We don’t know each other, I don’t think. But one of your posts ended up under my suggested feed thingy, and now I’m here and I think the aesthetic of your blog is cute as shit. Kay bye! Have a good day/night <3!
aw you’re the sweetest ☹️ i usually pair my tumblr theme with my phone theme bc i just love the aesthetics of it!! thank you so much!!!
warnings: mentions of abuse, domestic violence, graphic descriptions of dismemberment & murder, yunho is quite literally scum of the earth, body horror, torture, no justice for mc :( please let me know if i missed anything and as always, MDNI
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Present day, 12:00 a.m., three years later.
As my body dies, as the bugs and maggots reach my mouth, one by one they will chew and swallow every word I never had the courage to say. Every scream I choked back, every breath I wasted on hope—they will take it all.
All because of him.
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Three years earlier.
Life is not something you understand until it ends. I thought I had all the answers at twenty-three. I was wrong.
I met Jeong Yunho in my senior year of college. He was charming, popular, the kind of guy girls whispered about. He didn’t sleep around. Didn’t party. He told people he was waiting for the right girl so he could treat her like a princess.
The day we met, he bought my coffee without asking.
“You didn’t have to,” I said, smiling.
“But I wanted to. You have such a beautiful smile.” His own smile was warm, disarming.
We talked for hours. Two weeks later he asked me out, and I said yes. He took me to an Italian restaurant and paid for everything. More dates followed—picnics, late-night drives, soft kisses that made me feel chosen. By graduation, we were the couple everyone envied.
When he suggested we move in together, he made it sound like a fairytale.
“I’ll take care of everything, pretty girl. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”
So we did.
And that’s when the mask slipped.
At first it was small things: I had to greet him at the door the second he got home. Dinner had to be ready. The house had to be spotless. If I got it wrong, his jaw would tighten, and he’d say, “I do so much for you. Is this really too much to ask?”
Then came the first slap. Then the punches. Then the kicks that left me curled on the living room rug, tasting blood.
He started burning me. Holding my hand on the hot stove while I screamed. Drowning me in the bathtub until my lungs burned. And when I tried to call for help, the knives came out.
He carved words into my skin and made me stare at them for hours. Mine. Stupid. Worthless.
The last night, I screamed out the window while he was in the shower. Just one desperate, broken scream.
He dragged me to the bedroom, hand crushing my throat. “You think someone’s going to save you?”
He threw me into the wall so hard two ribs snapped. I fought—threw lamps, chairs, anything—but he was bigger, faster, angrier. He broke my wrist like it was nothing. Then he picked up the knife.
Forty-six times.
Even after I stopped breathing, he kept going.
He dissolved my flesh in chemicals. Scooped out my brain. Took a cleaver to what was left of me. He kept my head intact the longest, almost like a trophy, before he buried it deep in the woods near an abandoned factory.
I’ll never know what became of him.
But I know what became of me.
And as my body dies, as the bugs and the maggots reach my mouth, one by one they will chew and swallow every word I never had the courage to say. Every scream I couldn’t let go of, every breath I ever took—they will take it all.
For anybody not caught up: Tennessee just passed a new map that pretty much makes it so black neighborhoods have no power in local votes. Two things about this. While protestors were chanting "No Jim Crow", white Tennessee lawmakers were caught laughing on video. On top of this, Representative Justin Pearson and his brother KeShaun Pearson were arrested for trying to give their takes on the matter (which is not only their legal right but literally his job). If you give a shit about black people, help fight this. We can't allow a return to Jim Crow.
Thirty minutes since he touched you last, since he meticulously undressed you and laid you down on the pool table next to his DJ’ing equipment. He had just finished his set, turned the camera off and checked that the recording came out alright before he packed it away in its travel case. Then, he had turned to you, waiting for him on the couch just off-screen.
Most of the day had been spent shopping in the city, both high-end and thrift stores alike. Doesn’t matter that your boyfriend is worth millions, he still is a firm believer that thrifts can hold valuable gems of clothing that luxury ones don’t. He throws so much money at you on a regular basis, but especially in Los Angeles. The air of celebrities gets to your boyfriend like no other place in the world. It’s like his own celebrity alter ego takes over as soon as the plane lands at LAX. Suddenly you’re in a 1960’s Cadillac convertible, top down and driving through Malibu. You walk out of multiple designer stores with a member of staff carrying your bags to the car. Every five-star restaurant has a reserved, private table waiting for you.
Honestly though, you’re just happy to be able to spend some time with your boyfriend. Chronically busy and a workaholic, it’s nice to come here and see him relax for once. You love that he invites you to the recording studios, getting the chance to watch your boyfriend work with artists he has loved for years, learning more and teaching them in return. He lets his guard down as much as he’s able to – there’s still fans he has to be careful of – and he has the chance to be authentically himself in every way.
Including tonight.
Everything nice and doting about him changes once the sun goes down. The celebrity ego has its own dark side, too.
The single, overhead light makes you feel like a bug under a microscope. A spotlight that highlights everything he’s not doing to you. Something about the Los Angeles air brings out his inner rich socialite, as well as the hidden sadist within him. Every time you’re here with him, you always leave with marked skin and a renewed submission to your boyfriend.
By the looks of it, this trip won’t be any different.
Hongjoong’s left you alone and untouched, splayed open on this fucking pool table for thirty minutes. You glare at his hoodie, that he still hasn’t taken off. An offending extra layer that keeps him away from you. Meanwhile, there’s not a stitch of clothing, or fabric of any kind for that matter, anywhere near you. You have a sneaking suspicion he’ll float the idea of you not wearing anything tomorrow as well.
Perv.
He massages the back of his neck, torturing you with quiet groans. He knows what he’s doing. And yet you can’t say or do anything about it. You could, but then there’s a really good chance of not being touched or fucked at all for the rest of the trip. That threat is enough to keep you right where you are. No matter how much you want to reach for him and complain that you’ve been waiting long enough, he’ll only make you wait longer.
One time, he fully left you for two hours, even closing the door behind him. He can and will make you wait.
He stretches his neck and sighs, finally looking down at you again. You can’t help but whimper, a quiet plea to do something to you already. But he just smirks, electing to ghost his fingertips just above your skin. So close you can almost taste it, but not feel anything at all. It’s maddening.
The smirk widens just a little. Enough to drive you crazier than before.
“Shhh… stay still, love. Don’t move.” He whispers, just barely tracing your cheek with his lips and letting the warmth of his breath linger. So you’re sure to feel him even when he steps away. Bastard.
You watch him through teary eyes, walk around the pool table and towards the kitchen. You hear a wine bottle open with a quiet pop! and he slowly pours himself a glass. Taking all the time in the world to do so. You want to cry for him to come back, to whine that you need him. But even more than that, you want to be good. So, you try to relax, your back pressing into the hard woolen felted surface of the pool table, and your tailbone digging uncomfortably into the raised side of it.
You are so hyperfocused and yet delirious at the same time. It’s like your body can’t function properly without him. Every sound coming from the kitchen is heightened, the soft sound of a cabinet closing behind you may as well have been a gunshot. Your eyes burn and start to turn dry from being directly under the light.
He walks back over to the pool table at a leisurely pace. Wine glass in one hand, phone in the other. He doesn’t even pay attention to you as he comes back into your line of sight. A sharp pang hits you in the chest, makes your eyebrows turn up, tears ready to fall again.
God. When he wants to be, he can really be mean.
He scrolls through Instagram and his messages until half of his wine is gone. He makes you watch the whole thing.
Not soon enough, he eventually pockets his phone and takes another sip. Casual, and calm. Your breaths are short as you wait. Your whole nervous system is shot to hell by now with the amount of anticipation with no reward. But this is how it is. This is what you love.
And he loves to see you like this, completely exposed in every conceivable way possible. Open and raw, emotionally and physically. He can watch the whole process play out right in front of him; how you gradually and inevitably fall apart. Because of him. Only for him. All of this is for his eyes only, and that might just be the best part. His darling girl, reduced to a teary, begging mess without even being touched.
Not yet.
Outside of these types of scenarios, he hates seeing you cry. He’s so protective of you, always making sure you’re safe and happy, and always knowing full well how much he loves you. He spoils you in everyday life. He can afford to humble you during times like these.
Embarrassment creeps up the back of your neck as you look up at him, trying to ignore how you’re on full display. Not only in front of him, but also in front of the entire city. The sprawling, lit-up landscape of Los Angeles stretches across the view of the floor-to-ceiling windows, your audience for the night. Although, this may be the closest you’ll ever get to Hongjoong showing you off like this to people. No, this is just his. No one will ever get to see you like this. The visual of you in such a state is for his eyes only.
But sometimes, even he likes to flirt with the idea of a whole city being an unknowing audience to your unraveling. Courtesy of one Kim Hongjoong.
It’s starting to drive you crazy that you can’t see him. But this is part of it. The power play. A clear statement of dominance over you that you can do nothing about, apart from waiting for him to join you ‘on your level’. He’s got you so bad like this that now every time he so much as takes off his watch, you look at him expectantly, ready to do whatever he wants. Wherever, whenever.
You take a couple deep breaths and close your eyes to calm down. Luckily, he lets you. Sometimes he doesn’t let you look away from him at all, but he allows you this small mercy for now. A small solace you find is that you can just focus on the familiar scent of his cologne. You designate that scent with safety and home. It’s one of the only things that can keep you sane throughout this ordeal. At least he’s here, in close proximity. You’d rather him be in the room with you, just barely touching you, than outside and not at all.
A small ‘please’ tumbles from your lips, barely audible. But he hears it. He draws absentminded shapes into the felt of the table right next to your ribs. Tantalizingly close. Centimeters away from the bare minimum.
“Hm?” He tilts his head, taunting you further.
You squeeze your eyes shut even tighter, humiliation burning your cheeks, but he snaps his fingers twice, right by your ear, making you open them again.
“You want something, darling?” He asks.
You nearly explode. He knows damn well that you’re about ready to drool and pant for him like a dog. Hell, you’ll even start barking for him if that’s what will get him to touch you. Do something. You have to remember the payoff, although it’s nearly impossible while stuck in the middle of this torture.
But if you want something, you have to ask. Nicely.
“I want you, Joong. Please?”
He doesn’t respond right away. He just continues drawing his little circular patterns next to you, letting his eyes travel up and down your body. Nothing is hidden from him.
If you move your leg slightly to the left, you’ll touch him. The thought is so tempting. Just for one second of contact with him. He knows, too. He inches himself closer, silently daring you to do it. You can almost feel the fabric of his hoodie. A mix of swears and curses directed at him stays stuck in your head. You wouldn’t dare say any of them out loud.
“‘Want me’, huh?” He echoes you with a small smile, “You don’t need me?”
Dammit. Fuck! You want to slap a hand over your mouth, as if that will erase what you said. Now you’ve done it.
“I do need you, I misspoke, I’m sorry. Please, I need you so badly, please touch me.” You scramble to try and do some damage control. But your stupid word choice has already dictated his next actions.
When he moves farther away from you again, you almost reach for him, desperate to pull him back, but he shoots you a deadly glare when he sees your arm twitch to do so. You go rigid again, keeping your arms glued to the table, by your side, just like he told you. Thankfully, he lets it slide. A strike one.
There will not be a strike two.
He walks around the table, out of your sight again, but you hear and feel him right behind you. If you crane your neck and risk a pulled muscle there, you’d be able to see him. When you feel him brush his fingers through the ends of your hair, you stop breathing. One wrong breath, too loud or too sharp could ruin it all. You refuse to even chance that happening.
It’s unclear how long he stays there. You count the minutes by how many airplanes pass by the windows – seven – and the amount of distant police sirens somewhere down in the maze of streets – two. Your eyes threaten to flutter closed. Getting your hair played with is a well-known way to make you sleepy. Maybe that’s what he wants, for you to be caught in the middle of consciousness. It sounds like a nice place to be. You’re already halfway there.
You’re almost drifting when his voice snaps you out of it, low and velvety right by your ear.
“So beautiful,” he says, watching you blush. “I wanna hear my pretty girl beg for me again.”
A small noise escapes you, half whine, half hum of agreement. You repeat your previous plea, with the correct wording this time, and pray that that’s enough to persuade him to touch you more than he is right now. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t give you any hints that you’re on the right track, getting close to what you want – or, need.
“Please,” you try to look up as far as you can, trying to find him. “Joongie…please?”
His hands leave your hair entirely, and you panic.
“W-wait–!” Now you really try to crane your neck to see him, see what he’s doing. If he’s about to leave you. “Please, I’ll be good! I wanna be your good girl, Joongie, please stay.”
You can just barely see the hood of his sweatshirt, and an ounce of relief is granted to you. He’s not going anywhere. Not yet, anyway. You wait for him to say something, to tell you what you did wrong. Nothing comes.
Instead, in the prolonged silence, that’s when his hands return. Brushing through your hair like he never left. This time, he even touches your scalp, and you freeze again.
“Beg.” He directs again.
But you… you are. He just asked you to. Are you not doing it the way he wants you to? You double down, being more specific. Again, you do as you’re told. You beg him in all the ways you know how. But he’s determined to push you further, deeper into near hysteria. The threat of a potential second strike looms over you, it stays right next to that damn overhead light. Tears well up, a couple of them escape past your waterline and disappear into your hairline by your ears.
Hongjoong takes his hands away once more.
“Beg.”
Now you’re borderline sobbing.
“I-I’m– hm– try-trying,” you whimper pathetically, “I don’t know what else you w-wanna hear.”
Your hand moves to wipe your tears, but you remember his first order, given to you thirty minutes ago when this all started: don’t touch. Not you, not him. Don’t try to fix yourself. He wants to see what he does to you, how everything affects you.
“Just beg, darling. Keep begging me.”
And you do. For a good chunk of time that feels like eighty years, you beg him. Over and over. A warbling, incoherent, repeated ramble of pleas and promises that fall on seemingly deaf ears. He just lets his eyes wander over your body, listens to your desperation, touches you where you don’t need him. It’s humiliating. He watches greedily as a new wave of sobs wrack through you, hopeless and discouraged. And still trying. You’re almost afraid to stop.
“Please, please, please touch me, I’ll do anything. Please, Joong, I just need you. I need you so bad, please do something.” You punctuate your begging with fresh, hot tears rolling down your cheeks.
Hongjoong moves back around the table again, getting just a little too close to you, and the slight breeze of his movement against your core is almost too much. His gaze is fixated on how you clench seemingly around nothing, and the glistening of your lower lips under this lone overhead light. Like a spotlight. You’re the star.
You’re his star.
He leans over you, caging you between his arms on the pool table. He’s careful to not touch you at all though. Still. A sick part of him wants to see just how long it’ll take for you to snap. Or, if you will at all. You’re a tough little fighter.
Your begging becomes quieter, more spaced out. Tiny hiccups of pleas flow from your lips, trying to figure out new ways to phrase what you want, new tactics to convince him. It’s just repetitive rambling, nearly incoherent and watery. You’re beginning to become completely hopeless. You doubt that he even had plans to touch you like that at all tonight. You’re just kidding yourself. It’s humiliating.
You want to close your legs and preserve some of your dignity, but you know it belongs to him. Everything does. Body and mind, heart and soul. Any honor or dignity has already been handed over to Hongjoong a long time ago, and he ultimately decides what to do with them. Plus, if you’re wrong and he does plan on giving you what you want, and you do something to make him change his mind, that’s worse. That’s always worse. Last time you were in West Hollywood with him, that happened, and he didn’t touch you until you got back to South Korea.
That was the worst seventy-two hours of your life.
So, defeated, your legs stay right where they are, heels digging uncomfortably into the raised wooden edge of the pool table. Another plane goes by – eight – and you can hear a car blasting music as it crawls up the road, passing by the rented house and disappearing up into the hills.
You look up at Hongjoong, face flushed and puffy from crying. The way he gazes down at you makes your heart flutter. There’s such a deep love for you, pure adoration in his eyes that makes the wait worth it. You know that by now, you probably look crazy, but none of that matters to him. On the contrary. To him, you look beautiful. So beautiful when you’re this desperate for him. God, he feels so lucky.
He supposes he can be a bit nicer to you.
A large part of his confident attitude tonight is because of where he caught your eyes straying during his set. Rarely did you look away from his hands, manipulating sound and tempo, switching the vibe seamlessly, each song flowing into the other. Ending on a remix of ‘In Your Fantasy’ was particularly diabolical, and that’s what cued you in, in terms of what awaited you tonight. A hint meant for you, shown to the entire world.
He takes a moment to think about how nice he wants to be right now. Specifically in terms of whether or not he’ll take his hoodie off. You know all too well that he’s wearing a T-shirt underneath it, and he knows just how much you like seeing his tattoo while he touches you. Who knows what it is about it, but whatever it is, the sight of it flexing with his bicep as he fingers you makes you absolutely feral. You tend to finish quicker when his tattoo is out – which is something you think he doesn’t know.
Oh, he absolutely does.
You’re lucky, he decides. Since he has been particularly mean, and you only have one strike against you, he’ll finally give you what you’ve been begging for all night. He sets his glass down on the edge of the table and takes the hoodie off, unzipping it and tossing it onto the floor somewhere.
Immediately, your eyes go right to his right arm to see the tattoo peeking out from underneath the sleeve. No matter how much you try to conceal how it affects you, your body gives you away. The way your lips part slightly, eyes fixed onto it, how you clench around nothing. If he wants to really be nice, he’ll let you bite it one day.
You’re too focused on that visual, that want, to notice that his hand is moving right towards you.
The first touch feels like an electric shock.
After almost an hour of nothing, feeling his touch all at once nearly sends you spiralling again. Hongjoong cups your cheek, and you can feel the cold metal of his rings cooling your skin. He shushes you quietly when you gasp, not expecting it.
“It’s alright, my love,” he murmurs, placing a lingering kiss on your temple. “I’ve got you.”
Your eyes threaten to flutter shut again. All you can think is: finally. Impatience is something that Hongjoong never rewards. You know that for a fact, but it’s helpful to get a refresher every so often. Even if it drives you up the wall. It’s a hard-learned lesson, one you will remember forever.
Hongjoong ghosts his lips just above yours, hovering there for a few seconds before connecting them. Your hands ball up into fists, wishing for something better to hold onto. Like him. Your back aches for a more comfortable surface to rest on. However, you’ll stay put until he moves you.
With the last of your focus, you kiss him back, trying your best to not come across as needy as you obviously are. There’s no hiding anything with him.
It’s when you start to relax into the kiss that he throws another curveball.
You gasp into his mouth at the sudden pressure against your clit. The pads of his fingers move deliberately slowly in a circular motion, quite similar to how he touched the turntable during his set. His touch is maddeningly gentle. Controlled, calm, and patient.
He doesn’t react. He just continues kissing you, as carefree and relaxed as ever. As if he’s not working you up. Like he has no idea what he’s doing to you.
You’ve been wet without any proper attention for so long today. His fingers find no resistance whatsoever gliding through your folds, teasing you once again by pausing right where your entrance is and then retreating back up to circle your clit.
Whatever happened to being nice?
Hongjoong can’t stop the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth, but he tries to hide it by deepening the kiss. He should start playing fair, but teasing you is just too much fun.
Once your lips part, and his tongue slips into your mouth, that’s when he pushes his fingers into you, sliding in as far as he can reach. He’s timing everything perfectly. Again, you gasp into his mouth. Your tongue puts up no fight for dominance whatsoever, you’re too focused on finally being filled. His free hand presses down on your hip. A silent reminder to keep still, to not chase.
It doesn’t take long at all for you to get close. A low, burning heat in your stomach threatens to overpower you as two of his fingers stoke that fire over and over again. You can feel how much you’re dripping for him. It’s definitely running down his wrist at this very moment. Your cheeks burn again. The once quiet, wet sounds from your core slowly amplify, becoming an audible clue as to how affected you are, and how close you are to coming.
“J-Joongie…” you stutter, struggling to keep your voice steady.
He hums, already knowing.
“Gonna cum, darling?”
You nod, frantically. A loud moan escapes your throat as his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking on it lightly. A shudder runs through you, your body on high alert to all sensations. Your nails threaten to break the skin of your palm. You can only hope he lets you hold onto him at some point tonight.
It seems he has other plans, though.
“Beg,” He says. The dreaded word is accompanied by a wicked grin, and a challenge in his eyes.
You want to pull your hair out, honestly. It would hurt a lot less than this.
Just a single word is enough to make you mentally crack, and he knows that. He can’t help himself, even when he’s being his own version of nice to you. Unbeknownst to you, he has no intention of making you wait that long again, but he loves to see the fear on your face at the possibility of that happening. He just wants to see if you’ll disobey him, try to touch him, make him stop. This is all a sick trust exercise for his own sadistic pleasure.
He curls his fingers deep as he listens to your cries, the repeated pleas, the promises that you’ll do anything, and his favorite: how much you need him.
“Cum for me, darling.” He purrs next to your ear, tilting his head down to watch your body shiver and fall apart around his fingers. His eyes flick back up to your face as your breathing stops, a clear sign that your orgasm is hitting you now. He drinks in every possible detail.
You clench around him hard, calf muscles seizing from how hard you’re tensing. Still, he continues to coax his fingers in and out at a slower pace, unwilling to draw them out just yet. Despite everything, you make sure to thank him once your body starts to come down from the high. You’re truly so grateful he decided that he’ll play with you tonight, and not leave you hanging. You remind yourself to thank Los Angeles in some way as well. Whatever this city does for him, definitely works for you.
Through the small aftershocks, he gently pulls you to sit upright, keeping your head resting on his shoulder to combat any dizziness. The two of you stay like that for a minute or two, just breathing together.
The house is silent again. Your body instantly feels better now that it’s not up against the hard wood of the pool table, if not a little sore. Hongjoong helps you sit up on the edge, your legs dangling off the side. He steps back to look at you properly. But before he can say anything, you beat him to it.
“Can I…?” You gesture towards the growing tent in his pants. Without finishing your sentence, he knows what you want. You may or may not have an oral fixation. Again, it’s something you’ve never fully admitted, but Hongjoong has picked up on the cues and evidence that prove its existence.
He pauses like he’s thinking about it. As if he doesn’t already have a set plan for what he wants to do with you.
“Maybe later,” he hints, helping you off the table.
Once grounded on the floor again, you stand up on your toes to kiss him, but you see that his eyes are locked onto the windows to his right. You look over too, into the skyline. In the stillness of the house, and the lack of any external noise from the city, it really does feel like you’re the only two people in the world right now.
He’ll definitely make you scream like you’re the only two people in the world.
Without wasting any more time, Hongjoong takes your hand and pulls you right up to the window, pressing you against the double-paned glass. Your breath fogs up as you gasp, blurring your view of the city. His hand is firm and flat against your spine, keeping you pinned. With the other, he wraps it around your throat, making you tilt your head back so he can lick and bite your neck. You push back against him, feel any kind of friction possible, and he lets you, enjoying how much you clearly want him to fuck you already.
With your back to him, you can’t see how much he clearly wants to fuck you.
His hips dig into your ass, letting you feel how hard he is. You nearly sing, whining for him and continuing to beg without being asked again.
“Please, Joong, please fuck me. I need it so bad.” You pout and arch your back for good measure.
He hums, the vibration against your throat driving you crazy. “Yeah?” His hand leaves your back, reaching around to rub your clit again. “Need me to fuck you like this, darling? For the world to see?”
A broken gasp leaves your throat, and your nails dig into the glass. “Yes–! Yes, please.”
“Greedy,” he chuckles, kissing your neck. “You just want me to give you everything, don’t you?”
You nod, unashamedly. Why lie?
If he’s willing to give you everything, why not ask for it? Sure, it may sound selfish, but you’re willing to give him everything as well, and you would not even hesitate if he asked.
He hums again, already knowing how you would answer his question. He pulls back from your neck just enough to admire the dark bruises that have blossomed across your skin. They’re beautiful. Unique. Possessive. Clear indications that you are spoken for, taken care of properly. That you submit to him, and him only.
Hongjoong glances out the window, towards the skyline. You shudder against the glass as his fingers pick up speed and press just a bit harder onto your clit. Your knees already threaten to buckle. Then, it’s gone.
You feel his breath, hot on your shoulder as he shoves his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock. You can hear him spit on his fingers. The anticipation is actually killing you, even though he’s trying to make this more comfortable for you. You’d take him with zero prep if he ever decided to. Not that he ever would.
The press of the blunt head of his cock is already enough to make your eyes roll back. You’re gone by the time he pushes in. Your shuddering breaths mix together as he leans back over you. He bites your shoulder when he sinks deeper, groaning as he stretches you out to accommodate him.
“Fuck… oh god– fuck, Joong, yes.”
He may not fuck you without prep, but he rarely gives you a chance to get used to him once inside. As soon as his length is fully enveloped, he’s drawing his hips away just to slam back in. A set pace is made, and so it begins.
“Eyes open,” he orders, gripping your hips to keep you still. “Let every fucking person in this city know who you belong to.”
Realistically, you know with one-hundred-percent certainty that no one can actually see you from below the hills. Still, the thought and visuals are enough to make you clench around your boyfriend. Tight. You hear him snicker behind you.
You two are so similar.
Made for each other.
You struggle to keep your eyes open, like he wants you to. Especially when his cock is hitting you just right, the angle making your eyes water and your voice rise in pitch. Your moans are practically pornographic, fogging up the mirror even more. The lights from the distant city begin to blur, the buildings turning into shadows against the starless night sky. The fantasy remains.
3.8 million unsuspecting people, all being shown who you belong to. It thrills you to no end.
The excitement of the thought is most likely borne from a confined reality of secrecy. If he could, you know Hongjoong would shout from the rooftops who his heart belongs to. Even with the lack of a dating ban, he refuses to let you be potentially targeted. He’s so protective over you, it would be his worst nightmare if you were subjected to the level of hate and torment that he has seen other idols deal with. Here, you can both pretend. Safe from view, and yet fully exposed at the same time. A shared thrill for exhibitionism created from strict privacy.
You play into it.
You scream his name.
It’s something you can’t ever do back in Korea, part of why because of the aforementioned reason, and partly due to the fact that it would be rude to Wooyoung and Jongho to be so noisy in the shared dorm. Hotels and his studio are only so private.
Here in the hills, you’re both anonymous. Another young couple with new money.
So, whenever you’re allowed to be vocally reckless, you take the opportunity every damn time. Especially when he’s making you feel this good.
“Feel so fucking good–” he moans, biting your shoulder. “My girl… all mine.”
You groan into the window, trying to catch your breath to no avail. With each thrust deep inside your pussy, he damn near knocks the wind out of you. If it wasn’t for him holding you up, you’re confident that you’d be in a crumpled mess on the floor by now.
“Say it, darling. Tell the whole fucking world who you belong to.” Hongjoong punctuates this by spitting onto his fingers, bringing them down to your clit once again, rubbing it in the same gentle, circular motion. A stark contrast to what else he’s doing to you.
The added stimulation makes you sob. Despite the overwhelming, building pleasure, you pull yourself together as much as you can. He gave you an order.
“H-Hongjoong, I belong to you, only you. You’re th– the only one who c-can fuck me like this,” you cry out, struggling to keep your voice from pitching up every time the head of his cock hits your g-spot.
He straightens you up against the window, wanting you to be as upright as you can. So LA can see you fully. Your chest presses against the glass and it feels so nice on your heated skin you can’t help but sigh in relief.
“Mhmm,” Hongjoong purrs, his breaths starting to become erratic. Less controlled. “Good girl. My good girl. Taking me so well. Fucking made just for me.”
You nod, your cheek rubbing up and down the glass. “I-I– I'm yours…” your voice trails off as you become dumber. “‘M close…”
At the mention of being close to coming, he presses his free hand over your lower stomach with enough pressure to be able to feel his cock pistoning in and out of you. Again, your knees weaken. The window only helps keep you upright so much, but Hongjoong doesn’t let you fall.
“Give it to me, darling. I’ve got you.” He encourages you right to the edge.
Your second orgasm slams into you. Your nails claw the glass and your screams echo through the house. He fucks you through it, only slowing his pace slightly while his fingers on your clit continue. He holds you close as your body shudders violently and places kisses up your back, up to your neck, until he gets to your mouth. You whimper against his lips, and he gladly swallows every noise you make as you come down.
Less than a minute later, the pace resumes.
You sob, so sensitive after just coming down from a second climax only to be thrown towards another so soon.
“One more,” he says, straightening up to stand behind you. His hands reposition themselves back on your hips, pulling you back towards him to meet every thrust. “Gonna show everyone how needy you are. So fuckin’ desperate for me. Always gonna let me take you however I want.”
His words make you whine and moan. It’s all true. Every word.
A choked sound rises from your throat as you feel your third orgasm already brewing. There’s no escaping this, not when he knows your body as well as his own. Not when his cock is perfectly made for you to take. You can feel everything. Every inch and vein deliciously dragging against your inner walls. Not once does he miss your g-spot, hitting it every time you two have sex. And you know which buttons to press for him as well. Feeding right into his ego, being loud for him, looking up at him with doe eyes when you want something.
The two of you are made for each other in every way.
You cry out his name as the pleasure spikes, throwing you further into the deep end yet again. “H-Hongjoong, please–”
“I know, darling,” he coos, his steady, calm voice the complete opposite of how brutal his thrusts into you are.
One of his hands sneaks back around, this time going up to your mouth. Two fingers slide in, and he watches as you physically relax. You fight back a smile, and wrap your lips tight around them, afraid he’ll take them away before you have a chance to enjoy the weight of his touch on your tongue. Hopefully, he’ll let you go down on him later. The real thing is always better, and he deserves to be taken care of too.
Right now though, your brain is actively short-circuiting.
Hongjoong presses his fingers down, just how you like it, and you gently suck on them as he gets you closer and closer to your third orgasm. He groans, imagining your mouth somewhere else. The visual of you doing that is always enough to get him close to the edge as well. And though his fingers are stuffed in your mouth, you don’t get any quieter. You continue to moan around them, his name coming from your mouth all garbled and muffled.
He has to squeeze his eyes shut, fully concentrating on not coming yet. Not before you do. One more time.
Your legs shake, and your hands twitch against the window, a silent signal to him that you’re not going to last long.
“Such a good girl… taking everything I give you,” he groans.
He twists his other hand into your hair, pulling you back from the window, arching for him even more. The sounds of his hips colliding into your ass seem to amplify. You can feel yourself dripping down your inner thighs and you whine as the heat in your lower stomach begins to take hold of your whole body.
“Gonna give me one more? Hm?”
You nod frantically, noises pouring out of your mouth continually.
“Wan– wanna cum with you,” you plead with him. You so desperately crave the combined feeling of him spilling his warm seed into you as you milk him dry, clenching around his length.
“Yeah?” He grins, wanting the same. “Fuck, okay, darling. Cum with me.”
All it takes is him saying that, and you’re gone. Both of you are.
“H-Hongjoong–!” You shriek, nearly rattling the glass. If the neighbors haven’t heard you this whole time, it’ll be a damn miracle. You don’t care. You’re being given one of the best orgasms of your life by the man you love most.
He’s not far behind at all. Once he feels your pussy spasm around him, clenching and sucking him in harder than before, it’s easy to let go. His forehead rests on your shoulder, trying to catch his breath as he releases into you. It’s just as you wanted: the feeling of his warmth pouring in. Claiming you as his. Completely his.
He lets go of your hair in lieu of wrapping his arms around you to keep you upright, close to his chest. He still has his damn clothes on, you forgot.
Blearily, once you know you can stand on your own, you turn around, which causes him to slip out, and you press your back against the window. He watches you carefully, ready to catch you if you lose your balance. Your hands dip under the hem of his shirt, needing to feel his skin on yours, pressing your palms into his back. He kisses you deeply and slowly. There’s no rush.
You don’t black out or lose consciousness per se, but you don’t exactly remember getting into bed either.
Somehow, Hongjoong was able to lead you to the bedroom without your legs giving out. Maybe he carried you. You don’t remember your feet ever touching the floor. The first thing you take note of, once in bed, is that he’s coming back in from the bathroom, equipped with a warm towel. You almost fall asleep as he gently cleans your thighs, the feeling more than soothing enough to do the trick. But you’re stubborn. You want to be present with him for as long as you can. You dread the day of the flight, upcoming and looming over your vacation. This Tuesday. Only two days away now. There are worse things, you suppose. But not being able to go through security, nor sit anywhere near him at the gate, and pretend you don’t know who he is for the duration of the twelve hour flight is as close to actual torture as you’re willing to get. He hates it just as much as you. It makes both of you antsy and irritable while on high alert. Not a great mix. So, quiet moments like these, all alone together, are cherished as much as possible.
Tossing the towel into the hamper, he finally gets into bed next to you. Like a magnet, you instantly attach yourself to his side. He sighs contently, letting you nuzzle into him. Soon enough, you’re both tangled together in the sheets, a mess of limbs and combined heartbeats. Neither of you say anything for a long time. Cricket song drowns out any distant sounds of the city that manage to seep through the walls and windows. Everything is warm. Your worlds are at peace.
You hear him inhale through his mouth and hold the breath captive for a moment, like he’s trying to decide how to use it. Does he break the silence by speaking, or does he simply let the moment speak for itself? An answer comes quickly to him.
“One day, everyone will know…” Hongjoong says, almost to himself. You look up at him without saying anything, letting him continue.
His eyes flicker down to meet yours. “Everyone will know that you belong to me, and that I belong to you.”
If you had any energy left, it’d be spent attacking him with kisses. Everywhere and anywhere you could reach. You make up for it by throwing your arms around him properly, hugging him tight, and kissing his cheek.
“I love you,” you whisper against his warm skin, meaning every word. Every syllable, every letter.
the thing about being "good with kids" is all it takes is literally just not trying to control and mould them with every interaction. it's just being a normal person and engaging with them through normal interactions like having conversations and playing games. it's just being genuine and friendly and not perceiving them as lumps of wet clay you are there to shape. "oh you're so good with kids" thanks it's because I think they are people
Thirty minutes since he touched you last, since he meticulously undressed you and laid you down on the pool table next to his DJ’ing equipment. He had just finished his set, turned the camera off and checked that the recording came out alright before he packed it away in its travel case. Then, he had turned to you, waiting for him on the couch just off-screen.
Most of the day had been spent shopping in the city, both high-end and thrift stores alike. Doesn’t matter that your boyfriend is worth millions, he still is a firm believer that thrifts can hold valuable gems of clothing that luxury ones don’t. He throws so much money at you on a regular basis, but especially in Los Angeles. The air of celebrities gets to your boyfriend like no other place in the world. It’s like his own celebrity alter ego takes over as soon as the plane lands at LAX. Suddenly you’re in a 1960’s Cadillac convertible, top down and driving through Malibu. You walk out of multiple designer stores with a member of staff carrying your bags to the car. Every five-star restaurant has a reserved, private table waiting for you.
Honestly though, you’re just happy to be able to spend some time with your boyfriend. Chronically busy and a workaholic, it’s nice to come here and see him relax for once. You love that he invites you to the recording studios, getting the chance to watch your boyfriend work with artists he has loved for years, learning more and teaching them in return. He lets his guard down as much as he’s able to – there’s still fans he has to be careful of – and he has the chance to be authentically himself in every way.
Including tonight.
Everything nice and doting about him changes once the sun goes down. The celebrity ego has its own dark side, too.
The single, overhead light makes you feel like a bug under a microscope. A spotlight that highlights everything he’s not doing to you. Something about the Los Angeles air brings out his inner rich socialite, as well as the hidden sadist within him. Every time you’re here with him, you always leave with marked skin and a renewed submission to your boyfriend.
By the looks of it, this trip won’t be any different.
Hongjoong’s left you alone and untouched, splayed open on this fucking pool table for thirty minutes. You glare at his hoodie, that he still hasn’t taken off. An offending extra layer that keeps him away from you. Meanwhile, there’s not a stitch of clothing, or fabric of any kind for that matter, anywhere near you. You have a sneaking suspicion he’ll float the idea of you not wearing anything tomorrow as well.
Perv.
He massages the back of his neck, torturing you with quiet groans. He knows what he’s doing. And yet you can’t say or do anything about it. You could, but then there’s a really good chance of not being touched or fucked at all for the rest of the trip. That threat is enough to keep you right where you are. No matter how much you want to reach for him and complain that you’ve been waiting long enough, he’ll only make you wait longer.
One time, he fully left you for two hours, even closing the door behind him. He can and will make you wait.
He stretches his neck and sighs, finally looking down at you again. You can’t help but whimper, a quiet plea to do something to you already. But he just smirks, electing to ghost his fingertips just above your skin. So close you can almost taste it, but not feel anything at all. It’s maddening.
The smirk widens just a little. Enough to drive you crazier than before.
“Shhh… stay still, love. Don’t move.” He whispers, just barely tracing your cheek with his lips and letting the warmth of his breath linger. So you’re sure to feel him even when he steps away. Bastard.
You watch him through teary eyes, walk around the pool table and towards the kitchen. You hear a wine bottle open with a quiet pop! and he slowly pours himself a glass. Taking all the time in the world to do so. You want to cry for him to come back, to whine that you need him. But even more than that, you want to be good. So, you try to relax, your back pressing into the hard woolen felted surface of the pool table, and your tailbone digging uncomfortably into the raised side of it.
You are so hyperfocused and yet delirious at the same time. It’s like your body can’t function properly without him. Every sound coming from the kitchen is heightened, the soft sound of a cabinet closing behind you may as well have been a gunshot. Your eyes burn and start to turn dry from being directly under the light.
He walks back over to the pool table at a leisurely pace. Wine glass in one hand, phone in the other. He doesn’t even pay attention to you as he comes back into your line of sight. A sharp pang hits you in the chest, makes your eyebrows turn up, tears ready to fall again.
God. When he wants to be, he can really be mean.
He scrolls through Instagram and his messages until half of his wine is gone. He makes you watch the whole thing.
Not soon enough, he eventually pockets his phone and takes another sip. Casual, and calm. Your breaths are short as you wait. Your whole nervous system is shot to hell by now with the amount of anticipation with no reward. But this is how it is. This is what you love.
And he loves to see you like this, completely exposed in every conceivable way possible. Open and raw, emotionally and physically. He can watch the whole process play out right in front of him; how you gradually and inevitably fall apart. Because of him. Only for him. All of this is for his eyes only, and that might just be the best part. His darling girl, reduced to a teary, begging mess without even being touched.
Not yet.
Outside of these types of scenarios, he hates seeing you cry. He’s so protective of you, always making sure you’re safe and happy, and always knowing full well how much he loves you. He spoils you in everyday life. He can afford to humble you during times like these.
Embarrassment creeps up the back of your neck as you look up at him, trying to ignore how you’re on full display. Not only in front of him, but also in front of the entire city. The sprawling, lit-up landscape of Los Angeles stretches across the view of the floor-to-ceiling windows, your audience for the night. Although, this may be the closest you’ll ever get to Hongjoong showing you off like this to people. No, this is just his. No one will ever get to see you like this. The visual of you in such a state is for his eyes only.
But sometimes, even he likes to flirt with the idea of a whole city being an unknowing audience to your unraveling. Courtesy of one Kim Hongjoong.
It’s starting to drive you crazy that you can’t see him. But this is part of it. The power play. A clear statement of dominance over you that you can do nothing about, apart from waiting for him to join you ‘on your level’. He’s got you so bad like this that now every time he so much as takes off his watch, you look at him expectantly, ready to do whatever he wants. Wherever, whenever.
You take a couple deep breaths and close your eyes to calm down. Luckily, he lets you. Sometimes he doesn’t let you look away from him at all, but he allows you this small mercy for now. A small solace you find is that you can just focus on the familiar scent of his cologne. You designate that scent with safety and home. It’s one of the only things that can keep you sane throughout this ordeal. At least he’s here, in close proximity. You’d rather him be in the room with you, just barely touching you, than outside and not at all.
A small ‘please’ tumbles from your lips, barely audible. But he hears it. He draws absentminded shapes into the felt of the table right next to your ribs. Tantalizingly close. Centimeters away from the bare minimum.
“Hm?” He tilts his head, taunting you further.
You squeeze your eyes shut even tighter, humiliation burning your cheeks, but he snaps his fingers twice, right by your ear, making you open them again.
“You want something, darling?” He asks.
You nearly explode. He knows damn well that you’re about ready to drool and pant for him like a dog. Hell, you’ll even start barking for him if that’s what will get him to touch you. Do something. You have to remember the payoff, although it’s nearly impossible while stuck in the middle of this torture.
But if you want something, you have to ask. Nicely.
“I want you, Joong. Please?”
He doesn’t respond right away. He just continues drawing his little circular patterns next to you, letting his eyes travel up and down your body. Nothing is hidden from him.
If you move your leg slightly to the left, you’ll touch him. The thought is so tempting. Just for one second of contact with him. He knows, too. He inches himself closer, silently daring you to do it. You can almost feel the fabric of his hoodie. A mix of swears and curses directed at him stays stuck in your head. You wouldn’t dare say any of them out loud.
“‘Want me’, huh?” He echoes you with a small smile, “You don’t need me?”
Dammit. Fuck! You want to slap a hand over your mouth, as if that will erase what you said. Now you’ve done it.
“I do need you, I misspoke, I’m sorry. Please, I need you so badly, please touch me.” You scramble to try and do some damage control. But your stupid word choice has already dictated his next actions.
When he moves farther away from you again, you almost reach for him, desperate to pull him back, but he shoots you a deadly glare when he sees your arm twitch to do so. You go rigid again, keeping your arms glued to the table, by your side, just like he told you. Thankfully, he lets it slide. A strike one.
There will not be a strike two.
He walks around the table, out of your sight again, but you hear and feel him right behind you. If you crane your neck and risk a pulled muscle there, you’d be able to see him. When you feel him brush his fingers through the ends of your hair, you stop breathing. One wrong breath, too loud or too sharp could ruin it all. You refuse to even chance that happening.
It’s unclear how long he stays there. You count the minutes by how many airplanes pass by the windows – seven – and the amount of distant police sirens somewhere down in the maze of streets – two. Your eyes threaten to flutter closed. Getting your hair played with is a well-known way to make you sleepy. Maybe that’s what he wants, for you to be caught in the middle of consciousness. It sounds like a nice place to be. You’re already halfway there.
You’re almost drifting when his voice snaps you out of it, low and velvety right by your ear.
“So beautiful,” he says, watching you blush. “I wanna hear my pretty girl beg for me again.”
A small noise escapes you, half whine, half hum of agreement. You repeat your previous plea, with the correct wording this time, and pray that that’s enough to persuade him to touch you more than he is right now. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t give you any hints that you’re on the right track, getting close to what you want – or, need.
“Please,” you try to look up as far as you can, trying to find him. “Joongie…please?”
His hands leave your hair entirely, and you panic.
“W-wait–!” Now you really try to crane your neck to see him, see what he’s doing. If he’s about to leave you. “Please, I’ll be good! I wanna be your good girl, Joongie, please stay.”
You can just barely see the hood of his sweatshirt, and an ounce of relief is granted to you. He’s not going anywhere. Not yet, anyway. You wait for him to say something, to tell you what you did wrong. Nothing comes.
Instead, in the prolonged silence, that’s when his hands return. Brushing through your hair like he never left. This time, he even touches your scalp, and you freeze again.
“Beg.” He directs again.
But you… you are. He just asked you to. Are you not doing it the way he wants you to? You double down, being more specific. Again, you do as you’re told. You beg him in all the ways you know how. But he’s determined to push you further, deeper into near hysteria. The threat of a potential second strike looms over you, it stays right next to that damn overhead light. Tears well up, a couple of them escape past your waterline and disappear into your hairline by your ears.
Hongjoong takes his hands away once more.
“Beg.”
Now you’re borderline sobbing.
“I-I’m– hm– try-trying,” you whimper pathetically, “I don’t know what else you w-wanna hear.”
Your hand moves to wipe your tears, but you remember his first order, given to you thirty minutes ago when this all started: don’t touch. Not you, not him. Don’t try to fix yourself. He wants to see what he does to you, how everything affects you.
“Just beg, darling. Keep begging me.”
And you do. For a good chunk of time that feels like eighty years, you beg him. Over and over. A warbling, incoherent, repeated ramble of pleas and promises that fall on seemingly deaf ears. He just lets his eyes wander over your body, listens to your desperation, touches you where you don’t need him. It’s humiliating. He watches greedily as a new wave of sobs wrack through you, hopeless and discouraged. And still trying. You’re almost afraid to stop.
“Please, please, please touch me, I’ll do anything. Please, Joong, I just need you. I need you so bad, please do something.” You punctuate your begging with fresh, hot tears rolling down your cheeks.
Hongjoong moves back around the table again, getting just a little too close to you, and the slight breeze of his movement against your core is almost too much. His gaze is fixated on how you clench seemingly around nothing, and the glistening of your lower lips under this lone overhead light. Like a spotlight. You’re the star.
You’re his star.
He leans over you, caging you between his arms on the pool table. He’s careful to not touch you at all though. Still. A sick part of him wants to see just how long it’ll take for you to snap. Or, if you will at all. You’re a tough little fighter.
Your begging becomes quieter, more spaced out. Tiny hiccups of pleas flow from your lips, trying to figure out new ways to phrase what you want, new tactics to convince him. It’s just repetitive rambling, nearly incoherent and watery. You’re beginning to become completely hopeless. You doubt that he even had plans to touch you like that at all tonight. You’re just kidding yourself. It’s humiliating.
You want to close your legs and preserve some of your dignity, but you know it belongs to him. Everything does. Body and mind, heart and soul. Any honor or dignity has already been handed over to Hongjoong a long time ago, and he ultimately decides what to do with them. Plus, if you’re wrong and he does plan on giving you what you want, and you do something to make him change his mind, that’s worse. That’s always worse. Last time you were in West Hollywood with him, that happened, and he didn’t touch you until you got back to South Korea.
That was the worst seventy-two hours of your life.
So, defeated, your legs stay right where they are, heels digging uncomfortably into the raised wooden edge of the pool table. Another plane goes by – eight – and you can hear a car blasting music as it crawls up the road, passing by the rented house and disappearing up into the hills.
You look up at Hongjoong, face flushed and puffy from crying. The way he gazes down at you makes your heart flutter. There’s such a deep love for you, pure adoration in his eyes that makes the wait worth it. You know that by now, you probably look crazy, but none of that matters to him. On the contrary. To him, you look beautiful. So beautiful when you’re this desperate for him. God, he feels so lucky.
He supposes he can be a bit nicer to you.
A large part of his confident attitude tonight is because of where he caught your eyes straying during his set. Rarely did you look away from his hands, manipulating sound and tempo, switching the vibe seamlessly, each song flowing into the other. Ending on a remix of ‘In Your Fantasy’ was particularly diabolical, and that’s what cued you in, in terms of what awaited you tonight. A hint meant for you, shown to the entire world.
He takes a moment to think about how nice he wants to be right now. Specifically in terms of whether or not he’ll take his hoodie off. You know all too well that he’s wearing a T-shirt underneath it, and he knows just how much you like seeing his tattoo while he touches you. Who knows what it is about it, but whatever it is, the sight of it flexing with his bicep as he fingers you makes you absolutely feral. You tend to finish quicker when his tattoo is out – which is something you think he doesn’t know.
Oh, he absolutely does.
You’re lucky, he decides. Since he has been particularly mean, and you only have one strike against you, he’ll finally give you what you’ve been begging for all night. He sets his glass down on the edge of the table and takes the hoodie off, unzipping it and tossing it onto the floor somewhere.
Immediately, your eyes go right to his right arm to see the tattoo peeking out from underneath the sleeve. No matter how much you try to conceal how it affects you, your body gives you away. The way your lips part slightly, eyes fixed onto it, how you clench around nothing. If he wants to really be nice, he’ll let you bite it one day.
You’re too focused on that visual, that want, to notice that his hand is moving right towards you.
The first touch feels like an electric shock.
After almost an hour of nothing, feeling his touch all at once nearly sends you spiralling again. Hongjoong cups your cheek, and you can feel the cold metal of his rings cooling your skin. He shushes you quietly when you gasp, not expecting it.
“It’s alright, my love,” he murmurs, placing a lingering kiss on your temple. “I’ve got you.”
Your eyes threaten to flutter shut again. All you can think is: finally. Impatience is something that Hongjoong never rewards. You know that for a fact, but it’s helpful to get a refresher every so often. Even if it drives you up the wall. It’s a hard-learned lesson, one you will remember forever.
Hongjoong ghosts his lips just above yours, hovering there for a few seconds before connecting them. Your hands ball up into fists, wishing for something better to hold onto. Like him. Your back aches for a more comfortable surface to rest on. However, you’ll stay put until he moves you.
With the last of your focus, you kiss him back, trying your best to not come across as needy as you obviously are. There’s no hiding anything with him.
It’s when you start to relax into the kiss that he throws another curveball.
You gasp into his mouth at the sudden pressure against your clit. The pads of his fingers move deliberately slowly in a circular motion, quite similar to how he touched the turntable during his set. His touch is maddeningly gentle. Controlled, calm, and patient.
He doesn’t react. He just continues kissing you, as carefree and relaxed as ever. As if he’s not working you up. Like he has no idea what he’s doing to you.
You’ve been wet without any proper attention for so long today. His fingers find no resistance whatsoever gliding through your folds, teasing you once again by pausing right where your entrance is and then retreating back up to circle your clit.
Whatever happened to being nice?
Hongjoong can’t stop the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth, but he tries to hide it by deepening the kiss. He should start playing fair, but teasing you is just too much fun.
Once your lips part, and his tongue slips into your mouth, that’s when he pushes his fingers into you, sliding in as far as he can reach. He’s timing everything perfectly. Again, you gasp into his mouth. Your tongue puts up no fight for dominance whatsoever, you’re too focused on finally being filled. His free hand presses down on your hip. A silent reminder to keep still, to not chase.
It doesn’t take long at all for you to get close. A low, burning heat in your stomach threatens to overpower you as two of his fingers stoke that fire over and over again. You can feel how much you’re dripping for him. It’s definitely running down his wrist at this very moment. Your cheeks burn again. The once quiet, wet sounds from your core slowly amplify, becoming an audible clue as to how affected you are, and how close you are to coming.
“J-Joongie…” you stutter, struggling to keep your voice steady.
He hums, already knowing.
“Gonna cum, darling?”
You nod, frantically. A loud moan escapes your throat as his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking on it lightly. A shudder runs through you, your body on high alert to all sensations. Your nails threaten to break the skin of your palm. You can only hope he lets you hold onto him at some point tonight.
It seems he has other plans, though.
“Beg,” He says. The dreaded word is accompanied by a wicked grin, and a challenge in his eyes.
You want to pull your hair out, honestly. It would hurt a lot less than this.
Just a single word is enough to make you mentally crack, and he knows that. He can’t help himself, even when he’s being his own version of nice to you. Unbeknownst to you, he has no intention of making you wait that long again, but he loves to see the fear on your face at the possibility of that happening. He just wants to see if you’ll disobey him, try to touch him, make him stop. This is all a sick trust exercise for his own sadistic pleasure.
He curls his fingers deep as he listens to your cries, the repeated pleas, the promises that you’ll do anything, and his favorite: how much you need him.
“Cum for me, darling.” He purrs next to your ear, tilting his head down to watch your body shiver and fall apart around his fingers. His eyes flick back up to your face as your breathing stops, a clear sign that your orgasm is hitting you now. He drinks in every possible detail.
You clench around him hard, calf muscles seizing from how hard you’re tensing. Still, he continues to coax his fingers in and out at a slower pace, unwilling to draw them out just yet. Despite everything, you make sure to thank him once your body starts to come down from the high. You’re truly so grateful he decided that he’ll play with you tonight, and not leave you hanging. You remind yourself to thank Los Angeles in some way as well. Whatever this city does for him, definitely works for you.
Through the small aftershocks, he gently pulls you to sit upright, keeping your head resting on his shoulder to combat any dizziness. The two of you stay like that for a minute or two, just breathing together.
The house is silent again. Your body instantly feels better now that it’s not up against the hard wood of the pool table, if not a little sore. Hongjoong helps you sit up on the edge, your legs dangling off the side. He steps back to look at you properly. But before he can say anything, you beat him to it.
“Can I…?” You gesture towards the growing tent in his pants. Without finishing your sentence, he knows what you want. You may or may not have an oral fixation. Again, it’s something you’ve never fully admitted, but Hongjoong has picked up on the cues and evidence that prove its existence.
He pauses like he’s thinking about it. As if he doesn’t already have a set plan for what he wants to do with you.
“Maybe later,” he hints, helping you off the table.
Once grounded on the floor again, you stand up on your toes to kiss him, but you see that his eyes are locked onto the windows to his right. You look over too, into the skyline. In the stillness of the house, and the lack of any external noise from the city, it really does feel like you’re the only two people in the world right now.
He’ll definitely make you scream like you’re the only two people in the world.
Without wasting any more time, Hongjoong takes your hand and pulls you right up to the window, pressing you against the double-paned glass. Your breath fogs up as you gasp, blurring your view of the city. His hand is firm and flat against your spine, keeping you pinned. With the other, he wraps it around your throat, making you tilt your head back so he can lick and bite your neck. You push back against him, feel any kind of friction possible, and he lets you, enjoying how much you clearly want him to fuck you already.
With your back to him, you can’t see how much he clearly wants to fuck you.
His hips dig into your ass, letting you feel how hard he is. You nearly sing, whining for him and continuing to beg without being asked again.
“Please, Joong, please fuck me. I need it so bad.” You pout and arch your back for good measure.
He hums, the vibration against your throat driving you crazy. “Yeah?” His hand leaves your back, reaching around to rub your clit again. “Need me to fuck you like this, darling? For the world to see?”
A broken gasp leaves your throat, and your nails dig into the glass. “Yes–! Yes, please.”
“Greedy,” he chuckles, kissing your neck. “You just want me to give you everything, don’t you?”
You nod, unashamedly. Why lie?
If he’s willing to give you everything, why not ask for it? Sure, it may sound selfish, but you’re willing to give him everything as well, and you would not even hesitate if he asked.
He hums again, already knowing how you would answer his question. He pulls back from your neck just enough to admire the dark bruises that have blossomed across your skin. They’re beautiful. Unique. Possessive. Clear indications that you are spoken for, taken care of properly. That you submit to him, and him only.
Hongjoong glances out the window, towards the skyline. You shudder against the glass as his fingers pick up speed and press just a bit harder onto your clit. Your knees already threaten to buckle. Then, it’s gone.
You feel his breath, hot on your shoulder as he shoves his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock. You can hear him spit on his fingers. The anticipation is actually killing you, even though he’s trying to make this more comfortable for you. You’d take him with zero prep if he ever decided to. Not that he ever would.
The press of the blunt head of his cock is already enough to make your eyes roll back. You’re gone by the time he pushes in. Your shuddering breaths mix together as he leans back over you. He bites your shoulder when he sinks deeper, groaning as he stretches you out to accommodate him.
“Fuck… oh god– fuck, Joong, yes.”
He may not fuck you without prep, but he rarely gives you a chance to get used to him once inside. As soon as his length is fully enveloped, he’s drawing his hips away just to slam back in. A set pace is made, and so it begins.
“Eyes open,” he orders, gripping your hips to keep you still. “Let every fucking person in this city know who you belong to.”
Realistically, you know with one-hundred-percent certainty that no one can actually see you from below the hills. Still, the thought and visuals are enough to make you clench around your boyfriend. Tight. You hear him snicker behind you.
You two are so similar.
Made for each other.
You struggle to keep your eyes open, like he wants you to. Especially when his cock is hitting you just right, the angle making your eyes water and your voice rise in pitch. Your moans are practically pornographic, fogging up the mirror even more. The lights from the distant city begin to blur, the buildings turning into shadows against the starless night sky. The fantasy remains.
3.8 million unsuspecting people, all being shown who you belong to. It thrills you to no end.
The excitement of the thought is most likely borne from a confined reality of secrecy. If he could, you know Hongjoong would shout from the rooftops who his heart belongs to. Even with the lack of a dating ban, he refuses to let you be potentially targeted. He’s so protective over you, it would be his worst nightmare if you were subjected to the level of hate and torment that he has seen other idols deal with. Here, you can both pretend. Safe from view, and yet fully exposed at the same time. A shared thrill for exhibitionism created from strict privacy.
You play into it.
You scream his name.
It’s something you can’t ever do back in Korea, part of why because of the aforementioned reason, and partly due to the fact that it would be rude to Wooyoung and Jongho to be so noisy in the shared dorm. Hotels and his studio are only so private.
Here in the hills, you’re both anonymous. Another young couple with new money.
So, whenever you’re allowed to be vocally reckless, you take the opportunity every damn time. Especially when he’s making you feel this good.
“Feel so fucking good–” he moans, biting your shoulder. “My girl… all mine.”
You groan into the window, trying to catch your breath to no avail. With each thrust deep inside your pussy, he damn near knocks the wind out of you. If it wasn’t for him holding you up, you’re confident that you’d be in a crumpled mess on the floor by now.
“Say it, darling. Tell the whole fucking world who you belong to.” Hongjoong punctuates this by spitting onto his fingers, bringing them down to your clit once again, rubbing it in the same gentle, circular motion. A stark contrast to what else he’s doing to you.
The added stimulation makes you sob. Despite the overwhelming, building pleasure, you pull yourself together as much as you can. He gave you an order.
“H-Hongjoong, I belong to you, only you. You’re th– the only one who c-can fuck me like this,” you cry out, struggling to keep your voice from pitching up every time the head of his cock hits your g-spot.
He straightens you up against the window, wanting you to be as upright as you can. So LA can see you fully. Your chest presses against the glass and it feels so nice on your heated skin you can’t help but sigh in relief.
“Mhmm,” Hongjoong purrs, his breaths starting to become erratic. Less controlled. “Good girl. My good girl. Taking me so well. Fucking made just for me.”
You nod, your cheek rubbing up and down the glass. “I-I– I'm yours…” your voice trails off as you become dumber. “‘M close…”
At the mention of being close to coming, he presses his free hand over your lower stomach with enough pressure to be able to feel his cock pistoning in and out of you. Again, your knees weaken. The window only helps keep you upright so much, but Hongjoong doesn’t let you fall.
“Give it to me, darling. I’ve got you.” He encourages you right to the edge.
Your second orgasm slams into you. Your nails claw the glass and your screams echo through the house. He fucks you through it, only slowing his pace slightly while his fingers on your clit continue. He holds you close as your body shudders violently and places kisses up your back, up to your neck, until he gets to your mouth. You whimper against his lips, and he gladly swallows every noise you make as you come down.
Less than a minute later, the pace resumes.
You sob, so sensitive after just coming down from a second climax only to be thrown towards another so soon.
“One more,” he says, straightening up to stand behind you. His hands reposition themselves back on your hips, pulling you back towards him to meet every thrust. “Gonna show everyone how needy you are. So fuckin’ desperate for me. Always gonna let me take you however I want.”
His words make you whine and moan. It’s all true. Every word.
A choked sound rises from your throat as you feel your third orgasm already brewing. There’s no escaping this, not when he knows your body as well as his own. Not when his cock is perfectly made for you to take. You can feel everything. Every inch and vein deliciously dragging against your inner walls. Not once does he miss your g-spot, hitting it every time you two have sex. And you know which buttons to press for him as well. Feeding right into his ego, being loud for him, looking up at him with doe eyes when you want something.
The two of you are made for each other in every way.
You cry out his name as the pleasure spikes, throwing you further into the deep end yet again. “H-Hongjoong, please–”
“I know, darling,” he coos, his steady, calm voice the complete opposite of how brutal his thrusts into you are.
One of his hands sneaks back around, this time going up to your mouth. Two fingers slide in, and he watches as you physically relax. You fight back a smile, and wrap your lips tight around them, afraid he’ll take them away before you have a chance to enjoy the weight of his touch on your tongue. Hopefully, he’ll let you go down on him later. The real thing is always better, and he deserves to be taken care of too.
Right now though, your brain is actively short-circuiting.
Hongjoong presses his fingers down, just how you like it, and you gently suck on them as he gets you closer and closer to your third orgasm. He groans, imagining your mouth somewhere else. The visual of you doing that is always enough to get him close to the edge as well. And though his fingers are stuffed in your mouth, you don’t get any quieter. You continue to moan around them, his name coming from your mouth all garbled and muffled.
He has to squeeze his eyes shut, fully concentrating on not coming yet. Not before you do. One more time.
Your legs shake, and your hands twitch against the window, a silent signal to him that you’re not going to last long.
“Such a good girl… taking everything I give you,” he groans.
He twists his other hand into your hair, pulling you back from the window, arching for him even more. The sounds of his hips colliding into your ass seem to amplify. You can feel yourself dripping down your inner thighs and you whine as the heat in your lower stomach begins to take hold of your whole body.
“Gonna give me one more? Hm?”
You nod frantically, noises pouring out of your mouth continually.
“Wan– wanna cum with you,” you plead with him. You so desperately crave the combined feeling of him spilling his warm seed into you as you milk him dry, clenching around his length.
“Yeah?” He grins, wanting the same. “Fuck, okay, darling. Cum with me.”
All it takes is him saying that, and you’re gone. Both of you are.
“H-Hongjoong–!” You shriek, nearly rattling the glass. If the neighbors haven’t heard you this whole time, it’ll be a damn miracle. You don’t care. You’re being given one of the best orgasms of your life by the man you love most.
He’s not far behind at all. Once he feels your pussy spasm around him, clenching and sucking him in harder than before, it’s easy to let go. His forehead rests on your shoulder, trying to catch his breath as he releases into you. It’s just as you wanted: the feeling of his warmth pouring in. Claiming you as his. Completely his.
He lets go of your hair in lieu of wrapping his arms around you to keep you upright, close to his chest. He still has his damn clothes on, you forgot.
Blearily, once you know you can stand on your own, you turn around, which causes him to slip out, and you press your back against the window. He watches you carefully, ready to catch you if you lose your balance. Your hands dip under the hem of his shirt, needing to feel his skin on yours, pressing your palms into his back. He kisses you deeply and slowly. There’s no rush.
You don’t black out or lose consciousness per se, but you don’t exactly remember getting into bed either.
Somehow, Hongjoong was able to lead you to the bedroom without your legs giving out. Maybe he carried you. You don’t remember your feet ever touching the floor. The first thing you take note of, once in bed, is that he’s coming back in from the bathroom, equipped with a warm towel. You almost fall asleep as he gently cleans your thighs, the feeling more than soothing enough to do the trick. But you’re stubborn. You want to be present with him for as long as you can. You dread the day of the flight, upcoming and looming over your vacation. This Tuesday. Only two days away now. There are worse things, you suppose. But not being able to go through security, nor sit anywhere near him at the gate, and pretend you don’t know who he is for the duration of the twelve hour flight is as close to actual torture as you’re willing to get. He hates it just as much as you. It makes both of you antsy and irritable while on high alert. Not a great mix. So, quiet moments like these, all alone together, are cherished as much as possible.
Tossing the towel into the hamper, he finally gets into bed next to you. Like a magnet, you instantly attach yourself to his side. He sighs contently, letting you nuzzle into him. Soon enough, you’re both tangled together in the sheets, a mess of limbs and combined heartbeats. Neither of you say anything for a long time. Cricket song drowns out any distant sounds of the city that manage to seep through the walls and windows. Everything is warm. Your worlds are at peace.
You hear him inhale through his mouth and hold the breath captive for a moment, like he’s trying to decide how to use it. Does he break the silence by speaking, or does he simply let the moment speak for itself? An answer comes quickly to him.
“One day, everyone will know…” Hongjoong says, almost to himself. You look up at him without saying anything, letting him continue.
His eyes flicker down to meet yours. “Everyone will know that you belong to me, and that I belong to you.”
If you had any energy left, it’d be spent attacking him with kisses. Everywhere and anywhere you could reach. You make up for it by throwing your arms around him properly, hugging him tight, and kissing his cheek.
“I love you,” you whisper against his warm skin, meaning every word. Every syllable, every letter.
i'm aware i'm a bit of a hardass about paleontology and anthropology and archeology and the perception of extinct dead things in general but the modern view of all of these is derived from a bunch of 19th century scientific racists and hasn't evolved since then. so can you blame me
yeah dinosaurs were meant to go extinct because they were slow stupid bloodthirsty animals (or the jurassic park version, where they're fast stupid bloodthirsty animals), unlike modern people who are the best lifeforms. this contains no implications whatsoever
yeah cavemen and especially neanderthals were stupid people who banged rocks together and got eaten by leopards. unlike modern people who are Civilized and Good. this viewpoint was created by people who viewed black people as a separate species but we'll never review that thought in detail
by the 1930's the main theory was that dinosaurs went extinct just because they were bad at being animals. they only found the asteroid remnants in the 80's. it's so pervasive it never went away and it drives me a bit insane
is there anything more humiliating than filling in the 'preferred salary' bit of a job application. grubby victorian workhouse child cap in hand oh guvnah ill work for anyfink! oh if youd be so kind, just a tuppence for me troubles sir, honest only a tuppence!
dude it's just politics, it doesn't matter. all it does is shape every single aspect of the society you live in from the second you are born until forever
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