Idkluvutellme

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[idkluvutellme]

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[segamascott]

[starlostjisung]

- soft hours

PAIRING: lee know x reader

GENRE: smut; fluff; established relationship

WC: 2.5k

CW: smut!! don’t interact if you’re a minor!! and also wrap it before you tap it!!!!!!

SUMMARY: soft mornings with your boyfriend are rare because of your jobs, but when they happen, they are the most special ones

soft mornings were your favourite. it was rare that your boyfriend lee know and you had the day off at the same time but today was one of those days were you both were at home and had nothing important to do or somewhere to go.

you forgot to pull the curtains of your window the night before, so now the soft rays of sunshine of the early hours of the morning were the first thing you felt on your face. warm, safe, signalling the beginning of a brand new day. the house was quiet, the only sounds you could hear were the sound of quiet purrs and meows just outside your bedroom, and the soft breathing that came from behind you.

you felt a weight on your waist. lee know had his arms around you, making it impossible for you to leave the bed without waking him up. not that you wanted to leave anyway. slowly, you turned around in his arms, letting out a sigh when you saw his face. he was still asleep, with his untidied hair and his pouty lips. he looked as relaxed as he could be, after long days busy with rehearsals and long sleepless nights.

you felt his arm tightening around you, with his hand on your back now. you took the opportunity to snuggle closer to him, resting your head closer to his. you closed your eyes again, trying to enjoy the warmth of your bed and your boyfriend for a bit more.

“good morning, love” there was his voice, slightly raspy from sleep. it was your favourite sound in the world. he pulled you closer and kissed your forehead.

you smiled against his chest, feeling happy with his gesture “morning, min. sleep well?”

he hummed in reply, closing his eyes once more and letting one of his hands slip under the hem of your shirt and tracing your skin. you both stayed there for a while, not talking, just laying in each other’s arms. both of you feeling happy of being there with each other.

“what do you want to do today?” you asked him after a bit, “it’s your first day off in a bit, you choose”

“mmm, nothing” he replied while opening his eyes and looking at you

“nothing?”

“no, nothing, i just want to stay at home and do absolutely nothing” he told you while letting his hand on your back go higher

“well, while i do love that idea that you are proposing, i think we should at least get up from our bed and feed our children” you hadn’t forgotten about lee know’s cats who were still meowing behind the door.

he let his forehead fall against yours while he let out a groan, “this is why they like you more than they like me, you look after them so well”

“that’s not true and you know that” you laughed at him

“it is true! they prefer you over me, you’re their favourite parent”

you continued laughing and he pulled away from you to look at you. he couldn’t deny that this kind of moments, alone with you, where nothing else mattered, were his favourite moments.

“you want to know something more?” he asked you

you looked at him after having calmed down for a bit, but with a big smile on your face still, “what?”

“that i like you more than them”

and with that, he kissed you. he kissed you slowly, like you were the only people that were awake in the world. like you had to keep your moments together as the most precious secret that ever existed.

he continued kissing you. he pushed you on your back and placed himself above you, trying not to put a lot of weight on you, but even then, he didn’t stop kissing you. his lips went from your lips to your cheeks, your eyelids, your forehead, everyplace they could reach.

your mouth slipped his name out, like a prayer. his lips found yours again. one of your hands was tracing his back and the other was on his hair, both trying to pull him closer, even if the distance between you two was nonexistent. you needed him and he needed you.

“minho…” you whispered against his lips, he whispered your name the same way.

he felt your tongue in his bottom lip, moaning softly as your tongue slipped in. you both felt the world around you fading away as you got lost in yourselves.

he pulled away enough to look into your eyes, “i love you” he told you

“i love you too, baby” you said while staring at his eyes, “so so much”

he kissed you again. this time hungrier. still soft but with a hint of something else behind it. he tipped your head up, trying to pull yourself flush against him.

you felt his arm going to the hem of you shirt and then, he pulled it off. you did the same with his. both of your hands were reaching every curve of your bodies, tracing every inch of skin that you found, leaving none untouched. you could feel your breath getting quicker, desperate to be even closer to him.

you gasped as you felt his mouth closing around one of your nipples, sucking and licking at it, while he used his other hand on the other breast. your hold on him became tighter, making him moan against your skin. he switched from one breast to the other, you were panting for air at this point, your back arching in response.

his hand disappeared between your legs, going above your underwear, feeling how wet you already were.

“minho…” you gasped again, your fingers threading on his hair, urging him closer.

he took the waistband of your underwear, tugging it down almost desperately. he kissed you again, a kiss that stole both of your breaths. your hand got lower and palmed him above his boxers. he was the one gasping against your mouth now

“y/n…” you kissed his neck, adding a bit pressure to your hand on his boxers until he took your wrist and placed your hand beside your head and kissed you again.

his hand slid against your folds, wet and slick with desire for him. you gasped against him, which he took as an opportunity to start to kissing his way down your body while getting to the place where you needed him the most.

he slipped a finger inside you, using his thumb to circle your sensitive clit. you held on him tight, not wanting this feeling to end. he pushed another finger and his pace became quicker, while his lips were on your breasts again.

“minho, please” you begged him

“patience my love, i want you to feel good” he said

the pace of his fingers quickened even more and the stretch was mind blowing. you felt your soul almost leaving your body.

you suddenly felt him there. you felt his breath, warm, against the part of you that was screaming for him, “please” you begged again

“i’m going to take care of you” and with that, he wrapped his lips around your clit.

your entire body was vibrating with need, his lips around your bundle of nerves and his fingers inside of you reaching all the parts that made you see stars. he had you teetering on the edge and you didn’t know how much more you could take.

“hold on to me love”, he said against you. you placed both of your hands on his hair now, your thighs shaking around his head. you felt him moaning against you and moving against the bed. he put his other hand around one of your thighs, trying to stop you from moving.

you threw your head back, bitting your lips to muffle your moans as lee know began licking up and down your slit and then, he took his fingers out from you and slipped his tongue deep, in an out of you. he switched between licking and sucking, while he used his thumb on your clit and his other hand went to your chest again, before placing it on top of your breast.

you arched your back once again, making his nose bump against your clit, almost like you were riding his face. he let out a guttural moan at than. you felt yourself getting even more wet.

you could feel that familiar knot in your stomach starting to build up inside you. you didn’t want to let go but you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold it for much longer.

“minho”, you warned him, “i’m so close”

he could feel it. he could feel your walls tightening around his tongue and how you were almost on the edge of breaking down.

he didn’t respond at first, he picked up his pace, now his tongue and thumb moving in sync, sending you closer to the edge. your legs were shaking, you were sure he could feel it, while waves of pleasure were starting to take control of you almost completely.

“let go, baby”, he told you, “let go for me”

and that’s what you did. you moaned out his name, arched your back and grabbed his hair with one hand while the other grabbed one of his hands, the one that had been holding your thigh before. you didn’t know when he had held your hand, but all that you could feel now was him, riding you through your high. he sucked harder before he pulled away completely, letting you come back from your pleasure.

you felt your breathing slowly going back to normal, while lee know placed soothing rubs on your inner thighs. he slowly kissed his way up your body again, kissing your neck while you slowly traced his shoulders.

“you did so good babe”, he said against your lips now, “so well for me” he kissed you while you felt your taste on him and his need for you. you needed him as much.

“baby, please, i-“ you pulled way from him, grabbing his arms tightly at the same time

“what do you need love?” he replied looking at you

“i need you” you kissed him again, quick and hungry, showing how desperate and needy you were for him now. your hands went down his body until they found his underwear and you took them off. you felt him looking for a condom on your drawer.

you used this opportunity, your hand took his member and you slowly wrapped your fingers around his tip and smeared the pre-cum that was already leaking there.

“y/n, fuck…”, he let his head fall on your shoulder as he placed his hands on the bed, trying to control himself. your hands were slowly tracing his member, moving up and down, making him go crazy.

he grabbed your wrist and stopped your hand, “baby, as much as i love you doing this, i can’t take it anymore, i need you now” he told you while he put the condom on and you helped him.

“please…”, you said again and he nodded quickly, while he got between your legs and adjusted himself.

he kissed you and that’s when you felt him, he pushed into you in one go. you gasped in surprise and he pushed his tongue in your mouth.

you were literally melting into each other. there was no space between you two, there was no way to know where one started and the other ended. he continued kissing you, not moving at first, letting you adjust to himself. once you told him you were ready, he started moving, slowly at first, letting both of you feel your need for each other. you looked at each other, seeing your love and connection, how you were both ready to let go for the other, how you both felt safe and vulnerable enough to do that.

he started to gain speed, starting to slam into you. your eyes rolled back in pleasure, his lips found your neck, leaving a mark there that you were sure you would need to cover the following days.

you felt his lips kissing and soothing the mark he had just left. your hands were scratching down his back and his hands were gripping your hips now, “fuck, baby, like that”, he returned his mouth to yours.

the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, only adding to how turned on you both were. one of his hands left your hips, moving to your clit to push you a bit further to the edge once again.

“fuck, minho…” your eyes rolled to the back of your head. you pulled him into a messy and sloppy kiss, and he groaned as you did, his fingers circling your clit faster. you pulled back and saw his lips shine and wet, he leaned in to place open mouthed kissed on your breasts again.

you tried to move your hips against his, trying to meet his movements, ”i’m so close love, please don’t stop, keep going” he told you while he switched his lips between your breasts. his tongue circled around your hardened nipple again, before sucking it into his mouth. you moaned again, feeling you were on the edge of coming one more time.

“minho…”, your body tensed

“yes, y/n”, his lips left your breasts as he came up to look at you again, “let it go for me, let me feel you”

you clenched around him, your orgasm ripping through you. his moan followed yours, his cock throbbing as he came inside you and felt your walls wrapping around him while you came. you held each other close while you both were fell apart.

he collapsed against you, both of your hearts pounding loudly. you didn’t know how long you stayed there holding each other, but you were sure you didn’t want to be anywhere else.

he looked at you and kissed you again. a kiss that was slow and tired, but also full of love and care for each other.

“stay here for a second”, he got out from you and went to the bathroom to toss the condom. he got back and you saw that he had a towel in his hands. after cleaning you up, he left the towel on the floor and got under the sheets with you again. he placed your head on his chest, and his hands on your hair and back, tracing patterns slowly.

“you with me again?” he asked you after a minute

“yes, i’m here”, you laughed and placed a kiss on his chest

he put his hands on your chin and made you look at him

“i love you so much, you know that right?”, he told you while making sure you could see the honesty in his eyes

“i know, and i hope you know i love you more” you told him while smiling

“mmm, that’s not possible”

“yes, it is”

“no, it’s not”

“yes, it-“ he shut you up with a kiss, the both of you melting against the other. feeling nothing but happiness because, while this type of mornings were rare in your household, there was no doubt that they were your favourite.

[skzusos]

[maxi-is-not-well]

[dakusan-deactivated20250804]

C H A I N B I T E R

bang chan x reader | silver chain. pouty moans. and the lesson he teaches you when you act up.

🔞synopsis: he comes home from tour. you pout, you ignore his texts, you act up—because you want him mean. he keeps the chain on. and when you bite it? he folds you in half, fucks you dumb, and doesn’t let you cum until you’re crying, drooling, and begging for the cock you’ve been bratting for. he ruins you. then holds you like you’re breakable. because you are—and you’re his favourite thing to break.

💌a/n: welcome to filth friday, sluts. 🧷this fic is dedicated to the chokehold that silver chains + pouty brattiness + missionary with a vengeance have on my brain. chan keeps the chain on. you bite it. he loses his mind. we all win. p.s. reblogs = love. comments = spit in my mouth. tags = my new religion. p.p.s. missionary is not vanilla when he growls in your ear and denies your orgasms p.p.p.s. if you reblog this while still recovering? i see you. i respect you.

⚠️ warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY. minors do not pass go, do not collect the chain | explicit sexual content | dom!bang chan, soft menace energy, and a very smug mouth | sub!reader with brat tendencies that get corrected | jewellery kink (chain stays ON. you bite it. he breaks.) | missionary sex but feral — folded position, deep strokes, held down, no escape | denial / edging | cockdrunk reader | dirty talk, degradation + praise mix (“mine.” “good girl.” “you don’t get to cum yet.”) | aftercare | breeding kink tones | crying & tears of pleasure | pouty!reader energy (literally the reason this entire fic exists. pout responsibly.)

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » TASTE — Stray Kids « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:37 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

The apartment feels colder without him.

It’s not actually cold—you’re curled up on the couch in nothing but his oversized hoodie, bare legs tucked beneath you, a mug of tea half-drunk on the coffee table. But it’s the kind of cold that seeps under your skin when the bed’s too big, the silence too loud, and your vibrator’s not doing the fucking job.

Your phone buzzes again. You don’t look.

You already know it’s him.

You’ve been ignoring him all day—not completely, just... enough. Left him on read once or twice. Gave him one-word replies. Didn’t answer the FaceTime this morning, even though you’d woken up with your hand between your thighs, aching from a dream you couldn’t finish.

It’s not fair, you know that. He’s on tour. He’s busy. He’s doing everything right—checking in, calling, sending those stupid audio messages that make your stomach flip when he whispers, “Miss you, baby. So much.”

But you’re needy.

Touch-starved. Cramps in your hips from curling up in bed alone. Horny to the point of irrational.

And the worst part? You can see him. Online. Onstage. Living in your phone like some cruel ghost. There he is at rehearsal. Dripping in sweat, shirt half-off, silver chain swinging with every breath. There he is in a fan-captured clip, laughing, flexing, biting his lip while dancing to your favorite track like he’s not out here ruining your life. And now? Now he has the audacity to send a mirror selfie. In the fucking studio. With the chain. The bracelets. The goddamn veins.

You nearly throw your phone across the room.

Instead, you sink deeper into the couch, bite the sleeve of his hoodie, and scream into the fabric.

“Fucking menace,” you mumble against your wrist.

He didn’t do anything wrong. That makes it worse.

Because now, every time you shift your hips, every time you think about his hands pinning you down and that cold metal chain slapping your chest while he fucks you stupid—

You can’t breathe.

You glance at your phone.

Three new messages.

[CHAN]: baby [CHAN]: don’t ignore me please [CHAN]: did i do something? talk to me

Your lip wobbles. Goddammit.

No. No. You’re supposed to be mad. Not real mad. Just pouty. Irritated. Like a girl whose boyfriend hasn’t been around to wreck her properly in over two weeks.

You don’t want sweet texts.

You want teeth on your throat. Fingers in your mouth. You want him to press your legs up and fuck the attitude out of you until you’re crying and clinging to his stupid chain like it’s the only thing keeping you sane.

Your gaze flicks to the bedroom door.

Then to the drawer.

You reach for the vibrator. Pause. Throw it back in.

“Fuck it,” you whisper. “Not tonight.”

If he were here, you wouldn’t even need it. He’d just look at you, and you’d be done for.

You bury yourself deeper into the cushions, grumbling, annoyed with the world. The room smells like him. The hoodie smells like him. Your whole body aches from missing him—not emotionally. Physically. Raw, feral want.

So you ignore the phone again.

Because if he really misses you? Let him come get you. Let him walk through that door and make it up to you with his chain swinging and his hands on your throat. Let him see what happens when he makes a needy girl wait too long.

The keys hit the lock at 1:37AM.

You hear them before you see him—metal clinking, a shuffle, a low curse. You barely manage to mute the TV before the door swings open.

He’s here.

And he looks like sin.

Black hoodie half-zipped, chain glinting just above the collar. His damp hair is pushed back with one hand, the other dragging his suitcase inside. His duffel slumps to the floor. Then he sees you—curled on the couch, one leg bare, still in his hoodie, sleeves covering your hands.

For a second, he just stares. Then that mouth curves. “You’re still up.”

You shrug, trying to look casual. You are not casual. Your thighs are clenched under the throw blanket, and your heart’s pounding like you weren’t just imagining that exact chain slapping against your collarbone while he fucks you into the mattress.

“Barely,” you say, voice too innocent.

His gaze drops to your bare thighs. Then back to your face. “Didn’t answer my texts.”

“Didn’t feel like it.”

He huffs out a soft laugh. That cocky, knowing one. “Oh. It’s like that?”

You don’t reply. Just stretch with an exaggerated yawn, lifting your arms enough for the hem of his hoodie to ride up. No shorts. Just skin. His tongue runs across his bottom lip. The chain shifts with the way he breathes, catching the lamplight.

“Were you waiting for me?”

“Not really.”

“Mhm.” He drops his hoodie onto a chair. “So the blanket, the hoodie, and no pants—that’s just what you wear now?”

You narrow your eyes. “Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what?”

“All smug.”

He grins. Oh no. He knows. Of course he knows.

“Baby,” he says, stepping closer. “You’ve been bratting out all week. You think I can’t tell?”

Your breath catches. Heat coils instantly in your gut.

“Didn’t say anything when I sent you that mirror pic. Left my voice note on read. Ignored the one where I said I wanted to fuck you through the floor.” He pauses. Tilts his head. “Nothing to say now either?”

You stare up at him. Slowly pull the blanket off your lap. “I missed you,” you admit, soft.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I missed you too.”

A pause. Then—

“I also know that pout’s not about feelings.”

“What’s it about, then?”

He’s standing over you now, hands on his hips, chain resting just beneath his throat. “It’s about the fact that you haven’t been fucked in two weeks.”

You look away. Cheeks hot. “And?”

“And you’re soaked just from seeing me walk in the door.”

You shoot him a glare, but it’s weak at best. He sees right through it. And worse? You see his jaw flex—barely—before he lets out a dark, low laugh.

“Get up.”

You blink. “What?”

“Up.”

You rise slowly, confused. He reaches forward and lifts the hoodie—his hoodie—up and off your body in one smooth motion. You shiver at the loss of warmth. Now you’re just standing there in panties and nothing else.

He steps back. Eyes dark. “You waited for me like this?”

You nod, shy now. “Wanted to be ready,” you mumble.

His lips part just slightly. His gaze drops, lingers on your hips, then snaps back up.

And then—

His hands are on your thighs, fast.

“Jump.”

You don’t think. You obey.

He catches you with ease, arms firm under your thighs, the chill of his bracelets biting into your skin. Your breath hitches as your legs wrap around his waist, chest flush against his. His chain presses cold between your breasts, and he’s not even trying to hide the way he grinds against your panties on instinct.

“You think I don’t know what that look means?” he murmurs, voice brushing hot against your cheek. “Little pout. Ignoring my calls like I wouldn’t drop everything to ruin you the second I walked through the door.”

You squirm against him, but he tightens his grip—just enough to pin your hips in place.

“Could’ve told me, baby,” he breathes, walking toward the bedroom. “Could’ve just said, ‘Chan, I’m wet and I miss your cock.’ I’d have flown home yesterday.”

He kicks the bedroom door open without a pause. Keeps walking until your back hits the mattress in a controlled drop. You bounce once, hair a mess, legs open, breathing ragged.

He stands at the edge of the bed, staring down at you like he’s starving.

Then he peels off the hoodie.

His shirt follows. Then the pants. He leaves the jewelry. Every bit of it. Rings, bracelets, and that fucking chain.

You swallow hard, mouth dry.

“Want me to take it off?” he teases, watching your eyes follow the chain.

You shake your head. “Keep it.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nod. Voice barely a whisper now. “Wanna see it dangling, wanna bite it.”

That does something to him. His jaw flexes. His cock twitches against the band of his briefs. “Fuck.” He climbs onto the bed like a man possessed. Cages you under him in one smooth motion, his hands planted firm beside your head, chain dangling just above your lips.

You glance up at him, pupils blown wide.

“Say it again.”

“I want to bite it.”

“While I’m inside you?”

“Yes.”

“While I’m ruining that little attitude?”

“Please.” You barely finish the word—“please”—before he’s kissing you like he’s making up for every second he’s been gone.

It’s not sweet. It’s hungry.

His mouth claims yours with a groan, hot and wet and open, tongue sliding past your lips like he already knows what you taste like. His chain swings between you, brushing your throat every time he shifts, a cold contrast to the heat pouring off his skin.

You moan into the kiss. He drinks it like oxygen.

Then he sinks down fully, settling between your thighs with the kind of weight that makes you feel pinned—owned. His cock presses hard against the soaked fabric of your panties, still trapped behind his briefs, but thick enough to make you gasp when he grinds down. “Fuck, baby,” he groans into your mouth. “You’ve been holding out on me. This pussy’s starving.”

Your back arches. You’re soaked, the wet patch obvious now—heat meeting heat as he rocks against you, slow and punishing, like he’s savoring every drag of his cock over your clit.

“Thought about this every night,” he whispers, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “This exact spot. These hips. The way you whimper when I press right… here—”

He thrusts just right. Your head falls back.

He kisses down your neck, slow and greedy. The cold metal of his chain follows, dragging like ice down your collarbone, between your breasts.

“Missed this fucking body,” he breathes, licking a stripe along your throat. “Missed the way you twitch for me. How you bite your lip to keep quiet.”

He grinds down again. And again. Until your hips start chasing his, until your nails dig into his back.

“Chan,” you pant, “I—I need—”

He shushes you with another kiss, deeper this time. He kisses you until you can’t think, until all you can do is cling to him, his chain brushing your lips like it wants to be bitten.

You’re pulsing through your panties. You know he feels it. You feel the smirk when he pulls back, just enough to look you in the eye.

“You gonna make a mess before I’m even inside?”

You glare. He chuckles darkly. “Go on then, baby. Rub that pretty cunt all over my cock. Show me how much you need it.”

You moan—needy, wrecked—and tilt your hips up into him, grinding against the thick ridge of him through both layers of fabric. “Fucking please,” you whimper. “Want you so bad.”

“You’ve got me,” he growls. “You have me.”

His hand slips between your bodies, pushing his briefs down just enough for his cock to spring free—hot, flushed, already leaking. He swears low under his breath.

“God, baby. Look what you do to me.”

Then he presses himself against your soaked panties again, bare cock against soaked fabric, and grinds. Slow. Deep. Purposeful.

“You feel that?” he grits. “You feel how hard I am for you?”

You nod frantically. “Yes, yes—Chan, please—”

“You want me to rip these off?” You can barely speak. “Or you wanna be good and ask nicely?”

You can barely speak.

Your whole body is tense—writhing beneath him, soaked and shaking and on the edge of sobbing for it. He sees it. Loves it. The way your breath catches. The way your thighs twitch around his waist. “C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek. “One sweet word, and I’ll give you everything.”

Your eyes flutter shut. “Please,” you whisper. “Take them off. Please, Chan—need you…”

That’s all it takes.

He groans softly, like the sound is pulled from deep in his chest, and finally—finally—hooks his fingers in the sides of your panties. He drags them down your legs like he’s unwrapping you. Not fast. Not greedy. Just slow, like he’s enjoying every second of you bare and spread beneath him. When they’re off, he kisses the inside of your thigh. Then higher. Then higher.

But he doesn’t go where you want. No. He climbs back up your body, and you think—thank God, he’s going to fuck me—But instead, his mouth goes to your chest.

“So fucking pretty,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours as he kisses just above your heart.

His hand palms one breast, thumb circling the nipple until it peaks under his touch. His mouth follows—hot, open, wet—and he sucks, slow and deep.

You gasp. He groans. The sound vibrates through your chest.

Then he pulls back just enough to nip—just a little—right over the mark he made. “That feel good, baby?”

You nod, breathless. “Y-Yeah—more—”

He moves to the other breast. Does the same. Tongue first. Then lips. Then teeth. Your back arches into him, hands twisting in the sheets. The chain dangles against your sternum, cold and perfect, catching in the valley between your tits as he worships you. “Could spend hours right here,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue across your nipple. “Could make you cum just from this.”

“Please,” you pant. “I need more—Chan, please, I—”

He hushes you again with a kiss.

Then he trails down. And down. And down. Mouth dragging over your stomach. Teeth grazing the curve of your waist. He settles between your thighs, breath warm and heavy against your dripping cunt.

But he doesn’t lick. Not yet.

“God, baby,” he groans, almost reverent. “You’re fucking soaked.”

You whimper. Try to lift your hips. He holds you down. “Be good,” he warns softly. “Be still.”

You try. You really do.

But then he spits—just a little—hot and slick onto your clit, and you jerk like you’ve been shocked. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, smirking as he leans in.

And then—then—he licks. One slow, torturous stripe up your cunt. Flat tongue. No mercy.

You moan, loud, thighs clamping around his head.

He groans into your pussy, pressing his mouth harder, licking deeper, like he’s starving. His chain dangles against your inner thigh now, cool and maddening with every pass.

And just when you start to build—just when your toes curl, your body tenses, and you’re right there—

He pulls back. “Nuh uh,” he says, voice thick and smug. “You don’t get to cum yet.”

You sob. He kisses your thigh, then blows softly on your wet, throbbing clit just to be cruel. “You’re gonna cum with me inside you,” he murmurs. “With this chain in your mouth, and my cock so deep you forget your own name.”

Your hips twitch. Your eyes roll back. He grins at the sight.

And his mouth returns to your cunt like a man addicted—like he’s missed this more than sleep, more than air, more than the stage itself. His tongue licks deeper now, deliberate, dragging slick through your folds and sucking gently at your clit like he knows exactly how much you can take.

“Fucking perfect,” he groans against you. “Tastes like you missed me.”

You cry out, hands flying to his hair, gripping tight. He lets you. For now. Then—

His fingers join the party.

Two of them, thick and slick, pressing at your entrance and sliding in with no resistance. Your walls clench instantly.

“Oh my God—Chan—!”

“Shhh. You’re fine.” He curls them. “You’re so fucking fine.”

His lips wrap around your clit again just as his fingers start thrusting—slow at first, then deeper, firmer, building rhythm. Every drag hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars.

You’re so close it’s shameful. Your hips roll into his face. Your moans are embarrassingly loud now. And just as you hit that edge—

He pulls away again. His mouth gone. Fingers stilled inside you.

“Wha—why—” you gasp, blinking through the haze.

He looks up from between your thighs. His lips are slick, his chin glistening, the chain glinting as he rises slightly, his fingers still buried to the knuckle in your fluttering pussy.

“Brats don’t get to cum without permission.”

You whimper. Physically ache. “Channie, please—”

“You gave me attitude. You ignored me. You made me wait.”

He slides his fingers out slowly, watching them glisten in the low light. You’re dripping. He presses them back in—just one knuckle—then pauses again. “Now you’ll wait.”

“I said sorry—”

“Did you mean it?”

“Yes—”

“Then you’ll be good.” His voice is soft, dangerous. “Keep those legs open. Take what I give you. And you don’t cum until I say.”

You nod frantically.

“Say it,” he demands, pushing his fingers in deep again.

“I won’t cum,” you gasp. “Not unless you say.”

“Good girl.”

And just like that—his mouth is back.

He fucks you with his fingers while he sucks your clit with precision. Every moan you make only spurs him on. He watches your body unravel, his chain swinging between your breasts with every jolt of pleasure.

You’re shaking again. So close it hurts. Your eyes roll back—your legs tremble—your whole body’s about to give out—

“Don’t,” he warns, pulling his mouth off just enough to speak. “Don’t even think about it.”

Your hips jerk. He curls his fingers and presses his tongue harder. “Not until I say.”

You’re crying now. Wrecked. Gutted. Desperate. And still, he doesn’t let you have it.

“That’s it,” he whispers, lips wet against your thigh. “You feel that? That’s what brats get.”

“Channie, please,” you sob. “I need it—I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll—”

“I know you will,” he coos.

Then he withdraws completely.

You scream.

“You’re gonna be so fucking good for me now,” he mutters, climbing back over you.

His cock, thick and flushed, brushes against your inner thigh. You’re slick enough he could slide right in. But he doesn’t. Not yet. He leans in, chain swinging.

“Open your mouth.”

You do. He places the chain between your lips. “Bite.”

You bite. The chain presses cold between your teeth, sharp metal on your tongue, a mouthful of him. Of ownership. Of need. You moan around it as he grips your thighs tighter, spreads them wider, and finally—finally—guides his cock to your soaked, twitching entrance.

“Look at that,” he breathes, staring down between your legs. “You’re begging for it.”

You are. Your pussy flutters, aching, empty for so long you can barely think. His tip nudges your entrance, hot and heavy and thick, and just the brush makes your whole body tense.

“Been saving this for you,” he murmurs, dragging his cock slowly through your folds. “Didn’t even jerk off on tour. You know how fucking hard that was?”

You whimper around the chain.

He grins. “Yeah, you do.”

Then—without warning—he pushes in. Just the head. You sob.

“Fuck, baby…” he groans. “So tight. So wet. You missed this cock, didn’t you?”

You nod frantically, teeth clenched on the chain. Your walls spasm around him, already trying to pull him deeper. And he gives it to you. Inch by inch. Stretching you slow, deliberate, merciless. You feel everything. Every vein. Every ridge. Every twitch and pulse.

By the time his hips finally press flush against yours, you’re shaking.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Take it. Take all of it.”

He stills. Deep. Thick. Fucking perfect.

You can’t breathe. You can’t move. You’re so full it borders on painful, the burn and pressure delicious in its cruelty. He leans down over you, forearms braced beside your head. The chain swings, slipping from your perfect lips but brushing them.

You’re clenching around him—helpless, desperate—and he doesn’t move.

“That’s right,” he breathes. “Hold me. Grip me tight like that.”

He pulls halfway out. You sob. Then thrusts back in. Hard. And stills again. You’re drooling at this point, chest heaving, vision blurred.

“You think you can brat your way into getting fucked?” he growls, mouth brushing your ear. “You think this pussy deserves to cum yet?”

You shake your head. Tears well.

“That’s right. Not yet. Not fucking yet.”

Then he starts to move. Slow. Deep. Devastating.

His hips roll with purpose, like every stroke is a lesson, a punishment, a promise. His cock drags against every swollen nerve inside you, hitting that spot so precisely it almost feels cruel. And he doesn’t let up—not even a little.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice thick. “You feel that? Feel how deep I am?”

You nod, barely. You’re breathless, moaning with every slow, relentless thrust.

“So fucking tight,” he pants. “You’re squeezing me like you don’t wanna let go.”

You don’t. You can’t. You’re gripping him like a vice, your legs trembling around his waist, the chain now hanging loose across your chest—dragging over your nipples every time he fucks into you just right.

He leans in, kisses your jaw, then your throat. His hips grind at the end of each thrust, pressing his cock even deeper, and you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

“This pussy’s mine,” he growls. “Say it.”

You gasp, voice wrecked. “It’s yours.”

“Say it again.”

“Yours—Channie—it’s yours—!”

His pace picks up. Not fast, but harder. More pressure. More control. He’s fucking you like he owns you—like he earned this. Like he waited two weeks for the chance to bury himself so deep in you, you’d never forget what it felt like to be full of him.

“That’s my girl,” he breathes, sweat dotting his temple. “My bratty little baby. Thought you could tease me, huh?”

You whine—shaking beneath him, overstimulated already, toes curling with every thick, slow stroke.

“Missed this cock so much,” he murmurs, voice rough as he licks the sweat from your neck. “Should’ve begged. Should’ve dropped to your knees the second I got home.”

He pulls out just slightly—just the tip—before slamming back in, hard.

You scream.

He does it again. And again. Punishing. Precise.

“But no,” he growls. “You wanted to act up. So now? You get fucked how I say.”

Your hands claw at his back. Your nails leave marks. Your eyes roll back when he grabs your throat—not choking, just holding. Grounding. Possessive.

“You wanna cum, baby?”

You nod, crying now.

“You wanna fall apart all over my cock?”

You sob, “Please.”

He leans down. Mouth at your ear. Voice like a fucking curse. “Then earn it.”

He lets go of your throat, pulls your legs up higher around his hips, changes the angle—and fucks into you so deep you see white. Your hands shoot up, grabbing at his chain again. You yank it between your teeth, moaning around the metal like it’s your only lifeline.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Bite down. Be good. Take every inch.”

He’s fucking you hard now. Relentless. The bed slams against the wall, your cries muffled by the chain in your mouth, your body trembling under his. You don’t know where he ends and you begin. All you know is his voice, his cock, his chain, and how fucking close you are.

He knows it too.

Your body is a mess beneath him—shaking, leaking, barely holding on. Your mouth is full of chain and nothing else makes sense. You’re right there.

So he changes it up. Again.

Without warning, he pulls out—just for a second—and grabs your thighs.

You whimper in confusion, but he’s already moving.

He presses your legs together, tight, then lifts them up and folds them toward your chest, locking your thighs against him with one arm. The angle is obscene—your pussy now swollen, dripping, needy, completely exposed to him like a fucking feast.

He lines up again.

“Hold still.”

You can’t move anyway. He thrusts back in, all at once. You moan.

“Oh my god—”

“Yeah?” he growls, voice cracking. “That’s what you wanted?”

His arm flexes as he locks your legs to his chest, other hand gripping the headboard for leverage as he slams into you—deep, brutal, unforgiving.

Your mouth falls open. The chain slips from your lips, damp and clinking against your chest as your head tips back, jaw slack.

You’re drooling. Literally. You don’t even realize it. And still—still—he doesn’t let you cum. “You feel that?” he pants. “Hear how fucking wet you are?”

Slap slap slap—your pussy sounds obscene, slick gushing down your ass, pooling beneath you as he fucks into the tight, hot mess he’s made of you.

“You fucking live for this cock, don’t you?”

You nod, eyes rolled back, moaning like you’ve already cum three times.

“Say it,” he snaps, thrusts slamming into you. “Say you’re cockdrunk. Say you need it.”

You try.

Nothing comes out.

You’re babbling, lips trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“What’s that, baby? Can’t talk?” he mocks, voice half-gone, fully feral. “Already gone and I haven’t even let you cum?”

His cock pulses inside you, thick and angry, twitching with the effort to hold back—but he doesn’t break. Not yet.

He wants you ruined.

He wants you begging.

“Not yet,” he growls. “You’re not there yet.”

You choke on a sob, head thrashing, arms reaching up to grab anything—his wrist, his chain, the sheets—but it’s not enough. The pressure in your gut is unbearable. Your cunt’s fluttering around him like you’re already mid-orgasm. You’re leaking down his balls, dripping from the stretch, absolutely wrecked.

And he loves it.

“You’ll cum,” he promises, fucking deeper, harder. “But not until you break. Not until you’re drooling and sobbing and begging for it with that pretty little voice I own.”

Your brain’s gone fuzzy.

Nothing left but heat and pressure and the sound of him—filthy, brutal, mercilessly deep. Your body isn’t even yours anymore. You’re limp in his hold, legs pressed together and pinned to his chest while his cock splits you open over and over, dragging against that spot inside you with every punishing thrust.

And you still haven’t cum. You can’t cum. Not until he says.

“Come on, baby,” he growls, his voice wrecked with effort. “Where’s that sweet little voice now?”

You sob, drooling down your chin, lips trembling around broken words that won’t form. “Nngh—Ch-Chan, I—please—”

“That’s it,” he moans. “Beg for it.”

Your hands claw uselessly at the sheets. “P-please,” you cry. “Please—I n-need—I can’t—Channie, please—your cock, I need it—need to cum—please—”

Your cunt clenches around him so hard it nearly makes him lose rhythm. He grunts, digging his fingers into your thighs, pace faltering just enough to grind deep before resuming that relentless rhythm.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he snarls. “Dripping all over me, baby. You’re gonna ruin the bed.”

“I-I don’t care—please, please—”

Your body twitches, helpless under him, tears leaking into your hairline, mouth open and glossy, his name the only thing you know how to say.

“Say what you are.”

“Wh—what?”

He thrusts hard, knocking the breath out of you. “Say what. You. Are.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m yours—I’m your fucktoy—I’m cockdrunk, I—”

“You’re what?”

“I’m cockdrunk, Channie—please—please let me cum—”

He slams into you so deep you nearly scream, chest arching into his grip, your vision flickering to white. “That’s right,” he moans, voice unravelling. “That’s my baby. All mine. This pussy—mine. Say it.”

“Yours—yours—yours—!”

“You wanna cum?”

“Please—”

“Then fucking do it.”

Your body shatters. It’s not even an orgasm—it’s a detonation. You clamp down around him, sobbing, your whole body convulsing as wave after wave crashes through you. You can’t speak, can’t breathe, can’t even scream. All you can do is feel.

Feel him. Feel the stretch. Feel your pussy gush around his cock as you cum so hard it feels like it might kill you.

He doesn’t stop.

“That’s it,” he groans, fucking you through it. “Fucking soak me, baby—fuck—fuck—you’re milking my cock—”

Your mind’s gone. You’re nothing but a trembling, cockdrunk mess, tears and drool smeared across your face, still whispering “yours, yours, yours” under your breath like a prayer.

“Gonna cum inside you,” he pants, voice cracked and breaking. “Gonna fill you up—fuck—can I, baby?”

You nod frantically, eyes fluttering. “Give it to me—want it—want all of it—please—”

And then he breaks.

He fucks into you one last time—deep, desperate, final—and lets go with a raw, shuddering moan as he empties inside you, cock pulsing, hot cum spilling into your still-clenching pussy.

“Fuckfuckfuck—baby—”

He collapses over you, chain dragging across your chest, both of you soaked, panting, trembling messes.

And still…

You whisper, barely conscious, lips ghosting his ear: “Yours.”

Your body is done. You don’t even register the moment he pulls out—all you feel is the warmth spilling down your thighs, his cum leaking out slow and heavy as your pussy pulses in the aftermath.

You try to speak. Nothing comes out but a sigh and a tiny broken whimper.

He huffs a soft laugh above you, lips brushing your temple as he shifts just enough to kiss the corner of your mouth. You’re too wrecked to return it—eyes fluttering, fingers twitching in the sheets, hair a sweaty halo around your face.

“That’s what my pouty baby gets, huh?” he murmurs, voice low and too smug. “Act like a brat, get fucked stupid.”

You let out a soft, slurred noise.

He kisses you again—this time on your nose. Then your forehead. Then both cheeks. “You did so good for me,” he whispers, hand cupping your jaw. “Took it all like my perfect girl."

You blink up at him. Barely coherent. “Mmhnn…you’re…annoying.”

“Aww,” he coos, grin wide. “You sound so mad for someone who just came like her soul was leaving her body.”

“You ruined me.”

“Damn right I did.”

He kisses your lips, slow and deep, like he’s trying to pour himself back into you. His tongue licks into your mouth with lazy heat, but now it’s tender. Now it’s grounding. His chain is still resting against your skin. You reach up, weakly tug it.

“Still on,” you whisper.

“You earned it,” he says softly. “Might keep it on since you like it that much.”

Your thighs twitch. He notices. Of course he notices.

“Oh, now you’re getting greedy again?” he laughs, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’re leaking my cum and still trying to start something?”

You whine. He grins and kisses you quiet again. Then he finally shifts—gently—lifting your legs, helping you unfold from the wrecked, folded position. You hiss when your body relaxes, muscles trembling. He hushes you instantly. “I got you, baby. I got you.”

He eases you onto your side, tugs the blankets up, and disappears for just a moment.

You hear the faucet. The soft clink of a glass.

He returns with a warm towel, cleans you carefully—between your thighs, over your stomach, around the curve of your ass where the sheets are soaked. You flinch at first, but his touch is featherlight. Reverent.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “My messy, fucked-out girl.”

He kisses your knee.

“My perfect pouty baby.”

Then he tosses the towel aside, climbs into bed, and pulls you into his chest like he’s never letting go. You curl up instantly—limp, warm, safe. His arms wrap around your back, one hand stroking your spine. His lips stay near your temple.

You nuzzle in deeper. “Gonna sleep for a week,” you mumble.

“Gonna feed you first,” he murmurs. “Then let you sleep. Then fuck you again.”

“Chan—”

“What?” he grins. “My baby was hungry. I provided.”

“Provided a near-death experience.”

“You’re welcome.”

You laugh—weakly. He presses a kiss right over your pulse. “You okay?” he asks, quiet now. Real. “Too much?”

You shake your head against his chest. “Perfect.”

“Good. ‘Cause next time, I’m making you cum around my tongue five times before I even think about fucking you.”

Your breath catches. He just smirks.

“Sleep now, sweetheart,” he whispers, grinning against your hair. “You’ve earned it.” And you do—out like a light, drooling on his chest while he smirks like the menace he is.

[dakusan-deactivated20250804]

N O   S A I N T   I N K

Tattoo Artist!Han Jisung x Reader | He tattoos like an artist and eats like a god. You're ruined. Congratulations.

🔞synopsis: Tattoo Artist AU. You just wanted a tattoo. What you got was a cocky artist with a praise kink, a filthy mouth, and the ability to make you cum so hard you forget your name. What starts as innocent skin-on-skin becomes texts at 3AM, breathless calls, panties on the floor, and getting ruined over a tattoo chair by a man who calls his dick “emotionally supportive.”

💌a/n: HELLO DEMONS. welcome back to my sin bin. and YES. i spun the wheel of filth™ again because i have too many prompts, too many requests, too many ideas and i am ONE feral braincell away from combusting. this week’s winner of the roulette: jisung x reader, tattoo shop edition. hence why this was posted late — i had no idea what to write and then accidentally birthed a full plotline, two orgasms, a man with separation anxiety, and the best dick of your fictional life. oops 😇 p.s. reblog this or i will haunt your mirrors at 3AM whispering “dumb little slut” in han’s voice. p.p.s. if you message me your fave skz member, i might drop you a mini filthy tattoo artist!AU ficlet just for them. no promises. only threats. p.p.p.s. light a candle. hydrate. send this to a friend

⚠️ warnings: 18+ | MINORS DNI | EXTREMELY NSFW | Oral (f. receiving) — graphic, intense, life-altering | Pussy eating obsession (Han is a munch) | Filthy, unrelenting dirty talk — degradation + praise mix (chaos edition) | “Good girl,” “slut,” “mine,” “cum for me” energy | Clit stimulation + g-spot pressure = brain cell deletion | Multiple orgasms (yes. multiple.) | Fingering, choking, possessive hand-gripping

📌 Please read responsibly. Hydrate. Stretch.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » MOVE — Taemin « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:32 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Late afternoon, Seoul.

The sky is bruising purple with evening haze. You’re standing outside a tattoo parlour in a tucked-away alley—NO SAINT INK—recommended by a friend who said, “Go there. Ask for Han.”

You’re nervous. Not just because it’s your first tattoo—but because your stomach won’t stop twisting with that type of anticipation. The kind you feel when you know something irreversible is about to happen.

The parlour looks nothing like the industrial, hyper-masculine shops you've passed before. It’s dark, yes—but with soft underlighting. Neon signs buzz low in the windows, one glowing "SINNER'S HANDS" in deep red. Another in cursive:

“we only leave beautiful scars.”

You push the door open, bell jingling. It smells like antiseptic and incense. Lo-fi hip hop pulses from hidden speakers. The walls are matte black, scattered with flash art—some delicate, some obscene. A few erotic, one absolutely feral. You step toward the desk—

And then you see him.

Han Jisung.

Slouched in a leather chair behind the counter, legs spread wide, one hand holding a sketchpad, the other spinning a tattoo gun idly between his fingers like a toy.

Dark, slightly wavy hair. A few strands falling into his eyes. Rings on nearly every finger. One silver bar in his eyebrow. Another glinting on his lip.

He's wearing a sleeveless hoodie, arms covered in ink—some intricate, some scrawled like afterthoughts. His forearms flex as he shifts, glancing up at you lazily, and then—

Freeze.

He smirks. Not the kind of smirk you’re used to. This one slides slow across his face like silk on skin—cocky, amused, interested. He sets the sketchbook down and stands, sauntering over.

“You lost, angel?”

His voice is warm gravel. A little teasing. He’s already clocked you as a first-timer.

You swallow. “No. Um… I think I have an appointment? For 5PM?”

He leans against the counter, gloved hand flipping through the schedule.

“Name?”

You give it. He taps the page. “First ink?” he asks, gaze flicking over you.

You nod.

His eyes drag down your form and back up again—like he’s marking you before the needle ever touches you. “Cute.”

A pause.

“Alright. You’re with me.”

The moment he leads you past the curtain, everything quiets. Not literally—there’s still the low thrum of lo-fi beats playing through overhead speakers, and you can hear the soft buzz of a machine in the next booth—but something in the air shifts. You’ve stepped into his space now.

The room is dim, intentionally so. Not cold or sterile, but intimate. The walls are painted a charcoal grey, with scattered framed sketches and flash art displayed like gallery pieces. A small desk against the back wall is cluttered with ink bottles, gloves, stencils, and scribbled notes on napkins. There’s a chair in the center—sleek black leather, mechanical levers gleaming faintly under the spotlight aimed above it. It's positioned deliberately beneath a halo of warm light, like a stage for sin.

Han gestures for you to sit.

You do, heart already hammering harder than you'd like to admit. Your hands grip the armrests automatically, more out of nerves than necessity.

He sanitizes his hands in silence, then slips on a pair of black nitrile gloves with practiced ease. The snap of the first one makes you flinch. He notices.

A flick of his mouth—half amusement, half something darker.

“So. You still sure about it?” he asks, voice calm but low, like smoke over velvet.

You nod, holding out the reference image you brought—a small, simple design. Meaningful. Something you’ve thought about for months. A delicate poppy, petals slightly unfurled…But at the base of the flower, instead of a regular stem, it grows from the open mouth of a tiny anatomical heart.

Han doesn’t look at the paper right away. His eyes stay on you for just a moment longer than they should. Then he takes it gently, fingers brushing yours through the gloves.

“Pretty,” he murmurs, gaze flicking from the paper to your face. “Subtle. Clean lines… this’ll look good on you.”

You try to smile, but your throat feels tight. “Thanks.”

“Where do you want it?”

You hesitate. Then, softly: “Ribcage.”

That earns you an arched brow and the barest flicker of a smirk.

“Shy spot. I like that,” he says, turning to prep his materials. You watch the muscles shift as he reaches for a stencil pad. “Okay, shirt off. Just what you need, nothing more. I won’t bite.”

You freeze.

He pauses for a beat. Then tilts his head, eyes crinkling slightly. “Unless you beg,” he adds with a wink.

Your cheeks go hot. You laugh—nervously. It feels like your skin is already burning.

You carefully lift your shirt just high enough to expose the side of your torso, tugging the fabric over your bra, folding it under your arm to keep it out of the way. You're acutely aware of how much skin you're showing—even more so under that bright, direct light.

He kneels beside you with the stencil, gaze focused. You expect him to avoid eye contact, to be clinical—but Han is anything but.

His fingers brush your waist, and they stay there, warm through the gloves. His hand spreads slightly, holding your skin steady as he gently presses the cool stencil to your ribs.

“Breathe for me, yeah?” he murmurs, glancing up at you with a crooked smile. “I’m gonna press it right here…”

You suck in a breath, chest rising.

He places the stencil deliberately. Slowly. His face is close—close enough that you can see the curve of his lashes, the faint sheen of gloss on his lip ring. You smell cedar and musk on his hoodie. His fingers flex slightly against your side.

He looks up.

“You’re already twitchy,” he says softly, voice dropping just enough to make you forget how to breathe. “Gonna be a fun ride.”

You don’t know if he means the tattoo. And neither does he.

He stands and moves to the table beside him, switching out tools like it’s second nature. The machine buzzes to life with a sharp mechanical hum.

You tense.

He catches it immediately.

“First pinch might sting,” he says, voice suddenly gentle, almost coaxing. “I’ll talk you through it. You’re good.”

You nod again, trying not to clench your fists.

Then his hand is back on your body.

He anchors you with one palm spread wide over your side, right above your hip. It’s not forceful, but there’s weight to it. A possessive steadiness. The leather chair creaks faintly under the shift of your body.

And then the needle touches. A sharp, sudden sting. You wince.

“Breathe. Just like that. You’re doing so well, pretty,” he says, voice a constant hum in your ear. “Your skin takes ink like a dream. Fuck, this is gonna look good.”

You exhale through your nose, trying to focus on the sound of his voice instead of the burn.

It helps. But not in the way it should. Because Han doesn’t shut up. Not once.

“Don’t squirm too much… unless you want me to slip.” “You’re soft here. So fucking soft.” “Bet you’re the type who likes being teased, huh?”

You let out a choked laugh, more from panic than humor. He grins, eyes glinting.

The buzz of the machine, the heat of his palm on your skin, the constant commentary—it all blends into a haze. You’re dripping adrenaline and something else entirely. You feel like you’ve been stripped down far deeper than your shirt allows.

After what feels like both a lifetime and a blink, the needle slows. He lifts it. “Almost done. You’ve been such a good girl for me.”

The words land like a slap and a stroke at once.

He sets the machine aside, reaching for a fresh cloth. He wipes your skin slowly. Not rough. Not rushed. Every pass of his hand is careful, gentle.

You’re trembling now. Just a little.

He leans back finally and exhales. The air feels different. Like it’s shifted again—thicker.

“There,” he says. “Wanna see?”

You nod, throat dry.

He helps you up—guides you to a mirror near the corner. His hand stays on your back.

You look. And for a second, you forget how to breathe again. The tattoo is perfect. Clean, delicate, exactly how you pictured it. But it’s not just the ink that makes your chest ache—it’s the fact that it’s his. His hands made this. His touch. His art. On your skin.

“My work’s on you now,” he murmurs behind you, voice low and close. “You’re not gonna forget me, are you?”

You shake your head. You couldn’t if you tried.

The moment you slide your shirt back down, your skin feels… different. Not just because it's slightly tender from the ink, but because his touch still lingers. Like heat soaked into your bones. Like a fingerprint on your soul. You shouldn’t be this affected—he’s just your tattoo artist. Right?

You sit there for a moment longer than necessary, blinking as he finishes cleaning his station. His gloves come off with a snap, and he tosses them into the bin. You glance up, and—yep—he’s watching you.

Leaning casually against the counter, arms crossed, hair a little mussed, rings catching the light. Smug as hell.

“You survived,” he says, voice bright with that chaos-riddled lilt again. “Didn’t cry. Didn’t puke. I’m impressed.”

You roll your eyes. “High praise.”

“I’ve had grown men pass out from rib pieces,” he shrugs. “One guy farted. Loud. Mid-linework. I almost dropped the machine.”

You snort despite yourself. “Well, thanks for not comparing me to the Fart Guy until the end.”

He grins, wide and gleaming. “No, no, you’re top-tier,” he says, stepping closer to grab your care sheet. “Didn’t even whimper. Except for that one part where your breath hitched and I thought—y’know, for a second—you might come on the chair.”

You nearly choke. “Excuse me?!”

“Kidding,” he sing-songs. “Unless…?”

Your glare is ruined by the flush racing up your neck. You stand and grab your bag in a hurry, trying to save face. “You’re awful.”

“I’m delightful.”

He leads you back toward the front desk, swaying just slightly with each step, like he’s got too much energy stored in those shoulders. You swear he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet. It’s giving feral golden retriever with a tattoo gun and a praise kink.

You hand over your card while avoiding eye contact.

He hums dramatically as he takes it, flipping it over like he’s studying an ancient rune.

“You sure you don’t wanna tip in other ways?” he says, deadpan.

Your jaw drops.

He grins, swipes your card, and taps it dramatically against the reader before handing it back. “Joking, obviously. Unless that wasn't a ‘no,’ in which case, I’m free next week—Tuesday, after 7?”

You grab the receipt from the printer and scowl at him. “You flirt with all your clients like this?”

“Only the pretty ones who shake when I touch their ribs.”

You stare.

He smiles wider.

“Okay, okay—last line, I swear,” he chuckles. Then, softer: “Hey. Can I get your number?”

The way he asks it—it’s not sleazy. It’s bold, sure. But there’s this undercurrent of actual interest, like he’s asking for something more than just your digits.

You blink. “Why?”

“‘Cause I want it?” he says, grinning. “Also, in case your tattoo needs a touch-up. Or emotional support. Or if you just feel like sending me hot selfies. It’s a multi-purpose thing.”

You hesitate. Your pulse says yes before your mouth does. He notices. He always notices. You hand him your phone, and he immediately types his own number in, labelling it:

HAN “WILL NOT SHUT UP” JISUNG 🖤

He sends himself a text from your phone, winks, then gives it back. “Now we’re connected,” he says “Digitally. Spiritually. Carnally—well, not yet.”

You open your mouth to sass him. “You were so close to being cool,” you say.

“Close is my middle name.”

You snort and shake your head as you step toward the door. “Bye, Han.”

“See you soon, angel.”

You’re out the door.

The texting started immediately. Like, within minutes of you leaving the shop.

What began as tattoo care check-ins (“don’t scratch it or I’ll spank you—unless?”) turned into daily chaos. Then nightly chaos. Then a full-blown flirtationship spiralling out of control.

Han texts like he lives inside your brain—firing off filthy one-liners between jokes that make you wheeze-laugh at 1AM, switching between “you’re my filthy little secret” and “pls tell me I’m cute or I’ll cry.”

You finally cave after he begs you to get ramen at 9PM “as friends who have sexual tension.”

You show up. He’s already sitting cross-legged in the booth, hoodie sleeves rolled up, lip ring glinting, chopsticks twirling in one hand like he’s about to duel someone.

He greets you with: “You look edible. I meant that in a respectful way. Mostly.”

You try to play it cool. He doesn’t let you.

The whole night is full of dumb jokes, spicy noodles, and under-the-table foot nudging that turns into ankle grazing that turns into—

“You keep that up, baby,” he murmurs across the table, “and I’m gonna drag you to the bathroom and remind you what these fingers can do.”

You nearly choke on your drink. He laughs, head tilted back, so proud of himself.

You leave flustered. He kisses your cheek in the parking lot. Just your cheek. But his hand lingers at your waist. His mouth is right next to your ear.

“Call me when you can’t sleep,” he says, low. “I’ll make sure you get tired again.”

You almost trip on the curb.

The calls eventually started and slowly became routine. Especially those 1AM phone calls, they were like clockwork. You, in bed, breath heavy as his voice would melt through the speaker.

“You touching yourself yet?” “You want me to talk you through it?” “Want me to tell you what I’d do if I had you on my lap right now?”

He moans in your ear when you do what he says.

Filthy. Unfiltered. And when it’s over—when you’re breathless and ruined—he says the softest things:

“Wish I was there to hold you.” “You’re so fucking hot, but you’re also cute and funny and it’s unfair.” “You still like me, right?”

It’s not just lust anymore. It's want. Sticky, addictive, confusing want.

It started with a text.

Just one. Sent on a whim while lying in bed late at night, staring at the first tattoo he gave you—delicate black lines peeking from beneath your shirt, still soft to the touch even weeks later.

[You, 11:23PM] thinking about getting another one

You didn’t expect a fast reply. But Jisung’s name lit up your phone in under two minutes.

[HAN “WILL NOT SHUT UP” 🖤, 11:24PM] oh?? 👀 where when how much skin we talking is it just an excuse to see me again (pls say yes)

You rolled your eyes. Typed back:

[You] hipbone small script and maybe what if it was both

His reply came in a blink:

[HAN “WILL NOT SHUT UP” 🖤] come by the shop this friday after hours no distractions just me. you. ink. doors locked. lights low. …for professionalism, obviously 🙃

You stared at the screen for a long time before replying.

And then:

[You] see you friday.

Friday. 9:04PM.

Seoul’s city pulse is just starting to dim when you push open the door to NO SAINT INK for the second time.

The bell doesn’t ring. He told you it wouldn’t.

The neon signs are still lit—SINNER’S HANDS flickering a slow blood-red glow in the window—but the rest of the shop feels different. Empty. Still. Like something waiting to be touched.

The lights are dimmed. Only one small lamp buzzes near the back, casting long shadows across the matte-black walls.

Your steps echo a little as you walk inside. Then—

“Back here, pretty.”

His voice, low and smooth, floats from behind a curtain in the far booth.

You follow it. Pull the curtain aside. And there he is.

He’s already set up.

Tattoo machine prepped, gloves laid out neatly beside his sketch pad. He’s wearing an oversized black tee tucked loosely into ripped jeans, sleeves rolled just enough to show off the ink that curls around his biceps like living things.

He doesn’t look at you at first.

He’s focused on the script you’d sent him earlier—your design. A small phrase, handwritten in your own messy scrawl: “still hungry.”

When he finally glances up, it hits you like the first time all over again.

The way his lip curls. The way his eyes bite first and ask questions later. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dipped in something dark and fond. “Back for more.”

You lean against the booth’s edge, heartbeat already in your throat. “You said professionalism, remember?”

He stands slowly. Walks toward you. You can feel the heat radiating off him in waves.

“I lied.”

A beat. Then—

“Where’s it going again?”

You lift the hem of your hoodie just a little. Hook your thumb beneath your waistband and tug it down, just far enough to expose the sharp curve of your hipbone.

His gaze drops.

Stays.

He doesn’t speak for a moment too long. Just stares—like he’s trying to memorize you before he ruins you. “That’s dangerous, you know,” he says softly. “Letting me touch you there.”

You try to swallow. Fail. “You’re the one who said no distractions.”

He smiles. “You’re the fucking distraction.”

He gloves up without another word.

You lie back on the chair, heart slamming in your chest, every inch of skin suddenly too hot.

You’re not sure what you expected. Something casual? Familiar? But the moment his gloved hand touches your bare hip—steadying you, fingers spread firm and warm—the entire world narrows to him.

“Breathe for me,” he murmurs, positioning the stencil. “Just like last time. You remember how good you were for me?”

You exhale shakily.

“You gonna behave again tonight, pretty thing?”

You whisper: “Maybe.”

He leans in. His mouth is close to your skin. His voice—barely a breath. “God, I hope not.” He’s still positioning the stencil.

And you? You're laid back on the chair, hoodie bunched beneath your ribs, waistband tugged low, every nerve ending on alert. The soft lamplight paints shadows across his jaw as he kneels between your legs, eyes focused.

And then—

“You know,” he says lightly, pressing the stencil into place, “I’ve seen a lot of hipbones. But this one might be my favourite.”

You snort. “Wow. So original.”

He grins without looking up. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“I’m sure you say that to all your clients.”

“Only the ones who sext me about popsicles and then block me for ten minutes.”

You go still. He finally glances up. Smirks. “Yeah. Thought I forgot about that?”

You mutter, “I hate you.”

“You love me,” he says immediately, like it’s a fact. “You want me to ruin your life. Slowly. Lovingly. With tattoos and aftercare.”

You cover your face. “Shut up.”

He laughs—a low, breathy sound. Then, softly: “I’m starting the line now. Hold still, baby.”

The machine whirs to life.

It’s quieter than you remember. Or maybe you’re just more aware—of everything. The way his gloved hand steadies your hip, thumb dragging along the edge of your waistband. The needle’s sharp kiss. The buzz settling into your bones.

And Han’s voice. God, he never stops talking.

“This spot’s sensitive,” he says, totally casual. “Most people squirm. But I like that.”

You tense. He notices. Of course he does.

“Relax,” he murmurs, dragging the line smooth. “You’re doing perfect.”

Another pause. Then—

“Don’t suppose you’re into pain, are you?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to. He chuckles under his breath. “God, you so are.”

But then, just like that—his tone shifts. He quiets. Focuses. And the teasing melts into something heavier. “Almost done,” he says, more softly this time. “You’ve been so good for me again. Always are.”

You blink. Your heart skips.

He wipes your skin again, slow and reverent, then leans back to look. He’s still crouched between your thighs, eyes focused, lips parted slightly as he takes it in.

“Fuck.”

You blink. “What?”

He looks up at you. No grin now. Just quiet, open admiration. “It’s gorgeous,” he says. “Like… stupid good.” He presses a kiss to his gloved fingertips and taps them against your skin.

“Still hungry,” he reads aloud. “God, I could write essays on that.”

“Don’t,” you whisper.

“Too late. MLA format. Double spaced. Thesis: you’re gonna kill me.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re flushed. Breath shallow. Because now that the needle’s done…

He’s not moving. His hand stays on your waist. His eyes flick to your lips. Then back down. Then—

“You want me to touch you?”

The question lands like a live wire in the room. But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t smirk. He just waits. Like he’s offering something sacred. Like he’d back off the second you said no. But you don’t. You can’t.

You nod. Barely.

His fingers tighten on your skin. “Nah,” he murmurs. “Say it. I want to hear it.”

You swallow.

“…Yes.”

“Yes what, baby?”

Your brain short-circuits.

“Jisung—”

“Use your words, pretty thing. Or I’ll stop before I start.”

You suck in a breath, eyes locking with his. “I want you to touch me.”

He moves instantly.

The gloves are still on when he presses his palm flat against your hipbone, fingers spreading possessively. His hand feels huge there—like it was made for this exact spot.

“Fuck. Been thinking about this since the first time you came in,” he mutters, voice dropping into something rough, reverent. “You looked so fucking good in that chair. All nervous and squirmy.”

He bends down.

Kisses the edge of your new tattoo, so soft it almost hurts. “My name’s not even on you,” he whispers, “and I’m still acting like you’re mine.”

Your stomach flips. You whimper.

And he grins, but it’s different now—hungry, not cocky. “Take your pants off.”

You blink.

He meets your eyes. “Let me take care of you.”

You obey—slow, breathless, trembling under his gaze. You slide them down and toss them aside. He leans in again, eyes tracing over the new ink and everything below it, slow and starving.

You’re not wearing much underneath, lacy pink panties, with a very obvious wet spot on your center.

He groans softly. “You’re already wet.”

You gasp when his fingers brush over you, lazy, like he has all the time in the world. “All this from a little needle?” he teases. “Or is it the artist?”

“Fuck you,” you breathe.

He laughs. One low, wicked exhale. “Oh, you will. But not yet.”

He leans back, peels his gloves off slowly—dragging each finger loose one by one, like he’s unwrapping a gift. Tosses them into the bin without taking his eyes off you once.

Then he lowers himself between your legs.

Spreads your thighs just a little further apart with both hands. You hear him exhale.

“Fuck. This is gonna kill me.”

He doesn’t touch you yet. Just leans in.

And presses a kiss right above your knee. Then the inside of your thigh. Then a little higher. And a little higher.

Your breath hitches when his lips ghost just beside the fabric.

“Soaked through lace,” he murmurs. “That’s so fucking pretty, baby.”

You’re shaking now.

He mouths over the wet spot—not even pulling them down yet. Just letting the heat of his breath and the drag of his lips torture you. You feel the scrape of his lip ring as he kisses you again, open-mouthed, right there.

“Bet you’d cum just from this,” he whispers. “My mouth through your panties. Barely even trying.”

You whimper. One hand fisting the edge of the chair.

His fingers slide over the wet spot next, slow and teasing. Two fingers rub a lazy circle, barely pressing—just enough to make your hips twitch. “I should leave these on,” he says, almost to himself. “Just push them to the side. Make you beg for it.”

You breathe, “Jisung—please—”

That does it.

He hooks his fingers under the waistband and drags them down—slow, deliberate, watching every inch of you get exposed.

He groans loudly the second you’re bare. “Holy fuck.”

Then he’s leaning in again, this time nothing between you. He kisses your inner thigh first. Then lower.

Then—

His tongue drags one long, obscene stripe up your center. You cry out, hips bucking—he presses a hand to your stomach, holding you still with an effortless command:

“Stay fucking still.”

Then he goes back in. He licks you like he means it—messy, slow, then fast and deep. His tongue circles your clit with practiced chaos. He moans against you, loud, like you taste like something sacred.

“You taste like fucking heaven,” he groans, voice muffled.

His hands spread you wider, his tongue dipping into your heat, nose pressed right up against your skin.

Then he sucks. Hard.

Your head falls back—gone.

“That’s it,” he purrs. “My perfect little slut. Look at you.”

Your hands tangle in his hair. You tug. He groans again and ruts into the fucking air, desperate for friction while he eats you out like he’s starving.

“You gonna cum on my mouth?” he growls, voice wrecked. “You want me to keep going or make you beg for it?”

You try to answer—can’t.

He pulls back for just a moment, lips and chin shining. “Use your words, baby. You know the rules.”

“Please—fuck—don’t stop, please—Jisung—”

“God,” he groans. “Keep saying my name like that and I’m gonna cum in my fucking jeans.”

Then he dives back in, faster now, tongue fucking into you, hand moving to circle your clit with soaked fingers while he sucks and moans like you’re his last goddamn meal. He’s everywhere—his mouth, his hand, the filthy hum of his moans vibrating straight through your core. He doesn’t pause to tease, doesn’t stop to talk this time. He’s all action now. Starved. Feral.

“Fuck,” he growls between licks, the words hot and wet against your folds. “You taste so fucking good. Gonna make me lose my mind.”

His tongue pushes in again. He flicks it fast, then slow, then sucks at your clit with a deep, wet moan that makes you cry out, back arching clean off the chair.

“There you go,” he pants, not even breaking rhythm. “Just like that. Give it to me, baby. Come on.” His voice is breathless, desperate—like he’s the one about to cum.

You’re shaking. Legs trembling. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

Your hands are clutching his hair, holding him right where you need him, and he just groans louder, grinding his face deeper like he wants to live between your legs. His lip ring catches against your clit—again, and again—and your thighs clamp around his head instinctively.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even flinch.

He just moans into you, hands gripping your hips tighter, holding you down as your whole body starts to unravel. You feel it in your spine. In your toes. In the fucking air.

“You close, pretty thing?” he slurs against your clit. “Yeah, you are. You’re fucking dripping—making a mess for me. So fucking perfect. All mine.”

That breaks you.

You cum harder than you ever have in your life—with a sob, a gasp, a full-body spasm that crashes over you like a goddamn tsunami.

You hear yourself. You scream his name.

Jisung. Jisung. Jisung.

And he takes it.

He drinks it down like a man possessed, moaning into you like you’re water in the desert, like he’s been waiting his whole life to taste you fall apart. He doesn’t even stop when you cum—he licks you through it, tongue softening only slightly as your body twitches and bucks and pleads for mercy.

It’s too much. It’s so good it hurts.

“J-Jisung—fuck—wait—too much—”

Only then does he pull back, chest heaving, face absolutely wrecked. His mouth, his chin, even the tip of his nose glistens with you. He looks dazed.

Blessed.

He runs a hand down his face and just stares at you—spread out, soaked, shaking, glowing.

Then: “Holy fuck.”

You blink up at him, still gasping, brain static.

He grins—wide, flushed, proud as hell. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. Best pussy of my life.” You try to sass him. You really do. But all that comes out is a whimper.

“Aw,” he coos, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Dumbed you out already?”

He brushes your hair back, kisses your forehead. “You okay?”

You nod. Barely.

“You want more?”

You nod. Desperately.

He chuckles, voice thick with affection and wrecked restraint. “Yeah, baby. Me too.” Then he stands up, undoing his belt with shaking hands, and murmurs: “Get comfy. ’Cause I’m gonna fuck you so good, you forget your own name.”

You’re still gasping. Still trembling. But your eyes follow the movement of his hands—shaking slightly as he undoes his belt, then the button, then the zipper.

He pushes his jeans down—

And your breath catches. You knew he’d be pretty. But not like this. Not this.

Thick. Flushed. Slight curve to the left.

And not just the look of it—the feel of it, even before he’s inside. You know instinctively it’s going to destroy you. That kind of snug fit that presses into all the right places and leaves no room for secrets.

He strokes himself once, slow and slick, precum already leaking from the tip. “Gonna be good for me, baby?” he asks, voice shaking as he fists his cock. “Let me feel that perfect pussy now?”

You nod. Dumb. Ready. So wet you feel it drip onto the chair beneath you.

He lines up—rubs the head of his cock over your folds, up and down, teasing your clit before circling your entrance. You’re still sensitive. Still twitching. And he feels it. “Still throbbing for me,” he murmurs. “God, you’re unreal.”

He pushes in. Slow. Deep. Too much. Too good.

You cry out—your body arching, your hands gripping the armrest and his forearm and anything you can reach.

Because he fits. Perfectly. Thick enough to make you stretch wide, gasp, feel it in your lungs. But not enough to hurt. No—just enough to ruin you.

“F-fuck,” he groans, head falling forward. “You’re squeezing me so tight—Jesus—don’t move yet, I’ll cum too fast—” He bottoms out, hips flush to yours. He stays there for a second. Still trembling. His cock twitches inside you.

“I’m gonna die,” he whispers. “I’m gonna die in this pussy.”

You laugh—a breathless, broken thing—and he grins like he’s proud.

Then? He pulls out halfway. And slams back in. Hard. And again. And again. Fast. Unhinged. Like he’s been waiting to do this for weeks. “Oh fuck, that’s it. That’s it, baby—keep takin’ it—so fucking perfect—”

He’s rambling now. Whimpering.

Each thrust hits so deep you swear you see stars. It’s a rhythm that shouldn’t exist, shouldn’t be real. Every stroke dragging against your g-spot, every snap of his hips making your thighs quake.

And he’s talking. So much.

“You feel that? Huh? You feel how good you make me?” “You’re all mine. This pussy? Fucking mine. Say it.” “Say it, baby, c’mon—tell me who it belongs to—”

You choke out, “You—it’s yours, Jisung—fuck, you’re so deep—”

He moans—wrecked. “God, I’m not gonna last—fuck—you’re too good—you’re too fucking good—” Then he bends down—mouth at your ear, hips still pounding into you like he’s trying to brand your soul.

“One more,” he whispers. “Just one more, yeah? Be my good girl and cum for me again—come on—cum on my cock—let me feel you—”

You barely get the chance to nod. Because then—he changes rhythm.

Not slower. Not gentler. Worse. He fucks you harder. Deeper. Like his body knows exactly how to hit every nerve inside you. Like he’s memorized your walls. And maybe he has. Maybe from the moment he first touched you in that chair, his entire brain rewired for this—for you.

“So fucking tight,” he pants, voice cracked open, almost panicked. “Shit—look at how you take me—look at that, fuck—”

He’s holding your waist again, but carefully—just above the fresh tattoo. His fingers dig into your ribs, grip locked in, not letting you squirm away as he slams into you, pace frantic, unrelenting.

“Can’t touch your hips,” he growls, “so I’m gonna hold you right here—just like this—until you fall apart again.”

Then his hand slides down. Finds your clit. And rubs. Fast. Tight.

You moan loud.

“Tell me what it feels like,” he pants, eyes locked on your face, wild. “Come on, baby—talk to me. You know the rules.”

You try. You try so hard.

“It’s—fuck—Jisung—it’s too much—I-I can’t—”

His hand doesn’t stop. His cock drives up into you like it’s chasing your orgasm, like he can feel it coming and he wants to drag it out of you with his bare hands. “Yes, you can. You’re my good girl, right? My perfect fucking baby—tell me what you feel.”

You sob. “It’s everywhere—it’s so deep—I feel you in my stomach, Jisung—”

That makes him moan—full, wrecked, helpless. “Yeah? That’s it, baby. You feel me stretching you out? You feel how hard you’re clenching around me?”

He’s unhinged. Fucking you like he needs to feel you cum on his cock. Like it’s his only goddamn mission in life.

“Don’t hold back. Let me have it. Show me how good I make you feel.” His fingers tighten, rub faster. His cock keeps slamming up into that perfect, perfect spot.

And you break.

You fall apart on him with a cry that splits the air—your orgasm ripping through you like a detonation, a white-hot snap that makes your whole body lock up and tremble.

You cum hard. Harder than before. Harder than ever.

And he feels it. Feels you clench around him like a vice, walls pulsing, soaked, squeezing every last bit of him until he’s gasping into your throat. “Fuck—fuck—I’m gonna—baby—I’m—”

He slams in once, twice more—then stills. Buried deep. Groaning so loud it echoes. And cums. Hot. Fast. Deep. He fills you up with a desperate, whimpering exhale—head falling into the crook of your neck, fingers flexing tight on your waist as he rides it out, hips twitching helplessly inside you.

“Jesus—holy fuck—how are you real—”

You don’t know what you say. You don’t know if you’re breathing. All you know is he doesn’t let go. Not even after. His arms wrap around you, one hand sliding up to your ribs, the other cupping your jaw gently as he leans in and kisses your forehead.

Sweet. Messy. Possessive.

“I’m so fucking in love with your pussy.” he mumbles against your skin.

You laugh—wrecked and breathless. “You just came in me.”

“I did. I’ll take responsibility.”

“You didn’t even mean to.”

“That’s what makes it romantic.”

But then he goes quiet. Both of you do. Still joined. Still pulsing. The only sound in the room is your breathing—shaky, shallow, shared.

Han’s body is draped over yours, his skin hot and sticky, his face buried in your neck like he might actually die if he moves. He’s not even thrusting anymore—just lying there, full-on koala mode, arms around your waist, cock still twitching inside you like it doesn’t know it's over.

“I think I saw God,” he whispers.

You blink, still boneless and floating.

“Pretty sure she winked at me and said ‘Good job, Jisung.’”

You snort into the crumpled pillow beneath you. “Was she hot?”

He lifts his head just enough to deadpan: “She looked like you.”

A pause.

“Except taller. And clothed. And not full of cum.”

You let out a noise that’s half wheeze, half scream, face flushing as you try to twist away—but he tightens his grip, groaning as his still half-hard cock shifts inside you.

“Nooo, don’t move,” he whines. “You’ll make me hard again and I’ll die. You’re too powerful.”

You roll your eyes. “You just came in me, and now you’re being dramatic?”

He lifts his face, eyes wide. “I’m always dramatic. But now I’m dramatic and post-nut mushy.”

You smack his arm—lightly. He grins and kisses your shoulder like he’s never been happier in his life.

Then, suddenly gentle: “You okay? Need anything?”

You hum. “Water. A towel. A new pelvis.”

“I can offer you one of those things.”

He pulls out slowly, careful. You both wince a little, and he immediately fumbles for the nearest clean towel, muttering, “Shit, sorry, sorry—damn, we really did that, huh?”

He cleans you up softly, thoroughly. Tongue poking out in concentration, hands warm and reverent. You watch him in the dim light—his flushed cheeks, mussed-up curls, that stupid satisfied look on his face like he just won the lottery and the trophy was you.

He helps you sit up, eyes wide looking you over as if wanting to make sure you are okay and not just saying you're okay.

You smile at him, dazed. “That was insane.”

“You’re welcome.”

Then, quieter: “I really like you, by the way.”

You glance at him. He’s suddenly shy—voice small, fingers playing with the hem of the towel. “I mean—I know this was hot and wild and unholy, but like. You’re not just hot and wild and unholy. You’re…” He scratches the back of his head. “Cool. Funny. Gorgeous. Smart. And you have great pain tolerance and taste in art and—I dunno—your moans live in my soul now.”

You blink at him. He shrugs. “I just think you’re neat.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. You lean in, kiss him soft. He melts instantly.

Twenty minutes later, you’re both curled on the couch in the back lounge. Your legs are over his lap. You’re sipping water. He’s holding your hand and doodling hearts on your thigh with a sharpie.

“So,” he says, yawning. “When do you want your third tattoo?”

You give him a look. “Planning ahead?”

He smirks, smug. “Just making sure I get to fuck you again.”

You flick his forehead.

“Ow—okay, okay. For art. Not for horny.”

But you both know the truth. You’re absolutely getting another tattoo. And this man is going to absolutely ruin you again. With love. And dick. And filthy words. And then cuddle you like a little spoon with separation anxiety.

So the answer? Yeah. Yeah you will be seeing more of him. More dates. More dick. More tattoos. Guess it's fate.

[leeknowlore]

⭑.ᐟ MAKE HIM SNAP: LEE FELIX (NSFW / 18+ ONLY)

: ̗̀➛ pairing: lee felix x brat fem!reader (a bit of seungmin x reader) : ̗̀➛ word count: ~8k : ̗̀➛ content: fluff, smut, felix is the sweetest thing but so mean, reader actively tries to make felix mad, minor injury in the kitchen

you make a bet with seungmin: you've got one week to get your boyfriend, felix—who seems completely incapable of getting mad at you—to finally snap. after a series of failed attempts, you figure if anything’s going to work, it might as well be in bed.

author's note: i’ve been on a writing grind lately so here’s a second fic in one sitting because apparently i have no self-control. i’m shitting my balls. i need felix like yesterday. enjoy! ♡

smut warnings below the cut!

: ̗̀➛ smut warnings: hard dom!felix, explicit sexual content, oral (f. receiving), reader has the biggest degradation kink, brat taming, slight edging, light bondage, power play, unprotected piv (don't), missionary, doggy style, semi-voyeurism

you’d always thought of him as sunshine.

everyone did.

even when he wasn’t smiling, felix had that glow—warm and unbothered, with freckles that danced across his cheeks like constellations and a voice that made people turn around just to hear him speak again. he was soft. gentle. sweet in that quiet, domestic way. the kind of boy who folded your laundry before you even remembered you’d done it.

even in bed—he was gentle. worshipful. like every touch was a question and you were the only answer. he was all murmured praise, soft sighs, slow hands. he loved you softly. every time.

which is probably why no one—including you—had ever seen him mad.

not truly.

you were perched on the edge of the couch in the boys’ dorm, nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of your hoodie. it was felix’s, naturally—oversized and warm and still faintly smelling like his laundry detergent.

you were here because you’d accidentally taken something you weren’t supposed to. a usb, to be exact. felix had handed it to you earlier in the day along with your own, and in your rush to leave, you’d pocketed the wrong one.

“i just feel so bad,” you groaned, glancing toward the hallway. “he said he needed it for something tonight. like, deadline-needed.”

seungmin was sprawled across the other end of the couch, legs kicked up, eyes on his phone. he barely glanced up as he responded.

“you’re being dramatic.”

“no, like—really bad. i shouldn’t have—”

“honestly?” he cut in, finally looking at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “i don’t think he’s even capable of getting mad at you.”

you blinked. “what?”

he chuckled, flipping his phone over. “i mean, come on. you could probably punch him in the face and he’d apologize for getting in the way of your fist.”

you laughed despite yourself. “that is so not true.”

“isn’t it?”

you opened your mouth to argue—but then the front door opened.

felix stepped in, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair slightly damp from the drizzle outside. his eyes found you immediately.

“hey,” you said, standing. “i brought it—sorry again, i seriously didn’t mean—”

“shh.” he was already moving toward you, gentle hands coming up to cradle your arms, thumbs brushing soothingly against the fabric of his hoodie—the one you were wearing. “don’t stress, angel. it’s okay.”

“but you said you needed it for tonight,” you mumbled, guilt creeping up your spine. “i should’ve double-checked—”

“and i should’ve labeled mine.” he gave a small laugh, pulling you closer, tucking your head under his chin with that easy warmth that always made your chest flutter. “it’s not a big deal. really.”

you swore you saw seungmin choke on a laugh in your peripheral vision.

your eyes flicked sideways—just in time to catch him turning away, phone suddenly so interesting he might’ve been reading the terms and conditions. his shoulders were shaking, just barely.

felix either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it.

“i’m gonna head out again to drop this off,” he said, voice still soft, fingertips lingering at your elbow for a second longer before letting go. 

you nodded, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “right. of course.”

“thanks for coming all the way back,” he added, gaze warm and fond, like you’d just done something heroic instead of, you know, returning the thing you accidentally stole. he gave your arm one last squeeze. “text me when you get home, yeah?”

“i will.”

then he was gone—door shutting behind him with that soft click that always left the room feeling quieter somehow.

and the very second it closed, seungmin’s voice rang out from behind you.

“god, that was disgusting.”

you turned.

“excuse me?”

he didn’t even look up from his phone. “you took his drive and somehow walked away with a hug, and a thank you.”

you opened your mouth to argue.

then closed it.

“okay, but—”

“nope. don’t justify it.” seungmin pointed his phone at the door.

you rolled your eyes, hoisting your bag over your shoulder, but the words stuck with you. warmed you a little too much. annoyingly so.

still, you couldn’t help yourself.

“he’s still a person. he’s not, like… impervious to irritation.” you muttered, half to yourself, half to the room. “if i pissed him off enough, he’d crack,”

seungmin didn’t even flinch. “tell me when that ever happens.”

you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “you know i’m gonna try to, just to prove you wrong.”

“mhm,” seungmin said flatly, not even looking up. “60 bucks. you have a week.”

“60 bucks,” you repeated. “i’m gonna find his limit,” you said, dead serious. “he has to have one.”

“good luck.”

you’d been thinking about it for days—how to do it, how to gently prod at the edge of felix’s emotional limits without actually hurting him. you weren’t trying to be cruel. you just wanted to see something other than that unwavering calm, that endless warmth. you wanted to prove he could feel sharp things, too. that he wasn’t made of clouds and soft blankets and chamomile tea.

jealousy. that was your angle.

was felix ever jealous? you genuinely didn’t know. he’d never so much as blinked when people flirted with you—though to be fair, you’d never exactly flirted back. you never had a reason to. you didn’t want to.

but now, you needed a reaction.

just enough to light a spark. not enough to burn the house down.

so when your company hosted a casual dinner event—open to significant others and friends—you didn’t hesitate to bring felix. he looked unfairly good that night, dressed in soft black slacks and a black button up that hugged his frame a little too well. his hand found yours under the table the second you sat down, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles against your palm like always.

you were seated at a long table with a mix of coworkers and guests, plates being passed around, wine glasses clinking gently, soft laughter filling the room.

he was beside you, of course—close and warm and always tuned in to you.

but the guy on your other side?

friendly. talkative. a little too charming in that “business casual” way. you leaned into it. not too obvious. just enough to let felix notice.

you laughed at something the guy said—tilting your head just slightly, touching his arm in that way that could maybe be seen as flirty. maybe. you were careful. just close enough to the line to toe it, not cross it.

felix didn’t say a word.

he was smiling, even. still soft-spoken. still squeezing your hand every now and then. still brushing your thigh under the table with his when he shifted in his seat. he even leaned in at one point and murmured, “you okay?”

you nodded, playing it cool. “mhm. just chatting.”

felix grinned. that same soft, sunny smile that always made you feel like you were the only one in the room.

“alright,” he said, brushing your cheek with his knuckle before pulling back like nothing was even slightly off.

he went back to being quiet and polite. still engaged in the conversation going around the table, nodding at someone’s story, chiming in with a laugh when appropriate. he didn’t stiffen. didn’t narrow his eyes. didn’t even glance at the guy beside you like he might be competition.

you sat there smiling and nodding at whatever work guy was saying about his vacation to bali, but your stomach was knotting. tighter by the second.

because you knew what you were doing. you knew exactly how much you were leaning. exactly when you let your laugh ring just a little louder, your fingers trail just a little longer.

but felix wasn’t reacting.

or at least—he wasn’t reacting the way you expected.

he was just… him. gentle. warm. steady. and he could’ve been using this moment to get back at you.

there were plenty of chances. the woman across the table who complimented his accent. the one seated diagonally, sipping wine and laughing just a little too brightly at his jokes. one even asked him how his skin was so clear and if he worked out—which, in fairness, was a valid question.

felix didn’t take the bait. he was polite, as always. gracious, even. gave small answers. thanked them with a nod and a soft smile. but he didn’t engage.

didn’t lean in. didn’t flirt. didn’t offer even a flicker of attention that could be mistaken as anything more than manners.

and slowly—almost like he was aware of your internal panic creeping in—he started leaning in closer to you. gradually, without showiness. his knee pressed against yours beneath the table. then reached for his water glass and poured some into yours before you could even realize it was empty.

this wasn’t going to work.

you weren’t going to rattle him. you weren’t going to get that flash of possessiveness, that glint of sharp jealousy in his eyes.

because felix didn’t play games.

not with you.

he loved you out loud, completely, and without keeping score. he didn’t need to punish you or mirror your actions to prove a point. he didn’t flinch under pressure. he didn’t crack under quiet provocations.

he just was. wholeheartedly. constant. grounded.

this wasn’t going to work.

it had been a few days since the whole work dinner experiment—since felix had gently, unknowingly, demolished your plan by doing absolutely nothing except love you the way he always did. respectfully. consistently. infuriatingly.

but you weren’t done.

not yet.

jealousy didn’t work, sure. but irritation? that had potential. everyone had a limit, and you were determined to find felix’s.

you were at his place now—well, technically his and seungmin’s—kitchen lights warm, sleeves rolled up, and flour already dusting the countertop like early snow.

the goal today was mild sabotage. nothing irreversible. nothing that would actually ruin the cake. just… enough sugar to make it way too sweet. enough to maybe make him sigh. maybe scold you a little. maybe just something.

you waited until he stepped away to grab a new mixing bowl, and then—quickly, quietly—you dumped in an extra quarter cup. maybe a little more.

by the time he came back, you were standing innocently with the spatula, “gently folding” the batter like you hadn’t just committed a culinary crime.

he paused. looked at the bowl. then looked at you.

“…did you add too much sugar?”

you blinked up at him. “no?”

he hummed. scooped a bit of batter on his finger. tasted it.

and then—smiled. not annoyed. just… amused.

“if you wanted it sweeter, you could’ve just told me,” he said, voice playful, handing you a towel to wipe your fingers off. “i’m gonna balance it so it doesn’t taste like pure syrup.”

you sighed loudly, dramatic, flopping back against the counter. “this is so annoying.”

he laughed and leaned past you to grab a lemon from the fruit bowl.

“go chop up some of the fruit, okay? i’ll deal with this.”

you looked at seungmin, who hadn’t said a word. he gave you a look that screamed pathetic.

you stuck your tongue out at him and turned back to the cutting board, muttering under your breath.

great. jealousy failed. chaos failed. sugar sabotage failed. what were you supposed to do now? bake the cake upside down? hide the eggs?

you didn’t know.

you really didn’t know anymore.

your plan—whatever it had been—was unraveling, slipping through your fingers like flour dust in the air. and the worst part? you kind of… didn’t want to push anymore. felix had been so patient, so kind through all of it, and suddenly, you just felt silly. immature. you had something good, and you were trying to poke holes in it just to see if it would leak.

lost in thought, you didn’t even realize how close your fingers were to the blade until it was too late.

the knife slipped.

there was a sharp sting.

you yelped, the sound cutting through the warm haze of the kitchen as the knife clattered onto the counter and fruit scattered everywhere.

“ah!” you gasped, clutching your hand. blood was already rising.

felix’s head snapped up instantly. “what happened?”

you stepped back, breath shallow. “i—i cut myself—”

he was already there. crossing the kitchen faster than you’d ever seen him move, his hands reaching out to check your fingers—but the moment he saw the blood, something in him shifted.

“what were you even doing?” he snapped, voice sharper than the knife that slipped. he grabbed a towel with jerky, frustrated movements, wrapping it around your wound with practiced precision but no softness. “were you even paying attention?”

your lips parted, stunned. “i—i don’t know, i was just—”

“you weren’t thinking,” he cut in, tone clipped.

his voice rose, not yelling, but full-bodied, biting. that low, velvety rasp he usually used to whisper sweet things into your ear was now slicing through the air like it had teeth.

“for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, shaking his head, “i asked you to do one simple thing. not play with the goddamn knife.”

you stared at him, completely disarmed. not just by the tone. but by how he looked.

chest rising and falling under his fitted sweater, sleeves pushed back just enough to show the flex of his forearms. his jaw clenched, eyes dark with something deeper than just irritation. he looked… furious. unshakable. and so hot it was almost insulting.

your mouth went dry.

you couldn’t stop staring—at the way felix was breathing, his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, like he was trying to bite back whatever else he wanted to say. his hands, still stained with flour, flexed at his sides. every muscle in his jaw was tense.

seungmin stood up, crossing the kitchen to the cabinet.

he grabbed the first aid kit, crouching beside the chair you’d sunk into. he opened it like this wasn’t the most charged atmosphere he’d ever stood in. like felix hadn’t just snapped for the first time in recorded history.

“here,” he said, pulling out some antiseptic and a few band-aids. “don’t bleed on the tile. it’s ugly enough already.”

you gave him a weak glare, but he just smirked.

felix hadn’t moved. he was still standing there, looking at the floor now, his expression twisted with something like regret.

seungmin didn’t let up.

“you got really worked up there, man,” he said, tone light but clearly pointed.

that finally made felix move. he blinked like he was coming out of something, then turned toward you—eyes wide now, softer, voice quiet.

“i’m sorry, baby” he said.

you didn’t say anything for a second. just stared at him, still a little stunned by the whiplash.

but even now, with his shoulders slumped and his tone apologetic, he still looked good. still had that raw energy simmering just under the surface. still had you simmering.

you swallowed hard.

“it’s okay,” you said slowly. 

seungmin raised a brow but said nothing, silently peeling the wrapper off a band-aid.

felix crouched in front of you, his hand ghosting over yours. his voice was soft again, almost too soft.

“i won’t yell like that again,” he murmured. 

you blinked at him, and for a second—just a second—you wanted to say don’t promise that.

because god, the way his voice had cracked when he was angry. the way he looked at you like your carelessness hurt him. the way he shook with something that wasn’t just rage, but deep, desperate concern—you hadn’t expected it to do something to you. 

but he was still doing everything out of love.

even when his voice rose and his hands tightened and his eyes darkened—he was still the same felix. still checking if you were okay. still apologizing even though you had started this whole mess.

and somehow, that made it worse.

you hadn’t even pissed him off correctly. not really. he didn’t yell because you were annoying. he yelled because you were bleeding and he didn’t know how else to handle the sudden fear curling in his gut.

and now he was kneeling in front of you, shame written in every line of his face, like he had done something unforgivable.

you wished he hadn't come down from it so fast.

you wished—maybe more than anything—that he knew he didn’t have to keep being perfect for you to love him.

you didn’t know what else to do.

jealousy had failed. sabotage had failed. even blood hadn’t done it right. every attempt chipped at something inside you—your confidence, your ego, your grasp on what you were even trying to prove. and yet…

seungmin had texted you the evening of the baking incident: [ that was a close one ] [ but it didn’t count. try harder. ]

you'd stared at it for a long time. not because he was wrong—but because you agreed.

so now? one last attempt.

if you couldn’t get felix to be mad at you, then maybe—just maybe—you could make him lose control somewhere else.

which is why he was between your thighs right now.

you were sprawled across his bed, hips twitching, sheets clutched in your fists.

felix was eating you out like it was a mission. like you were something sacred, and he had all the time in the world to worship every inch of you.

his mouth was obscene—lips slick, tongue working you open so slowly you wanted to scream. and he kept murmuring things between licks, low and reverent.

felix’s tongue traced a slow, reverent line up your slit, lips closing over your clit with a tenderness that made your hips twitch. he groaned softly into you, the sound vibrating through your core like a low hum of devotion, and his arms curled tighter around your thighs, anchoring you in place. every motion was soaked in patience, in worship. you were trembling, half mad with need already, and all he’d done was kiss you like he loved you—which, of course, he did.

“taste so good, angel… always so sweet for me, aren’t you?”

“f-felix…” your voice broke on his name, hands knotted in the sheets. he just hummed again, content like he could spend the rest of his life here, lips gliding over your clit, tongue flicking in slow, perfect circles that had your thighs quivering. he was gentle, god, so gentle. like you were the only thing in the world worth touching delicately.

and maybe that was the problem.

you were panting, already so close—too close—and he hadn’t even slipped a finger inside yet. you could feel your orgasm mounting fast, could feel the heat blooming in your belly, the ache curling in your spine, and you knew what would come next. he’d hold you through it. he’d kiss your thighs, murmur praise, make you feel like you were the center of the universe.

you were already trembling, one hand fisting in his sheets, the other tangled in his hair, breath coming in staggered whines. he didn’t speed up. didn’t deviate. tongue curling soft and hot over your clit again and again until your hips twitched and a ragged moan slipped out without your permission.

and then he paused. just for a second.

his eyes lifted to yours, warm and glassy, lips shiny with you.

“shhh, darling…” he whispered, and the way he said it made your stomach flip. “seungmin’s in the living room, remember?”

your chest heaved. right. right—he always told you. always so careful to remind you, not because he was annoyed, but because you’d confessed once—embarrassed and flushed, the sheet pulled up to your chin after a particularly loud session—that you hated the idea of his roommate hearing. and since then, felix had always made sure to keep things quiet. to warn you. to soothe you when your voice got too high, your cries too desperate. he’d press a kiss to your throat, a hand to your mouth, shushing you.

but tonight, something twisted in you.

you weren’t going to hold back.

so when his mouth dipped again, lips closing over your clit in a slow, gentle suck, you let it out—a high, shaky moan that cracked on the end, followed by a breathless, “fuck, felix—!”

he froze.

lifted his head.

his mouth was still glistening, chin slick with you, flushed and beautiful in that way that always made your stomach twist. but his brows were drawn, just slightly, and his voice—when it came—was low and firm, not scolding but edged with something new.

“hey.” his thumb stroked up your inner thigh, slow but deliberate. “quiet down.”

it wasn’t a question. wasn’t a soft reminder like before. it was a command.

and it did something to you.

your breath hitched, thighs twitching around his shoulders as the authority in his tone settled in your chest like a stone dropped into water—rippling outward, stirring everything.

still, something in you bristled.

not in defiance. not exactly.

but you couldn’t stop yourself.

you pouted. just a little. “why?”

his eyes narrowed. there was a flicker of disbelief there, a tension that rippled beneath the surface like he didn’t quite believe you were pushing this boundary.

“because seungmin’s out there,” he said, slower this time, more deliberate, as if you’d forgotten. “and you hate being overheard.”

you shrugged, arching your back slightly, enough to grind your hips closer to his face again. “maybe i changed my mind.”

his eyes flicked to your cunt, glistening and swollen and shamelessly on display, then back up to your face. his expression had shifted. no longer just disbelief. something darker had crept in now—possessive and sharp, curling like smoke at the edges of his voice.

“well i don’t want him to hear you.”

the words were quiet. flat. measured.

you blinked, breath catching.

“i don’t want anyone hearing what you sound like when i’ve got you like this,” he continued, leaning in until you could feel the heat of his breath against your inner thigh. 

you bit your lip, the heat rising in your face. in your chest.

“but…” you started, trying to keep your tone airy. “you always do what i want.”

that did it.

you watched his jaw clench tighter, watched the tension rise in his shoulders, watched the composure crack. just a little.

felix rose—slowly, smoothly, like a tide pulling back before it crashes—and settled over you, forearms bracketing your head, chest brushing yours as he leveled his face just above yours.

you felt it instantly.

that shift.

gone was the usual ease in his posture, the warm, pliant softness you always leaned into. what loomed above you now wasn’t your sweet, sunny felix—it was the part of him he always held back, the part that simmered under the surface like magma, always contained, until you poked at it.

and tonight?

you’d done nothing but poke.

he leaned in again, slow, like a tiger in tall grass, and planted his palm flat against the mattress beside your head. his voice was soft now, but laced with something that made your spine arch—authority, finality, control.

“you really think i don’t know?”

you swallowed hard.

“that you’ve been bratty for days,” he said, like it was fact. like it was math. “flirting with that guy at dinner. cutting your hand because you couldn’t stand that i didn’t break. ”

your cheeks flamed, breath catching, but you still held the edge in your smile.

“i was just distracted—”

his hand moved fast, gripping your jaw—not hard, just enough to make you stop talking.

“don’t,” he said. “don’t give me that look.”

your heart kicked up behind your ribs. he’d never grabbed your face like that before. never interrupted. never spoke like that.

it made your thighs press together. instinctive.

and he noticed.

he dipped closer, forehead brushing yours, and you could feel his heart beating in time with yours—hard, steady, controlled.

“you think i haven’t been watching you push?” he hissed. “every little act.”

you whimpered, lips parting—but he kept going.

“you’ve been begging for this,” he said, biting out the words. “not out loud. but with every goddamn thing you’ve done.”

you shivered.

“and you think i don’t see you?” he growled. “you think i don’t know exactly what that look means?”

his hand grabbed your jaw, fingers firm, tilting your face toward his—close enough to kiss, but he didn’t. he just held you there, breath brushing your lips, eyes burning through you.

“tell me the truth,” he said, voice a warning, a promise. “tell me what you want.”

you could barely breathe.

your voice came out thin, cracked around the edges. “you, like this…” your eyes were wide, lashes wet, trembling as you looked up at him. “this is what i want.”

felix didn’t flinch.

didn’t soften.

he just stared, his grip on your jaw unrelenting, eyes dark and unforgiving as they searched your face—saw the way you shook beneath him, the way your thighs pressed together, the way your chest rose and fell in shallow, panicked little gasps.

“of course it is,” he said flatly.

you blinked.

he tilted your face up a little more, enough that it hurt your neck to hold the position. his voice dropped, hard and disgusted. “look at you. shaking like a leaf, soaking the fucking sheets—just because i stopped being nice.”

you winced.

but your cunt clenched hard.

the words cut. not because they were cruel—but because they were true. and he knew it. you weren’t just turned on. you were unraveling. dripping and desperate, your body buzzing from the tension, your shame crawling over your skin like fire ants—but still, the burn felt good.

“you’re pathetic,” he said, letting go of your jaw like your skin burned his fingers. 

he pushed you back roughly, your bound wrists catching against the bed as your shoulders hit the mattress. his hands were already on your thighs, spreading them open without care. not reverent. not gentle.

like you were his and he was sick of pretending otherwise.

“you want to be hated, don’t you? love isn’t enough for you?” he muttered, gaze locked on your slick cunt as he stroked two fingers through the mess between your legs. 

your hips bucked.

“well,” felix said, voice like gravel dragged slow across glass, “if that’s what you want…”

his fingers sank into you—two at once, fast, merciless. your body jolted, a high cry tearing from your throat before you could stop it. he twisted his wrist, curled just right, and you felt the tremble start in your toes.

“i’ll give it to you.”

you gasped, back arching. “y-you don’t mean that,” you choked, words splintering on a sob. “you love me—”

he laughed.

dark. sharp.

“i’m gonna fuck you like i don’t.” he said, without softness. 

his fingers pulled free. you barely had a second to breathe before he shoved your thighs wide, leaned over, and pressed his cock to your dripping cunt—still wet from your own need, from the tears and the shame and the way his voice had stripped you bare.

he held there.

right at your entrance, the head of his cock teasing just enough to make you squirm, to make your hips buck in desperate little jerks that only dragged the moment out longer. he could’ve slammed in. could’ve torn the rest of you open in a single thrust, left you breathless and sobbing.

but he didn’t.

because under all that dark fire, under the roughness and anger and heat, he was still him. still sweet. still good. still felix.

his jaw was tight, the muscle ticking as he looked down at you—ruined and trembling, legs spread wide, wrists bound and face flushed with lust and tears and something more fragile. he blinked, and for a second, just a second, you saw the question flicker through his expression.

“is that what you want?” he asked.

his voice had dropped low. he was still offering you a way out. still giving you that choice.

you knew it for what it was.

you nodded, frantic. fast. moaning as you tried to roll your hips, tried to force him inside again, but his grip on your thigh only tightened.

“talk to me,” he rasped, a thread of control still clinging to him.

you blinked at him through the haze, a smile curling on your lips—half brat, half breathless.

“yes,” you said, voice thin and greedy. “yes, i want it. i want you to fuck me like you’re sick of me. like i finally got under your skin.”

he cursed.

low and vicious.

you saw it—the moment that final wall crumbled, the way the storm in his eyes finally spilled over. his cock pushed in deep, slow at first, like he wanted to draw it out, make it last.

but then your cunt clenched—tight and wet and fluttering around him—and he snapped.

“you did,” he growled, pulling back and slamming in hard enough to make the bed jolt, your cry piercing the room. “you fucking did.”

his hips snapped forward again—louder this time, harder, brutal enough to knock the air from your lungs, the rhythm punching out soft, choked sounds from your throat with every thrust. not words. not anymore. just ragged little whimpers, helpless and high, your whole body jostling beneath him as he used you—fucked you—with none of the gentleness you’d always known.

“you wanted this,” he spat, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his hairline onto your chest as he folded you tighter, pushing your thighs up toward your shoulders to drive in even deeper. “you fucking asked for it.”

you sobbed—quiet at first, then louder, messy and wet as the tears finally spilled. they streaked hot down your cheeks, dripping into your hair, your jaw slack with pleasure too sharp to feel good and too good to survive. your wrists twisted uselessly in their binds, fingers curling tight as your whole body tried to keep up with the pace of him.

it was too much.

it was everything.

he growled—an actual growl, raw and guttural—as he looked down at you, at the tears rolling over your cheeks, at the way your mouth opened and closed, begging silently for something neither of you could name.

his rhythm never faltered.

not once.

even as your body broke beneath him—hips arching, wrists straining, cheeks soaked with tears that burned like proof—he kept going. kept fucking you with that same relentless pace, hips slamming against the backs of your thighs, the sound obscene, wet and cruel in the dark.

he watched your face twist with every thrust—watched you come apart, watched the edge of pleasure curdle into panic and drag you right back down into need.

and even then—you didn’t stop.

you couldn’t stop.

your lips trembled open around another sob, your voice half-hoarse, but still you met his glare with a shaky smirk, eyes glazed and bratty to your last breath.

“i never knew you were capable of being mean,” you gasped, voice cracking as you arched under him.

he snarled, something between pain and disbelief, and slammed in so deep you screamed, your entire body jolting up the bed from the force of it.

“because i love you,” he growled, voice so low it scraped the inside of your chest. “i’ve only ever tried to treat you well. like you matter. like you’re everything to me.”

he leaned in closer, one hand pressing hard into your hip, the other curling around your throat.

“but that’s not what you wanted, was it?”

you sobbed. not an answer. just a broken, keening sound.

he dipped lower, lips barely brushing yours. “you wanted this. you wanted me mean. you wanted me to use you, and now you’ve got it.”

his cock dragged out slow, thick and aching—and then drove back in so hard your moan broke on your tongue.

“you never wanted soft.”

you blinked up at him, tears hot and sticky down your temples, your mouth quivering.

“i was—” you panted, a hiccupped cry catching in your chest, “i was trying to prove a point—”

he sneered, not stopping, not relenting, pounding into you like he wanted to fuck the brat right out of your soul.

“to who, y/n?” he hissed, words snapping like whips.

you moaned—high and messy and wrong, because you were still so turned on, because the way he said your name made your body sing even while you trembled.

“who?” he shouted again, voice rising with disbelief and something deeper—something unspoken that cracked open in his throat like it hurt to say.

and you said it.

whimpered it.

half-mindless, but not mindless enough.

“seungmin.”

felix went still.

then he laughed.

it was low. bitter. a hollow bark of disbelief as his hand slid up the length of your thigh, slow and mocking, his cock still throbbing just barely inside you.

“fucking knew it,” he muttered, more to himself than you, jaw tight as he gave a small, almost deranged shake of his head. “you and him. the way you bicker. the looks.”

his hand curled around your throat again, thumb dragging over the mess of tears smeared across your cheek. not to wipe them.

just to feel them.

“and of course you’d moan his name out while i’m balls deep in you.”

you gasped, breath stuttering under the press of his palm, legs twitching around his hips.

he laughed again—sharper now, teeth flashing in the low light. “fucking pathetic.”

you whimpered.

“here i am,” he snarled, voice dropping to a whisper, “treating you like you’re mine—spending months giving you everything. folding your laundry. holding you when you cry.”

he slammed into you again, cruel and sudden.

you screamed, head snapping back.

“and you’ve been pushing me,” he said, voice quiet, almost calm—but beneath it, something was cracking. something brittle. 

another thrust, hard and fast, punching a choked cry out of your lungs.

“all of that just to prove a point to kim seungmin?”

your mouth dropped open—useless, silent, your head lolling on the pillow as his cock hit that deep, devastating spot again and again, your body unable to hide how badly you were still enjoying it.

he sneered. “do you even understand what you’re doing?”

your eyes flicked to him—blurry, swimming, lashes soaked—and your lips moved, trying to form a denial. but you couldn’t lie.

not with your cunt sucking him in so greedily. not with the moans that still clawed up your throat even when you bit down on them. not with the guilt chewing holes through your stomach while your body begged for more.

“i—i wasn’t trying—” you whispered, but he cut you off.

“you weren’t trying?”

he laughed. dark and sharp and filled with something that sounded like it hurt his ribs to release.

“god, you’re worse than i thought,” he spat, pulling out just enough to let the next thrust slam in deeper. “you don’t even know what game you’re playing. you’re playing me, you’re playing him—”

you didn’t know anymore.

if he was really mad. if this was just another version of his anger wrapped in arousal, or if something had actually shattered under the weight of everything you’d done. you couldn’t tell if he meant the things he said—or if he was just saying them because it was what you’d asked for, begged for, pushed for until something inside him snapped.

all you knew was that your head was spinning, your lungs barely worked, and your body couldn’t stop trembling around him.

“i’m close,” you whimpered, your voice a rasp, broken and high and soaked in panic, “felix—please—”

he didn’t slow. if anything, he fucked you harder.

you were sobbing now, face sticky with tears, wrists straining in the binds as your body shook from the pressure curling tighter and tighter in your belly.

“i don’t think you deserve to cum,” he hissed, biting the words like they tasted foul. “not after what you did. you little bitch.”

the word slapped.

“i’m sorry,” you cried, the words tumbling out, raw and hoarse and true. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean—i didn’t—felix, please, i’m sorry—”

and for a second, just a second, something shifted in his face.

his brow twitched. his grip faltered. his eyes—not all the way, but just a little—softened.

he looked down at you, at your flushed face, your tear-soaked skin, your body trembling and still trying to push back against him, even through the guilt, even through the shame. begging for him.

he cursed under his breath. a low, ragged sound.

then he pulled out.

you whined—sharp and instinctive, your whole body lurching, chasing him.

“no—please—”

but he grabbed your hips and flipped you, fast and rough, until you were flat on your stomach, then dragging you up to your knees with no gentleness, no care. 

he leaned in, lips at your ear, voice back to that quiet, dangerous whisper.

“all fours.”

you scrambled to obey, tears still dripping from your chin onto the sheets, your ass high, back arched, your pussy swollen and dripping and empty.

he stared for a long second.

then, flatly:

“prove it. prove your sorry.”

he didn’t move.

not even a little.

just knelt behind you, one hand resting heavy on your lower back, the other wrapped around the curve of your ass—fingers digging in, spreading you open so wide the air hit your cunt like ice. his cock stood thick and flushed against your thigh, glistening with everything he’d already taken from you. close. so close.

but he didn’t move

“you want to cum so badly?” he said, voice low and flat, unreadable, like it didn’t matter either way. “then do it yourself.”

your breath caught.

you blinked, stunned.

he gripped your ass harder, a sharp squeeze that made you jolt forward, but he didn’t move to stop you. 

“come on,” he said, the cruelty now bitter instead of sharp. “you were so good at playing games earlier.”

your whole body shook.

you whimpered once—just one broken sound—and then moved. slowly. shamefully.

you rocked your hips back. tentative at first. your slick folds kissed the head of his cock and you moaned, soft and strangled, before pushing further, inching down onto him until the stretch began to burn again.

it wasn’t graceful. it wasn’t like when he took care of you.

it was work.

every inch felt like a trial. your legs trembled under the weight of it, thighs threatening to give out as you lowered yourself onto him, your breath coming in ragged sobs, your cunt pulsing with how close you were, how desperately your body wanted him to take over.

but he didn’t.

“make yourself cum,” he snapped, voice tighter now. 

you nodded, rocking your hips again—sliding down fully this time, burying him inside, your body jerking as your sob turned to a long, high cry. your knees were slipping, your arms too bound to help you balance, and every time you moved your hips, your body twitched with the effort.

he just watched.

watched you ride his cock without rhythm, without grace—just need. just ruin. his hands stayed on your ass, holding it open, holding you wide for him to see.

but he didn’t help.

you were doing it alone.

“felix, i can’t—”

“you wanted this.”

and so you kept going.

kept fucking yourself back on him, over and over, your movements messy and broken, your body trembling with the weight of everything you’d done—everything you’d wanted.

and as you cried, he gripped your ass harder, dragging his thumbs over the skin, watching your hole stretch around him like it was all you were good for.

your thighs were giving out.

completely.

each roll of your hips got weaker, sloppier—your knees buckling inward, your movements more tremble than thrust, the sheer weight of him inside you unbearable. 

your arms were still bound, chest pressed into the sheets, your cries muffled now—raw and constant, more sob than sound—as you tried to keep going. but your body wouldn’t move. 

you shook your head, weakly, voice cracking as you rasped, “i—i can’t… i can’t do it…”

you felt his exhale first—long and deep. then the weight of his hands on your hips shifted. and his voice followed, low and so done.

“of course you can’t.”

you shivered.

“you couldn’t even fuck yourself properly,” he muttered, hands gripping your hips with new purpose. “you begged for this. cried for it. ruined both of us trying to prove something—and now you can’t even finish what you started?”

you sobbed but that was all he gave you time for. because he snapped his hips forward. you screamed, head slamming into the pillow, the thrust knocking your whole body up the bed.

and then he didn’t stop.

he fucked into you from behind, deep and punishing, dragging you back onto his cock with every stroke, the sound of skin on skin wet and violent, your cries rising in pitch until you couldn’t hold anything in anymore.

“isn’t this what you wanted?” he growled, voice right at your ear now, one hand on the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist so tight it burned. “to get used like this? to cry on my dick and act like you’re sorry?”

your throat was raw, your eyes stinging, your body screaming with the oncoming wave, your orgasm building so hard it almost felt like pain.

“felix—fuck—i’m gonna—”

his pace didn’t stutter.

didn’t falter.

“yeah?” he breathed, his voice a rasp, full of hate and heat and something so possessive it twisted your stomach. “that’s right.”

his thrusts turned vicious, his cock pounding into you, his voice ragged and shaking.

“cum then.”

and you did.

you came with a scream—full-bodied, wrecked, your spine arching like it was trying to tear free from your skin. it hit so hard you thought for a second you might black out. your pussy clamped down around him, fluttering and pulsing in rhythmic spasms, gushing slick down his cock in hot, wet waves that soaked your thighs and his lap and the sheets beneath you.

felix groaned—a sound ripped from the very pit of his chest, primal and deep, his pace faltering for the first time as he felt it. felt you soak him. felt you break.

“fuck—” he hissed, slamming into you again—chasing it now, rutting through the mess of your orgasm, the loud slap of his hips against your soaked skin. “you’re dripping, baby—fuck, you’re making such a mess—”

you sobbed into the sheets, body twitching, overstimulation crawling up your spine like static. but he didn’t stop. wouldn’t let up. not now. not after all of it.

and then—slowly, like the fire had finally started to burn itself out—his rhythm began to falter. just a little. his groans turned heavier, strained, his thrusts rougher but less precise. his body hunched forward, chest heaving, cock throbbing inside you as he buried himself one last time.

he shuddered against your back, hips twitching as he came inside of you, the warmth of it spilling deep and raw, filling you in heavy bursts. he stayed there for a moment, his hands slowly loosening their grip on your hips, breath ghosting against your shoulder.

then, gently, slowly, his body folded over yours.

his forehead pressed to the space between your shoulder blades. his chest to your back. one hand slid forward—shaky, tentative—and rested just beneath your ribs.

he stayed there, breathing with you.

then, without a word, he eased back.

his chest lifted off yours, his grip on your hip released fully, and for a moment, the loss of contact felt colder than the air in the room. he slid one palm down the arch of your spine, a soft, absent stroke. then came the slow shift of his hips—his cock slipping out, careful and deliberate, so tender in contrast to everything before.

you whimpered from the loss and the mess—his cum already spilling out of you in lazy drips, sliding down your thighs, thick and warm, clinging to the backs of your knees as gravity pulled it down. you twitched from the sensitivity, your body still trembling in little aftershocks, your hips useless, your arms limp where they lay tangled and bound under your chest.

you heard the faint shuffle of a drawer, the rustle of fabric, the hiss of warm water being poured. your eyes fluttered closed, head sinking into the pillow, your whole body too loose to lift.

you barely registered the soft wet cloth between your thighs until it was there—warm, soothing. he held you gently, one hand under your hip to tilt you, the other cleaning you with slow, careful strokes, wiping away the slick, the sweat, the release still dripping out of you.

he then settled you on clean sheets, wrapped a new blanket over your shoulders.

still nothing.

not a single word.

but he lay beside you, close but not pressed in, his fingers brushing soft through your hair, over your temple, down the curve of your jaw. you blinked slow and you opened your eyes.

and there he was.

your felix.

bathed in the low light of the room, hair a tousled halo of gold against the pillow, freckles blooming soft across his cheeks, lips pink and parted just barely. he looked tired. beautiful. like something that shouldn’t exist outside a dream.

you loved it. all of it. the softness now. the brutality before.

the way he made space for every version of you. the way he let himself be more than just the sun.

“i love you, felix.”

his hand stilled, resting against your cheek. his eyes softened then blinked, and they turned glassy.

“i love you too,” he whispered, his voice low, husky, still thick with the weight of everything.

you gave a little smile, lids already starting to droop again, your limbs heavy under the blanket he’d wrapped around you.

“i wouldn’t want you any other way,” you murmured.

that made him laugh—quiet, breathless, a sound like surrender.

and then you laughed too. barely a sound, more breath than voice, your smile curling into the pillow as your eyes slipped closed again.

he stayed beside you.

his fingers returned to your hair, softer than ever now, smoothing it back from your face as your breathing evened out, your body finally letting go.

and when you fell asleep, it was in silence.

the next morning, you woke slowly—warm, sore in all the right places, and still tangled in the soft scent of felix. the sheets around you were a little crooked, the pillow beside you empty.

you blinked blearily and reached for your phone, but it wasn’t the screen that caught your eye.

there was a note. folded and sitting neatly on the nightstand.

recording right now, but i’ll be back soon. pour yourself a cup of coffee. i love you! – lix ♡

you smiled—small, sleepy, still a little ruined from the night before. the words made your chest ache and flutter all at once. he hadn’t said anything heavy. no apologies. no over-explanations. just soft and simple. just felix.

you stretched out your limbs, wincing slightly at the ache before dragging yourself out of bed and into one of felix’s oversized sweaters and boxers. 

barefoot and quietly smug, you padded down the hallway into the kitchen.

and there he was.

seungmin.

leaning against the counter in sweats and a hoodie, eyes fixed on his phone, coffee half-drunk on the table beside him. he looked up when he heard you—expression unreadable—and you did what anyone would do after getting absolutely obliterated in the next room over by his bandmate.

you pretended nothing happened.

“morning,” you said, voice light, moving straight to the coffee pot. “didn’t think you’d be up.”

“i’ve been up,” he said simply.

you nodded and reached for a mug—felix’s, the pale blue one with the tiny chip in the rim—and poured yourself a cup. steam curled up around your face, and you focused on it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

and then you felt it.

his presence. he stepped closer. closer.

you didn’t dare turn around.

then, casually—like it was nothing—he reached over your shoulder and set something on the counter in front of you.

sixty bucks in cash.

you stared at the bills for a second.

then turned.

slowly.

seungmin was already taking a sip of his coffee, eyes flicking to yours over the rim of his mug.

“congrats.”

your mouth twitched, the corner pulling into the smallest smile.

you looked down at the cash again and without saying anything, you plucked the bills off the counter and shoved them straight into the front pocket of felix’s hoodie like you’d just been handed your trophy.

“you really thought i wouldn’t pull it off?” you asked, turning back to your coffee, tone breezy.

“i hoped you wouldn’t,” he deadpanned. “i was rooting for the soft boy.”

you huffed a laugh, lifting the mug to your lips. “he’s still soft.”

seungmin gave you a long, dry look.

you shrugged, eyes twinkling over the rim. “...just not all the time.”

he snorted.

then leaned back against the counter, sipping slow from his mug. “so,” he said casually, “how’d you do it?”

“do what?”

“make him snap.” 

you licked your lips, fighting another smile. “i might’ve… slipped your name in there a few times.”

his eyes narrowed, slow. “yeah?”

“just—it got him pretty worked up.” you said, laughing as you set the mug down. seungmin stared for a beat.

then—he rolled his eyes. “of course it did.”

there was a long pause. not uncomfortable. just tension.

he said, quiet but clear, “tell him he doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

you nodded.

“i will.”

you stepped back slowly, letting the silence hold, and turned toward the hallway—when the front door clicked open.

both your heads turned.

felix stepped in, hair tied back, hoodie sleeves bunched at his elbows, a little windblown from the walk. his eyes lit up the moment he saw you.

“hey, angel,” he said, smile so warm it melted straight into your ribs.

you crossed the room in a few slow steps, rising onto your toes to meet him halfway. your hand curled around his jaw, thumb brushing the skin just below his cheekbone, and you kissed him.

his other hand found your waist immediately, like muscle memory, pulling you in as he smiled against your lips. he pulled away just enough to wrap his arms around you, tucking you into his chest. his chin rested lightly on top of your head, breath warm as it fanned through your hair.

you melted into him, your hands slipping under the hem of his hoodie, fingertips grazing the bare skin at his waist. his heart beat steady against your cheek, and you let yourself breathe him in.

then, behind you, a shift in the air.

felix’s gaze lifted—over your shoulder.

met seungmin’s across the room.

you didn’t see what was unraveling between the two of them.

after a moment, you pulled back slightly, enough to tilt your head and meet his eyes.

felix looked down at you with a smile. and that was all you needed.

[kittentaegu]

Blackberry 》 4

Hyunjin x f(reader)

M mdni

Genre: Smut. It's just Smut. Plot if you squint. Fluffiness?

Summary: Hyunjin's hair continues to grow out, to both of your enjoyment. Blackberry Baby loves taking every chance he can get for both of you to express just how much you both really love the fact that you can grip and tug on his dark locks again.

Warnings: explicit language, Smut; fingering, some breast play, oral (m and f receiving), he wants her to ride his face, unprotected sex (be safe lovelies), riding, rough sex, multiple positions.

a/n: this has been in the works for over a week and a half; and finally i am able to unleash this! thanks to the recent vids of Hyune at the most recent concerts for pushing the feral into writing action! i hope you enjoy this update as well!! <3

As always, no reposts, no re-uploads, no translations etc etc. Thank you.

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Hyunjin's fingers ran down your back as you stood at the stove, attempting to make dinner. Attempting, because your very frisky fiancée isn't as hungry for food as he is for you.

"Hyunjin..." you say, pouting while stiring the rice in the pan so it won't burn. His fingers were dangerously close to the top of your ass now.

"Hmm?" For all the innocence he was trying to play off, he was moving in closer. His body pressing in as his head dipped down to press delicate kisses to the back of your neck. So light they were barely there.

You should have known he'd do this. Putting your hair up into a messy bun in order to cook without the annoyance of your hair getting into your face often came at a cost. Which tended to be Hyunjin's lips or teeth on your neck. Not that you would ever complain about that. You loved it. But it often came at the more real cost of dinner falling away to the wayside while he had his way with you.

Of course he knows exactly what he's doing. He always claims he can't help himself. Perhaps. However, he also knows how absolutely insane it drives you when he does anything like this. Well. Anything really, but that's beside the point.

"Hyunjin." You sighed in warning, quickly losing focus on the rice as his hands smoothed down your hips and gripped tight as he pulled your pelvis back so your ass would press against him.

He had lowered his body to match better with yours, his tall frame scrunching down so he could angle his pelvis up as close to your core as he could get. Meanwhile his lips were no longer light in touch. They were leaving kisses harder and more needy anywhere he could reach as he held you in place.

"I'm trying to make us dinner, babe." You attempted again. But it was a lost cause. It always is.

You couldn't even remember what you were supposed to be doing as your eyes closed when he placed a particularly sloppy and slow kiss on the side of your neck, your head tipping back.

"We can order take out later." He murmured. Disregarding the fact that dinner should be done in a matter of minutes.

"Or...we could eat this made from scratch meal your beautiful wife to be is trying to make for you." You reply. Though your body is starting to move with his. It was a dance you both knew oh so well, after all.

Hyunjin's hands moved away from your hips. But that didn't mean he was relinquishing. Oh no. One traveled up, sneaking up under his shirt you were wearing, cupping your bare breast and giving it a small teasing squeeze. The other smoothed downward, all his fingers flat as he moved them along your body....right into your panties.

"Cold friend rice will still taste good." He continued coaxing, mouth near your ear. He mouthed at the spot under his lips, his breath heavy as his fingers slid down to massage at your pussy lips.

Your knees were already shaking. He disarmed you so fast. He nipped at the side of your neck while pressing two fingers hard on the hood of your clit; and you jolted so hard while your knees simultaneously gave out that your hands shot out to catch and hold yourself up on the counter. Safely away from the heat on the stove.

Hyunjin's beautiful but mischievous chuckle filled your brain. It went right in your ear and fogged your brain even further.

"You want it. Hmm? I know you too well remember?" His teeth grazed your skin, making you shiver. As he did this, those two fingers circled teasingly on your clit. Dragging the pads over them with just that little bit of space between to tease you all the more.

"Don't you wanna give in?" He whispered into your skin, "forget about dinner?" His tongue slipped out to lap at the spot beneath his mouth, then kissed it messily.

His fingers moved lower, dipping right into your entrance, circling it to tease you further.

"I'd rather eat you instead anyway." He murmured, then started pumping his fingers in you slowly. "Come on, baby. Get nice and wet for me." Another sloppy kiss on the juncture of your neck and shoulder; the hand on your breast squeezing in a pumping action that went wonderfully with the rhythm of his fingers burried in you. "I wanna have you dripping on my face as soon as I start."

He pumped his fingers in your pussy even harder now. No longer simply teasing.

"Oh, fuuuck." You groaned, giving in to him. You let your body go limp against his; and you could feel the victorious and smug smirk on your warming flesh. Hear his silent chuckle.

"That's it, my love. Just let go and let me treat you." His fingers kept moving in you; but his other hand disappeared from your breast. You heard a clack at the stove, peeking an eye open in time to see his beautiful hand retreating from turning the stove top off.

The next thing you knew, Hyunjin spun you. Your hair falling down around you, your loose scrunchy coming off easy as his expert fingers pulled it off. His mouth came down on yours. Hard and needy. He kissed you as if a man starved of sex - which is almost laughable considering how much the two of you go at it. All while inching you towards the bedroom. Until he grew too impatient, scooping you up to hurry in to dump you on the bed.

Both of you had always needed sex together more than any other relationship. But ever since his hair had grown out enough to grip and tug on it again, the amount of times had definitely and instantly increased.

You took in his cute but devastatingly attractive blackberry hair, haloing the top of his head. Biting into your lip to tug it, you shifted on the bed in ways that expressed exactly what he did to you looking like that.

Hyunjin eyed you back, confidence swelling as you stared at him so raw and eager. He lifted his shirt off, giving you a show of it, dancing in sexy ways that had you squeezing your thighs tightly together while you clenched around nothing. Next was his pants. He beckoned you to the edge with two fingers on each hand as he continued his sexy dancing. While you moved closer, he body rolled and thrust into the air, pressing down the air between his hands and his package.

You were already losing it watching him, moaning and trying to not touch at yourself. He turned you on more than anyone else. Ever. No one could make you feel the way Hyunjin does. It's literally an exclusively Hyunjin thing.

As you started reaching for him, his answering smirk was almost too beautiful to behold. He got closer, kissing you while your hands caressed onto his thighs and up to grip his hips.

"I need you so bad, Hyune." You said against his lips.

He stood up to make to get on the bed, but you tugged his underwear down, watching how his erection smacked his abdomen, moaning at the sight. He bit into his lip, eyes enjoying the way you liked this so much. Quickly, but gently, you gripped his hard length. He was already leaking precum. How long had he been craving you before he allowed himself to give in? You thought back. Come to think of it...he definitely seemed at least semi hard in the kitchen.

"Y/n..I have ideas..." he tried, already shivering the next moment when you ran your nails carefully up and down his length. Worse, you dared tilt your head and give him an innocent look.

"But I have ideas of my own." Before he had time to act, you took action yourself.

Gripping him in one hand, the other bracing on his muscular thigh; you leaned in, tongue hanging out to get ready.

"Y/n." He tried to warn. But it sounded more like a turned on panic.

He tried to remove your fingers from him, but you smacked his hand away and dove right in anyway.

Your tongue pressed against the side of his cock, running a bit along the vien there. Then kept your tongue on the head while your mouth closed to subtly suck on the tip.

"Fuck." He breathed a moan, fingers tangling into your hair. You couldn't get enough of tasting him. Almost as much as he couldn't get enough of tasting you.

You moved down lower on him, then back up to dip your tongue into the slit, tasting his precum with a groan. His fingers tighted in your hair, pushing you subtly closer as they did. You sucked on the tip a bit more. Then pulled off with a pop to mouth along the shaft.

"Y/n, fuck. This feels so good!"

Smirking up at him, you went back to bobbing him in your mouth.

Hyunjin got lost in the way you were treating his cock, eyes barely open over how good it all felt. Yet he tried so hard to keep watching you. That's how he noticed you trying to sneak your fingers to touch yourself.

"Hey, nah uh." He gently chastised, his long fingers quick to wrap around your small ones to pull them away. "Not until I get my turn. I wanna be the one making you cum. Not by you touching yourself. Not tonight." His hand held yours, keeping it captive.

He really wanted to hold your hand now. You knew it was more about that then anything. Because he knew that once you knew what he wanted, you would always give it to him. If he wanted you to keep from touching yourself tonight. You would. Just like he would always give you what you want. Hence him allowing you to blow him when he was so eager to eat you out.

Your hand gripped his as you continued, and he squeezed it in that comforting and encouraging way that only he could while you had him in your mouth.

The nails of the hand on his thigh lightly scratched at the hot flesh there. His thighs were quivering with how good it all felt for him. The muscles twitching as he took all you needed to do. As you sped up, your hand gripped in around a part of his pelvic bone and he started to come undone.

"Y/n." He whimpered. Knees giving a bit when you answerd by dragging your mouth back up to the head, tight as you could. "Y/n." He repeated, more desperately this time.

You gazed back up into his eyes and his mouth fell open at the sight you were giving him. Full seduction in your eyes, erotic angle of your body in his shirt. The way it rode up your thighs and showed a peek of your soaked panties clinging to your folds, leaving nothing to imagination.

"Oh, god, y/n...You're so hot." It started in awe, then somewhere turned into a whimpered groan by the end.

His eyes moved between your gaze, the way your panties clung to you, your mouth around him. Over and over as he let go. He was moaning loud now, head tipping back as his hand braced the back of your head. Like he was anchoring himself to you to stay on his feet until you finished him off.

His orgasm came fast, shooting hot ribbons of his cum into your mouth. You swallowed as much as you could; but it filled it so fast, some dribbled out of the corner of your mouth and down your chin.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!" He cried out, watching this scene unfold for him. His fingers rubbed at the back of your head, yet he managed to not push you closer, being careful with you as he always is. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He whined, shaking from his orgasm; and from the effort it took to remain on his feet. Not to mention how hard it must be for him to not start fucking into your mouth. Always taking your safety and well-being as the most important things.

When you were done swallowing as much as you could, you pulled off of him, and he whimpered again. Then groaned as his hand left your hair to run his thumb at the corner of your mouth, wiping the spare cum away.

"God. Look at yourself y/n. You look so fucked out. I haven't even had my turn yet."

He bent down to start kissing you, tasting himself on your lips. He groaned again, deeper, more primal.

"Fuck you're so hot." He whispered against your lips. Then kissed you hotly, even as he joined you on the bed.

Hyunjin made out with you for a while, hands at your breasts, waist, back...Everywhere but where you wanted him most.

"Hyune." You finally whined, trying to bring his hands where you wanted them. He smirked against your lips and pulled back. Fixing you with one of those infuriatingly attractive looks that drove you insane.

You watched, mouth falling open, as he laid on his back, and reached to try to bring you to him.

"Pleasen y/n. I love when you ride my face."

How could you ever deny him? Especially when he was looking at you with those pleading, hopeful eyes; lip tugging between his teeth like that.

It was easier to give in to this every time. He seemed to want this more and more after you agreed to it that first time.

You shifted so you could get into position; and he made a noise in his throat as he tugged on the shirt you were wearing.

"Oh...right." You were still somewhat dressed. Giggling, you pulled it off, loving the moan that left him as your breasts were revealed to him. You got your panties off quickly, too. Then repositioned next to him.

"Hyunjin..." you hesitated. Always worried if you'd get too carried away.

"Just go for it, babe. You could never hurt me. Not really." His bright, beautiful smile made you cave so easily.

Nodding, you braced your hands so that you could swing you thigh up over his face. His breathing was instantly heavier; the air brushing on your exposed womanhood. Your breath caught. Then held as his hands smoothed on your hips and thighs, coaxing you to lower down on him.

Hyunjin paused, waiting for you to look into his eyes. And when you did, he wagged his tongue out to swipe it up through your glistening folds. Moaning, your fingers dug into the sheets at how needy you were. The way this was already feeling so good and making you that much more turned on.

"You're so wet for me, baby." He part groaned, part cooed. His thumbs rubbed at the juncture where your thighs met the rest of you. "Absolutely dripping for me." He stared at the slick he was thumbing at in wonder, completely fucked out, and full of love for you. "Just like I wanted." He murmured. Then pressed in to mouth at one of your folds, then the other.

"Hyunjin." You whined, trying to not grind on his face.

He pressed his tongue flat against you, swiping it up to circle your clit with it.

"Hyunjin, ah!" You cried out, trying to not press down on his face.

His hands soothed you, silently encouraging you.

"Let go, baby. I got you."

With that, you melted into him, letting go like he encouraged. His tongue started rapidly flicking over your clit, several unpredictable directions; and your fingers went into his hair, gripping to hold on for dear life.

"Oh fuck, Hyunjinnie!" You cried out, voice going higher pitched than usual. Your fingers tugged at the amount of his hair that you could get around your fingers, and you both groaned beautifully in unison.

Oh how you've missed this. The feel of his hair gripped in your fingers. The sounds he made whenever you ran them through his locks. And the way you both enjoyed the whole thing together.

Hyunjin changed it up, sucking on your clit instead, alternating between light, harsh, and medium sucks. Never letting you guess what one he was doing next. You tugged on his hair more, whimpering loudly as your hips started to subtly rock.

"Oh yeeess." He moaned over the combination of everything, enjoying it all. Perhaps even more than you are.

Truth was, he likes when you get rough on him. He loved it if you were soft and languid, or rough and needy in your desperation. Both suited him beautifully depending on mood.

"That's it, baby. Let go. Ride my face." He encouraged; then wagged his tongue over your clit in a way that's meant to tease and encourage you to lose it, to chase more pleasure. "Go for it, baby." He murmured, full of seduction and love.

So was his gaze as you looked down into his eyes. He really wanted this. His strong hands soothed over your hips, urging you to let the motion take course. So you did.

You rubbed yourself on his tongue and face as he laid their, holding your thighs in place so you couldn't move away until he was ready for you to. He held his tongue rigid and taught so you could go to town on it. Moaning as loudly as you are.

And then his mouth was closing slowly yet roughly on you; sucking harsher on your clit than he tended to. Gasping, you tugged a little harder on his hair and he groaned against you, sending more vibrations right to your most sensitive area.

"Hyunjinnie, Hyune, oh god, oh fuck!" You cried out, starting to rapidly hump his face.

His eyes were sparkling up at you as you stared into each others eyes while all of this transpired. He really did love this. One hand squeezed at your thigh, as if to tell you, 'See? I'm alright; and this is amazing'. You couldn't help but smile at him while you continued rubbing yourself on his mouth and chin. While you did, his nose hit your clit over and over. He loved it, and you liked it too, to be honest.

Hyunjin alternated between keeping his tongue taught and mouthing on you as you rode his face. Occasionally capturing your clit to lick and suck at it. Until you couldn't take any more.

Sensing how close you are, he nipped gently at the bundle of nerves before sucking softly on it. That's what sent you toppling over the edge of your orgasm. It hit so fast and hard, your head flung back, back arcing as you gripped tighter to his hair and started riding a little harder. He moaned the entire time; even when you froze, and he was able to start sucking on your clit again.

"You did amazing, baby." He murmured, rubbing at your thighs to sooth you as you came down.

"A-are you alright?" You asked, peering back down at him.

He chuckled in delight, the gust of air hitting your over stimulated area. Your thighs subtly started to close. But he soothed them again.

"Y/n...you have no idea, do you? I'm great! I'm so great. That was everything I wanted." He pressed a kiss to your pussy. Not to turn on or tease. It was an expression of affection and love that trasended that.

You answered him with a shy smile and he groaned.

"Baby, I'm already hard again. And you truly have no idea what you're doing to me right now."

Unable to help yourself, you angeled to see if you could catch a glimpse. You couldn't quite do it without risking hurting him. So you turned back to gaze down at him. Then lifted your hips to crawl backwards over his body. Until you were low enough to see how hard he is. Harder than he was earlier, in fact. It looked painful.

"Hyunjin." You pouted.

His hand was instantly cupping your cheek to hold your face as he sat up. His face was still glistening with your juices. So he licked his lips clean, then wiped his chin and nose off with his forerm.

You blushed over this, but he took it that you were upset at him being painfully hard and not saying something.

"Hey, y/n, I'm okay. I'm better than that. I can stand how hard I am. Besides." He smirked, biting his lip. "I'm sure we can take care of it, give me relief..."

Heat pooled hotter in your face; and he finally realized you were blushing, not upset like he had thought.

"Look at you!" He said in surprise, thrilled. "You can still blush like this after all the time we've been together." His face came close to yours, his lips brushing your cheek. "All the things we've done together." He placed soft kisses on your cheek, then captured your lip between his.

You started kissing again, while he let you regain a little more strength. But when you could tell he was bucking, wanting so badly to be in you, you giggled into the kissing and pulled back.

"Babe. Why don't we kiss once you're in me?"

"I love you." He sighed, holding you tighter while also not so subtly rocking his hips at the close proximity to where he wanted to be most.

Reaching down, you wasted no time, choosing to ride him.

"I love you!" He repeated louder and more fervently when he realized what you were doing.

His gaze followed every motion. The way you rose to your knees. How you gripped him and brought him to your entrance. The way your body arched as his swollen head brushed your folds. Both of you moaning in unison as you pushed him in. Then louder and longer as you sunk down on him. His arms held on to you, helping you lower. But your hands were already going to his hair.

You didn't waste time, instantly lifting to sink back down on him. Both moaning together again. You rested your arms against him as your fingers got lost in his hair. Oh how you missed every aspect of his hair being long enough to do these things. You messed his hair as you rode him, his strong hands and arms helping you set a steady pace. Before long, your arms wound around his shoulders as he bounced you on him. One hand still in the back of his hair as he rested his face on your collarbone.

Both of you stayed likd this, until you needed more. When you leaned back enough to give better room, he let out a chocked sob and adjusted how he was holding onto you to help you better. Hands spaning your waist and top of your hips. You brought yourself up higher, pushed down harder. Faster and faster, until the room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping skin. Your moans and his bouncing off the walls as you rode him as roughly as you could after already spending a lot of yourself riding his face earlier.

Hyunjin continued to hold onto your hips, still helping you. But his thumb reached to rub and press on your clit. Over and over letting your body's motion help him. Your back arched again; and he was quick to wrap his lips around an erect nipple. He sucked on it harshly, causing you to run your fingers through his sweat drenched hair again, fingers rubbing his scalp over and over. Until you held on to the locks as tight as you dared, and he snapped his hips up into you harder and harder. Trying to reach your orgasm and his.

Your orgasm hit you as hard as before. But he wasn't done. He didn't wait to pull you down as he laid on his back. He slipped out of you and you whined. But it was only temporary. Because he gently rolled you onto your back and pushed back in; instantly setting a fast and hard pace. All humping and rolling his hips as he snapped them in small but powerful motions.

He brought you to another orgasm, crying out his name over and over as you hold on to him while he continued chasing his own orgasm.

"Fuck, fuck, yes, yes, YES! Yeeess." He cried out as his orgasm slammed through him, face scrunching in the most beautful way.

He didn't stop though. He continued on with barely a stutter of his hips as he rode out his high, and helped you do the same. He kept exclaiming the entire time. Moans slowing when his body started to slow as well.

Hyunjin slowed, but didn't stop. Each long and languid thrust going deeper now that he wasn't going as fast. He stared into your eyes now. Forehead resting against yours. Soft but smug smirk playing on his beautiful face. Coated in sweat and looking deliciously like a glazed donut covered in warm, melty chocolate. He was still a blackberry to you all the same. Maybe a glazed blueberry on top of a soft yummy cake?

You giggled at the thoughts in your brain, and his smile widened.

"What?" He asked, curious and amused along with you despite not knowing why.

"Nothing..." you beamed up at him, running your fingers through his damp and dripping hair; then down his neck covered in sweat. "You look so edible it's ridiculous." You filled him in anyway; then giggled as his features shifted as he thought this over. He beamed back at you, chuckling.

"Well you know I like being your edible man that you devor any chance you get." He nuzzled your nose with his, then kissed you. Soft and full of love.

"Mmm." You replied into the kiss.

"My edible cupcake baby is even more delicious, I think." He nipped at your bottom lip and tugged lightly. "Tastes too sweet and too good. Drives me insane."

He went back to kissing you more passionately; even though you were both exhausted by this point and wanted a nap.

Hyunjin eventually rolled off of you, rolling you with him to rest on his chest. You both laid their. Hands absent-mindedy soothing each others skin with tired fingers and hands.

"Ha...haha! Oh fuck." He tiredly laughed.

You managed to lift your head enough to rest your chin on his chest to peek up at him.

"Hmmm?" Was all you could manage.

"Dinner. We'll definitely need to order out now. I don't know how long that rice has been sitting there. But I doubt it's still okay to eat."

Groaning, you presssed your face into his chest.

"Next time. Please let me finish cooking for you and you actually eat it?" You pouted at him, "I wanted to feed you something delicious."

"Technically you did." He playfully teased, to which you half heartedly slapped at his arm. Very unimpressive at that, and he chuckled. "By the way, I make no promises. I can't guarantee that I can control myself when you always look so sexy in the kitchen. Wearing my shirt. Being all tempting and beautiful."

He smirked at you. In that way that made your heart flutter and flip like crazy.

"Hwang Hyunjin!" You whined, pressing your face into his chest again.

"Well...facts are facts, babe. I'm always ready to go." You could hear the smile, the humor in his beautiful voice.

Hyunjin pulled you tighter against him, kissing your hair.

"You're so lucky we're so perfectly suited for each other." Your words mumbled against his still damp skin, and he let out a hearty laugh, smoothing a hand on your hair and down your back.

"Something I thank to the heavens for every single day."

[cbini]

wake up sleepy eyes

pairing: seo changbin x afab!reader

warnings: established relationship, beach date w boyfie bin <3, reader is lowkey uneasy abt the water, aloe massage, morning sex, dry humping, slight pain kink

a/n: based entirely on this tweet and then i ran with everything else. happy 2 years to this account, here’s a present from me to u. i hope u enjoy, reblogs and comments are always appreciated :)

if you move slowly, maybe it’ll go away. stare it in the eyes, black and beady and menacing as they are, you hold your ground because there’s no way you’re losing your sandwich today. not when the fluffy white bread bears your fingerprints from being squished down to crush the chips you put underneath it. you’re not in the mood to chase a seagull down the beach with your flip flop waving in the air. 

you’re trying to relax. that’s the point of your little weekend getaway anyways. 

your eyes are starting to dry out by the time you hear feet trudging through the sand. changbin accidentally kicks it onto your towel when he reaches you, breathing heavily and eclipsing the sun from your view. 

“what are you looking a- ack!” flapping wings, a peckish beak. changbin flinches and ducks, covers his head with his arms and plonks underneath the umbrella just as the seagull finally leaves you be, flying off to bother other beach dwellers and their less-tasty sandwiches. he looks you in the eyes and shakes his head. his hair’s wet, curling up at the ends into pretty, black spikes. salt water drips down his round face. “that thing was going to carry me away!” 

“mm,” you hum with a shake of your own head. a bite to your sandwich, the crushed corner of an orange dorito slips from the crust and hits your thigh, ham gets stuck to the roof of your mouth as you chew. “no way, i would come save you.” 

changbin wipes the corner of your lips with his thumb. he trills something happy and high in his throat, wiggles his broad shoulders. “my hero!” 

you pull the sandwiches you packed for him out of your cooler and changbin cracks open your drink. he passes it to you once he’s done, but not before taking a quick sip for himself. 

lunch is better on the beach. changbin’s knee presses against yours, and you never want to leave. 

changbin insists on waiting thirty minutes before going back to play in the water. it’s a good time to reapply his sunscreen — any sunburn he gets turns into such a beautiful tan afterwards, soft skin caramel warm and honey dipped, but he doesn’t like to get burned, always diligently applying it himself when he feels his shoulders getting hot. he takes a swig of his own drink, tips his head back to finish the can. a sticky trail of salt water slips down his chin, his adam’s apple. your eyes track it all the way to his collarbones, still dazed by his beauty when he stands and stretches after finishing his drink. he reaches for the spray this time, takes a deep breath and holds it while he sprays sporadically around his chest and legs. 

“come here, let me rub it in. you’re gonna be all… squiggly.” you can see it now, sunny pink splotches swirling around the areas changbin haphazardly sprayed like a bowl of spaghetti noodles. he kneels before you then, puffs his chest and squares his shoulders and preens at the first touch of your cool hands to his chest. his skin is so warm. how can he be the most perfect mixture of both firm and soft under your greedy hands? the spray is oily and slick when you touch him, his skin shines with it, marblesque, doused in pure gold. 

“don’t touch me there~” he teases when your hands trails over his pecs. his nipples are sensitive — if you kept it up, his knees would start wobbling. his stomach comes next. you stick your finger in his belly button and he shouts. changbin gets squirmy when your hands find his sides. he’s squeezable there, but your hands are too slippery to get a good grip. “yah. yah, stop- fondling me!” 

you indulgently roll your eyes at the tone of his raised voice, and he shouts again when you smack him jokingly on the flank. 

“you like being fondled, don’t even lie like that. okay, turn around. want me to get your back?” 

“please. thank you,” changbin says. he turns around and plops onto his butt in front of you. you stretch your legs out on either side of him then. your hands are so slippery that the bottle of sunscreen nearly slips from your hands, but you manage to spray another heap onto your oily palms before it drops to the towel underneath you. changbin’s back is just as warm as his front, just as broad, just as beautiful, with muscles swimming and flexing when he moves. you’ll have to hurry on this one. changbin gets sleepy whenever you rub his back, and his body’s already swaying slightly with the motion of your hands. 

“alright big guy,” you coo, and changbin’s responding hum lilts up in question at the end. he’s tired already, hours under the sun will do that  — he’s going to sleep so hard tonight. “give it a minute and then you can go swim, honey.” 

changbin shakes his head wildly to wake himself up, salt water flying every which way as he does. you cover your eyes with a squeal, and when your boyfriend stands up and turns to face you, he’s grinning. 

“come with me!” you’d acquiesce even if he wasn’t whining cutely at you. you’re wrapped around his finger as it is, but you don’t always have to make it so obvious. “come play with me.”

he helps you stand up, warm, calloused palms embracing yours. changbin watches you do your own thing before you step onto the sand with him, the not-so-subtle, appreciative up and down of his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed either. 

the sand is soft under your feet but gets harder the closer you get to the water. you pause at the line of the sea, watching the waves peter out until they’re rippling under your toes and pulling the sand with it. changbin’s only a few steps ahead of you, but he stops when he realizes you’re not right behind him. he pauses then, turns around and holds his hand out to you so that you can take hold of it when you’re ready. he guides you into the water when you take it; it’s always so much colder than you expect it to be despite the bright sunlight above. you already know the only way to warm up to it is to go deeper. 

“i don’t want to go too far,” you say. water laps at your shins now. your thighs soon, your waist. 

“we won’t, i promise,” changbin responds easily. he’s already clocked the look on your face, the small pinch between your brows. you can’t see below you; you don’t know what you’ll touch or what will touch you. 

changbin wades in front of you to block a small wave, the breadth of his back catching the brunt of it and carrying him forward slightly before it ever hits you. his arms wrap around your waist as he’s moved, and now you’re no longer focusing too hard on whether a fish just bumped your leg or if it was seaweed. you’re already wrapping your legs around his hips when his hand drags down to your thigh to do it himself. 

it’s nice like this, peaceful. changbin’s sneaky hands cup under your ass to hold you tight to him. the water rocks you gently together and he kisses your head, turning his back towards an oncoming wave again and letting it carry you closer to the shore. 

“we’re going to get swept out to sea.” you won’t. you’re still a safe distance from the shore; changbin is still clearly reaching the sandy bottom. but what if?

“we won’t! i have really strong toes, you know?” 

“we’re going to get eaten by a shark.” not a fun way to go. being swallowed by a whale doesn’t sound like too much fun either, but changbin shakes his head, insistent. 

“i could twirl one of those on my finger like a basketball, yeobo, they swim far away when they see me coming.” 

you laugh then, and changbin’s face lights up like the sun. 

“… would you pee on me if i got stung by a jellyfish?” 

he pinches your ass then, cackles that goofy laugh of his. 

“yah, i- are you crazy? is the sky blue?” 

changbin lets the waves carry you back to the shore soon enough. you unwrap yourself from him when you get closer to the bank. he still holds onto your hand tight, all the way until you reach your beach towels and umbrella. your book is calling your name, and a second sandwich sounds pretty good right about now too. you’re expecting changbin to plop back down next to you, but he stands in front of his towel with his hands on his hips and his gaze set on something behind you. the thud of a soccer ball in the distance tells you exactly what he’s looking at, so you nudge him on the leg to get his attention. 

“you wanna go?” 

he nods, hesitates. shifts his weight from foot to foot. 

“i can sit with you instead. i really want to spend time with you, gorgeous.” 

he’s a sweetheart. gooey and soft on the inside, glitter pink and fizzy. he’s been spending time with you — you’ve practically been attached at the hip for the entirety of your short vacation. 

“go play! i’ll be right here. i want to read for a little bit. you can spend time with me when you come back, hm?” 

he presses a kiss to your lips before he runs off, a goofy call of don’t leave without me! tossed behind him. 

you’re two chapters deep when you pause to watch him. he’s so good at this; his easygoing personality and his ability to make friends with anyone are two things you love so dearly about changbin. his smile is wide, you can tell even from your spot a ways away. his new friends look younger than him, tinier in all ways. he likes to make them laugh, hits the soccer ball off of his butt with a goofy noise and gives everyone a high five. 

changbin’s breathing heavily again when he comes back, flops right onto the damp sand in front of you to catch his breath. 

“did you have fun?” you dog ear your page and close your book to turn all of your attention to him. his cheeks are pink with exertion; there’s a tired smile on his face. changbin’s fingers dig deep into the sand when he nods, gulping heavily like playing so hard has dried his mouth all out. you crack open another drink and pop a bendy straw in, grunting as your knees press hard to the towel underneath you so that you can hold the can to changbin’s lips. 

he misses the straw once, twice, eyes locked on the gently swaying mounds of your chest now that you’re basically on your hands and knees in front of him. 

“pervert,” you chuckle, and changbin’s eyebrows scrunch teasingly as he takes a sip. 

he licks his lips when he’s done and tilts his head. “how am i a pervert? why? i’m just admiring the view.”

you level him with a look, and changbin just gives you one back. your towel is warm when you turn back around, so rest your head on your crossed arms while changbin busies himself in the sand. 

you don’t fall asleep, but you do doze, floating in and out of consciousness for what only feels like a few seconds and pulled out of your sleepy haze by the soft scrape of sand. your body’s stiff when you prop up on your elbow and turn towards the noise. 

“oh,” you say. changbin is elbow deep in sand, hills and ridges packed tight around the edge of the hole he’s dug. there’s even little seashell windows. “oh wow, baby, good job! that’s a beautiful hole.” 

he smiles then. one eye is squinted because it’s so bright on the beach. 

you’d pour a bucket of water on the sun if you could just find a way up there, if only it would make it a little easier for him to see. but then you’d never see him like this again. skin warm and bronzed, salt water drying on his wide shoulders, fingers and toes sandy. you have half a mind to shade your eyes. not from the sunlight, but from changbin, bright and beautiful and orbital changbin. staring straight into the light has never felt better. 

you’re both nearly ravenous when dinner rolls around, and changbin’s eyes are half lidded by the time you finally make it back to your hotel room after some much needed seafood. you drag him to the bathroom first because you don’t want to feel specs of sand in the sheets, and you know if you let him get in bed like this, he’ll fall asleep the moment he closes his eyes. 

“but i already took a shower!” he whines. changbin is staring dazedly at the pelting rain of the shower head. 

“okay, the shower on the beach doesn’t count! nice try. just be quick, wash up and leave the water running so i can jump in after you.” 

you leave him grumbling. the wet plop of his swim shorts echoes through the bathroom and underneath the closed door. the sliding glass door is just as loud, and so is the dramatic wail changbin lets out when the warm water touches his skin. you busy yourself with your suitcase while he’s in the shower, pulling out a t-shirt and a clean pair of underwear, sitting primly on the corner of the bed and turning the television on. 

it doesn’t take him long. it takes him longer to stop fumbling with the bottle of shampoo than it does for him to actually wash his hair, and he’s walking stiffly out of the bathroom with his towel draped around his shoulders in no time. he plops down onto the bed stomach-first — it makes his plush cheek bunch up against the comforter cutely, so you pat his boxer-clad butt and head off to take your own shower, leaving changbin to rest. 

the slide of the shower door almost covers up changbin’s yell from the other room, but he’s not quick enough. 

“shit, wait! wait, yeobo, make sure to turn the water-” 

you yelp. cold water zings up your back for only a second before you’re back away from the stream, hugging yourself like that’ll preserve any warmth. 

“seo changbin!” 

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry, i forgot!” 

you’re still shivering by the time you walk out of the bathroom. you were able to turn the hot water up with minimal damage to your poor, freezing nipples, but now your hair is cooling on your back through your shirt. you want to cuddle up to changbin so he can warm you up, maybe pinch his side in retaliation for not warning you that he took a cold shower when he knew you were coming in after him, but all of your scheming flies out the window when you see him sprawled out on the bed. 

he’s still on his stomach, cheek still cutely smushed against the mattress. he’s lost the towel — it either slipped right off of him or he tugged it from around his shoulders and tossed it on the ground. changbin is… red. his cheek, the singular ear you can see. raspberry red dips down his shoulders and crawls down his back. changbin’s feet are dangling off the bed. his calves are tinged pink too, but not nearly as bad as his shoulders. you didn’t know he had gotten that much sun today; thankfully it won’t take too long for that achy pink to ombré into a handsome bronze. 

changbin blinks up at you and tries to smile. 

“i see why you took a cold shower,” you coo. you sit gently beside his head and rest your hand on his back. he’s boiling, skin red hot to the touch. “i think i packed some aloe? let me find it, bunny.” 

“not a bunny…” changbin gripes. “i look like the lobster we ate at dinner.” 

you walk to your suitcase and rummage through it again. the aloe is in one of the zip-up pockets; it’d feel better if you had pulled it out of the fridge instead, but this’ll have to do. you straddle his hips as softly as you can, untwisting the cap and squeezing some of the thick blue gel onto your palms. thankfully, it’s cold enough to feel good to his sweltering skin. 

changbin tenses at the first touch to his back. he hisses, curls his fingers tightly where they’re now fisted beside his damp hair. he shudders then, turns his head to press his face into the mattress like a diva. he settles relatively quickly though, your gentle touch and the coolness of the gel work wonders for the tender, red skin of his back and shoulders. there’s so much surface area on him, so many places to feel, to love and admire and worship. you would if you could — you’d knead greedy hands at his lats and kiss your way down his spine, but you have to be gentle when he’s so succulent and soft underneath you, breathing heavily and body pliant against the bed. 

he twitches when you squeeze more gel onto your hand and smooth it down the backs of his arms. they’re soft when they’re not flexed, firm with muscle but covered by such plush skin. 

“‘m sticky,” he whines. it’s the quietest he’s been all day, deep voice slurring and raspy with sleep. 

“i know.” placating, appeasing. “i’m sorry, it’ll dry soon though, okay? can you- here, can you scoot up so you’re on the pillow?” you step to the bathroom to wash your hands and put the aloe in the room’s mini fridge. 

it’s like he uses every bit of his last remaining strength to heave himself onto the pillow just above his head. changbin smacks his lips, nuzzles his cheek into the pillow and throws an arm out to drag you closer to him when you finally get in the bed yourself. he’s deadweight, his arm lays heavily across your waist, but it’s a comfort more than anything. you’re just about to reach over and then off the light when changbin starts nosing at your shoulder. 

“you take such good care of me,” he breathes. his eyes are closed, short lashes brushing soft cheeks. changbin’s lips pout when he talks. “you looked so beautiful today, beautiful.” a thick thumb brushes the waistband of your underwear. “let me make love to you, gorgeous, changbinnie wants to take care of you now.” 

sweet boy. lovely, darling, sleepy boy. 

your body can’t help but react to him. it always does, his voice is but a siren’s song that you’re helpless to follow. if his fingers were to dip any lower, he’d find you slicking up and waiting for him. you’re arching into his touch already, but his arm has gone heavy on top of you again with his fingers snuck underneath the band of your cotton panties. 

your laugh huffs out of you then, something soft and fond. a slow turn of your head finds changbin out like a light, eyes fluttering under his lids and warm breath fanning onto your arm from his round nose. 

changbin grunts when you lean over to turn off the light, stocky fingers twitching where they’re caught under the band of your panties. you don’t move them — he can do that himself later, so you place your hand on top of his arm and curl closer to his chest, hoping to meet him in his dreams. 

you’re sweating when you wake up. your shirt has ridden halfway up your midsection, and you’re kept in place by changbin’s weight. his face is smushed into your armpit, his arm still thrown over your stomach and wrapping around your back. the pop of your elbows and the smack of your lips must pull him right out of slumber with you — his groan tickles your armpit, and you give him your own groan when he tightens his arm around you and pulls you in tight. 

“y’bong,” his voice is muffled by your shirt. you wrap your arms around his head so he can bury his face in your chest. “mmmsleepy.” 

changbin tangles his legs with yours, breathes something deep and content between the valley of your breasts. the warmth of his bare skin seeps through the thin cotton of your t-shirt. you can feel the backs of your knees sweating — changbin is warm with sleep and equally warm from his sunburn, a thick, plush, pink little furnace wrapped up right in your arms. 

he’s hard. you can feel the short length of his cock pressing hot to your thigh through his boxers. you nudge your leg up, and changbin’s chest rumbles something deep and low. 

two can play that game — changbin’s neck rolls, he nuzzles his face into your tits and sneaks a hand from around your back to between your legs. he doesn’t make it under your panties but touches you over them instead, three thick fingers rubbing softly at the seam of your cunt and feeling for your clit. you’re not wet enough yet; the press of cotton feels like a shock to that sensitive little place. it makes your body roll, makes your hips shudder and your fingers curl into his hair. your cunt slicks up the more he touches you. you’re so sure he can feel it through the clinging fabric now, how you leak for him. you can feel his — leaking right from the tip of his fat cock, seeping through the front of his boxers to keep you company. 

changbin takes his hand away to smooth it over your ass, and it almost makes you tear up. he lifts his head and kisses the pitiful pout from your lips. 

“like this,” he breathes. “i want to fuck you like this.” 

you’re coddled this way; you both are, wrapped up in each other so tightly that there’s hardly any room between you. that just makes the first rut of his clothed cock to your wet panties lick fire down your spine. you toss your leg over his waist and angle your hips so you can grind against him too. 

“bin. yeah. yeah, fuck.” 

your voice is thick with sleep, with spit. the slow beat of his clothed cock against your pussy is so good, his tip prods at your clit and makes you quake. you crane your neck for a kiss that changbin meets eagerly. it’s warm, lazy, sour with sleep, and his moan is strained when you lap it up with your tongue. there’s something akin to anticipation burning deep in your gut, burning alongside something fizzy and tight. 

the hum of the air conditioner cuts through the sounds of sex. your heavy breathing, the rustle of the sheets. changbin’s fingernails dig under the leg of your panties to squeeze your ass. he’s almost bouncing you like that — he’s strong enough to aid in the quickening rock of your hips, easing you against his hardness. 

“does that feel good, sweetheart?” he asks, hot and low against your neck. you can’t answer, but you try, a pitiful, keening mmm! leaving your slick lips. “you sound so good, you sound so fucking beautiful.” 

this might be the best thing you’ve ever felt. it’s different from the blinding pleasure of his cock carving you out, but it’s good in its own way, the drag of his cock across cotton, the feeling of his arms around you, his voice in your ear. how can he sound so composed just minutes after waking up beside you? buttering you up, sweet talking you like you’re not already in bed with him. it’s something he just knows, you reckon, exactly what you need even when you don’t know it yourself. 

his eyes are on you. his face is puffy, there’s crust in the corner of one almond shaped eye. you slide your hand down to his face to wipe it away and spend the rest of your time cupping his cheek while he watches you. 

“‘m gonna cum,” you say, and changbin nods, his forehead nudges yours. 

“yeah, fuck, please. yeah, let me make you cum.” 

it’s slow, building right up from the tips of your toes and swimming its way up your desperate body. changbin rolls his hips, wet fabric and a hard cock nudging just where you need it, and you cum with a feeble cry, clit pulsing quickly in your messy panties as changbin makes you cum just like he said. 

it’s so good that you don’t know what to do with yourself. a shaky hand leaves his cheek and smacks against his reddened shoulder, clutching tight to his tender skin to ground yourself while you shake apart. it isn’t until changbin cries out that you realize what you just did. 

“sorry!” you say, frantic. “baby, baby i didn’t mea-”

he cuts you off with another cry, something crazed and wild, pitching high in his throat and tumbling into a wet gasp. you can’t feel his cum just yet, but you feel him, shivering and jolting in the cradle of your arms until it ultimately makes him go completely lax. 

there’s nothing better than this. changbin is so soft and sweet, his calloused hand rubs your back underneath your t-shirt. you’ll cat nap for a while. changbin’s breath is already evening out again in your ear. 

ten minutes. twenty. thirty maybe, then you’ll get up and grab the aloe out of the fridge. 

[hyunniesamericano]

His love for your titties

Pairing: Hyunjin × fem!reader

Hyunjin has a thing for your chest and not in a shallow, one-track-mind kind of way. It's deeper than that. Emotional. Borderline spiritual.

He’s shameless about it too. Doesn’t even try to hide how his eyes drop the second your hoodie comes off. Always has his hands under your shirt like it’s second nature, like your body is the only place he feels at peace. Sometimes it’s not even sexual—just comfort. He’ll curl into you, bury his face between your tits and breathe like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Says he can’t sleep unless at least one hand is resting there, fingers splayed, tracing the skin lazily as if to say, I’m here. You’re here. We’re okay.

But when he’s stressed really stressed he goes quiet. Withdrawn. Brows furrowed, jaw tight. And that’s when he climbs into your lap, pushes your shirt up with trembling hands, and takes your nipple into his mouth like it’s his only lifeline. He doesn't say a word ,just breathes shakily through his nose, clinging to you, sucking softly like he's trying to calm the storm inside. Sometimes he hums while doing it. Quiet, low vibrations against your skin that make you feel like he’s a boy again, seeking safety.

And then… there’s the jealousy.

Hyunjin gets possessive. The second someone else’s eyes wander especially toward your chest he’s already moving, already guiding you away with a hand on your lower back. His grip is tight, protective, but there’s something needy about it too. Like he needs to reclaim you. Like the idea of someone else even thinking about your body drives him wild. The second you're alone, he's pushing you against the nearest surface, mouth hot and desperate against your skin. “You’re mine,” he growls into the curve of your chest, lips dragging, tongue leaving trails. “No one gets to see you like this but me.”

He leaves bruises when he’s like that. Marks shaped like his mouth, like his fingers. He stares at them afterward with a dazed look in his eyes—somewhere between love ,satisfaction and obsession.

When he’s needy and overstimulated, it’s a mess in the most beautiful way. He could’ve cum already, twice even, but he still wants to keep going. Wants to keep sucking on you, mouthing at your tits like he’s losing his mind. His moans turn to whimpers. His voice cracks. “I know I came, I know,” he pants, tears building at the corners of his eyes, “but please—just a little more. Just let me feel you.”

Even when his body is trembling from too much, his mouth never leaves your chest. He worships them like they’re sacred. Like he needs them.

And don’t get him started on when you’re out in public wearing something tight or low-cut. He gets all pouty and bratty, drapes himself over you like a possessive boyfriend in a teen drama. His arm tightens around your waist, his hand subtly brushes your chest like he thinks no one notices. But they do. He just doesn’t care. “They’re mine,” he whispers with a smug smirk, lips brushing your ear, “don’t care who sees.”

And when you’re fucking?

Oh, he’s in heaven. He can’t focus on anything else. Has to have his mouth on your tits, tongue swirling, fingers squeezing like he’s starving. If you try to pull your shirt down after, he whines actually whines like you’ve taken away his favorite thing. “Please,” he begs, voice thick, eyes glossy, “just lemme touch ‘em. I missed them.” Like you didn’t let him suck on them for hours earlier.

To Hyunjin, your chest isn’t just something to get off to—it’s a place of comfort, obsession, and love. It's his anchor. His favorite addiction.

A/n : inspired by

[depsidase]

[skzfflovers]

yours, always

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pairing: bang chan x fem reader

word count:  3K

contains: +18, bf!chan, possessive behavior, mentions of blood (mostly about his lip cut), praise, soft dom!chan, rough sex x aftercare, table sex, unprotected sex (don't!!!), vulnerability, shower scene, oral (f receiving), chan loves reader sm!!!! (i think that's it??)

authors note: english is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes in advance +++ requests are open! :)

⋆｡°✩

summary: Chan has always been protective. But when someone disrespects you? Well, he crosses a line and throws a punch without thinking twice. You find out too late, when he's already home— bruised, breathless, unapologetic. What follows is a fight of your own: you're furious. He’s relentless in his love, in his need to remind you who you belong to— and just how far he’d go to keep you safe.

!!!! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!!

⋆｡°✩

You were curled up on the couch, the TV playing in the background, phone forgotten in your lap. It buzzed once, then twice. A notification from someone you barely knew. Just a mutual through Chan.

“Girl, I don’t want to freak you out but Chan literally just decked someone. Are you okay???”

No context. No details. Just that.

Your hands were already shaking as you dialed his number. Straight to voicemail.

Again. Still nothing.

Panic bubbled up in your chest, sharp and choking. You tried not to spiral, tried to breathe, tried to remind yourself that Chan was smart, careful, always in control. But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

He was always in control.

Except when it came to you.

You knew that. You knew how protective he could get. The way he’d go tense when a guy looked at you too long, the way he would pull you close with an arm tight around your waist, that low voice in your ear: “He’s looking too hard. Don’t like that.”

It wasn’t possessive. It wasn’t toxic. It was just… Chan. Always watching. Always guarding. Like he was built to keep you safe.

But a fight?

Before you could even respond the text, the door opened.

Chan stepped in, hoodie half-zipped, a split lip and red blooming under his eye, his breath a little heavy like the adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet.

“What the fuck, Christopher?” you asked, voice breaking as you jumped to your feet.

He barely flinched. Just shut the door behind him like he didn’t look like he walked out of a street fight. Which he did.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “And Jesus, don't call me Christopher”

“You don’t look fine! What happened? Why-”

“Some asshole thought he could talk about you like that,” he cut you off, voice low and dangerous. “He said your name like it belonged in his mouth. I told him once. He didn’t listen.”

Your hands trembled. “And so you punched him because of it?”

“After he pushed me,” he replied, you were looking at him chocked, with your heart almost exploding. “Don't look at me like that. I won't say sorry.”

“You could’ve gotten arrested. Or seriously hurt. Jesus, look at your face!”

You softly passed your fingers through his face. Chan’s jaw ticked, eyes locked on yours. “You think I care about that more than someone disrespecting you?”

“I care!” you shouted. “You didn’t even tell me! I had to find out from someone else when you were already bleeding?”

He took a step closer, even closer. “I can take a punch, baby. What I can’t take is someone talking about you like you're some girl they can just objectify,” Chan’s tone was flat, but his eyes were anything but calm. They were still burning. “saying things he shouldn’t even think.”

“That doesn’t make it okay, Chan.” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of fear and love tangled together. You pushed at his chest, but he caught your wrists gently.

“That scared the hell out of me” you choked out. He reached you, rough knuckles brushing your cheek.

He leaned down, brushing his nose against yours. “I’m sorry for scaring you. But I’m not sorry for what I did. I’d do it again. Thousand fucking times”

You looked into his eyes.

“You're an fucking idiot,” you murmured, full of anger and fear. Foreheads touching.

“Yours,” he replied, like it was the only thing that mattered. Looking at you with those eyes… those eyes you knew burned for you. For all of you. Chan leaned in, but you turned your face away. “Don’t.” “Don’t what?” he asked quietly, like he didn’t already know. “Don’t think you can kiss me and make this okay.”

“I just want you to understand,” His hands found your waist, slow and firm. “No one touches you. No one talks about you like that,” he growled. “You’re mine.”

One of his hands slid up to your face, fingers cradling your jaw like it was something precious. For him? You were.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

You did.

“You can be mad,” he said. “You can scream at me. But don’t you ever forget that you’re mine. And I will burn the whole world down if someone disrespects you.”

Your breath caught—but not from his words. From the rage twisting inside your chest.

“Well, then, fuck you, Christopher!” you snapped, voice breaking as you shoved at his chest. “Fuck you and your bruised goddamn ego.”

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t move. He took it.

“You think this is romantic? You think coming home with blood on your fucking face is some kind of proof that you care?”

“I did it for you-”

“I didn’t ask you to!” Your voice cracked, loud, raw. “You think I want to watch you self-destruct just to defend my name?”

Chan was silent.

“I’m not scared of what you did,” you whispered, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m scared I’m gonna lose you one day because you’re too fucking stubborn to think.”

Chan’s lips parted, breath shaky.

“You come home,” you choked, voice barely holding. “Bleeding. Smiling like it’s fine. And I’m supposed to just what? Patch you up like it's nothing?”

You turned your face again, wiping your eyes. You hated crying in front of him. Hated how much it made you feel exposed.

“I don’t care about pride,” you said. “I only care about you and—”

He grabbed your face. And kissed you.

Hard. Furious. Like he’d been drowning in your anger and finally found air in your mouth.

You gasped into it, fists clenched in his hoodie, and kissed him back with the same violence, the same desperation.

It was a blood-tinted, tear-soaked kiss.

You kissed him like it hurt. Like loving him hurt. And sometimes it did.

His hands were in your hair, your waist, your spine— everywhere at once. Dragging you in like he was terrified you’d disappear if he let go for even a second.

You broke the kiss first, panting, face flushed and wet with both tears and sweat.

His thumb swept under your eye. He rested his forehead against yours again.

He kissed you again, harder this time.

Your back hit the nearest wall with a thud.

"Chan, stop- you're-you're hurt"

"I don't fucking care" Teeth. Tongue. Blood. Lust. Everything.

“I should be fucking mad at you,” you breathed as he kissed down your throat, sucking marks into your skin like he needed to brand you.

“Be mad,” Chan growled. “Scream at me. Hit me. But don’t you dare pull away now.”

You yanked at his hoodie, dragging it off his body with shaking hands. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Then shut me up,” he rasped.

You did. You pulled him back into you, nails dragging down his bare chest, mouth meeting his with a violence that almost made you dizzy. His hands roamed everywhere: your waist, your thighs, under your shirt - possessive, frantic.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he said, voice shaking, hips grinding into yours. You could feel through his jeans, he was hard. And it made you whimper.

“Yours,” you gasped, rocking against him. “I’m yours.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

“I fucking mean it,” you moaned. “I'm fucking yours. All of me.”

That was it.

Chan turned you around and bent you over the table. You heard the clatter of keys falling, something crashing to the ground. His hands were on your hips, yanking your pants down, and you were already dripping for him.

“Look at you,” he muttered, sliding his fingers between your legs. “All this for me? Even after screaming at me like that?”

You gave him a little giggle.

“Oh? Laughing now, baby? Let's see if you'll keep on laughing,” he warned, voice low, dark. “I’m not going slow.”

He didn’t wait. He pushed in hard and deep, and you cried out, gripping the edge of the table like your life depended on it.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Always so tight. Always so perfect. You need me like this, don’t you?”

You nodded, gasping. “Yes—yes, Chan, I do.”

He set a brutal pace, hips slamming into you with raw, pent-up fury. His hands bruised your hips, his nails dug into your skin. He was groaning, panting, whispering filth against your spine.

“You think anyone else could touch you like this?” Thrust.

“Think anyone could make you fall apart like I do?” Thrust.

“No one gets you like this, baby. No one gets to see you like this.” Thrust.

You were unraveling—eyes shut, mouth open, moaning his name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

“Say it,” he growled.

“Only you—fuck—only you, Chan!”

He bent over your back, chest pressed to yours, breath hot against your ear.

“You’re mine,” he whispered again. “You always fucking will be.”

“No one gets to talk about you,” he growled. “No one gets to look at you. You’re mine to love. Mine to touch. Mine to fucking ruin. You understand me?”

You nodded. You couldn't possibly answer, you were so close.

He knew it.

“Can’t even speak now, huh?” he grunted, voice thick with lust. “Does my princess feel good?”

You nodded.

“Yeah? You want to cum, baby?”

You nodded again.

His hand slid between your thighs, fingers finding your clit with cruel precision. Circling, pressing, teasing, punishing.

“You gonna cum for me, princess?” His voice dropped, deep and rough in your ear. “You gonna cum on my cock?”

You whimpered— body shaking, walls fluttering around him, pleasure building so fast it almost scared you.

“Fuck, that’s it. That’s my girl,” he groaned, hips snapping harder, faster, his own control slipping.

“You feel that?” he panted, fucking into you like he was losing his mind. “That’s how deep I am. That’s how far you let me in. Because you’re mine.”

Your legs buckled.

“Cum, baby,” he ordered, low and desperate. “Cum for me now.”

And you did.

Your body shattered, convulsing, exploding around him. You screamed his name, voice raw and shaking, as pleasure ripped through you like a wave crashing too fast to fight.

Chan lost it.

He buried himself to the hilt, hips stuttering, and spilled into you with a ragged groan. Your name on his lips. Like he’d die saying it.

He didn’t move for a second— just stayed there, chest heaving, face buried in the back of your neck.

Then, finally, he eased out, hands gentle now, smoothing down your spine, your waist, like he needed to remind himself you were still here. Still his.

“Fuck, you're the love of my life.” he murmured, pulling you up, turning you to face him.

Your legs felt like jelly, your breath uneven, your eyes glazed— but he kissed you anyway. Soft this time. Careful. Like an apology and a promise all in one.

When he finally broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours again, eyes closed, still trying to breathe through the weight of everything.

“You scared me too,” he admitted, voice rough, low. “I thought you were looking at me and seeing a monster”

“You’re not a monster,” you interrupted.

His eyes opened. “Then why did you look at me like that?”

“Because I love you.” Your voice cracked. “I love you, Chan. And I don't want to fucking lose you in some stupid fight.”

That hit him. You saw it land. Saw it in the way he looked at you like your pain was his own.

“I’ll be more careful,” he said, pulling you into his chest. “But I’ll never stop protecting you.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered into his skin. “I just don’t want to lose you in the process.”

He kissed the top of your head. “You won’t. I promise.”

You stayed like that for a while—wrapped up in each other, sweat cooling, his hands warm on your back, your face buried in his shoulder. Everything else could wait. Right now, it was just the two of you.

“Come on,” he finally said, voice softer now. “Let's clean ourselves up.”

You nodded, letting him guide you toward the bathroom, still clinging to his hand like he might disappear if you let go.

-

The bathroom filled with steam as soon as the hot water hit the tiles, fogging the mirror. Chan stepped in first, reaching a hand out for you, and you took it without a word, letting him pull you under the stream.

The water hit your skin, warm and soothing, washing away the sweat and tension from before. But none of it compared to his touch.

Chan’s hands found your waist, then slid up your sides, slowly. He looked at you like you were art. Like you were a miracle for still being here, still loving him, even when he made mistakes.

He cupped your jaw with one hand and tilted your face up to him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured. “Even when you’re yelling at me.”

You laughed quietly.

His lips were on yours again in a heartbeat, softer now, slower, but no less intense. His hands explored you carefully, worshipfully, like he needed to relearn every inch of you. And you let him. You wanted him to.

You returned the favor—tracing his bruised ribs, brushing your thumbs over the cut on his lip, placing the softest kiss to the angry mark on his cheek.

“I hate that they hit you,” you whispered.

“Didn’t feel it, promise.”

“How bad does it hurt?” you asked.

“Not as much as you looking at me like that,” he said quietly.

You pressed your forehead on his shoulder. “I don’t want to see you like this ever again.”

“I know.” He exhaled, long and quiet. “I’d do it again, though.”

You didn’t answer. Just kept washing him in silence. Soft motions. Careful fingers. A kind of intimacy that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with I love you. I see you. I’m here.

When he turned to face you again, you moved to his face, wiping away blood that had dried, brushing your thumb gently along his jaw.

“You look like you pissed off a bear,” you muttered, lips twitching.

He smiled faintly. “He looked worse.”

You leaned in, pressing the lightest kiss to the cut. “Idiot.” Different this time, laughing quietly.

“Yours,” he replied again, voice low and sure, with a smile on his lips.

You ran your hands over his shoulders next, down his arms, checking every inch of him, like if you missed one spot, one scrape, you’d fail at keeping him safe in return.

He let you. Let himself be vulnerable in your hands, like he trusted you with the parts of him he didn’t show the world.

“I should be the one taking care of you,” he murmured, looking down at you.

“You’re always taking care of me,” you whispered.

You kissed him again, deeper this time, your hands sliding through his wet hair, your body pressing close. You could feel him, hard again against your stomach, but he didn’t rush. Neither of you did.

This time, it wasn’t about claiming or punishing. It was about belonging.

Then slowly, he sank to his knees in front of you.

“Chan-” your voice caught, breath hitching as his lips met your inner thigh.

“Let me take care of you, baby” he said, voice low and reverent. “Just let me love you.”

And he did.

He kissed you like he meant it. Touched you like you were the only thing that had ever made him feel alive. He brought you to the edge with slow, aching devotion—tongue, fingers, praises whispered into your skin. It wasn't rough or frantic. It was steady, grounding. Right. The rhythm of two people who knew exactly where they belonged. You came once again with his name on your lips, trembling, overwhelmed, worshiped.

Then he stood, holding you as you caught your breath, and kissed your forehead.

“I love you,” he said, simply.

“I love you too.” you whispered back.

You were his. Entirely. Devoutly. His.

-

Once you were warm, dry and dressed in one of his oversized shirts, he pulled on a pair of sweats and guided you to bed. You crawled under the covers, both of you still damp around the edges, skin flushed from heat and love and everything in between.

He slid in behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you close until there was no space left between your bodies. His chest was against your back, his legs tangled with yours, chin resting on your shoulder.

His hand rested just above your heart, thumb brushing the soft fabric of your borrowed shirt.

“I still feel you everywhere,” you murmured.

“Good,” he whispered against your neck. “I want you to.”

His hand splayed wider over your ribs, holding you like an anchor.

There was silence again. Not heavy— just full. Full of words unspoken, full of trust. Full of the kind of love that didn’t need to be declared every second because it lived in every breath, every glance, every touch.

You turned your face slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I am now,” he said, voice rough with exhaustion but laced with warmth. “Are you?”

You nodded. “Just… don’t do that again. Don’t scare me like that.”

He kissed your shoulder. “I’ll be smarter next time. But I’ll still protect you.”

“You’re impossible,” you whispered, turning fully now to face him.

“And you’re mine,” he said.

"Yours, always"

You kissed him one last time— slow, sleepy, like a promise. And then tucked your head under his chin, feeling his heartbeat steady against your cheek.

He whispered one last thing before you drifted off, his voice barely above the hush of the night.

“Forever, y/n. You and me.”

And in that moment, wrapped up in his arms, you believed it with your whole soul.

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

you'd never let me fall ・b.c

—Bangchan who carries you home while your a little drunk and your feet a lot a bit hurt

paring・bangchan x gn!reader // genres・fluff, established relationships // words・900 // warnings・drunkenness, if you don't like rambles or tooth-rotting fluff than you won't like this

a/n・i needed something soft and fluffy after a pretty big fight with my dad and i found this also @sunnysdiary istg i dont know what i would do without you ilysm. p.s. lowkey proud of myself for finally just writing (i only edited once for like an hour :))

You were exactly two blocks away from your apartment when the handful of shots you had thrown back earlier really started to hit you. The sun had died hours ago, the sky now sparkling with stars that seemed to dance and tangle with the streetlights in your vision.

Wow.

You were really fucked up.

You sigh, leaning deeper into the crook of Chan's neck, his hand pressed protectively against your back as he holds you up. His breathing is soft and calming when the world begins to shift again, sharp pain shooting up your legs thanks to the stupidest decision you made all night—wearing high-heels.

The only thing that could be heard over the harsh click of your foot-shaped-death-traps is your pained groan as you loll your head against Chan's shoulder and stumble over the sidewalk mindlessly.

"I'm tired, carry me home," you slur, a slight whine in your voice. He simply smiles, looking down at your dizzy gaze with tender eyes before effortlessly scooping you up bridal style.

The moon grins with you.

Your heartbeats intertwine as you squeal, lovesick giggles pouring from your lips as you hide your face in his sweat-coated neck.

There was no way he was real.

You pull away, blinking up at his sharp jaw and shiny lips, and you swore if you looked just long enough you could find the stars hung on his lashes. There was something about him, something that spread warmth underneath your ribs. You could never quite place it—the feeling bursting within you before settling down like sweet rose perfume fading off your shirt as your nose acclimates to the scent.

Perhaps it was the alcohol that made you so sentimental, or how in a rush of emotion you remember days when you used to assess others by their expressions, the tone of their voice, and the heaviness of their footsteps. You had gotten so used to living on the edge of disaster the thought of certainty deemed to be an impossible feat—that was until you met Chan. He was something special, he loved you softly, with gentle fingers and adoring gazes. He wasn't loud, not with his words or his actions, and sometimes from the outside, society might have deemed he didn't love you at all, but you knew better than that.

Just because it was subtle didn't mean it wasn't there—it just meant it was safe.

The notion alone is enough to bring tears to your eyes, drunkenly choking out: "Thank you for always carrying me."

His gaze softens before he faintly tilts his lips, muttering, "Thank you for letting me carry you."

You were almost to the house when, mindlessly, half-asleep, you mumble, "You'd never let me fall," before going limp in the comfort of Chan's strong arms.

If you weren't so drunk, you might have noticed the shift in his stride, how a shy blush falls over his cheeks and he fights the urge to spread a smile so bright across his face it would put the sun to shame.

But you were far too gone to notice. And he was so focused on keeping you safe that he didn't sense how deeply in love with him you were right then.

You were correct; down to his very last days, he would never let you fall.

You hadn't realized how close you were to the apartment before he steps through the unlocked door, your vision blurring into the darkness of your shared home. It was the silky sheets you felt first, the warmth of his hand leaving you only before he gently pulled the covers over your body and right underneath your chin.

He kisses your forehead, lips lingering there before, hesitantly, he whispers, "I don't know what I'd do if I didn't get to carry you."

He brushes a stray lock of hair from your eyes as you crack them open only to smile, lopsided and silly. "I guess we'll never know."

Bangchan stares at you for hours after that, admiring you in all your tranquility. He knows he should stop, but he also knows he can’t. It had bottled inside him for so long, and it felt as though the rug had been ripped out from under him, and suddenly his feelings flooded out of him all at once. This wasn't what average love felt like—it was pure, gentle, and, best of all, entirely absolute.

In the novels, love is described as something maddening, profound, and disorienting. And while there are moments where it felt as though the galaxy had been sewn into your fingertips, it was more than that. Chan quickly came to find that love lived in silence—the intimate moments where words didn't matter. There was no pressure or unrealistic expectations when he was with you, no anxiety about being perfect all the time. Being with you made his world feel... lighter.

He breathes, brushing a lock of hair out of your face. You shift, instinctively leaning into his touch. A small smile tugs at his lips when the moonlight catches your face just right; you were peaceful, angelic like spring flowers fluttering in the breeze.

There are very few things in this world that are truly poetic. Some may say the stars, the sea, humanity, and the very depth of our emotions. And while Chan could agree with all of those, his love for you outweighed them all.

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[darlingbubble]

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[aeri-skzver]

Just imagine riding Hyunjin while he lays back like this not doing anything, watching you pathetically ride him and whisper filth like “aren’t you a filthy little slut bouncing on my cock like you were made for it” usually after you were being a brat for him to fuck you.

or

Hyunjin eyeing you like his prey after you were being a brat by flirting with the members, pinning you to the bed and wedging his knee against your pussy all while he degrades you which makes your sick in the brain self little self even wetter before he ultimately fucks you silly on his cock, not stopping until your overstimulated and admit that you were wrong.

[theconcealedweapon]