[jjaehyunzs]

i moved!!! hehe you can find me here

[doietopia]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ like you mean it — m. riku

pairing: volleyball captain!riku x cheerleader!reader genre: angst, smut, jealousy-fueled reunion, emotional tension content: locker room sex, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, emotional vulnerability, jealousy, possessive undertones, hurt/comfort, slight roughness, filthy talk wc: ~2.1k notes: two idiots in love who don’t know how to talk about their feelings so they fuck about them instead

the gym’s still buzzing at the end of the practice. you’re in your uniform, high ponytail messy and slipping, cheeks flushed from the last set, thighs burning, lungs still catching up, but it feels good. there’s laughter around you, voices fading into the corners of your mind as you lean against the bench, stretching lazily.

sion’s next to you, teasing you about missing the beat on the final cheer, and you nudge his arm, rolling your eyes, smiling despite yourself. it’s harmless.

except, riku is watching.

he’s across the court, near the net, towel slung around his neck, fingers idly tossing a volleyball in the air and catching it with the same hand like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

his eyes are pinned to you, waiting for you to look at him, and when your gaze finally drifts over, he flashes that signature smile. all charm, all teeth. fake as hell.

he hasn’t looked away since the whistle blew and he’s not trying to hide it. eyes flicking over your legs, the curve of your back, the way your lips curl when you smile at someone else. he’s always been good at pretending he doesn’t care. brushing things off with a snort and a joke. but this, this is different. it sits under his skin.

you look away. because screw him.

screw the way he vanished right after the game. no calls. no texts. no explanation. like you didn’t spend the night before in his bed, tangled in his sheets. like he didn’t pull you into his sheets, his breath hot against your ear when he panted “you know you drive me insane, right?” while grinding into you slow and desperate, whispering things he clearly didn’t mean.

like none of it ever mattered.

so you laugh a little too loud at something sion says. it’s not funny, not really, but the way riku’s gaze burns into you makes the petty win worth it. even if your skin’s still prickling from the memory of his hands gripping your waist, his mouth on your neck, the low groan in his chest when you kissed down his stomach. even if you feel his absence in every place he touched last.

you don’t look back this time. but you feel him. watching.

the changing room is empty when you get there. your teammates are long gone, you’re sitting on one of the benches, in no rush. unlacing your shoes slowly, cooling off, skirt bunched slightly too high as you lean forward. 

you don’t hear the door open, just the soft click of it closing. his footsteps echo across the tile. your chest tightens. you don’t need to turn around to know.

“you forgot to stretch.” his voice is low.

you look up slowly.

riku’s leaning against the lockers, his shirt clings to his chest in uneven patches, soaked through along the collarbone and ribs. sweat shines along his throat. his hair is a mess, dark strands curling where they’re damp, a few sticking to his temple. breathing uneven like maybe he ran straight here. or maybe he’s just pissed.

his eyes never leave yours.

you lift an eyebrow. “worried i’ll pull something?”

he shrugs, “just don’t want your little boyfriend sion getting extra duties.”

you snort, “jesus, riku.”

“what?” he shrugs, feigning innocence. “you two looked pretty cozy.”

you move to walk past him, but he steps into your path. doesn’t touch you, but your bodies share heat now, the air bending around him. too close. too tense.

“look,” he murmurs, voice rough, barely holding back. “i’m trying really hard not to be a dick right now.”

“…are you?”

his jaw ticks. his gaze lowers, dragging slowly down your body, your untucked top, your exposed thighs, the tiny sheen of sweat on your chest, then his eyes are back on yours, darker now.

“you were all over him,” he mutters.

you raise an eyebrow. “we were talking.”

“you touched his arm.”

you tilt your head, dry. “so what, is that illegal now? we’re all friends.”

“not the way we’re friends.” 

riku pulls back a little, just enough to see your face. and even though he’s still half-smiling, there’s something unsteady in it now.

“you like making me jealous or something?”

he waits a beat, then leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“’cause if you do… you should at least let me fuck you after.” his thumb drags along the edge of your skirt as he says it, low and daring:

your breath hitches. “riku…”

you reach for his wrist, but he catches your fingers, lacing them with his and bringing your joined hands up between you. the gesture feels too tender for how mad he is. and too intimate for two people pretending this is just about sex.

he leans in and kisses you.

his lips are hot, impatient, pulling sounds you didn’t mean to make. it’s messy. desperate. angry about needing you this much. his mouth crashes against yours with everything he’s held in. and when you kiss him back, when you lean into him, mouth open, tongue sliding against his, he groans deep and raw into your mouth.

“i hate it,” he breathes between kisses. “seeing you with someone else.”

his voice cracks on “else.” and he looks away, like even saying it feels pathetic.

“makes me feel stupid.”

“you’re not,” you whisper, hand coming up to his jaw, thumb brushing the flushed skin under his cheekbone. he leans into the touch before he realizes it. soft. boyish. nothing like the riku who fucked you a week ago.

your hands find the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath. his skin is hot and damp, muscles tight under your touch. you run your palms up slowly, feeling him shudder.

then his hand slips down, fingers dragging between your thighs with a kind of reverence. he cups you through your panties.

he groans.

“fuck. you’re soaked.”

your head slams against the lockers, breath catching. “you took too long.”

his mouth twitches, crooked and dizzying. he sinks to his knees.

“then let me catch up.”

he pushes your skirt up with both hands, palms skimming your thighs, firm and slow, like he needs to feel every inch. he presses a kiss to the inside of your right thigh. then your left. mouth damp and warm, lingering. your panties are tugged aside, and the cold air hits you hard enough to make your legs tremble.

“this is what i was thinking about all practice,” he murmurs. “every time you jumped. every time you smiled.” he presses a kiss right beside your entrance “i thought about getting you alone like this.” your fingers slip into his damp hair, tugging gently.

his tongue drags slow and flat from your entrance up to your clit, and you shudder, fingers tangling in his hair. he groans softly against you, like he missed this too, humming at the taste of you after practice, sun-warm, a little salty.  

he eats you like he’s starving and you’re the thing he’s been denying himself. deep, lazy strokes of his tongue leave you shaking, head spinning. his hands hold your thighs wide, thumbs digging into the backs of your legs.

when your hips roll forward against him, seeking more, you can’t help it. not when he sucks your clit between his lips, he just moans and presses closer, like he wants to melt into you. your head falls back, hitting the locker with a soft thud, and your moan spills out without warning.

you come hard, thighs clamping around his head, your body bucking against his mouth. he groans like it turns him on just as much, lapping you through it, tongue still working, slower now but no less intense. when he finally pulls back, his mouth is shiny, lips red and kiss-swollen, eyes dark and blown out.

you’re still catching your breath, one hand flat against the locker to steady yourself, the other tangled in his hair. you feel wrecked, skin damp, limbs loose, heart in your throat. but it’s not enough. not after the week of silence. not after the burn he left in you when he disappeared like nothing happened.

“get up,” you breathe.

he blinks up at you. plump lips parted. “what?”

“get up.”

you grab his collar, yank him up roughly until he’s chest-to-chest with you. then you kiss him, tasting yourself on his mouth, the heat of his tongue sliding against yours, and you whimper into it. your legs are weak, skirt bunched high, panties shoved to the side, but your voice is steadier than it should be.

“you wanna win me back?” your mouth ghost his. “prove it. fuck me like you mean it.”

he groans softly, forehead pressing to yours.

and then his mouth finds your neck, hot kisses dragging over your skin as his hands find your ass, lifting you up in one motion. your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as your back hits the lockers again with a soft clunk, your breath knocked from your chest as he presses closer, harder.

“you think i don’t mean it?” he mutters into your neck. “after the way you sound when you come for me?”

he grinds into you once, twice, letting the friction pull a helpless sound from your throat. you gasp, feeling the length of him through his shorts. his cock is already hard, straining against his shorts.

he pulls back just enough to fumble with his waistband, groaning when he finally frees himself. his cock presses against your entrance, thick and hot and already leaking.

“you sure?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“please,” you breathe.

he slides in with one slow, devastating thrust. you cry out, as he stretches you inch by inch. he holds still for a beat, letting you adjust. watching your body trembling with the effort of taking him all at once.

“fuck, i missed this,” he breathes. “missed how warm you are. how wet.”

you whimper as he bottoms out, your walls fluttering around him. holding still for a moment like he’s trying not to come already. your fingers grip his shoulders, digging into the damp fabric.

“shit,” he groans. “you’re perfect like this. fuck— every time.”

you whimper, clenching around him involuntarily. he groans low in his throat, pulling back just enough before snapping forward again, and the sharp sound of skin against skin echoes in the quiet room. your broken moan shudders out of you, forehead tipping forward against his shoulder again as he picks up pace, each thrust harder, deeper, needier, filling you completely.

“you were waiting for this, huh?” he breathes against your jaw. “acting all sweet on sion like you weren’t dripping for me.”

his rhythm starts slow, deep, punishing thrusts that make your body jolt, but it doesn’t stay gentle. it’s not that kind of night. not after the silence. not after the jealousy. not after your voice in his ear saying fuck me like you mean it.

his mouth finds your neck, biting lightly at the skin just below your ear, sucking until you squirm.

“say it,” he growls into your ear. “say you missed me.”

you whimper, biting your lip to muffle the sound. he thrusts harder.

“baby—”

“i missed you,” you choke out. “fuck, riku, i missed you—”

he groans, fucking you faster now, arms flexing under your thighs to hold you up as he fucks you into the locker, loud, wet, desperate sounds echoing off the tiles. he’s everywhere, inside you, against you, in the press of his chest to yours and the sting of your nails against his skin.

your second orgasm builds fast. faster than you expect. the angle, the stretch, the way his hand slips between you to rub your clit. circling it with quick, practiced pressure.

“you close?” he whispers, kissing your jaw. “wanna feel you come again.”

you nod, frantic. “please—don’t stop—” and he doesn’t.

you come again with a cry, hips jerking, walls clenching tight around him. he swears against your skin, voice cracking.

“fuck, fuck—i’m gonna—”

his thrusts lose rhythm. one, two more, and then he’s spilling inside you with a low moan, pressed deep, arms tight around your waist. his arms loosen just slightly, letting your legs down gently, but he stays inside you, bodies still tangled, breath still caught somewhere in the space between your mouths.

you blink up at him.

his forehead falls against your collarbone, body trembling slightly. you stay like that for a moment. wrapped around him. still full of him. the echo of him pulsing deep inside you, like your shape remembers him too well.

“i don’t know what this is,” he says, barely audible. “but it’s not nothing.”

“then don’t treat me like it is.”

[doietopia]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ messy eater haechan

he’s always been like this: messy. greedy. the kind of man who can’t eat slowly, who gets sauce on his lips and never wipes it off, who licks his fingers instead of using a napkin. you should have known it would translate to this.

because now, with your thighs trembling around his shoulders and his mouth buried between them. the taste of you is something he’s been craving for weeks and now that he’s had a drop, he can’t stop. his hands are firm on your hips, anchoring you to the edge of the bed, afraid you’ll slip away. and maybe you would, if you had the strength. if your body weren’t already unraveling under his mouth.

haechan moans into you, sharp and breathy as it’s him being touched. he whines when you twitch, when your breath catches, when your hand tangles in his hair. his mouth works without rhythm and hesitation, sometimes slow and indulgent, then suddenly fast, desperate, because he just can’t decide whether to savor you or devour you whole.

you look at him, and fuck… he’s gorgeous, even like this. maybe especially like this.

his lips are flushed, glistening, swollen from how long he’s been down there. his hair clings to his forehead, damp with sweat. brows drawn tight with a tension thick with focus and hunger. his jawline, usually so soft and clean, is now slick wet with your arousal and his spit, smeared across his chin, catching the light at the corners of his mouth. you see it trailing down his throat, glinting in the hollow there.

his tongue slides lower. a thick, wet stroke right into your cunt, and your whole body jolts. your spine arches off the bed, hands flying to the sheets, to his hair, to anything that might tether you to yourself. he groans against you, the sound reverberating through your skin like a low hum. it’s filthy. perfect.

his nose bumps your clit, teasing, nudging with a kind of casual precision that feels anything but accidental. the pressure is soft, rhythmic. warm from his breath. he pushes deeper, tongue fucking into you, not just a flick, or a taste, but deep, wet thrusts that make your hips grind into his face before you even realize. he drags back up, licks through your folds, flattens his tongue under your clit only to dip back inside, messier this time. and the slick sound of it, of you, fills the air, so obscene it borders on holy.

he shifts. nose pressing to your clit again, this time with purpose, this time harder, while his tongue stays buried inside your hole. your thighs tighten around his head. you try to push him away, quivering hands on his head, thighs clamping shut, too sensitive, too much, you whisper. but he only groans and his grip hardens, prying you open again, like he’s offended you’d even try to leave. 

he presses his tongue back in, slow this time, dragging it up through your slick, flicking over your clit with obscene ease. he licks like he’s cleaning a plate, unwilling to leave a single drop behind. one hand slips beneath your thigh to tilt your hips, the other splays over your stomach, pinning you there, holding you down as he already knows what’s coming. and when he adds his fingers, two of them, you cry out. he curls them inside you, unerringly, hitting that spot inside you that makes your legs jerk. without pause, he sucks your clit into his mouth and doesn’t let go, not until it’s pulsing against his tongue. 

his pace doesn’t slow, not when your thighs quake, not when your hands claw at the sheets, not when your body arches off the bed in one long, trembling line. he stays, mouth open, tongue heavy, lips smeared with everything you’ve given him. 

when he finally pulls back, after making you come three times in a row, he’s panting. his face is wrecked, cheeks flushed, chin wet, eyes glazed. totally drunk on you. a line of spit still connects his mouth to your cunt, and when he wipes it with the back of his hand, it only smears across his cheek.

you look at him, legs still shaking, breath shallow, and he just smiles.

a crooked, fucked-out smile, like he’s proud of the wreckage he’s made. but he doesn’t look satisfied. no. not even close. he watches you as if you owe him more, and he’s ready to dive back in just to feel you dripping down his chin again.

[doietopia]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ nerdy roommate caught you masturbating

you hadn’t meant for it to happen like this.

not with the door half-open, not with his name falling quietly from your mouth, not with your hand trembling against the thin fabric of your underwear. the apartment had been quiet all evening. you’d thought he was still at the library. he usually was.

you press your head back into the pillows, eyes shut tight, breath shallow as your fingers move with a rhythm that’s more instinct than thought. the cotton of your panties clings to you, already damp, the friction just enough to make your thighs tense and your stomach coil tighter with each pass. there’s a slow heat building low, a need that makes your hips shift toward your own hand like your body’s begging you to keep going. but it’s not enough. it never is.

and then— a quiet creak.

your eyes snap open. he’s there.

in the doorway, barefoot, wearing that faded grey t-shirt he always sleeps in. it hangs loose on him, the hem brushing the waistband of his sweatpants. his hair’s a mess, like he ran his fingers through it and gave up halfway. his glasses are still on, slightly askew, like he forgot he was wearing them. his gaze is unreadable, but his eyes are dark, wide, and fixed on you. his hands hang motionless by his sides. like he doesn’t trust himself to move.

you freeze, panic flashing sharp across your chest. heat blooms under your skin, humiliation crackling at the edges.

“i- i thought you weren’t home,” you stammer, scrambling to pull the blanket over your hips. your heart hammers so hard it almost hurts.

he doesn’t answer right away. just steps inside, barefoot against the floorboards, his movements careful and quiet. like one wrong step might scare you off.

you should say something. tell him to leave. pretend this never happened. but your mouth is dry, and your body is already betraying you, still aching, still wet, still open.

“do you… want help?” he asks. his voice is barely above a whisper, but it sinks into you like gravity.

your lips part. no sound comes out.

he’s still standing, but his gaze dips to your legs, to the blanket pulled haphazardly around your waist, to the small curve of your inner thigh where the hem rides up. you watch his throat move as he swallows.

then he crosses the room and sits on the edge of your bed. slow. patient. waiting. his glasses slide a little down his nose, but he doesn’t bother to push them back up. he’s focused on you now.

“i said if you want help,” he murmurs, and his hand reaches for the blanket. he doesn’t tug it away, just touches the edge of it. brushes his knuckles over the bare skin of your thigh. it’s feather-light, but it burns.

your breath catches. and you nod. barely.

he exhales, something like relief flickering across his face. his hand moves more deliberately now, fingers sliding beneath the blanket and pushing it down inch by inch, baring your thighs to the cool air. he doesn’t rush, doesn’t grab or grope, just uncovers you and looks at you like he’s cataloguing every inch, every shift in your breath, every quiet ache in your eyes.

your thighs part instinctively, shy but needing. and then his hand is on your inner thigh, fingers warm and steady. he trails upward slowly, the pads of his fingers dragging against your skin, until he reaches the damp curve of your underwear.

he hesitates for a second, eyes searching yours, but when you don’t pull away, he presses a little more firmly. his knuckles nudge the soaked fabric, feeling the shape of you through it. the friction makes you whimper, hips rising slightly to meet his touch without you meaning to. it’s instinctual, desperate. he notices.

“here?” he whispers, his thumb brushing the outline of your clit through the thin cotton. the pressure makes your hips twitch. “is this where you needed me?”

you nod, again. smaller this time. your eyes flutter shut. it’s humiliating how quickly. how badly. how warm your cheeks feel.

he doesn’t tease. doesn’t make you wait. just slides your underwear to the side. fingers grazing the slick heat of you with bare skin now. his touch is slow at first, exploratory, one finger at first, barely dipping between your folds, just enough to part them, just enough to test how wet you are. then, he spread the wetness, stroking the soft, sensitive folds with deliberate care. your back arches, breath catching in your throat.

he slips one finger inside.

and oh, it’s so different.

“fuck,” he says under his breath. it’s the first time his voice breaks. “you’ve been like this the whole time?”

your fingers clutch the sheets. you don’t answer. don’t have to. your body does for you, hips lifting, thighs parting a little wider, breath catching again when he slips another finger inside you, stretching you slightly, filling you so much better than your own ever could.

he curls them just right and watches the way your mouth falls open, the way your hips roll upward toward him, involuntary and eager. his eyes locked on your face like he’s afraid to miss something. his pace is patient but firm, and deep. 

he watches your every reaction, like he’s trying to understand what you like without asking. like he needs to know.

“you were saying my name,” he murmurs, his voice close now, his mouth grazing the curve of your neck.

you nod, trembling. your body clenches around him with every slow thrust of his fingers. you can’t seem to hold still.

your eyes sting. you don’t know why. maybe from how good it feels. maybe from how gentle he’s being. maybe from all the times you wanted this and said nothing.

“why didn’t you just ask?” he whispers.

you let out a shaky breath. “you’re always so far away.”

his hand pauses. just for a beat. then he leans in again, his lips grazing your jaw now, breath hot. “don’t hide from me now. tell me what you want.”

your hand finds his wrist without thinking, just to hold onto something. the flex of his muscles, the control under his skin. it’s too much but not enough. you want to cry and come at the same time.

“you,” you whisper, throat tight. “just… keep going.”

and he does. until you’re shaking. until you’re clenching around his fingers and biting your lip to keep from crying out too loud. until your hips buck and your thighs tremble and his name tumbles from your mouth again, broken and breathless.

he doesn’t pull away. just keeps his forehead against yours, his hand gentle as you come down. his voice quieter than ever when he says,

“kind of unfair keeping this to yourself. guess i showed up just in time.”

doyoung, renjun, jisung, mark, jeno, haechan, and whoever else comes to mind…

[doietopia]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ one pace behind — p.js

pairing: knight!jisung x princess!reader genre and content: fluff, soft, childhood friends, royal au, bodyguard x princess. wc: 1.7k

it’s been almost eight years since you last saw jisung. he was the son of the man who had saved your father’s life more times than anyone dared to count. when his parents died, your father took him in, fed him, treated him like one of your own. jisung grew up in the palace with you, slept in the servant halls but wandered the corridors like he belonged. and maybe, in a way, he did.

you said nothing when he stepped through the throne room doors, afternoon light spilling across the marble floor, gilding his armor as if the heavens themselves wished to herald his return.

you stood frozen when your father’s voice rang out, naming him your protector, your personal guard. you scarcely heard the words. your gaze remained fastened to jisung, and he did not look at you. not immediately.

when the court was dismissed, you caught his sleeve as he turned.

“jisung,” you whispered, so softly it felt as though your voice might shatter something if spoken aloud.

he lifted his eyes. the same wide, honest gaze you remembered from childhood, like a sweet thorn lodged in your memory. his lips parted, as if to speak something long-rehearsed, but instead simply bowed again. formal. stiff. as if you were a stranger to him.

that night, you did not sleep.

your father had explained the decision as a matter of politics, your official presentation as heir to the throne. for the first time, you would stand before the court, the nobles, the people. visible. vulnerable. “you’ll no longer be a child hiding behind palace walls,” he said, his gaze steady. “and visibility is dangerous.” and for that, your father wanted someone by your side whom he trusted more than his own shadow.

“he knows you better than anyone,” he had said, and though his voice was fond, a chill passed through you. “and you know him. there is no one more loyal than jisung.”

you remembered him quiet, his ears turning red each time you spoke to him, his fingers muddy from when you dragged him through fields in search of frogs to scare your younger siblings or the maids. jisung, who flinched when you threw petals in his face and told him it was a curse. jisung, who never quite learned how to say no to you. jisung, who trembled when you climbed trees and then climbed up after you, not to join in the mischief, but to keep you from falling. jisung, who vanished the day he was accepted into the guard, and never wrote again.

you almost don’t recognize him when you first see him again. he’s taller now, broad-shouldered, his eyes sharper under his fringe of dark hair. the boy is gone. in his place stands a knight. sir jisung, son of the late sir haneul, whose loyalty had been legend.

he still doesn’t say much. just sighs and follows. you splash through the river; he pulls off his boots and follows. you climb the crumbling wall behind the stables; he’s there behind you, arms out, just in case. nearly eight years had passed, and still, jisung looked at you as though you had dirt on your knees and a wooden sword clutched in your hand.

“you’re supposed to stop me,” you tease him once, breathless from running.

“i’m supposed to keep you safe,” he replies, without meeting your eyes.

you laugh. he follows. some things never change.

like today, when you escaped from your dancing lesson for the third time that week. the waltz music grated against your ears; the pearls at your throat felt more like chains. the valley beyond the hill was just as it had always been, windblown and wild, thick with flowers. you left your shoes by the staircase and slipped past the sentries who, by now, knew better than to stop you. you ran, skirts lifted, laughter tearing free from your throat. and behind you, came his footsteps. never quite beside you. always one pace behind.

“you ought to be in class,” he said when he finally caught up to you, and you laughed, bright and sudden, sending birds scattering from the trees.

jisung stands at the edge of the hill, hesitating. always hesitating. he watches you the way one might watch the sea, awed, unsure if he is permitted to wade into its depths.

“you ought to say something more interesting,” you called back, turning to face him, arms outstretched as the wind tangled in your hair. “or have knights forgotten how to speak?”

he said nothing. only lowered his gaze again. but the corners of his lips twitched, as if a smile had nearly escaped him.

you knew he followed out of duty. because your father had asked him to. but when you sat down in the grass and tossed a twig at him in jest, he didn’t dodge it. he simply sat beside you and let it fall from his head with a quiet sigh.

“you haven’t changed,” he murmured.

he meets your eyes at last. and for a heartbeat, the air tastes like spring again. like grass-stained linen and raspberry tarts.

“haven’t i?” you asked. “what about you?” you teased softly. “still following me, sir jisung?”

he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. the wind tousled the fringe across his brow. something in his expression shifted, perhaps no. perhaps he was no longer the same boy. but for now, you chose not to ask.

“i was instructed to protect you, my lady.”

“from whom?” you ask, throwing your head back, laughing. “from the flowers? the bees? or perhaps from my own boredom?”

“there are letters,” he says, quietly. “threats. your father did not exaggerate the danger.”

“and you’re to protect me, alone?” you ask, not mocking, only curious. “you, who used to cry when i climbed the walnut tree and refused to come down?”

his expression tightens, but not with anger. with memory.

“i never cried.”

“you did. your face went all red, and you told me you’d throw yourself after me if i fell.”

“i meant it,” he says, so softly that it makes your chest ache. you look away. the wind picks up. the hills ripple like waves. you lie back into the grass and close your eyes.

“do you miss it?” you ask. “before all of this. before the court, the titles, the rules.”

there is a long pause.

“i missed you,” he says. the words fall like stones into still water, breaking the surface between you.

you open your eyes. he is looking at the sky, not at you, as though ashamed of having said it. you do not respond. you only reach out, fingers grazing the grass between you, and for a moment, his hand moves, as if to meet yours. but the distance remains.

a few week later, you’re in the orchard garden, one shoe missing and your fingers sticky from the fruit you weren’t supposed to pick, let alone eat. the sun hangs low and lazy in the sky, painting everything in amber, and jisung, dutiful, exasperated, ever trailing behind you, is attempting to scold you while you hide behind a tree trunk.

“you’re a princess,” he calls out, voice already tired with fondness. “not a raccoon.”

“raccoons are clever,” you counter, leaning out just far enough to toss the peach pit at his feet. “and they don’t have to sit through royal etiquette lessons.”

he sighs, picking up the pit like it’s evidence in a crime. “i was instructed to escort you to the council chamber at four.”

“it’s four-thirty.”

“exactly.”

you dart from one tree to another, giggling when he almost catches your sleeve. the silk of your dress snags on a branch but you don’t care. you’re already barefoot, crown forgotten on a stone bench behind you, your hair coming undone in the wind. for a moment, you feel like a child again. for a moment, so does he.

he finally manages to corner you between the old pear tree and the garden wall, breath caught between laughter and resignation.

“are you planning to outrun me forever?” he asks, arms folded, trying to look stern.

“maybe,” you say, grinning. “you’ve always been slower than me.”

he raises an eyebrow. “i let you win.”

“that sounds like something a loser would say.”

his mouth twitches. the faintest, rarest smile. “you’ve got peach on your cheek.”

you blink. “do i?”

“mhm.” he steps closer, and for a heartbeat you forget how to stand still. he lifts a hand, hesitates again, but then brushes your cheek with his thumb, light as a whisper. you’re certain your heart makes a sound.

“there,” he says, as if the touch hadn’t nearly undone you both.

you scrunch your nose. “how gallant of you, sir jisung.”

“someone has to keep you from looking like a mess.”

you reach up and stick your peach-sticky finger on his nose.

he blinks, stunned. and then, laughs. it’s so unexpected that you freeze, and for the first time in years, you hear it clearly: jisung’s real laugh, bright and boyish, like sunlight through a window no one thought to open.

you sit beside him again, skirt pooling over the grass, your head tilted back to watch the sky turn gray. you lie back and sigh, letting the quiet settle into your bones. “it’s going to rain tonight,” you murmur, eyes closed.

jisung hums beside you. “you always say that.”

“and i’m always right.”

“not always. you once claimed the moon was following you.”

“it was,” you insist, a smile tugging at your lips. “i just happened to be more interesting than anything else in the sky”

“you still are,” he says, and then goes terribly still, as if he hadn’t meant to let the words escape.

you open your eyes, turning your face toward him, but he’s already pretending to watch the clouds again. his expression unreadable, but his ears, just barely, have gone pink at the tips. his hands rest stiffly over his knees, like he’s afraid they might move on their own.

you want to say something. you want to ask him why he left without writing. you want to ask if he thought of you at all. you want to ask if he still does. but instead, you sit up and pluck a blade of grass from the earth, twisting it between your fingers.

“you’ll get in trouble if i’m late again,” you murmur.

he exhales slowly, and you hear him shift behind you. “then let’s make it worth the trouble.”

you turn, startled, but jisung is already standing, hand outstretched, not as a knight offering duty, but as a boy remembering how it felt to follow you into sunlight.

[doietopia]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ please, don’t — k.dy

pairing: fwb!doyoung x f!reader genre and content: smut, fwb-ish?, unprotected sex, riding, slight-chocking. angst. mdni. wc: 1.6k

you stand in front of his door for a moment, coat in hand, breath caught in your throat. you told yourself you wouldn’t come back. not after what happened last time. not after the way he looked at you when he asked for more, more time, more truth, more of you, and you couldn’t give it. you told yourself you wouldn’t come back.

you said it was better to walk away. better for him, for you, for whatever mess you kept falling into together. you meant it. so you almost turn around. almost convince yourself to go home, take a shower, fall into bed alone like a normal person.

but you don’t.

because today was fucking awful. you don’t want to be alone, and he’s always the first place your body wants to go when your mind can’t take it anymore, when your chest feels too tight to breathe.

you knock once. and he opens the door like he was expecting you. his hair’s messy. he’s in sweatpants and a black t-shirt that clings to his chest. his mouth parts when he sees you, but he doesn’t say anything.

he doesn’t have to.

you walk in without a word. drop your bag. kick off your shoes. he closes the door behind you, slow, still watching.

then he’s sits on his couch, elbows on his knees, head down, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to keep something from spilling out.

you know it’s late, too late to pretend this isn’t exactly what you came for. so you cross the room, slow, step between his legs, and cup his face with both hands. too intimate for what this is supposed to be.

his eyes meet yours. there’s a flicker of something, surprise, maybe. but he doesn’t move, just breathes you in.

you don’t ask. you just climb into his lap, careful, your knees on either side of his hips, your hands sliding under his shirt like you’ve done it a thousand times before. because you have.

he exhales, slow through his nose. jaw tight. “what are you doing.”

you rest your forehead against his. “today was shit,” you whisper, voice smaller than you meant. “just… let me have this.”

“you always come to me like this.” he mutters, like it bothers him. but he doesn’t stop you.

“because you make me forget,” you breathe. your lips graze his neck. “just for a little while.”

he scoffs. not soft this time, bitter. “you want comfort, go cry to someone who cares.”

you flinch, but your body stays close. because you know him. you know if he really wanted you gone, he wouldn’t be sitting here, breathing hard through his nose, fists clenched like he’s holding back the urge to touch you.

you kiss his neck. “don’t do that,” you murmur. “don’t lie.”

you grind down once, slow, and feel him already hard beneath you. his breath catches, head tilting back. he just leans back on the couch, arms spread along the backrest, jaw tense, pretending to be unaffected. but you know better.

he growls, soft. “you think i like being used?” his voice is flat, but his hands are already on your thighs, sliding higher, gripping tighter.

you press your mouth to his jaw, teeth barely grazing skin. “i think you like when i need you.”

he leans back as he drags his gaze over your face, trying to decide what to do with you, he exhales. “is that what you want? to get fucked so deep you can’t think straight?” he watches you with that look again. like he wants to ruin you and hold you at the same time. you nod.

“go ahead then,” he says, voice rough, eyes locked on yours. “show me how much you want it.”

your hands move before your mouth can answer. you reach for the buttons of your shirt and take it off. his eyes drag down the curve of your chest, tongue pressing into his cheek when your bra follows, tossed somewhere to the side.

next your palms drag over his chest, his stomach, teasing, until the hem of his shirt. you push the fabric up and he lets you take it off, arms raised for just a second before they’re back on your thighs raising the fabric of your work skirt.

you tug at his pants and he lifts his hips just enough for you to slide them down. not all the way, just enough. just enough to get to what you need.

he watches you as you reach down, slide your panties to the side. with your other hand you reach down between your bodies, fingers wrapping around him, guiding him to your entrance, and sink onto him in one smooth, aching motion. his fingers tighten, jaw clenched, eyes locked on we’re your bodies met.

“fuck,” he breathes. “you’re already soaking.” you nod, and your mouth parts as you start to move, slow, feeling every inch of him. his eyes locked on the way your body grinds down on him.

“look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough. sitting back as you grind on him. “fucked open on my cock while i just sit back and watch. like it’s the only thing that’ll fix you.” your hands goes to his chest, your thighs trembling, he watches you like a man starved.

he spits on his hand and rubs it over where you’re stretched around him, “so fucking wet. so fucking messy.” you don’t answer. you just move. his grip tightens around your hips, guiding you, dragging you down harder.

your nails dig into his chest, and he just grunts, dragging his teeth across your jaw. “you love this, don’t you? love using me like this. acting like you don’t care, and then showing up like this. crawling into my lap like you’re mine.” you hate how true it feels. how good it feels when he says mine like that.

his grip shifts, one hand on your throat now, firm, just enough pressure to make you focus, to make you feel it. to make you look at him. “ride me, baby,” he whispers, “prove i’m what you need.”

you do. your rhythm falters, hips stuttering as he meets you halfway, fucking up into you harder, rougher. his head tilts back, veins in his neck straining as he groans, lost in the feel of you wrapped so tight around him. “you’re so tight. every time i sink into you it’s like your body doesn’t wanna let go. fucking greedy. you were made to keep me inside.”

the room is quiet except for your breath, his voice, and the slick sound of your bodies clashing into each other. filthy. desperate. and familiar.

“you hear that?” he hisses, eyes on where your bodies meet, on the obscene sounds of you taking him again and again. “that’s your pussy sucking me in. begging for more.” his voice drops lower, rougher.

you cry out when he hits deep. he grins like he’s high on the sound of it, grabbing your jaw, forcing your eyes on his. “what? too much?” he mocks, voice low and filthy. “you can take it. you wanted this.” he snarls, breathless.

your hips twitch, trying to keep up, but he’s relentless. fucking up into you like he owns you. like he’s trying to carve the shape of himself into your body. he watches your face twist, your body start to give, you’re close. he feels it.

“you gonna fall apart for me?” he murmurs, lips against your neck, teeth dragging.

his thumb brushes over your clit, enough to make you gasp, as he laughs darkly. he fucks up into you harder, rougher. and you come, loud, trembling, his name falling from your lips like a curse or a prayer.

he loses it too, groaning into your neck as he slams deep and stays there. he grips your hips so tight you can’t move, groaning, emptying himself inside you.

he presses one last thrust into you, slow and deep, just to feel your body twitch again around him. just to hear you whimper. his hand on your back pulls you down, until your chest is pressed to his, your mouth open against his shoulder.

and then silence. breaths uneven, your thighs are sore, your body spent, but he hasn’t let go. he’s still inside you. and now he doesn’t said a word.

you feel his grip on your hips, tight, like he’s still not sure if he wants to pull you closer or push you away. your hand finds his shoulder.

“i didn’t come here to hurt you,” you whisper.

he laughs. low, bitter. “you didn’t come here for me. you came here because your day was shit.”

you swallow. hard. but you don’t deny it. still, he doesn’t move. his thumb brushes the edge of your spine, slow. a gesture that contradicts every word he’s said.

“next time,” he says, finally, voice raw, “just fucking say you need me.”

it shouldn’t hurt. but it does.

because he’s right. you never say it. you just show up, touch him, take what you need and pretend it doesn’t mean anything. pretend it’s just about tonight.

you stay quiet. because if you open your mouth, you’ll either lie or fall apart, and you’re not sure which one would be worse.

he sighs. that tired, familiar sound, like he’s already bracing for the part where you leave. but his hand is still on your back. his body still warm beneath yours.

“i’m sorry.” you murmur, so soft it barely leaves your lips.

he closes his eyes. leans his head back against the couch. “like it changes anything...”

you nod, even though he’s not looking. “i know.”

there’s a silence then. full of everything neither of you ever says.

his thumb keep moving in slow circles against your skin, like muscle memory, like habit. like he doesn’t know how not to touch you, even when he’s trying to protect himself.

you want to pull away, to break the spell, but your body won’t listen. instead, you lean into the touch, desperate for any kind of connection, even if you don’t deserve it.

“you make it so hard to hate you,” he admits, voice low, almost breaking.

you laugh, bitter but soft. “i don’t want you to hate me.”

his fingers tighten on your back. “doesn’t mean i don’t.”

you close your eyes, resting your face against his neck. “please, don’t.”

[doietopia]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ loud moaning mark

he’s already breathing hard when you slide your hand down. his moans start soft, but they build with every second, low, needy, unfiltered. he hides his face in your neck like that’ll muffle the sounds, but it doesn’t.

you hear everything. the way his voice trembles, the way he gasps when your thumb brushes the tip, the way he curses under his breath like he’s about to fall apart.

the moment your fingers wrap around him, he moans. no warning, no hesitation, just this guttural sound that escapes his throat like it’s been trapped there forever.

“fuck—”

his hips jerk up, needy, desperate, he’s been waiting all day just to feel you. he can’t stop the sounds that leave him, deep, raw moans that grow louder with every stroke, every squeeze. he’s loud, almost embarrassingly so, but you don’t tell him to quiet down.

“you feel so fucking good,” he breathes, head falling back, lips parted. “please— don’t stop—”

he’s losing it, moaning without shame, the kind of sounds that make your skin burn and your thighs press together. every breath is laced with your name.

“i love it when you touch me like this,” he gasps, eyes fluttering shut. “i swear— i can’t think— i just want you.”

you lean in, lips brushing his jaw.

“then let me have you,” you whisper.

and the moan he lets out at that, loud, broken, aching, makes your whole body shiver. he’s so close, so open, so undone for you. all you did was touch him, and he’s already giving you everything.

[jjaehyunzs]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ not so bold — l.hc

haechan always carried himself like he knew the ending to every story before it began. there was something about the way he walked into a room, like the space adjusted around him. his voice, always playful, laced with a kind of confidence that made people look, listen, laugh. and lately, that voice, that energy, had been aimed at you.

it started slow. barely-there glances that you could’ve ignored if they hadn’t lingered. words tossed your way like pebbles across water, light, easy, meant to ripple. little comments dropped between passing moments:

“you busy this weekend?”

“i still think we’d make a good pair.”

“just say the word, and i’ll show you the best night of your life.”

he asked again the next day. and the one after that. it was just part of the usual banter. you’d roll your eyes, throw a playful comment back, and he’d grin like you’d just said yes.

and maybe it was just a game. maybe he did this with everyone. but secretly? your heart fluttered every time. because beneath the smirk, there was something steadier in his gaze. something that felt like he meant it.

so the next time he said it, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, mouth curved like he already knew your answer, you just looked at him and said:

“okay.”

his face shifted like you’d knocked the air out of him.

“wait— seriously?”

“take me out,” you said, arms crossed now too, mirroring him. “let’s see what all the hype’s about.”

for the first time, haechan didn’t have something clever to say. he just blinked, lips parting like he had ten replies lined up but none that made sense anymore. then, slowly he smiled. softer this time. almost shy.

“you won’t regret it.”

you just shrugged, trying to play it cool while your heart thudded in your chest. “we’ll see.”

friday came faster than you expected. the hours slipped by too quickly, the day blurring into golden dusk before you could settle the nerves in your stomach.

you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your outfit for the third, maybe fourth, time. your phone buzzed.

haechan: i’m outside :)

you grabbed your bag, took a deep breath, and headed to the door.

you opened the door and froze for just a moment. you almost didn’t recognize him. gone was the loud, overly confident haechan from the studio.

this one had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, hair messy in that way that looked accidental but probably took twenty minutes.

his eyes met yours, and then dropped, fast, like looking too long might give something away.

“hey,” he said, voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“hey.” you stepped out, pulling the door shut behind you. the air between you buzzed with something new, something quiet and nervous and real.

he looked at you again, a little longer this time.

“you look… wow.” he cleared his throat. “i mean— really good.”

you smiled, tilting your head. “that’s it? where’s all that confidence you were bragging about?”

he let out a breathy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “turns out i’m a lot braver when i’m just talking.”

you didn’t say anything to that. just walked beside him, letting the silence stretch comfortably as your steps fell into sync.

at the restaurant, the lights were warm and low. the kind of place you weren’t expecting him to choose. no loud music, no big crowd, just a quiet corner table and the soft hum of conversation around you.

he held the door open without making a thing of it. pulled your chair slightly when you sat. and all through dinner, he was different. still funny. still himself. but there was no act. no show. just him, listening. asking questions. laughing in a way that didn’t feel like it needed to impress you, only to share something with you.

your hands brushed once over the table. neither of you moved away. he looked down, then back up at you, and smiled. a small, genuine smile. gently, his fingers found yours, warm and tentative.

you didn’t let go.

later, somewhere between stories and sips of wine, he looked at you, really looked at you, and said: “i wasn’t kidding, you know. i meant it. all of it.”

you raised an eyebrow, though your heart already knew where he was going. “what part?”

he smiled, a little crooked. “wanting to take you out. wanting tonight to be real.”

you tilted your head, pretending to be surprised. “no way. i thought i was just part of your flirting routine.”

he shook his head. “nah. you were the exception.”

he smiled, but it didn’t last long, his expression softened, eyes dropping for a second before meeting yours again. “but seriously… i’m glad you said yes.”

you didn’t tease him this time. didn’t deflect. you just leaned in a little and said, quietly, “me too.”

and just like that, the boy who always had something clever to say, the one who joked like nothing could touch him, was blushing.

he wasn’t as bold as he liked to pretend. maybe he got a little shy when it actually mattered. but sitting across from him, watching the way his whole face lit up every time you laughed, you realized something:

you liked this version of haechan even more. the one who didn’t need to try so hard. because he already had you.

[jjaehyunzs]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ let him — j.jh

pairing: jaehyun x f!reader genre and content: toxic relationship, heartbreak, emotional manipulation, second chances that shouldn’t be taken. angst. mdni. wc: 2.5k

loving jaehyun felt like the safest thing in the world. he kissed you like he’d waited lifetimes. held your hand like it was the only thing keeping him steady. every message came with hearts, every touch with intention. you were always laughing. always close. you memorized every line around his eyes, every dimple, every sleepy sigh. you wore his hoodie more than your own. he’d text you good morning, baby before his eyes were even fully open. he told you things he’d never told anyone.

it was soft. golden. like sunlight through a window on a sunday morning. unwavering. like no matter what, he’d always choose you. love that didn’t ask questions. love that stayed. unconditional.

but somewhere along the way, the air got thinner.

a forgotten “good night,” a change in his tone. less smiles. shorter replies. more silences. you told yourself it was stress. that he still loved you, just quieter. but the silence grew louder. and when you reached for him, he started pulling away.

“you’re being too much,” he’d say. “i just need space.” “stop making a big deal out of nothing.”

and you tried. you tried so hard to not be “too much.”

but when he didn’t notice when you stopped smiling. didn’t ask why your voice always sounded like it was about to break. how you’d stare at your phone for hours, waiting for a message that used to come without asking. you started changing, too. overthinking every word. every pause. every sigh. you checked his phone. scrolled through his socials. reread conversations. you tested him. accused him. shut down before he could. you started keeping score. every unanswered text, every forgotten thing, every time he made you feel like needing him was wrong.

you hated who you were around him, but you couldn’t stop. you mirrored his coldness. matched his distance. you screamed when he was quiet, and ignored him when he tried to care. you both were hurting each other, over and over, like it was the only way you knew how to be close.

one night. he came home late. again.

you were already angry. already on edge. every word landed like a blade.

“where were you?”

“out.”

“that’s all you’re gonna say?”

“i’m not in the mood for this.”

you asked why he didn’t answer your messages. he rolled his eyes. you said you felt like he didn’t care. he scoffed.

“you always do this,” jaehyun muttered, tossing his jacket on a chair. “you always make me the bad guy.”

you blinked. “i’m just asking for a little effort.”

he laughed, low and bitter. “you mean control. you want to control everything. when i text, where i go, what i feel—”

“don’t you dare,” your voice dropped. “don’t turn this around on me.”

his voice rose. “i’m tired, okay? i’m fucking tired of walking into this house and feeling like i’m already doing something wrong.”

and suddenly, you snapped. “because you are!” your throat was raw. your chest felt like it might burst. “you shut down, you pull away, and then you make me feel crazy for noticing.”

the yelling started. messy, ugly. you called him a liar. he called you suffocating. he said he was exhausted. you told him he was killing you.

he turned away from you, dragging a hand through his hair. “jesus. i can’t breathe with you anymore.” he finally said, louder than he meant to.

you stood there. humiliated. burning. your heart dropped. “then leave,” you whispered. “if it’s so hard to love me, leave.” you didn’t mean it. not really. but part of you wanted to see if he would.

he looked at you, really looked at you, for the first time in weeks. then softer: “baby…”

you flinched at the pet name, he noticed.

“i didn’t mean that,” he said, gently now. “you know i didn’t mean that.” he stepped closer. slowly. carefully. his voice softened like the calm after a storm.

you didn’t move. your anger had collapsed into sadness. your arms were crossed, lips trembling. “you don’t look at me the same anymore.”

he stepped forward, cupped your face with both hands. eyes wide and wet, not crying, just guilty.

“i know. i’m sorry. i don’t want to fight like this. i’ve been stressed and i take it out on you. i’m sorry, baby.”

and you hated how easily those words melted your anger. how quickly you let your guard down when he spoke like that. like the old jaehyun. your jaehyun.

his forehead rested against yours.

“can we just… not tonight?” he whispered. “can we just be okay?”

you nodded. you always did.

you let him kiss you. because his lips still felt like home. you let him hold you. because love, even broken, is hard to turn away from. you let him whisper that he still loved you. and you believed him, even when it didn’t feel true anymore.

and you told yourself this time would be different. that he meant the apology. that love like this, loud, broken, messy, was still worth saving.

but it wasn’t.

days passed. then weeks. things didn’t get better. just heavier. colder. and deep down, you knew. you knew you were losing him. and you were losing yourself trying to hold on.

he had barely said a word all day.

you felt it before he even opened his mouth. the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes. the way he sat on the edge of the couch like the air was too heavy to breathe.

you stood by the kitchen sink, your fingers curled around a glass you hadn’t taken a sip from. your chest was tight. something inside you already knew.

he exhaled slowly. rubbed his hands together. cleared his throat like he was practicing the speech in his head.

“i think,” he began, “we both know this hasn’t been working for a while.”

your heart cracked right down the middle, but you didn’t let it show.

“so that’s it?” you asked, voice low. brittle.

he looked at you then. and it was the kind of look you never forget, the look someone gives you right before they stop being yours.

“i don’t want to keep hurting you,” he said. “i don’t want to keep pretending that i’m still in love when i’m not.”

you had imagined a thousand endings. maybe a final fight. maybe infidelity. maybe silence. but not this. not him sitting there and admitting out loud that he just… didn’t love you anymore.

you blinked fast, trying to keep it together. your hands were shaking.

“when did you stop?”

he looked away.

“was it when i started crying more than laughing?” you whispered. “was it when i stopped being easy to love?”

“don’t do this,” he said. “please.”

you laughed, bitter and broken. “why not? we’ve done everything else. why not ruin each other one last time?”

he stood. walked toward the door. for a moment, you thought he might turn back. might hold you one last time.

but he didn’t.

he just grabbed his keys. said, “take care of yourself.”

and left.

no last kiss. no apology. no closure. just the sound of the door closing behind him.

and you? you sank to the floor and let yourself break in all the ways you never did when he was still around. because that’s what grief is. not loud. not cinematic. just quiet. endless. a weight you learn to carry.

the days after were a blur. your bed felt too big. chest too tight. you stopped listening to music. stopped answering texts. you would reread your old conversations until the words turned cruel.

he didn’t check on you. didn’t ask if you were okay. and maybe that hurt the most. you hadn’t heard from him in 97 days. not that you were counting. (not that you weren’t.)

he became a ghost in your world. you stopped going to the places he liked. muted his name everywhere. you tried to erase him, but love doesn’t delete like that. you hated him. you missed him. you hated yourself for missing him.

and then, at 1:42 a.m., your phone lit up.

jaehyun: hey. can we talk?

you wanted to throw the phone across the room. wanted to say no. to tell him to go to hell. but your heart whispered what if.

you stared at the screen. yeah. you answered and sat in silence until the knock came.

you opened the door and there he was, he looked the same. same face. same tired eyes. same scent that lived in your sheets long after he didn’t. “you look…” he started, then paused. “different.”

you did. you weren’t the same desperate girl he left behind. but you weren’t quite whole, either.

he stepped inside like he still had a right to. sat on the couch like it remembered him. looked around like it was a museum of what used to be his life. “i’ve been thinking about you,” he said.

you didn’t answer.

“i don’t know what i’m doing,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “i just… i missed you.” he said it like a confession. like it cost him something to speak the words out loud. he moved closer. slow. cautious. like approaching something fragile. “you can tell me to leave,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “i’ll go.”

you didn’t. you should have. but you didn’t.

because yes, a part of you hated him. but the other part, the weaker, had been starving for this. for him.

he raised his hand and touched your cheek, gently, like he thought you might disappear. and when his fingers brushed your jaw, god, it was all it took. something inside you broke open, sharp, aching, hungry. he leaned in, and you let him.

the kiss started slow. unsure. but it didn’t stay that way. it turned desperate. like he was chasing something in your mouth that he couldn’t find. your breath caught in your throat. your fingers gripped the back of his shirt. his mouth was warm and familiar and wrong and right and everything you had both tried to forget.

you let him press you down onto the couch, his body covering yours, soon his hands were in your arms, on your waist. shaking just slightly as he touched you, pulling you into him like he was trying to remember all the parts he used to know by heart, but didn’t know if he was allowed to anymore.

and still, you let him.

his hands were under your shirt, pushing it up slowly, carefully, like he was afraid you’d change your mind. you let him. he’d peel your clothes off like nothing had happened. like he hadn’t left. like he hadn’t shattered you and vanished into silence.

your breath caught when his fingers brushed over your stomach. he waited, then moved lower. you didn’t say yes. you didn’t say no. you just pulled him closer. his lips trailed down your neck, warm and familiar, the stubble on his jaw scraping against your skin.

you gasped when his tongue flicked across your collarbone, when his hand slipped under your waistband and cupped you with that same quiet certainty he always had. you arched into him, your body betraying your mind. you hated how easy it was to remember, how good it felt.

you tugged at his shirt and he pulled it off, your hands gliding over his chest like they used to, fingertips tracing the lines you had memorized in another lifetime. his mouth was on your breasts, sucking gently, teeth grazing your nipple just enough to make you moan. you felt yourself pulse under his touch, heat pooling low in your belly, that ache you hadn’t felt in months returning like it never left.

he whispered your name once. just once. then pushed your legs apart, settling between them. you let him. his fingers slipped into you first, slow, deep. you grabbed at his shoulders, breath stuttering as he worked you open. his hands moved like they used to, confident, familiar, like he never forgot how.

and next, he was inside you. so slow it hurt. like he was trying to feel everything. every inch. every second. your bodies moved in sync, rhythm remembered, sweat-slicked and breathless. you held him tight, fingers digging into his back, thighs trembling around his hips as he thrust deeper. his lips traced the curve of your shoulder, your neck, your chest, like muscle memory. but after all that, you felt it.

the absence.

he was there. his skin against yours. his breath hot on your neck. but he wasn’t really with you. not the way he used to be. and god, it hurt.

you buried your face in his shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t hear the way your breath hitched. you kissed his throat to keep from crying. let your body lie for you, while your heart whispered don’t do this, don’t do this.

you came first, with your head buried in his neck, tears slipping down your cheeks before you even noticed. he followed not long after, with a low, broken groan against your skin.

afterward, silence. just the sound of your breathing, uneven and raw and his weight on top of you, heavy and familiar and unbearable. he stayed there for a while. but eventually, he sat up. pulled on his shirt in silence. his fingers lingered on the collar like he was stalling.

you hated how fast the cold returned.

you turned your head slowly, watching the side of his face. he looked calm. almost peaceful. like he’d gotten what he came for. but you hadn’t.

you already knew what was coming next. you saw it in his eyes, that haunted distance. the words came. softly, carefully, as if that would make it hurt less: “i thought maybe… it would feel like before.” your stomach twisted. he looked at you then, finally. “but it doesn’t,” he said. “i don’t think it ever will.”

his words hung in the air like smoke. toxic. suffocating.

you didn’t say anything. what was there to say? you already knew. you had known since the moment you opened the door. he stood. walked to the entryway slowly, like part of him hated this too. but he didn’t touch you. didn’t kiss your forehead. didn’t ask if you were okay.

he just whispered, “i’m sorry,” and left.

but this time, when the door clicked shut, you didn’t cry. you just laid there. naked. still warm from him. but colder than you’d ever felt in your life.

[jjaehyunzs]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ let him — j.jh

pairing: jaehyun x f!reader genre and content: toxic relationship, heartbreak, emotional manipulation, second chances that shouldn’t be taken. angst. mdni. wc: 2.5k

loving jaehyun felt like the safest thing in the world. he kissed you like he’d waited lifetimes. held your hand like it was the only thing keeping him steady. every message came with hearts, every touch with intention. you were always laughing. always close. you memorized every line around his eyes, every dimple, every sleepy sigh. you wore his hoodie more than your own. he’d text you good morning, baby before his eyes were even fully open. he told you things he’d never told anyone.

it was soft. golden. like sunlight through a window on a sunday morning. unwavering. like no matter what, he’d always choose you. love that didn’t ask questions. love that stayed. unconditional.

but somewhere along the way, the air got thinner.

a forgotten “good night,” a change in his tone. less smiles. shorter replies. more silences. you told yourself it was stress. that he still loved you, just quieter. but the silence grew louder. and when you reached for him, he started pulling away.

“you’re being too much,” he’d say. “i just need space.” “stop making a big deal out of nothing.”

and you tried. you tried so hard to not be “too much.”

but when he didn’t notice when you stopped smiling. didn’t ask why your voice always sounded like it was about to break. how you’d stare at your phone for hours, waiting for a message that used to come without asking. you started changing, too. overthinking every word. every pause. every sigh. you checked his phone. scrolled through his socials. reread conversations. you tested him. accused him. shut down before he could. you started keeping score. every unanswered text, every forgotten thing, every time he made you feel like needing him was wrong.

you hated who you were around him, but you couldn’t stop. you mirrored his coldness. matched his distance. you screamed when he was quiet, and ignored him when he tried to care. you both were hurting each other, over and over, like it was the only way you knew how to be close.

one night. he came home late. again.

you were already angry. already on edge. every word landed like a blade.

“where were you?”

“out.”

“that’s all you’re gonna say?”

“i’m not in the mood for this.”

you asked why he didn’t answer your messages. he rolled his eyes. you said you felt like he didn’t care. he scoffed.

“you always do this,” jaehyun muttered, tossing his jacket on a chair. “you always make me the bad guy.”

you blinked. “i’m just asking for a little effort.”

he laughed, low and bitter. “you mean control. you want to control everything. when i text, where i go, what i feel—”

“don’t you dare,” your voice dropped. “don’t turn this around on me.”

his voice rose. “i’m tired, okay? i’m fucking tired of walking into this house and feeling like i’m already doing something wrong.”

and suddenly, you snapped. “because you are!” your throat was raw. your chest felt like it might burst. “you shut down, you pull away, and then you make me feel crazy for noticing.”

the yelling started. messy, ugly. you called him a liar. he called you suffocating. he said he was exhausted. you told him he was killing you.

he turned away from you, dragging a hand through his hair. “jesus. i can’t breathe with you anymore.” he finally said, louder than he meant to.

you stood there. humiliated. burning. your heart dropped. “then leave,” you whispered. “if it’s so hard to love me, leave.” you didn’t mean it. not really. but part of you wanted to see if he would.

he looked at you, really looked at you, for the first time in weeks. then softer: “baby…”

you flinched at the pet name, he noticed.

“i didn’t mean that,” he said, gently now. “you know i didn’t mean that.” he stepped closer. slowly. carefully. his voice softened like the calm after a storm.

you didn’t move. your anger had collapsed into sadness. your arms were crossed, lips trembling. “you don’t look at me the same anymore.”

he stepped forward, cupped your face with both hands. eyes wide and wet, not crying, just guilty.

“i know. i’m sorry. i don’t want to fight like this. i’ve been stressed and i take it out on you. i’m sorry, baby.”

and you hated how easily those words melted your anger. how quickly you let your guard down when he spoke like that. like the old jaehyun. your jaehyun.

his forehead rested against yours.

“can we just… not tonight?” he whispered. “can we just be okay?”

you nodded. you always did.

you let him kiss you. because his lips still felt like home. you let him hold you. because love, even broken, is hard to turn away from. you let him whisper that he still loved you. and you believed him, even when it didn’t feel true anymore.

and you told yourself this time would be different. that he meant the apology. that love like this, loud, broken, messy, was still worth saving.

but it wasn’t.

days passed. then weeks. things didn’t get better. just heavier. colder. and deep down, you knew. you knew you were losing him. and you were losing yourself trying to hold on.

he had barely said a word all day.

you felt it before he even opened his mouth. the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes. the way he sat on the edge of the couch like the air was too heavy to breathe.

you stood by the kitchen sink, your fingers curled around a glass you hadn’t taken a sip from. your chest was tight. something inside you already knew.

he exhaled slowly. rubbed his hands together. cleared his throat like he was practicing the speech in his head.

“i think,” he began, “we both know this hasn’t been working for a while.”

your heart cracked right down the middle, but you didn’t let it show.

“so that’s it?” you asked, voice low. brittle.

he looked at you then. and it was the kind of look you never forget, the look someone gives you right before they stop being yours.

“i don’t want to keep hurting you,” he said. “i don’t want to keep pretending that i’m still in love when i’m not.”

you had imagined a thousand endings. maybe a final fight. maybe infidelity. maybe silence. but not this. not him sitting there and admitting out loud that he just… didn’t love you anymore.

you blinked fast, trying to keep it together. your hands were shaking.

“when did you stop?”

he looked away.

“was it when i started crying more than laughing?” you whispered. “was it when i stopped being easy to love?”

“don’t do this,” he said. “please.”

you laughed, bitter and broken. “why not? we’ve done everything else. why not ruin each other one last time?”

he stood. walked toward the door. for a moment, you thought he might turn back. might hold you one last time.

but he didn’t.

he just grabbed his keys. said, “take care of yourself.”

and left.

no last kiss. no apology. no closure. just the sound of the door closing behind him.

and you? you sank to the floor and let yourself break in all the ways you never did when he was still around. because that’s what grief is. not loud. not cinematic. just quiet. endless. a weight you learn to carry.

the days after were a blur. your bed felt too big. chest too tight. you stopped listening to music. stopped answering texts. you would reread your old conversations until the words turned cruel.

he didn’t check on you. didn’t ask if you were okay. and maybe that hurt the most. you hadn’t heard from him in 97 days. not that you were counting. (not that you weren’t.)

he became a ghost in your world. you stopped going to the places he liked. muted his name everywhere. you tried to erase him, but love doesn’t delete like that. you hated him. you missed him. you hated yourself for missing him.

and then, at 1:42 a.m., your phone lit up.

jaehyun: hey. can we talk?

you wanted to throw the phone across the room. wanted to say no. to tell him to go to hell. but your heart whispered what if.

you stared at the screen. yeah. you answered and sat in silence until the knock came.

you opened the door and there he was, he looked the same. same face. same tired eyes. same scent that lived in your sheets long after he didn’t. “you look…” he started, then paused. “different.”

you did. you weren’t the same desperate girl he left behind. but you weren’t quite whole, either.

he stepped inside like he still had a right to. sat on the couch like it remembered him. looked around like it was a museum of what used to be his life. “i’ve been thinking about you,” he said.

you didn’t answer.

“i don’t know what i’m doing,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “i just… i missed you.” he said it like a confession. like it cost him something to speak the words out loud. he moved closer. slow. cautious. like approaching something fragile. “you can tell me to leave,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “i’ll go.”

you didn’t. you should have. but you didn’t.

because yes, a part of you hated him. but the other part, the weaker, had been starving for this. for him.

he raised his hand and touched your cheek, gently, like he thought you might disappear. and when his fingers brushed your jaw, god, it was all it took. something inside you broke open, sharp, aching, hungry. he leaned in, and you let him.

the kiss started slow. unsure. but it didn’t stay that way. it turned desperate. like he was chasing something in your mouth that he couldn’t find. your breath caught in your throat. your fingers gripped the back of his shirt. his mouth was warm and familiar and wrong and right and everything you had both tried to forget.

you let him press you down onto the couch, his body covering yours, soon his hands were in your arms, on your waist. shaking just slightly as he touched you, pulling you into him like he was trying to remember all the parts he used to know by heart, but didn’t know if he was allowed to anymore.

and still, you let him.

his hands were under your shirt, pushing it up slowly, carefully, like he was afraid you’d change your mind. you let him. he’d peel your clothes off like nothing had happened. like he hadn’t left. like he hadn’t shattered you and vanished into silence.

your breath caught when his fingers brushed over your stomach. he waited, then moved lower. you didn’t say yes. you didn’t say no. you just pulled him closer. his lips trailed down your neck, warm and familiar, the stubble on his jaw scraping against your skin.

you gasped when his tongue flicked across your collarbone, when his hand slipped under your waistband and cupped you with that same quiet certainty he always had. you arched into him, your body betraying your mind. you hated how easy it was to remember, how good it felt.

you tugged at his shirt and he pulled it off, your hands gliding over his chest like they used to, fingertips tracing the lines you had memorized in another lifetime. his mouth was on your breasts, sucking gently, teeth grazing your nipple just enough to make you moan. you felt yourself pulse under his touch, heat pooling low in your belly, that ache you hadn’t felt in months returning like it never left.

he whispered your name once. just once. then pushed your legs apart, settling between them. you let him. his fingers slipped into you first, slow, deep. you grabbed at his shoulders, breath stuttering as he worked you open. his hands moved like they used to, confident, familiar, like he never forgot how.

and next, he was inside you. so slow it hurt. like he was trying to feel everything. every inch. every second. your bodies moved in sync, rhythm remembered, sweat-slicked and breathless. you held him tight, fingers digging into his back, thighs trembling around his hips as he thrust deeper. his lips traced the curve of your shoulder, your neck, your chest, like muscle memory. but after all that, you felt it.

the absence.

he was there. his skin against yours. his breath hot on your neck. but he wasn’t really with you. not the way he used to be. and god, it hurt.

you buried your face in his shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t hear the way your breath hitched. you kissed his throat to keep from crying. let your body lie for you, while your heart whispered don’t do this, don’t do this.

you came first, with your head buried in his neck, tears slipping down your cheeks before you even noticed. he followed not long after, with a low, broken groan against your skin.

afterward, silence. just the sound of your breathing, uneven and raw and his weight on top of you, heavy and familiar and unbearable. he stayed there for a while. but eventually, he sat up. pulled on his shirt in silence. his fingers lingered on the collar like he was stalling.

you hated how fast the cold returned.

you turned your head slowly, watching the side of his face. he looked calm. almost peaceful. like he’d gotten what he came for. but you hadn’t.

you already knew what was coming next. you saw it in his eyes, that haunted distance. the words came. softly, carefully, as if that would make it hurt less: “i thought maybe… it would feel like before.” your stomach twisted. he looked at you then, finally. “but it doesn’t,” he said. “i don’t think it ever will.”

his words hung in the air like smoke. toxic. suffocating.

you didn’t say anything. what was there to say? you already knew. you had known since the moment you opened the door. he stood. walked to the entryway slowly, like part of him hated this too. but he didn’t touch you. didn’t kiss your forehead. didn’t ask if you were okay.

he just whispered, “i’m sorry,” and left.

but this time, when the door clicked shut, you didn’t cry. you just laid there. naked. still warm from him. but colder than you’d ever felt in your life.

[jjaehyunzs]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ let me take care of you — l.mk

releasing a solo album was draining, physically, mentally, emotionally. mark barely had time to sleep, let alone take care of himself.

he walked into the dressing room and found you, his manager, the one person who’d stayed close through every chaotic rehearsal and rushed schedule. you were there, going over emails on your phone.

“you’re still here” he said, voice low, rough with exhaustion.

you didn’t look up, fingers moving across your phone. “someone has to make sure you don’t fall apart”

he gave a short laugh, quiet, bitter. “too late”

you glanced at him then. he looked wrecked: his shirt clung to his skin, sweat still drying on his neck, his hair a mess. but it was the look in his eyes, tired, glassy, desperate, that made you stand.

“sit,” you said, motioning to the chair in front of the vanity. he obeyed, wordless. “let me take care of you” you said quietly as you sank to your knees between his thighs.

you leaned closer, fingers grazing the hem of his pants, feeling the heat of his body beneath. without breaking the stillness, you began unfastening his belt, watching how his breath hitched with every movement. you pulled him free, feeling the weight of him in your hand. his cock stirred, thickening in your hand as you ran your thumb over the head, spreading the slick bead of precum.

his fingers curled into the seat. “fuck…”

you dragged your tongue slowly along the tip, tasting the salty trace of his need leaking out. he twitched against your tongue, and you looked up, his head was tilted back, jaw clenched, one hand gripping the armrest.

you looked up. “you’ve been holding this in for days, haven’t you?”

he nodded, barely able to speak. “didn’t know how much i needed this”

your lips brushed the underside of his cock, a low hum escaping you. “i know. let go”

you took him into your mouth slowly, letting the weight of him settle on your tongue. your lips stretched around him, taking more, letting him feel every inch. his hips twitched, a soft gasp escaping as your tongue swirled around the tip.

his hand moved to your hair, not pushing, just resting there, exhausted.

you let your hand wrap around the base of his cock, stroking in rhythm with your mouth, your eyes locked on his. he looked ruined already, jaw clenched, breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

you took him in deeper, feeling every twitch against your tongue, every ragged breath above you. this wasn’t just release. this was relief. this was you taking care of him, exactly how he needed.

note: so i know im a bit late but this was in my drafts and i just finished it, i thought on waiting for doyoung’s comeback but this was so mark coded hehe

[jjaehyunzs]

hi!! i went "yay!" out loud when i saw your reply and that you'd posted a second part! thank you for hearing my thoughts and writing it 🥺 and yes, i definitely like it!! i really liked the part at the beginning when you said that jisung looked like he might die from how she was looking at him, and also just the whole rest of that section when he got shy after she said he's big. i really liked that part!! i also liked how later you said that she could feel him shuddering, and how she told him it's okay if he can't last. and the ending was really good, because it was so tender that it almost hurt. i like when it's soft like that. and how she kissed him gently...that's what he deserves 🥺🥺 and when jisung said that he felt like it was the best thing that ever happened to him 🥺

overall i felt that you were really consistent and coherent throughout the story. like every detail that happened was consistent and in line with the overall picture, and it was like that throughout. also may i ask, when you wrote this, did jisung already have feelings for y/n? like did they already both like each other?

omg thanksss!! for reading it and taking time to send me your thoughts 🥺 i really really appreciate it

uhm… well both of them are renting in the same complex near their uni, apartment right beside the other. she’s a few years older and he’s a freshman. they don’t have any kind of relationship (yet) though she’d seen him sometimes when she got home from class or work. but the truth is that he’s been pinning over her for months. always a little startled when she said hi, his eyes lingering a little too long. so eventually realized that he had a thing for her. even at some point he’d started waiting for her cuz she became his favorite part of the day

[jjaehyunzs]

hi! i read your most recent post with jisung, and i liked it! i think the adorable neighbor idea was well suited to him, and i got a little excited as soon as i read that. i think it would be really great if you continued right where you left off! i also liked the parts where she touched his hair, and of course him being hesitant

thanks!! right? it suited him so well. thank you again for reading it, here’s the second part :))) i hope you like it too

[jjaehyunzs]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ adorable neighbor!jisung pt. 2

⊹ can be read as a standalone or as a continuation of pt. 1

his head dropped to your shoulder, breath shaky, chest heaving, he was struggling to hold himself together. you rolled your hips again, slower this time, grinding down where he was hardest. he choked on a moan, hands clenching around your waist.

you kissed the side of his neck, fingers threading through his hair. "do you wanna take these off?" you asked softly, tugging lightly at the waistband of his shorts.

his brain short-circuited. but he nodded fast. "y-yeah. please"

you slid off his lap and helped him tug them down, along with his boxers, and his cock sprang free hard, red, and leaking at the tip. you bit your lip, eyes dragging over him slowly. he looked like he might die from the way you were watching him.

"fuck" you whispered. "you're big"

his whole face blushed, neck to ears. "you're just saying that" you wrapped your hand around him and his hips jerked up instantly, a breathless whine escaping his lips. "you think i'd lie?" you teased, stroking him slowly, watching the way his eyes fluttered shut.

he shook his head, too far gone to speak.

you climbed back into his lap, still fully clothed from the waist down, and he whimpered the moment your core settled over him again, even with the layers still between you.

"i wanna... can i?" he asked again, hands hesitating at the waistband of your shorts.

you nodded, lifting your hips so he could pull them down, watching his fingers tremble as he did. he stared for a second when he realized you weren't wearing anything underneath.

"fuck" he whispered again.

you sank back onto his lap, skin to skin now. you dragged yourself along the length of him, your slick coating his length with each motion. he twitched underneath you, bitting down on his lip.

"you wanna fuck me, jisung?"

his eyes snapped to yours, wide and desperate. "please"

you smiled, guiding him with one hand. "then do it"

he pushed in slowly, painfully slowly, and you both moaned, loud and shameless, as if your bodies had been waiting for this all along.

you sank down on him inch by inch, his hands now gripping your hips. you could feel every twitch and every tremble in his body as you took him all the way in.

"fuck, you're so warm," he mumbled against your neck, voice muffled. "you feel so good, i- i can't.."

you leaned in, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "you're doing so good" you whispered, rolling your hips once, slow and deep. his whole body shuddered beneath you.

his hands scrambled over your back, your waist, like he didn't know where to hold you. he was inside you, finally, and he looked absolutely ruined by it.

"move" jisung begged, voice raw. "please, please…"

you started to ride him slowly, letting him feel every grind, every clench. he whimpered beneath you, his brows knit tight like he was overwhelmed, jaw slack, his hands trembling as they traced up your sides.

"does that feel good, baby?" you asked, voice soft, teasing.

he nodded frantically, biting his lip so hard it looked like it might bruise. "it's too good, i- fuck, i don't think i'll last..."

"that's okay" you murmured, cupping his flushed face. "you don't have to"

you bounced a little harder and he cried out, hips bucking up helplessly, you felt him pulse inside you, already close, so close. he was holding on by a thread, panting and whimpering, moaning your name like a prayer every time you sank back down on him.

you leaned in again, your lips brushing his. "cum for me, jisungie"

his whole body tensed, hips stuttering beneath you, and then he was moaning out loud, eyes squeezed shut, body arching as he spilled inside you. he gripped you so tight it hurt, burying his face in your neck as he rode it out, trembling, broken.

you kept moving slowly, gently milking every drop, until his hips gave a weak jerk and he gasped, overstimulated and completely wrecked.

"oh my god” he breathed. "i think... that was the best thing that's ever happened to me” you smiled, brushing his hair from his damp forehead.

"i didn't know it could feel like that" he looked up at you then, eyes glassy and a little unsure like he didn't know what to do with the way he felt.

so you kissed him gentle, just once, and let your fingers stay curled in his hair. he didn't say anything else. he just held on to you. still trembling, still clinging to you like you were something precious.

[jjaehyunzs]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ adorable neighbor!jisung

⊹ can be read as a standalone pt. 2

you were sprawled out on your student neighbor’s couch, half-dazed from the suffocating heat, when you felt the weight of a stare settle on you. looking up, you caught jisung standing awkwardly in the doorway, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

the ac in your apartment had broken, so you asked if you could stay there until maintenance showed up. with his roommate out, you figured you’d be keeping jisung company. the heat was brutal, thick in the air, and you hadn’t bothered with much clothing, just a pair of tiny sports shorts and a thin string top, no bra underneath. the fabric clung to you like a second skin, damp with sweat, leaving very little to the imagination.

“what?” you asked, smirking as you stretched lazily, arms lifting over your head, your top riding up just enough to expose a teasing sliver of your stomach.

jisung’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “i– i—” he stammered, eyes flicking away, only to snap back to your chest. “they just… look so fucking big” he blurted out.

you laughed, purposely arching your back, pushing your chest out. “so what? wanna get a better look?” he blinked fast, unsure whether this was real or some cruel fantasy. “i-i don’t know if i should…”

you tilted your head, smiling sweetly. “come here.”

he obeyed like he had no control over his body, settling beside you but leaving a shy gap. you shifted closer, brushing thighs, watching him tense like you’d lit a match to him.

his eyes stayed glued to your chest. you leaned in, letting your breasts spill forward slightly. you heard the shaky breath he took.

“can i…?” he asked, lifting a trembling hand, hovering inches from your chest. you nodded.

his touch was barely there, fingertips tracing the slope of your breast. your skin tingled from the contact, and you bit your lip, watching his face, the raw need and nervousness in his eyes. you guided his hand, pressing into his palm. he exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath.

his thumb dragged over your nipple through the fabric. you gasped softly, and his eyes widened, stunned that he’d made you react.

“does… does that feel good?” jisung whispered, in awe.

“mhm…” you hummed, arching into his hand.

he was so careful, like he was scared you would push him away. both his hands cupped you now, clumsy but eager, like he wanted to memorize you.

he got bolder, cupping you more firmly, fingers brushing the curve of your breast. his hands traced your sides, venturing tentatively to the edge of your shirt, then under it.

“so fucking soft…” he muttered to himself.

you shivered under his hands, when jisung dragged his knuckles lightly up your waist, you couldn’t help the small moan that slipped out. his whole body jolted at the sound, he looked at you like he wasn’t sure if it he’d done something good.

“you can do whatever you want…” you murmured, reaching out to brush a piece of hair from his forehead.

he looked at you for a second. something in him shifted, like permission cracked him open. he let his hands roam higher, sliding up your ribs. fingertips trembling as they reached the underswell of your breasts, brushing lightly.

you climbed onto his lap, straddling him. his whole body stiffened beneath you. a tiny broken sound left his throat when you tugged your top down, baring yourself completely. he stared like he’d forgotten how to function.

“it’s okay” you whispered, your forehead brushing his.

you took his hand, guiding it back to your chest, fingers over your now fully exposed nipple. the skin-to-skin contact making him gasp.

you leaned back slightly, meeting his dazed eyes. “do you wanna kiss me there?” jisung nodded, frantic.

he lowered his head, breath ghosting over your skin before he pressed a soft, reverent kiss above your nipple. you whimpered, hands fisting in his shoulders.

jisung kissed you again, slower this time, trailing shaky kisses across your breast. his hands moved clumsily over your sides, thumbs brushing under the curve of your breasts.

he kissed lower, gaining confidence when you shuddered under him. then his tongue flicked out, tentative, tasting your nipple for the first time. when his mouth closed around your nipple and finally sucked it into his mouth, gentle and unsure, you gasped. he pulled back immediately, eyes wide.

“was that… okay?” jisung asked, voice cracking.

you smiled, heart aching at how sweet he was. “more than okay” you whispered, threading your fingers into his hair and pulling him back gently.

he groaned against your chest. one hand rolled your other nipple gently and your thighs clenched around his. you could feel him hard beneath you, straining in his shorts, pressed hot and needy between your legs.

jisung groaned against your chest. emboldened, he brought one hand up to gently roll your other nipple between his fingers. your thighs clenched around his, and you could feel him hard beneath you, straining in his shorts, pressed hot and needy between your legs.

“fuck…” he whispered, barely audible.

you grinned and shifted your weight slightly, grinding against his lap. he gasped, broken and high, hands at your waist, like he didn’t know where to put them.

“so sensitive” you teased, nipping at his earlobe. he shuddered.

his hands slid down to your hips, gripping hardly, trying so hard not to rut up against you but failing as his hips bucked up once.

“s-sorry—” he leaned back slightly.

“don’t be” you pulled him with a hand in his hair.

he kissed you again, messier now. his warm tongue, flicked and traced wet lines across your chest. he latched onto you with more hunger, sucking harder when he realized how much you liked it.

you moaned softly, grinding against him, and he whimpered into your skin, hips twitching helplessly beneath you.

jisung kissed his way back up to your mouth, and you captured him in a kiss, sloppy, uncoordinated, all teeth and tongue. a little clumsy but so honest it made your chest ache.

you rolled your hips again and he gasped into the kiss, hands digging into your sides.

“you’re… you’re driving me crazy,” he confessed, voice wrecked. “good,” you murmured, rocking down harder. you knew you were going to ruin him, and he was going to let you.

[jjaehyunzs]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ waking up with jaehyun

the room was quiet, bathed in that early morning stillness. tangled in the sheets, you wore nothing but your panties, jaehyun’s body pressed against your back, one arm heavy around your waist.

you stirred slightly, your body pressing back against him. the movement made you feel him, thick, hard, resting against your ass. you paused. he didn’t move. he was still asleep. but that didn’t stop the idea from blooming.

you moved again, slower. the friction was soft just enough to feel him again. a low sound rumbled behind you. you froze for a second. was that a groan? curious and emboldened, you rolled your hips back again, a little firmer this time, grinding softly against him.

then you heard it clear: a quiet strained groan. you bit back a grin. you tried once more, a subtle drag of your hips, that’s when his hand tightened on your waist. “you’ve been doing that on purpose, haven’t you?” jaehyun whispered in your ear, low and rough.

you stayed still. “i know you’re awake” he added, hand slipping up to your stomach, fingers splaying warm against your skin. “waking me up like that…” he pressed his hips forward, his cock grinding against you. you arched back and he groaned, teeth grazing your shoulder.

“keep doing it, sweetheart” you gasped, your body reacted on instinct, hips pushing back, thighs parting just slightly. he chuckled against your neck. “you’re gonna make me lose control” his hand moved lower, dipping into your panties, fingers dragging through your folds.“so wet already” jaehyun murmured. you whimpered softly, hips twitching at the contact, needing more.

“you really were trying to wake me up like this.” his finger circled your clit lazily. “rubbing up on me while i’m sleeping” jaehyun slipped one finger inside you, groaning into your shoulder when he felt how tight and warm you were. you gasped, your body pushing back against his hand without even thinking. “fuck, baby” he breathed. “you’re gonna make me come before i’m even inside you” he found that spot and pressed into it perfectly, you let out soft moans, muffled by the pillow.

“you like this?” he growled against your ear. “waking me up just so i could ruin you first thing in the morning?” you nodded frantically, hips rocking against him, his cock twitching against your skin. “baby, i want you” you whispered, breathless. “inside me” jaehyun groaned and he let his fingers slipped out of you, leaving you empty long enough to make you ache for more. you felt him pushing your panties to the side, the thick head of his cock dragging through your slick folds, teasing your entrance.

“you wanted my cock this bad?” he muttered, lining himself up. “couldn’t wait, huh? had to grind on me like a needy brat” you barely had time to answer before he sank into you in one slow, deep thrust. your mouth fell open, a broken sound spilling from your throat as he filled you, stretching you so perfectly.

he held still for a second, breath ragged against your ear. “fuck, you feel so good,” he growled. you clenched around him instinctively, and he started moving, pulling back just enough before driving into you again, slow and deep.

your body rocked with every thrust, the sound of skin against skin filling the quiet room. his hand slid under you, fingers finding your clit again, working in tight circles to match the thrust of his hips. “come for me” jaehyun murmured. his fingers moved faster, each thrust hit deeper, dragging moans from your throat you couldn’t hold back.

your body tensed, trembling under his touch, pleasure winding tighter and tighter. “that’s it” he whispered, breath hot against your ear. “you’re so close, i can feel it” you gasped, hips jerking as your orgasm crashed into you. your walls clenched around him, pulsing as you cried out his name like a chant on your lips. jaehyun groaned loud against your skin. “fuck” thrusting deep one last time before he followed you over the edge.

his body tensed behind you, cock twitching as he spilled into you. he stayed there for a moment, his hand still on your waist, he kissed the back of your neck softly. “next time” he murmured, voice low and still breathless, “wake me up earlier”

[jjaehyunzs]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ priest’s son!mark x reader

you yawned and looked around, desperate for something, anything, to break the dullness of the mass. everyone else sat stiffly, eyes glued to the altar.

everyone except mark lee, the priest’s son.

he was staring. not at your face, but at your bare legs. you shifted slightly, parting them just enough to tempt him, pretending to adjust your dress.

you caught the way his eyes darkened, how his mouth parted slightly in surprise. you nearly laughed. still, he didn’t look away, not until his gaze slowly dragged up the figure of your body and his eyes finally clashed with yours, then he turned his head so fast it was almost comical.

you stood up, murmuring an excuse about going to the bathroom, flashing him a knowing smirk before slipping away. you didn’t have to look back to know he was following. you slipped inside the priest’s office and leaned casually against the desk, waiting. when he appeared in the doorway, looking unsure, you smiled sweetly.

“so you liked the view?”

mark opened his mouth, trying to come up with an excuse but only a helpless stutter came out. adorable.

“don’t be shy” you crooned, spreading your legs again, your dress bunching dangerously high on your thighs. you watched his gaze drop, his throat bobbing with a thick swallow. “sit down, mark,” you said, voice dropping lower. “unless, you’re in a rush to get back.”

he locked eyes with you and, after a moment, he obeyed, sinking almost robotically on the couch. you could see the tension tight in his frame, the way his hands fisted uselessly on his knees.

“i didn’t expect you to be so obvious” you teased.

“i- i wasn’t—” he tried to protest, but you were already crossing the space between you. you climbed onto his lap, straddling him with a slow, deliberate grind of your hips. his breath hitched audibly as he grabbed the edge of the couch like he might fall off.

your mouth found his neck, warm and frantic against his flushed skin. you kissed, licked, and bit, just enough to make him shudder beneath you.

he whimpered, hips jerking up instinctively against yours. the growing pressure in his pants giving him away faster than his mind could catch up. he tried to resist, to remember where he was, who he was supposed to be.

“this is wrong…” he rasped, voice breaking as you pressed harder into him. his hands betrayed him too, clutching at your waist, pulling you closer.

“then why,” you whispered against his throat, “does it feel so fucking good?” you let your teeth scrape gently over his pulse. your hips rolled against his again, slower this time, as his head tipped back against the couch, exposing more of his throat to you, a silent invitation.

“yn… we shouldn’t, i—” he tried again, but you tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet your gaze. your smirk deepened as you saw the raw need in his eyes.

you leaned in closer, your voice a purr against his ear. “do you really want me to stop?” you asked, tongue flicking over his earlobe.

he choked on a breath. for a second he hesitated. then, barely audible, he whispered, “no.”

you smiled wickedly as your lips found his, it was desperate, messy, tongue against tongue. fueled by weeks, maybe months, of repressed desire he didn’t even know he had.

his hands slid up from your waist to your thighs, trembling and hesitant. when his fingertips brushed under the hem of your dress, bunching it around your waist, you smiled against his lips, rewarding him with a slow grind that made him curse under his breath.

he gasped, forehead pressing against yours, eyes squeezed shut. you could feel how hard he was against you, how badly he wanted this, wanted you.

“you can touch me, mark” you whispered, breath hot against his lips. “you already sinned just by thinking about it.”

with a broken sound, he grabbed your hips and thrust up against you, grinding desperately into your heat. you gasped, delighted, wrapping your arms around his neck and rocking your hips back against his with slow, filthy rhythm. the last slivers of guilt breaking apart with every hump.

mark lee, the priest’s son, was now completely lost under you, chasing pleasure he was never meant to taste, and he couldn’t get enough.

his hands roamed up your thighs, gripping your ass as he ground you harder against his aching cock. each movement of your hips drew shameless noises from him, each kiss left him breathless and begging without words.

it was reckless, desperate, forbidden.

you were both panting now, bodies flushed against each other. his hardness straining against the fabric of his dress pants, begging for friction.

“please” he rasped against your lips, his voice hoarse.

you leaned back just slightly, enough to slip your hand between your bodies, palming him over the fabric of his pants. he bucked into your touch with a guttural groan, forehead falling to your shoulder as his body trembled.

“you’re so hard for me, mark” you whispered, voice dripping with dark amusement.

you lifted your hips and, with practiced ease, unbuttoned his pants. he let out a desperate, broken moan when your hand brushed over him.

“fuck, yn” he whispered, voice wrecked.

smiling wickedly, you tugged his pants down just enough to free him. his cock sprang, swollen, leaking at the tip. twitching against your hand. he groaned, hips jerking up into your fist.

then mark watched with wide, desperate eyes as you pushed your panties to the side. when the head of his cock brushed against your folds, both of you shuddered.

you guided him to your entrance, slick, ready. and slowly, you sank down onto him. a strangled moan ripping from his chest, the sound shooting straight to your core.

he filled you so perfectly, the stretch making you shudder, and you both froze for a second, just feeling it.

“shit—” he whimpered, hands flying to your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

before you started moving, rolling your hips in slow, grinding circles, letting him feel every inch of you.

“oh my god” he breathed, voice cracking. clenching his jaw, trying so hard not to lose it immediately.

you laughed softly against his neck. “wrong place to say that, mark” you teased, rolling your hips experimentally, making him choke on a moan.

you gasped when mark’s hands finally slid higher, grabbing handfuls of your ass and grinding you down harder onto him. with a broken, desperate cry, he slammed his hips up into you, finally losing the last bit of control he had left.

you met him thrust for thrust, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing obscenely in the quiet, sacred office. the walls seemed to close in around you, and the distant sound of the mass beyond the door only made everything feel more wrong. and so much hotter.

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging his head back so he had to look at you. his eyes were glazed, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed with pure want.

“you like having me like this?” you whispered, your voice dripping with sin. “fucking the priest’s son… inside his office?”

he let out a raw, broken noise, hips bucking up into you uncontrollably. driving himself deeper into you.

“answer me, mark” you demanded.

“yes,” he groaned, voice wrecked and desperate “fuck, yes—”

you laughed softly against his skin, licking the sweat from his neck, feeling his pulse hammer under your tongue. you started moving in earnest, riding him with slow, relentless rhythm, your walls clenching around him, dragging the filthiest sounds from his lips.

he was close, you could feel it in the way his cock throbbed inside you, the way his movements grew frantic, desperate, chasing his release with reckless thrusts.

“cum for me, mark,” you whispered against his lips. “fill me up. show me how badly you want it.”

he let out a wrecked, strangled moan, hips jerking up violently as he spilled inside you, clutching you so tightly it almost hurt. he groaned into your mouth.

you milked him through it, grinding slow and deep, letting him ride out every wave of overwhelming pleasure. mark buried his face in your neck, groaning your name like a prayer. like you were something holy, a cruel irony inside the priest’s office.

when he finally slumped back against the couch, completely spent and ruined, you stayed straddling him. you gripped his hair, guiding his mouth back to yours. the distant murmur of the mass beyond the door lingered, a stark reminder of where you were.