in you, "such a wonder why we never done this before…" The pleasure was overtaking your senses, eyes rolling back into your head, that specific tightness in your lower stomach becoming more prominent with each time his head pushed against your pulsing spot.

The orgasm had you seeing stars, with the previous teasings, coming hard around his cock with a loud moan, only to Wooyoung slide three fingers into your open mouth, "Baby, you have to be quieter, some staff are still outside," he murmured as he leaned against your ear, his breath hot on your cheeks. "We can't exactly let them know two men are ruining you, can we now?"

You shook your head as best as you could with his fingers stuffing your mouth, trying to escape San's iron-hold on your thighs from the overstimulation. Still, he didn't seem like he was about to stop any time soon, pushing you into another orgasm so quickly after the first. "n-no.. stop, ah- Sannie," body burning in a way it rarely did, muffled moans and words escaping around the fingers in your mouth.

"Can I come inside her?" he tried, calmly talking over your ragged moans, his cock pulsing inside you. Wooyoung couldn't even let a word out before the other man's release painted your insides, mixing with your own, but his cock was still half hard inside you, still pushing his load deeper.

Wooyoung's hands were tugging your head up so his lips could connect with yours in a kiss, letting your body relax in his hold. His hand never stopped on his own cock, it only slowed down its pace, dragging it out as slow and measured as he could. He was moaning inside your mouth, tongue mapping out every part of you.

San slowly slid out of you, as he watched your boyfriend kiss you, a moan escaping both of your mouths, making Wooyoung pull away from you, resting his forehead against yours, "You think you could take both of us, doll?" his thumb played with your lower lip, gently pulling it down and letting it snap back, as a smile played on his lips.

You felt San's gaze on your bare back, even dropping back down to your cunt, where your mixed juices flowed out of you, wetting the inside of your thighs artfully.

You nodded against Wooyoung's head, gulping a bit of spit down your throat, even though your mouth felt so dry. You never took two at the same time before, especially not someone their size. Wooyoung liked to play around in bed with you, sometimes putting his fingers inside you with his cock, stimulating both of you further, stretching you beyond limits.

Maybe he had always been prepping you for this, to take him and his pretty best friend in you at the same time. Let them rub against each other inside your pulsing walls, making you come around them, pushing them over the edge with only a few thrusts.

His hands settled on your waist, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead before guiding you to the couch. He looked at San with a wicked glint in his eyes, before kicking his jeans down, while you tugged the shirt over his head. Then he settled on the couch, hands instantly going back to your hips, tugging you down with him.

"Are you gonna be a good girl and take both of us, baby?" you could only nod at his question, feeling both his tip prodding at your entrance, and San came closer to the couch behind you, stroking his already hardening dick. "I can feel San's come in you," he grunted, looking down where you were about to be connected, before throwing his head back with a groan.

You pushed him down, with a soft shove from your hands, reaching down to line his length up with your entrane before sitting down on it, "better push it right back then." All three of you moaned as you sat down on him, his cock easily gliding through your walls with San's release. If he could also slide in this easily.

Wooyoung's hands found their place on your waist, pulling you up from him, as the couch dipped behind you, and another hand joined your boyfriend's below your ribs. "Are you still sure about this princess?" his voice was husky and low, making the hairs stand on the back of your neck.

"Yes, please, Sannie, put it inside-" you whined breathily, brows furrowing together, just like when you first came, but this time in frustration. Wooyoung was already inside you, but held you so still that no stimulation came from it, and San was just lining up with your entrance, moving so calmly like you had all day. "Please, just put it in, I can't take it any-"

The words died in your mouth as he started pushing in, a hiss came from both men's mouths, eyes closing in the overwhelming pleasure. San was slow with it, not as mean as he was before with his hips, letting all of you get used to the new sensation.

When he bottomed out, a guttural moan came from them, their tips rubbed against each other, almost already making it too much, and you were already done for. As soon as he started pushing into your walls, they were pulsing around them, the stretch so good, making you feel so full.

"Oh my-" Wooyoung moaned under you, his breath hitching when San started moving, his hands holding onto your waist - and Wooyoung's hand, grabbing at it hard, grounding himself. He had never been with a woman and felt the immediate need to come, and you've done that to him twice already today, but this was different from the earlier stimulation. Your insides were stretched around them, making it tighter, warmer, and so much more intense to feel.

There was something so intimate about this; other than the actual intrusion of both of them in you, their praises hit your ears, but never actually made it to the point where you could comprehend it over the overwhelming sensations.

They started moving in tandem, Wooyoung's hips working up into you while San did the same from behind you, splitting you way beyond your limits. You were a moaning mess, no actual thought behind your eyes, and Wooyoung clearly saw when his chuckle hit your ears, "already fucked dumb princess?"

His words went over your ears, you folded over him, both men working hard so you don't actually fall from the couch. "Such a pretty sight-fuck," San moaned, looking where you were connected, hypnotised by the way you took their lengths.

It didn't need too many thrusts from them to have you shaking in their hold, thighs begging to let your weight fall against the man under you, but they held you up, fucking you through your orgasm while whispering sweet little nothings to you.

The sight of your eyes rolling back into your head, and the endless moans reverberating off the walls, got Wooyoung closer than he would've liked, "'nna fuck you full of our come, baby," he groaned, thrusting harder and faster up into you, making San even more vocal than he was before. "make you pregnant with one of our's baby alright?"

His hand came down on your belly, caressing the silky skin there, right over the bump their cocks caused, and he pushed down there softly, his own moan escaping from his mouth, "Feel this, baby?" You nodded at him, head rolling back against San's shoulders, thighs burning as you bounced on them, helping their movements.

It took one perfect trust from San against your spot for you to come again, tightening even more around them, as liquid spills down your thighs, soaking your man's abdomen, and San's thighs, "Fuck, princess-" one of them moans, following you close with their high. Your thighs shaking from the overwhelming feeling, tears running down your cheeks, messing up whatever makeup you still had on.

The other follows with their orgasm too, twitching and pulsing deep inside you, as you collapse against Wooyoung's chest. His hands instantly wrap around you, pulling you closer, but making you all whine as the movement makes San slip a little bit out of you, but he doesn't stretch the euphoria long.

He pulls out of you, crashing against the side of Woo, his head resting against the shorter one's chest, with a content sigh. "How come we've never done this before?" your voice muffled against Wooyoung's skin.

Both men chuckle at your question, but don't actually have answers for you. They are good in the comfortable silence that has settled over the room, letting all of you rest after an exhausting day. But then the realisation comes over you, you're still in the changing room at a studio, both sets that were on you and San ruined, with bodily fluids you are sure the brand won't ask for back, but there is still a bigger question at stake, "How the fuck do we get out of here without getting it to everyone's knowledge what happened in here?"

taglist (open): @belongjoong @kisssan @strhwa @thatateezgirl @karlee10261990 @stxrrywoo @minkieater @moooonandroses @redemptions

© 2025 way2jellyous

[mulloey]

prove it to me

PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! sugar daddy x sugar baby dynamics. not central to the plot (there is no plot) but mentioned. consensual bdsm/kink dynamics. workaholic hongjoong. studio play. daddy kink. babying. corruption kink. pussy smacking. thigh smacking. degradation. panty sniffing (he makes u smell them sorry) panty gagging. starts out sweet and tender then gets gross. basically just 2k words to make you say girl, stand up…

You knew Hongjoong was rich.

You’d seen it online—the outfits, the jewelry, the first class flights and the team rings he’d apparently dropped a pretty penny on. So yeah, you knew he was rich.

You didn’t realise how rich he was until you actually met him.

Until the fancams and Fromm messages turned to his eyes on you—only you—and hands on your skin.

His hands—strong, steady, careful—on your bare skin.

On your hands, at first, then your wrists. Then just above your knees. A little higher—to the middle of your thighs, then further. Then your waist, where your shirt rode up just a little and he snuck his hand in underneath it.

You still don’t know how it happened; why he chose you, out of everyone. You wonder if he knows, actually; he doesn’t tell you either way. Says it’s nothing for you to be worrying about. That’s not your job, worrying. Your job is to be soft and sweet and spoiled and do what he tells you to do.

Right now, that involves sitting on his lap in the studio while he works. Quietly. Unmoving. Not causing trouble. He came here to work, and you came here to help.

He finds he works better with you around. Helps to see where the money from this track is going, he joked once.

He sighs, leaning back in his seat; his hand moves from the keyboard and comes to rest on your thigh, on the soft, bare skin he seems to find some sort of grounding in. His other hand curls around your waist and rests on your tummy. He hums. “How’s school going?” He asks. “I didn't ask you today.”

“I finished my project,” you tell him. “And my essay. Submitted them.”

“Ah, did you?” You nod and he smiles; a look of satisfaction, of pride, that makes your chest feel warm. “Good girl. You’re doing so well. Ah, I should be keeping up with you more, shouldn’t I? I’m sorry I haven’t, I’ve just…”

He glances back at the computer, at the screen that hasn’t changed in almost an hour, and grimaces, lips set in a thin, frustrated line. “It’s okay,” you say softly. “You’re working hard.”

He nods, and you feel him relaxing a little—but not quite. His jaw is still tight; shoulders still tense. Hands still digging into your side like he’s trying to ground himself in your skin. You pause, chewing on your lip. “Daddy,” you whisper. He grunts; a noise of acknowledgment. “Can I… can I put my head on your shoulder?”

He’s never actually said no, but with Hongjoong it’s always better to ask. He appreciates it, in any case.

“Yeah, honey,” he says. Then, quieter, “please.”

He’s warm, always is; you nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck like you’re trying to hide yourself inside him. His grip on your waist loosens, the pressure against you coming away enough for his grip to feel strong and protective rather than tense and desperate. His hand slips between your thighs then sneaks upwards—slowly, surely. You sigh. “You’re stressed.”

“I know,” he murmurs. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something else; before he can, though, his eyes seem to catch on something. They narrow, scrutinising. You shrink back like you’ve been caught in the act of something. “What is this?”

“What’s what?”

He pushes your skirt up, over your thighs and around your waist. It’s black, short, pleated, one of his favourites. What’s not one of his favourites, it seems, are the panties sitting snug on your hips. He stares at them for a moment, then up at you, brow raised. “Did I put you in panties this morning?”

Ah. “Um…”

“I don’t think I did,” he says. “Interesting.”

“I just— the skirt is short.”

“I know it is. That’s why I chose it.”

“I didn’t want anyone to see,” you argue. “You don’t like it when other people look at me.”

He hums. “I suppose you got me there. But just for good measure—” His hand draws back suddenly then slams down, right over your covered cunt; you shriek, half in surprise and half in pain, and he smacks it again. “Don’t sneak around me again,” he chides you. “Clear?”

You nod, breathing shuddered, a little dizzy; the pain fades almost as quickly as it came, the sharpness now a small, faint stinging—it’s the fact that he did it so quickly, so casually, so… procedurally, that’s getting to you now.

“Sorry, daddy,” you mumble. “I should’ve asked you.”

“Now you know.”

His palm comes to rest on your cunt now, gently this time, soothing the sting and sparking, you quickly find, an ache of an entirely different sort. You squirm a little, thighs trying to clench instinctively but blocked by his hand between them. He clicks his tongue, sighing, but says nothing. Then the pressure increases, just a little bit, so his fingers are pressing against your clit.

He starts to move slowly. Nothing dramatic. Nothing hard to take. But you’re so needy right now.

“Daddy,” you grunt. “C’mon, I…”

“Be good,” he says. “Daddy’s working. I’ll buy you something pretty when I’m done, alright?”

You huff. “You know that’s not what I want.”

He sighs again—you’ve found it’s one of the things he tends to do when you’re being bratty—but his lips are curved and you can tell he’s amused. Endeared a little, though he’d never admit it.

“I’ll fuck you too,” he says. “That’s what you’re fishing for, isn’t it? A nice, deep fucking, that’s what you want.”

You shudder; it wracks through the entirety of your body like a rogue wave. “Yeah.”

He tuts. “I really have corrupted you, haven’t I?” He chuckles. “You were so innocent when I met you. Just a little one, so scared to be touched; I practically had to coax you into submission. Now you can’t sit still without my dick in your cunt.”

“That’s not true,” you frown.

“Which part?”

“Both.”

“Prove it, then,” he says. The smugness in his voice tells you he knows as well as you do that you can’t. “Sit still until I’m done. Be a good girl and don’t bother me. Prove you aren’t the cockwhore I think you are.”

“What’ll I get if I do?”

“Dick,” he tells you. “As much as you like, all night.”

Well that does sound appealing. “And… if I don’t?”

“Dick,” he says again. “As much as I like. And maybe a spanking to remind you not to lie to your daddy. You’d probably like that, though.”

He knows full well you would. The first time he spanked you you almost came over his lap from the smacks alone—something he never fails to hold over your head. You’re surprised he hasn’t mentioned it now.

“Okay, deal,” you say. “May the truth prevail.”

He just rolls his eyes.

You lose catastrophically, of course. He keeps you on his lap—refuses to let you slip away and retreat to the couch as you'd intended and banked on—his hands on your waist, holding you loosely enough that you can move but tight enough that you can't ignore the feeling of his hands on you. You’re certain, as well, that he’s flexing his forearms on purpose. Deliberately doing things on his computer that force him to move his hands and his fingers in just the way that sets you off.

And you just can’t help yourself.

In minutes, the feeling starts in your tummy. It goes to your head a while later. And then, before you can stop it—you squirm. Breath sucked in. A small whimper breaking past your lips.

Hongjoong goes still. His finger stills above the mouse.

“You just squirmed.”

“I—”

“You lost,” he cuts you off. His voice is level, steady, but a layer of smugness seeps through on an undercurrent, and you doubt it’s by accident. He’s enjoying this—of course he is. “You told me you could keep control, and you didn’t. You are a whore. You need dick, or you can’t stay still. You just proved it.”

“Hongjoong,” you whine. “That’s not fair.”

“It doesn’t need to be,” he says. “I told you to do something, and you failed. Stand up.”

You’re shaking as you clamber to your feet, knees weak after what feels like eons perched on his lap; he steadies you with two hands on your waist then lets you go. His expression is calm, eyes gentle, but his lips curl into a small sneer as he looks you up and down. “That was a pathetic display,” he says. “I really did corrupt you. You were such a good little girl when I found you, you know? So sweet. Not desperate and disobedient like you are now.”

You know he’s teasing, you know he’s just playing the game, just enjoying his victory; still you can’t help but whine, pouting, shoulders slumping like a scolded child. “Joong—”

He raises an eyebrow. You know that look by heart—know the warning. “Daddy,” you correct yourself.

“Better,” he says. “You made a fool out of yourself there. Being so out of control. I thought I taught you discipline.”

“You did.”

“Evidently not enough. Take off your panties.”

You hesitate for just a second too long. Hongjoong hooks an arm around your waist and tugs you towards him, turning you around so you’re facing away then lands five sharp, rhythmic slaps on each of your thighs. You squeal, trying not to squirm as he lays them down, and he turns you back around without a word.

“Currently,” he says, “I don’t plan on giving you the spanking I threatened earlier. Don’t make me change my mind. I’d hate to do it here—the walls are soundproof, but only so much. A crybaby like you, I’m sure the whole floor would hear. Take off your panties.”

You don’t hesitate this time—Hongjoong has never threatened you with anything he wasn’t prepared to follow through with. It’s part of his philosophy, his ethos; honesty in all cases. You can’t and shouldn’t trust someone who makes promises they won’t keep—even if those promises are things you’d much rather they didn’t.

You pull the panties down your thighs, stepping out of them. Hongjoong holds up a hand, stilling you, before you can put them down.

“Hold them up to your face,” he orders. You do. He adjusts himself in his seat, only slightly, eyes on you. “Smell them.”

You baulk. “What?”

“Smell them,” he repeats. “And tell me how wet you are.”

You run your fingers across the fabric, the soaked crotch that’s practically dripping onto the floor. “They’re wet,” you say. “I— I can tell from this.”

“That’s lovely,” he replies. “Now do what I told you to do.”

On some level, most of them really, you want to protest. To refuse. But you don’t. Your safeword—the little word both of you live by, that he drilled into you like a mantra and, the one time he asked you it before you started a scene and you couldn’t recall it, genuinely belted you for being careless enough to let it slip your mind—is the last thing on your mind as you lift the fabric up to your nose and sniff it.

You’ve done a lot of degrading, debasing things with Hongjoong. You’d even call some of them dehumanising. But there’s something uniquely humiliating in this; in smelling your wet, soiled panties while your boyfriend watches on, simply because he told you to. Because you’d do anything he told you do.

Your boyfriend, you notice, is rock hard; evident even through his pants. It makes you pulse.

“Well?” He asks. “Wet?”

You nod. “Yes, daddy. Wet.”

“Creamy?”

You nod. He tilts his head, silently menacing, and you rush to correct yourself. “Yes, daddy. They— they’re creamy.”

He hums. “You know what you’re smelling, baby?”

“Um…”

“Your lack of control,” he answers for you. “You let your cunt do the thinking for you. Daddy taught you to use your brain, didn’t he?”

It’s actually the opposite, and you both know that; Hongjoong takes great pride and pleasure in having reduced you to thinking with your pussy, guided by need for him, need to please him, above all else. In having dumbed you down to the extent that you’ll follow your leaking cunt and throbbing clit anywhere he takes you. But he also takes pleasure in acting like he didn’t want this at all; like your perversion, your more ‘bimbo like’ qualities, as he calls them, are flaws to be corrected. Like it’s his solemn duty to beat them out of you.

And honestly—you love it just as much. Feeling like a disappointment for how stupid you are for him. Feeling taken in hand by him; pretending he’s doing all this for your own good.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” you whisper.

“You’re going to have to prove it,” he says. “I just hope you do a better job than you did the last time you tried to prove something to me. Give me your panties.”

You push them into his outstretched hand; you know what he’s going to do next before he does it. “On your knees and open your mouth.”

You obey, slowly but steadily—careful, rather than hesitant. The taste of salt on your tongue as he stuffs the wet fabric past your lips is an unsurprising one.

“That’s better,” he smiles, satisfaction evident in his voice. “That’ll teach you modesty. You stay like that until daddy’s done. Then we’ll get you home and give you that fucking you earned, yeah?”

“Yes, daddy,” you say around the fabric, voice muffled.

Hongjoong pats your head, pinching your cheek gently.

“Good puppy.”

been utterly haunted by the concept of dilf/sugar daddy ateez recently. here’s the sugar daddy. dilf may come later.

[thatateezgirl]

Hongjoong’s favourite place: His Studio

(worshipping you version)

Where creativity meets devotion…

---------

idol - Hongjoong x fem!reader

genre: smut

content warnings: MDNI, insecurities (m), slight dom HJ, power dynamics, oral (f receives), fingering, multiple orgasms, public building but not in view of anyone, unprotected sex, a tear here and there, biting, ejaculates inside f.

words: 2.6K

*everything is fictional, just for some distracting fun*

Reposts are super appreciated 🤍

---------

You’re at his studio, your weekly routine where you come to check up on him after hours alone, not hearing a word.

He sits on his chair, swivelling left and right from pent up energy, whilst you sit on the little sofa, calm.

He likes having you here. He loves to hear your opinions, see your excitement, and your presence helps ground him when he gets lost in the endless loop of perfectionism.

“I’ve been really struggling with this part though.” He says, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s like whatever sounds I put in don’t match - they don’t have the right… rhythm? Feel? I don’t know. All I know is I hate it, but it fits so well for the rest of the song… And I have to show something in two days anyway, so I can’t start over.”

He presses the key again and the music starts. His head is bobbing along, eyes closed, trying to find what it is that doesn’t click. When he opens his eyes, he looks at you, but to his disappointment, you’re just typing on your phone.

A pang of hurt hits him.

He knows it’s a lot to ask, especially since you’re just doing him a favour, but he was hoping you would just listen, even if you had nothing to say. Or at least tell him you weren’t feeling up to the task tonight.

He pauses the track after the verse has passed, his voice a little quieter than usual. “What do you think?”

He knows it’s not fair, but he wants to see if you’ll be taken by surprise by his question, expecting you to be caught out.

You look up from your phone. “Can you play the beginning again please? I can see what you mean and I had something come to mind but it was too short. I started jotting things down - here.” You say, showing him your phone.

Guilt hits him low in his gut as he realises that what he thought was you texting, was actually you actively listening, writing down your thoughts on the song.

He looks at you, chest warming up instantly.

“You’re incredible.” He murmurs.

You look at him, quizzical. “Huh?”

“I can’t believe I even doubted you.” He sighs.

Now you’re really confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow…”

“When I looked at you as I played the song,” he says, rolling his chair closer to you, “I thought you were texting. I didn’t realise you were taking notes. I’m so sorry I even thought that, you’re the most amazing person I know.”

He kisses your forehead sweetly.

You chuckle. “You thought I was texting? Baby you know I wouldn’t come here if I didn’t want to. And this is important to you, which means it’s important to me too.”

“I know Honey, that was so bad of me, I feel awful… How can I make up for it?”

“You don’t need to make up for it.” You say, pinching his chin. “It’s not that tragic.”

“Actually, it is.” He kisses you softly. “I doubted the most amazing woman in the world.” Another kiss. “I don’t deserve you.”

Your stomach flips a little.

“Hongjoong it’s fi-“

His hand glides up your thigh and you suddenly forget how to speak, your brain emptying in a matter of seconds.

“Hmm?” He hums against your neck. “You were saying?”

“I- I don’t know.”

Your eyes flutter shut and you let yourself be lost in his touch.

Lazily, his hand sneaks under your shirt, caressing your lower back, and your whole body shivers. His mouth moves up to yours and you give yourself to him without hesitation. There’s something so addicting about his lips, they can make you do anything, be anything he wants.

His hand continues exploring your back, moving to your waist. Your muscles contract at his featherlight touch. The little sounds of contentment echoing in your mouth make him smile against you.

He brings his chair closer to you, prying your knees open with his own.

“Wait-” you pant, pulling away. “The door.”

He follows your eyes.

Standing slowly, he goes to the door, locking it firmly.

You gulp.

When he turns back to you, his demeanour is different. Self-assured, eyes burning into yours, ready.

The closer he gets to you, the more you lean back into the couch, out of instinct. His hand reaches out for your face, caressing it, before it slides down to your breasts, right as his lips crash into yours again. The way he’s leaning over you right now, towering over you whilst his fingers inflict pleasurable damage over your clothes, has you whimpering.

“What do you want, Honey? I’m all yours.” He pants against your mouth.

A shiver rolls down your spine at his words, but your brain is foggy and you don’t know what to say.

“You” is the only thing that comes out of your mouth in a shallow breath.

He grunts a little, turned on by how gone you already are.

“Anything for you.”

He lowers to his knees, prying yours apart again. Unable to avert your gaze, you watch him unbutton your jeans and pull them off slowly.

“There’s people on this floor Honey, you’ve gotta promise me you’ll stay quiet okay?”

His request comes out ragged as he takes in the view of the growing wet patch in your panties. This is the first time you’re doing this here when other people are around, but he can’t wait one more second. And as wrong as it is, it sends a jolt of excitement through his whole body.

You inhale sharply as he lightly caresses the wet stain with his thumb. He takes his time, spreading your arousal on the fabric, delighting in your body’s automatic response to him.

“You don’t even know what you do to me…” He breathes, as though it were a secret.

Your hips buck when he touches your clit and his stomach flips. To him, your body is like a keyboard - he knows exactly which touch makes you gasp, which movement makes your thighs clench, which rhythm makes your voice crack.

He grabs your thigh, kneading it gently whilst lowering down to place soft kisses on it, still rubbing into your core. He takes his time savouring the sweet taste of your skin, lightly biting into the plush flesh just to hear that broken sound again.

You watch him through fluttering lashes. You love when he takes control, and he loves when you let him, because you know that whatever happens, he’ll make sure you end up not just satisfied, but content. And quite frankly, you’re the precious thing he wants to handle carefully, ruin softly, and put back together exactly the way he likes.

You whimper as he gets closer to your burning core, and though you can’t see it, his heart is racing in his chest - an uncontrollable reaction to seeing you like this.

“Joong…” you beg, indicating you need more from him.

“Yes Honey?” He drawls, knowing what you want but needing you to voice it.

You swallow, your mouth dry with need and anticipation.

“I want your mouth on me.” You finally manage.

He bites his lip, a little shocked by how direct you are, so unlike you, but bathing in it. It turns him on even more.

His fingers hook under the fabric, pulling it down to expose you to the warm air of the room. He lifts your hips to allow him to remove them, taking the opportunity to tug you towards the edge of the couch.

There’s a moment where the air stills as he stares at you with an almost imperceptible smirk on his face, but you know him too well - know his features and every tiny movement by heart. He likes to see if you’ll be the one to make the first move, though he never makes you wait too long.

Well… most of the time.

Tonight, he’s too excited to love on every part of you to wait any longer, his mouth meeting your core after only seconds.

Your back arches the moment you feel his warm tongue flatten on you, your fingers weaving themselves in his chestnut hair.

“Fuck Honey, y’taste so good.” He moans between licks.

Your only answer is a series of choked and scattered breaths as you feel the pressure building in your stomach already. You shouldn’t be surprised after all, he knows how to play it right, push your buttons like a console. Still, the intensity of your feelings makes your mind go blank.

You whimper weakly when his lips wrap around your clit, sucking on it fiercely but gently as he inserts two fingers, creating a maddening rhythm, curling them just right.

He’s like a pirate drunk on rhum - except that it’s you, your sounds, reactions and taste that have his head spinning. He can’t stop - doesn’t want to stop. Even when your orgasm explodes inside of you, arousal coating his tongue, your moans flowing through his mind in the most beautiful harmony.

“That’s it.” He encourages. “Keep going.”

You don’t have a choice, his fingers still sliding in and out of you even as the waves calm, but you love it. And he knows you love it. He knows you, and he knows that you can go multiple times, and today he wants to make sure you cum as many times as possible. He wants you to walk - well, probably more like wobble - out of this room knowing how much he loves you, how much he cares for you, how desperately addicted he is to you and your body.

And he wants himself to never forget again just how incredible you are.

“Hong- fuck.” You whimper as your legs start to shake again, another orgasm already building inside of you.

His hand tightens around your thighs, making sure you can stay locked in his embrace. He looks up at you, marvelling at your angelic face as your eyelids flutter from pleasure. His cock jumps in his cargos but he ignores it. If anything he can take care of that later.

He slaps your thigh once and your head whips up, hazy eyes locking on his, making him smile against your cunt - your body responds to him exactly the way he’s conditioned it to.

You unravel under his touch once more, doing your best to keep your eyes on him even as they threaten to fall shut. He doesn’t stop or slow down, riding it out with you as he praises you endlessly.

“You’re doing so good. You’re so beautiful, you know that? You’re always so good for me.”

You barely wait for your orgasm to finish before you grab his collar and tug him towards you, kissing his wet mouth. He doesn’t protest, pulling your waist closer to him. The faintest trace of the strawberries you nibbled on earlier coats his tongue, and his mind spins a little when you start running your hands on his lower back.

“Baby…” you whine. “I need you. Please.”

Your plea undoes him faster than he could have imagined, and he lowers his waistband to free himself before he realises it. He strokes himself a few times, spreading the abundant pre-cum on his painful cock, before lining himself up with your slick slit.

“Promise me,” he grunts at his sensitive skin touching your warmth, “that you won’t be too loud Honey. If you need to scream, you bite me. As hard as you need. You know I can take it.” He smirks.

You nod vigorously, heart pounding in your chest as he starts pushing in slowly, his lips drinking in your moans as you adjust to him. He takes his time, making sure you feel no pain. Once his pelvis hits yours, he stays still for a second, placing his forehead to yours, before he begins to roll his hips - slowly, deeply, devastating.

Your breathing is shallow as your stomach explodes with pleasure, feet instinctively hooking around his waist.

He keeps his eyes locked onto you. He’ll never get tired of seeing how beautiful and vulnerable your face gets when he loves you right. He wishes he could fuck you all day every day, just so he could see your beautiful swollen and glossy parted lips, the flush of your cheeks, the tiny creases between your brows. A photo isn’t enough, he would need it tattooed behind his eyelids - and even that wouldn’t do it justice.

He braces a hand on the back of the couch as the other slides under you, adjusting you so he can go deeper, and you gasp. You vaguely remember his earlier words and sink your teeth in his shoulder, fingernails digging into his back. The sharp stings make his head fall back in pleasure.

“That’s it. Bite as hard as you need Honey - you’re do-oing great.” He whimpers.

The roll of his hips is pure ecstasy. It’s not rushed, but it’s deep. He’s not trying to fuck you into oblivion, he’s trying to love you until you turn into a puddle beneath him. And he’s succeeding. You dig your teeth out and pull his face to yours, kissing him sloppily, when a small tear falls from your eye.

“Fuck - feels s’ good baby. Argh.” You bury your wrist in your mouth to keep yourself quiet, digging enough to pierce the skin.

He rips your hand away. “Not you Honey. You don’t bite you, you bite me. You don’t hurt yourself, are we clear?” His tone is reprimanding but full of care. There’s a difference between him inflicting pain on you for pleasure and you inflicting it on yourself. He can’t stand it.

“Sorry.” You moan, biting onto his tattooed bicep instead this time.

“Good girl.” He praises. “Fuck you’re so fucking gorgeous, don’t ever hurt yourself like that. Not for me or for anyone else. You’re too precious.” His words come out broken as his thrusts grow more desperate, the orgasm building at the base of his spine.

“Look at me.” He orders softly, and your glassy eyes find his, teeth loosening from his muscles. “I love you, you understand? I’ll never d-doubt you again, I promise.”

Another tear falls from your eye, but the reason for it is different this time. He always tells you how much he loves you, but it will never stop you from feeling that intense warmth flowing through your entire being as he reminds you.

“I love you too.” You whimper.

“I know.” He whispers before crashing his lips on yours, tongues dancing together as his rhythm grows ruthless, your cries muffled by his mouth.

“I’m gonna cum, cum with me.” He begs between kisses.

It only takes a couple more thrusts for you to come undone one final time. Your entire body shakes under him as he spills himself into your walls, his grunts and moans making you levitate. You try your best to not scream, but it feels so good that your mind momentarily blanks out and you don’t know if you succeeded or not - not that you really care right now.

When he’s done, he lets himself lay on you as you stroke his sweat drenched hair. You stay like that for a moment, satisfied with the silence, only broken by your ragged breaths, the air warm with sweat and sex.

He grabs your wrist where you bit into it and places soft kisses on it like a band-aid.

“No more of this y/n, okay?”

You nod, pecking the top of his head. “Sorry baby, I won’t do it again. I just don’t like hurting you.” You admit.

He props himself up to look down at you, brows drawn in a line. “And I don’t like you hurting yourself. I don’t usually tell you what to do, but you know this is where I draw the line. You’re too pretty to have bite marks…” He smirks a little. “Except when they’re mine.”

You snicker playfully, hitting his shoulder. He laughs with you and lays back down on your chest, wanting to bathe in your love a little while longer.

---------

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[thatateezgirl]

NO1

What happens when the lines blur?

---------

idol - Hongjoong x fem!reader

genre: smut

content warnings: MDNI, smut, power imbalance (idol x fan), dubious consent/coercive dynamics, slight alcohol consumption, breath play/choking, rough sex, overstimulation, breast play, oral (m and f receive), slight degradation if you squint, possessive behavior, public interaction leading to private sexual encounter, emotional distress/panic spirals/anxiety, slight dacryphilia, explicit language, physical restraint/pinning, unprotected sex, pull out.

words: 9.9k

AN: based on this ask. Keep in mind that it’s my first time doing an ask (which I was so grateful for btw!) so I hope it lives up to everyone’s expectations! Yes, I absolutely did get carried away, but somehow the story just wrote itself, what could I do…

*everything is fictional, just for some distracting fun*

Reposts are super appreciated 🤍

---------

Your ribs press slightly against the barrier, people pushing in from behind you as Hongioong appears on the screen. The camera follows him backstage and you feel yourself swoon a little: that cocky smile of his with the walk of a man who knows no fear, the energy he radiates - it's intoxicating.

This is your second show for the tour. Yesterday, you had stood directly in front of the stage, but you kept noticing Hongjoong going to the left side, so today, you decided to try going there too.

And it worked.

For the last hour and a half, he has been coming to this side of the stage, giving you and the people around you all kinds of interactions. You couldn't be happier that your bias is so close. More than that, it feels like he keeps singing to you, winking and pointing in your direction. Obviously, you're not delusional enough to think it means anything, but it doesn't make the feeling any less incredible.

You even made a fist to ask him to play rock paper scissors with you, out of sheer curiosity, and you about died inside when he played with you. His eyes were locked on yours the whole time, and your face burned at his intimidating presence.

Your eyes are now glued to the screen as the camera follows him up the stairs to the stage. When he appears, your heart falters a little at the sight, the lights making millions of sparkles burst on his custom made jacket.

The crowd erupts in screams and cheers when he starts yet another brand new intro to his song, as he does every night. There's something about his creative genius that gets you going every single time - if only you could have a peek inside that brain of his...

Suddenly, he makes his way down the stairs to the little corridor between the crowd and the stage, and when his foot meets the ground, he turns his head to meet your eyes instantly.

A drop of sweat runs down your back at his disarming gaze, and you can feel every fan in your vicinity staring at you. You don't know if you should look away or hold his stare, but your body takes the decision away from you - you can’t look away. Not when he prances towards you, not when he sings to you, not even when he comes face to face with you.

It feels like a dream.

His orange hair seems somewhat brighter despite the lack of light down here, the shimmers around his eyes put you in a trance, and his perfume - god his perfume - it makes your head spin.

He's right there. And no, you're not dreaming. Your bias, the man you compare every guy you meet to, is standing less than two feet away from you. The one you put on a pedestal for his kindness, his generosity, his cleverness and wit, and let's face it, his stunning visuals.

His eyebrow cocks as the chorus approaches and your breath catches in your throat. You've seen videos of this happening, him passing the mic to an ATINY and having her sing along, but not in a million years did you ever think this would happen to you. You're tragically unprepared, but he doesn’t give you a choice.

It’s like it all happens in slow motion - him singing the words N-O-1 before angling the mic towards you. His demeanour is almost lazy, his free hand holding on to the barrier as he leans his weight against it.

You don't think, you just act.

The lyric comes out of you in an instant. It's not perfect or steady, your nerves manifesting in a shaky breath, but you'll be damned if you don't take this opportunity.

He smiles at you, a kind, warm smile with a slight under layer of smugness and you bite your lip, trying not to scream. He catches the tiny movement with a flicker of his eyes, and withdraws his hand from the barrier - not without brushing his fingers over your waist. Could it be accidental? Most likely. But it doesn't stop your entire body from lighting up.

He turns away, continuing his way around the stage, and you could swear he winks at you as his head whips, but so much just happened in such a short amount of time that you're dizzy, and everything feels blurry.

A girl behind you pats your shoulder.

“Girl, you good?”

The sound suddenly comes back fully and you start breathing again. You look at her and smile weakly, nodding your head yes, unable to produce words.

Your friend couldn't make it today, and you were debating whether to come on your own or not, but you’re so glad you pushed through the nerves and decided to enjoy it anyways. She is absolutely going to regret not having been here for this.

You watch as he continues to walk around the corridor, and you notice, despite trying to stay grounded, that he doesn’t pass the mic to anyone else. It’s so hard not to come to any conclusions, but you also know this is his job - you’re not the first fan he gave the mic to, and you certainly won’t be the last.

You focus on your breathing for a second, trying to calm your racing heart, before you dial back into the performance. You’re here to watch them after all.

Hongjoong is behind the DJ booth again, jumping around and you let yourself enjoy it.

Shutter flashin’ on me

The strobe lights are blinding, making you feel lost in the sea of fans, and you let yourself get carried with their voices.

Fit so clean I’m blessing lenses like a Sunday service

Your eyes are glued to him as his hips move in a hypnotising rhythm. All of a sudden he’s staring at you again.

She screamin' out my name

I got the girls feeling holy

You wish you were making this up in your head. Either you’ve gone crazy, or this is the most fan service that ever fan serviced. This man just winked at you whilst singing this. Is he implying you would scream out his name? That he would make you feel holy?

You shake your head.

This has gone too far. It almost feels like you’re falling into a spiral of delusions and you need to claw your way out now, or you might get stuck in it.

————

The rest of the concert goes off without a hitch, lest for a few pointing glances from a certain orange haired man, and you’re not sure if you should ignore them, or if you’re overthinking it and would come off as rude.

As incredible as this experience was, when the venue lights come back on, you breathe a sigh of relief. The fans emptying around you are giving you some physical and mental room to breathe, and you welcome it. Your friend is definitely never going to believe this.

You grab all your things, packing a handful of confetti in your bag and start making your way out when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn around to see security standing there, intimidating.

“Miss, were you standing over there?” He asks as he points to where you just were moments ago.

You nod, swallowing thickly with nerves. “Yeah I was, why? Is it the confetti? ‘Cause I saw everyone doing this, I thought it was allowed…”

“I’m not here about the confetti, you can take as much as you want.” He motions towards the side of the stage. “Could you follow me? This will just take a minute.”

Confusion and intrigue battle inside your mind for a moment, the latter winning the fight.

You follow the broad shouldered man to a small curtain under the stage, where a woman awaits. She smiles at you before handing you a piece of paper.

“He wanted you to have this.” She says, disappearing as soon as you grab the small white rectangle.

You unfold it slowly with trembling hands.

I trusted you with my mic, trust me with one night.

And below, a phone number.

Your eyes dart back to where the woman was but she’s already long gone, and when you look to your side, so is the man who brought you here.

“Is this a joke?” You throw out, your voice much quieter than you wish it was, but with no one to answer you, you decide to give the number a try.

Your fingers shake as you dial the number. It rings a couple of times before the line crackles.

“Hello?”

A beat, and then, “Hello, I’m glad to see you took my number.”

“Is this actually Kim Hongjoong? Is someone pranking me?”

“Meet me at the Hilton by the venue at 11.30pm. Room 613. And please, don’t bother changing into anything else.”

“What? What do you m-“ Your question gets cut off by the beep of the call being ended.

You blink at nothing, as if seeing better could help you make sense of this conversation.

It sure sounded like his voice, but there is no way an idol would actually call you, let alone invite you to his room. No, this is definitely a prank.

But then again, why would security go through all this trouble? Is it something they do every show to entertain themselves in some sadistic way, or were they just following instructions?

You look at the time.

10.47pm

Forty-three minutes until the mentioned meeting time.

Out of curiosity, you check the nearest Hilton location, finding out that it’s only a fifteen minute walk.

The venue is almost empty now, and you have no choice but to leave. As you approach the doors, you stare at the map in front of you. You can either turn right and go to the bus stop, or turn left and find out if this is real or some cruel joke - but neither option seems to be the right one. You look up and see a bar across the street, deciding to settle there for the time being.

————

11.12pm

You haven’t stopped checking the time since you sat down, sighing after every sip of your beer, unsure what to do.

On one hand, you could just go home and pretend this was just a fever dream. On the other hand… on the other hand, you could potentially have the most incredible experience of your life - if only you trusted in fate a little. You take the last swig of your drink, clanking it down on the table. Gathering your belongings, you step outside and look at your options one last time.

If I didn’t want to go, why would I still be thinking about it?

That one thought is what settles it for you - your body pulls you to your right, the neon sign of the Hilton guiding your way as you feel a strange sensation in the pit of your stomach.

————

When you reach the hotel entrance, it feels like the glowing sign is looking down at you, mocking you for believing Hongjoong actually wants you to meet him in his hotel room. You're frozen in place, unable to step foot inside, when your phone rings.

No caller ID

You hesitate but answer after a few rings.

"I can see you at the entrance, why aren't you coming in? It's cold."

You look around, checking for any sign of someone following you, but there is nothing, just the light traffic of hotel occupants coming and going.

"I'm in my room, you won't see me from down there."

Your head automatically tilts upwards, looking for someone in a window, but it's impossible to tell which one is his.

"Just come up before you turn into an icicle."

The call cuts before you can say anything.

Screw it. Maybe it's the beer talking, or maybe it's the exhaustion from having been on your feet all day, but you haven't come this far just to turn around.

You walk into the hotel, your first thought being to go to reception but you abstain - asking where an idol's room is won't exactly look great. Instead, you go to the nearest elevator and punch in the dial for the 6th floor. Logically, that's where he'll be.

The more floors you go past, the faster your heart beats. This is absolutely insane. The craziest, most unhinged thing you've ever done, but you're too close to finding out what's going on to turn back now.

The doors open with a ding and you jump at the sound. Stepping outside, slowly, you scan the doors for where to go.

607, 609, 611

There it is. Room 613.

You bring your fist up to knock when the door opens, and there he is.

In front of your eyes. Kim Hongjoong. You search his face for surprise at you being here, but there is none. Instead, he's smiling at you.

"I'm glad you made it."

No words come to you. It's like you're a toddler who has yet to produce her first words. You should really say something, a greeting, or maybe even smile, not look at him like a fish.

Nothing.

He chuckles and opens the door wider for you.

"Come in!"

The ice around your body slowly thaws and you find the ability to move your legs, one step at a time, until you're standing in the middle of his room, the door locking behind you.

You absolutely did not think this through. Your brain only took you as far as figuring out if this was real or a prank, it never actually put you through the scenarios of what to do should this actually be happening.

"Do you need anything? Have you eaten since the show?" He's already by the room phone, dialling reception.

You shake your head lightly. Now that he mentions it, you haven't really eaten all day.

"No."

He smiles. "She speaks! Alright, I'll order you some… fries? Burger? Salad? What do you want?" Your stomach rumbles as he lists the foods. "Salad’s fine.”

He raises an eyebrow at you when someone answers on the other line. "Hi, yes, I'd like to have some salad, fries and a burger brought up to room 613 please.” He looks at you from the corner of his eyes. “Throw in a brownie too." He turns to you. "You can eat whatever you want."

When he hangs up, he looks at you, scanning you, and you suddenly feel not just out of place, but tiny, insignificant. You're in the presence of this man who has thousands at his feet and has dominated industries, and you can't help but wonder why he asked you to come.

"You should sit down." He says, pulling a chair out for you.

You oblige, mindlessly, as if he was in control of your actions.

"What's your name?"

"Y/n." You whisper, realising that he has no idea who you are.

He smiles, a genuine, happy smile. "I'm Hongjoong, nice to meet you."

He extends his hand and you stare at it for a moment before grabbing it. The contact of his skin sends a current of electricity coursing through your veins and you tense.

"I know." You say, a little snarky. "I kind of just went to your concert." He bursts out in a laugh that surprises you, but it pulls a shy smile out of you.

"I suppose that's fair." He waits for a moment. "I'm sorry for all the theatrics, I feel like I made this whole thing more cryptic than it needed to be."

"Just a tad." You say, scratching your neck. "I didn't know if it was real or a prank. I'm still not sure…” You chuckle.

For the first time since you arrived, you take a quick scan of the room. You've seen their hotel rooms on lives, but being in it feels different. It feels... mundane. Banal. Just another hotel room, much like the ones you've stayed in before - although perhaps bigger. His things are packed neatly in a little corner, his DJ pad sitting on the nightstand, as if he had been practicing until your arrival.

He tracks your eyes to the small machine.

"You want me to show you?"

He's already up and walking to pick it up, making you notice his outfit, which you hadn't paid any mind to when you got here.

He's wearing a loose white t-shirt, his tattoo peaking through the sleeve, and a pair of grey sweats. His makeup is gone and his hair looks freshly washed.

You look down at yourself and can't help but feel a little gross. You've been sweating, standing, amongst thousands of people, and you look completely out of place. Instinctively, your arms cross over your chest, too aware of how revealing your top is - the halter neck corset not doing much to hide certain parts of you.

When he turns around, DJ pad in hand, he notices your posture has changed, and it feels like all of a sudden the air changes too.

He burrows his eyes into yours.

"You don't need to do that. You look nice. Actually, you look beautiful." His voice is soft but commanding.

You want to uncross your arms, but the blush is creeping to the surface of your skin now, and you feel even more aware of the situation. He takes a slow step towards you.

"Why do you think I told you not to change?"

You open your mouth to respond but a knock on the door interrupts you before you can.

Room service might have just saved you from getting yourself into a situation you shouldn't be in with how this was going.

You look towards the door and notice Hongjoong only has it open enough to take the tray from the hotel worker, not enough to let them see you in here. It makes you realise that no one knows where you are, and it brings both a slight fear and an intriguing flash of excitement through you.

The smell of the food hits your nose as soon as the door is closed and your stomach protests at the lack of attention you've given it today.

"Food's here!" He puts the tray down on the table and sits down in front of you, but you don't move. "I was serious earlier. Have what you want. As much or as little as you want."

You look at the array of delicious looking plates before you, your mouth salivating, but you can't quite bring yourself to touch any of it.

"That's so much... I can't."

"Yes, you can. I ordered it for you."

"But.." You're not sure how to phrase it. "You paid for it..."

He scoffs. "So? You think this is what's gonna ruin me? Y/n, eat." He's serious now, and you don't want to make him mad or seem disrespectful, so you tentatively grab a french fry.

When it hits your tongue, the salt makes you instantly close your eyes and hum in contentment.

He observes you, the small sound you just made going straight to his head. He was right to make you come here - there was no other way he could get you out of his system.

When you reopen your eyes, you catch him staring at you, unabashedly, and you fold into yourself a little, embarrassed.

"Sorry..."

"For what? I'm glad you're enjoying the food."

His smile is sincere, but the intensity of his gaze is unsettling. Still, you continue to pick at the fries, taking a bite of the burger here and there. It may not be the most ladylike thing, but your care slowly goes out the window the more you eat.

He watches you for what feels like hours before speaking.

"Is there anything you wanna know?"

The question takes you by surprise and you stop mid chew. Yes, there are so many things you're burning to find out, but you have no idea where to begin.

"Are you not tired?"

He chuckles at your question, probably expecting something completely different. "Aren't you?"

"A little.” You shrug. “The food is helping though."

"I'm the same. I usually go to bed much later anyways, so this is nothing a little food can't fix." He says as he pops a fry in his mouth.

You smile at him, a genuine smile for the first time since you’ve arrived. It makes you feel a little better that he’s eating too and is so relaxed about all of this. You gain a bit of confidence to ask another question.

“What’s it like performing the same songs over and over again, do you ever get bored?”

He grins at your interest in his job. “It depends. It’s repetitive, but I love performing, and every performance is different. The crowds, the venues, the purpose, the energy. It gives the song a new feel every time. So for the most part, I’d say… no.”

You’re completely entranced by his words, drinking in every single thing he says. Your questions keep flowing as you get more comfortable - about his job, his career, his life. You can’t stop finding new questions to ask him, although you’re careful not to tread on ones that would seem too personal. After all, you have to remind yourself you’re in the presence of an idol, and although he invited you here, he still probably doesn’t want to divulge every aspect of his life to you.

He keeps answering everything without hesitating, but one thing is burning at the tip of your tongue.

“I have another question, but… I’m not sure I should.”

Curiosity sparks inside him and he stands straighter, expectant.

You clear your throat. “Do you, umm… do you do this often?”

He knows what you mean but he wants you to say it out loud. “Do what?”

Your cheeks heat up. “Invite women… fans…up. Here. To your room.”

“No.”

The one word answer is simple and clear, and it makes the air feel like it suddenly weighs a half ton more. Your breathing grows a little quicker at the revelation. This somehow feels like an incredible amount of pressure, but would it have made you feel better if he said yes?

“Oh…” The word comes out breathless, almost inaudible.

His eyes drop to your outfit and you feel like shrinking into your seat, but his presence pins you into place.

“I saw you yesterday, you know? You were wearing your hair up, and your top was like our cowboy outfit from last tour.”

The revelation knocks the air out of you. How is it possible that he noticed you when you were multiple rows away from barricade?

“Actually, I had to avoid the front as much as possible. You distracted me, and I almost missed my cue during Lemon Drop. That’s the first time it’s happened. I was pretty flustered after that. Took me a few minutes to lock back in, but I could feel you staring at me the whole time.”

“I had no idea, sorry…”

He laughs a little. “What are you apologising for? You weren’t doing anything wrong.”

“Still, I… I don’t know. I didn’t mean to distract you.”

He nods. “I know. It just happened. And I thought I’d be fine today, honestly. Actually, I was relieved when I didn’t see you at first. But then, when I spotted you on my right, it felt like a sign. That’s where I’d been coming yesterday - but you obviously knew that. That’s why you came, isn’t it.”

His last sentence isn’t a question - it’s a statement. If he told you he could read minds you wouldn’t be surprised.

Of course you knew, and of course you weren’t gonna miss that chance.

You hadn’t realised until now, but he’s been inching closer and closer to you, leaning on the edge of his chair.

Your brain manages to form the words you’ve been itching to ask. “Why me?”

He leans back a little, rubbing a hand over his face. “Honestly? I have no idea. I wish I had a clear answer, but I don’t. There’s a lot of beautiful fans every night, and without sounding mean, there’s nothing inherently different about you.” He pauses for a second, leaning his elbows on his knees. You can almost feel his breath fanning your face. “Except that I couldn’t get you out of my head. I needed to be close to you. Talk to you. Hear your voice. Get to know you. Get you out of my system by any means necessary.”

His proximity and his words make your head spin. “The beer was a bad idea.” You mutter as you feel your face flush, your breathing growing erratic.

He stands up suddenly, grabbing a glass of water and handing it to you.

“Hydrate.”

You take it with shaky hands and drink slowly, focusing on calming yourself, instead of his overbearing presence next to you, worry written in the furrow of his brow.

He watches you closely, checking any sign that you aren’t well, his gaze automatically dropping to your chest. His angle gives him the perfect view of it rising and falling, reminding him just why he had to get you up here.

Feeling the cold water flowing down your throat helps calm you a little, and you put the glass down. He's still staring at you, observing you.

You look up at him from under your lashes and his stomach flips at the sight, when he sees a drop of water glide past your lip. Without thinking, he wipes it with his thumb, cupping your face in his warm hand, and you freeze.

He doesn't pull away. He wants to see if you will - if you'll hesitate or feel discomfort. Instead, your fingertips find his wrist, laying on it, as if trying to see if he's real. His perfume hits your nose and your eyelids flutter as the scent flows through you.

You feel the blood coursing through his veins, his slightly elevated pulse, and somehow, that grounds you - you realise you're not the only one affected by this situation.

Slowly, he kneels down, eye level with you. You can't look away. It feels like he's gravity pulling you into him.

Your eyes flicker between his eyes and his lips, so perfect and pink, and without realising it, you're inching closer to him. He can feel your breath on his face and his heartbeat stutters, jaw ticking from the effort of restraining himself.

When you realise what you're doing, you pull back sharply, looking down, ashamed at your lack of control.

He hates that. He hates that you won't come closer, hates that you won't let yourself do what he knows you want to do.

He can't take the distance anymore, and, using the hand that's cradling your face, pulls you into him.

The moment your lips touch it feels like time stops, your brain short-circuits. It takes you a few seconds to understand what's happening, but when you do, your body melts into his without question, your fingers weaving through his hair.

The feeling is so foreign. This isn’t your first kiss, but it might as well be. Every nerve is firing signals into your brain, not knowing what to focus on.

Your back arches to try and get closer to him, your breath mingling with his, your hands tugging at his roots to try and keep you steady.

Hongjoong isn’t much more controlled, the hand that was on your face is holding on to you like he’s scared you’ll disappear, whilst his other is lingering on the small of your back, trying to pull you even closer to him.

The feeling of his fingers on your bare skin sends a shiver through you, a tiny whimper coming out of you that travels straight to the pit of his stomach.

Despite having snacked on fries, you notice his breath smells of peppermint, whilst his skin seems to cast the woody smell of his perfume with every beat of his heart.

He hums quietly into you, and your fingers tighten around his hair and the collar of his shirt, whatever’s in reach. The gesture makes him growl, and his brows draw together as your presence consumes him.

You pull back a little, trying to catch your breath, and he leans his forehead against yours.

The distance helps your brain clear up, the situation becoming unmistakable with every passing heartbeat. When you look at him again, it's like it finally clicks in your head.

You throw yourself back in your seat, hands clasped against your mouth, eyes wide. A thousand thoughts race through your head.

This is wrong.

You stand up, overwhelmed, and start pacing around the room.

“What the fuck did I just do?”

“I shouldn’t have done this!”

“No no no no no…”

“I’ve just fucked my life up forever.”

Everything comes out of your mouth at once as you burn circles on the carpet, gnawing at your thumb. Your eyes are welling up at the importance and gravity of the situation.

He stands up slowly, chest heaving, eyes unable to detach from your curves, his brain stuck on the taste of your lips.

"Y/n?" he calls softly, but you don't hear him amongst the turmoil in your brain.

"Oh god and his reputation."

“People will know!”

"He's an idol y/n, what were you thinking?!"

He approaches you tentatively. "Y/n!"

But you still can't hear him, too lost to let the outside world in. You're spiralling - hard.

Suddenly you're whipped around, his hand firmly holding your elbow, facing him. His palm scorches your skin as every nerve ending reacts to his proximity.

"Just shut up and kiss me." He exhales, breathless, pleading eyes piercing into yours.

His mouth crashes into you again before your brain can register anything.

The kiss is more desperate this time, his need mirrored in the ache building in your chest. Your knees buck slightly at the overwhelming nature of the situation, but his hand quickly grabs your waist, pulling you further into him.

He's not letting you go anytime soon.

Your breathing grows heavier as his hand weaves itself in your hair and he caresses your cheek with his thumb. Every move he does puts you deeper in the trance of his touch.

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip in a silent request to be let in. You hesitate - a beat too long. He tugs at your hair, making you moan, and takes that opportunity to slide into your mouth, exploring it lazily, tasting you.

The rational part of you wants to stop him - this is wrong on so many levels. But that part is losing control with every kiss, relinquishing it over to him, barely putting up a fight.

Without you realising it, he’s walked back into the bed, the back of his knees hitting the edge of the mattress.

He lifts you up a little as he sits you both down, letting you straddle him on both sides. The position is incredibly intimate, sitting on top of him exactly where you can feel what he’s thinking and feeling - and right now, the evidence is… big. You can feel him growing under you second by second.

Both of your hands are holding his face now, like you can’t believe he’s real - which you still can’t -, your hair falling around your faces, as if caging you in from the outside world. His hand on your waist moves up your back, slowly, exploring every inch of exposed skin. Your back arches in the wake of his touch, and you can’t help the string of moans and whimpers flowing out of you.

He loves it - can’t help the way his mouth curves at every tiny, breathy sound you make.

The kisses become sloppier as time passes, desperation and need clawing at both your insides.

When he reaches the top of your back, his hands start exploring your arms, slowly, like he’s memorising every inch of you, and it leaves goosebumps across your skin.

His lips leave yours to trail down to your jaw. You welcome the break, but it’s short lived as he starts nibbling at your pulse, addicted to how frantic it is under his touch. He moves down to your collarbone as his hands trail back up to your shoulders, and you moan.

“Please just let me touch you sweetheart.” He whimpers between wet kisses. He’s desperate, on edge. “Please…”

You nod your head weakly, a barely perceptible “yes” passing your lips.

Tentatively, his hands move down to your breasts, still covered by your corset, squeezing them.

“Fuck” he groans against your skin, trailing his lips back up your neck.

Your breath catches in your throat at the feel of his hands on you, and you throw your head back, bracing your hands on his knees. He wasn’t expecting this, his legs jerking at your touch.

When he jerks, his hips push into your core a little. Not much, but just enough to feel it through your jeans, and you choke.

The feel of his painfully hard cock against you - and the sounds you make - makes him want more. He rolls his hips into you again, and the way you’re feeling him on you everywhere makes you breathe a high pitched cry.

He needs to hear you do that again, rolling his hips just a fraction, over, and over, chasing your sounds more than his own pleasure.

His self control is slipping. Fast.

His fingers find the knot holding your corset together at the front and he starts undoing it, loosening the ribbons inch by inch. The more you feel your skin breathe, the more flushed and out of breath you get. You don’t know how much he can see, and part of you doesn’t want to find out, but you don’t want to stop him either.

Not anymore.

Not when the slightest graze of his skin against yours sends electricity shooting through you. Not when he adorns your neck with another gentle yet needy kiss. Not when you feel him pressing into your cunt like that, the wet patch growing in your underwear.

And even if you told him to stop, he doesn’t know that he could.

He’s been fantasising about this since he first saw you yesterday - the way your sweat glistened as it fell down your cleavage, the way your tits would feel in his hands, how sweet they’d taste in his mouth, even how your body would react when he’d brush his thumbs over your nipples.

He jerked himself off so hard last night, thinking about it all, he almost blacked out.

Finally, he’s loosened the corset enough to pry it open, revealing your already hard peaks. He grunts at the sight, certain he could burst right now.

As he lowers his head slowly, you can feel his hot, humid breath on your skin, clinging to the film of sweat covering you from the anticipation. Your eyes are still closed, your head thrown back - you have no idea what he’s doing, and that excites you so much.

You forget to breathe when his lips wrap around one of your nipples. His teeth graze against it and you whimper his name.

His head is spinning, as if you were his poison and he was tapping straight in the vein.

“Say my name sweetheart, I love hearing you whimper it” he’s almost growling the words out, primal instincts taking over.

You finally look back down at him. Your brain can’t quite comprehend what it’s seeing, but there’s no pretending this isn’t happening anymore. With the way he’s drinking you in, that line is so far behind you it’s invisible - you left it as soon as you entered the room.

He sucks your other peak, a little harder this time, and you wince, gripping his hair as a reflex.

“Stop squirming.” He grunts.

And with that, he grabs your waist and neck and flips you down onto the bed, pinning you down with his legs so you stop wriggling at his touch.

The sudden shift in attitude and position knocks the wind out of you as you land on the mattress - his move wasn’t harsh, his hand on your neck softening the blow, but it takes you completely by surprise.

He’s now towering over you - imposing.

He’s weaved his legs over yours in a way that has you completely pinned, his hands firmly on the mattress beside your head. He looks down at you, orange strands framing his face as he hovers over you, a chain appearing from under his shirt. It dangles between the two of you like a silent promise, one you reach out to grab with no hesitation, pulling him to you.

He smirks.

He knows you’ve completely released your inhibitions - you’re not fighting it anymore, you’ve accepted it. Accepted the fact that this was somehow inevitable, that there was no other possible way to break the tension between the two of you than with this.

His hand brushes over your partially exposed tits, making you shiver, and trails down towards the waistband of your jeans. Your muscles contract at his touch and you bite your lip in anticipation.

He doesn’t stop there though. His hand continues lower, until it reaches that point between your legs.

You whimper. You’ve definitely started soaking through the fabric with how much he rubbed against you earlier, and he can feel it.

“Fuck y/n, you’re so wet already…”

He rubs a little, fascinated by your body’s natural response to him.

“Need… ah…” you stutter.

“I know.”

Simple. Factual. Effortlessly confident.

Still looking into your eyes, he unbuttons your jeans with one hand, sliding the zipper down so agonisingly slow.

You pull on his chain a little harder, signaling him that you need him to be quicker, but he ignores you. He wants to savour this.

When he peels away your jeans, he notices your red lace panties.

“Planning ahead, were we?” He drawls, eyebrow raised.

“A girl’s go-otta hope.”

He chuckles, low. “I’m glad.”

Getting rid of your jeans leaves you with nothing but your underwear and the corset, now hanging on by a literal thread. It’s exhilarating and unfair.

“Your turn.”

You pull at his collar before he knows what’s happening. He finishes it off, pulling it over his head and discarding it somewhere off the bed.

Your eyes are glued to him as you rub your hands over his soft skin. His abs are peaking through his flat stomach, slight definition appearing over each muscle you touch.

He lets you explore, watching your every move as your fingers make their way to his surprisingly toned chest.

“‘s that what you were hoping for?”

You bite your lip, throat dry. “Better.”

He drops his lips to yours again, kissing you feverishly as his hand lightly rubs against the wet spot between your legs. You whimper in his mouth, rolling your hips to get more friction.

You don’t have to tell him twice.

His hand slides into your underwear, coming skin to skin with your clit and you gasp. He starts rubbing a little harder, pulling away from your lips to see the way your eyes roll back and your mouth hangs open.

His own mouth mimics you, completely possessed by you and your body, as he watches your every reaction.

Your chest starts to flush from the sensation and his eyes jump down to watch, fascinated. He drops his head lower, kissing your tits again, and you weave your fingers through his hair to keep him there.

The tugging on his roots sends jolts of pleasure straight to his cock and he slips a finger inside your dripping cunt. Your back arches instantly, offering him an even better angle to relish in your tits, and he couldn’t be happier.

“You’re gonna kill me before I can fuck you y/n…” he mutters into you as he slides his finger in and out, getting off on the sloppy sounds of your arousal.

You grab his chin, tilting it up so his eyes meet yours.

“Not y-yet. Wann’ taste you.”

You can see the way his eyes grow darker as another wave of lust hits him.

He sits up on his knees, pulling you by the wrists.

“I’m all yours sweetheart.”

With that, he leans against the headboard, arms behind his head, so incredibly cocky you want to kiss him.

You go to take off his joggers but he stops you.

“Take that off first.” He says, nodding to your corset. You look down, blushing a little when you see how messy it all looks - half removed threads, and tits completely out.

You stare into his eyes as you continue untying it, slowly, painfully. Normally, you’d just open the zipper in the back and slip it off, but what’s the fun in that when you can do this instead and watch how his jaw ticks from how fucking good you look right now.

When you’ve finally freed yourself from it, tossing it somewhere far from your perfect bubble, you look at him with overly pleading eyes.

“Now can I?”

He bites his lip and nods, a little desperation peaking through.

Your fingertips slip under his waistband but you hesitate for a fraction of a second. This is huge. Like, you’re about to see him fully naked. Your stomach jumps and you smile, licking your lips.

Finally finding the courage to do it, you shimmy his joggers down, carefully, only to find out he’s not wearing any boxers, his cock jumping up as soon as you free it.

You look at him, mouth a little agape, and he snickers.

“You weren’t the only one with your hopes up.”

You weren’t ready for this. Sure, every fan likes to imagine their idol is well equipped, but you didn’t think he’d be this… packed.

You don’t move for a second, taking it all in, wondering how you’re gonna fit him in your salivating mouth. The length isn’t so much the problem, it’s the girth. How in the world will your mouth be wide enough?

“You wanted it sweetheart, now go for it.”

A tiny spark of defiance ignites inside of you.

You brace yourself as you lower your face, not breaking eye contact, and making sure your ass wiggles a little as you adjust your position. He gave you a show tonight, it’s time you return the favour.

You place your hand around the base of his shaft and he twitches. Tentatively, you start sliding it up and down, getting a feel for him and he grunts, keeping his eyes locked onto you.

Unable to hold yourself back any longer, you flatten your tongue to glide up the underside of his length. You never thought you’d say this about anyone, but gosh he tastes so good.

He tenses again and a bead of precum surfaces at his tip, which you lap up excitedly, before finally taking him in. You choke a little at first, but you quickly relax, taking as much enjoyment in this as possible.

You continue bobbing up and down as he watches you, mesmerised.

One of his hands unfolds from behind his head and comes behind yours, guiding you.

“Yeah, just like that.” He pants.

You’re welling up now from the depth his hand is making you take him, but feeling how taut his body is and hearing his tiny noises as he holds himself back makes your confidence and pleasure grow.

You come up for air for a moment, and when you look at him, the sight of your swollen, glossing lips and the single tear streak running down your cheek makes his heart skip a beat, though he tries his best to ignore it.

“C’me here.”

He pulls you to his chest, smashing his lips onto yours. You find it so hot that he doesn’t care about tasting himself on your mouth. You pull away almost instantly, desperate to feel and taste his skin as you trace his neck and torso with your lips and tongue.

Boldness has taken over you, and you welcome the sudden shift in power. His chest is rising and falling quickly now, helpless. You bite him a little on the shoulder, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to make him jolt.

“You can’t do that sweetheart…”

You pout a little and he caresses your spine, soothing you.

“I know I’m sorry.”

As an apology, you linger on the spot, kissing it softly, before resuming your path down his chest and stomach. When you get low enough, you grab his cock once more, resuming your previous work, but he unexpectedly flips you over.

You stare at him in shock as he removes the hair from your face and kisses you.

“I told you I didn’t wanna come before fucking you.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat flooding your core and your cunt. You bite your lip hard as he pulls down your panties, removing the final concrete barrier between the two of you.

He kneels down between your legs and buries his face in without hesitation, very differently to how you went about things just minutes ago, and you know well and truly that your moment of dominance is over. Because with the way he’s eating you out right now, you’d stop breathing if he just asked you to.

His tongue laps up your juices, not letting a single drop go, his nose rubbing against your clit with every move.

“Hongjoong, yes, right - ah, right there.” You whimper.

You know he loves hearing you say his name, and it undoes that last bit of restraint as he stands up from the bed and starts rummaging through his bag.

“What are you doing?” You pant, empty from his loss.

“Condom.” He says as he rummages frantically through the contents. “Fuck!” He mutters under his breath.

You sit up. “Pull out.” He looks at you, unsure. “I’m on the pill. I promise.”

You’re desperate now. He can’t leave you high and dry like that.

After a second to consider his options, he crawls back on the bed and grabs your face.

“Fuck it.” He mumbles.

Relief flows through you as his fingers find your cunt again, diving knuckle deep to make sure you’re ready - as if you could be anything but after everything.

When you finally are, he pushes your back down, lifting your hips to place a pillow under you.

“Relax for me sweetheart.”

Your heart is racing as he lines himself up, and when he pushes in, despite being slow and careful, you can’t help your breathing from stopping. The stretch burns, but it burns oh so good.

He places a kiss on your cleavage as he continues pushing in, the act proving challenging for him too. “Breathe, y/n, breathe.”

Just as before, your body obeys him without thinking and your lungs start working again as you gasp for air, just as he finally bottoms out.

“You’re so fucking tight…”

“You’re to-o big.” You whimper, making him chuckle.

Fuck he can’t get enough of you, which is the complete opposite of what he wanted this night to be, but he can’t stop. You feel too good - your smell, your taste, your sounds, your body, your skin, everything. He can’t get enough.

He starts thrusting into you without warning and you shriek.

You don’t know how, but he’s already hitting that perfect spot inside of you from the first go. Your eyes roll back and your jaw slacks as he continues pounding.

He stares at you - no, more like admires you, and with every thrust, he tries to take you farther.

His cock isn’t enough. Seeing your tits bounce like that makes him hungrier still, and he starts nipping at them again with his teeth, whilst one of his hands finds your throat. A chill runs down his back at the change of pitch in your voice from the sudden drop in oxygen, but the smile on your face tells him you’re just as into it as he is.

“You’re slutty aren’t you sweetheart?”

You nod a little, not even sure what you’re nodding to, just automatically responding to him.

“How’s that feel then?” He asks as his other hand finds the space between your two bodies and starts abusing your bundle of nerves once again.

You gasp.

How can he be everywhere all at once? Your brain doesn’t know what to focus on, each thrust knocking the wind out of you whilst his teeth remind you who’s inflicting this on you.

“Hongjoong - can’t, stop, please.” You cry out on the verge of breaking.

He would, he really would, if he wasn’t hearing your every moan and feeling every squeeze of your cunt around him.

“Yes you can sweetheart. C’me on. Take it for me. Just a lil’ more.” He whispers as he increases the friction on your clit, tightening around your throat a little.

You try so hard to do what he says because your body only responds to him now. Your shrieks and whimpers are growing increasingly louder the more he consumes you, but you don’t say anything, just biting your lip and fisting the sheets.

“That’s it, such a good girl f’r me. Look how well you take my cock.” He groans.

It’s all becoming too much.

With one hand on your throat, the other rubbing your clit with painful speed, his mouth sucking and biting your tits, his cock buried so deep inside you from the pillow under your hips, and his intoxicating praises, you start screaming.

His hand flies to your mouth.

“You gotta keep quiet.” A grunt. “Seonghwa and Yunho ‘re next door - don’t want ‘em disturbing us.” He smirks. “Wouldn’t want anyone ‘n live hearing you, would you sweetheart?”

This is the final straw for you. The pleasure is immense but the pressure of keeping quiet when he’s filling you up like that makes you cry. Hot tears stream down your face as you whimper strangled cries with every thrust.

For some weird reason, seeing you cry makes him want you more. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but he does want to see how much more your body can take, captivated by every response you give.

His pace increases, the slapping of skin on skin filling the room. You’re trying to keep quiet, but you wonder if the others can just hear the movements as the bed starts rattling against the wall.

You feel the pillow under your head become more humid as your tears make a growing pool. It’s so confusing that you’re reacting this way when you’ve never felt more pleasure.

He grunts more and more against your skin from the effort of his rhythm, biting you a little harder than before - you squeal. He wasn’t even trying to, but he’s now branded your skin with an array of bite marks and fast evolving hickeys. You find the irony of not being able to do the same unfair.

He’s getting close to release, but he’s not ready to stop.

He kisses your lips sloppily, brain foggy as he tries to hold himself. His moans are getting more intense and it’s driving you insane how good he sounds.

“Turn around.”

His order is followed by him pulling out of you momentarily, flipping you on your stomach, adjusting the pillow under your hips, and plunging straight back into you.

You start screaming again, but this time he can just push your head into the soaked pillow. You don’t even fight him. You can’t. He’s hitting that spongy spot inside of you even harder than before and you’re starting to see stars, fingers and toes beginning to tingle as you go numb from pleasure.

His other hand comes under you to continue playing with your tits, his obsession nowhere near satiated. He kisses and bites your shoulders and back as he goes, the pounding becoming too much to handle even for him.

“‘re you gonn’ cum sweetheart? Can you do that f’r me?” He moans against your neck.

You barely have the energy to do it but you whimper a “yes” in the pillow.

“Say my name - y-yes who.”

“Yes Hong - fuck, ngh - Hongjoong.”

“Then cum.”

As if his request gave you permission, you explode around him, the wave of your orgasm consuming you entirely. He tries his best to muffle your screams in the pillow, but it can only do so much when you have no strength left in you to keep quiet.

The way your walls squeeze around him tips him over the edge too and he pulls out quickly, just in time to spurt out on your back, the hot liquid painting your skin with white. He can’t help himself either, his moans and whimpers mingling with yours.

It takes him a few seconds to register the situation again, the high lingering in his body.

When he comes down from it, he stands up from the bed slowly, heading to the bathroom. He comes back with a towel and some water, cleaning your back gently, the complete opposite to the unrelenting man who just wrecked you.

“Have some water.” He says, rubbing your back.

You don’t move though. You can’t. Not yet. The feeling is slowly coming back to your limbs and your heart is fighting to slow down.

“Y/n?” You can hear the worry in his voice at your lack of response. “Hey, are you okay?” He’s shaking your shoulder a little.

“Mmh.” You mumble into the pillow, the only thing you can say.

He breathes a sigh of relief. “God, don’t do this to me, I thought you’d passed out.”

“S’rry.” You babble.

Aware you’re not fully back to yourself, he helps you turn onto your back, sitting you up against the headboard.

He puts his joggers back on and lays a blanket on you as you start to shiver, before coming back with the brownie you never ate. You take it gratefully, splitting it in two and handing him the other half.

“I think I’m exhausted.” You chuckle lightly.

He laughs. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You look at him sheepishly. “It is. A big one.”

He moves a strand of hair stuck to your forehead from sweat, and you take a moment to just look at each other. It’s such a bizarre situation to be in, but the nerves you had earlier are gone. This was by far the singular best experience of your life.

“Don’t worry.” You say. “I won’t tell anyone.”

He blushes and your heart jumps a little at the sight. “Sorry about that…”

“It’s okay, you didn’t force me to do this, I knew what it meant.”

“Well,” he hesitates, “for what it’s worth, I’m really glad you came. Literally and metaphorically.”

You chuckle as your cheeks heat up.

“Maybe it was a horrible idea in the long run,” he continues, “because I don’t know how I’ll be able to get you out of my head now.”

“I thought that was the whole point…”

A part of you wishes he’d say he wants you to stay, that he wants more, but you know that can’t happen.

“It was. The irony, huh?”

He gets up. “You’re gonna be okay if I leave you for a second?” He says, pointing to the bathroom.

You nod. “Of course, do what you have to do.”

As soon as the door shuts, you sigh.

Unknowingly, a small tear rolls down your cheek, the weight of the night finally dawning on you. You’ve never felt more connected to anyone in your life, and the knowledge that it has to end makes your chest pang. Knowing you’ll have to watch him from afar from now on, after what just happened, breaks your heart - but you know that’s how it has to be.

You rummage around the room, finding your scattered clothes, covering yourself back up. Moving is painful, your body protesting, but you push through. You’re hesitating on whether to leave without saying goodbye or not, when he comes out, sooner than you expected.

“What are you doing?” He quizzes as he catches you in the middle of zipping up your jeans.

“Going home?” Your answer is more of a question, like you’re asking him for permission.

“No you’re not.” He says sternly as he pulls out his phone. “It’s past 3am, you’ve had a drink, it’s cold, you’re not exactly dressed safely for public transports, and most importantly you’re exhausted. You said so yourself.”

“But-“

“This isn’t up for debate y/n. You’re staying here tonight.” His tone softens. “You don’t need to worry - I’ll call you a taxi in the morning, on me. And feel free to stay here as long as you’d like, I’ll pay for an extra night if you need, and anything you order will go on my card. Just… please, don’t leave.”

His pleading eyes win you over, and you try not to focus on how your stomach flips at how caring he is.

“Okay but… I don’t have anything…” you say, pointing to your outfit. “Also I have no makeup remover, o-or even a toothbrush!”

He walks towards his suitcase, pulling out a t-shirt and shorts.

“I think this should be comfortable enough to sleep in.” He says as he hands them to you. “As for the toothbrush and makeup remover, sweetheart, I’m an idol. I probably have more skincare than you.” He smirks. “Just tell me what you need and I’ll get it.”

—————-

It’s been two weeks, almost to the day, since your wild night with the captain of ATEEZ, and you think about it - about him - every day. You’ve not been able to look at footage of the new shows despite wanting to so badly, because the first time you saw him pass the mic in the crowd, you felt like crying, and you couldn’t explain why to anyone.

You never expected to feel such a pull to him after just one night, but he’s really made his mark on you - you still have the slight remnants of one or two deep hickeys to prove it.

To make matters worse, you still have his number.

You check it, multiple times a day, fingers hovering over the keys. Ultimately, you always end up locking your phone and throwing it away from you, sighing into your hands. You know you can’t, despite how much you want to.

Plus, he’s probably deleted your number by now.

As for him, the shows haven’t felt the same. Every night he checks the crowd, hoping he can spot you, miraculously, but you’re not there. He knows it’s not fair to expect you to come, especially when nothing was implied about following up the night. It’s not realistic, he knows that. His life is too busy, there’s no way it could work.

Still.

He opens his phone, the short conversation staring back at him.

He’s hesitated a few times already, knowing how horrible this idea is. It’s like two forces are pulling at him: his head - the rational part of him who knows this is wrong and would never work -, and his heart - the part of him that’s desperate to see you, just one more time.

You’re brushing your teeth, ignoring the notifications from your friends about tonight’s show highlights, when your phone lights up again. You look at it, sighing at the social media notifications of the concert.

In his room, Hongjoong’s heart sinks as the conversation now reads:

!⃝ Hey

Not delivered

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[alanasdesire]

D.I.L.F. Pt.2

[MASTERLIST]

Highly requested part 2 💗

Part 1 ⇦ Part 2 (You are here)

pairing: dilf!hongjoong x fem!reader

genre: romance, age-gap, smut w/plot

synopsis: At 32, Kim Hongjoong is a devoted single father to two young daughters, Rina and Sooah, juggling parenthood with his busy life. When 22-year-old university student [Y/N] wanders into a local bookstore-café for a volunteer storytime session, she immediately notices the charming, tired-but-attentive dad leading the children’s activities. What starts as an innocent offer to help with crafts quickly turns into repeated Saturday encounters filled with shared glances, light teasing, and quiet conversations. Hongjoong is drawn to [Y/N]’s warmth with his girls and her easy presence, while she finds herself captivated by his gentle authority, low voice, and the way he balances devotion and quiet intensity. As the age gap and his responsibilities create unspoken tension, their chemistry builds through lingering touches, meaningful looks, and a late-night invitation that shifts everything from careful restraint to undeniable desire—marking the start of something passionate, complicated, and deeply real.

warning(s): joong has two daughters, age gap (hongjoong is 32, y/n is 22), Dom!joong, rough sex, begging, name-calling (good girl), creampie, fingering, missionary, teasing, marking, etc.

Song: Guys My Age by Hey Violet

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The smell of coffee and something sweet—pancakes, maybe?—drifted down the hallway as Hongjoong led you by the hand toward the kitchen. His fingers were laced loosely through yours, thumb brushing absent circles over your knuckles like he couldn’t quite stop touching you now that he’d started.

You were still wearing his oversized black t-shirt, the hem hitting mid-thigh, bare legs brushing together with every step. No panties (they were somewhere on his bedroom floor, probably ruined), and the faint ache between your thighs was a constant, delicious reminder of the last fifteen minutes. Every time you shifted, you felt the slick remnants of him still inside you, warm and filthy.

He squeezed your hand once before letting go at the threshold.

“Easy now,” he murmured, voice low enough for only you. “They’re going to be loud and sticky. Brace yourself.”

You nodded, suddenly nervous in a way that had nothing to do with the sex and everything to do with the two tiny humans about to see you in their dad’s shirt, hair messy, lips still swollen from his kisses.

The kitchen was bright—morning sun pouring through a wide window over the sink. Rina was already perched on a booster seat at the small round table, crayons scattered around a half-finished drawing of what looked like a family of foxes wearing crowns. Sooah stood on a step stool by the counter, carefully (and messily) pouring orange juice from a carton that was almost too big for her hands.

Both girls froze when they saw you.

Rina’s eyes went wide. “Crown girl!”

Sooah nearly dropped the carton. “You’re here! In Daddy’s shirt!”

Hongjoong cleared his throat, moving smoothly to take the juice from Sooah before disaster struck. “Morning, monsters. Look who stayed for breakfast.”

Rina bounced in her seat. “You slept over?”

You felt your face heat. Hongjoong shot you a quick, amused glance before answering for you.

“She did,” he said calmly, like this was perfectly normal. “And she’s going to help make pancakes. Right, sweetheart?”

The endearment slipped out naturally. The girls didn’t blink, but your stomach flipped anyway.

“Yeah,” you managed, stepping forward. “I make really good pancakes. Extra fluffy.”

Sooah clapped her sticky hands. “Extra fluffy! With chocolate chips?”

“If your dad says it’s okay,” you said, looking at Hongjoong.

He was already pulling ingredients from the pantry—flour, eggs, a bag of mini chocolate chips. “Chocolate chips are non-negotiable on weekends.”

The next thirty minutes were chaotic in the best way.

You stood at the stove beside Hongjoong, shoulder to shoulder, flipping pancakes while he supervised the girls “helping.” Rina insisted on stirring the batter (mostly splashing it), and Sooah demanded to be lifted up so she could watch the bubbles pop.

Every so often Hongjoong’s hand would brush your lower back—subtle, possessive—or he’d lean in under the pretense of reaching for the spatula and murmur something filthy against your ear.

“Still dripping with me under there?” he whispered once, when the girls were distracted arguing over who got the first chocolate-heavy pancake.

You elbowed him lightly. “Behave.”

His low chuckle vibrated against your neck. “Never.”

When the stack was finally done—golden, steaming, ridiculous with chocolate and whipped cream—you all sat around the tiny table. Hongjoong cut the girls’ pancakes into bite-sized pieces while you poured more juice.

Rina studied you seriously between bites. “Are you Daddy’s girlfriend now?”

The question landed like a soft bomb.

Hongjoong paused, fork halfway to his mouth. His eyes flicked to yours—waiting, careful, but hopeful.

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat.

“I… I’d like to be,” you said softly, looking straight at him before turning to Rina. “If that’s okay with you two.”

Rina considered this with all the gravity of a five-year-old judge. Then she nodded once. “You make good crowns. And you stayed. So yes.”

Sooah, mouth full of pancake, just reached over and patted your arm with a sticky hand. “Stay forever?”

Hongjoong’s hand found your thigh under the table—squeezed once, firm and grounding.

“We’re working on it, baby,” he told Sooah, but his eyes never left yours.

The rest of breakfast passed in easy chatter—Rina showing you her fox drawing (you were now officially in it, wearing a crown), Sooah asking if you could read them a story later like Daddy does.

When the plates were cleared and the girls ran off to the living room to build an elaborate blanket fort (“For the foxes!”), Hongjoong pulled you into the narrow space between the fridge and the counter, out of sight.

He caged you there gently, hands on your hips, forehead resting against yours.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For not running. For… all of this.”

You slid your arms around his neck. “I meant it. I want to be here.”

His mouth found yours—slow, deep, tasting like maple syrup and morning. One hand slipped under the hem of his shirt you wore, palm sliding up your bare ass, fingers dipping between your thighs to feel the mess he’d left.

“Still so full of me,” he groaned against your lips. “Fuck, I want to bend you over this counter right now.”

You whimpered, hips rocking instinctively into his touch. “The girls—”

“They’re in fort world. We’ve got ten minutes before they demand reinforcements.”

He was already turning you, pressing your front to the cool edge of the counter. Your hands braced against the granite as he shoved the shirt up to your waist.

“Quiet,” he warned, voice wrecked. “Not a sound, sweetheart.”

You bit your lip hard when he pushed two fingers back inside you—easy, slick, curling immediately to that spot that made your knees buckle.

“Look at you,” he breathed against the back of your neck. “Taking it so well even after this morning. Greedy little thing.”

He added a third finger, stretching you open again, thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit. You trembled, thighs shaking, trying desperately to stay silent.

When he felt you start to clench, he pulled his fingers free and replaced them with his cock—bare this time, hot and thick, pushing in slow and deep until he was seated fully.

You choked on a moan; he clamped a hand over your mouth.

“Shh. Good girl. Just take it.”

He fucked you slow at first—long, rolling thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot. Then harder, hips snapping, the wet sound of skin on skin barely masked by the girls’ distant giggles in the other room.

One hand stayed over your mouth; the other slid around to rub your clit in tight circles.

“Come for me,” he growled low. “Quietly. Milk me like you did earlier.”

You shattered—back arching, teeth sinking into his palm to muffle the cry. He followed right after, burying deep and spilling hot inside you again, hips jerking with each pulse.

He stayed there a moment, breathing hard against your neck, cock still twitching.

When he finally pulled out, he turned you gently, kissed you soft and slow.

“Go clean up in the bathroom,” he murmured. “I’ll distract them.”

You nodded, legs shaky, feeling him leak down your thigh as you slipped away.

By the time you returned—freshly showered (quick and quiet), back in his shirt—the fort was massive. Blankets draped over chairs, pillows everywhere, fairy lights (plugged in by Hongjoong) twinkling inside.

Rina poked her head out. “Come in! We’re reading to the foxes!”

You crawled inside after Hongjoong, who was already cross-legged in the center with Sooah in his lap and a picture book open.

You settled beside him, thigh pressed to his, his arm casually draped behind you.

He started reading—same low, steady voice from storytime—but this time his free hand rested on your knee, thumb stroking absently.

Every so often he’d glance over, eyes soft and dark with promise.

Later—after naps, after more crafts, after the girls had declared you “part of the pack”—the sun dipped low.

Hongjoong walked you to the door when it was finally time for you to head home (temporarily—he’d already asked if you’d come back tomorrow).

At the threshold he pulled you close, kissed you long and lingering.

“Text me when you’re home,” he said. “And tomorrow… bring a bag. Stay the night again.”

You smiled against his lips.

“Yes, daddy.”

His grip tightened. “Careful. Or you’ll never leave this apartment.”

You laughed softly, slipping out the door.

But you already knew—you weren’t going anywhere.

Not really.

This was just the beginning.

Time skip

The days blurred into a soft, golden rhythm after that first full weekend.

You didn’t move in—not officially, not yet—but your toothbrush appeared in Hongjoong’s bathroom cup by Tuesday. A spare set of clothes (nothing fancy, just soft leggings, oversized sweaters, a pair of fuzzy socks the girls immediately claimed as “community property”) lived in the bottom drawer of his dresser. Your favorite vanilla oat milk showed up in the fridge without comment, and when you reached for it on Wednesday morning while the girls were still asleep, Hongjoong simply pressed a sleepy kiss to your temple and murmured, “Stocked it yesterday.”

It felt dangerously easy. Dangerously right.

Saturday rolled around again—storytime day—and this time you arrived at the bookstore-café holding two small paper bags of supplies you’d picked up on the way: new glitter pens in every color of the rainbow, a pack of sparkly star stickers, and three tiny crowns made of twisted pipe cleaners and faux pearls you’d crafted late the night before in your dorm.

Rina spotted the crowns first.

“Those are for us!” she squealed, abandoning the puzzle she’d been forcing Hongjoong to help with.

Sooah toddled over immediately after, arms already outstretched. “Mine has pink!”

You knelt so they could see properly. “Pink for Sooah, purple for Rina, and silver for Daddy—because he’s the king of bedtime stories.”

Hongjoong, crouched behind them, raised an eyebrow at the silver crown. “King, huh?”

You shrugged, fighting a smile. “Someone has to rule the glitter empire.”

He took the crown anyway, placed it crookedly on his head, and bowed dramatically. The girls dissolved into giggles. You caught his eye over their heads—warm, unguarded, the kind of look that made your chest ache in the best way.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a gentle chaos you were starting to crave.

You read stories with Hongjoong’s arm resting casually along the back of the bench you shared, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder. The girls took turns sitting in your lap during crafts; Sooah fell asleep against your chest halfway through gluing feathers to a paper-plate peacock, her small hand curled around your finger. Hongjoong watched the whole thing with an expression so soft it almost hurt—then reached over and tucked a stray feather behind your ear without a word.

When storytime ended and most families left, the four of you stayed behind to clean up. It had become routine now: Hongjoong sweeping glitter into neat piles while you and the girls chased rogue pom-poms across the rug.

Later, back at his apartment, the evening settled into something quieter, more domestic.

The girls insisted on a “family movie night” (Frozen II, because Rina was currently in her Elsa phase and Sooah just liked the snowman). You ended up on the big sectional couch, Hongjoong stretched out in the middle, you tucked against his side with your head on his shoulder, Rina sprawled across both your laps like a starfish, and Sooah curled into Hongjoong’s chest with her thumb half in her mouth.

Halfway through “Into the Unknown,” Rina sat up suddenly.

“Are you going to live here forever?” she asked you, voice small but serious.

The room went quiet except for the movie soundtrack.

Hongjoong’s arm tightened around your shoulders—just a fraction. You felt his heartbeat kick up under your cheek.

You turned to face Rina, keeping your voice gentle. “I don’t know about forever yet, sweetheart. But I really like being here with you guys. And I’d like to keep coming back… a lot. If that’s okay.”

Rina frowned, thinking hard. Then she nodded once. “You have to promise to make more crowns. And read the fox book when Daddy’s voice gets tired.”

You laughed softly. “Deal.”

Sooah, not fully awake, mumbled against Hongjoong’s sweater, “And pancakes. Every Saturday.”

Hongjoong pressed his lips to the top of her head. “We’ll make sure there are always pancakes.”

The movie played on, but the conversation lingered between you and Hongjoong in the dark.

When the credits rolled and the girls were finally herded off to bed—teeth brushed, stories read (you took turns doing voices this time), night-lights switched on—Hongjoong closed their bedroom door and turned to you in the hallway.

He didn’t speak right away. Just reached for your hand and led you back to the living room, where the fairy lights from the blanket fort still glowed faintly in the corner.

He sat on the couch, pulled you down beside him, then turned so you were facing each other.

“I’ve been thinking about how to say this,” he started, voice low. “Without sounding like I’m trying to lock you down too fast.”

You squeezed his hand. “Just say it.”

He exhaled, thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles.

“I don’t want this to be temporary. Not for me. Not for them.” He nodded toward the hallway. “They ask about you when you’re not here. Rina drew a picture at preschool last week—you, me, them, and the fox family all holding hands. Sooah keeps your fuzzy socks in her bed like a stuffed animal. And I…” He paused, swallowed. “I look for you in every room now. Even when you’re not here, I expect to see you around the corner, wearing my shirts, stealing my coffee, laughing at their terrible jokes.”

Your throat tightened.

“I’m thirty-two,” he continued. “I come with two tiny humans who need stability more than anything. I can’t—I won’t—bring someone into their lives who might disappear. But you’re not disappearing. You’re… settling in. And I want that. I want you here on the hard days, the sick days, the glitter-in-the-hair days. I want you here when they graduate kindergarten and when they break their first heart and when they need someone to tell them they’re enough.”

He lifted your joined hands, pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

“I’m not asking for a ring or a lease tomorrow. I’m asking if you want to build something real with me. With us. Slow, careful, but intentional. No half-in, half-out. If you’re in, I’m all the way in.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was full. Full of possibility.

You leaned forward, rested your forehead against his.

“I’m scared,” you admitted quietly. “Because this is big. And I’m twenty-two and still figuring out who I am. But I’ve never felt more like myself than when I’m here with you three. I want the hard days too. I want the bedtime stories and the temper tantrums and the way Rina side-eyes my cooking and the way Sooah falls asleep on my chest. I want you looking at me like you are right now, every day.”

A small, relieved breath escaped him.

“So yes,” you whispered. “I’m in. All the way.”

Hongjoong closed the distance, kissed you slow and deep—less heat than promise, more certainty than hunger. When he pulled back, his eyes were glassy.

“Then stay tonight,” he said. “And tomorrow. And the Saturday after that. We’ll figure out the rest as we go.”

You nodded, smiling through the sudden blur in your vision.

“Deal.”

He tugged you into his lap, arms wrapping around you fully, chin resting on your head. You stayed like that for a long time—listening to the quiet hum of the apartment, the distant sound of the city outside, the soft breathing of two little girls dreaming down the hall.

Eventually he spoke again, voice muffled against your hair.

“Rina’s right, you know.”

“About what?”

“You do make the best crowns.”

You laughed softly, burying your face in his neck.

“And you make the best home,” you murmured.

He held you tighter.

“Welcome to it, sweetheart.”

And just like that—messy, glitter-dusted, imperfect, real—the four of you started building something permanent, one Saturday morning, one bedtime story, one quiet promise at a time.

Time skip

The weeks that followed felt like the slow unfurling of something you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for your whole life.

Mornings became a shared ritual. You started waking up earlier than necessary just to steal quiet minutes in the kitchen with Hongjoong before the girls stirred. He’d be there already—hair still sleep-rumpled, glasses perched on his nose while he scrolled through emails one-handed and stirred oatmeal with the other. You’d slip behind him, arms around his waist, chin on his shoulder, and he’d pause everything to turn his head and kiss you good morning—soft, lingering, tasting like toothpaste and the faintest trace of last night’s chamomile tea he drank when he couldn’t sleep.

“Morning, love,” he’d murmur against your lips, every single time, like he was still surprised you were there.

You’d steal sips of his coffee while he pretended to scold you, then hand-feed him bites of whatever fruit you’d sliced for the girls’ lunchboxes. The domesticity of it—the way he’d rest his hand on the small of your back while you packed snacks, the way he’d automatically reach for your mug to refill it without asking—settled into your bones like it had always belonged there.

The girls adapted faster than either of you expected.

Rina started leaving small drawings on your side of the couch: you with exaggerated long hair, holding hands with a stick-figure Hongjoong who had a comically large crown. One Tuesday evening she presented you with a folded piece of construction paper sealed with approximately seventeen glitter stickers.

“It’s a family certificate,” she announced solemnly. “You’re officially in the pack now. No take-backs.”

You opened it to find four stick figures labeled “Daddy,” “Rina,” “Sooah,” and “Y/N” linked by crayon hearts, with a wobbly fox drawn in the corner wearing sunglasses. At the bottom, in her careful kindergarten printing: We love you.

You had to excuse yourself to the bathroom for a minute to blink away the sudden sting in your eyes. When you came back, Hongjoong was kneeling in front of Rina, smoothing her hair, telling her quietly how proud he was of her big heart. He glanced up at you over her shoulder—eyes shining—and mouthed, Thank you.

Sooah’s affection was quieter, more tactile. She started seeking you out for comfort in small, instinctive ways: crawling into your lap during storytime even when Hongjoong was reading, tucking her small hand into yours when you walked to the park, pressing her cheek against your chest when she was tired and whispering, “You smell like home.”

One rainy Sunday afternoon the four of you built an indoor picnic in the living room—blanket spread out, string lights on, a tower of sandwiches and cut-up fruit. The girls insisted on “fancy tea party rules,” which mostly meant wearing paper crowns (yours was silver, of course) and speaking in exaggerated British accents that dissolved into giggles every thirty seconds.

Hongjoong played along perfectly—pinkie extended, calling everyone “milady” and “sir”—until Sooah spilled apple juice down his shirt. He didn’t even flinch. Just looked down at the spreading wet spot, sighed dramatically, and said, “Well. That’s what I get for wearing white to a royal function.”

You laughed so hard you nearly snorted tea through your nose. Rina immediately declared it “the funniest thing ever” and demanded a reenactment. Hongjoong obliged—three times—each spill more theatrical than the last, until all three of you were in stitches and Sooah was clapping her sticky hands in delight.

Later, when the girls were napping (a rare double nap, a small miracle), Hongjoong pulled you down onto the blanket with him. You lay facing each other, legs tangled, the rain tapping softly against the windows.

He traced the curve of your cheek with his thumb.

“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop,” he admitted quietly. “For you to wake up one day and realize this is too much. Too many Legos underfoot. Too many early mornings. Too many questions about forever from a five-year-old.”

You covered his hand with yours, pressed it to your face.

“I’m not waiting for an exit,” you told him. “I’m waiting for the next chapter. The one where we figure out how to fit my textbooks on your shelves. Where we argue about whose turn it is to do dishes. Where the girls start calling me something other than ‘crown girl’—maybe even something permanent.”

His breath caught.

“You’d want that?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Someday?”

You nodded. “Someday. When they’re ready. When we’re ready. No rush. But yeah… I want the permanence. With you. With them.”

He closed his eyes for a second, like he was savoring the words. When he opened them again, they were soft and certain.

“Then we keep going like this,” he said. “One day at a time. One picnic, one spilled juice, one glitter bomb at a time. And when the time feels right… we talk about what ‘family’ looks like on paper. But right now? Right now this—” he gestured between you, then toward the hallway where the girls slept—“this is already more family than I ever thought I’d get again.”

You leaned in, kissed him slow and sweet—rain-scented, blanket-warmed, full of quiet promises.

When you pulled back, he tucked you against his chest, chin resting on your head.

“Stay forever?” he murmured, half-teasing, half-serious, echoing Sooah’s sleepy question from weeks ago.

You smiled into his sweater.

“Trying to,” you whispered back.

The rain kept falling. The girls kept dreaming. And in the soft glow of the string lights, the four of you kept building—slowly, surely, beautifully—something that already felt a lot like home.

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@alanasdesire

All rights reserved. Do not repost. Do not translate.

[alanasdesire]

D.I.L.F.

[MASTERLIST]

Part 1 (You are here) ➯ Part 2

pairing: dilf!hongjoong x fem!reader

genre: slow-burn, romance, age-gap, smut w/plot

synopsis: At 32, Kim Hongjoong is a devoted single father raising two young daughters while balancing a demanding career. When 22-year-old [Y/N]—, confident, and unexpectedly drawn into his orbit—enters his life, what begins as innocent encounters quickly ignites a forbidden attraction. Hongjoong fights the pull, but the age gap only fuels his deeper, darker desires. As tension builds through stolen glances, teasing touches, and late-night confessions, their slow-burn connection erupts into something raw and intense: a passionate, no-holds-barred affair filled with dominance, surrender, and unspoken need.

warning(s): slow-burn, joong has two daughters, age gap, Dom!joong, rough sex, oral(f receiving), hongjoong is a perv, doggy, begging, name-calling (good girl), creampie, fingering, missionary, teasing, marking, etc.

Song: Older by Isabel LaRosa

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The late afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of the small independent bookstore-café hybrid in the quieter part of the city, casting long golden stripes across worn wooden tables and stacks of books. You pushed open the door, the bell above jingling softly, carrying with it the scent of fresh coffee and old paper.

You weren’t here for books, not really. You’d come because the flyer on the community board at your university had promised “Storytime & Crafts for Ages 3-6” every Saturday at 4 PM, run by volunteers. Free childcare-adjacent activity, decent coffee, and a chance to feel slightly less like the world was spinning too fast at twenty-two. Perfect.

But the moment you stepped inside, your eyes caught on him.

Kim Hongjoong stood near the children’s section, crouched low so he was eye-level with two little girls—one clinging to his leg, the other tugging insistently at the sleeve of his dark sweater. He wore wire-rimmed glasses that slipped slightly down his nose as he listened to whatever urgent story the older of the two (maybe five?) was telling him, nodding seriously like it was the most important conversation in the world. His black hair was slightly tousled, sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms corded with quiet strength, and a silver bracelet glinted on his wrist when he reached to tuck a stray braid behind the younger girl’s ear.

He looked… exhausted. But the kind of exhaustion that came wrapped in devotion. The kind that made something low in your stomach twist unexpectedly.

“Daddy, she said my drawing looks like a potato!” the older girl protested, thrusting a crumpled piece of construction paper toward him.

Hongjoong examined it with exaggerated gravity. “Hmm. I see a very avant-garde potato. Michelin-star worthy, actually.” He glanced up then—right at you—because you’d frozen a few steps inside the door, staring.

Your cheeks heated. You quickly averted your eyes, pretending to study a nearby shelf of picture books, but not before you caught the smallest flicker of a smile on his lips. Polite. Knowing. A little tired.

The storytime session started soon after. You lingered near the back, nursing a latte, telling yourself you were just killing time. The kids gathered in a loose semicircle on the rug while Hongjoong read from a brightly illustrated book about a brave fox and a lost moon. His voice was low, steady, the kind that could command a room without ever rising. Every so often one of his daughters—Rina and Sooah, you’d overheard—would interrupt with a question or a demand for him to “do the voices,” and he’d oblige without missing a beat, shifting seamlessly from gentle narrator to dramatic fox growl.

When the session wrapped, the other parents and volunteers began packing up. You should have left too. Instead, you found yourself drifting closer to the craft table where the girls were still glued to markers and glue sticks.

Hongjoong was wiping glitter off Sooah’s cheek with the edge of his thumb when you approached.

“Excuse me,” you said, voice quieter than intended. “I, um—do you need an extra hand? I used to volunteer at a preschool. I’m good with glitter containment.”

He looked up, really looked at you this time. Dark eyes framed by those glasses, assessing but not unkind. A beat passed.

“That would be… appreciated,” he said finally, voice carrying the faintest trace of a smile. “These two are currently in a glitter terrorism phase.”

Rina immediately thrust a glue stick at you like a weapon. “You can help me make a crown. Daddy’s bad at crowns.”

Hongjoong exhaled through his nose, mock-offended. “I am an excellent crown architect. You’re just picky.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself. He glanced at you again—sharper this time, like he’d noticed the sound and wanted to catalog it.

The next hour passed in a blur of sticky fingers, construction paper, and the occasional tiny hand patting your arm like you’d passed some unspoken test. Hongjoong moved around you with careful distance—never quite touching, but close enough that you could smell the faint cedar-and-coffee scent clinging to his sweater. Every time your eyes met over the girls’ heads, something unspoken hummed between you. A question. A dare. A warning.

When the last of the glitter had been swept (mostly) away and the girls were yawning against his legs, he straightened, brushing his hands on his jeans.

“Thank you,” he said, quieter now that the room had emptied. “Seriously. Saturdays are usually… a lot.”

You shrugged, trying for casual. “No problem. They’re sweet. And you’re good with them.”

His gaze lingered a second too long. “They keep me honest.” Then, almost as an afterthought: “I’m Hongjoong, by the way.”

“I know.” You winced internally. “I mean—I heard the girls. I’m [Y/N].”

A small, crooked smile. “Nice to meet you, [Y/N].”

He hesitated, like he was weighing something. The younger girl—Sooah—tugged his hand, whining about being hungry.

“I should get them home,” he said, but he didn’t move right away. Instead he reached into his pocket and pulled out a simple black card—his name and a phone number embossed in silver. “If you’re ever around again on a Saturday… or if you just want coffee that isn’t lukewarm… feel free to text. No pressure.”

Your fingers brushed his when you took it. Electric. Brief. Gone too soon.

“I might,” you said, voice steadier than you felt.

He nodded once, then turned to gather the girls’ things. But as he walked toward the door—Rina on his hip, Sooah holding his free hand—he glanced back over his shoulder.

The look he gave you wasn’t polite anymore.

It was hungry.

And you knew, deep in your bones, that this was only the beginning.

The next Saturday arrived faster than you expected.

You told yourself you were just going back for the free coffee. Maybe to see if the glitter terrorism had escalated. Definitely not because the memory of Hongjoong’s low voice reading bedtime-story cadence still echoed in your ears all week, or because you’d saved his black card to your phone under “HJ (bookstore dad)” like some teenager with a crush.

You arrived ten minutes early. The café was quieter today—no storytime yet, just a handful of people scattered at tables with laptops and novels. Hongjoong was already there, behind the small counter they used for craft supplies, sorting colored paper into neat stacks. He wore a charcoal button-down today, sleeves rolled to the elbows again, top button undone. The silver bracelet caught the light every time he moved.

Rina spotted you first. She was perched on a stool, swinging her legs, a half-finished paper chain dangling from her fingers.

“It’s the crown girl!” she announced, loud enough that Hongjoong’s head snapped up.

His expression softened the second his eyes found you—something warm and unguarded flickering there before he schooled it back into polite surprise.

“You came back,” he said, voice carrying just enough quiet delight to make your stomach flip.

“Couldn’t resist the glitter,” you replied, lifting one shoulder. “Or the company.”

A beat. His gaze dropped to your mouth for half a second—barely long enough to register—then back up.

“Careful,” he murmured, almost under his breath. “That kind of talk might get you recruited permanently.”

You laughed, stepping closer to the counter. “I’m not opposed.”

He handed you a stack of construction paper without breaking eye contact. Your fingers brushed again. This time neither of you pulled away quite so fast.

The morning unfolded slowly, deliberately.

Storytime came and went. The girls insisted you sit with them on the rug this time—Rina on your left, Sooah eventually crawling into your lap when she got sleepy halfway through the book.

Hongjoong read with the same steady gravitas, but you caught him looking over the top of the pages more than once. Not at the kids. At you. At the way your hand absently smoothed Sooah’s hair, at the soft smile you didn’t realize you were wearing.

Afterward, when most of the families had trickled out and the girls were occupied with a new set of markers at the craft table, Hongjoong appeared beside you with two to-go cups.

“Better than lukewarm,” he said, offering you one. “Iced oat latte. Figured that’s safer than guessing hot or cold.”

You took it, fingertips grazing the back of his hand on purpose this time. “You remembered.”

“I pay attention,” he said simply.

The words hung between you, heavier than they should have been.

You both drifted toward the window seats near the back—far enough from the girls that your voices wouldn’t carry, close enough that you could still see them coloring furiously. The afternoon light slanted gold across his face, catching the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.

“So,” he started, leaning back, one arm draped over the back of the booth. “Twenty-two. University?”

You nodded, taking a sip to buy time. “Art history. Senior year. Trying not to panic about what comes next.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “I remember that panic. Except mine was followed by diapers and 3 a.m. feedings instead of grad school applications.”

“How old were you when…?” You gestured vaguely toward the girls.

“Twenty-five with Rina. Twenty-seven with Sooah.” His thumb traced the rim of his cup. “Their mom… she wasn’t ready. Left when Sooah was six months. Haven’t heard from her since.”

The admission was quiet, matter-of-fact. No self-pity. Just truth.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly.

“Don’t be.” His eyes met yours again—darker now, steadier. “We’re better for it. They’re better for it.”

A long pause. The café music shifted to something slower, sultrier. You recognized the opening notes of Older by Isabel LaRosa drifting through the speakers. Fitting. Too fitting.

Hongjoong tilted his head slightly, studying you.

“You’re good with them,” he said. Not a question. An observation.

“They’re easy to be good with,” you answered. “They’re yours.”

Something shifted in his expression—something raw and unguarded that made your pulse kick.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping low enough that it felt private. Intimate.

“I should warn you,” he said. “I don’t… do casual. Not anymore. Not with them in the picture. If someone’s going to be around, it has to mean something.”

Your breath caught.

“I’m not looking for casual,” you heard yourself say.

His gaze flicked down to your lips again—longer this time. When he looked back up, the hunger from last week was back, sharper, less polite.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’ve spent the last seven days trying to convince myself I shouldn’t text you.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because you’re twenty-two,” he said, voice rougher now. “Because I’m thirty-two and come with baggage and bedtime stories and a schedule that doesn’t bend. Because the second you walked in here last week I knew exactly what I wanted to do to you, and none of it was appropriate in front of my daughters.”

Heat flooded your face, your chest, lower.

He watched the flush spread like he was memorizing it.

“But you’re here again,” he continued, quieter. “And I’m still thinking about it. So I’m asking—very carefully—if you want me to stop thinking about it.”

You swallowed hard. The song looped back to the chorus.

“No,” you whispered. “Don’t stop.”

For a moment he didn’t move. Then, slowly—deliberately—he reached across the table. His fingers closed around your wrist, thumb pressing gently over your pulse point. Feeling how fast it raced.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he said, voice velvet and warning all at once. “I don’t play fair when I finally let myself want something.”

You shivered. Not from cold.

Across the room, Rina called out, “Daddy! Look! We made you a glitter beard!”

Hongjoong didn’t look away from you.

“Be right there,” he called back, calm as ever.

But his thumb stroked once—slow, deliberate—over the inside of your wrist before he let go.

“Tonight,” he said under his breath. “After they’re asleep. Text me. I’ll send the address.”

You nodded, throat too tight to speak.

He stood, adjusting his glasses with a small, crooked smile that didn’t match the heat still simmering in his eyes.

“And Y/n?" he added, pausing just long enough for you to meet his gaze again.

“Yeah?”

“Wear something you don’t mind getting ruined.”

Then he turned and walked back to his daughters like he hadn’t just set your entire nervous system on fire.

The rest of the day crawled.

You left the bookstore around 5 PM with glitter still clinging to your jeans and Hongjoong’s parting words looping in your head like a dark, velvet promise. Wear something you don’t mind getting ruined.

You spent the evening in a strange, buzzing limbo—showering twice, staring at your closet for far too long, texting your roommate some vague excuse about “meeting a study group late.”

Eventually you settled on a simple black slip dress, thin straps, hem skimming mid-thigh. No bra. Lace panties that felt dangerously close to lingerie. A soft cardigan you could shrug off the second the door closed behind you. Minimal makeup. Hair down. Pulse hammering.

At 9:47 PM your phone lit up.

HJ (bookstore dad):

They’re asleep.

Door’s unlocked.

Top floor, 3B.

Take the stairs—elevator’s loud.

No emojis. No pleasantries. Just coordinates and expectation.

You were out the door in under five minutes.

The building was old, brick, in a quiet residential pocket of the city you’d never wandered into before. Narrow staircase, soft hallway lights. By the time you reached the third floor your thighs were trembling—not from the climb.

The door to 3B was cracked open, warm lamplight spilling into the hall. You pushed it gently.

Hongjoong was waiting.

He stood in the middle of the living room, jacket gone, sleeves rolled higher now, first three buttons of his shirt undone. The space behind him was tidy in that lived-in way—scattered picture books, a low couch, toys corralled into baskets, faint scent of lavender detergent and cedar. A baby monitor glowed green on the side table. Soft jazz drifted from a speaker somewhere.

He didn’t speak at first. Just watched you step inside, close the door, turn the lock with a quiet click.

The sound seemed to snap something.

He crossed the room in three strides.

You barely had time to drop your bag before his hands were on you—one cupping the back of your neck, the other sliding low on your waist, pulling you flush against him. His mouth crashed into yours like he’d been holding his breath for days.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was teeth and tongue and the low, hungry sound he made against your lips when you opened for him immediately. He tasted like mint and the faintest trace of the coffee he’d been drinking earlier. His fingers tightened in your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted it, deepening the kiss until you were dizzy.

When he finally pulled back—just enough to speak—his forehead rested against yours, breath ragged.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped. “Right now. Last chance.”

Your hands were already fisting the front of his shirt.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you whispered.

A dark, pleased sound rumbled in his chest.

Then he was moving—guiding you backward through the dim hallway, never breaking contact. Your back hit the wall outside what must have been the girls’ bedroom door; he paused long enough to press a finger to your lips in silent warning. You nodded. Quiet.

He kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, like he was savoring. His free hand slid down your side, under the hem of your dress, fingertips grazing bare thigh. Higher. Higher. Until he found the lace and groaned softly against your mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You listened.”

You smirked against his lips. “You said you don’t play fair.”

His thumb hooked under the edge of the fabric, tugging it aside just enough to brush against slick heat. You gasped—quiet, but sharp. His eyes snapped to yours, pupils blown.

“Bedroom,” he ordered, voice wrecked. “Now.”

He didn’t wait for agreement. Just scooped you up—effortless, one arm under your ass, your legs wrapping around his waist—and carried you the last few steps into the master bedroom at the end of the hall.

Door shut. Locked.

He set you on your feet beside the bed but didn’t let go. Instead he turned you slowly, pressing your front to the edge of the mattress so you had to brace your hands on the duvet.

“Hands stay there,” he murmured against the back of your neck, already dragging the straps of your dress down your shoulders. The fabric pooled at your waist, baring your breasts to cool air. Your nipples tightened instantly.

He stepped back—just far enough to look.

You could feel his gaze like a physical touch. Heavy. Possessive. Hungry.

“Beautiful,” he said, almost to himself. Then louder, rougher: “But I’ve been imagining this for a week. So you’re going to be patient, sweetheart.”

You whimpered.

He pressed against your back again, chest to your spine, hard length unmistakable through his slacks. One hand slid up to collar your throat—not squeezing, just holding. The other dipped between your legs from behind, fingers sliding through your folds, finding you soaked.

“Already?” he teased, voice dark velvet. “I’ve barely touched you.”

“You’ve been touching me with your eyes since day one,” you managed.

A low chuckle. “Fair.”

Two fingers pushed inside you without warning—slow, deliberate, stretching. Your head dropped forward on a choked moan. He curled them immediately, finding that spot that made your thighs shake.

“Good girl,” he praised, lips brushing your ear. “So tight. So wet for a man old enough to know better.”

The age gap comment should have embarrassed you. Instead it made you clench around his fingers.

He felt it. Groaned.

“You like that, don’t you?” He pumped slowly, thumb circling your clit. “Like knowing I shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t be thinking about filling you up every time I see you smile at my kids.”

“Hongjoong—” His name broke on a whine.

“Shh.” He kissed the side of your neck. “Not yet.”

He worked you open methodically—three fingers now, scissoring, stretching, until you were trembling, hips rocking back against his hand. When you started to tighten, chasing the edge, he pulled out completely.

You nearly sobbed.

He turned you around, kissed you hard, then pushed you gently onto the bed. You landed on your back, dress still tangled around your waist, panties soaked and crooked.

He stood at the foot of the bed, undoing his belt with slow, deliberate movements. The clink of metal made your core pulse.

“Spread your legs,” he said. Quiet command.

You obeyed.

He dropped to his knees between them, hooked your thighs over his shoulders, and pulled your panties aside.

“Look at you,” he murmured, breath hot against your clit. “Dripping for me.”

Then his mouth was on you.

No teasing. No gentle licks. He devoured—tongue flat and broad, then pointed and flicking, sucking your clit between his lips until your back arched off the mattress. One hand pinned your hips down; the other reached up to toy with a nipple, rolling, pinching.

You came embarrassingly fast—shattering against his tongue with a muffled cry you barely managed to stifle against your own arm.

He didn’t stop.

He licked you through it, slower now, until you were twitching, oversensitive.

Only then did he rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes feral.

“Turn over,” he said. “Ass up.”

You scrambled to obey—face down, knees spread, back arched.

He shed the rest of his clothes in seconds. You heard the condom wrapper tear—responsible even now—and then he was behind you, one hand smoothing up your spine, the other guiding himself.

He pressed in slow.

Inch by thick inch.

You whimpered at the stretch, the fullness. He was bigger than you expected—hot, heavy, unyielding.

When he bottomed out, hips flush to your ass, he held still. Let you adjust. Let you feel every inch claiming you.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “So perfect. Made for this.”

Then he started to move.

Slow at first—long, deep drags that made your toes curl. Then harder. Faster. The bed creaked softly; he was careful, mindful of the sleeping girls down the hall, but the restraint only made it dirtier.

One hand wrapped around your throat from behind—not choking, just possessive. The other slid under you, fingers finding your clit again.

“Come again,” he growled against your ear. “Come on my cock like a good girl.”

You shattered a second time—harder, quieter, clenching around him until he swore under his breath.

He followed moments later—burying himself deep, hips stuttering, a low, broken groan vibrating against your neck as he spilled into the condom.

For a long minute neither of you moved.

Then he pulled out carefully, disposed of the condom, cleaned you gently with a warm cloth from the bathroom. When he came back he gathered you against his chest, pulling the covers over both of you.

His lips brushed your temple.

“Stay,” he murmured. Not a question.

You curled into him, already half-asleep, heart still racing.

“Yes.”

He exhaled—relieved, satisfied, something softer underneath.

“Tomorrow,” he said quietly, “we talk. Properly. About what this means. About the girls. About everything.”

You nodded against his skin.

“But tonight,” he added, voice dropping to that dangerous velvet again, “you’re mine.”

You smiled into the dark.

“Yours.”

Morning light filtered through half-closed blinds, painting thin gold stripes across the rumpled sheets.

You woke slowly—aware first of warmth, then of the solid weight of an arm draped over your waist, fingers splayed possessively across your bare stomach. Hongjoong’s breath was slow and even against the back of your neck, chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours. His face was tucked into your hair, lips brushing your skin every few breaths.

For a long moment you didn’t move. Just let the reality settle: you were in his bed. Naked. Marked (there was a faint, blooming bruise on the inside of your thigh you vaguely remembered him sucking into existence at 2 a.m. when neither of you could sleep). Smelling like his shampoo and sex and the faint lavender from the girls’ detergent that must have transferred from his laundry.

Then you heard it—small footsteps in the hallway. A whisper.

“Daddy?”

Your eyes snapped open.

Hongjoong stirred instantly, awake in that way parents are: instantly alert, body already shifting to shield you even half-asleep. He pressed a quick, soft kiss to your shoulder, then rolled away, pulling the duvet up to cover you completely before swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Coming, baby,” he called, voice rough with sleep but gentle. He tugged on sweatpants that had been discarded on the floor, no shirt, hair a disaster. The sight of his back—broad shoulders, faint red lines from your nails last night—made heat curl low in your belly even as panic fluttered in your chest.

He glanced back at you once, eyes soft but serious.

“Stay here,” he mouthed. Then he slipped out, closing the door with the quietest click.

You heard muffled voices down the hall.

“Daddy, Sooah had a bad dream.” Rina’s voice, small and serious.

“Okay, sweetheart. Let’s go see her.”

Footsteps retreated toward the girls’ room.

You lay there, heart hammering, staring at the ceiling. The baby monitor on his nightstand was on—low volume, but you could hear everything.

Hongjoong’s voice filtered through, calm and warm.

“Bad dream again, Soo?”

A tiny sniffle. “Monster under the bed.”

“No monsters here,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Remember? We checked last night. And even if one tried, I’d fight it. And you know who else would help?”

A pause. Then Rina, proudly: “The fox from the book!”

“That’s right. And maybe… the crown girl.”

Your breath caught.

Sooah’s sleepy voice: “She makes good crowns. And she lets me sit on her lap.”

Hongjoong’s laugh was soft, private. “She does, doesn’t she?”

You pressed your face into the pillow to hide the sudden sting behind your eyes.

A few minutes later the door opened again. He slipped back inside alone, locking it quietly behind him.

“They’re back in bed,” he said, voice low. “Bad dream resolved. Fox victory.”

You sat up slowly, clutching the sheet to your chest. “They mentioned me.”

He crossed to the bed, sat on the edge, reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His thumb lingered on your cheek.

“They like you,” he said simply. “A lot.”

“And you?”

His gaze darkened, softened, did both at once.

“I’m trying very hard not to scare you off by saying how much I already want this to be permanent.”

Your heart tripped.

He leaned in, kissed you slow and deep—morning breath and all, like it didn’t matter. When he pulled back his forehead rested against yours.

“I meant what I said last night. We talk. Properly.”

You nodded.

He exhaled, like he’d been holding the breath for hours.

“First thing: I don’t bring people here. Ever. Not since their mom left. You’re the first in four years. That means something to me.”

You swallowed. “It means something to me too.”

“Second,” he continued, voice dropping, “I want you around. Not just in my bed—though fuck, I want that again soon—but around them. Weekends. Storytime. Glitter disasters. All of it. But only if you want that. No pressure. No timeline. We go slow where they’re concerned.”

You reached for his hand, laced your fingers through his.

“I want that,” you said quietly. “I want all of it.”

His eyes searched yours for a long moment. Then he smiled—small, real, a little disbelieving.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m already ruined for anyone else.”

You laughed softly, tugging him down until he was lying beside you again, bodies slotting together like they’d done it a hundred times.

“Third thing,” he said against your lips, hand sliding down to grip your hip. “I’m still going to fuck you like I own you every chance I get. Quietly. When they’re asleep. In the shower before they wake up. In the car after I drop them at daycare. Wherever. Whenever. You good with that?”

Heat flooded you all over again.

“Very good,” you breathed.

He groaned low in his throat, already hardening against your thigh.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He kissed you harder this time, rolling you beneath him, caging you with his arms. “Five more minutes. Then I have to make breakfast before they stage a mutiny.”

You arched into him, already wet, already needy.

“Five minutes,” you agreed.

It was closer to fifteen.

He took you slow that time—face-to-face, missionary, deep and deliberate, one hand over your mouth to muffle your moans while the other pinned your wrist above your head. He watched every flicker of your expression like he was memorizing it, whispered filthy praise against your ear the whole time.

“Good girl… taking me so well… gonna fill you up again soon, no condom next time if you let me… want to see you dripping with me…”

You came trembling around him, biting his palm to stay quiet. He followed right after, burying his face in your neck, hips stuttering, spilling hot and deep inside you.

When he finally pulled out, he kissed the corner of your mouth, then your forehead.

“Stay for breakfast?” he asked, already reaching for a clean t-shirt from his drawer to hand to you.

You took it, slipping it over your head. It smelled like him—cedar, laundry, faint cologne.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “I’d like that.”

He pulled you in for one more kiss—soft this time, lingering.

“Then come meet my monsters properly,” he murmured. “They’re going to lose their minds when they see you in my shirt.”

You laughed against his lips.

“Lead the way, daddy.”

His eyes flashed dark and pleased.

“Careful,” he warned, voice velvet again. “Keep calling me that and breakfast is going to be very delayed.”

You smirked, slipping past him toward the door.

“Promises, promises.”

He caught you around the waist from behind, pressed a hard kiss to the side of your neck.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he growled softly. “You have no idea.”

Then he opened the door, took your hand, and led you down the hall toward the sound of small voices and the smell of coffee already brewing.

The beginning of something real.

Something messy.

Something yours.

--------------------------------------------------------

@alanasdesire

All rights reserved. Do not translate. Do not repost.

[maho6any]

blue banisters

woke up in a cold sweat craving dilfjoong so bad my chest was hurting

dilf!hongjoong x f!reader

content: older man, deep fuck, manhandling, like ONE daddy (i felt it was necessary just this once)

wc: 2.1k

thinking about hongjoong...

he smelled like tobacco, and leather, and sex. and god you've never wanted a man so badly in your entire life, which at your age? wasn't saying much.

you had no premonition of the hurricane that was about to tear through your life, lounging comfortably on your best friend's couch, chatting idly about nothing while a movie played on the living room television, ignored.

you both do this often, relaxing in each other's company at her home, she seemed to always have the house to herself, and the quiet was nice in contrast to the bustling, loud of the apartment that you shared with roommates.

she was telling about a seminar she had been working on for class when you heard the jingle of keys and the sound of the front door opening. you turn to look at her in question, and she rolls her eyes.

"my dad," she deadpans, and when you turned to look at the man who had just walked in, you felt your entire body stiffen.

"you're home early." your friend sighs, and you watch the neatly combed head of hair pop out from behind the wall, clad in a dark brown suit, daintily framed glasses sitting on the bridge of a pretty nose. sharp cheekbones, and bitten lips that part when he speaks.

he turns to face his daughter, but his eyes stop, and snag on you. curled up on his couch, your legs tucked under your body and your eyes wide and curious, subconsciously chewing on your inner cheek, your fingers nervously pulling at a string that flays from the cushion.

his eyebrows raise, and his lips spread into a wide smile.

"ladies." he acknowledges politely, his eyes never leaving yours. he catches the way your shoulder twitches when he speaks, and it intrigues him in a dangerous way.

"didn't know you were having friends over, honey." he drawls lowly, and then he's turning to shed his blazer and finally gives you a moment free from his burning gaze.

you find yourself letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"i didn't know i needed to tell you," she replies, a playful yet annoyed tone in her voice.

"you don't." he replies matter-of-factly, turning and locking his eyes on you once again. "but at least introduce your dad, yeah? haven't i taught you manners?"

he reaches out a hand for you to shake. "hongjoong. pleasure to meet you, sweetheart. i raised that brat over there." he smiles wider and his little canines poke over his bottom lip. you swallow the dry patch in your throat and force your hand to unstick from your side to take his.

his hand swallows yours, rough skin, warm flesh. it makes your neck tingle. you blink dumbly when his hand squeezes yours, before he's leaning down, landing a chaste kiss on the top of your knuckles.

your friend scoffs next to you, and hes pulling away before you could think of anything to say in response.

"dad, please. its the 20th century, you've gotta start acting like it."

hongjoong laughs softly, adjusting his glasses as they've begun to slip down his face. "it's the respectful gesture for when a gentleman greets a lady. maybe you should read a book, dearest."

your friend snorts and pokes your side, rousing you from your stupor. "oh please, (name) is the farthest thing from a lady, and you are certainly no gentleman dad."

he laughs again, pure whipped honey in your stomach, and he cranes his head to the side, his eyes swimming over your face, his expression painted with blatant captivation.

"is that so?" he murmurs under his breath, and something inside you flicks alight.

so when he's got you backed into a corner in the far left wing of his home mere days later, he's made you promise to keep that pretty voice of yours down so he can prove to you just how much of a "gentleman" he can be.

he kisses you stupid, his warm mouth molded with yours, his tongue curling and mapping out the length of your teeth. his hands slip around the back of your head, craning your neck upward so he can help himself to the maw of your mouth, greedily kissing you like he was starving.

your back pressed to the hallway wall, his thigh slotted between your thighs, pressing up against your clothed cunt just enough to have you teetering on that mouthwatering promise of bliss.

he pulls from your mouth with a slick pop, trailing his kisses along your jaw with wet 'mwahs' that make your stomach coil. his fingers scrape against the nape of your neck like he is trying to slither your spine out from your body.

“hi pretty girl.” he moans between kisses, slipping one hand from your neck and finding a home at your hips, pressing your body down to help your grind against his thigh. you gasp when your clit catches the rough denim of his pants, and he shushes you, hovering his lips over your mouth, his low breaths brushing against the soft skin.

his eyelids lowered beneath his fogged-up glasses, the darkness of the hallway making him all the more alluring.

“i can’t fuck you the way i want right now, but i think if i go one more day without having you, i’ll start tearing up my own house.”

the desperation in his voice makes you whimper. he pulls his body off of you, turning you around so your front is pressed hard against the cold wall. he pressed against your back, his hand curling around and gripping the front of your throat, his blunt nails digging into the thin skin.

his other hand slips under the waistband of your pants, slipping them down just far enough to pool at your knees. next you hear him fiddle with his belt, the metal clacking loudly in the empty hallway. your face is smushed against the wall, his hold on your throat making you dizzy. he litters wet kisses along the back of your shoulders, along the side of your neck, and then, when you feel him slip the crotch of your panties to the side, all coherent thoughts fly out the window.

you moan wantonly, and he clicks his tongue. keeping his hand on your throat, his index finger slides up and slips into your mouth, pressing down against your tongue.

hongjoong feels your drool start to drip down his fingers, and it makes his cock twitch as he pulls it out from his pants, immediately slotting it between your soaked thighs and coating himself in the wetness that drips from your cunt.

he cranes your head back, just enough so he can see your expression, your head lolled back over his shoulder. not an inch of space between your melded bodies, his breath hot against your neck as your stomach coils every time the fat tip of him slips over your clit.

“not a sound, baby,” he whispers against your skin, and you choke back a groan when his tip breaks into you, followed by the slow, agonizing drag of each inch he slides into your pussy.

his breath shivers against your cheek, a low purr slipping past his lips when he feels you clench around him so tight he can’t move.

“dammit, baby. pussy’s too tight, can’t move.”

“b-big…” you slur around his finger, and he laughs so low it sends a fresh gush of arousal between your legs.

“i know pretty, sorry. didn’t have time to loosen you up.” he pushes into you a little more, and you can feel every vein slide against your warm walls. his groans come broken from his throat, and the hand on your neck only squeezes tighter each inch he manages to slip into you.

“almost there, relax beautiful.” he coaxes, kissing the shell of your ear, before finally feeling his hips press flush against your ass, buried as deep inside of you as he could go.

“ff-fuck…” he moans under his breath, the scent of his fading cologne making your brain fuzzy. “your pussy sounds so messy, it’s going to echo down the hall, baby.”

to prove himself right, he slides his hips back, the deep stroke of his cock hitting all the right spots makes lights flash behind your eyes, and the sticky sound of your cunt makes you tighten around him even more.

he eases into a torturous rhythm, thrusting nice and slow and deep, pulling back as languidly as he could manage so you could feel every inch of his dick inside of you, pushing back inside with a low groan next to your ear to make you wetter for him, grinding his hips against your ass so his tip rolled against that sweet spot in your tummy.

he knew what he was doing, and fuck was it making you utterly stupid. your drool dripped down his wrist the harder he pressed his finger against your tongue, his own pleasure-ridden breaths and groans filled your head with sick fantasies and thoughts of him. you wanted to see him, you wanted to touch him.

but he was in control at the moment, holding your body to his like your flesh belonged to him, keeping your voice down while he pounded your cunt deep against his hallway wall. his free hand slips around the front of your body, his rough fingertip tips gently ghosting over your puffy clit, and you choke around his fingers as the pleasure rocks your bones.

“oh she likes that. responsive little one, aren’t you?” he teases by your ear, and he starts to fuck you with rougher, deeper strokes, every thick inch of his cock gliding against your walls with little to no resistance, and you start to feel like you might start melting into the wall.

“mm, h-hongjo- ah!” speaking was useless, his cock dissolving your brain inside your skull, the finger in your mouth making your words garbled.

“don’t try to talk.” he bites out, licking up the back of your neck with a whispery coo. “mm-mm, pretty little thing like you doesn’t need to talk. nooo… she doesn’t. she just needs to feel, yeah?”

to emphasize, he pulls his cock out of you just until the tip threatens to slip out if you, before grinding back into you with one deep, heavy thrust. your groan comes out low and shivery, and hongjoong grins mean and toothy at the way your body falls apart around him like you needed him to breathe.

“feel me doll, every inch of me. show me how badly you want me to ruin you.”

he eases back into that bullying, deliberate pace, working your cunt out like he was trying to mold his shape into you. you heard the sound of his glasses falling off his face and clattering to the floor in his bliss-stricken haze.

hongjoong’s moans shatter into something uncontrolled, obsessed with your willingness to bend for him. deep down, he wished he never met you, because he just knew that this could not be good for either of you. but god, he couldn’t push the fantasy out of his head, the one that told him you would look so pretty when you cum.

“focus, sweetheart. focus.” he instructs, pinching your clit between his fingertips as he rolls his hips into you, his lower stomach flowing smoothly like a practiced dance.

“need to feel this sweet little cunt cum for me. be nice baby, please? focus on cumming for daddy. okay? concentrate.”

your entire world flipped upside down, and then you shattered. like he’d dropped you on pavement, your entire body shakes and twitches, his thick cock dragging you through your orgasm with every rock of his hips.

“oh god, there she goes. that’s it, baby. good job. goooood job…” he kisses up the side of your neck, finally detaching his hand from your throat and cupping over your mouth to muffle your noises as your cries started to get louder as he continued to fuck you through the throes of your overstimulation. “doing so good for me…”

he doesn’t stop, because of course, he hasn’t cum yet. and hongjoong is a selfish man. plus, he wouldn’t mind forcing a couple more pretty little orgasms out of you; he’s sure you wouldn’t mind either.

if he hasn’t scared you off by time he’s done with you tonight, he’d be more than happy to shed that so-called self-appointed “gentleman” title once he can fuck you properly.

and if this wasn’t proper? god forbid you found out what is.

[makeitmingi]

Empty Promises

Genre: Romance, Angst, Violence, Sad, Forbidden love (?)

Pairing: Mingi x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Doctor!Reader, Gangster!Mingi. Mentions of Gangster!Ateez

Summary: Mingi has resigned to his fate that he brings misery and misfortune to those around him. So he isolates himself and lives his life, playing with the possibility of not waking up tomorrow. Until he meets a doctor that is determined to heal all his wounds. But all Mingi wants to do is spare her of his ill fate.

Word count: 3.9K

Story warning(s): Mentions of su*cide, character death, depression, waiting/ longing for death, gang activity, hallucinations, smoking and other potentially triggering topics. This is heavy story which can be triggering for some readers. Please exercise your own discretion before and when reading.

With a small jolt, Mingi woke up. He let out a groan at the stiffness in his neck. This was the new normal for him, to wake up and feel like his body had been through the wringer. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he closed his eyes, swallowing and feeling how dry his throat was.

"Damn..." He leaned forward on his hand. As much as he wanted to stay in bed for the rest of the day, he forced himself to stand up. He grabbed his cardigan and pulled it over his shoulders.

"Mingi, you're not in any condition to go out." The oldest of the gang, Seonghwa, stopped him in his tracks. Mingi grimaced and chewed on his bottom lip.

"I won't be back for dinner." Was all Mingi said before he left the mansion.

As Mingi sat in his car, he made no move to start the engine. He felt the dull ache in his sinuses and leaned against the steering wheel.

There it was, the throbbing in his head.

Finally, he broke out of his thoughts just to start the engine. He pulled out of the driveway and drove. There was no need for any navigation, Mingi knew where he was going.

He drove past all the skyscrapers and office buildings of Seoul until they disappeared behind him and soon, all that Mingi could see out his window were tall fields of grass and wheat. Due to the drier winter air, they were a light brown instead of their usual lush green.

Mingi rolled down his window to let the cold winter air in. It was crisp but the speed of the car made it feel like it was cutting his skin.

"Do you have to open the window? It's freezing!" He turned to the passenger seat, seeing the tall male smile back at him.

"It's not that cold." Mingi rolled his eyes.

"Because you're wearing a cardigan." The male scoffed in reply but made no further protest to make Mingi roll up his window. He was usually the 'kinder' one, giving into what Mingi wants.

"You don't have to be so self sacrificial all that time, Yun." Mingi grumbled, bringing his window up halfway.

"I'm fine giving in to you." He chuckled with a shrug.

Mingi let out a small scoff but continued to drive until he reached his destination. From the gap in his window, he could hear the gravel crunching under his tires.

"What are you waiting for?"

"I... don't know..." Mingi replied, leaning back into the driver's seat with a slump, a soft sigh escaping his lips. What was there to be afraid of? But honestly, Mingi didn't know if what he was feeling was fear or something else.

But his stomach sank, his chest tightened and he felt like there were nails in his throat. If that wasn't fear, what was it?

Taking a deep breath, Mingi opened the door and stepped out. The gravel and debris crunched loudly under his feet as he approached the structure before him.

"The weather is nice, isn't it?" Mingi turned his head, seeing the taller male stretch his arms out, taking a deep breath.

"No. It isn't." Mingi replied with his jaw clenched.

"Then why did you come out, silly? Should have just stayed indoors." The male smiled, staring at the wood cabin in front of him. His smile was always so infectious and kind.

"Because of you, Yun. I'm here because of you." Mingi frowned slightly, feeling a familiar anger stew within him.

"Me? Why me?"

"Because you died here, Yun. You died here and left me. But everyday, I come back here to you." Mingi finally found it in him to say it out loud.

It wasn't perfect. The picture Mingi saw before him was only a snippet from his memory. The wood cabin wasn't comforting and warm, it was unrecognisable, half of it charred and burnt. There was no one beside him, his best friend wasn't there. And Mingi knew it because he saw his best friend get engulfed by the flames.

'In loving memory of Jeong Yunho'

A plaque had been erected by the front of the house. Mingi hated it, he hated the smiling photo Hongjoong chose of Yunho. It was like the photo was mocking him.

"Why did you have to die?" Mingi clenched his fists, asking what was left of the wood cabin.

This used to be their escape, long before they joined Ateez together. When they were teenagers, they used to hide here after school.

But now, the charred remains of it stands as a bitter memory. Every time he closed his eyes, he sees it on fire with Yunho standing in the middle of it all, a soft smile on his face as he bids Mingi goodbye.

Were their lives perfect? No, far from. But they made a pact, a promise, to stay by each other, to suffer together.

"I'll never believe you again." He glared up at the cabin.

Mingi wanted to hate Yunho, he really did, but he couldn't. If Yunho could abandon Mingi, Mingi could do that too, right? Wrong. Each time Mingi swore he would forget and get over Yunho, he would still wake up, get in his car and come back here.

With a soft sigh, he moved to sit on the front steps of the house. Or rather, what was left of it. The moment he placed his hand down to steady himself, he recoiled, feeling the ash stick to his palm.

"After a year, it's still as it was." Mingi sighed, wiping his palm against his thigh.

"Well, you could clean it up if you're so bothered."

"And then what? You'll suddenly come back to life?" Mingi snapped back at his hallucination of Yunho, who smiled back tauntingly at him. Mingi closed his eyes with a sigh.

God, he hated that smile now. That smile that could light up a room or make Mingi's day feel brighter. Yunho's signature, warm smile.

Ever since they were younger, Yunho was always the 'cheery' one while Mingi was seen as the 'broody' one, the black sheep. Mingi didn't really care about that. He'll be the broody, bad influence. He takes pride in the fact that he taught Yunho to let loose and have fun. And in return, Yunho's the one that bails Mingi out of trouble.

"I'm crazy, I'm talking to myself or worse, a hallucination." Mingi slapped his cheeks.

He was right, it was a hallucination. Because this cheery, happy Yunho was the 'old' Yunho. It wasn't the same Yunho that Mingi saw before he died.

Because when was the last time Mingi saw Yunho genuinely smile?

Ever since Yunho learnt about his brother's tragic death, he was never the same. His smile no longer reached his eyes.

Mingi witnessed Yunho's spark diminish into smoke. But did he do anything about it? No. Mingi chose to live in denial that his best friend's will to live was being etched away.

Maybe that's why his punishment was witnessing Yunho get engulfed by the flames.

The image mocked him, reminding him that he wasn't enough to save Yunho, that happiness didn't belong to him.

"It's all my fault, isn't it? And now I have to live with the punishment of it all." Mingi sighed, pressing his arms onto his knees as his head dropped. Life was cruel.

"Why is it your fault?"

"You were sick, Yun. And I didn't do anything about it. I still depended on you when you should have been depending on me... You always saved me and the one time you needed me to save you, I couldn't. I was selfish and drove you to your death." Mingi breathed out.

Maybe that's why Mingi keeps coming back. To remind himself that this was all his fault, that he drove his best friend to his death.

All he does it bring misery and hurt those around him.

"Bye, Yun." Mingi looked back at the house before getting back into his car. Looking up, he saw Yunho standing there, waving at him. Yunho would always go with him but Mingi will always leave alone.

"I'll see you soon, Mingi ah."

Those words were Yunho's last words to Mingi before he died. Mingi could barely hear it, the sound of his own yelling and heartbeat was too strong then, it echoed painfully in his ears.

"Get out of there! Jeong Yunho!" Mingi screamed, trying to run into the burning house but was held back by the other gang members.

"Come back here! Please!" He yelled until his screams were silent.

Mingi shut his eyes and slammed his fists against the steering wheel. A tear trailed down his cheek, which he harshly wiped away. Taking a shaky breath, Mingi started the car and quickly peeled out of the makeshift drive way with an empty promise that he's never going back there again.

However, deep down, Mingi knew this was part of his routine now. He won't move on, he can't.

And honestly, Mingi knew that his behaviour and disrespect would get him kicked out of Ateez sooner and later. He was waiting for them to kick him to the curb.

But their leader, Hongjoong, seemed to be able to put Mingi's life resignation to good use.

All the jobs that Mingi has been assigned to were the most violent and least merciful. Because he was numb; he didn't feel remose, regret and wouldn't complain if he got beaten up.

Because everytime Mingi got into a fight, he silently hoped that the enemies' hit would be the one that takes him out. But it never came.

Fate just hated him too much to give him an easy way out. And a part of Mingi was too prideful to take his own life.

"Work time." Mingi stopped outside of the warehouse for his first job of the day. He took a deep breath, brushing aside his wallowing feelings from mourning over Yunho's death. Reaching into the glove compartment, he took a cigarette out to smoke.

Mingi watched as the thin trails of smoke fade into the air. Was Yunho looking at the smoke wisp away when he died? Did the heat bring him comfort like a hug would?

When was the last time Mingi hugged Yunho?

Yunho always did the hugging because Mingi didn't think something like a hug could express how much Yunho meant to him.

"Tch." Mingi stepped out of the car, his cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he walked into the warehouse.

-

"Good work today. And good luck." You and your team exchanged fist bumps with the team that was taking over the Emergency Department for the rest of the night.

"Hi, Nurse Kim. Can you help me check on the status of that grandpa that came in earlier? Lee Yuwon?" You asked the head nurse.

"Oh, Dr (y/l/n), I guess we've been so busy that you didn't see the update... I'm sorry but Mr Lee didn't make it off the table." The nurse informed with a sad look, pulling up the patient's records on a tablet and passing it over to you. You nodded and patted her on the shoulder before going to the lounge.

"Hey, you good?" Your colleague asked.

"Yeah, just one of my patients earlier. He was stable when I sent him up but I guess he didn't make it off the table." You frowned, reading the report.

"I'm sorry to hear that. But you know, it happens..." He wrapped an arm around your shoulders to hug you.

"Yeah. He was just different... He was so nice and compassionate." You sighed.

"I get it." He nodded. You both put your coats in your lockers and you returned the tablet to the nurses' station as you were heading out for the night. Standing at the hospital entrance, you took a deep breath.

The exhaustion of being a doctor is never easy. You can train physically but the mental and emotional stress never goes away. And it's true, you could save a thousand lives but the one that you didn't save will always get you.

But at the Emergency Department, you didn't have time to stop and mourn. It was constantly going, someone always needed you somewhere.

"Triple shot over ice, please." You ordered at the 24 hour cafe.

"Long night, doc?" The familiar barista asked. You nodded your head with a tired smile.

Usually, you had your coffee in the cafe, spending 2 hours to catch up on reports and paperwork. Something about doing all that home irked you. But tonight, something told you not to.

"Sorry, can I have my order to go instead?" You called out. The barista gave you a thumbs up and poured your coffee into a to go cup.

"Have a nice day." She smiled and handed you your cup.

"You too." With your cold, bitter coffee in hand, you made your way home. For some reason, as your apartment came to view, you felt your heart rate begin to pick up. Suddenly, it was like you couldn't breathe. You didn't know what this feeling was, some sort of twisted anticipation of sorts.

"Work is done. It's time to rest." You told yourself with a slow exhale, taking a sip of the coffee. The bitterness and suddenly intake of caffeine was felt in your bones.

It was a long day.

Trudging up the stairs, you headed to the third floor where your apartment was. You stopped in the hallway, a sigh leaving your lips.

Once you got your front door opened, you dropped your bag on the arm chair and went to put your coffee on the counter, along with the stack of folders you were carrying in your arms.

"Do you need help coming in?" You asked, realising your front door was still open.

"No..." The deep, gruff voice groaned from the hallway outside.

You moved to your office to get your usual equipment as you heard the front door close. No matter his condition, he always would close the door and lock it behind him, you never knew why. Then he'll sit on the couch and wait for you.

When you came out of the room, you saw his lanky figure laid out on the couch. You pulled your medicine cart with you, something you got with how many times this has happened.

"Let me clean these first." You spoke softly. His eyes were still closed, not acknowledging or replying you.

The first thing you did was clean his superficial face wounds. He didn't look like he was bleeding anywhere else so the rest could wait.

There was a gash on his cheek and a bruise by his mouth. You were gentle, carefully watching for any reactions of discomfort on his face. Any eyebrow crease or nose wrinkle.

"Sorry." You whispered when you saw his eyebrows press together.

But once again, he didn't say anything. He didn't even suck in a breath of pain, nothing.

"Could you... your shirt..." You still never knew how to ask him to lift his shirt. But he grunted, pushing himself to sit up slightly to raise his shirt. There was some bruising on his ribs, that was normal. You began to percuse and listen with your stethescope. Then you gently felt around his ribs.

"I... I need to tape your ribs... They're broken... After that, eat these painkillers." He never understood why you bothered to explain to him these medical things.

He heard you put two pills into the small cup then you rummaged around your little medical cart to find the tape. You gently applied it on.

He was used to this. You just did your doctor thing and he never moved, questioned or doubted what you did. He appreciated that you never tried to make small talk.

Until he heard you sniffle.

Mingi opened his eyes to see tears lining your eyes, a small frown on your face as you tried to focus on finishing taping up his ribs.

He has never seen you cry before. For some reason, you looked so beautiful and precious. But at the same time, Mingi's chest tighten seeing you cry.

"I'm so-" Your voice was shaky, you were really trying your best to hold it together. You moved to wipe your face but he grasped your wrist in his hand, stopping your movements.

When you looked up at him with such sad eyes, he couldn't help it and caved into his desires. His other hand came up to hold your cheek, wiping away as many tears as he could with his thumb. You leaned into his touch as you wept softly.

Mingi didn't say anything as his eyes searched yours. Then he guided your head to his shoulder.

As you cried into your shoulder, his hand came to rest on the back of your head. Even if he didn't say anything, he brought you such comfort and warmth.

You didn't understand why. You didn't understand him.

You spent every single day, trying to help people escape death. Whereas it seems like he seeks death out on purpose.

Maybe you should yell at him, scold him, hate him, for being so reckless. But you couldn't. He just shows up at your door, beaten up and each time, you let him in, trying your best to heal his wounds.

Only for him to show up again, after days, weeks or even months, to repeat the whole ordeal again.

You asked yourself what's the point in fixing something that'll always come back broken?

But at some point where you found yourself missing him, even if you barely interact because Mingi never spoke unless it was necessary. The two of you never made an attempt to get to know each other more. However, with how Mingi shows up at your place, maybe it was best you didn't know.

Time seemed to stop as you leaned into Mingi's embrace. He held you for as long as you needed. He didn't push you away, he didn't tighten his hold.

You didn't realise how time had past until you fell asleep in Mingi's hold. If he wasn't injured, Mingi would have carried you to bed.

Although, Mingi didn't mind this. Yes, you smelt like antiseptic but he didn't mind.

A part of him wanted to stay like this forever. But he knew he couldn't, he wouldn't do that to you. So for now, Mingi would just indulge, be selfish and live this delusion.

He pressed his head against yours and closed his eyes. And for the first time in a long time, Mingi was able to peacefully fall asleep.

Mingi was irresponsible and reckless with his own life. However, he wouldn't be that way with you. When it came to you, he was more careful and cautious. Of course, he knows that he shouldn't here, possibly putting you in danger. He couldn't help it.

Why does he lock the door after he comes in?

In case he wasn't in the condition to protect you if there was a home invasion. You would always be so quick to try and fix his wounds, you won't even think to lock the door behind him.

An enemy could have followed him to your place and you wouldn't be the wiser. He won't risk that.

Deep down, he knew you were so different from him, you didn't belong in his world.

And Mingi was constantly reminded of it. The awards, certificates and other accolades that lined your walls. That was your world, the high achieving world where you had dreams and goals.

He was the opposite. He never sought to achieve anything in life. There was no dream, no end goal.

You flew high while Mingi stayed low.

The last time Mingi saw someone so full of life, it was Yunho. The Yunho that Mingi grew up with. Maybe that's why Mingi was so drawn to you, you were the reminder of what Yunho was like with a kind heart and warm smile. Right before he found out his beloved brother died. Then it all came crashing down.

The day Yunho's brother died, many things died along with him. Yunho's strive died, his will to live died and his friendship with Mingi died too.

Mingi saw his best friend's spirit wither away, leaving just a shell of the person he once was.

And one day, he just went missing. But Mingi always knew where Yunho disappeared to.

His car pulled up to their beloved hiding spot, a smile on his face at the thought of finding and greeting his best friend after a whole day of them being apart from one another.

Until Mingi saw the sparks and he was pushed back by the roar of the flames, the heat prickling his cheeks.

And that was the last time Mingi genuinely smiled.

He still wishes the rest of Ateez didn't tag along with him that day. Then there would be no one to stop him from rushing into the fire. To tie his fate to Yunho's.

Because if Yunho came out of the fire alive, Mingi would follow him. If Yunho perished, Mingi would gladly perish alongside him.

But then again, the universe put you in front of Mingi. Or maybe it was Yunho that sent you to him. And if this was a second chance, Mingi doesn't want to take it. He wants to distance himself from it, knowing that he can never have happiness.

After watching Yunho's spirit die, he didn't want to stick around and witness the same thing happen to you.

He knows it'll happen. He knows that all he'll do is bring you down with him because that's all he does. He'll destroy himself but he won't destroy you.

So, when Mingi woke up because of the sunrise, he looked down at your still sleeping form. He carefully moved his body away and laid you down on the couch, draping the throw blanket over your body.

For a few seconds, he stood over your sleeping form, admiring you.

Seeing you sleep so peacefully brought Mingi some sort of peace too.

Reaching over, he downed the painkillers you prepared. He knew that you'll probably worry if you saw them uneaten because you usually fret about whether his wounds were healing properly.

But he didn't want you to worry about him or even think about him. You shouldn't be occupying yourself with him.

Because Mingi knows that his wounds will never heal, no matter how hard you try.

Maybe even before Yunho's death, Mingi was already broken. He just lived in denial with his best friend that was so full of life. Then, Yunho's death broke the fever dream waking Mingi up to the reality that he was destined to be alone. There was nothing for him, no hope, no future.

And he was fine with that, that's the life he was meant to lead until something eventually kills him.

So, against his own heart, he forced himself to tear away from you and leave to head back to his own home. And once again, with the sun rising, the daily cycle repeats itself.

And as Mingi walked away from your apartment, he made yet another empty promise that he'll never come back again.

~

Masterlist

[thatateezgirl]

Yeosang’s favourite place: The Couch

(worshipping you version)

Where you can’t hide devotion…

---------

idol - idol!Yeosang x fem!reader

genre: smut

content warnings: MDNI, switch Yeosang, completely obsessed with each other, fingering, tiny bit of boob play if you squint, oral (f receives), m finishes in his pants, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, praise kink.

words: 3.9k

*everything is fictional, just for some distracting fun*

Reposts are super appreciated 🤍

---------

Suspicion.

That’s the first thing you feel as you step into your flat when you see candles lighting the entire place.

No sound, no lights, no one.

“Yeosang?” You throw out tentatively into the semi darkness.

You take off your coat and shoes, dropping your belongings in their usual places as you step into the apartment carefully. You make your way to the first room, finding a massive bouquet of your favourite flowers on the kitchen counter.

A note stands out amidst the fragrant buds.

Darling,

I know you’ve had a hard time this week. Please follow the petals - they’ll guide you to all your favourite things.

I love you,

Sangie

You look around you and see a trail of white rose petals guiding your way through your home. First, to the fridge, where a neatly arranged array of your favourite treats awaits you. Too intrigued, you leave it where it is, choosing to follow the petals to their next destination - the bathroom.

You raise an eyebrow, curious as to what could possibly await you in there, when you open the door to see an adorable little basket filled with your favourite skincare and face masks.

Your chest swells as you take in all the effort Yeosang has put into this, but the rose petals continue their course to a third room. You follow them with excitement, ending up in the living room - your favourite movie on the TV, the sushi you’ve been craving for on the table, and your wonderful, devastatingly handsome boyfriend leaning against the couch, an adorable little grin on his face.

“Hey Darling.”

He eagerly makes his way to you, kissing you with care and so much love.

“Sangie what’s all this? Why so many… theatrics?” You ask, bewildered by the welcome you received.

He shrugs. “I said it on the card - you had a long week, I just wanted to help a little, even if it’s not much.”

Is it your imagination or is he blushing?

“Honey, that’s so sweet, I… I don’t even know what to say! And it’s definitely not nothing, this is so much effort… Thank you.”

You kiss him again, butterflies swirling in your chest, truly touched.

He pulls away for a moment. “It’s nothing.” He pecks you again. “You deserve it.” Another. “You work so hard and you’ve-“ Another. “-been so stressed.”

You tug him back to you, more fervently this time. When he talks like that it’s hard not to want, no, need him. He gives into you for a moment before pulling back a little.

“Do you wanna eat now?” He says as he tenderly rubs your cheek, searching your face with his chocolate eyes.

You shake your head as you gulp.

“Good.”

Before you know it, his lips are back on yours, gentle but possessive as he cradles your face. You wrap your arms around his neck as he grabs your thighs, lifting you up. He’s done it more times than you can count, and yet the way he holds you still sends butterflies straight to your stomach - the way he makes you feel small, protected, cherished.

He walks you both to the couch, knowing his way around by heart, and lays you down slowly, your legs never leaving his waist. He lays his weight on you a little and your body ignites everywhere he touches you - your face, chest, stomach, especially the thigh he’s holding like it’s something sacred.

You can feel him getting harder and hotter with every kiss and your core pulses expectantly, your legs wrapping a fraction tighter around him, making him grunt.

He breaks away from your lips to lower himself between your legs, right where a sliver of your stomach is visible beneath your shirt. You can feel his hot breath on you and your hairs rise as he nudges your shirt up with his nose, peppering your skin with kisses.

Your head spins at the sight of his wide pupils, his perfect face already slightly pink as his breath quickens.

His delicate fingers massage your exposed skin, loosening the invisible knots.

“Just relax Darling.” He coos.

You try, but it’s nearly impossible to when he touches you like that. He doesn’t let up, kissing your skin softly, kneading it like it grounds him.

“You’re so tense… tell me what I can do to help.”

You grunt. “Eating me out would be a good start Yeo.”

He chuckles at your outburst before regaining composure quickly, though a smile still ghosts on the corner of his lips.

“Is that so? Is there nothing else you want?”

You shake your head and whimper as the intense need builds in your stomach.

“Yeosang…” you whine.

He smiles again, but this time it has a different undercurrent to it, and that makes your stomach flip. His voice drops dangerously low, to a tone you know all too well, and wetness pools between your legs.

“Let me know if you’ve had enough. You know I can’t stop when it comes to you.”

You gasp, the air leaving your lungs as he yanks your trousers and panties down before burying his face in your cunt. He laps you up like he’s not eaten you for days, even though he did this very morning to wake you up.

He truly is insatiable when it comes to you, and you wouldn’t have it any other way - feeling desired, needed like that, is more exhilarating than any drug could be.

Your hand flies to weave itself in his wavy red hair that match your nails, because he loves that colour on you - and loves that fans lust after it when it could only ever be meant for you. He likes that they look, and he loves that it’ll never be theirs.

They see the red hair, you get to lace your fingers in it.

They want the fantasy, you get the reality.

“Delicious.” He mumbles against you, the vibrations making you whimper. “S’sweet f’r me.”

He doesn’t even come up for air, completely in a trance. Your head is already spinning as you feel the tightness slowly make its way from the tips of your toes to the base of your spine.

“Ha… Y-yeos- ah…” your fingers tighten in his hair, jerking his head back for a moment, never leaving your core. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking on it in tandem with the licks of his tongue.

He knows your body down to the smallest detail, he can tell just how long you’ve got left until you unravel, and he won’t - he can’t - stop until he gets you there. He never fails to, of course, but he could tell you were holding back this morning, too in your head… and he’s not going to let that happen again tonight.

Your toes curl around the fabric of the couch and your knee twitches, catching the corner of his eye, and he knows - you’ve got about two seconds left in you.

He grazes his teeth on your clit and, sure enough, your screams echo around the room as your arousal coats his smiling mouth, dizzying.

He doesn’t stop. Not for one second. Every cry, every tremble, every jerk - he needs you to do that again, and again, and again.

“Yeo-s-sang wait-“ you beg, trying to catch your breath as he continues to suck on your skin and juices.

He shakes his head slightly, the sensation making your back arch off the couch.

“Need more.” He grumbles. “Need you.”

As if to reinforce his words, his hands grip on your thighs even tighter, fingertips digging into your muscles so possessively.

You cry out again, but make no effort to push him off. You don’t want him to stop, not really. He’s too good.

He pulls your ass further down the couch as he puts a pillow under it, adjusting you, his unrelenting mouth never leaving your cunt once. Satisfied with this new position, he looks up at you and your eyes roll back - you know what’s next.

As expected, he starts inserting his tongue into your dripping hole and your vision blurs behind your eyelids. It’s like he’s teasing you for the real thing, but there’s nothing lacking about the way his tongue darts in and out of you.

You try to look back at him but the way he’s staring at you with lustful, fucked out eyes makes you cry out his name, your head falling back once more.

Seeing the sweat glistening on your chest, the way the delicate fabric of your bunched up shirt shifts with every pant, the waves of your stomach as your hips roll into his face slightly - all of it makes him feel like he’s gone crazy. Without realising it, he starts rubbing his own hips into the couch, desperate for some friction.

His moans start small, but they make him want more of you. The louder he gets, the more insatiable he becomes. He unravels one of his hands from around your thigh to glide his long finger around your entrance, coating it in the mix of slick and spit.

“You want it?” He teases, knowing the answer but silently imploring you to beg for him like he’s desperate to hear you do.

You nod frantically, the candlelight’s multiplying in your vision as you grow dizzy from need. “Yes I want it, I need it. Please, please, please!”

“Fuck you’re so hot.”

He moans against you, not waiting a moment longer to insert his finger as deep as it can go, revelling in the way your back arches and your thighs close around his head. He doesn’t care how hard you squeeze, he wants you to squeeze harder - until the air stops making it to his lungs, just as long as you get to cum.

The rhythm and depth of his finger is intoxicating, a long strained moan escaping you as you sway your hips. You don’t know if you want more or if you need to tear yourself away from the overwhelming sensations swirling inside of you.

Your sounds are music to his ear, chasing them with a second finger. You’re fully riding his face now, and he can’t help the way his own hips synchronise with yours, the friction burning him from the inside out.

“I think I’m gonna cum darling.” He whispers like he’s almost scared to admit how fucking turned on and down bad he is for you.

“W-what?” You gasp out in disbelief as his fingers hit the spongy spot inside you, stars dancing with the flames in your vision. “Fuck, really? You’re really that gone for me?”

He nods frantically, his eyes losing focus ever so slightly.

“Don’t stop. I need to see it.” You beg, your pulse accelerating frenziedly at the thought.

You can’t believe it. It’s never happened before. He’s come close, but never admitted or actually done it. Your chest swells unabashedly knowing you’re the one to have that effect on him.

“Fuck fuck keep riding my face - just like that.” He growls against your clit, a third finger having joined in at some point, his hand pistoning in and out of you as he desperately chases both of your releases.

“Yeos- ngh” The sounds you make as you explode aren’t even human anymore, your body not feeling like your own as your thighs squeeze and shake around him. It’s like you’re levitating from the couch, you don’t feel like you exist anymore, you’ve gone past it to something even deeper, better.

Yeosang’s movements stagger against you as his hips jerk, cumming in hot spurts in his dress pants. The feeling is brand new and addicting, and whilst his mind tries to bring him back to reality, he can’t help the realisation that this won’t be the last time it happens.

“That…” he starts, completely out of breath. “…was incredible.”

You chuckle lightly, still trying to catch your breath. You would be lying if you said the sight of his blown out pupils and glistening mouth wasn’t sending a fresh wave of arousal between your legs.

“How do you feel Darling, relaxed?”

You nod. “Getting there.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “‘Getting there’ huh? Ahh…” he sighs dramatically as he pulls you to him by your wrists. “Guess there’s more work to be done, huh?”

Your heart is hammering against your chest as your throat dries. “Guess so.”

He takes a moment to look at you - really look at you. He takes in your flushed cheeks, your puffed red lips, your half hooded glassy eyes and slightly dishevelled hair. For a moment he almost forgets what he was going to do, lost in you.

He grabs the side of your neck, pulling you down with a gentleness that feels so alien after the intensity that just took place, but you completely melt into him, climbing on top of him and wrapping your legs around his waist. You gasp as something cool touches your bare core and look down to the massive wet patch on his crotch.

You stare at it for a second before you slowly look back up at him in shock. A soft, disbelieving huff escapes you. You did that to him. There’s so much of it, and that’s just what you can see through the fabric, you can only imagine how much there is inside and that makes you bite your lip.

“You made a mess.” You joke, skin tingling.

He grabs your chin, pulling you down to his mouth. “Only for you.”

God does that man know how to get you to melt into a puddle…

You sigh against his mouth as it engulfs yours into a passionate kiss. His free hand roams over your back, your waist, your thighs - any and every part of you he can touch. He’s completely obsessed and won’t ever let you forget it.

Your whole body erupts in goosebumps wherever he touches, his fingers lighting up sparks under your skin.

It doesn’t take long for the heat to come rushing back in, both of your appetites insatiable, but it’s different now. Where he was animalistic before, he’s more controlled now. He doesn’t want to let you go, holding you closer to him, and you feel so small and cherished you could cry.

Your tongue dances around his as your fingers travel to his chest, working his shirt buttons one by one. Each button you undo is like a layer you peel back, revealing more and more of the man you love, both emotionally and physically.

He can’t help it - leaning back on the arm of the couch, eyes locked on your gorgeous face as you expertly work his shirt. He tucks your loose hair behind your ear so he can see into your eyes as he continues exploring your body with the other. When he places soft kisses on your lips between every button, it almost feels like a reward.

You finally undo the last button, opening up the fabric to reveal his sculpted body, and you bite your lip, fingertips exploring every inch, shivering slightly at the electricity buzzing under them. You know what his body looks like by heart, but you still get shocked when you see it. After all, there’s no way he’s that perfect, it must all be in your head…

He chuckles a little at your wide eyes. “Why do you always look so surprised when you see me naked?”

“How are you real?” You whisper, eyes never leaving his body that you continue mapping. “How are you my boyfriend? I mean it, how… you’re so perfect and yet you’re mine…”

He huffs, almost offended.

“‘And yet’? Darling, I’m perfect because I’m yours.” He murmurs as his lips brush yours, like he’s giving you his breath too, giving you everything he is.

His words have your stomach flipping and you grab his tie, pulling him to you. He whimpers in surprise, instantly melting under your touch.

You’re suddenly very aware that you have nothing covering you below the waist, and the image of the massive wet patch on his crotch makes you suddenly whimper in his mouth.

Your hips start rocking against his, chasing the friction, whilst your fingers try desperately to remove his tie, loosening it enough to flip over his head when he stops you.

His little smirk makes your head spin and you raise an eyebrow in defiance. He grabs your hand that’s around his tie, wrapping it tighter. He leans in, close enough to make your skin tingle, and whispers “Leave it on.”

You bite your lip at his tone and words, taking the opportunity to yank him by the tie he seems to love so much. “Then at least let me take off your pants big boy, or do you wanna cum in them again?”

You pull away from him fast enough to see the way his pupils dilate at your words, his jaw falling slack. There’s a beat of silence as he lets your words sink in, before he smiles with all his pretty teeth, laying down with his arm folded behind his head.

“Go ahead Darling.”

His tone is daring and confident, but his eyes are begging you to undo him, literally and figuratively.

You bend down, wrapping the tie around your hand as it gets closer to his neck and you can hear his breathing quicken. You start placing light kisses on his soft, toned chest as you undo his belt with one hand. Without a care in the world, you fling it somewhere in the room, vaguely hearing a clinking sound. That’s a problem for later.

You look up at him under your lashes, taking your time to undo the buttons of his pants and his hips stutter involuntarily under you.

“Patience, pretty boy.” You coo at him and he grunts, grabbing onto your jaw, running his thumb over your bottom lip.

You can’t tear your eyes away from his angelic face as you slide his slacks down, feeling just how burning hot his cock is, already hard again. You run your hand over it, spine tingling as his jaw loosens and his head falls back. He’s so big in your hand that your cunt clenches around the air, expectant.

The need between your legs is too much and you pull his boxers down, his cock angry and red against his abdomen. You climb back onto him, positioning him right by your entrance, before you tug on the tie lightly.

“Eyes on me.”

His head snaps up right as you drive your hips down, and you both whimper at how tight you are and how full he makes you. The feeling is so intense that you take a moment to adjust, focusing on your breathing as you realise you’ve been holding it in.

He can’t stop staring. At you, at your face, the hand wrapped in his tie, the point where your hips meet his. His cock twitches inside you, prompting your hips to move on their own.

It takes your breath away, the head of his cock pressing your g-spot almost instantly, your mind going blank except for him. He’s everywhere and it makes you insane in the best way.

Your moans grow louder as your hips rock harder, and you slide your tied hand up to wrap around his throat - not squeezing, but enough to feel his pulse pound against your fingertips, grounding you to him.

His hands move to your hips, unable to keep away from you, digging his fingers with bruising force into your supple flesh. He doesn’t guide you, he just needs something to hold on to so he doesn’t come undone yet.

“So tight.” He groans. “Fuck, so good.”

If anyone knew what he looks like when he fucks you, they wouldn’t believe it - how is it possible that such a seemingly innocent face can look like that when his cock is buried inside you? He knows it, and he feels pride in knowing you’re the only one who gets to see him like that.

The sound of skin slamming on skin fills the apartment as your juices run down his length. Mixed with your delicious moans and whimpers, it makes him go insane.

“Fuuuuck…” He cries out, overwhelmed, before he sits up and pushes your back on the couch.

The sound that comes out of you is a mix between a squeal and a whimper, and you chuckle lightly in surprise - though that is short lived as he crashes his mouth onto yours, taking over with a maddening rhythm.

“Can’t help it. Too fucking sexy.”

You couldn’t care less why he did it, you just care that heat is already building at the base of your spine, your body relinquishing control instantly.

His lips still on yours, he grabs the hem of your shirt and hikes it up, parting from you just long enough to pass the sweat drenched fabric over your head. He doesn’t bother to get your hands out of it, only focusing on being able to feel your breasts.

The roll of his hips is almost sinful as he bites and sucks on each mound, your back arching into him. He wants to cover your skin with marks, reminding you of him even when he’s not here, because he thinks about you in everything he does.

His name drags out of your lips in a prolonged moan, broken by his powerful thrusts, and he drinks it all up. The kiss is sloppy, neither of you having the capacity to focus on it, but unable to keep away from each other.

You manage to wriggle your hands out of your top, finally able to rake your nails over his wet shirt. Seeing and feeling him sweat always puts your mind in a spin.

Your legs are fully shaking now as your orgasm builds, already on edge from the previous ones. He’s barely holding on anymore, his spine feeling tight as he tries to prolong the bliss.

“Have I told you just how fucking desperately in love with you I am?” He mumbles against your neck.

You whimper at his words, begging him. “Tell me again.”

“I love you so m-uch that I’d spend my entire days worshipping you if I could.”

Each word is broken and slurred by the pressure but they’re the final blow that undoes you fully. Your whole body convulses, mind going blank as you scream out in pleasure.

Your cunt tightening around him takes him by surprise and he cums in hot spurts, never ending. You feel it fill you up but your mind and body can’t do anything but register it. You feel him collapse on top of you, noticing his comforting weight as you float somewhere in your mind.

You’ve never been this out of it, but you don’t mind it. Not being able to think allows you to feel the waves of pleasure to the fullest and you revel in it.

You hear his voice come through the static in your mind, grounding you back to reality. When you fully come to, he’s stroking your forehead, looking up at you with his head laying comfortably on your chest.

“There she is.” He says softly. “You went really far away this time didn’t you?”

You smile, still a little hazy, humming in agreement. “‘Was good Sangie.”

He chuckles. “It really was.” His eyes grow a little more serious. “How do you feel now?”

You run your finger on his forearm. “Really great.”

“So no more work stress?”

You pause. “Oh, that.. I forgot.” You say in a chuckle as your cheeks turn red.

He props himself up and places the gentlest kiss on your lips. “That’s a job well done, then.”

He reaches out to the coffee table to grab a sushi roll and plops it into your waiting mouth. “Now do you wanna eat?”

---------

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[yeonlymine]

playback pussy ᢉ𐭩 mingi & hongjoong

mic check: 1, 2, 3...and a whole lot of moaning

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

✦ mingi x f!reader x hongjoong

✦ warnings: smut, nsfw. m/f/m threesome, oral, rough and gentle interplay, overstimulation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, orgasmssss, consensual non-monogamy, praise kink, dirty talk, teasing, public/private setting (studio), use of recording equipment during sex, aftercare, reader & mingi in established relationship!!

✦ enjoy 4k words of filth, mingi and joonie are my bias wreckers so this was coming sooner or later lmao

Soup.

Warm, harmless. Comfort food. Not exactly the kind of thing you'd expect to end with your voice echoing through a studio mic, soaked in sweat and begging for release.

You’d only dropped by the studio because you knew he hadn’t eaten. The bag in your hand was still warm, the lid on the takeout container slightly fogged up. But the moment you stepped into the booth room and saw Mingi hunched over the mixing board, headphones askew, brows furrowed, lower lip between his teeth, you knew food was the last thing on his mind.

“Baby,” you said softly, setting the bag down. “Have you eaten anything since noon?”

“Mm… I had a vitamin water?” he said without looking up, then immediately perked up as you leaned over his shoulder. “Wait—did you bring—oh my god, I love you.”

You grinned. “I know. But do you love me more than this track?”

He spun in his chair, tossing the headphones onto the desk. “Hard question. It’s a sexy track. You wanna hear it?”

He hit play without waiting for an answer.

The beat rolled out of the speakers like smoke. Slow, sensual, laced with deep synth and breathy background vocals. You raised a brow. “This is… different.”

“It’s called Velvet Ash,” he said, grinning. “It’s kind of dirty. Too dirty for the album, probably.”

“Mm. Sounds like foreplay.”

Mingi leaned back in the chair, letting his knees fall apart as he looked at you. “Exactly. But it’s missing something.”

You sipped your drink. “What, more moaning?”

His grin widened. “Exactly.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “You want me to moan into the mic, don’t you?”

“Honestly? After bringing me soup instead of sucking me off in the hallway, I think you owe me.”

You threw a straw wrapper at him, but he was already standing, motioning toward the sound booth with a flick of his hand.

“Come on,” he said. “Just for fun. I want to hear how you sound through the headset.”

You hesitated for about half a second, and finally you walked into the booth.

Inside the booth, everything felt tighter. Darker. Your reflection glinted faintly in the glass. Behind it, Mingi leaned on the console, watching you with amusement and just a hint of heat.

You slipped the headphones on. The mic stood inches from your mouth, silver and cold, catching your breath even when you didn’t speak.

“Okay,” Mingi’s voice said through the headset, already lower. “Give me something.”

You smirked. “Like what?”

“Start with my name.”

You bit your lip and leaned in, the sound of your own voice strange in your ears. “Mingi.” A wave of heat pooled low in your belly, nerves tingling and something deeper blooming.

 A beat passed and you heard him suck in a quiet breath.

“Again. Softer.”

“Mingi.”

“Fuck, baby…”

The track played softly in your ears now. He’d dropped in the instrumental beneath your voice, looping the synth under your breathy tone.

“Now… say it like you can feel my cock hitting that spot you can’t reach without me,” he murmured.

Your thighs pressed together.

“Mingi,” you said, a little needier this time, and the mic caught the edge of it. Your breath, the almost-whimper.

“Shit. Stay just like that.”

You watched him move, leaving the mixing board behind, disappearing from the window. A second later, the booth door creaked open behind you.

Mingi stepped in and shut it, the red “recording” light blinking above him like a warning. Your mouth parted, but he didn’t say anything. Just walked up behind you, big hands settling on your waist.

“I can hear everything,” he murmured against your ear, adjusting the mic so it was just above your lips. “Even your heartbeat. Wanna know what turns me on more than anything?”

“What?”

He leaned in close, voice just for you now.

“The way you sound when you fall apart for me.”

One hand slipped between your thighs, cupping your heat through your leggings. His palm was wide, warm, pressing slow and deliberate against your pussy until you let out a shaky gasp–and it echoed instantly through the mic. pressing gently over your clothes. 

He grinned against your neck.

“There it is.”

In a fluid motion, he dragged your leggings down, kneeling behind you, kissing the back of your thigh as he eased them past your knees. Then his hands were on your ass, thumbs spreading you apart, his breath hot against your cunt as he leaned in and licked a slow stripe up your folds.

“Fuck–” you whimpered, legs twitching, your voice breaking into the mic.

Mingi groaned against you, tongue flicking your clit before he pulled back just slightly to look at you. “You’re soaked already–this pussy missed me, huh?”

You nodded, dazed, one hand braced on the mic stand as the other tangled into his hair.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say how bad you missed my mouth.”

“I missed it, I missed your tongue–I missed everything.”

That was all he needed.

His mouth found, like he was starving, lips latching onto your clit while his tongue swirled fast and messy, not teasing anymore. "Gonna tell me what feels good?"

He buried his face between your legs, nose brushing your ass as he sucked your clit with so much pressure, letting out a deep growl that vibrated through your entire core.

The mic picked up everything, the wet, filthy sounds of his mouth working your cunt, the ragged gasps falling from your lips, the whispered “fuck, fuck, Mingi–”

Then he slid two fingers into you, they curled perfectly, hitting your sweet spot like he knew exactly where it was.

His pace was ruthless, tongue dragging over your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of your dripping hole, spreading you wider and deeper.

“Listen to yourself.”

“Lean into me, just like that, baby.”

You moaned helplessly. It was all so loud, his fingers squelching inside you, the wet drag of his tongue, your own desperate, breathless cries.

“Mingi–don’t stop, don’t stop–” you panted, hips rocking shamelessly against his face.

He slapped your ass hard enough to make you yelp. “Say it into the mic, pretty girl.”

You choked on a sob. “Mingi–please, I’m so close, I’m gonna–”

“Fucking cum for me, I wanna hear how you break when I make you finish.”

That did it.

Your whole body tensed, thighs shaking as the orgasm ripped through you. You cried out–loud, raw, moaning his name into the mic while your pussy clenched around his fingers and your knees nearly buckled.

But he didn’t stop.

He groaned like he was on your taste, lips dragging over your swollen clit again and again, tongue flicking until your body jerked and twitched and kept cumming, wave after wave rolling over you until you were boneless.

Only then did he finally pull back, his mouth and chin glistening. He kissed the inside of your thigh one last time, then stood slowly, towering over you as you tried to catch your breath.

“Fuck. That sound? He muttered, licking your taste off his lips. “That’s better than anything I’ve written.”

You didn’t have time to answer.

Under the dim booth lights, his pink hair was messy and pushed back from the headphones and casting golden shadows across his sharp cheekbones. A loose white tank clung to his torso, the neckline slipping wide over one shoulder. His black sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips, revealing the deep cut of his V-line every time he moved towards you.

You had one hand gripping the mic stand.  “Baby…” Your voice cracked, helpless.

“This mic’s not gonna survive tonight.” 

You barely heard him over the blood rushing in your ears.

Your legs started to shake as the pressure built, every nerve lit up. 

“Jesus,” you panted, letting him wrap an arm around your waist to steady you. “You—fucking—“

“Better than soup?” he teased.

You slapped his arm. “Shut up.”

But he only grinned and kissed you hard, one hand cupping your jaw as your taste lingered on his tongue. His other hand slipped behind your thigh, gripping it and tugging you forward until your hips met the hard length straining against his sweats.

You gasped into his mouth. “Mingi—”

“I need to be inside you,” he growled, forehead pressing against yours. “Can I?”

You didn’t answer. Just nodded and grabbed the waistband of his pants, pulling them down with a needy moan as his cock sprang free. It was thick, flushed red at the tip, already leaking.

You braced your hands on the mixing desk inside the booth, arching your back as you looked at him over your shoulder.

“Fuck me here. Just like this.”

He didn’t hesitate. His hand gripped your hip, the other guiding his cock between your folds, he was sliding in, slow but unrelenting, filling you inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt.

“Holy fuck,” he groaned, forehead pressed to your shoulder. “You’re so fucking tight–gripping me like you don’t wanna let go.”

He started to move deep, hungry thrusts that made the desk creak and your voice rise. He pushed the mic closer to your mouth and whispered:

“Talk. I wanna hear every filthy fucking word.”

You moaned loud. “You feel so good–so deep, Mingi, fuck me harder, don’t stop baby.”

He slammed into you faster, rougher, his hips slapping against your ass as your tits bounced with every thrust. You could hear everything: his panting, your cries, the obscene wet sounds where your bodies met.

“I’m gonna cum inside you,” teeth sinking into your shoulder. “I’m gonna fill you up so deep it drips down your thighs.”

“Do it please, want you to–” you begged, tears threatening from the pressure building again. 

He reached down and rubbed your clit with two fingers, fast and messy. “Come for me again, baby. Let the mic hear how my cock makes you unravel.”

Your vision blurred. The pressure exploded in your gut, your walls clenching tight around him as you screamed his name into the mic. 

“Fuckkk–I’m cumming—” he gasped, then he was spilling inside you, groaning like an animal, thrusting deep as his release flooded your cunt.

You both collapsed against the desk, sweaty, shaking, barely breathing.

And the entire time?

The track kept looping softly in the background, now layered with the most explicit, honest take he’d ever captured.

A few minutes later, you lay curled in Mingi’s lap on the studio couch, your bare legs tucked beneath his hoodie, your head resting against his chest. His hand stroked lazily up and down your thigh, slow enough to calm your still-trembling muscles. 

He had cleaned you up with one of his softest shirts, murmuring little apologies as he wiped between your thighs, even though his cock had twitched the whole time like he wanted to go another round.

Now, with your pulse finally settling, he fed you bites of lukewarm soup between kisses to your hairline.

“Think I blew your mic out,” you mumbled, voice hoarse, lips swollen. 

Mingi chuckled, low and pleased, rubbing his knuckles against your hip. “You blew me out.”

You snorted, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m serious. That mic probably short-circuited the second I screamed.”

He shifted slightly to grab his laptop from the desk and hit play. The track rolled through the studio monitors again–still smoky, still sensual–but now layered with something new; your breathy moans spliced into the background like vocals, tucked between beats like a secret only he could hear.

You looked up, shocked. “Wait, is that seriously me?”

He smiled, eyes dark. “You said not to use the whole thing. You didn’t say I couldn’t sample you.”

“Babe, are you insane?”

“Insanely inspired,” he said, all smug affection. “You sound better than any synth I’ve ever layered. Your voice moves.”

You groaned and buried your face in his chest even deeper. “You’re the worst.”

But his hand slid up under the hoodie you wore, his hoodie, just to rest against the curve of your bare back.

“I’m serious,” he whispered, brushing his lips over your temple. “I’m keeping this version. I don’t care if it never gets released.”

Silence hung for a second, soft and golden.

Then, Mingi leaned down and murmured against your ear, “Next time, I want you in my lap with the mic between us. I want to feel you fall apart while I stay deep inside.”

You blinked slowly, heat curling low in your belly again despite the haze of exhaustion.

“Jesus, Mingi.”

“What?” He smirked. “Art takes commitment.”

You exhaled a laugh and let him tuck the blanket tighter around you both.

Outside the booth, the city lights glowed faintly through the windows. Inside, the studio felt like its own universe, dim, pulsing, echoing with the memory of your moans looped under Mingi’s unfinished track.

And as the soft, dirty demo played in the background, Mingi kissed the top of your head and whispered, “Don’t worry. I saved all the stems. We can remix it together next time.”

The track looped when the door creaked open.

You didn’t even look up at first, too dazed in Mingi’s lap, your bare thighs tangled under his hoodie. His hand still cupped your hip, possessive and warm.

“Uh.”

The voice hit you like a shockwave. Familiar. Sharp. Hongjoong.

Mingi didn’t flinch. He didn’t cover you. Just grinned lazily, his chin on your shoulder as he looked toward the door.

“Yo.”

You turned your head slowly. Hongjoong stood frozen in the doorway, headphones around his neck, eyes flicking between your flushed face, Mingi’s hand on your thigh, and the faint, breathy moans echoing from the studio monitors.

His voice was dry. “...Should I come back later?”

Mingi just chuckled. “Too late. We just finished recording.”

“Did you,” Hongjoong deadpanned.

Your cheeks burned. You tried to tug the hoodie lower over your thighs, but Mingi's hand stopped you. Kept you in place.

“Mingi,” you whispered, mortified. But he only squeezed your thigh.

“Don’t hide. You sounded gorgeous.” He flicked his gaze to Hongjoong, smug. “Wanna hear the demo?”

“I’m...already hearing it,” Hongjoong said, stepping fully into the room now. His voice was neutral, but his jaw was tight. His gaze dropped to the waveform still rolling on Mingi’s laptop, the audio looped with your moans layered soft in the mix.

Mingi hit play.

Hongjoong stood silent as the sound filled the room. The filthy edge of your breathing. The tremble in your voice when you said Mingi’s name. The wet sounds of Mingi’s mouth on you, caught raw by the mic.

Then Hongjoong spoke, voice low. “This your new production method? Guess I’m behind on trends.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Oh my god.”

Mingi laughed softly, his hand sliding up your bare thigh. “Jealous?”

That made you look up. Hongjoong’s expression shifted, not shocked now. Curious. Something darker simmering behind his eyes as they flicked to you.

“I didn’t say no.”

Silence pulsed. Mingi’s fingers flexed against your skin. You felt the shift in the air before anyone spoke.

Hongjoong set his headphones on the desk. “I’m not touching unless you want me to. But...” He stepped closer, voice dropping. “I want to watch you fall apart. This time, clean vocals.”

Your breath caught, heart pounding in your ears. A swirl of nerves, curiosity, and something thrilling flickered inside you. Could you really let him? Could you bear the weight of both their gazes? 

Mingi murmured against your ear. “Baby. Your call.”

Slowly, shakily, you nodded.

Mingi’s hand stroked your thigh once, warm and grounding. Then he shifted beneath you, setting you gently onto the couch before standing. You watched, dazed, as he adjusted the mic arm lower, turning to Hongjoong like this was just another collaborative track session.

But you could see the hunger in Mingi’s eyes. And Hongjoong?

His gaze was locked on you now. Heavy. Unblinking.

“C’mere,” Mingi murmured, guiding you over to the couch. He sat first, pulling you directly into his lap, facing out toward the room. His thighs spread beneath you, his arms wrapping tight around your waist. You felt his cock, hard and heavy against your lower back.

“Let him watch you,” Mingi whispered against your neck. “Let him hear you.”

The mic picked up your breath instantly. Hongjoong stood frozen, watching. Silent. Starving.

Mingi reached down between your spread thighs, cupping your cunt possessively. His fingers dipped between your folds, sliding through your slick, then slowly, deliberately, he spread you open wider using just his thumbs. Letting Hongjoong see everything.

“Fuck,” Hongjoong exhaled.

Mingi chuckled darkly. “Pretty, right?”

You whined, trembling in his hold. But he didn’t let you close your legs. Didn’t let you hide.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, dragging two fingers over your clit, slow and steady.

“Come here, Joong,” Mingi said softly. “Taste her while I hold her open for you.”

Hongjoong moved like he was in a trance. He dropped to his knees between Mingi’s spread legs, directly in front of you, his breath hot against your bare, soaked cunt.

“Don’t make her cum yet,” Mingi warned, voice sharp. 

Then Mingi held you wide open while Hongjoong leaned in and licked a slow, thick stripe over your clit. You sobbed instantly. The mic caught it raw.

Mingi’s grip on you tightened. His cock rutted up against your back as Hongjoong worked his mouth over you, wet and filthy. Every flick of his tongue sent tremors through your overstimulated body.

“Good, Joong. Just like that. Tease her. Make her fall apart in my arms,” Mingi rasped.

Hongjoong hummed against your clit. You could feel Mingi's cock twitch behind you. He let one hand slide up to squeeze your breast, pinching your nipple while his other hand held you splayed for Hongjoong’s tongue.

“Say his name, baby,” Mingi ordered.

“H-Hongjoong,” you gasped, back arching helplessly against Mingi’s chest.

“Again. Louder.”

“Hongjoong!”

Both men groaned.

Your whole body shook, overstimulated and pinned down, Mingi controlling every inch of you while Hongjoong’s tongue destroyed you from below.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take more, Mingi leaned down and whispered, “You’re gonna cum now. Right on his mouth. And I’m gonna feel every second of it.”

You screamed as your orgasm ripped through you, loud and broken, the mic capturing every desperate sound. Hongjoong didn’t stop, he lapped at your clit mercilessly, drinking down your release while Mingi held your convulsing body still, praising you through your cries.

When your body sagged limp, Mingi finally pulled Hongjoong back, voice rough. “That’s enough.”

Hongjoong wiped his mouth, panting, eyes blown wide as he looked at you. “Shit… you’re shaking.”

“I’ve got her,” Mingi said softly, sliding his arms around your waist. You could feel how hard he was, pressing up against your back, but his touch was gentle. “Baby. You okay?”

You nodded weakly, dazed. “Want… more.”

Mingi smiled, slow and dark. “Thought so.”

Hongjoong’s voice broke through, lower now. “You want me inside you?”

You met his gaze, shaky but sure. “Please.”

His throat bobbed. “Tell me if you need me to stop.”

Mingi leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “She doesn’t want you to stop.”

Hongjoong let out a strained laugh. “No… I didn’t think so.”

Mingi eased you forward, guiding you carefully toward Hongjoong. “C’mon, baby. Let him feel you.”

Hongjoong sat back on the couch, legs spread, watching you with something between awe and hunger. His cock flushed dark and heavy, leaking precum.

“Ride him,” Mingi murmured. “I’ll help you.”

Your thighs trembled as you moved, letting Mingi lower you slowly until you were straddling Hongjoong, facing him. His hands instinctively caught your hips, steadying you.

“Fuck… you’re beautiful,” Hongjoong whispered. “Can I…?”

You nodded before he finished. His hands slid up, tracing your waist, your ribs, thumbs brushing your breasts like he couldn’t believe this was real.

“Tell me if I cross a line,” he murmured suddenly, not looking at Mingi now, just you.

Behind you, Mingi’s voice was softer now. “Go slow. She’s sensitive.”

Hongjoong looked up at you as you sank down onto him inch by inch, his jaw slack, his breathing wrecked. “So fucking tight... you feel unreal.”

Your moan cracked as he filled you. Mingi’s arms came around from behind, one hand holding your waist, the other finding your clit instantly, circling in slow, merciless patterns.

“Fuck, Joong. Feel her?” Mingi rasped against your neck.

“Too well,” Hongjoong groaned, eyes fluttering shut as your walls squeezed him. “She’s choking me.”

“Good girl,” Mingi praised, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Take him. Just like that.”

Hongjoong’s eyes flicked up to yours again, blown and desperate. “Move for me, babe. Please.”

You rocked your hips forward instinctively, grinding down on him as Mingi’s fingers worked your clit, drawing a broken sob from your throat.

“Fuck… that’s it,” Hongjoong gasped. “Ride me. Just like that.”

“Let him use you, baby,” Mingi whispered, teeth grazing your skin. “Still mine.”

You whimpered, your body shaking between them, pleasure building sharp and fast. Hongjoong’s hips began meeting yours, rhythm desperate, sloppy. His hands slid up, cupping your breasts, thumbs flicking your nipples as his cock dragged in and out of you.

“You’re so good to me,” Hongjoong rasped, head falling back. “So fucking good.”

Mingi chuckled low behind you. “Don’t cum yet Joong.”

“Not planning on it,” Hongjoong snapped back, breathless.

Mingi’s fingers pressed harder against your clit. “She will first.”

Your body tightened, the orgasm building too fast to stop, especially with Mingi teasing your swollen clit and Hongjoong stretching you thick and deep beneath.

“Tell him you’re close,” Mingi demanded softly against your ear.

“H-Hongjoong… I—”

“Fuck, yeah. Let go. Cum for me,” Hongjoong begged, his voice raw now.

“Not just for him,” Mingi rasped. “For me.”

You shattered, your whole body locking up as your orgasm tore through you. Your cry ripped out of you, loud, broken, echoing off the studio walls. Both men moaned as you clenched down around Hongjoong, your body trembling violently.

Hongjoong’s hips stuttered. “I can’t—fuck, I’m gonna—”

Mingi tightened his grip around your waist, holding you still on Hongjoong’s cock.

“Fill her up,” Mingi ordered. “Now.”

Hongjoong’s broken gasp was the last thing you heard before he came, spilling deep inside you, his body shaking beneath you. He held you tight, voice caught in his throat as he emptied inside you.

Mingi didn’t move. He kept you pinned, kept Hongjoong buried inside you while you convulsed helplessly between them.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice cracked, eyes flicking between yours, still cautious even while wrecked.

 “No… I’m okay. Better than okay.”

“Good girl. You took him so well.” His lips were soft against your skin now, his voice pure praise. “I’ve got you.”

Hongjoong’s chest heaved under you. He looked up at you, ruined. “Fucking hell.”

“Breathe,” Mingi murmured with a smirk.

You sagged forward against Hongjoong’s chest, unable to hold yourself up. Mingi slowly, gently pulled you back against him, lifting you carefully off Hongjoong’s cock, both of you panting, wrecked, his cum leaking down your thighs.

Mingi wrapped his arms around you tightly from behind, pressing kisses into your damp hair, your temple, your shoulder, wherever he could reach.

“Shh, baby,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. You’re perfect.”

Your body was still trembling, the aftershocks rolling through you in waves. You couldn’t speak, not yet.

Across from you, Hongjoong sat sprawled against the couch, chest rising and falling hard, his face flushed and dazed. He watched you in silence, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Maybe guilt. Maybe hesitation.

Mingi noticed.

“She’s alright,” Mingi said quietly, glancing at him without letting go of you. “Don’t overthink.”

Hongjoong’s throat worked. “I wasn’t sure I should’ve…” He stopped himself, dragging a hand through his sweat-mussed hair. “I didn’t want to push.”

“You didn’t.” Mingi’s voice was simple. Honest.

You turned slightly, weak but lucid now. Your voice cracked. “Joong.”

He blinked.

“Don’t look so wrecked,” you whispered, lips twitching faintly. “I said yes.”

That made him let out a small, rough laugh, relieved. Tired. “Yeah. Yeah, you did.”

Mingi kissed your cheek softly. “And you’re still mine.”

You hummed, leaning against him fully, limp in his arms.

Hongjoong shifted awkwardly, glancing down at himself, then back up. “Want me to… go?”

Mingi looked at him for a long moment. Then shook his head.

“Sit with us.”

Hongjoong hesitated, but he obeyed, moving closer, settling beside you, not touching, but close enough you felt his warmth.

Mingi reached over without thinking, pulling a blanket from beside the couch and draping it gently around your bare skin, then around Hongjoong too.

“Just relax,” Mingi said, his voice dropping soft for both of you now. “She needs to come down.”

Hongjoong’s voice was quieter. “You too.”

Mingi let out a soft chuckle. “Maybe.”

For a few long minutes, no one spoke. The soft loop of your demo played faint in the background, a ghost of the sounds you’d made together. 

Mingi kissed your hair again, still holding you as if letting go wasn’t an option. Hongjoong watched you from the other side of the couch, quiet, his breathing finally slowing.

Eventually, Mingi spoke, voice low, possessive but warmer now. “We’ll talk later.”

You weren’t sure if that was meant for Hongjoong or you, maybe both.

But for now, wrapped in Mingi’s arms, Hongjoong silent beside you, you felt safe.

[minkieater]

MINE | JEONG YUNHO

[yunho x fem!reader] yunho reminding you who the fuck you belong to | heed the warnings i’m not your mother: smut minors dni 18+, pwp, mean dom!yunho/hard dom!yunho, you call him sir, ownership, submission, desperation, p in v, oral m!receiving, facefucking, lots of heavy degradation, fingering, thigh fucking, orgasm denial/edging, restraining with a belt, pussy fucking (not inside☝🏻), lots of crying, cum eating, jealous yunho, he's not nice like at all. not even a little. another round to pregame aftercare. creampie. as always, let me know if i missed anything! wc 10.7k

⊹ ࣪ ˖ for my angel face lover girl @03jyh23, once the brainworms took over i really could not stop writing this. thank you for requesting, i hope i did mean dom jealous yun justice, i love playing with him. i feel like i had empty headed in my mind the entire time i wrote this, if you're reading this, please for the love of god read empty headed. my favorite joongie fic in the world, mon is so unbelievably talented & so inspiring, if you like even one sentence from this fic i promise you will devour mon’s. thats all, enjoy xoxo

You didn’t mean to piss him off.

Not really. 

But there’s something invigorating about watching his jaw tighten, a clench in the hinge that shows the structure of his face. The way his brows flatten, dark and heavy over his big, brown eyes, turning them three shades darker, more charcoal than chocolate. A hand through his styled hair, veiny fingers lost in black locks, mussing it to the point where the gel is rendered useless. Yunho angry was a sight to behold, exciting, magical; it brings out a completely different side of him, one you feared as much as you revered. 

Across the room in his dark suit, tailored to his perfect body, his shoulders sat squared, in perfect posture. Your dress matched, a long, navy gown, if anyone paid attention, they’d know you belong to him. You know you belong to him, Yunho knows you belong to him, Yeosang knows you belong to him, but somehow you think the message has been lost along the way. 

Deep red hair sitting perfectly over his cheekbones, hiding the birthmark beneath his eye you’ve seen a thousand times, Yeosang does look good. He always looks good, biceps stretching the sleeves of every shirt, filling out every pair of pants he owns like they were made for him, it doesn’t help that he has the most contagious laugh you’ve ever heard. A silly joke, a stupid one that left him snorting, made the laughter creep up from your chest and force its way out of your lips until you were folding forward, a hand clutching your stomach. 

He’s funny without even trying to be and you fall victim to it every time, every hangout, whenever you and Yeosang are in the same room. Yunho notices, of course he does, a sixth sense embedded in his veins that he says is named after you. Usually his jealousy with Yeosang is under wraps, he can see your friendship for what it is– but tonight of all nights, at the company gala where Yunho is receiving an award for his efforts, tonight is about him. And here you are, across the room, chopping it up with Yeosang instead of standing by his side so he can introduce you to everyone in the room. 

You can feel his stare, harsh eyes like blades cutting into your skin, it makes your spine straighten, your heels click together. Even without words you can feel his command, summoning you to him like there was a part of him inside your head, you excuse yourself from the circle of people you were conversing with and walk back to your boyfriend, a low rumble in your belly because you know exactly what’s awaiting you. 

Leaning over the tall, circular table dressed in a black tablecloth long enough that it touches the floor, one of Yunho’s knees is bent into it, his arms crossed over the surface. He watches you, eyes following your every step, aware of each person you pass like every one of them could be a threat. You keep your face innocent, your eyes big and doe-like, your hands politely holding your clutch in front of your body, a small smile on your face as you approach him at the table, nothing else on it besides two full glasses of prosecco. 

“Wipe that look off your face,” he says as soon as you can hear it, his voice low and stern, “damage is already done.”

Excitement blooms in your chest, you swallow down your smile. “What do you mean?”

He steps back from the table, picking up the flute of prosecco, holding it close to his chest. He shifts his view upward, examining the crowd, “You know exactly what I mean, stop pretending, you look stupid.”

You can’t fight the smile this time, throwing an elbow over the surface of the table with your clutch, leaning on it as you pick up the glass of prosecco instead. He turns to you, eyes slimming, “You’ve had enough.”

Your brows furrow, head tilting, “I’m not even tipsy–”

“I said you’ve had enough.”

Slowly, you set the glass back on the table, his tone was clean cut, no room for disobedience. You frown, ankles crossing beneath your gown, “I was just talking, Yunho.”

“Talking,” he repeats, a ghost of a smile clawing at his lips, “laughing, leaning into him like I don’t fucking own you.”

Your breath catches in your throat as the word leaves his lips, it always ignites something deep in your gut, turns your mind to fuzz. Ownership, being his, so deeply his you don’t need to think if you don’t want to, Yunho can see the warmth spreading through your body like your skin was transparent. 

He takes a step toward you, leaning down, breath ghosting the shell of your ear, “You belong to me. Never fucking forget it.”

You swallow, heart picking up speed in your chest, your voice is a little shakier than you want it to be as you whisper, “I could never forget that.”

Standing up tall again, he smiles like he remembered there’s other people in the room, “Good.” Turning his head to examine the crowd again, coworkers, staff, people who have all praised him tonight, congratulated him on his hard work. You drink in his figure, long legs that stretched on forever clad in navy, his suit jacket unbuttoned, showing the white button-up beneath. The tie that laid in the center, snug beneath his collar, just from a few words your mind escaped to the gutter, brain drifting to the things he could do with it. 

“Let’s go,” he says simply, turning toward you again. 

“Already?” You look around, standing straight, dessert hadn’t even been served yet. “I don’t think it’s appropriate–”

“I don’t give a fuck about what’s appropriate.” You’re lucky there’s no one around you to hear the sharp words leaving his lips, “I don’t care about this, and clearly neither do you if you’d rather go talk to Yeosang.”

“Yun–”

“Come,” the word is firm, a wall splitting your defense. He grabs your clutch from the table, tucking it beneath his armpit, placing his glass of prosecco delicately on the table, “We’ll make our goodbyes, I’ll text the driver.”

He shoots a quick text before laying a heavy hand on the small of your back, bringing you on his round of goodbyes where you smiled politely, shook hands, gave small hugs to every person you made eye contact with tonight– except Yeosang. You didn’t even meet his eye, standing off to the side while Yunho gave him a tight hug, a wide grin on his face like he wasn’t planning on tearing you apart the moment you stepped foot in your apartment. 

You didn’t talk on the drive home, in the backseat of a black car you didn’t know the name of, your driver nodding his head along to what was playing on the radio. A small, muted hum, it stood as background noise for your raging thoughts, adrenaline ripping your tummy to shreds as you wonder about what comes next. It’s rare for Yunho to react like this, he’s generally a grounded, secure man, he knows you’d never leave him, he knows you’d never cheat. He’s asked you the same rhetorical question a thousand times: Who could possibly be better than him?

No one. That person doesn’t exist. You love him too much to ever even consider someone else, he was too engraved in your being, the blood in your body circulated for him, your heart beats to the rhythm of his name. Yunho was everything, everywhere, he was half of your body, your soul. 

But he doesn’t play nice when it comes to his toys. 

He punched in the code to your apartment with steady hands, opening the front door softly, holding his arm out for you to walk inside first. Hanging your coat on the rack, there’s a pit in your stomach, a blooming warmth of fear and adrenaline beneath your skin. You begin, “Yunho, we shouldn’t have left, I was just talking–”

He’s at your back, hands on your hips, head standing tall above yours, “You think I give a fuck about what you were doing?” His voice is rough, gravelly, tone bleeding dominance, it makes your toes curl in your heels, back straightening against his presence. “I don’t care if you were giving him the fucking heimlich, you’re mine. Do you understand what that means?”

Your breath catches, fingers tingling at your sides, eyes wide as you stare at the pale yellow wall in front of you, art covering the walls. The paintings seemed to stare back, snickering at your disobedience, saying you reap what you sow. 

“Yes,” you whisper, accompanied by one singular nod.

“Yes what?”

You fight the sound that claws at your throat, “Yes, sir.”

“This body is mine,” his hands trail from your hips up to your waist, squeezing the skin beneath your gown before traveling up to your chest, holding his palms there to prove a point. “It belongs to me. Your pleasure, your pain, your actions, your mistakes, they’re all mine.”

His palms leave your chest to unzip the gown at your back, you can feel the chill of metal all the way down to the base of your spine. Pooling around your feet, you don’t move, back straight, chin held high, heels clicking together, presenting yourself for him how he taught you. Every bone in your body begged you to turn around and kiss him, you ached to touch him, to wrap your arms around him, to feel him inside you, curved and pulsing and hitting every spot that made you scream. When he steps around you, fear simmers, you come to terms with the fact that none of which is on the itinerary for tonight. 

Shoulders squared, jaw locked, eyes dark, brooding. He watches you, still fully clothed, shoes kicked off, his suit remains. His eyes drink in your naked figure, already well aware of the lack of anything beneath your form fitting gown, watching how your upper body expands with each breath, the tremble in your legs, the glint of nerves in your eyes, how you’re already struggling to keep still under his heavy stare. He watches like he’s mapping out a plan, debating what he’ll do to you, how loud he should make you beg, deciding what he’s in the mood for. 

He always wants obedience. Expects it. You’ve learned to not expect anything. 

“What do you think you deserve tonight?”

The question sets your body aflame. Meeting his eyes, you swallow, “I don’t deserve anything, sir.”

He nods slowly, arms crossing over his chest, he hums. “Do you think you deserve my cock inside you?”

He watches how your spine bends, the slightest movement. It tells him the words out of your mouth are a bold-faced lie, “No, sir.”

“Why not?”

You can feel the heat in the tips of your ears, embarrassment, guilt, it curls into the flame of arousal flickering brighter in your gut with every second he keeps his eyes on you. “Because,” you pause. His brows raise, waiting. Your voice cracks, “B-because I was, um– talking. To Yeosang.”

“Why are you stuttering?” He tilts his head a fraction of a degree. “You know what you did. Say it with your chest.”

“I was laughing,” you continue, feeling the sweat forming at your brow, the light of the foyer too warm, too bright. You swallow, “I was laughing with him when I should have been with you.”

He hums again, debating. “Do you think you deserve to cum at all?”

“Only if you think I deserve it, sir,” there’s a shakiness to your voice, one he knows all too well, it means please. 

He looks you up and down once. “Bedroom,” is the only thing he responds, a sharp word that sends your heeled feet clicking over hardwood to the room at the back of your apartment. The lights are dim, soft, misleading; the way it lays over your duvet, your furniture, a streak creeping into the bathroom, it breeds comfort. You’re scared you won’t get any tonight. 

“Kneel beside the bed, face it.” 

You wince when your knees splinter the hardwood beneath you. Back straight, hands flat on your thighs, you sit on your calves, ass just meeting the heel of your stilettos. He doesn’t smile, he doesn’t praise you for following directions, following order, he watches. 

One second, two, five, ten. Sitting on your shared bed, suit jacket discarded, knees spread, heels of his feet edged on the base. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows before they meet his knees as he leans over his thighs, giving you a full view of his size above you. A display, one that makes you shiver every fucking time. 

“You disappointed me tonight,” his voice is low but his tone is calm and it’s worse than loud, edged, spit-soaked anger. “You know how to behave, you know better. Correct?”

“Yes, sir,” you nod once. 

“Do you have anything to say about your behavior tonight?”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. His brow arches. Louder, you repeat, “I’m sorry for my behavior tonight, sir.”

He stares, waiting, watching. One second, two, five, ten.

“Save the apologies,” he stands, fingers working at the prongs of the black leather belt, so close to your face you almost flinch at his movement. “You’ll make it up to me properly.”

You nod, words breathy, “Yes, sir.”

With one step he’s behind you, you can feel him squat down just from the heat of him, you hear the metal of the belt buckle dragging against the hardwood floor, it makes your thighs clench together. His palms are warm when he wraps his long fingers around your arms, just above your elbows, he pulls them behind your back. Silently he wraps the belt around your wrists, tying it off securely, tight enough for you to feel the restriction but not enough to cut circulation. 

With another step he’s in front of you, veiny hands tugging at his tie, loosening it before throwing it, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. He works the fastening of his slacks open, fingers tugging down his zipper, with thumbs in the waistband of his briefs, he pulls them both down over his hips until they reach mid-thigh. Your eyes flicker upward to meet his gaze, holding a question in your stare– he’s not even hard yet. 

“Why are you looking at me?” His brows raise, “Do you not know what to do with a cock in your face?”

Your cheeks burn as you lift up, the tips of your toes meeting the hardwood, adjusting your height to meet his flaccid cock, there’s no hesitation as you bring your head forward, tongue poking out to catch the tip of him in your mouth. You hear the change in his breathing, a small, sudden intake of air, if it wasn’t so quiet in your bedroom you’re sure it would’ve gone over your head. 

The breath is enough praise to take him into your mouth with confidence, to massage your tongue slowly against the underside of him, you feel him expand; length doubling in size, the width of him stretching your lips, the weight heavy on your tongue. Slightly salty, the taste of skin, bland and neutral, he mutters a curse when you take him deeper, but you don’t struggle bobbing your head, working up a rhythm, your movement quickening with each run of your tongue over his ridged tip. 

“You can do better than that,” his tone is condescending, it makes your stomach drop. His hips buck into your mouth, cock reaching the back of your throat, making you gag, an ugly noise; his small hum of pleasure is worth a thousand words of praise.

“Is this what I have to do? Fuck your throat so you take me properly?”

Your eyes fill with salty tears as his cock fills your throat, you take him deeper, faster, nose meeting the tuft of hair at his base, inhaling, moaning, gurgling around him with each bob of your head. He groans, a hand coming up to meet your styled hair, ruining it as soon as his fingers tighten in your scalp. “Don’t cry, it’s pathetic, suck my cock like you mean it. Or do you want me to think you’d rather have your mouth on Yeosang?”

Your brows knit together and you hope it’s enough, that he sees the answer you can’t communicate. He hisses when you swallow around him, “He couldn’t fuckin’ handle you, couldn’t put you in your place, he wouldn’t know what to do with you. Do you understand? That you’re something that needs handling?”

You can’t answer– he knows you can’t answer, he isn’t expecting one, he knows your response. He flashes his teeth in a nasty grin when your tears spill, hot on your cheeks, streaking your makeup. “You need to be owned, need to be used, tied up with nothing left to do but take.”

The noise you make gets muffled by his cock, he hears it, his hips roll deeper into your throat, fingers gripping tighter at your scalp. 

“You love it, don’t you? When I use your mouth? Turn you into a toy?” You whine around his cock, drool gathering at the sides of your mouth, you can hear the squelch of spit. “I know you do, bet your thighs are stickin’ together already. Should I fuck them instead? Cum all over your legs while your little pussy begs me for attention? Begs me just to look at her?” 

Your eyelids flutter, eyes rolling back behind them, your thighs squeeze, wrists tugging at the leather binding them. His chuckle is dark, patronizing, when he speaks the words come out tighter, “Look at you, already begging for it when you can’t even talk. Is this what you wanted? Is that why I had to watch you flirt with my fuckin’ coworker? You needed a reminder that this is all you’re worth?”

Tears flow, makeup stinging your eyes, blurring your vision, his cock so heavy, so deep in your throat, each gag around him breeds more. His other hand meets your hair, rocking your head at the same pace of his hips bucking into your mouth, you breathe through your nose, your nails cut into your palms. 

“Fuck,” it’s sharp, under his breath. “There you go, make me fuckin’ cum, ‘s all this mouth is good for.” 

Drool spills from the corners of your mouth, dripping onto your thighs that start to shake, knees burning where they dig into the hardwood. You’re clenching around nothing with every other thrust, wishing he was fucking into your pussy with the brutal pace he’s using on your mouth. 

“Don’t you dare waste a single drop,” his voice is ragged like his breath, the only proof he was enjoying this. His palms meet your cheeks, forcing your eyes open so he can ask, “Do you hear me?”

Your eyelids flutter, ignoring the sting of tears your gaze darts upward to see his face, veiny forearms in your peripherals. Jaw slacked, cheeks splotched with pink, eyes so dark they’re burnt, pleasure etched in each line of his perfect face. His button-up splits at the hem, showing you the pocket of skin between, the veins that swim from his hipbones up to where they disappear behind the v of fabric swollen, prominent. 

“Gonna ruin this throat,” he uses pressure on your flaming cheeks, holding your head still as he fucks into your mouth faster, harder, ignoring how you choke around him. “Mine to do as I fuckin’ please.” 

Your face is covered by saliva, tears and melted makeup, bubbles of spit popping before they sink down your jaw, down your neck, between your breasts. The sounds you make around his cock are brutal; loud, wet, unbecoming– they push him over the edge.

He cums with a strangled noise like it was caught in his throat, his chin dropping to his chest, his eyes squeezed shut. Ropes of warmth shoot straight down your throat and you’re disappointed you can’t taste the salt, feel the slimy consistency as if it were intentional, like you fucked up so bad he was keeping his cum from you, too. You whimper when he pulls out, sucking in a needed breath, swallowing down the spit in your mouth, feeling the cool air of the bedroom brushing against the streaks of liquid on your body. 

You don’t move without direction. You don’t speak without order. 

He runs a hand through his hair, chest heaving beneath his shirt, he gives you no praise. He doesn’t even look at you kindly. He gives you a one-over, top lip lifting in distaste, “You’re a fucking mess. On the bed.” 

Your legs are wobbly beneath you as you climb onto the white duvet, hands still secured at the base of your spine, you lay on top of them, knees still burning, swollen, uncomfortable. He doesn’t get on the bed with you, he tugs you back down to the edge by your ankles, pushing your legs up until they’re dangling. Hands on your swollen knees, he parts them, ignoring the way you suck in a sharp breath. 

“Be quiet,” he’s staring between your legs, “I don’t want to hear a sound out of that mouth. Holes don’t speak.” You clench your jaw to keep it closed, thighs twitching. He continues, “Knew this slutty cunt would be soaked. ‘S all over your thighs, aren’t you embarrassed?”

You meet his eye, lips parted, but you don’t speak. His lips curve at the corner, “No? Proud of how wet you get from being used? Being nothing?”

He’s baiting you, you force your breath into submission, calm despite your heart pounding against your ribs, wild and arrhythmic. You clench around nothing, air catching on the wetness between your legs, coating your thighs, you’re not embarrassed. You could never be, not when his eyes light up, his lips curve, staring at you like he wants to do nothing less than devour you when you’re spread out for him like this. 

You’re built for him, by him, and he knows it. 

Warm palms sear your thighs, one sinking down your calf, fingers ghosting over one of your heeled feet. He pushes it forward, towards your chest, staring at the silver stiletto, finger following the shape of the arch, touching the pointed heel. Not even looking at you, keeping his eyes on your pedicure, he mutters, “These stay on.”

Your bottom lip quivers, trembles, fingers clawing at the mattress behind your back. His eyes find yours, “Being so obedient now, is this what happens when you’re guilty? When you know you fucked up? I get a sweet girl for once?”

Your entire body reacts to his words, a full-blown shiver that racks through you like a wave. His voice is a spell, his words are tantalizing, laced with sweetness, it throws your mind for a loop, you almost reply. Your lips open and then close, he grins like he knows he’s on the right track. 

His fingers wrap around your ankle, placing it over his shoulder, his other hand leaving your thigh to paint a finger through your folds. Your lips tighten, teeth clamping down, brows furrowing at the stimulation, noise climbing up your throat with claws bared. His touch leaves as quickly as he gives it, he brings his finger up past his lips, moaning at the taste, loud and obnoxious, “It’s too bad you don’t deserve my mouth, wanna eat her so bad. I think Yeosang would like the taste too, don’t you?”

Your jaw clenches, he stores the reaction. Bringing his hand back down to your center, he uses two fingers to spread your folds, watching as you clench around nothing, as your body begs for what your mouth isn’t allowed to say. He hums, leaning down, gathering spit in his mouth before shooting it straight onto your mound, your body jumps in response. With his thumb at your clit, he adds the smallest pressure to spread the slick, your lips part, a quiet gasp sneaking through. 

His eyes flicker upward, “Behave.” He rubs slow circles, barely any pressure, following your hips that buck into his hand, “Stop moving. Take it.”

Your face contorts, abdomen flexing, spine bending, teeth clamped down over your bottom lip. You try to keep your hips flush to the bed, you fail. His hand leaves your calf over his shoulder, falling to your belly, pushing down to keep you flat, “Right after I said you were being obedient, too. Shame.” 

His thumb leaves your clit to push two fingers inside and your elbows bend, hands sliding up your spine, pulling at the belt keeping you restrained. A desperate moan pushes past, hips jerking against his hand pinning you down, his name falls off your lips right after, “Yunho! Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Lips pursed, his head shakes slowly, disappointed. Your body burns, hot with embarrassment, blood carbonated, sizzling with fear, your eyes stay blown wide, watching him calculate what comes next. He doesn’t react further, instead his fingers work you open, pads of his fingertips massaging against the spongy spot inside you, your breathing becomes verbal. Shallow, chest moving rapidly, wrists fighting against the restraint, it feels too good not to move. Not to react. 

He knows your weak points, knows your strengths; he uses them both to his advantage. 

“Do you think I’m doing this for your pleasure?” He doesn’t look up, voice steady, he watches how your slick gushes around his digits instead, how your core takes his fingers so easily, greedily. “I should shove my cock inside you without prep, that’s what you deserve for being a whore. But I decided to be kind, and this is how you repay me? By being greedy?”

You keep your lips glued together until his eyes meet yours, “Speak.”

“I’m sorry!” Your voice is pitched, face scrunched together, he can hear the shame in your voice, feel how your body disagrees. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t deserve it, I- I, please just–”

“Shut up,” he cuts you off, “Forgot how fucking irritating it is to hear you whine.”

You feel the pressure in your face again, swimming up your sinuses, filling your waterline with salty heat. He doesn’t notice until your breathing breaks, tears already spilled, pleasure wound tight in the pit of your belly, below his palm that sits heavy and harsh. 

“You’re crying again?” He sounds bored, annoyed. “You’re useless, you know that? Can’t follow simple fuckin’ directions.” 

He sighs before he slips his fingers out, two hands finding the plush of your ass beneath your lifted thighs, pushing you up the bed. 

“Maybe you should fuck Yeosang,” he crawls on top of the mattress with you, fingers working his buttons open while you shake your head, tears falling silently, he stares at you with lifted brows like he couldn’t be more uninterested. “You’re nearing worthless at this point.” 

He throws the button-up off the bed, pulling his white tank over his head, his slacks and briefs already gone, discarded before your back hit the mattress. Face still reading uninterested, he grabs both of your legs by your ankles, throwing them over his shoulders as he spreads his knees, lowering himself until his eyes lock on your glistening folds. 

“You don’t deserve my cock,” he says it like it’s something you already know. A mewl stirs in your throat, you swallow it down as he wraps his fingers around the base, pushing it through your folds. “So fuckin’ wet, she’s begging for it. You think you deserve it?”

He looks up at you just to see you shake your head no, his eyes follow the way your tear-streaked cheeks shine in the dim light. 

Circling his tip over your clit, he asks again, “Not even the tip?”

You release a shaky breath, sniffing through your clogged sinuses, every bone in your body screaming yes, you’d beg for it, on all fours, you’d do anything for it. But that’s not what he wants to hear, so you shake your head once more.

“Alright,” he says it passively and it makes your brows knit together. Like if you said yes, he’d do it. 

Your lips part, face warped into confusion, voice coated in a cry, “W-wait.”

“No,” he moves one of your ankles to his other shoulder, crossing them, “You made your bed.”

“Yunho–”

His eyes flicker upward, warning enough, your lips smack together to silence yourself. The tip of his cock prods at the seam of your thighs, so thick and hot and wet it makes you squirm, ankles locking over his shoulder. He smacks the side of your thigh once, “Clench ‘em for me. Be a good sleeve.”

Your breath is shaky as you tighten your thighs, body rigid, wrists fighting their restraints. Tears spill hotter, heavier when he groans out in relief, cock passing between your thighs, so close to your aching cunt you can feel your composure getting pushed to its limit. One hand holds your ankles over his shoulder, the other squeezes one of your thighs, you watch how his abdomen flexes with each roll of his hips, how his throat bobs when his head falls back in pleasure. 

“Feels good,” his voice is gravelly, laced with arousal, his hips moving slow enough to draw out his own pleasure. You try to keep yourself tight, composed, enjoyable for him, but your patience is a thin band, one running taut too quickly. He picks up the pace, his hips smacking against your sensitive legs, they start to shake where they lay hooked over his shoulder.

“Stay still,” he gruffs out, “Stop shaking.”

A defeated cry escapes through your parted lips, mumbling a wilted, pathetic, “Please.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, doesn’t address that you’ve spoken. You’re drifting as his grip turns tighter, fingers on your ankles, palm on your thigh, tight enough to bruise; his hips pick up speed, filling the room with the sound of skin smacking skin. You’re clenching around nothing again, so strung out and sensitive that the ripple of his cock between your thighs is close enough to friction. You can feel your pulsing clit, muscles tightening, heart picking up speed as it starts to feel somewhat pleasurable. Better than nothing, not nearly enough to get you off. 

He does a double take when he notices your brows knitted up, lips parted, breath layered. His laugh is punched, taunting, “You’re getting off on this?” A whimper escapes. “I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut. This is a punishment, not a fucking position.”

You seal your lips together again, your lashes becoming a waterfall, his hand leaves your thigh just to land against your skin heavier, harder, the sound striking through the room, nearly blending in with the sound of his hips against your thighs.

 “I’d be inside you if you listened. If you didn’t speak, if you didn’t flirt with my friend in front of my goddamn face,” his voice is as rough as his movements, he watches where his cock disappears, grinds his teeth when your thighs clench. “Can’t believe this is getting you off. Nothing but a cockhungry whore, doesn’t matter where I fuckin’ put it, does it?”

Your thighs clench again and he cracks ever so slightly, a splinter in his demeanor. The sound he lets out is pitched, something of a moan, small and wanting as he chases his release, “Fuck, almost as good as your pussy. Maybe I don’t need to use her at all anymore, maybe I’ll tape her shut.”

Another sob falls past your lips, head tilting to the side, “No.”

“No?” His eyes meet yours, “No?”

“I need you–”

“You’re mine,” his voice is harsher now, like you’ve finally hit a nerve. He pulls out, throwing your legs to the side, one arm scooping under you to flip you onto your stomach. Pulling you upright, on all fours, knees together, your face is buried in the bed, another sob cracking through your shaking body. “I’ll do whatever I want, this body is mine, you belong to me. You’re my property, when are you going to get that through your thick fucking skull?”

When his cock pushes past the seam of your thighs again, legs on either side of yours, it's lower. Farther away from your slippery cunt, skin still lubed up with how much you’ve spilled, his voice is edged as he lands a harsh smack on your ass, biting, “Squeeze your fuckin’ thighs, you can’t afford to disappoint me again.”

He holds his hands tight on your hips, steadying you, groaning low and long when he picks up the pace tenfold, harsher than the rhythm he was giving you before. He plants a foot on the bed, choking out a moan, “Gonna cum all over these thighs, this ass, then I’m gonna make you eat it.”

You moan, it’s a soft noise, too soft for how unforgiving he was at your backside. Your mind is cloudy, in your head, his degrading words are close enough to praise, your body responds. He lands another heavy smack to your ass, sending you deeper into the plush of the mattress, into the fuzz, you moan. 

He sounds almost surprised when he says, “That’s not a fucking reward, you’re disgusting.”

Your wrists pull at the belt, thighs clenching, another shameless moan pushing past your lips. His hips stutter, fingertips tightening at your hips, “Fuck, nasty fuckin’ thing.”

He slips from between your thighs, leaving them vibrating and hot. You can hear how fast his fist moves over his length, slick and wet, lewd, his groan is a stutter as he cums, thick ropes of white landing over your ass, your thighs, warm, heavy, you can’t help but moan at the feeling. Being marked, owned, being his, however he wants you, however he’ll have you. 

You hear him panting, tight breaths pushed from his lips, you know he’s staring, watching it drip, admiring the mess he made like it was art. With one hand still on your hip, he uses the other to wipe his painting off your skin, gathering it on his fingers, a glob of wet sticky warmth, your mouth waters knowing he’s about to feed it to you. 

Your thighs shake as he knocks your knees apart for stability, reaching one arm forward to wrap under your belly, pulling you upward. You whimper at the force but your body follows without hands to help you. 

“Here,” he sounds like he’s giving you a gift as your back hits his chest. He moves your hair out of your face, your jaw already pried open, he stuffs his cum-coated fingers past your lips and your eyes roll back. Salty, thick, nasty, you moan at how fucking dirty it feels, abdomen flexing because he’s finally giving you something. Mouth closing, tongue sucking his fingers clean, your thighs squeeze. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, “Eat it all, lick my fingers clean.” You moan again, eyes opening, low-lidded as you stare at him from under your brows, swallowing. His face scrunches, lips parting, “Fuck.”

He watches as your spit-stained mouth opens when he presses down on your tongue, no evidence of his release leftover. His fingers move slowly, spreading inside your mouth like he wanted to feel the texture of your tongue, they drag down until your bottom lip folds over, your own spit hitting your chin.

“So pliant,” he whispers, watching, analyzing, “You’ll let me do anything right now, won’t you?”

You whimper, so soft and light you barely register it came from you. His other hand wraps around your front, two fingers dipping between your legs, adding pressure to your clit. You fold, or try to, his other arm wraps around your front, forearm between your breasts, fingers landing steady at the base of your throat, holding you flush to him. 

“Still.” Despite the order being direct, his voice is calm, sweet almost, eyes dancing over your features, watching how your face contorts in pleasure. He keeps his pace slow, circling his fingers lightly, “Cum, just like this.”

Your instinct tells you not to trust his kindness, pressure building steadily at the base of your belly, but he works you so easily, even with small circles and light pressure, your body responds like a live wire, as if two light fingers were a vibrator on its highest setting. Your moans mix with tiny gasps, body fidgeting at the pleasure, so sensitive you think you might be running from it. 

He cooes, “Come on, baby. I’m letting you cum, might be the only orgasm I let you have tonight. Impress me.”

The need to deliver, obey, appease him is too embedded in you not to listen, even if you know better. You choke on a moan, reaching your peak quicker than you should, sounds climbing in staccato, so close you could fucking taste it– he rips his fingers away just as you approach the edge and you sob, body lurching forward, “No!”

He pulls you back against him, keeping you locked in place. He shushes you, running his hands over your skin, your thighs, your stomach, comforting touches that pull tears from your eyes for the third time. You choke on a cry, crumbling into him, leaning your weight against him. 

“So good for me,” he praises, voice candy-sweet. Confusion makes you whimper a mumble of his name. 

He waits until your twitching subsides, still brushing his fingers over your skin, soothing the loss until you’ve forgotten it. When your sobs quiet, your breathing evens a little more, he dips his fingers between your thighs again.

“Yunho!” You gasp, bucking against him, “T-too much.”

“Shut up,” he grinds out in your ear, “Take it.”

His fingers work quicker, more pressure, pleasure builds inside you like it never stopped.

“I can’t–” You hiccup, “Please let me cum, sir, p-please let me, I can’t take it–”

The arm that’s wrapped around your front reaches farther up until two fingers push past your lips, sitting heavy on your tongue like stone. You gag around the length of them, knuckles hooked between your teeth while his other hand works quicker, tighter circles on your clit.

“Don’t remember telling you to speak,” you feel his breath on your ear, words chopped, rough, mean. “I remember telling you not to make a fucking sound.”

You’re gurgling around his fingers, more ugly noises, you’re too close to care. Electricity zaps through every limb, legs trembling, hips bucking away from his fingers because you can’t handle the pleasure even if you need it. 

You’re babbling over the weight on your tongue, looking up at him with pleading eyes, mumbling begs in-between every gag, he stays focused on his fingers between your legs, pulling you as close as he can to the finish line. 

“Y’gonna cum?” His eyes finally meet yours, searching your face for the answer before you can make a sound. You nod, tongue flexing under his fingers, pressure built up so tight and heavy in your body you might blow if he doesn’t let you release. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, so sticky sweet it makes you moan. His voice is sharp against your skin, “Slutty cunts don’t get to cum.”

There’s a millisecond to process his words before he rips his fingers away and that’s how long it takes for your sanity to slip. Sobs, real ones rip from your chest; ugly and booming, he lets your body go, lets you fall forward, flat against the mattress, wrists clawing at the belt, twitching and jerking so fucking shamelessly it makes Yunho smile. 

“Am I breaking you, baby?” He crawls on top of you, flipping you over like your dead weight means nothing to him. “Are you finally understanding what it means to be mine?”

The word yes leaves your lips between each sob like a chant, wrists aching beneath leather, your skin was probably inflamed and swollen by now from how much you’ve thrashed against the belt, but you don’t feel it, you don’t care. You need more. You need release.

He pushes your knees up, humming, ignoring your choked sobs like they didn’t exist. “You think Yeosang would want you like this?” He smacks his teeth, “A crying, begging whore? You think he’d touch this slutty, swollen cunt?”

“No! I’m s-sorry,” you hiccup, sounding so distraught it’s almost deranged, “Please.”

“Please what?” His cock lays heavy over your leaking cunt, reaching well over your pubic bone, it makes your trembling worse. “What are you asking me for?”

“I– I–”

“Shut up,” he lowers his grip down to your thighs, the sensitive part on the inside, rutting his hips ever so slightly against your folds. Your head tilts back, letting out a sound of tight pleasure mixed with frustration, his cock on you isn’t enough. You need him inside.

“He wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole,” he continues, wrapping his fingers around the base of his length, adding pressure as his hips rut against you again. “This pussy is used. I’ve ruined it for anyone else, ruined you.”

Your spine bends at his words as he works up a rhythm, pace combined with the added pressure, his cockhead runs over your swollen clit with each thrust, it’s almost enough for you to start climbing again. You moan out in relief, in euphoria, just from having him on you. 

His grip tightens on your thigh, “You like that? Being ruined? Like the idea of another man being repulsed by you?”

“Yes,” your face contorts, tears hot in the lines stretching across your skin, breath ragged, hips bucking against him when his rhythm slows.

He curses under his breath as he feels you clench, “Of course you do. This pussy only wants me. Trained to only respond to me.”

“Yes,” a little louder, laced with your climbing pleasure, “Only you.”

“Don’t cum.” You watch his knuckles turn white at the base of his cock. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

“Please!” You cry, so completely at his mercy, body shaking, heels piercing your thighs with each roll of his hips. “Please l-let me, I’ll be good– I’ll listen, I won’t ever look at him again–”

Your fingers curl into the duvet beneath you, pleasure, desperation, the stimulation you’re getting from his cockhead over your clit is enough, it’s fast enough, he said no. He’s focused on your core, how his cock slides against your slick, how it bubbles and swirls around your folds with each thrust of his hips.

 “Yunho,” you cry, a little louder, more severe, “Inside, p-please!”

He grits through tight teeth, “Shut the fuck up.”

Your body locks, bones feeling tight, stuck to each muscle like one look from him had turned you to stone. Small, stuttered breaths escape you one after another, rising in pitch, he can feel the stemming pleasure in your gut, he knows it’s building, he can see it on your face. 

You’re close, but he’s closer. He takes the chance, fucking into his fist before his cock meets the wet heat your folds, he grunts out a curse, fingers so tight around your thigh it hurts.

“You wanna cum?” His eyes flicker upward and your heart stops dead in your chest. 

“Y-Yes– Yes Yunho, please, I’ll do anything–”

“Beg for it.”

Incoherent babbles disguised as pleas, nothing more, a display of desperation that was music to his ears. His hips stutter with each whimper, each whine, the wetness on your cheeks, your body that’s steaming under his touch, it’s so hot his stomach curls with his approaching orgasm.

He chokes on a groan, “You’re so fucking stupid, you don’t learn. Nothing but a dumb, desperate whore.”

You moan and he gasps, thighs twitching as he ruts into his fist like an animal, fucking himself through the orgasm that leaves your cunt, your belly, your thighs covered in cum, his third orgasm. Your knees tie together, a sob so defeated and tired ripping from your gut, your cunt pulses, he can see it. He can’t stop himself from pushing his cock inside.

“Yunho!” You all but whisper, wrecked voice bouncing off the walls, body thrashing against him. 

He moans, small but there, it’s suffering and overstimulated. Your wrists burn, halfway up your back, arched so high the leather doesn’t touch you. You can feel your tears pooling in your ears, sobbing in relief and satisfaction and sheer fucking pleasure. 

He doesn’t move. He sits there, face tied together in overstimulation, lips caught between his teeth, fingers holding onto your legs for purchase like he might die if he didn’t grab onto you with all his strength. 

“Please,” you cry, “Move.”

His jaw clenches, breathing manual, chest rising and falling so heavily you regret the word as soon as it passes through your lips. 

“I can’t take it,” you continue through the regret, another mistake. “I’m yours, Yunho, I- I belong to you, I’m your whore, your sleeve–”

“If you were my fucking whore you wouldn’t disobey me,” he grits out, you can feel his thighs shaking, but he adjusts himself to fuck into you properly. “Say it if you need to, but you’ve taken it before and I know you can take it again.”

The word is nowhere near your tongue and he knows it. 

“Quit crying, then,” he moves his hands, fingers sinking beneath your back to hold your waist, thumbs sliding where they slipped through his cum on your sides. “I’m tired of hearing it. You’re getting what you want.”

“I want to cum,” you cry out, you’re sure you’ve broken skin at the heel of your palms from how hard your nails have cut into them, you can barely feel the sting. His fingers bruise your back, keeping you still, forcing you to take it as he slips out agonizingly slow, and pushes back inside. 

“I don’t think you deserve it,” he sounds unaffected by being inside you, like fucking your thighs really was the same, if not better. Your sobs reflect the thought, feeling so used, full of shame; the flame of desire that dwells within your gut is nowhere close to being smothered, you need more, you need to be full of him, you need to cum around his cock. 

“Ple– ase,” you choke on the word, “Y-Yunho, please.”

“Pussy missed me,” he sounds like he’s reminiscing, “Listen, she’s suckin’ me in.”

You hear it then, the squelch, the ungodly sound of his cock sliding into you fluidly. You wallow in it, the humiliating noise, the feeling of him running over that spot with every thrust, filling you up like he’s carved himself space inside you, whittled at your womb until you could take him and him only. 

“There you go,” it’s not praise, it’s relief, “Finally giving up. So much better when you’re easy.”

There’s nothing left inside you but sound, desperate and aching, it fills the room on top of the sound of his hipbones slapping against your thighs, the room sounding wet and disgusting. Pressure builds, steady and true, his rhythm daunting, pushing you closer to an edge you don’t know if he’ll let you fall off of. 

“This is all you need,” his voice sounds heavier, layered with pressure, “My cock fucking you full. You don’t need to think, don’t need to breathe, you don’t need to be.” 

You breathe out a noise, a babble about getting close, he doesn’t hear it. You sink deeper into the haze with each thrust, consumed by pleasure, cheek sliding against the duvet every time his cockhead kisses your cervix. 

“You all dumb for me?” You can hear his smile, “Fuck, are you finally broken, baby? Feel nothing but me? Thinking of nothing but me?”

The leather binding your wrists feels miles away. You’re reaching, he knows it.

His hips snap against yours, so brutal and unforgiving, pleasure is an unwrapped gift with how your orgasm hits, catching you off guard. The sound that rips through you is deafening, limbs thrashing against the duvet, your restraints, it’s too late for him to slip his cock out. He knows it, even if he does it anyway, you cry out, hips bucking against nothing searching for friction to extend your orgasm as long as you can. 

He doesn’t speak when he flips you over. His hands are rough, movements quick, his cock splits you open the moment your knees hit the mattress. You don’t get a second to feel relief.

“You’re nothing but a greedy fucking whore,” each word is punched, animalistic, angry and ragged; your spine bends toward him, cunt clenching around him, toes digging into the heels on your feet. He pushes you down with one hand, “Keep that fucking back down.”

“Again,” you cry, weak and desperate, “Again.”

He’s fucking you like he hates you, like your pleasure meant nothing to him. Brows furrowed, jaw sharp like a blade, he’s angry as his cock drills inside you, chest red and splotchy, sweat beading down his mismatched skin. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls, “Stupid bitch, you’re only making it worse for yourself.”

“I’m sorry–”

He lands a sharp smack to your ass, “Don’t fuckin’ apologize. Deal with the consequences.”

“I’m sorry!” It’s louder this time, strained. Your hips fuck back, knees buried in the bed for stability, “I need you, I need it, I need to cum again, please– please Yunho, I’ll–”

He reaches down to push your face into the mattress, “I told you to shut the fuck up, listen for once in your goddamn life.”

Mouth meeting cotton, you can’t catch your breath, shins kicking against the mattress. His pace is angry, brutal, you can feel yourself falling apart, pleasure and pain melting together, desperation and satisfaction blending into one. Your head feels fuzzy again from the loss of air, cloudy in a way that means submission, your body softens.

He lets go of your head to grab onto the belt with one hand, pulling you up, back level with your hips, your sobs becoming verbal once again. Your head hangs low, deadweight for him to hold.

“Say you’re sorry.”

Light, airy, your cloudy eyes meet the duvet, “I’m s-sorry–”

“Say it like you fucking mean it.”

You wince, “I’m so sorry, sir.”

His voice sounds rigid, like he might cum again. “Tell me what you are.”

The answer comes easy, “I’m a whore.”

He lands a sharp smack to your ass, “You’re less than that.”

“I’m n-nothing,” you whimper, “A h-hole, a sleeve.”

He lets go of the belt and you fall against the mattress, a rough sound muffled as your chest hits cotton. He flattens you with his palms, lowering his weight over your back until his skin sticks to yours, he slides one arm beneath you, under your chest, cupping your jaw with one huge palm. He guides your head to the side to see him, sweaty and angled and fucked out, but he rounds out when he sees you– face flushed, wet with saliva, tears, splotched and messy, your eyes glossy and huge and somewhere else. 

He starts rolling his hips into you again, slower, just as damning, “You’re missing something.”

Your brows furrow, clenching around him, mewling out something incoherent before asking, “M-missing?”

He rolls his hips, cock brushing over that spot, you shake against him, body trembling. He bites his lip roughly like he’s forcing himself into composure before he asks, “Who’s hole? Who’s sleeve?”

“Y-Yours!” You’re scrambling to correct your mistake, “I’m y-yours. Your whore, your hole, your sleeve. Yours to use.”

He moans, soft and wilted and fucking angelic. His rhythm doesn’t falter, patient but aimed, like he wanted you to feel every inch, every vein. You can’t move, stuck under his weight, held in his palm, your face forms to gratification, lips open but silent, eyelids fluttering, you feel like you’ve given him all of you. Your pleasure, your pain, he holds it all in the palm of his hand, he holds you like you’re something sacred. 

“Made for me,” his voice is quieter, soft at the edges. “Only I could love you like this. Broken, small.” He drops into just above a whisper, “Ruined.”

“Please,” you whisper, a single tear running down your cheek, “Cum inside me.”

Hot salt meets his fingers, his grip tightens ever so slightly, cock twitching inside you. “Cum for me first. Show me how well you listen.”

Your brows furrow, instinct at war with his tone, his words. Even if you don’t know how honest he is, your body reacts, rutting against his thrusts, clenching around his length that sails over the front of your walls with purpose. Climbing, reaching, you stare into his dark, focused eyes, softly whimpering, “Yunho.”

“I got you, I’ll let you,” he encourages, his tone not fully sweet. “Just this once.”

Your body trusts him, enough that your peak approaches in a cloudy haze; you tremble in pleasure, choking on a cry, crumbling against his arm that holds you still, steady, safe. 

“Fuck,” it’s a hot word in your ear, “So fucking tight.”

His hips pick up and you move, tears falling hot again, overstimulated and forced in a cycle of pleasure, your wrists pull, your legs thrash, your whines pick up, his grip tightens on your jaw. 

“Want me to fill this pussy up?” His breathing is as verbal as his question, “You think you deserve it?”

“Yes,” you answer in a cry, “I do, I do, please– inside, sir, Yunho, please–”

He gruffs out a noise squeezed from his throat, hips smacking against your skin, stuttering. His fingers push up on your jaw until it closes, silencing you with fingers pressed in your face, his head dipping low as he chases his orgasm. 

“Slutty fucking cunt,” he growls out, lips just grazing your shoulder he lifted, “No you don’t.”

You don’t process the rejection as he lifts himself, you turn over with haste in the second it takes to settle, pleas on your tongue; he’s already crawling over you, knees beside your shoulders, fist wrapped around his cock. 

“Yunho, no–”

“Learn from this.” He pumps his length with fervor, knuckles white, hips bucking into his own hand. “Remember this the next time you think about giving my property away.”

You don’t know how you have any more tears to give. Sucking down air, body thrashing beneath his thighs that pin you down, you wail. He watches, lips parting, brows furrowing, like your face and your pain was getting him off, it doesn’t take long until he’s groaning, cock spilling ropes of white onto your cheeks, your nose, your hair, your chest. 

Heartbreak blooms. Chest cracking, you succumb to the tears, slipping from your half-open eyes down to the streaks of white on your face, mixing into salty, thick heat. You might be talking, repetition of no filling the air like it’d rewind time, convince him to fill you up again and leave his mark behind. 

He takes his time crawling off you, turning you halfway, one hand skillfully prying the belt undone. Your arms are free but you can’t feel the air on your wrists, even as he moves them in front of you. Sitting beside you he lifts your wrists, checking them, moving the pads of his thumbs over your swollen veins on the inside. 

“Fist,” it’s soft; a direct order, one without malice. You barely hear it over your cries, but you flex your fingers, make a fist, he nods once in approval, thumbs ghosting over the red, broken crescents in the heels that your nails left behind. 

Tangling his fingers with yours, it’s not a show of affection, he moves your wrists in a circular motion, clockwise, then counter-clockwise, watching your face for any sign of pain or discomfort. There’s none, other than your dejected cries, he knows you well enough to know the difference. 

Laying your wrists softly beside you, he crawls downward, lifting one leg, untying the buckle at your ankle. He slips your heel off your foot, pressing a kiss to the underside of your toes, another to your ankle. He moves to the other after gently laying your leg down, repeating the process, his lips soft against your skin.

He leans forward again, stretching his legs out beneath him, slinging an arm under your shoulders to tuck you into his chest. Your forehead meets his skin, wet and sticky with sweat, his cum, saliva; being eased into comfort after so long of not having it just makes you cry harder. He lets you release, one hand in your scalp, the other grazing your back, he doesn’t speak until your sobs lower, when you’ve reached a point that you have nothing else to spend. 

“You did so well for me,” he whispers, lips softly meeting your roots. “Took everything I gave you, I’m so proud of you.”

All you can respond is a whimper, soft and light, the only sound you have left inside. Exhaustion lays heavy like a blanket, its weight on your eyelids, on your legs, in the arches of your feet. 

“I’m gonna go get you some water.” 

Your shaky arms reach, neck bending, holding him close with your palm on his waist. Meeting his eye, seeing him, you hope he can see the not yet in your eyes. His face deflates into roundness as his thumb meets your cheek, wiping slick off your skin that’s gone cold by now. His eyes sparkling and soft, he’s in caretaker mode– the doing after he takes, you aren’t ready for it yet. You need him. 

His eyes flicker to your lips and he can feel the way you bend for him, into him, asking for it without saying a word. His lips meet yours with delicacy, a soft graze of his lips before you part for him, beckoning for more. He lets his lips mold with yours, open and sweet, no haste, gradual and slow, his hands exploring your skin, your palm reaching upward to cup his cheek. 

“One more,” you whisper into his mouth, using all your might to form words. Your ankle hooks over his back, a shaky breath escaping you when your body meets the cold slick of his spent length. He hisses at the friction, head beginning to shake, you cut him off before he can speak. “Please.”

His eyes study your face for a moment. “You can handle it?”

“I need it,” your voice cracks on the second word. “Need to feel that you love me.”

His brows furrow, “Baby.”

“Yunho,” you whimper in the same tone, “Please.”

He catches your lips in a kiss and you’re not met with any more haste than before. It’s slow, passionate, he’s burning words onto your tongue, making you feel it instead of him saying it. He reaches down between your bodies, pumping his cock once, twice, pushing a small sound into your mouth, one you swallow down, tucking it beside your heart. Running his tip through your folds, you brace yourself, legs already shaking, bruised and battered and still aching for more. 

You wince as he starts pushing inside, his lips meet your jaw. On your sides, facing each other, you throw your arms over his shoulders, his hands sinking down around your waist, from how close you lay there’s barely any room for him to feed you a full thrust. He tries, grinding his cock against that spot inside you, eating every soft, wrecked moan you spill. 

“I love you so much,” he finally says, “Every inch of you, every part of this body.”

You whimper, fingers curling into his hair with no force, succumbing to the pleasure, the slight sting of overstimulation. 

“You take everything,” he whispers, lips against your cheek, you feel his breath, the severity of his words. “Do so fucking well for me every time. I need you.” Your heart jumps, clenching around him, pressure stemming. He repeats, voice a little louder, “I need you, love you s’much, ‘d do anything for you.”

Your hands drop to his shoulderblades, nails sinking in, breath growing heavier, a soft moan slipping past your lips, into his mouth. You whimper, voice cracking, “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” his fingertips curl into your back, “I know, baby.”

“I love you,” your voice cracks again, breath going uneven, he kisses you softly. 

Your hips move with his, meeting each roll, the slick sound of your still-soaked center a symphony in your dimlit bedroom. He hears when your breathing shifts, as you start to climb. “Yes,” he encourages, voice dripping in praise, “Cum for me, baby, you deserve it. Did so good for me.”

Your breath hitches, hips twitching against him, he rolls into you a little harder. He kisses you, tongue sloppy inside your mouth, tasting everything you’d given him tonight, taking responsibility for it all. He turns you just slightly, angling you onto your back a little more so he can piston his hips higher, against that spot inside you. Your leg dangles, leaving your body spread and open, so trusting it makes his stomach do a flip. He presses two fingers against your clit, rubbing quick, tight circles.

He knows you’re seeing stars by the loud, pitched cry from your throat, he curses under his breath, “C’mon, cum for me. Give it to me, let me have it, I need it.”

Your spine bends on command, thighs shaking, pleasure washing over you in tremors. Eyes squeezing shut, he kisses your unmoving mouth, fingers working your clit, fucking you through it, extending your release, pulling it deeper, hotter, longer. 

He kisses your cheek when a tear slips out, wiping his upper lip with his tongue. Your face is bent up in pleasure, eyes big and doe-like, pupils dilated. You mumble, voice little and weak, “Please cum inside me.”

His pace quickens, chasing instead of supplying, voice caught in his chest. You kiss him again, sloppier, moaning into his mouth as he fucks into you steadily, fingers curling into his hair while you fuck him back. He chokes on a moan, hand splayed across your abdomen, hips losing their rhythm before he stutters, legs shaking, spilling everything that’s left inside him to give. 

Winded, breathing heavy, Yunho’s spent. There’s nothing but the sound of your breath in the room, he keeps his cock inside you until it’s soft and even then you wait until discomfort knocks on your door to part. 

“Can I clean you up?” He asks into the silence, palm still heavy over your sticky stomach. 

You moan your disagreement. “We need to shower.”

He rolls over, pressing a soft kiss onto your cheek, “Are you strong enough to?”

Your head turns, meeting his eye, a smile curving your lips to a singular degree. “I don’t really have a choice. You came on me twice– three times?”

He plants his palms on either side of your head, eyes meeting the ceiling in thought. “Mouth, thighs, stomach, face, inside. Three.” 

You throw your arms over his shoulders, bringing him down to kiss you. A soft, quick peck, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he smiles into your lips, “I’ll carry you and clean you, you don’t have to do anything. I’ll change our sheets, we’ll eat something, watch our show…”

You nod slowly, brain drifting. From the most vulnerable part of your foggy mind comes a question, voice thin as you ask, “You know I don’t want Yeosang, right?” 

His eyes flicker over your face, searching for the emotion that asked the question.

“Of course,” he replies, full of confidence, already spitting quick reassurance, “We’re perfect. I’m not angry at you, I’m not upset with you, I don’t have any feelings that will fester over tonight. Are you okay? Did I push you too far?”

You shake your head, “No.” Biting your lip, they scrunch to one side. “I’m okay, I just… Don’t stray too far away from me tonight. Please.”

He leans down to press another kiss on your forehead, “I won’t leave your side. I promise.”

masterlist

[yeonlymine]

cockwarmer kit ᢉ𐭩 seonghwa

comes with one brat, one cock, and zero patience

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

݁𖥔 seonghwa x f!reader

݁𖥔 warnings: this is pure smut, plot?? we don't know her. big!d hwa, dom/sub dynamics, cockwarming, degradation kink (he loves u i swear), praise kink, facefuckin, tit fuckin, spit play, cum play, breeding kink, squirting, multiple orgasms (rip), spanking, hair pulling, light choking, humiliation, slight dumbification (?), super possessive, rough sex, oral (m!receiving), legos are reader's enemy, there's like no breaks in this, i could be missing some :)))

݁𖥔 yeah, so, um...hwa has been on my mind since the concert and then THAT live inspired this LMAO. enjoy the filth💀

The dining room table had become Seonghwa's kingdom, and you were about to declare war on it.

He sat hunched over the wooden surface, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, silver chain catching the light streaming through the windows. 

His black tank top stretched across his shoulders as he leaned forward, absorbed in the lego architecture set before him. Tiny plastic bricks organized in neat piles, instruction manual spread open.

You'd been watching him for the past hour from the kitchen doorway, growing irritated by how captivated he was by those damn toys.

The way his brow furrowed in concentration, how he'd pause to push his glasses up his nose before diving back in, the clicking sounds of plastic snapping together.

It was crazy how something so trivial could hold his attention when you were standing right there.

"Hwa." Your voice cut through.

He didn't even glance up. "Mmm."

You stepped closer, bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. "How long have you been at this?"

"Few hours." His response was distracted, eyes still fixed on the instruction manual as he searched for the next piece.

The dismissal stung. You moved to the edge of the table, leaning your hip against it so the surface shifted, a few bricks scattered.

His hands froze. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet yours, and there was a warning there. "Don't."

The single word was sharp.You could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers tightened around the piece he'd been holding.

"Don't what?" trailing your finger along the table's edge, purposely brushing against more bricks. "I'm just looking."

"You're being a brat." He set the piece down, "Do you have any idea how long it takes to line these pieces up? How much work I've put into this?"

"It's just plastic, Seonghwa."

His glasses slipped down his nose as he finally turned to face you fully. "Just plastic?"

You could see you'd struck a nerve, and something in you wanted to push harder. Without breaking eye contact, you swept your arm across a section of the table, sending more sorted bricks scattering across the floor.

The sound of plastic hitting hardwood filled the silence between you.

Seonghwa's expression went completely blank for a moment. He stood slowly, the chair scraping against the floor.

"You want attention that badly?"

Before you could respond, his hands were on your waist, lifting you onto the table. Bricks pressed into your thighs through your shorts as he positioned you right in the middle of his workspace.

"Then you'll have it."

His mouth crashed against yours. You could taste the tea he'd been drinking, could feel the chain around his neck pressing cold against your chest as he kissed you with intensity.

When he pulled back, you were breathless, lips already swollen.

"But we're doing this my way."

His hands found the waistband of your shorts, yanking them down along with your panties in one motion. 

"Seonghwa, what are you—"

"Getting comfortable." He settled back into his chair, pulling you forward until you were straddling his lap. 

You could feel him already hard beneath his sweatpants, the thick outline of his cock pressing against you.

His hands gripped your hips as he lifted you, just enough to free his cock from his pants. The sight of him, thick and already leaking made your mouth water and your pussy clench with anticipation.

"Damn, already dripping." His thumb brushed through your folds, collecting the wetness there. "All worked up from being ignored."

You tried to sink down onto him, desperate for the stretch and fullness you craved, but his grip on your hips held you in place.

"Patience." The word was low against your ear. "You barged in and interrupted my work—now you’re gonna sit here and wait while I keep you stuffed."

He positioned his cock at your entrance, the thick head barely hitting you, and then stopped. The stretch was already intense, Seonghwa was big, bigger than anyone you'd been with before, and your body always needed time to adjust to his size.

"Please." The word slipped out before you could stop it.

"Please what?"

"Can you please fuck me already, shit."

His laugh was dark, vibrating against your throat where he'd pressed his lips. "Oh, I will. But first, you're going let me finish what you so rudely interrupted."

Without warning, he pulled you down onto his cock in one brutal thrust, burying himself completely inside you. The sudden fullness knocked the air from your lungs, your walls stretching to accommodate his girth. 

"Fuck." The curse tore from your throat as you tried to adjust to the sensation of being so full.

"That's it. Take all of me." His voice was strained, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "You feel that? All the way up in there—”

You could only whimper, your body trembling. He was so deep you could swear you felt him in your stomach.

"Now." His hands moved to the table, reaching around you for the instruction manual. "You're going to sit there, stuffed full of my cock, and not move until I'm done."

The casual way he said it, like you were nothing more than a convenient cock warmer, sent arousal through you. Your walls clenched around him involuntarily, drawing a hiss from his lips.

"I said don't move."

One hand left the manual to wrap around your throat, not squeezing but holding you in place. The weight of his palm against your pulse was a constant reminder of his control.

"But Hwa."

"No." His thumb pressed harder, just enough pressure to make your breath catch. "You wanted my focus. This is what you get. And if you're very good, maybe I'll fuck you right."

The clicking of lego pieces resumed,  along with your shaky breathing and the wet sounds of your pussy adjusting around his cock. 

Every small movement he made, reaching for a piece, consulting the manual, shifting in his chair, made you want to pull your hair out from the roots.

Minutes passed. Your thighs began to shake from the strain of staying still, your walls fluttering around him as arousal built to an almost unbearable level. The position had you completely open to him, unable to create any friction or relief.

"Look at you." His voice was sooo casual, like he wasn't buried balls-deep inside you. "So desperate. I can feel how wet you're getting, dripping all over my cock."

You tried to rock your hips, seeking any kind of movement, but his free hand clamped down on your hip.

"What did I say about moving, once again?"

"I–I need it though."

"You need to learn patience." His fingers found your clit, circling it with light touches that made you gasp. "This is what happens when you act like a spoiled brat. You get treated like one."

Your hands fisted in his tank top, trying to ground yourself as pleasure built slowly..

"Please, Seonghwa. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I messed up your stupid lego set."

"Stupid?" The word was quiet.

His hand left your clit, and before you could process what was happening, he was standing, lifting you with him. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he turned and bent you over the table, his cock never leaving your pussy.

Lego bricks clattered to the floor as he swept them aside. The instruction manual crumpled under your chest as he pressed you down, the glossy paper sticking to your sweat dampened skin.

"You think my work is stupid?" His hips snapped forward, driving his cock deeper than you thought possible. "Let me show you what stupid looks like baby."

The first thrust knocked the breath from your lungs. The second had you crying out, fingers scrambling on the table surface. He set a brutal pace, each stroke hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur.

The table shook with each impact, more pieces falling to the floor. Some of the bricks remained pressed into your skin, not painful enough to truly hurt.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" 

"Couldn't stand being ignored, so you had to ruin my stuff."

His chain swung forward with each thrust, the metal links dragging across your back and shoulders. 

"Answer me."

When you didn't respond immediately, too lost, his hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back.

"I said answer me."

"Yes." The word came out as a broken sob. "Yes, I wanted your attention."

"And now you have it." He released your hair, both hands gripping your hips as he managed to fuck you even harder. "Being bent over and used like a toy."

There was something about the way he said it, like you were his toy, his to use however he wanted. 

"Fuck, you're tight." His rhythm faltered for a moment. "No matter how many times I fuck this pussy, you never get used to my size."

It was true. Even now, after months together, the stretch was still intense, still required your body to adjust. He was just too big, too thick.

"Never." You managed between thrusts. "Too big."

"That's right." 

"No one else could fill you like this. No one else could stretch this cunt the way I do."

His hand pressed against your lower belly, and you could feel him there, the thick outline of his cock moving inside you, creating a bulge with each thrust.

"So so deep I'm rearranging your guts." You could feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as it moved inside you.

"Mine." The word was harsh against your ear as he leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back. 

"Yours." The word was barely a whisper, but he heard it.

"Louder."

"Yours!" You cried out as he hit that spot inside you. 

"That's my good girl."

Your orgasm was building, that tension coiling in your belly. Your walls began to flutter around him again, drawing a curse from him.

"Already close? We're just getting started."

He started pulling out, already moving.

He flipped you over, and you were on your back on the table. He began to position himself between your thighs. He was moving higher, his cock dripping with your combined arousal as he straddled your chest.

"First, I think you need to be reminded of your place." His hands cupped your breasts, squeezing them together around his cock. "Look at these perfect tits. Made just for me to fuck, aren't they?"

The weight of his cock between your breasts was intoxicating, precum smearing across your chest as he began to thrust. His chain swung with each movement, occasionally brushing against your nipples and making you gasp.

"Answer me, slut."

"Yes," you breathed. "They're yours to fuck."

"Yes, ma’am." His pace increased, cock sliding between your breasts as his hands kept them pressed tight around him. "Shit–every part of you just fits me. That mouth, tits, pussy. Just built for me, baby."

He thrust harder, the tip of his cock hitting your chin with each stroke. Precum began to make everything slippery.

"Open your mouth," and when you complied, he adjusted his angle so the tip of his cock caught your lips with each thrust. "Suck."

You wrapped your lips around the head when it reached your mouth, tongue swirling around it. The taste of yourself mixed with him was mind-boggling, making you moan around him.

"Fuck, just like that." His hands tightened on your breasts, using them to stroke himself faster. "Such a little cock holder, yeah."

But just as you were getting used to the pace, he was pulling away entirely, moving down your body.

"But I think I need to focus on this ass of mine." His hands gripped your hips, flipping you over again so you were on your hands and knees on the table. Legos pressed into your palms and knees as he positioned himself behind you.

"Look at this ass." His hands roamed over your cheeks, squeezing and kneading. "The way it bounces when I fuck you."

His palm came down in a slap that made you cry out, the sting soothed by his gentle caressing.

"This ass is mine," he said, punctuating each word with another slap. "Say it."

"My ass is yours," you gasped, pushing back against his hands.

"Can’t hear you, baby."

You cried out as he delivered another slap. "All of this is yours, Hwa," He soothed the reddened skin before yanking you backward.

Before you could adjust, he was dragging you off the table, your knees hitting the floor hard.

"Now you're going to show me just how sorry you are for interrupting my work," he said, his hand fisting in your hair as he stood before you, cock hard and glistening. "C’mon open up for me again."

You parted your lips. His hips snapped forward, burying his cock deep in your throat in one thrust. You gagged around him, tears springing to your eyes as he held you there.

"Gag on it." His voice was strained as he pulled back only to thrust forward again. 

He set a harsh rhythm, using your mouth like a plaything. Saliva dripped down your chin, mixing with the tears streaming down your face as he fucked your throat without any mercy.

He panted, his free hand reaching down to wipe the tears from your cheeks. "Such a pretty slut, crying on my cock."

When you gagged hard, he pulled out once more, his cock slapping against your face as you gasped for air.

"Can't handle it?" he taunted. "And here I thought you wanted all of me."

He started pushing his cock back past your lips, but this time he moved lower, pressing his balls against your mouth.

"Hold ‘em. Keep them warm in your mouth like a sweetheart."

You opened wider, taking both of his balls into your mouth, licking around them as he groaned above you. 

"You love having your mouth stuffed full of me, don't you?"

You could only hum in response around his balls, the vibration making him curse under his breath.

But then he was pulling away again, his cock bobbing in front of your face as he looked down at you with dark eyes.

He put pressure on your lips with his thumb so you’d open up, and when you did, he leaned forward and spat directly onto your tongue. "Swallow."

He dragged his spit-slicked cock across your face, marking you with his precum. "Now you're going to take my cock down your throat again like the whore you are."

This time, when he pushed back into your mouth, it was with renewed vigor. He used your face to its fullest extent, fucking your throat with no care as you choked and gasped around him. Your makeup was ruined, mascara streaming down your cheeks as he used you.

"This is what you get for being such a needy brat."

Just when you thought you might pass out from lack of air, he pulled out, leaving you drooling on the floor..

"Back on the table,"  hauling you up by your arms. "I'm still not finished."

He positioned you on your back again, but this time he settled between your thighs with intent. His cock slammed back into your pussy without warning, the fullness after the emptiness making you scream.

"Now I'm going to fuck you until your legs forget how to work," he promised. "Until you're nothing but a dripping, sloppy mess."

True to his word, he fucked you dumb. The combination of the rough treatment and his earlier teasing had you racing toward orgasm fast.

“Mmm, baby, you’re so close huh?" He could feel the way your walls were squeezing him. “Come on my cock. Show me how much you love being used."

The orgasm tore through you, your back arching off the table as you screamed his name. But he didn't slow down, didn't give you time to recover. 

"Shit shit shit, too much Hwa," you sobbed, hands pushing weakly at his chest as the overstimulation bordered on painful.

"You can take it," he insisted, his thumb finding your clit. "You're going to give me another one—I know you can."

His pace and the pressure on your clit was building toward something different, something more intense. 

"Let go for me. Make a mess all over me."

When the orgasm hit, it was unlike anything you'd ever experienced. You felt something give way inside you as liquid gushed from your pussy, soaking his cock and the table beneath you.

"Fuck yes," he groaned, his pace becoming even messier as you squirted around him. 

You were barely coherent as he continued to fuck you through the aftershocks. 

"Think you can give me another? Huh, baby, how’s that sound?"

You didn't think you could, but your body responded anyway. The orgasm was smaller but no less intense, your pussy clamping down around him.

This time, he couldn't hold back. His rhythm faltered as he chased his own release.

But at the last second, his hand started working his cock frantically as he pulled out, aimed at your chest and face.

He signaled to your mouth. You barely managed to comply before he was coming, thick ropes of cum painting your face, your tits, your throat. 

"Don't move," he ordered when the last spurts finished. "Don't you dare waste a drop."

His fingers gathered the cum from your cheeks and lips, pushing them into your mouth. "Suck them clean."

You wrapped your lips around his fingers, tongue cleaning them thoroughly as he watched with satisfaction.

"Good girl. Now show me you swallowed it all."

You opened your mouth to prove you'd swallowed every drop he'd given you.

"Perfect." He was already hardening again as he looked down at you. 

Without warning, he was sliding back inside your pussy. But this time he wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling you close as he began a slower, deeper rhythm.

"This time I'm going to fill this pussy for real," he promised. 

"You want that, don't you?" He pressed his hand against your lower belly, "Wanna be so full of my cum that it's dripping out for days?"

"Yes, please," you gasped.

His pace increased as he chased his second release. 

When he came this time, it was deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he filled you with spurt after spurt of hot cum. You could feel it mixing, could feel how it began to leak out around his softening cock even as he stayed buried inside you.

Finally pulling out to watch his cum drip from your well-used pussy onto the ruined lego instructions below. 

You tried to sit up, but your muscles felt like jelly. Your entire body was covered in a mix of sweat, saliva, and his cum, and you'd never felt more thoroughly used in your life.

"The lego set," you said weakly, looking at the destruction around you. Pieces were everywhere, some of them now sticky with your combined fluids.

"Don't worry about it," he said, but there was a glint in his eyes. "Actually, on second thought..."

He was pulling you off the table and down to your hands and knees on the floor among the pieces.

"Clean them up," settling back in his chair with his arms crossed. "All of them. And don't you dare wipe away my cum while you do it."

The humiliation of crawling around naked, his cum dripping down your thighs as you gathered the pieces one by one, should have been degrading. But with you, it was definitely the complete opposite. 

He praised as you moved on hands and knees, ass swaying as you reached for the bricks. 

Some of the pieces were sticky with your combined fluids, but you collected them anyway, placing them in neat piles as he watched. The entire time, you could feel his cum leaking from your pussy, leaving a trail on the floor that you'd have to clean later.

"Great job baby," he said when you'd finally gathered all the pieces. "Now c’mere."

You crawled over to him, looking up from your position on the floor. He reached down to cup your face gently, thumb brushing over your cum-stained cheeks.

"You look so beautiful like this," he said softly. 

The contrast between his gentle words and the filthy state he'd left you in was dizzying. But this was Seonghwa, capable of being both dominant and caring, rough and tender.

"I should shower," you said weakly.

"Later." He was already pulling you up into his lap, seemingly unbothered by the mess covering your body. "Right now I want to hold you."

You melted into his embrace, letting him support your weight as your body continued to recover. His hands stroked your back.

"I'm sorry," you murmured against his chest. "About interrupting your work. About making such a mess."

"No, you're not." There was amusement in his voice. "You got exactly what you wanted."

He was right, of course. You'd wanted his attention, wanted to break through that focused concentration. Mission more than accomplished.

"Maybe not," you admitted.

"That's what I thought." His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. "My needy baby."

You shifted in his lap, becoming aware again of the mess covering both of you, the sticky evidence of everything that had just happened. "I really should shower now."

"Should you?" His grip tightened. "Or should you sit here a little longer, feeling exactly what you've done to me?"

The smugness in his voice made you want to roll your eyes, but the way his cum was still slowly dripping down your thighs made it hard to argue. You'd gotten what you wanted, all of his focus, all of his control, all of him.

"What happens next time I interrupt your work?" you asked, settling more comfortably against his chest.

"Next time?" He laughed. "Next time... I'm locking the door."

You stayed like that until the mess became too uncomfortable to ignore. As you headed toward the shower, you glanced back at the mess; the table would need serious cleaning.

"You're rebuilding that, aren't you?" you called over your shoulder.

Seonghwa was already crouched down. "Obviously."

"I'll try not to ruin it again."

"But baby, you already have."

[minkieater]

KANG YEOSANG — MAGE 𓃠

⟶ you’d been tutoring him with his classes. history of magic, herbology, transfigurations, potions. your sweet, shy, caring friend yeosang… how shameless he becomes after you both ingest the most dangerous, illegal lust potion to exist.

𓄃 happy birthday to me, this is my gift for all of you!!! 𓄃 day twelve of @chimivx and i’s kinktober! 𓄃 wizard!yeosang x fem!reader | wc ~7k 𓄃 heed the warnings im not your mother: smut minors dni, this fic is very sex-pollen esque, they’re both intensely horny, virgin!reader, strong beefy ponytailed yeosang, oral f!receiving, multiple rounds, p in v, lotta unprotected creampies :p loosely based on hp universe but if u dont know hp its fine they’re just wizards, fuck you jk rowling

You can hear them before you see them, huddled up together in the lounge, cackling so loud the sound reverberates throughout the stone corridor your penny loafers carried you through. High archways, open air windows, intricate carvings into stone that no human hand could have perfected, you try to ignore the paintings that moved with your steps.

You turn the corner into the lounge, a palm softly caressing the heavy, arched wooden doorframe, double doors that opened up into the vast, candle-lit space. Green velvet chairs that matched the curtains draped over floor to ceiling windows, only one or two stayed open during the day, typically drawn shut so students could study calmly. 

Calmly. 

“You three are so loud,” you snarl as your penny loafers click to a stop before the three chairs huddled in a triangle, a deep, black table in the center, holding thick books and chalices of god knows what. With a hand on your hip, the other arm holding books pressed to your chest, you keep your voice quiet but sharp, “This room is for studying, you know.”

San makes a show of looking around him, at the lack of people occupying the lounge. Almost ten, maybe fifteen chairs took up space, five tables amongst them, maybe three people occupying them. You let your eyes dance over the almost empty room before landing back on San, his slicked back hair, the black robe hanging over his shoulders, the yellow illuminating the breadth. 

You stand your ground, “Just because it’s not busy in here doesn’t mean you need to be obnoxious.”

“We weren’t even loud,” Wooyoung argues, the blue in his robe bringing out the chocolate of his eyes, the red undertone in his black hair that nearly lays over his lashes. His mouth twitches upward in a smirk, “We were just laughing. You should try it sometime.”

You slide your scowl to Yeosang, whose eyes dance between the three of you, but he doesn’t interject. He never interjects, not when Wooyoung makes one of his infamous remarks towards you, nor when he encourages San into teasing you, too. Yeosang, quiet, timid and kind until it killed him, you wondered how you were both in the same House. Sometimes you wondered if you were tutoring him to bring out the bravery buried inside him, too. 

“Whatever,” you huff, rolling your eyes. You turn your body to Yeosang, hands clutching your books to your chest a little harder, “Are you ready? It’s past three.” 

Yeosang nods, black hair tied tightly behind his head, tendrils framing his face that curved just beneath his jaw. Both hands grip the armrests of the chair to help him stand, then he grabs his books from the table, his goblet, you had the same routine every other day. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, the days you meet Yeosang here at three o’clock sharp to tutor him in everything. History of Magic, Herbology, Transfigurations, Potions, you remember the day your professor assigned Yeosang to you in hopes that you’d get him to at least pass. 

“Good luck,” Wooyoung teases, a song in his tone, eyes trapped in crescents with how wide his grin spreads. He reaches into his pockets, “Hold on, don’t forget this.”

“I’m not taking that,” Yeosang huffs, “You shouldn’t even have that.”

“What is it?” You ask, eyeing the iridescent liquid in the small glass vial. It doesn’t look like any potion you’ve seen before. 

“Liquid Luck,” Yeosang answers too quickly, waving his hands in front of Wooyoung who tips his head back in loud laughter. Your eyebrows furrow, you know the color of Liquid Luck, a molten gold that looks as lucky as it makes you, but you’ve never seen such a pearly, almost rainbow substance. Your curiosity makes you take a step forward, hand reaching out to touch it.

Yeosang lurches forward to snap the potion from between Wooyoung’s fingers before you get the chance, “You’re beyond help. Beyond saving, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung just laughs louder, crinkles beside his uneven eyes, “You- You should try it out, man. Just see what happens, I’m curious.”

“You use it,” Yeosang stuffs the glass in his robe pocket, the red interior bustling outward at the movement, a bite in his tone you’ve never heard before. You’re standing frozen, eyes wide, confusion and surprise written all over your face. 

“I’m not as lucky as you,” Wooyoung is smirking again, his eyes sliding to you right before he winks, long, dark lashes almost reaching his cheek as he does so. “I like ‘em to have a little attitude.”

Your top lip curls in disgust, “Ew, Jung Wooyoung. Never speak to me again.” You turn on your heel, penny loafers heading toward the private study room you and Yeosang always used. Turning your head behind you to Yeosang who had leaned towards Wooyoung, no doubt whispering words you didn’t want to hear, you called, “Let’s go, Yeosang.”

He straightens on command, following behind you to the study room. The room smelled faintly of morning mist leftover from the window that had most likely been cracked earlier in the day, paired with the same smell of magic and ancientness that wrapped around the school like a hug. You laid your books down on the wooden table, a long slab of oak that ate up half the space, benches lined on either side, a tall, full bookshelf against the wall. A lonely bar-cart sat in the corner, water and potions glittering the space for focus, listening, learning, golden goblets and tall jars atop a used, golden slate.

“I’m sorry about him,” Yeosang mutters quietly as the heavy door groans closed, the small metal lock latching louder than his voice. 

You take your normal spot, and the bench cries as Yeosang sits down beside you. You give him a quick shake of your head, “Nothing I’m not used to.”

“You shouldn’t be used to it,” Yeosang’s voice is quiet, small, almost sheepish. 

Your head turns, taking in the shape of his jaw, the slope of his nose. So beautiful he’d appear feminine if it wasn’t for the masculinity he bore in his chest, his shoulders, everywhere from the neck down. You open your Potions book to the page that you left off last on Wednesday, somewhere in the middle, a wit-sharpening draft Yeosang couldn’t memorize for shit. The same draft charmed to keep itself filled kept in the corner of the study rooms.

You huff, “It is what it is.” Spreading your hands on each page, covering the contents of the book, you turned to him again, “You studied?”

Yeosang’s lips curled at the corner, “...Somewhat.”

“The exam is on Monday, Yeo,” you slant your eyebrows, pointing your gaze. “That whole time you were giggling with San and Wooyoung you could have been memorizing.”

“I’m sorry,” he frowns, a crease forming between his brows, “I looked over it last night.”

“You swear?” You ask, pulling the book towards you, not waiting for his answer. “Recite it to me then.”

His cheeks heat a pretty pink color, kissing the high points, spreading wide over his nose. His voice is quiet, uneasy, slightly high-pitched as he counts on his fingers, “Water, ginger…”

“And?” You raise your brows, “There’s only four ingredients, Yeosang.”

“Something with beetles…” He makes a disgruntled face, features morphing together. “...Armadillo.”

Your lips curl into a grin, “So close.”

He meets your eye with nothing but uncertainty swirling in deep brown, “Scab beetles.”

“Scarab beetles.”

“Right, right. Armadillo…”

“Bile.”

“Yes!”

“I’ll actually accept that,” your eyebrows raise, mouth bending to show how impressed you were. Usually Yeosang didn’t remember anything past water. “Now tell me how to brew it.”

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, and the word falling from his lips so shamelessly makes you choke on your spit, a laugh tumbling form your chest. 

“I don’t think that’s a step,” you giggle, then attempt to look serious again, “Don’t curse, it’s foul.”

“I’m sorry,” his lips are still bent, humor and amusement in his eyes. “Simmer the water, add the… Scarab beetles, stir three times–”

“Five times,” you correct. 

“Five times,” he nods, “Clockwise.”

“Counter-clockwise.”

He furrows his brows, “Clockwise.”

You tilt your head, lips smacking, “Counter-clockwise.”

“Check the book,” his eyes drop to the book you held to your chest and you peel it from your red-colored robes, eyes scanning the page. Right there, in clean cut handwriting, it says Clockwise.

You purse your lips, “I’m sorry, my fault. It’s clockwise.”

His smile is proud like he wants to pat himself on the back– the sight makes you giggle. You don’t get to see that look on him very often. With heat in your cheeks, you shake your head quickly, “Keep going.”

“Five times clockwise,” he nods his head as he speaks as if he’s committing the information to memory, searching for more inside his head, “Simmer five minutes. Add ginger, don’t stir, simmer again.”

“For how long?” You cock a brow. 

“...Twenty minutes?” His eyes widened, looking to you for confirmation. When you nod, he smiles all teeth, and continues. “Let it cool, stir seven times every three minutes, clockwise and counter-clockwise. When it’s not hot anymore–”

“How do you check?”

“With a hand over the pot. Add the armadillo bile then, and let it sit for eight minutes.” 

“Wow,” you breathe, “That was all, like, perfectly correct. I’m surprised and impressed.”

He claps his hands together ceremoniously, lips stuck together, curled at the edges and pursed in the center. You lean in closer, smelling the woody, black pepper, tea-leaf scent that was purely Yeosang, “Now tell me how to make it taste better.”

“Peppermint leaf on the tongue, not in the potion,” he nods, then meets your eye, pride evident in his features. You clap your hands together, wide smile on your face, cheering for him like he had just won a world record. It was a huge deal to have a study session go so smoothly, so effortlessly– Usually studying was like pulling teeth with Yeosang. 

“Temperature is key for this one,” you say after a minute of cheering, “You need to be vigilant with the fire while brewing, to keep it at a simmer. You don’t want it boiling.”

He nods with every word, letting them sink in, and you place the Potions book atop the wooden table again, hands landing just beside it, letting the cold, almost damp-feeling oak settle into your skin. A knock sounds at the door a moment later, and your necks snap to Wooyoung creaking the door open, a sly grin on his cheeks. 

“Apologies, study-birds,” he teases, peeking his head around the slab of oak, “Can I get that vial of Desiderium back?”

Your jaw drops to the wood beneath your skull. You repeat, with eyebrows in your hairline, “Desiderium?!” 

Yeosang huffs, an irritated breath, digging into his pockets for the glass. You choke on a laugh, “How the hell did you get your hands on Desiderium? You could get expelled for that, Jung Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes and holds his hands out for Yeosang to toss the vial to him. He catches it swiftly between deft fingers, shooting Yeosang a nod of appreciation before his rebuttal, “Who cares.”

You stand, palms planted on the damp wood as Wooyoung makes his way over to the study bar, carelessness in his steps. You keep your voice quiet but harsh, “Wooyoung, Desiderium is banned, like banned banned. You could get somebody hurt, you could hurt yourself, that isn’t a toy or Viagra.”

He whips his head around, a nasty smirk on his lips, “You know what Viagra is?” 

Your cheeks flush, back straightening, fingers curling before your robes. Voice smaller now, not as quiet or confident, you say, “Yes I know what Viagra is, I’m not a child.”

He pours himself a goblet of the wit-sharpening potion, taking a deep drink from the scratched golden chalice, you watch how his bumped nose dips into the cup, how his Adam’s apple expands with each gulp. He lets out a massive, verbal breath when the cup is drained, slamming the goblet back on the slate. 

“Go to the bathroom and drain that vial, Woo.” 

He raises his brows, “Do you know how much it took to even get this? Hell no.”

You crane your neck to look down at Yeosang who appears utterly thoughtless. With a strain in your voice, you try, “Yeosang, do something.”

“What am I supposed to do?” He asks, his voice genuine. “He did go through a lot to get it.”

You release a sound of disbelief, a sharp breath from your lungs. “Yeosang!” You whisper-yell, then turn back to Wooyoung who leans against the bar cart, “I can’t just let you carry that around with no consequence.” 

“Who are you gonna tell?” Wooyoung raises his brows in amusement, “A professor? Head Girl?”

You sputter, “I- I’ll–” 

The truth was, you didn’t want to tell anyone. You eyed his pocket, the crinkle of weight in the black robe, curiosity lighting up your mind. Desiderium was a banned potion across the wizard world, a worse love potion than Amortentia, it wasn’t even considered a love potion. It was an… Arousal potion of sorts, you’ve only heard stories of it, but you knew it wasn’t safe. If taken in large quantities it was toxic, resulting in a stomach-pumping spell or in worse cases, death. If taken in small quantities, it makes the consumer unbelievably horny, insatiable for hours, so aroused and consumed by lust they lose themselves completely.

You wondered, despite knowing it was banned. If that really was Desiderium, if it really does what it’s supposed to, what it feels like to be under the spell. You don’t have much experience in the sex area, or really in the arousal area entirely. Your life has always been centered around academics and competition, and your small group of friends that were more like you than someone like Wooyoung. You’d never had a boyfriend, or someone to pull that velvety feeling from your gut, you’ve never felt the feeling of losing yourself that you’ve overheard Wooyoung talk about when debriefing his hook-ups with San and Yeosang.

“You’ll what?” Wooyoung tilts his head in amusement. 

“It’s fine,” Yeosang finally interjects, “He won’t do anything with it, he has no problem getting… no problem in that area.” 

“Yeosang, that’s–”

He glances up at you, eyes clear, certain. You swallow down your disdain, your clear discomfort, the heated curiosity nipping at your cheeks. You sit down slowly, back in your place next to Yeosang, and Wooyoung giggles like a child. 

“Have fun studying,” he winks again, and then he’s out the door in a flash. 

You huff a breath when he’s no longer in sight, irritation biting at your skin, heating you beneath your robes. Pushing your hair behind your ears and flattening your skirt, you huff, “I’m just gonna pretend like that didn’t happen.” 

“That’s best to do with most things concerning Wooyoung.” 

“Well, do you think it’s right?” You’re facing him now, eyebrows back in your hairline, “He could do whatever he wants with Desiderium, he could give it to whoever he wants. That’s sick.” 

“He’s not a bad guy,” he’s shaking his head fervently, his hands coming up to his chest in defense, “He’d never use it on someone without their knowledge or anything like that.”

“Then what’s the point of having it?” You argue, jaw tight, eyes focused. 

“Well,” Yeosang cranes his neck slowly, a tilt to his head that means he doesn’t want to finish his sentence, “There’s this one girl, and he… They, you know. A lot. And there’s stuff he wants to try, and—”

“Okay,” you turn away, cheeks growing hot at the words leaving his mouth. For a moment you wonder if Yeosang has ever been with anyone like that, if he’s taken a sip of the Desiderium, if he ever thinks of getting that kind of… boost. 

You shake your head to hopefully rid yourself of the thought, “I get it. But if he uses it on anyone,” you shoot him a sideways glance, “I can’t let that slide. I won’t be a bystander. You have to tell me.” 

Yeosang nods what seems like a thousand times in a millisecond, “I will, I promise.” 

You push out a heavy breath, forcing your eyes back on your book, you had three more potions to get through for his exam on Monday. Blinking at the page, brain drifting back to the Desiderium… No. 

“What’s next?” His voice is soft, as if he’s gracefully pulling you out of your mind, as if he could read it. You swallow. 

“Sleeping draft,” your voice is so low it’s basically a whisper, turning the page, trying to ignore how the energy in the room feels different. Charged. Maybe two curious brains instead of one. You don’t look up, “Ingredients?” 

He leans onto the table, two elbows pressed to the wood, his chin buried between them. He tilts his head to the side, giving you a view of his pretty cheekbones, the side of his face that didn’t have the birthmark. You glue your eyes to the book. Yeosang is barely even your friend, just a guy you tutor– But you wonder if his thoughts mirrored yours at all, even if you shouldn’t think of him that way at all. 

“Water,” he’s mumbling, his tone half bored, “Um, Lavender.”

“This one’s a breeze,” you try to push some encouragement into your tone, “One more ingredient, and then tell me how it’s brewed.”

A small breath passes through his lips, “Uh,” he closes his eyes for a moment, “Mint.”

His lips are so shiny– wet, like he’d just swiped his tongue over them. The loose pieces of hair hanging out of his ponytail lay over his creamy skin, the rich color a contrast to the pink on his cheeks still present. 

“No, chamomile.” 

Shit. You didn’t even hear him get it wrong. 

“Hey,” he picks his head up, eyeing you from the table, “I thought you said cursing is foul.”

You said that out loud? “It is,” your chuckle is nervous, “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he smiles, the S in sorry slurred by his slight lisp. The sound brings an unfamiliar warmth to your chest, a smile on your cheeks. In a rush, you turn your head back to the book. 

“Okay,” you heave a breath in an attempt to push the weird air away from the two of you, “Water, lavender, chamomile. Tell me how it’s brewed.”

Yeosang groans, sitting up straight, “I can’t focus.”

“Fill your cup,” you jut your chin in the direction of the mind-sharpening potion in the corner of the room, “Actually, can you pour me one, too?” 

He nods, untangling himself from the bench to walk over to the bar-cart, and you suck in a deep breath that isn’t full of Yeosang’s air. You don’t know what’s going on in your chest, or why the mention of Desiderium has you both feeling weird, or maybe it was just you that was weird. It was always just you, the untouched one who has no experience that feels weird when anything sex-related is brought up. Yeosang is probably fine. 

Your eyes pick up to his fingers wrapped around the handle of the jar, watching how the veins that climb up his forearm like vines strain while he fills two goblets. You’ve always known Yeosang is attractive, anyone with eyes could see it. He’s popular amongst the girls in your year, your house, other houses, even. He’s kind, genuine, soft, but you’ve never really thought about him that way, never had anything to add to the conversation, because you know him as the timid dumbass you tutor in every single subject. 

“Do you want any mint?” He asks from the cart, and you nod your head, mumbling your thanks. 

Always kind, with his deep voice and the muted rose colored kiss mark on his temple, funny in the way that has you shaking your head because his humor was so silly it was almost childish. He always opens the door for you to the study room, pulls out the heavy bench if the last group to occupy the room pushed it in too far. Chivalrous. Sweet. Gorgeous. 

You’re taking it from his hand by the time he walks back to the bench and gulping down the cup in four massive swallows. You need to focus on tutoring him, not how pretty he looks when he’s smiling or how words fall off his lips like each one is a spell. 

When his empty goblet hits the oak you plant your hands on the wooden table before you, mind already feeling sharper. “Okay, seriously now, this one’s easy.” You shoot him another sideways glance. “Tell me how it’s brewed.”

“Bring the water to a slow boil,” you’re both nodding with his words, “Add lavender and stir twenty times.”

“Twenty-one,” you correct, and his smile blooms again. You shudder. 

“Add chamomile and let it simmer for twenty minutes.”

“Ah, that’s where twenty came from.”

“Add purslane for nightmares,” he hums, a low, ruddy sound, “Add ginger for some kick.”

“I’m proud of you,” you say matter-of-factly, “You even answered questions I didn’t ask yet.”

“I told you I studied!” He’s smiling wide and bright, “I know how you work now, how you ask questions. I know the question before it’s on your tongue.”

You think both of your eyes widen at the same time. An innocent statement, nothing behind it, but the word tongue… Right now… Why is there a heat blooming in the pit of your stomach?

He must feel it too, with the way his eyes dart for his lap, fingers twisting together above his slacks. You swallow again, robes feeling heavy on your skin, the air of the room feeling hotter. 

“The next is, um,” you’re blinking rapidly as you flip the page, “Uh, deflating draft. Antidote for the… Swelling solution, it reduces… Um, swelling… And size.”

You can feel the sheen of sweat on your forehead growing rapidly. You’re twisting your neck in discomfort, your clothes too fucking hot, you shimmy off your robe, letting it fall over back of the bench. 

There’s an intake of breath on your left, and your head turns to Yeosang who’s already staring at you, his pupils blown. Eyes wider. Nostrils flared in a way that told you he was on alert. 

“Ingredients?” You squeak, swallowing down the spit that keeps forming in your mouth. What the fuck is going on right now?

“Water, wood sorrel,” his voice is monotonous, as if he was reading a script, mind somewhere else, but his eyes are still locked on you. His voice deepens, a low hum, “Sagebrush, aloe, powdered galangal.” 

Your thighs tighten. Has he always sounded that way? Sultry? Sexy?

You clear your throat as his fingers stop twisting together on his lap, he crosses his leg over his knee and throws his robe over his slacks. Your jaw locks, the movement shoving his smell into your space, and the scent becomes a feeling. A low rumbling in your gut, a blooming heat turned to sparks ignited. 

“How- Um, How do you brew it? The potion?” You’re obvious. You’re internally smacking the shit out of yourself because it’s so fucking obvious you’re horny, it might as well be written on your forehead. 

Yeosang looses a shaky breath, you can hear how it staggers, you can feel how it reaches your hair, moving it across your blouse. Still in that sultry, alluring tone, he says, “Boil the water, and– fuck, add the woodsorrel and sagebrush.”

You don’t scold him for the curse. He continues, “Don’t stir, make sure they’re submer- ah, under water, under the water completely. Submerged, yeah.” 

Your ears are red-hot, body tingling, you can feel the stickiness growing between your legs like it did when you’re ovulating. And his voice, his voice, your shoulders slouch listening to him, getting lost in how clear he sounds in the depth of his words. Breathily, you say, “Keep going.”

He groans. Groans. Your eyes squeeze shut, head dipped down, hair creating a veil so he can’t see you. It feels unbearable– the fire burning so brightly in your gut, your body felt like a livewire, if he so much as brushed his skin against you, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to hold back. 

“Lower the temp to a simmer, add the aloe,” your eyes slide to where his fists curl around his robe, knuckles white. In a low grumble, he says, “Fuck Wooyoung.”

Your head perks up, eyes widening as you face him, and as soon as he sees your face his eyes close immediately, lips curling together. “Shit, I can’t even look at you right now.”

“Why?” You ask, barely noticing how heavy your breath has gotten. You were nearly panting now, lips wet and swollen, “Why fuck Wooyoung? What did he do?” 

He looked flushed, his cheeks bright pink, his ears tipped red, his birthmark was so dark. You wanted to kiss it, lick it, his eyelashes so beautiful, you wanted to see them closer–

“He used it,” he cracks an eye open, “The Desiderium.”

You blink, eyes sliding to the pair of empty goblets on the table, then back to him. “Like, on us?”

Both of his eyes are open now, but they dance around the room, never landing on you. “Yes, on us, we drank it. I don’t– I don’t know how much, but it was in the potion jar on the cart, we- we drank it.” 

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, but somehow the air filling your lungs feels good, “Oh shit.” 

Panic doesn’t seem to find you. You’d left yourself entirely, entering a bubble of lust and arousal, feeling the burn inside your body with nothing to fucking smother it. Your eyes drop to his robe, the breadth of his shoulders, the veins dancing on his wrists while his fists still curl around the fabric. 

“What do we do?” He asks you, eyebrows shot up, “What’s the anecdote?!”

“Don’t know,” you mumble dreamily as your eyes catch onto his jaw, his tongue that pokes between his lips as he speaks. He’s so pretty, so big and so muscular but so beautiful, you wonder if he tastes as sweet as he looks. 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath and it sounds like a compliment. 

You smile, head tilting, hand reaching forward to play with one of the hairs that frame his face. His eyes widen when you take it between your fingers, twirling it, knuckles brushing against his face. The millisecond of contact, of skin on skin, you can feel it like you’d just stuck your hand between your legs. 

He moans. 

He moans, and your entire world is flipped upside down. 

Your eyes lock together, a question neither of you want to ask, have to ask. 

Pride was a thing of the past by the time you climbed into Yeosang’s lap, legs splintered by his hips, mouths messily tangling together as if you were trying to swallow each other whole. You could feel him pressed up against you— hard chest, hard abdomen, hard cock— every inch of you was touched by him, consumed by him, burning, steaming, you were sure when you lifted your heads the windows would be fogged over. 

Panting into each other’s mouths like dogs, his tongue dragged across yours hastily, harshly, his lips bruising yours with blatant force. Your hands held onto his nape, fingertips tangled in the slick of his ponytail, pulling stray hairs out every time your fingers twitched. 

“Shit—” he breathed, somewhere between a moan and a gasp, a nasty, brutal sound. You moaned at the sound of his voice, shameless and completely involuntary, head dropping at how it rumbled from his chest. 

“We,” he tilted his head back as your lips moved to his jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses down his throat, tongue lapping at every inch of skin as if you’d taste his very soul. His hands land on your hips, heavy and rough, “I can’t—”

“I need it,” you sound breathless, murmuring into his skin, “I need you to do something, need you to touch me, Yeosang.” 

He moans again at how his name falls off your lips, high-pitched, eyes screwed tight with his hips bucking up at how gone you sound. Your hips grind into him, panties pressed against his slacks, skirt blanketing over where your hips met. 

“We’re not in our,” his groan is breathy, strained, as if he was fighting it off, “Right minds. We shouldn’t be doing this here.” 

“I don’t care,” your hands slide to his cheeks, feeling the heat beneath them, hips still working their dirty, slow grind, meeting his eye. “You want it, don’t you? You do, right?” 

He’s nodding before you finish the question, “I want it, I want you, in this skirt, your face, fuck—”

Your lips curl, parting, leaning forward to attack his again, tongue slipping into his mouth like its made a home there. This heat, this urgency, you didn’t care how you looked, how you sounded, if you were doing this right, it was incredible. Empowering. It was a fleeting thought, how you’ve never done this before, how you’ve gone so long without doing this. 

His hands find your top while your lips stay locked, fingers nimble, making haste as they undo the tiny buttons lining your chest and abdomen. He pushes the cotton off your shoulders, throwing it to the floor, face lighting up when he sees the baby pink bra adorning your chest.  

“Are you sure?” He mumbles as he pulls back, eyes zeroed in on your chest, as if he couldn’t force himself to meet your eye if he tried. You wonder how he still has so much self control, yours was gone the moment the goblet touched your lips. “I need, need you to say yes, I—”

“Please, yes, do something.” 

A hand slides under your ass, lifting you at the same time as the backs of his knees push the bench out from behind him. One hand clears the table while the other keeps you close, and then your ass is pressed to the bare wood, his palms pressing your shoulders back until you feel the steam of the wet slab of wood meet your burning skin. 

“Yeosang!” You squeal, the cold a shock, but a comfort. He grunts in response, pulling his wand from his pants, quickly charming the door locked, the room soundproof, two spells you’d taught him to master two weeks ago. 

“I’m sorry,” he growls and it doesn’t sound like an apology at all, especially not when he peels his robe from his shoulders, pulling his sweater vest over his head, more stray hairs framing his face. His voice is dazed now, low, here but far as he starts to unbutton his own shirt, “I can’t risk someone hearing or coming in, I need you, I need to do whatever, everything, I need all of you.” 

Your body tightens at his words, at how desperate he sounds, the only thing you want right now is for him to take all of you. You want him shameless, you want him impolite, you want him so far from kind he isn’t Yeosang at all anymore. 

You spread your knees, bare thighs pressed to the wood, skirt hiked up to your hips. He gasps when he bends while pulling his pants down, eye to eye with your heat atop the table, a low groan rips from his chest again. 

“You’re soaked,” still dazed, eyes locked again, he spoke to himself more than to you. “I want— can I taste you?” 

“Stop asking,” you mutter, anticipation carbonating your very blood, “Do everything like you promised.” 

He’s on his knees then, fingers hooked into the elastic of your baby pink panties, tugging them down your legs. He pulls your hips to the end of the table and the back of your head meets the wood, sighing in relief when the thick air meets your core, gasping again when you feel cool breath pushed into your glistening folds. 

He wastes no time licking a stripe up your center, moaning so loud when his tongue slides between your folds, and the noise, the pleasure makes your back arch. It's barely a thought in your mind that no one’s seen you there, that no one’s had their mouth there— you didn’t care, you needed it. You needed more. 

Your hands fly to his hair, fingertips sliding into his tightly bound ponytail, nails clawing at his scalp, sounds of pleasure ripping from your chest one after another. It felt so good, so wet, you’ve never experienced anything like it, this burn in your core, how every nerve ending in your body seemed to ignite. 

When the tip of one of his fingers prod at your entrance your body locks, thighs squeezing against his head, it felt foreign and weird but good and confusing. He hums against your clit, lips wrapped around it, lightly sucking as he slips inside slowly, groaning into you when he gets past his first knuckle. 

He pulls back, “You’re tight.” 

You can’t see him, but you moan in response, words escaping you before you can think about them, “Stretch me out then.” 

With more force he curls his finger inside and your back lifts from the wood, an elbow sliding behind you, holding yourself up as a wrecked, ragged, guttural moan escapes you. “Keep doing that,” you breathe, “Oh my god, Yeosang, do that again.” 

His eyes flick up to yours and they’re so dark, his pupils so wide, with his hair so messy and his features so deep he almost seemed menacing. He shakes his head, fingers pulling from your core, mouth detaching from your folds, you feel empty.

He doesn’t sound like himself anymore, raw, restless, “Can’t, can’t take it anymore.” 

Your back meets the wood again as he tugs his deep red briefs down to his thighs, rock hard and leaking cock slapping up between veiny hips, his chin tucked to his chest. He grips himself, knuckles white around the base of his cock as he stares at your core, still glistening, pulsing for him. 

“Inside,” you nearly cry, knees bending upward, spreading yourself wide. His eyes meet yours and there’s no uncertainty, no pause, no patience. 

He lines himself up, mushroom tip poking at your entrance that’s never felt more than his finger, your breath hitched in your throat. Your face tightens as he slips himself inside, a cry leaving your lips once the fat tip pushes past your folds, a relieving yet strangled sigh when he sheathes himself fully. 

“You have to— I’m not gonna,” his eyes are screwed shut, mouth hanging open, lips glossy and wet, hands planted on either side of the table. He’s moaning now, higher in pitch and you’re trying to calm your breathing, locked in on how he feels like he’s splintering your stomach. 

Overwhelming but everything, he’s huge, everything about him. Your eyes flutter, open and closed, watching how his curved shoulders flex, how the veins on his arms swim up to his biceps, the chiseled abs on his torso, stuck in a time-warp of constant enduring how he splits you open. 

“I gotta move,” he’s panting all over again, “Open up for me, baby.” 

Your breath hitches at the pet name, pulsing around him, clenching around his length. A muddled groan leaves his lips as everything freezes, his fingers on the table, his abdomen, his eyes, you feel warm. Full. He curses through an ear-piercing moan, pulling out halfway, chest heaving, and then he mutters, “Shit, I just came.” 

You lean up on your elbows, eyeing him through wet lashes, “What?” 

But then he’s grabbing you, a strong, sticky forearm wrapping around your torso, pulling you into him, his mouth sloppy against yours once more. He whines into your lips as he starts thrusting inside you again and you’re speechless, frozen, drool spilling down your unmoving lips as his cock curves upward, hitting that same spot from before. 

“Gods, baby, you gotta open up or I’m gonna cum again,” he says through a ragged breath, hips quickening their pace, the slick inside you letting him move so easily. 

“I can’t,” you whimper, chin tipping back, hands braced on the table behind you. “It feels so good, Yeo,” you snap your head back down, “I didn’t- I didn’t know it felt so good.” 

His eyes flicker to yours, a question on his tongue he didn’t need to ask, he didn’t want to stop. Selfishly he fucks into you faster, harder, hands planted on your hips as he drinks up every moan and cry that leaves your lips. 

His head hangs low, sweat dripping past his collarbones, down his abdomen, your legs hook around his waist, knee socks and penny loafers slamming into his too-hot skin. 

“I need,” you shake your head, throat dry, the pleasure was too much. Too overwhelming. “Sit down, sit, sit sit sit.” 

In one quick motion he’s scooping you up, sitting back on the bench, your knees landing on either side of him with your hands planted on his shoulders. 

You bounce as soon as you gain leverage, ignoring the immediate burn in your thighs as your forehead falls to his shoulder, lips pressed to his skin with sounds of pleasure stringing together in a continuous song. He’s somehow deeper, the pleasure more intense, a pit of blazing heat that grows stronger, you can’t keep yourself upright. 

His grip on your hips is steady, grounding in the swirl of sweat and spit and lust, bouncing you effortlessly, keeping you moving in rhythm. His voice is low and strained again, “Want you to cum around my cock, baby.” 

You cry, hips twitching against him, the pit in your stomach growing hotter, stronger. His lips press against your burning skin and you moan, his tongue is heavy and sopping wet as he licks up the sweat along your jaw, whispering, “Rub your clit for me, baby, please.”

Your nails claw into his shoulders harder, stomach clenching, a cry leaving your lips after the words leave his mouth, your orgasm was right there, right on the brink. You clench around him, hips stuttering when a low groan leaves Yeosang’s lips, so low and rumbled it makes the rubber band snap. 

Your moans slur together you cum around his length, his firm hands on your hips fucking you through it as if you were weightless, nothing but a fucktoy for him to use. His huff of a laugh is in amusement and disbelief, “You came? Just like that?” 

Winded, cheeks hot and body stinging, you nod, head tipping back, needing the air of the room on your skin. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, “I need to cum again, need to fill this pussy one more time.” 

His arm wraps around your waist one more time and you’ve submitted to the fact that you could be just a toy for him to use forever. You’re on the floor in a flash, knees pressed to hardwood, your palms braced before you, on all fours. 

He slips back in and you fold, chest pressed to the hardwood, cheek hot against the floor, elbows bent with your palms still braced on either side of you. He fucks into you ruthlessly, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room, his hands heavy and hot against you. 

You’re jelly, body moving with his, muscles barely holding you up anymore. You’re sure drool is puddled beside your mouth, sounds leaving you that you couldn’t hear, a mess of overwhelming, blinding pleasure. 

“Want you to cum again,” he says from behind you and all you can do is cry. Tears fill your waterline and spill down your cheeks, into your mouth, mixing with the drool on the floor. 

He’s so fucking deep you swear he’s in your throat, his rhythm sloppy but merciless, cockhead kissing your cervix. He slips a hand around your front, two fingers pressed against your clit, rubbing quick circles as he leans down, panting against your back. 

“T-Too much,” you cry, nails clawing into the hardwood, shoulders shaking with each sob. 

“You can,” he’s straining like he’s on the brink of his own orgasm, “Come on, baby. Cum with me, c’mon.” 

You focus on his hand between your legs, his cock drilling into you, the pit in your stomach filling with pressure again. You choke, on your breath or your tears or your spit you weren’t sure, breath getting caught in your lungs as he pushes you closer, your orgasm so close to could taste it. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you choke out, voice utterly raw, words slurred and muffled. 

“Yes,” he moans, “Mm, fuck, yes, so good for me, cum around my cock.” 

Your body locks, joints tightening at his words, orgasm rushing over you like a tidal wave. His grip on your hip is blinding, he’s focusing on fucking you through it, keeping his rhythm precise, his angle perfect, “Yes, that’s it, baby. So tight— fuck, you’re so— fuck.” 

He’s spilling into you again, filling you with that sticky warmth, that fullness you felt before. You moan together, shameless and debauched as his thrusts slow down, then he’s pausing, fully sheathed, the only sounds in the room being your heaving breaths. 

“Oh my gods,” he takes a deep, shuddering breath, heavy hands running over your shaking, hot skin. Down your back, landing on your hips, he pulls you backward as he sits on his heels. 

You land over his chest, cock still buried inside you, head flopping back over his shoulder. He moves your hair from your face, thumb swiping below your lips, cleaning off the drool. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, panic in his tone. 

You nod, still pulling breath into your lungs, eyes softly closed. “I didn’t know, I didn’t know,” you repeat with a shake of your head, “That sex felt so good, Yeosang.” 

You crack an eye and he’s beet red, half his hair pulled out of his ponytail, framing his face like a mural. He’s so fucking beautiful. 

“I didn’t know that you haven’t had sex before,” his voice is quiet, tone raw, you both needed water. “I’m going to kill Wooyoung.” 

“No,” you shake your head, dry swallowing, “No, thank him.” 

“Thank him?” Yeosang repeats, eyebrows raised. 

Your smile is lazy, tired, a slow chuckle tumbling off your tongue, “I don’t think the Desiderium wore off yet.” 

His cock twitches inside you, still rock fucking hard, he blushes even deeper, “You wanna go again?” 

“It’s a form of studying,” you shrug, breaths finally slowing, “You can tell Wooyoung exactly how it works.” 

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