𝐬/𝐧 : after being great friends with seonghyeon and his gang for years you left in 8th grade now it’s 11th and your finally back on the first day of school but now your … FINEE ASF!
𝐬/𝐧 : after being great friends with seonghyeon and his gang for years you left in 8th grade now it’s 11th and your finally back on the first day of school but now your … FINEE ASF!
s/n : You’re older brother junmyeong drags you along to andrews house (his best friend) but your older brother leaves to get sushi leaving you and his older brother alone since you secretly have a crush on his you try to gain his attention and he finally gives you what you want.
reader x Andrew!brothersbsf — ✦ ₊˚⌇ ₊
The air in Andrew’s living room was thick with the scent of old vinyl records and the lingering phantom of coffee. You sat on the edge of the oversized leather sofa, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, your chin tilted up in a practiced expression of disdain.
"I can’t believe he just left," you muttered, glaring at the door Junmyeong had unceremoniously exited ten minutes ago. "‘Stay here, Y/N, Andrew’s a great guy, he’ll keep you company.’ God, he’s such an idiot."
Andrew, lounging in the armchair across from you, didn't even look up from his book. He turned a page with infuriating slowness, a faint, amused smirk dancing on his lips. "You know, for someone who hates being here so much, you’ve been staring at me for the better part of twenty minutes."
You snapped your head toward him, your eyes narrowing. "I was checking to see if you were actually breathing, or if your ego had finally suffocated the life out of you."
Andrew chuckled, a low, melodic sound that made your stomach do a traitorous flip. He finally closed his book and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze was sharp, heavy, and entirely too observant. "Is that what you tell yourself? That you hate me?"
"I don't have to tell myself anything," you scoffed, standing up. You paced the room, your movements sharp, your skirt swaying with a deliberate rhythm. You stopped directly in front of him, looming just close enough that you could smell his cologne sandalwood and rainy pavement. "I’m just stuck here until my brother decides he’s done playing errand boy. It’s a chore, Andrew. Nothing more."
"A chore," he repeated, his voice dropping an octave. He didn't shy away from your proximity. Instead, he tilted his head, his eyes tracking the line of your throat. "You’ve been pacing since Junmyeong left. You’re restless, Y/N. And you have a funny way of showing your annoyance."
"Oh, yeah?" You leaned down, bracing your hands on the armrests of his chair, effectively trapping him. You lowered your voice to a sultry whisper, ignoring the way your heart jackhammered against your ribs. "What way is that?"
Andrew reached out, his long fingers grazing your wrist before sliding up to your forearm. His touch was electric, a searing contrast to the cool indifference you were trying to project. He didn't pull you in; he simply held you there, forcing you to remain in the space he’d created.
"You’re trying to bait me," he murmured, his thumb rubbing rhythmic, agonizing circles against your skin. "You pretend to despise me because it’s the only way you can get close enough to touch me without anyone asking questions. It’s a very transparent performance." He smirked cockily
Your breath hitched. Your bitchy exterior flickered and died, replaced by a raw, desperate heat. "And if I am? What are you going to do about it, Andrew? Keep reading your book?" You said testing the water
He stood up so abruptly you were forced to stumble back, but he caught you by the waist, pulling you flush against him. The height difference made you tip your head back, your eyes locking with his. The playful teasing had vanished, replaced by a dark, hungry intensity that made the air feel thin.
"I think," he rasped, his voice dropping to a gravelly hum against your ear, "I’ve been reading this book for way too long. And I’m much more interested in the sequel."
"Then stop talking," you breathed, your hands coming up to grip his shirt, crumpling the fabric.
Andrew didn't need to be told twice. He crashed his lips onto yours, the kiss possessive and demanding, shedding all the pretense of the previous months. There was no more 'frenemy' banter, no more sharp insults. Just the sound of your frantic breathing and the way he pulled you impossibly closer, finally giving you exactly what you’d been clawing for since the day you met.
As he steered you toward the bedroom, you couldn't help but let out a soft, triumphant laugh against his neck.
"What's so funny?" he growled, pausing to nuzzle against your jaw.
"Nothing," you purred, your fingers tangleing in his hair. "I just realized... I think I’m going to have to hate you a lot more often."
He smirked, kicking the bedroom door shut behind you. "I'm looking forward to it."
i really hate nonchalant people. like please. be chalant. tell me about everything you love!! tell me every thought that pops in your head!! be obsessed with me!! double & triple text me. being boring isn’t sexy </3
The bass of the club thumps through the floorboards, vibrating up through the soles of your heels and settling deep in your chest. You look breathtaking tonight, wearing a dress that clings to every curve like a second skin, leaving just enough to the imagination to keep every man in the room staring. You know you’re the center of attention, but you play it cool, leaning back against the VIP booth with a smirk, glancing at the men trying to catch your eye with a look of bored indifference. You’ve always been a challenge, and you enjoy the chase more than the catch.
Then you see him.
He’s standing near the edge of the dance floor, draped in a loose fitting black silk shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a hint of tanned skin. He has an electric energy about him a magnetic, confident aura that cuts through the noise of the crowd. When your eyes meet, he doesn't look away. Instead, he gives you a slow, knowing smile that tells you he’s used to getting exactly what he wants.
He makes his way toward you, moving with a fluid, athletic grace. As he slides into the booth next to you, the scent of expensive cologne and something warm and masculine envelops you.
"You've been ignoring everyone in this room all night," he says, his voice a smooth, charismatic drawl. "I find that incredibly attractive."
You arch an eyebrow, glancing at him sideways. "And what makes you think you're the exception?"
He chuckles, a low sound that vibrates in his throat. "Because I'm not asking for permission. I'm telling you that I'm not leaving this club without you."
The confidence is intoxicating. You spend the next hour playing a dangerous game of tension, trading sharp wit for lingering touches. He’s completely focused on you, making you feel like the only person in the room. By the time the lights dim and the music peaks, the tension is unbearable. You lean in, whispering into his ear that you're bored of the club, and he doesn't need to be told twice.
The moment the door to his private hotel suite clicks shut, the "hard to get" act vanishes. He pins you against the door, his hands gripping your waist with a strength that makes your breath hitch. He kisses you with a hunger that borders on desperation, his tongue swirling against yours in a rhythmic, demanding dance.
"I've been wanting to do this since I saw you across the room," he groans against your lips.
He lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you toward the bed. He drops you onto the plush sheets, his eyes scanning your body with sheer adoration and lust. He strips slowly, revealing a physique that is lean, toned, and perfectly sculpted the body of a professional performer. Every muscle in his chest and abdomen is defined, glistening slightly under the dim ambient light.
When he moves back over you, he doesn't rush. He spends an eternity kissing the sensitive skin of your neck and collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. His hands roam your curves, squeezing your hips and thighs, marking you as his. He moves down, his lips finding your nipples, teasing them with a flick of his tongue and a gentle suck that sends a jolt of electricity straight to your core. You arch your back, your fingers digging into his shoulders, begging for more.
He slides down further, his face hovering between your thighs. You gasp as he tastes you, his tongue expert and relentless. He doesn't just lick he probes, his tongue swirling and pulsing against your clit with a precision that makes you lose your mind. He uses his fingers to stretch you open, sliding two deep inside, stirring the heat within you while his tongue continues to flicker and pulse against your most sensitive spot. You're shaking, your toes curling into the sheets, sobbing into the pillow as he drives you toward a shattering peak. He sucks your clit into his mouth, creating a vacuum of pleasure that makes your hips jerk uncontrollably.
Just as you're about to break, he replaces his tongue with his length. He enters you in one slow, deep thrust that fills you completely, stretching your walls and hitting your cervix. You let out a loud, guttural moan, your eyes fluttering shut as he begins to move.
His rhythm is incredible leaving you breathing heavy. He moves with a powerful, driving force, hitting your sweet spot with every single stroke. He lifts your legs higher, pinning them against his chest to get deeper, his movements becoming faster and more frantic. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with the sound of your synchronized breathing. Every time he bottoms out, you feel the heavy thud of his pelvis against your own, a rhythmic pounding that echoes the beat of the club you just left.
"You're so tight," he gasps, his voice strained with pleasure, "I can feel you squeezing me... God, you feel incredible."
He grips your hands, interlocking his fingers with yours and pinning them to the pillow as he delivers a series of hard, punishing thrusts. He switches positions, flipping you onto your stomach and pulling your hips up high, arching your back. From behind, he drives into you with a primal intensity, his chest pressing against your back. He reaches around to pinch your nipples, the dual sensation of the friction below and the sharp pleasure above pushing you over the edge.
The friction is overwhelming, building a pressure in your gut that explodes into a massive, toe curling orgasm. You scream into the pillow as waves of pleasure crash through you. As you peak, he lets out a low growl and delivers a final, deep surge, his body shuddering as he spills himself deep inside you, filling you with his warmth. He collapses against you, both of you drenched in sweat and breathless.
He holds you for a long time, whispering sweet things into your ear, his warmth radiating through you. Eventually, the exhaustion of the night takes over, and you drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep in his arms.
The next morning, you wake up to the soft golden light of the sun filtering through the curtains. You stretch, feeling the pleasant ache in your muscles, and notice he's already awake, scrolling through his phone.
As you reach for your dress on the floor, your eyes catch a glimpse of a magazine lying on the bedside table. It’s a K pop fashion spread. On the cover is a strikingly handsome young man with a confident, energetic aura, looking exactly like the man currently smiling at you from the bed.
The caption reads: Anderson Taylor of WAYF BOYS: The Rising Star of the Global Stage.
You freeze, looking from the magazine to him. "Wait... you're Anderson Taylor?"
He lets out a soft, playful laugh, pulling you back into the sheets with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I wondered when you'd figure that out. But for now, let's forget about the fame. I think I'm still hungry for more."
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