[kissued]

🪪 : requests closed mdni, i block semi-hiatus

CLICK  ⭑  TERMS   ⭑  TAGLIST  ⭑  WIPS  ⭑  MASTERLIST

© kissued 2026 — do not repost, edit, redistribute or translate my work without prior permission and credit. all my work is strictly fictional and not an accurate representation of these people in real life.

[kissued]

if you’re a minor, stop interacting with adults. if it says mdni, don’t interact, don’t click any buttons, it’s not that hard to follow some instructions or respect boundaries.

just shut up and read silently instead of reaching out to these very ADULT authors + trying to befriend them + after befriending them, LYING about your age to continue talking to them and getting early access to their works. you know very well that these people wouldn’t even look in your direction if they knew you were a child.

i cannot stop under 18s from reading what i produce. but it’s blatantly disrespectful to reach out to me and pretend to be older than you are, and letting me trust you while you violate my boundaries. it’s getting fucking old Honestly

and everyone else who enables such lies is equally as gross lol

[kissued]

release end of the line in two parts/just one?

2 parts

oneshot

x

Voting ended onMay 28

[kissued]

i slipped down the stairs and i think every1 at practice saw … but it’s calm ig #itdonotmatter

its okay bae i literally tripped over a table in front of 4 patients yesterday so

[kissued]

take that as a sign i said girl you are my sign!!!!

[kissued]

WAIT ARE YOU A NIKI AND IROHA STAN!?? I finaly found someone that has the same bias-line as me😭

YEAHHH I AM!! i love them both sm </3 i agree it’s so rare to see someone else w the same exact biases as i do LOL

[kissued]

OMG ANOTHER FELLOW CLOSER IM HOME HELLO TO THE WOODS WENT TRIPLE PLATINUM IN MY BEDROOM

TO THE WOODS IS SOOOOOOOOO GOOD. eternalt in general was amazing… how to dance is winning multiple awards in my house.

[kissued]

THE STOVE IS ON

[kissued]

let’s play a guessing game

[kissued]

i swear once i’m done with clinicals i will Get to it #Patience

[kissued]

…greetings🙂

my mei WHERE HAVE YOU BEEENNNN I MISSED YOU SO MUCH!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭 i thought u fucking ghosted us omg please dm me on instagram ok i missed talking to u

[kissued]

who’s your favourite in lads ? me personally when i was still playing i was a sucker for caleb like 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤 the card where he is a superstar and kiss the oc backstage ????? 👅👅👅👅

i’m honestly shared between snowstarapple… 🫣 i sleep with a xavier plushie tho. i love my star prince very much !!!!!

also yes omfg the idol card… hello.. before this banner we had Him. i remember seeing it nd going absolutely crazy cause i was relatively new + didn’t realise that lads could get So….. Freaky. u should definitely start playing again we need more enhalads blogs 🌀

[kissued]

yo bro if ur a minor the least u could do is pretend like u aren’t on my page…. 💆‍♀️ blatantly reblogging while having ur age in ur bio Like do u think im DUMB

[kissued]

no one Gaf but this has been on repeat for DAYS guys please listen 💆‍♀️💆‍♀️ they’re so talented

[kissued]

how weird do you have to be to post nsfw of a newly-turned adult. get yourself locked up Immediately

[kissued]

BIG EGO, BIGGER WHAT? ──── PSH 박성훈

SYNOPSIS ⋮ his insatiable appetite + his big ego + his even bigger dick = a whole lotta trouble!

PAIRING ⋮ sunghoon x fem!reader.

CONTENT WARNINGS ⋮ smut. +18 mdni, BIG size + breeding kink, condescending dom!hoon, piv, unprotected sex, petnames, praise, degradation, light slapping, dacryphilia, mating press w hoon oh yeaaah heart eyes, talks of pregnancy, spitting

PLAYING ♫ ⋮ HOLD ON ─ THE INTERNET

REBLOGS APPRECIATED ⋆ THANK YOU FOR READING

THERE ARE MANY THINGS YOU’D NEVER ADMIT TO PARK SUNGHOON.

For one, you eat his special protein cereal—never told him about it.

Second, you steal his hoodies on a frequent, almost daily basis—there’s that fresh scent of flowers that you know’s just detergent, but your brain’s begun to hardwire itself into associating it with your lover—you don’t tell him about that, either.

And just for fun, a third: you don’t tell him that his cock is so big that you barely know what to do with it.

You never tell him when you feel him deep enough that you’re biting your tongue, insistent on keeping him humble though he knows full well what his huge cock does to your poor, pitiful cunt.

“O-oh, fuck—yeah baby, that’s me, isn’t it?”

Park Sunghoon looks like the Gods personally crafted him with divine care. Every line on his body is sharp, defined, sculpted with intricate detail—no mere mortal could even begin to comprehend this. There’s something almost heavenly in the way the warm light shines on his smooth, soft skin, as if the universe itself knows exactly how much it drives you crazy.

“All Hoon in this tight little pussy,” he pouts, “so nice and swollen for me. See?”

His palm smooths over the bulge in your belly; he’s feeling himself against his own hand, separated only by the soft flesh of your abdomen. Your eyes can’t help but fall from his face, dooown to his stupidly long fingers that love nothing but to apply pressure on that cute little hump.

Still, naturally, they go lower.

His hips lead to that sickening v-line, now glossy with the mix of your previous orgasms and his pre-cum. Sunghoon’s large hands wander up your waist, then back down to your hips, before gripping you tight by the hips.

As if you’d have the strength to run away. He knows damn well.

And it’s just so unfair how much control he has over you now—especially when you’re practically pinned to the cool sheets beneath your back. It’s almost prejudiced, simply because he has you wrapped around his finger, at his disposal, at his use, to answer any ridiculous question he conjures up.

“Hngh—Hoon, shit…” you drawl, tongue swiping against your bottom lip; a futile attempt to gather the drool that’s seeping from the corners of your mouth, but an attempt nonetheless. “S-sooo big… I can’t!”

His palm rubs over your belly again, feeling himself poke at the centre of his warm hand—it drives him absolutely crazy, the realisation that it’s separated only by your walls sucking him in. The way he can watch himself thrust in and out of you, and watch how you suck him back in every. Single. Time.

He could probably count how many times he’s touched your cervix, just by feeling with his fingers. That’s how inflated Park Sunghoon’s ego is—especially when it comes to making you his personal fucktoy.

“Say it, baby—c’mon. You feel me right here?” and there’s that damn pressure that has you spasming underneath his touch so pathetically. “Or here?”

It’s an absurd question. You don’t even really feel like answering, but that’s besides the point: you simply can’t talk. Park Sunghoon’s pounding into you like he’ll die without your cunt wrapped around his cock for more than two seconds—driving himself deeper and deeper until you’re choking back screams.

Your jaw hangs and the tears flow. Your legs are locked around his waist despite the constant overstimulation, because somehow, one round is never enough when it comes to your boyfriend. Your hands scratch at his forearms, forming little crescent marks where your nails dig into his flesh; every rock of his hips is sinful, disrespecting, rude and ruthless in every way.

You choke on your saliva before you can even get the words out.

“Ah-ah, use your big girl words.“ Sunghoon grabs your jaw tight, forcing your mouth open—and then he spits.

His other hand comes to lightly slap at your cheek—all you manage to do is lick up the drool that’s seeping from the corners of your lips. “God, you look so fucking pretty taking my cock. Can’t even talk when you’re stuffed this full, huh, baby?”

White stars begin to cloud your vision as the stretch continues to drive you to insanity—God, there’s something resentful in the way his flushed tip bullies your cervix again and again.

Your sharp nails claw against the sheets. Anything to keep you grounded to this mind-blowing experience, with Park Sunghoon towering over your body like he fucking owns it—and in truth, he does. Only he knows how to have you fucked so good that you’re drooling like a dumb whore, tears smeared all over your cheeks while still leaving kisses on every exposed inch of skin.

Your body’s not made for this. Park Sunghoon is not from this universe.

His hands wander down to your hips, pinning you down onto the mattress—rough fingers digging into the soft flesh of your body, tongue running over his lips like he’s just salivating at the thought of touching your skin. A thick bead of sweat rolls down his neck, trickling down to his abdomen, disappearing when it joins the thin veil already coating his abs.

“H-hoooon…” you drawl, gasping when he rocks against you and drags his thick length against that soft, spongy spot deep inside. When you force your eyes back up, his eyes are almost glimmering.

A few frantic nods from your boyfriend are all it takes for you to know that you’re absolutely, and unequivocally, fucked.

“Right here?” Sunghoon pouts at your fucked out, tear stained face, though there’s no real sympathy in it. “Feels good?”

It doesn’t last very long, anyway. Soon enough, there’s a sickening smile plastered all over his face, sharp fangs glinting under the light. “H-hoon, please, ‘s too much!”

“So damn cute when you beg—can’t get enough of you. So fucking perfect.” He mutters under heavy breaths, leaning forward just to press an open-mouthed kiss to your swollen lips. His tongue, sopping wet, circling around yours like it had nowhere else to go. There’s a brief moment of stillness before he pulls away, just enough for his breath to ghost against your mouth.

Whispering. He’s fucking whispering.

“Tell me how much you love it,” his top lip grazes your bottom before he continues. “Tell me how much you love getting split open by Hoonie, hm?”

Your heart is racing. There’s something dangerous in the way he speaks—like he knows that you know better than to deny him of what he’s asking. You’re trying your best to say something, anything, but it’s comedic how your brain conveniently decides to shut itself off the moment Park Sunghoon’s buried inside of you like this.

“I.. I—“ you whine with eyes screwed shut, feeling the way his hips shift and angle themselves to batter your cunt deeper—Sunghoon presses himself flush against you, and for a dizzying second, everything’s just heat and sweat and slick between your bodies. “O-oh my fucking god—I love it, Hoon.”

He grunts upon hearing your strangled voice, big hands starting to palm at your belly once again.

The sick freak never gets sick of how your stomach perfectly moulds to the shape of his cock; you know it strokes his ego when he starts to piston into you, all frenzy and no regard for your poor hole, serving as a tight little cocksleeve until he fills you up to the brim.

He leans in close. “Takin’ me so well,” Sunghoon moans, lips meeting your forehead in a sweet kiss. It almost makes you laugh at how it contradicts his every action. “Most perfect pussy e-ever, mm?”

You’re twitching with word that leaves his lips. Your brain always manages to go into a deep trance whenever Park Sunghoon’s involved—every small thing he does makes you leak like a broken faucet. It’s a pathetic, involuntary and boneless state that you never managed to overcome ever since you started sleeping together.

“F-fuck, baby,” and your arms begin to find their way around your lover’s neck, holding on for dear life while he fucks you into the next century. Something in him shifts just then—it’s that weak, wretched Sunghoon melting at the mere mention of ‘baby’. He tends to get desperate, pace all sloppy and mind hazy with one clear goal: cum inside until you make actual babies.

“Y-yeaaah,” he hums. “Fuck… call me that again, please, y/n—“

Park Sunghoon’s panting into your ear like he needs to empty his balls into you, or he’ll literally die. There’s incoherent mumbling on his end, and you’re not exactly sure if he’s saying your name or begging you to call him baby one more time. Either way, you indulge.

“Hoon, baby,” you mewl. “Gonna cum, w-want you harder, pleasepleaseplease—“

And he lets out the most primal, animalistic groan at the sight of you begging, all doe-eyed and stupid in the brain; you don’t know what you’re even asking for and he fucking knows it. Regardless, you’re his perfect, sweet girl, and what his perfect girl asks for… she gets.

“Whatever you want, pretty.”

It’s sinful. Messy. Absolutely filthy the way he leans away from you, and pathetic how you try briefly to chase his lips—he smiles at how you fall limp against the mattress, pouting, only to gasp seconds later when he folds your legs against your chest.

And then he pushes himself back in. Slow, addicting, and plain rude.

Your ankles rest at his ears, and it’s barely an understatement when you say that your thighs sting; Sunghoon’s ruthless, unforgiving pace only leads to red warmth blooming on the fat of your ass.

The room’s reduced to just the two of you—his hands come up to grab your jaw again, like you’ve done something wrong. His tongue is collecting spit in his mouth—your lips forced to part by the pressure of his harsh fingers, and he spits, thick and warm in the centre of your tongue.

“Fucking slut,” he grunts. “Swallow. Now.”

You do. And with a stupid, cock-drunk grin on your face at that.

“Shit, you’re close,” Sunghoon mumbles, hissing when you clench around him in that addictive, mind-numbing way that has him imagining the pearly gates. “Pretty pussy g’na make a mess all over your Hoonie? Yeaaah?”

You hate Park Sunghoon when he’s like this. Big-headed, ego-driven Park Sunghoon is the worst, and possibly the most annoying man on earth.

He’s literally five seconds away from stealing all the air out of your lungs, snatching an orgasm from your poor cunt and it makes you shake in fear—you genuinely think you’re going to pass out from how hard he’s pummelling into you. You just know the high will be ten times more intense, as it’s always been, but he still loooves to hear the praise.

Combined with the fact that your honesty won’t let you deny him, it drives you even crazier.

“Y-yesyesyes, please, Hoon—‘m gonna cum, wanna make a mess on you,” you suck air through your teeth, feeling how his cock swells at your spineless state. Your eyes don’t know where to look: at his, which have never left your beautiful face, or your hips, where it meets his in constant, nonstop brutality.

All it takes from him is one sweet, slow roll of his hips for your body to send electricity through your veins.

“Yeah? Who’s my good girl?”

You can’t fucking think. It’s all him, it’s all just Sunghoon, Sunghoon, Sunghoon and his stupidly thick girth that’s splitting you apart and clogging your throat.

“M-me, me! I’m your good girl, I am—“ you say anyway, “Fuuuck, Hoon!”

Your ears ring and it’s dizzying—you’re creaming around his cock like it’s the only thing you’re good for, squeezing and milking him dry for all he’s worth.

“F-fuck, oh my god, fuckfuckfuck—gonna fill this pussy up,” Sunghoon almost whimpers at the feeling of your cunt swallowing him whole. His hips stutter as his release catches up to him—hot, sticky ropes of his cum paints your walls in milky white, his breath caught in his throat at the way your slick walls drench him. “O-oh, you’re so fucking tight when you cum, ‘s gonna kill me.”

Your back arches off the bed as he continues fucking you through your high. It’s all blurry, and you can barely hear the words being whispered into your ear as Sunghoon plugs every last drop of cum into your swollen tummy.

His chest is flat against the back of your thighs, your calfs thrown haphazardly over his shoulders as he ruts into you nice ‘n slow. His heart wants nothing but to keep you full forever, cock still pulsing once, twice, before he presses his forehead against yours.

It stays like that for a moment. Your heart’s still trying to catch up, beating wildly as Sunghoon takes the careful initiative of setting your legs back down on the bed. He’s still inside, still warm, still hard as ever when you catch his eyes wandering from your lips to your belly. Again.

His hands are much more gentle this time, though, there’s that sense of doom that comes with living with your Hoonie. It’s that dark, glassy, not-all-there look in his eyes when he sees you in a towel, or when you’re laying naked in bed waiting for him, or when you’re post-orgasm and he wants more.

“Your tummy’s all warm,” he rasps, blinking slowly. It’s game over when his fingers start to trace your abdomen, and you know it.

“Might have to get you pregnant this time, don’t you think?”

© kissued 2026 — do not repost, edit, redistribute or translate my work without prior permission and credit. all my work is strictly fictional and not an accurate representation of these people in real life.

[kissued]

HOUSE OF CARDS ──────── YJW 양정원

SYNOPSIS ⋮ weeks after your breakup, yang jungwon’s desperate to have you in his arms (and on his dick) again!

PAIRING ⋮ ex boyfriend!jungwon x fem!reader.

CONTENT WARNINGS ⋮ 18+ smut. mdni. piv. unprotected sex. breeding kink. possessive!won. he’s mean, jealous, and also a liiil toxic whoops! fingering. he uses his teeth to undress u. rough sex. kissing, lots of saliva and bodily fluid talk !!! Sorry!!!!

AN ⋮ something’s possessed me to write this filth… i don’t know what it is but jungwon is the apple of it’s eye!!! SAVE ME!!!! also ty vee @jungwonslover my proofreader + number 1 jw fan yawp yawp yawp.

PLAYING ♫ ⋮ HOUSE OF CARDS — BTS, COMING DOWN — THE WEEKND.

REBLOGS APPRECIATED. THANK YOU FOR READING <3

YOU AND YANG JUNGWON WERE ENDGAME.

If there was anything that high school proved, if not the fact that most of your friends were two-faced snakes—it was that he and you were meant for forever.

You can guess that's part of the reason why he's knocking at your door again, flowers in his left hand and his phone in his right. He's drenched in depressing October rain, wearing that ridiculously adorable pout on his face.

Obviously. He knows you, and he knows how fast you drop to your knees when you see those lips curl downwards. It’s exactly why you’re holding onto the sides of your sweater, if only to stop yourself from turning that doorknob.

“I know you’re home, Y/N. Your lights are on.”

His voice is muffled through the thin wood. You take another peek through the tiny hole of your front door—his under-eyes airbrushed with a faint red, the tip of his nose all the same.

The hallway behind him stretches wide, empty, dim with decorated with wet footprints on it’s tiles. Jungwon stands in the middle of the corridor like he owns it, as if your next-door neighbours couldn’t take a step out and catch him here, sopping wet and holding flowers like this was a romantic comedy.

It looks like he’s not leaving anytime soon.

"You shouldn't have come." You respond. His ears perk up, head tilting towards the peephole. As if he can hear the hesitation behind your voice. The hurt on his face is impossible to miss. If only you weren't fresh out of the relationship, it'd make you laugh.

“Then why aren’t you telling me to leave?” He asks, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip at an attempt to soothe his anxiety.

A water droplet rolls down his temple, to his chin, and then drips onto his already soaked t-shirt.

“I just did,” you say. “Go away.”

Yang Jungwon was always terribly persistent when it came to you. Back in college, there were days where he’d lose all sense of responsibility and ditch his much needed study hours just to see his beloved girlfriend—it’s all sunshine and rainbows when he has you laid up in his sheets, no weight on his shoulders when he has your body pressed against his.

And perhaps this spoiled you. As ill-prepared as you were, you knew that Yang Jungwon taking up a job that required him to travel half across the world, multiple times a month, would do something to your relationship.

So, when employment rolls around and you’re finally split apart by your very different job scopes—the schedules, the time, the busyness of it all… it was only a matter of inevitability.

The silence used to be comfortable. It used to be the ones where your limbs could tangle together and kisses felt more lazy than anything else. Now, it’s just stretched thin over bad cell service, laggy FaceTimes and horribly mismatched timezones.

“Y/N,” he’s pleading now. The ceiling light of the sterile corridor outside is reflecting off his eyes, all glassy and persuasive. There’s also something uniquely dangerous about how he chose to wear a white tee under his leather jacket. “Please. I’m begging you, I just want to talk.”

He will not get you. You will not let him in, and you will stand firm on that.

“Please, baby. Let me see you.”

Fuck.

You take a step back from the door for a few seconds. This didn’t require a lot of thinking, apparently, because your mouth soon opened before you could even make your way back to the door.

“What do you want to talk about?”

You tiptoe to get a better, clearer view of Jungwon’s face in the glass. The arm that holds the flowers is now at his side—you can see the way his shirt clings onto his chest like this, peeking through the leather. A brief thought flashes in your mind, one that says ‘he must be freezing’, and to let him inside. You almost do.

Jungwon scrunches his nose, his free hand coming to wipe at it before he clears his throat and speaks up. “It’s been days, Y/N. You haven’t returned any of my calls, my texts. I’ve been worried.”

“Is that so? I’m fine, as you can hear from my voice. Now go home, it’s cold.”

“You don’t sound fine. Please, Y/N. I don’t want us to fight anymore.”

You let a scoff slip. “You don’t look fine, either. Even.”

Your response earns the faintest huff from him—it would’ve been a laugh in any other context, but now, his head just dips, shoulders slumping a fraction as rainwater continues to drip from his hair, sliding down in uneven trails.

“Can you just open the door?” Jungwon asks, eyebrows knitting together. “I’m not here to fight.”

He looks like a puppy that’s just been kicked to the curb. There’s a look in his eye that’s the equivalent of someone getting on their knees and practically begging, and you’re half convinced that Yang Jungwon might do just that.

He definitely would, wouldn’t he?

“Jungwon,” and for some reason—your left hand is on that doorknob. Despite already resolving that you wouldn’t let him inside your home. “I don’t want to fight, either. That’s why I want you to go away.”

“Do you still love me?”

Your voice barely reached him. “Jungwon—“

“Please.”

And perhaps that's why your friends describe you as the one to die first in a horror movie, or the last to have a spine, or simply the one who can't quite loosen her grip on a love she's carried for far too long.

The door pulls towards you, slowly, not without that signature creak and soft thud against your already-chipped wall.

Yang Jungwon stands before you, towering, drenched but significantly drier than thirty minutes ago when he was first begun loitering outside your door. His hair sticks in wet clumps to his forehead, temples, anywhere that’s too long.

The faint tremor in his body makes you want to pull him inside. Wrapping a towel around him to let him dry and sending him off would probably be a very good idea—there’s nothing between you now, no girlfriend-y duties to fulfil other than making sure he doesn’t freeze to death, though you’re sure that anyone (girlfriend or not) would do the same.

Jungwon’s eyes widen when he finally sees you. You’re leaning against the door like you’re expecting him to walk inside, and he does—though he keeps his head low and his shoulders squared as it happens.

“I’ll get a towel for you. Give me a minute.” You manage, back facing him. When you finally shut the door, your body turns back around, only to watch him standing in the middle of your living room like he has no clue where to go.

“Okay.”

His voice comes out quieter than you expect—like the gloomy cold has taken it’s place in his chest. Up close, it’s worse. Or better. You’re not very sure.

You can see everything now, without the distortion of glass or distance to soften it—the way the rain has dragged his hair down into uneven, damp strands against his soft skin. A few pieces curl slightly at the ends, darker than normal, dripping slow, accidental droplets that trace down the side of his face.

One of them slips along the sharp line of his jaw. Your eyes can’t help but to follow obediently.

It disappears beneath the collar of his shirt—if it can even be called that right now. It’s barely even visible with the white fabric being completely soaked through, plastered to him like a second skin.

It’s clinging to the planes of his chest—the faint definition beneath is dizzying, the steady rise and fall of his breathing being the only thing you can zero in on. It leaves very little to imagination, and you hate how quickly your gaze has to flick back up to his face like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t.

It’s most probably because it isn’t. Reminder that you should not be staring at your ex-boyfriend’s chest like he’s still yourboyfriend.

“You were going to get me a towel,” the corner of his lips twitches into a smile. “What happened to that?”

You swallow, pushing yourself off the door a little too quickly. Jungwon’s lips are pursed together, a faint blush painted across his cheeks, and he’s staring at you like he knows he’s got you.

“You’ll be fine,” you force a mocking smile and all Jungwon can do is let out a chuckle—you’re making your way towards the kitchen, his eyes following your figure as it moves further away from his.

You make your way into the kitchen with purpose that feels rehearsed now, with a mind that’s anything but steady. Yang Jungwon hasn’t been in your home in weeks, and you’ve begun to accept the fact that he might become a stranger to this place altogether. There’s still traces of him—in the bathroom, in your bed, on your study desk. The photos of your first trip together are still framed in the hallway, too.

The overhead light flicks on, too bright and exposing when Jungwon’s still staring into you. For a second, you busy yourself with nothing—hands hovering over the counter, opening a cabinet you didn’t need to open, closing it again just as fast.

Behind you, you can feel him. You don’t have to look to know his eyes never left you.

There’s a faint sound of movement—his shoes sliding against the floor, quieter now that they’re no longer dripping as much. He doesn’t follow immediately, though. He lingers, like he’s taking in the space, re-familiarising himself with something he still knows by heart.

By the time you reach for the glass, your fingers are already shaking.

It’s right where it always is—second shelf, slightly to the left—but you still fumble with it, knocking it lightly against the others before pulling it free. The sound is small, but in the quiet, it feels like the only thing you want to focus on.

You set it down on the counter, reaching for the water dispenser until—

“Still in the same place,” Jungwon says from behind you. “You kept it. My cat mug.”

The smell of rain is penetrates your nose almost instantaneously. “I kept most things.”

You can guess what he looks like this close, if you were to turn around right now. Dripping, cold, clothes still sticking to him like half an hour in the warmth did him no favours. His swollen eyes, flushed face, and lips that say ‘please’ like they know exactly what it does to you.

Your grip tightens around the mug. You click on the warm water option, and the dispenser starts heating almost instantly. A soft mechanical hum fills the silence before the first trickle hits ceramic.

Steam curls up from the mug in thin, wavering ribbons, dissolving into the air before it can settle anywhere. You don’t move to pick it up. Your hand stays there, resting against the counter, fingers still slightly curled from how tightly you were holding on a second ago.

“I didn’t think you would.”

You keep your eyes on the mug. “It’s a mug, Jungwon. Not that serious.”

“Y/N L/N.”

When you turn around, Jungwon’s leaning against the counter behind you. Close enough for you to see the outline of his abdomen through the fabric of his tee, but far enough not to her the chatter of his teeth and the shiver of his breathing. You still have to tilt your head to meet his eyes properly.

“What?” you ask, but it comes out flatter than you intend, like you’re trying to hold something back from your own voice.

It’s only after a painfully long minute of forcing yourself to look him in the eye, does he speak.

“I miss you.”

The arrangement of flowers are somewhere on the coffee table. His jacket must be hanging somewhere on the coat hanger, though, the wet fabric of his shirt refuses to let your attention stray anywhere else to confirm.

Right now, Yang Jungwon’s stood in front of you, hands flexing at his sides like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. You’re standing only one foot apart, your back pressed against the cold edge of your kitchen counter as his on the island—the cup of water stands stagnant behind you, waiting to be picked up.

The space between you feels thinner than it did seconds ago. Warmer, too. Charged in a way that makes your pulse pick up, where your body is suddenly too aware of every inch of distance left between the two of you, and also is desperately yearning to close it.

It would be nice to smell his cologne after weeks of trying to forget it. Every time you thought you did, it would waft around your apartment like a little ghost.

“Won—“

Up close, everything about him feels amplified. The damp fabric of his shirt has started to dry unevenly, clinging in some places, loosening in others, but still outlining him in a way that makes it hard not to notice. The subtle definition beneath, the steady expansion of his chest with each breath, the way his shoulders remain just slightly tense like he’s holding himself back from closing the rest of the distance all at once.

You know he wants to. There’s that half of you that wishes he just would.

“Please,” Jungwon murmurs. “Tell me you miss me too.”

His right arm reaches out—you don’t stop it. His thumb brushes the side of your hip, and you don’t stop it either. You don’t even think about pulling yourself away from the feeling of him on you again.

Jungwon knows what he’s doing.

His other arm follows suite, before they wrap around your waist completely—his large hands always had no issues doing this, pulling you in without any real effort—or perhaps you were always just drawn to him, like a magnet, unable to ever really stay away.

He exhales softly as he feels your warm body press against him. The sound brushes against your skin, and it reminds you of how wrong yet right this feels; your arms do what they’ve always known, wrapping around his torso like pushing him away was never an option.

He’s cold, and still, you melt anyway.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

“You’ve already said that.”

His large hands are splayed across your back—his calloused fingertips from the dedication to the gym, his larger-than-before shoulders that stretch across your smaller frame—it’s just as overwhelming as the first day you met.

Your warmth hits him like a wave, and for a moment, his hands freeze. Your fingers come up to the blades of his shoulders, running against the tiny dips and rises of his muscles; tonight feels like anything but reality, and instead, it’s two months ago when things were still fine and Jungwon was still yours.

He swears he still is, and you try to forget it. Too much time apart does things to you that you’d rather shove down and erase completely—but when your ex-lover is cold, shivering, clinging to your body like it’s the only heat that could get his blood moving—it bubbles right back up. It simmers, boils over and spills.

“You’re freezing, Won,” you mumble, “I really think you should—“

And maybe you have familiarity to blame, or comfort or naivety, because you lean into Yang Jungwon’s touch just as easily as you pushed it away. His hands are coming up your waist, stopping right at your neck—and what else can you do in this moment other than stare into those big, pretty irises of his?

Jungwon’s hand settles firmly at the side of your neck, his palm warm despite the lingering chill in his skin. His fingers curve just enough for you to feel the faint pressure when you swallow, your pulse fluttering wildly beneath his touch—and the moment he realises your breath is shaking, the glint in his eye makes you shiver.

His thumb drags slowly along the line of your jaw, then back again, slow, like he’s retracing something long committed to memory.

“Talk to me,” he whispers, breath ghosting against your lips as your foreheads touch. “Please, Y/N. Don’t shut me out again.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

For a moment, all you can focus on is how close he is—the warmth of his breath, the way his hand holds you just firmly enough to keep you there, the faint tension in his fingers like he’s bracing for you to pull away.

There’s nothing except for the low hum of the city, and your hearts echoing in tandem as his body presses closer against yours. The rain is merciless tonight, unrelenting, pounding against the glass doors of your balcony like it wanted to be let inside—for now, the warm yellow of your hallway lamp bathes you and Jungwon in that comfortable hue, a stark contrast to the blue cold outside.

His hands feel frozen against your skin.

“You’re always leaving, Jungwon,” you mutter, refusing to meet his eyes despite the distance. “Even when you’re in front of me, you’re gone. I never have all of you.”

He swallows thickly, eyes still locked on yours. Your irises peek through your lashes, blinking slowly up at his.

Your breath catches in your throat. This is the part where you fall to your knees for Yang Jungwon—the part which you tried endlessly to avoid up until today. It’s when the line between logic and everything else blurs, and all you can see is him.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Jungwon mutters, thumb caressing the patch of skin under your jawline. You lean into it like it means something. “We’ll talk about this. I can’t lose you—“

“Jungwon,” you interrupt, your touch firm over his knuckles, offering little resistance to the way he holds your jaw like this was all normal. “What good would it do us?”

He doesn’t respond immediately.

His hand stills under yours, your fingers resting over his knuckles as if you could stop him, or maybe stop yourself. His gaze doesn’t leave your face, not even when you’re actively avoiding his.

There’s something in his expression now—more careful than before, fully aware of the fact that you’re no longer his. You could really kick his ass out if you wanted to.

He’s thinking carefully for once. Instead of just reaching for you, the way he always does.

“If it doesn’t…” he starts, voice lower, rougher than before, “if it doesn’t fix anything—”

He exhales softly, the sound brushing your lips again, closer; his thumb shifts under your jaw, tilting your face up just enough that running from him becomes impossible—it’s not like you’ve been putting in much effort to do that, anyway.

“Then let me have you like this,” he finishes. “One last time.”

His nose bumps against yours in that old, messy fashion that you’ve never nailed. Kissing Jungwon always involves not knowing how fast, how deep to go, because it always ends up in something more intimate than it starts out. For the first thirty seconds, your ex lover lets himself feel—feel what he’s lost for weeks, reminding, retracing.

Forty seconds, and he has his hands wandering all over your warm body like they have no idea where to stay.

Fifty, and they’re running down your back and slipping under that thin, too-tight baby tee that you always wear to bed—fifty-six, and his tongue is somewhere tangled with yours.

“S-shit—you taste so fucking sweet.” he mumbles against your lips before letting you press your body further against his—there’s multiple sirens going off in your head by this point, in which you deliberately ignore, as one does when they have someone like him against them.

Jungwon’s a mess by the time your legs hook around his waist. His hands do the work, looping around your thighs and lifting you up with no real effort: just a small huff from all your weight pressing against his chest, and a (very pathetic) moan that strangles itself out of his throat when you grind against his crotch.

“You missed me?” He smiles against your lips, and it’s an understatement when you say he’s just hungry for you. Doesn’t even give you an opportunity to answer, instead, going for the exposed patch of skin on your neck, laying so beautifully for him.

“W-Won,” you whimper when he sets you on top of your cold, sterile kitchen island—there were months prior to this where you made pasta together on this same surface. “Please—“

“It’s okay,” he says. “I got you.”

It’s not like you’ve never had sex before.

It’s just… you don’t really have sex with ex- boyfriends. Normally. Even so, given that fact, it doesn’t stop you from rutting against Yang Jungwon like your life depends on it, nor does it stop him from undoing the drawstring of your shorts and pulling it riiight down.

“See,” he kisses his teeth, a cocky smile growing on his face—it sends blood right up to your face, watching him watch you, feeling him feel his way into your panties. “All that talk about pushing me away. So pointless.”

His hand slips beneath the band, thick fingers running down your slit, between your folds before coming back up and applying that sickening pressure to your clit. “She miss me, too?”

You’re soaked through by the time Yang Jungwon gets his middle finger at your entrance—teasing, letting only the tip graze your insides. Your jaw’s locked, hung open from trying to draw even breaths into your lungs. “Wooonnn… please. Don’t fucking tease—“

“Aw,” he pouts, eyes flicking back down to where his large hand stretches the fabric of your panties thin. He’s refused to slip them off. Soaking the back of his hand in slick, he wonders—if only for a moment—how it would feel if it was his cock instead. “Don’t get needy on me now.”

You gasp when he pushes past that tight ring of muscle—his finger swallowed whole by your dripping cunt. It curls almost instinctively, intensively, because what kind of man would Yang Jungwon be if he didn’t memorise this?

“Right here,” he mumbles, head hanging low, observing the way the slippery slide of your walls let him pump his fingers so effortlessly. “Feels good, baby? Wanna tell me how much you missed it?”

“Shut.. s-shut up, fuck—“

You choke on a moan—your body’s going into a lock. From sitting upright on your elbows to back arching off the marble, your head’s thrown back when Jungwon adds another finger ‘just for fun’.

His middle and ring finger curl inside of you. The squelching sounds is too much to bear; heat is crawling up your neck like it wants you to drown in it, and as a response, your hands come up to hide the humiliation written all over your face.

“Getting shy on me?” Jungwon mutters, before his free hand darts to pry your wrists away from your cheeks. His fingertips are brushing against that spongy, tingly bundle of nerves inside your core—everything in the room seems reduced to the electrifying feeling that’s buzzing inside your veins, surging, making your head spin.

“Yeah,” his stupidly long fingers are starting to make you see a new universe now, “forgot how fast you cum on my fingers. So cute.”

“F-fuckfuckfuck,” you squeal—your body feels like it’s locking up. The only thing your mind lets you repeat over and over is Jungwon, Jungwon, Jungwon; Jungwon in that shirt that’s still wet, Jungwon that knows your body so well, Jungwon that’s making sure you cum on his fingers or face at least once before he does anything with himself.

You see it in the way his cock presses against the edge of the counter, and the pained expression on his face like he’s just about ready to come undone. It’s always like that with him, always ready to give you everything he can offer if it meant you felt good.

“Fuck, almost forgot how pretty you look like this,” Jungwon mutters under his breath, though you barely catch it with the angels singing in your ears. Your head thighs are spread shamelessly on the cold marble, juices dripping down your inner thigh and spilling over onto the shiny surface—in his eyes, it almost glistens. “Always so damn nasty for me. Look at you.”

The remark would’ve been embarrassing in any other context. It’s too bad that Yang Jungwon knows exactly how to push your buttons, knows precisely what words to spit out of that nasty mouth to get you salivating. It’s dehumanising, really. Animalistic, the way he has your mind reduced to just slush—and though he can get soooo mean, it just doesn’t matter when it gets you cumming all over his fingers by the end of the night.

Most of the night is spent in a haze. Your vision is blurry, but you most definitely remember some parts in passing. You remember sliding down to your knees and almost choking on how big Jungwon was, and how he made you sit on his face by the second hour—though, to be fair, that was a prerequisite.

You definitely remember how he peeled his shirt off, and how he picked you up again like you were nothing, and how he tossed you onto the bed like it didn’t physically hurt to be apart from him for that split second.

You remember how he laughed at you, only to lean in close and press a searing kiss to the exposed skin of your neck—trailing down, wet and hot, until his teeth could pinch the hem of your soaked panties.

You remember how he pulled them off, sliding them down your legs with nothing but a sinful smirk, pink lace caught between his pearly whites like it didn’t get your stomach churning all over again; pupils blown, face flushed red, heart beating in a frenzy when he uses his tongue to drop them onto the floor.

And you can’t, and will never forget the way he’s spreading your reddened thighs with his palms, fucking into you like this is truly the last time he’ll ever see your face.

Every thrust of his hips against yours knocks the wind out of your lungs. You feel him so impossibly deep that your throat feels clogged—the stretch makes your mind go numb, and God, how could you forget how big Yang Jungwon is when he’s bruising your poor cunt like this?

“Good fucking girl,” and his lips are pressed up against yours like it has nowhere else to go. “Made for me, I swear—so fucking perfect.”

His length pumps in and out of you with no real effort, all sloppy and squelching like there wasn’t anyone else in this neighbourhood to be considerate of. The backboard’s hitting the wall, chipping at the paint, and for a brief moment you let yourself roll your eyes at the thought of painting it over—just when you thought you’d never have to again.

“F-fuhhh…” you drawl, hands coming up around his neck at some attempt at stabilizing yourself. Every hit has your toes curling and your body rocking, nails digging into the flesh of his clean, well-sculpted back. “S-shit, Jungwon—feels so deep—“

“Yeah?” he laughs, low and short-lived before he feels you squeeezing on him. “Fuck, you’re so cute. Acting like you haven’t taken me everywhere in this apartment.”

You’re close to tears by this point. Your fingers tangle in his dark hair, now soaked in sweat instead of rain, and it should disgust you—it should be revolting, the way most people’s bodily fluids are, but you’re laid here anyway— glossy lips sucking on his neck, where you know he’s most sensitive, taking in his scent like it’s all you’ll ever know.

He smells so fucking good when he’s fucking you like it’s his life’s purpose.

You feel his pulse under your tongue. You also feel the way his cock is swelling up in your walls, taking up more and more and more of you, until you’re gasping for air and his pace is almost fucking frantic. Jungwon feels like he’s losing himself in you.

“See,” he moans, breath all hot and loud, leaning right into your ear like it isn’t the most filthy thing he’s done. “You’ll always belong to me.”

And as your friends would say: you did this to yourself. The desperate nods come as soon as the last word leaves his lips—your ears pick up on every grunt and huff from him, his big arms caging you in once again as you’re trying to recollect your thoughts. Everything’s too much, the room smells like sex and sin and everything you’ve resolved to stay away from, with the man you love right in the centre of it all.

“J-Jungwon, fuck, I can’t,” you gasp when you feel your throbbing clit dragging against his length, impossibly hard and aching for more of you. “We can’t do this—“

“Shhh,” and his hands are so, so gentle when they come up to caress your tear-stained cheeks. You’re sniffling like this isn’t the best high you’ve experienced in your life—you just lean into his touch, pathetic, staring into his pseudo-soft expression as if it had any real concern. “Yes, you can—and you will.”

Jungwon feels you clamp down on him just then, jaw going slack at just how heavenly your pussy feels. It’s criminal that he’s almost forgotten it, forgotten how well you take him, how good and pliant you get when he’s splitting you open—how you welcome him inside every time, despite all your little pleas and stubbornness.

He knows how to get to you. Yang Jungwon knows that nobody will ever fuck you like how he does, and that every man that comes after will have to remember that you belong to him before anyone else. They’ll have to remember that you get all shy when he whispers in your ear, or that you can cum just from his middle finger alone.

Everyone will know. They don’t have a choice.

“Fuuuck,” he rasps, nose bumping into your jaw as he breathes you in. You smell so much like him that he’s beginning to lose his very little composure remaining. “Gonna cum, Y/N—shit, I’m gonna cum—“

“Hngh, ‘m close too,” your arms find themselves tightening around him, desperately searching for something to hold onto. His muscles are flexing with every desperate rut, every frantic roll of his hips, and God, he’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t going dumb at the idea of filling you up. You’d be all warm inside, his cock plugging you closed as he empties himself into your battered cunt, and you’d take every single drop of it like it was what you’ve always meant to do.

“God, I love you so much,” he whispers, and though it makes your eyes shoot open, you find yourself muttering the same phrase back to him. There’s something sweet in the way he leans in close, just to give you a tender kiss, and then the room flips upside down when his tongue is sliding at your bottom lip again; soon enough, he gets messy, and you’re moaning into each other like you’re the only two people on this street.

“Always mine, mineminemine,” Jungwon huffs. “Don’t ever forget it, mm? You belong to me.”

It crashes into you. Blinding, deafening, like something in you just exploded after the pressure’s built up for months.

You’re soaking him shamelessly, hot and dizzying—Jungwon’s moans sound like they’ve been clipped straight from a porno, disgustingly loud, and still: it makes your orgasm shake. Electricity is buzzing through you, and just what does your ex know to do when you’re crumbling like this?

Go deeper.

“Fuckfuckfuck—w-wait, Jungwon!”

Your pleas mean nothing. He’s being selfish, and he knows it. He doesn’t care if it’s too much, he doesn’t care if you’re crying because he’s too big, he doesn’t care if you’re going to cum on his cock for the fifth time in an hour.

Oh, and he definitely doesn’t care that you’re not together anymore. That’s never stopped him, has it?

“Shit,” his hips snap into you, ruthless, unforgiving, bruising your cervix like it’s personally wronged him. “Wanna get back together, mm?”

“You’re… hngh—you’re crazy, Jungwon!”

“Worth a try.”

© kissued 2026 — do not repost, edit, redistribute or translate my work without prior permission and credit. all my work is strictly fictional and not an accurate representation of these people in real life.

[kissued]

shabubu .... yun to my ki .... i love you i miss talking to you So Bad ☹️ these exams are jinja killing me

mona jagiya 😭😭😭😭😭 bogo sipeo 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔 lets quit being academic weapons and live a long life together in a cottage by the sea

[kissued]

THE STOVE IS ON

[kissued]

let’s play a guessing game