━━━━ եwo boyfriends are better than one , h.j x b.c x reader
ʚ masterlist ɞ : 1.1k words .’ smut .’ piv .’ threesome .’ dom hyunjin and chan .’ sub reader .’ oral (m! receiving) .’ jealously sex .’ ruined orgasms .’ squirting .’
a/n : messed up the dates and now i’m only working a four hour shift LMAOOO
“such a slut,” hyunjin grumbled under his breath, looking down at you with your tongue sticking out, waiting for him to push his heavy cock down your throat, “you’ll give it up to anyone huh?”
you couldn’t form words, chans cock plunging deep inside your pussy was taking all your breath away, melting all your thoughts.
chan just growled from behind you and gripped harshly at your ass, “trying to make us jealous by flaunting yourself in front of every guy you see? were two cocks at home already not enough?”
broken moans escaped your lips, something vaguely resembling words but neither men could make it out.
hyunjin tapped his tip on your tongue, dragging some of his precum across it, “answer us baby, tell us why you did it.”
your needy lust blown eyes just stared up at him, too cock dumb to process what he said and spit out any words. a light slap hit your cheek and snapped you out of your daze.
“answer me.” hyunjin demanded.
another moan broke free but you could actually speak now, “attention! i wanted attention!”
the two men had dragged you along to some boring event you didn’t want to go to with the promise of if you were good they would make sweet love to you all night long. but there were so many pretty girls there that seemed to be always catching their eyes, can’t really blame them, they were surrounded. but you couldn’t deny how jealous it made you feel, so to get back at them you decided to openly flirt with every male idol you saw. you even went as far as to bend over in front of them, showing some cleavage or pushing your ass into them. chan and hyunjin had noticed quickly but decided to let you keep playing your little game to see how far you’d take it. they snapped when you “accidentally” stumbled into an idols lap in a straddling position, your chest pressed against his.
they weren’t willing to watch you slut yourself out like that for any longer, so the boys dragged you home, mumbling to each other about how they were gonna punish you later tonight. and that’s how you ended up here; on your hands and knees between the two, chan railing into your pour swollen cunt while hyunjin was teasing you with his cock on your tongue. you had come close to coming three times so far and each time chan was quick to pull out and remove all forms of stimulation. he told you it was “to keep you in your place” for the way that you were acting.
“open wide for me, pretty.” hyunjin grumbled, more so a demand this time than a suggestion.
you let your mouth open wider, holding back your gags as he was quick to shove his whole length in. he didn’t give you time to adjust, you didn’t deserve it after the way you acted. his pretty moans filled the room, blocking out your wet gags around his cock as you struggled to take him.
chan clicked his tongue, fake sympathy dripping from his tongue, “come on honey, you can take him can’t you? if you let him cum in your throat maybe i’ll let you cum.”
you hummed around hyunjins cock in response, the vibrations sending the man wild, his hands went to the side of your head, holding you in place as he fucked your throat faster, “fuck she feels good chan! so much prettier when her mouth is filled with cock.”
“can’t be a slut if you can’t talk huh?” chan laughed lowly, his thrusts never slowing. you could feel him deep in your tummy, he was so fucking deep it felt like he was trying to shape your pussy to his cock.
hyunjins moans we’re getting more pathetic and loud as he got closer, “s-shit chan..i’m close.”
“fill her.” chan ordered, he needed you to be ruined.
hyunjin listened to his boyfriend, ever so obedient, shooting his load down your throat, coating you with his seed. he held your head down on his cock as he spurted the last of his load in your mouth, whimpering a little as your gags overstimulated him. when he finally pulled out, strings of his cum and your spit dripped from his tip, coating your chin and the bed beneath you in your guys’s mess.
chan was quick to pull out right after his boyfriend came down your throat, manhandling you so you were flipped on your back. hyunjin seemed to have read his mind, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling you into his lap. your body was so tired from being edged all nighty long, chan and hyunjin having no mercy on you or your pussy, you just let them drag you wherever. you didn’t even realize the position you were in until your back was flush with hyunjins chest and his tip was poking at your ruined hole.
he slipped in with ease, you were already soaked from chans previous thrusts. your moans were tired and weak as your head rolled back to lay on hyunjins shoulder, pathetically crying in his ear as he bounced you on his cock. his hands snaked under your knees, holding you up and folding you against yourself so he could hit even deeper in your pussy.
chan was quick to bend right in front of you, enjoying the show of hyunjin fucking you on himself, cock still hard and leaking as he watched with a stern face. his hand reached out, planting the pads of his fingers right against your clit.
he cooed, “such a dumb baby for us now aren’t you? got that brattiness out of you, just had to fuck it out of you, huh?” his fingers rubbed back in forth, the extra stimulation making your breath catch in your throat.
his fingers picked up speed, your hips bucked up to rub harder against his hand, slamming yourself back down on hyunjins dick.
“g-gonna cum!” you cried out, your voice hoarse and strained as your neck stretched out against hyunjins shoulder.
“cum for us baby, be good, show us that your ours.” hyunjin mumbled against your cheek, pressing wet sloppy kisses to the skin.
you screamed out, slight cracks in your voice as you held yourself up off of hyunjins dick, letting your arousal squirt out, spraying all over hyunjins lap and chans hand as his rubbing never stopped. your orgasm was strong from being edged all night and it took everything out of you, your chest heaved as you cried, still dripping from your core.
chan slapped your soaked, puffy pussy, “there’s our good girl, just had to teach you how to behave again.”
Warnings: established relationship, long-distance relationship, video/phone sex, mutual masturbation, custom sex toy, pocket pussy/sleeve toy, slight dom!reader, needy/subby!Jisung.
Need a little help picturing the scene? I’ve got you covered. Headphones recommended.
Words: 7.1k
A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be kind 💕
Summary: Jisung gets a mystery package delivered to his hotel room in the middle of the night, and somehow it is both the filthiest and sweetest thing someone has ever done for him…
Knock, knock, knock.
The sound barely made it through the steady spray of water, but Jisung heard it anyway, faint beneath the rush, beneath the dull ringing still left in his ears from the concert.
His hands stilled in his hair, shampoo slipping slowly down the side of his neck as he listened.
Nothing.
Nothing?
He frowned, blinking water out of his lashes, already halfconvinced it had been the pipes, maybe the room settling, or his brain finally giving out… it was past midnight, and he had barely made it through the hotel room door before peeling himself out of his stage clothes and stepping under the hottest water he could stand.
Then it came again.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Yeah, yeah…” he muttered, even though whoever was on the other side definitely couldn’t hear him. “Just a sec…”
He rinsed the rest of the shampoo from his hair in a hurry, dragging his fingers through it until the water ran clear, then reached blindly for the handle and turned the shower off.
He frowned as he pulled a towel from the rack, dragging it over his hair first before wrapping it around his waist, still trying to make sense of who the hell would be at his door this late.
It couldn’t be room service, at least not yet. He had ordered as soon as he got back from the arena, barely listening while one of the staff members warned him it would take at least an hour because half the team had apparently had the same idea. And that had been, what, thirty minutes ago? Maybe less.
And it didn’t make much sense for it to be one of the members either. None of them had looked capable of doing anything other than showering and collapsing by the time they made it upstairs, all of them dragging themselves down the hall with the same dead look in their eyes, already dreaming about food, beds, and whatever pathetic handful of hours they could steal before morning.
He dried himself quickly, just enough to stop water from dripping all over the carpet, then pulled one of the white hotel robes over his shoulders and tied it loose at the waist. His bare feet made no sound as he stepped out into the bedroom and crossed toward the door, leaning in to look through the peephole.
His manager stood on the other side, phone pressed to one ear, a black gift box tucked casually against his side, and Jisung stayed there with one hand braced against the door, staring at the distorted shape of him through the glass as if it would start making sense if he looked at it long enough.
It didn’t.
He blinked, shook his head a little, then opened the door just enough to peek out, one hand staying at his chest to keep the robe closed against his damp skin.
“Hyung?” he asked, concern finding its way into his voice “Is everything okay?”
His manager looked up from the call, took in the confused crease between Jisung’s brows, and gave him a small nod that was probably meant to calm him down, even though nothing about the situation was calming.
“Yeah,” he grumbled into the phone, already sounding like he regretted every choice that had led him there. “I’m handing it over now.”
Jisung’s eyes dropped to the box.
His manager lifted one finger when Jisung opened his mouth, asking for patience he very clearly did not have, and turned his attention back to whoever was on the other end. Jisung could not hear much over the distance between them, only the faint rush of a voice coming through too fast and too bright for that time of night, but he saw the exact moment whatever was said made his manager close his eyes and breathe out through his nose.
“No,” he stated flatly. “I’m not saying that.”
The voice kept going…
“I’m also not saying that,” he added, pulling the phone slightly away from his ear like the distance might make the conversation end faster. “You can tell him yourself.”
Jisung blinked.
“Yeah, no,” He added already lowering the phone. “I’m not getting involved in this. Goodnight.”
He ended the call before the person on the other end could argue, slipped it into his pocket, and held the box out.
“This got delivered for you.”
Jisung’s eyes fell to the matte black packaging before lifting slowly back to his manager’s face. “For me?”
“Mhm.”
He took it carefully, fingers closing around the smooth edges while he searched the surface for a label, a name, anything that might explain it, but there was nothing except the ribbon tied neatly across the top.
His frown deepened. “Is that even allowed?”
His manager let out a quiet laugh. “Normally? No.”
“What is it?”
“I have no idea.”
“You didn’t check?”
“I don’t usually open other people’s presents, Jisung.”
His mouth parted, ready to argue, then closed again because, fine, technically that made sense, which was annoying…
“Well…” He looked down at the box again, thumb brushing absently over the ribbon. “Who sent it?”
His manager stared at him long enough for Jisung to understand that he absolutely knew and had absolutely no intention of making that his problem.
“As I said,” he told him, already stepping back from the door, “I’m not getting involved in this.”
“Hyung.”
“No.”
“You can’t just give me a suspicious box and leave.”
“I can, actually.” He lifted one hand in a lazy goodbye, already turning down the hallway. “I’m going to bed.”
“But…”
“Goodnight, Han.”
“Thanks?” he mumbled though the words barely made it past the doorway.
He nudged the door shut with his foot, the lock clicking softly back into place, and turned the box over in his hands once, then again, his frown deepening when he found nothing on the outside except the smooth matte packaging.
There weren’t many people who knew where he was staying tonight, not outside the team, anyway, and they were already half-dead somewhere down the hallway, sleeping or trying really hard to.
Fewer still could get a package anywhere near his room without someone checking it, questioning it, clearing it through staff and security and whatever other invisible layers sat between him and the rest of the world while they were on tour... Cause gifts didn’t just appear at their doors. They definitely didn’t get placed directly into his manager’s hands like a special delivery.
Jisung looked down at the ribbon again, and the answer settled before he had to chase it very far.
Of course.
A smile pulled at his mouth “Unbelievable.”
He carried the box back to the bed and sank onto the edge of the mattress, setting it carefully against the sheets before reaching for his phone on the nightstand.
what did you do?
The reply came so quickly he knew she had been waiting.
Me?
Jisung breathed out a laugh through his nose.
don’t do that
do what?
baby…
what 😇
He stared at the emoji for a second, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he tried not to smile harder than he already was.
you’re so annoying 🙄🙄🙄
He sent the message and hit the call button before he could give her the satisfaction of dragging it out any longer.
The screen rang against his palm, his own damp, half-lit reflection staring back at him from the glass until the call connected and her room replaced his, soft and dim and warmer than the sterile hotel lighting.
She answered after a second, the camera wobbling as she picked up her phone and settled back into bed. Her eyes lifted to the screen first, sleepy and bare and already warmer when she saw him, and whatever annoyed thing he had been ready to say got caught somewhere behind his teeth as she pushed herself up against the pillows, hair falling messily over one shoulder.
“Hey, rockstar.”
God, how he missed her.
It came over him quietly, almost embarrassingly fast, the sound of that stupid nickname in her sleepy voice. It had been weeks since he’d seen her in person, and every video call seemed to make the distance worse instead of better.
He loved seeing her… He did. Loved talking to her, loved listening to her talk even more. Loved that she still waited around after a long day and stayed awake just so he could get a glimpse of her before she fell asleep. But lately, these calls had started to hurt in a way he didn’t know what to do with, because she was right there, close enough for him to see the faint crease on her cheek from the pillow, close enough to see the way her eyes crinkled when her smile grew, and still too far away for him to reach through the screen and be where he actually wanted to be. Beside her, smoothing his thumb over that mark on her cheek just to annoy her. Kissing the corner of her eye until she laughed and shoved him away with that little embarrassed sound she made whenever he got too sweet on purpose. Pulling her closer when the shirt slipped loose down her shoulder the way it was doing now.
The collar stretched wide, sleeves falling too long over her arms, the fabric worn soft from too many washes and the faded print suddenly familiar enough to make his gaze stay there. That piece of black scrap hung off her like it had never really belonged to her in the first place.
“Nice shirt.”
Her gaze dropped like she had only just remembered what she was wearing, fingers pinching the loose collar where it had slipped down her shoulder. “Oh, this old thing?”
He leaned back against the pillows, phone warm in his hand, as the box sat beside his thigh on the sheets. “Yeah,” he said, trying not to sound as pleased as he felt. “That old thing. Where’d you get it?”
She hummed, glancing down again like the answer required actual thought. “My boyfriend gave it to me.”
“Oh, did he?”
“Mhm.”
“He sounds very generous.”
“He is.” She nodded, mouth pulling into a smile. “Very generous.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” he laughed. “Good taste too.”
“I mean, obviously.” Her brows lifted, and one lazy hand slipped out from under the blanket to gesture at herself.
“Yeah I can tell…” The laugh left him quietly, more fond than he wanted it to be. “He’s a very lucky guy.”
“He is,” she agreed, settling her cheek deeper into the pillow. “And he is handsome too.”
“Is he?”
“So handsome.”
Jisung looked down, rubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand, but there was no point hiding the smile when she already knew exactly what she was doing to him. “You’re ridiculous.”
“What? So now I can’t brag about my boyfriend?”
“Right.” He nodded slowly, letting the game sit there for a little longer before his gaze drifted to the box beside him.
“So does this very generous, lucky, handsome boyfriend of yours also get suspicious packages delivered to his hotel room in the middle of the night?”
Her eyes lifted, “No.”
“No?”
“No, I don’t think so.” She tucked her mouth against the blanket, the smile still there underneath. “I don’t think his staff would allow that.”
His mouth twitched. “Oh?”
“Mhm... He has some crazy fans, you know. Serious security concerns.”
“Serious security concerns,” he repeated, staring at her.
“Very serious.”
“Right.”
“I mean… Imagine if anyone could just send things to his room,” she added, finally looking back at him with an expression so carefully innocent it was almost impressive. “That would be dangerous.”
“Very dangerous.”
“Exactly.”
He nodded along, slow and patient, thumb brushing over the edge of the box. “So whoever sent it would have to know where he’s staying.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“And know who to talk to.”
She nodded.
“And be convincing enough to get his manager to bring it to his room himself.”
That was where she lost it. He saw the exact moment her face started to betray her, the tiny lift at the corner of her mouth, the way her eyes went bright while she tried to keep them wide and clueless. The longer he looked at her, the worse it got, until she had to press her lips together like that would do anything.
“Maybe,” she whispered.
“Maybe?”
“It could happen.”
Jisung laughed then, reaching for the box, lifting it into frame so she could see it. “How did you even manage this?”
Her eyes dropped to it immediately before snapping back to his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ahhh, you’re so annoying. Stop playing…”
That broke her properly. She laughed into the pillow, soft and muffled, shoulders curling in like she could hide from him after all of that, and Jisung just watched her with the phone balanced in his hand and the box resting against his knee, the hotel room suddenly feeling less empty than it had a minute ago.
When she lifted her face again, she was still smiling.
“What?” she asked, too sweetly.
He gave her a look.
She shrugged, small and shameless. “I just asked nicely.”
“You asked nicely,” he repeated.
“Very nicely.”
“Apparently.”
His thumb brushed over the ribbon while he weighed it between both hands.
“So,” he said, “What is it?”
She blinked at him. “You want me to tell you what it is?”
“That’s usually how questions work.”
“No, I don’t think I will.”
He looked up at her. “You don’t think you will?”
She shook her head, mouth tucked into the blanket again.
Jisung gave the box a careful shake. Then another, closer to his ear, frowning when whatever was inside shifted with a dull, strange weight instead of rattling properly. Nothing sharp, nothing loose, just something soft and heavy settling back into place.
“That tells me nothing.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Mhm.” She looked far too comfortable, eyes bright over the edge of the blanket as she watched him turn the box in his hands. “Maybe stop trying to guess and open the damn thing.”
He ignored her, obviously, giving the box another shake like it might suddenly decide to give him a useful answer.
“You’re not going to figure it out like that.” She laughed quietly.
“Give me a hint.”
“No.”
“Not even a small one?”
“Nope.”
“Come on.”
“Nooo.”
He looked back at the screen, eyes narrowing even though the smile was already ruining it. “You’re being such a brat today,” he muttered.
Oh….
Her eyebrows lifted at that.
And that was all it took, barely anything at all, just the smallest shift in her face, and Jisung felt it land low in his stomach before he could pretend he hadn’t noticed.
He pressed his lips together around the laugh trying to get out, suddenly very interested in the ribbon under his fingers.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Oh…. aghmm nothing….” He choked out “You heard wrong.”
“Did I?”
“Bad connection,” he offered. He glanced up at her, then immediately wished he hadn’t, because she was looking at him like she knew exactly how fast he would fold if she pushed even a little.
“I said you’re being very sweet,” he tried, the lie coming out with a grin.
Her eyes narrowed. “Jisung.”
“Yeah?”
“Open it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Pathetic, honestly.
One soft little order through the phone and his hand was already on the ribbon, like his body had skipped right over the part where he was supposed to pretend he had any dignity left. He tried to tug it loose with one hand at first, the box balanced awkwardly against his thigh, but the ribbon only tightened under his thumb and made him huff out a quiet laugh.
“Hold on”
She watched him through the screen while he reached for the nightstand and propped the phone carefully against the lamp, shifting it once, then again, until the camera caught him sitting on the bed with the box in his lap and the robe loose around his waist.
He glanced at the screen. “Can you see me?”
“Mhm.”
He sat back with both hands free now, suddenly a little too aware of the angle, of her eyes on him, of the stupid present waiting under his fingers.
He worked the end loose with his thumb, the ribbon slipping free all at once after making him struggle for no reason at all. It slid off the box throwing it on the sheets beside his knee.
Then he lifted the lid slowly, mostly because she was watching and because he knew she would make fun of him if he got impatient now. He looked inside to find black tissue paper folded neatly over whatever she had gone through all this trouble to hide.
“Very dramatic.”
“You’re welcome.”
He huffed a laugh and peeled the paper back, something tucked underneath, wrapped again in more dark paper, because of course it was, but beside it sat a small bottle that made his fingers pause.
Not because he didn’t know what it was.
Because he was pretty sure he did.
He picked it up first, turning it toward the lamp, then toward the camera, squinting at the label like there was any way to make this less obvious if he read it slowly enough.
“Baby…What is this?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
He looked back down at the bottle, turning it once between his fingers. The liquid inside moved thick and slow, clear against the plastic, clinging to the sides when he tilted it before sliding back down.
He worked the cap open with his thumb and brought it to his nose without thinking, and the scent hit him immediately, sweet, artificial, unmistakable.
His eyebrows shot up. "Strawberry?"
"Your favorite."
He grinned then, sudden, stupid and wide, feeling like a little kid who'd just found his favorite snack in his lunchbox. But the smell had some weird effect on him… burrowing past his thoughts and landing straight in his gut. It brought back the memory of her skin after they'd showered together, the way she'd taste when he kissed down her stomach. His mouth watered as he swallowed, his body remembering before his brain could catch up, blood moving heavy and stupid to his dick.
"Why did you send me lube?" he asked, looking up at the screen.
"Open the rest of the present first… Then you can ask questions."
Jisung glanced down at the box still sitting on the bedspread. The rest of the tissue paper still folded over whatever else was inside. He set the lube down carefully on the nightstand, right where he wouldn't knock it over, and reached back into the box.
The second item was wrapped in the same dark tissue, heavier than the bottle had been, dense and solid when he lifted it out. He peeled the paper back slowly, frowning as the shape emerged in pieces, it was something rounded and irregular.
He turned it over trying to make his brain categorize it. It looked like... what? A sculpture? Some kind of weird stress ball?
The color was slightly translucent, pinkish-peach, detailed with folds and contours that seemed anatomical but his brain refused to register. There was texture to it, soft ridges and a specific arrangement of shapes that his eyes tracked without understanding, following the curve of something that looked like…
Oh.
Jesus fucking Christ.
His hand tightened around it without meaning to, fingers sinking into the soft silicone, and the realization hit him all at once like a physical slap.
It was a toy…
but not just any toy….
A pocket pussy, a fleshlight, whatever the fuck they called it, something designed to be fucked… to mimic the exact shape of…
He looked up at the screen, mouth actually hanging open, and she was watching him with smug satisfaction written all over her face, her eyes bright and her lower lip caught between her teeth.
"Y/n," he asked, and his voice came out rough.
"What?" she asked, filled with innocence, though her cheeks had gone pink, the color spreading down her neck to disappear under the collar of his stolen shirt.
"Is this what I think it is?" He held the thing up toward the camera, gripping it tighter than he probably needed to.
"What do you think it is?"
"It's a…" He stopped, glanced at it again, turned it over to see the entrance from another angle, the soft pink folds molded in perfect, obscene detail. His face burned so bad right now. He could feel it, hot from his cheekbones to his ears, and he dragged his free hand over his mouth, laughing under his breath because he didn't know what else to do.
"You're so fucked up."
She smiled then, and shifted against her pillows. "You don't like it?"
"I didn't say that." He answered too fast, the words tumbling out.
He looked back down at the toy in his hand, turning it over again, thumb tracing along the outer edge where the silicone met the hard plastic base. It didn’t feel cheap or generic.
It was detailed... Too detailed.
The kind of detail that came from scanning, maybe molding? Definitely from replicating something real… His brain snagged on that thought and wouldn't let go.
"Wait, is this…"
There was no way…
Her mouth opened like she had something clever ready, something smug and annoying enough to make him lose his mind a little but a laugh slipped out instead, quiet and breathy, her cheeks going warmer as she tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and looked back at him through the screen like she was trying very hard to pretend she wasn't affected by this too.
But she was, he could see it now, the way her chest moved a little faster, the way her eyes kept dropping to his hands like she couldn't help herself.
Jisung looked back down at the toy, turning it over in his palm, and the thought hit him so hard he actually felt dizzy with it.
There was no way. There was absolutely no fucking way she had just gone out and gotten a mold of her pussy made for him. That was insane…That was porn star shit. That was the kind of thing guys joked about wanting but never actually expected because who the hell would actually do that.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered, and his thumb was already tracing the entrance, feeling how soft it was, how the material gave under pressure.
Before he could talk himself out of it he was pressing his index finger against the opening, feeling the resistance, the way the silicone yielded and then wrapped around him.
The sound he made was embarrassing. A low, broken hum that started in his chest and died somewhere in his throat, his eyes fluttering shut for a second because it felt… it felt like her. The texture, the tightness, the way it gripped his finger when he pushed deeper, sliding in up to the second knuckle. He could feel the internal ridges, the specific contours that matched her body, the places where she was usually tighter, usually softer, and his hips jerked forward involuntarily, his cock throbbing against the robe.
"Fuck," he breathed, opening his eyes to look at her, and she was staring at him with her mouth open, her eyes dark and wide, hand gripping the pillow hard enough to whiten her knuckles.
"Did you just…" His voice came out wrecked, and he cleared his throat, still working his finger slowly in and out because he just couldn't stop… his body was overriding his brain completely.
She laughed, but it was shaky, breathless "What do you think?"
"I think…" He pulled his finger out slowly, watching how the material clung to him, how it tried to suck him back in, and he groaned, low and guttural, dragging his hand over his mouth. "... I think I'm gonna die”
"Does it feel good?" she whispered, her hips shifting under the blankets like she was trying to get friction where she needed it.
"Yeah…" He pressed his finger back in, deeper this time, feeling the texture, and his head dropped back against the headboard, a whine escaping his throat and he couldn't stop the way his hips kept twitching upward like his body was already trying to fuck into something that wasn't there yet.
"Jisung"
She had pushed herself up higher on her elbows, the blanket slipping lower, and her hand had disappeared somewhere beneath the edge of the frame. He couldn't see where, but he could see the way her arm moved, the subtle shift of her shoulder, and his brain supplied the image immediately… her fingers sliding down her stomach, slipping under the waistband of whatever she was wearing under his shirt, finding herself wet and swollen from watching him lose his shit.
“Tell me what it feels like."
"It's…" He choked, pushing his finger deeper just to feel the give of it, the way the ridges inside dragged against his skin. "It's tight… It's so fucking tight, baby, it feels exactly like… " He cut himself off with a gasp, his hips jerking again, cock throbbing. "Like when I'm pushing inside you … you know? when you're already wet but you're still… still squeezing…"
The image hit her hard, her own fingers slipping lower, finding her slick. She was soaked, her underwear useless by now. She imagined his fingers inside her instead of that stupid toy, and her hips rolled against her palm so hard she had to bite her lip to keep herself from moaning too loud.
"Ji…" she breathed. "You're making me so wet.”
Jisung's eyes snapped back to the screen. "Are you touching yourself?"
"Yeah…" she laughed, breathless, her hand moving in tight circles under the blanket. “And am fucking dripping.” She pushed the fabric down with her knee, exposing her legs, her fingers glistening where they moved between her thighs. "Watching you finger that thing like it's me…"
"Shit," he groaned, fucking his finger deeper into the toy. "I wish it was you… wish I could feel how wet you are,…"
"Soon," she promised, her head falling back against the pillow, fingers working faster. "But right now you're going to get that toy nice and ready, aren't you?”
"Yes… yes baby" he nodded fast.
"Get the lube," she ordered, her voice dropping to that rough register that made him stupid. She shifted, the phone wobbling as she adjusted her position.
And then he heard it… a soft, filthy sound, wet and rhythmic, unmistakable.
"Can you hear that, baby?" she asked. " Can you hear how fucking wet I am?”
He whined, high and desperate, “Oh my fuckin…”
"Prep it, just like you would prep me," she interrupted. The slick sounds of her fingers didn't stop, filling the call with how badly she wanted this.
He grabbed the bottle nearly dropping it, his knuckles turning white. "I'm gonna make it so wet.” He whimpered, pouring the lube until it overflowed his palm. "I want it to be exactly like you…" He moaned, long and broken, his cock throbbing untouched against his stomach as he coated his fingers.
"That's it," she murmured, "Doesn't that feel better?”
"Yes," he whined, tightening his grip, pumping his fingers inside once, twice, his wrist twisting at the end the way he knew she liked. "Yes, but it's not… it's not the same, I need …."
“But, doesn’t it feel good?”
"So good," he breathed, pushing deeper, feeling the tight ring of silicone give way around his fingers. He let his head loll to the side, eyes fluttering shut, the heat of his own palm, the way it felt like her even though it wasn't warm like she was. "Baby, it's so soft…"
He pulled his fingers out slowly, watching how they were coated in clear lube, how the toy gaped slightly where he'd opened it, and he poured more directly into the entrance, watching it pool inside.
The sound of her fingers fucking into her cunt matched the rhythm and wetness at his hands.
He pushed three fingers in at once, groaning at the stretch, "Fuck, baby, please…”
"Please what?" she asked.
"Can I fuck it?” He choked, fucking his fingers in deeper, making it wet and messy “Please, I need to fuck it…"
She laughed, soft and breathy, “You wanna fuck it, baby?"
"Yes," he whined, his face burning, "Need it so bad…"
"Show me first," she murmured "Is it ready?"
He obeyed, working his fingers, scissoring them, stretching at the entrance until it yielded properly. The sounds were obscene, the lube dripping out onto his palm "yes.. yes… so ready. Please…."
"Shh," she soothed, "It´s okay baby… you can fuck it..."
He froze, his eyes snapping to hers through the screen. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," she breathed. "But take it slowly.”
He withdrew his fingers, watching how the lube stretched between them and the toy's entrance, filmy and clear, before snapping apart.
He shuddered and pushed the robe wider, exposing his stomach, his hips, his cock where it rested heavy and flushed against his skin. He wrapped his lube-slick fingers around himself and the contact made his hips buck upward immediately, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat. He was throbbing, hot, the skin sensitive and flushed dark pink at the tip where precum beaded and mixed with the clear lubricant. He worked his hand down his length slowly, spreading the mess, watching himself through heavy-lidded eyes.
"God…," she breathed, her eyes fixed on the way his fist fucked his cock. "Look at you."
"Don't… say tha…”
"You're so so pretty Jisung… ahhhgg I miss you so much… miss your pretty cock too”
"Stop," he gasped, his hand tightening around himself without meaning to. "Stop saying shit like that, you know it makes me cum…"
She laughed, breathless, her own fingers moving deeper now.
He groaned, his head falling back, his hand working himself. "Can I put it in?”
"Okay," she murmured, and her voice had gone soft and fond.
His throat was too tight for words as he reached for the molded silicone with shaking hands. He held it against his tip, angling it toward the camera so she could see everything,
“Yeah baby let me see… just like that”
The lube was cool, shockingly so, and he gasped at the contact, his cock throbbing where it kissed the pink folds.
"Just the tip," she commanded him.
He obeyed, dragging himself through the entrance, not penetrating, just sliding through the slick texture, feeling the detailed ridges catch against his sensitive head. The sensation made him so fucking dizzy, it was soft and it gripped him with just enough resistance to make his thighs shake.
"Ngh…" He choked, his hips twitching forward, seeking more. "Baby, please, I can't…"
"You can… I know you can…."
He forced his eyes open, finding her through the haze, and the sight nearly broke him, he could see her hand moving between her legs, her fingers shiny and slick, disappearing inside herself before circling back up to her clit. She was flushed down to her chest, her nipples visible through the worn fabric of his stolen shirt, her mouth parted as she panted.
"Fuck," he whimpered, his cock throbbing against the toy, leaving smears of precum mixing with the lube. "You look… shit, you're gonna make me cum before I'm even inside…”
"No you're not," she said, "You're going to push in slowly… And you're going to tell me how it feels while I fuck myself and pretend it's you."
He sobbed, as he pressed forward, feeling the tight ring of silicone catch around him and he stopped there, shaking, his knuckles white where he gripped the base of the toy.
"Oh god," he gasped, his head falling back, Oh fuck, y/n, it's… it's so tight, it's pulling me in, I need to go deeper, please…"
"Not yet," she breathed, and he heard the wet sound of her fingers speeding up, plunging deeper. "Stay there. That's how I feel when you're first pushing inside me, isn't it? When I'm squeezing around you, trying to pull you deeper even though I'm not ready yet?"
"Yes," he whined, his hips jerking forward involuntarily, seeking more depth, more heat. "Yes, exactly like that…”
"Look what you do to me," she commanded.
He dragged his head up and found her watching him.
"I'm so wet," she told him, her voice breaking slightly. "Mmh… thinking about your cock... bout you inside me…”
"Fuck," he choked out. "I want to be inside you. I want to feel how wet you are…"
Her hips buckled against her hand. "Sink in slowly…. Inch by inch."
He nodded, desperate, and pushed forward. The silicone gripped him, dragged against him, the internal ridges catching on every sensitive spot as he sank deeper. It was torture, pure and simple, the tightness, the texture, the visual of himself disappearing into something shaped exactly to feel like her.
"mghhhhh…" He stopped halfway, his whole body trembling, sweat beading on his forehead. "I can't… it's all too much, I'm gonna fucking cum…."
"But you're doing so well," she encouraged, her own fingers working faster, deeper. “You want to fuck it hard, don't you? You want to just pound into it until you cum?"
"Yes, please, let me fuck it, let me…"
"Not yet," she gasped, and he could tell she was close now, her thighs tensing. "Bottom out baby… Let me see you fill it up."
He groaned and pushed forward until his hips were flush against the base, his cock buried to the root, the sensation was overwhelming.
"Fuck," he gasped, his eyes rolling back. "Oh fuck, baby, I'm… I'm all the way in, so so deep…"
"Good," she panted, her own rhythm faltering, her breath coming in short gasps. "Now fuck it… let me watch while I…."
She broke off with a moan, her fingers circling faster, her hips lifting off the bed. He watched her, watched her face go slack with pleasure, and felt his own control fraying to nothing.
That was all the permission he needed. He pulled back and slammed forward, the wet slap of flesh against silicone filling the room. He cried out, his hips snapping forward again, and again, chasing the friction, the release, the perfect tightness that was almost her, almost enough. The toy gripped him differently than his hand did, tighter, more resistance, the ridges inside dragging against his sensitive head with every thrust. He could feel the lube squelching around him, messy and obscene, dripping down his fingers where he held the base.
"Jisung," she gasped, her own fingers matching his rhythm, plunging deep. "Yes, just like that…. Harder baby… Fuck…”
"Ohhhh noooo," he sobbed, his pace stuttering, becoming erratic. "I'm so close…"
"Noo, no, not yet," she gasped, though her own voice was climbing. "Wait for me. Just… keep fucking it just like that, don't stop…"
He groaned, his hips working faster, harder, the toy gripped tight in his fist as he pounded into it. The silicone was warming up now, taking his heat, feeling less like a toy and more like her with every desperate thrust. He could hear the wet sounds of her fingers on the other end, frantic and messy, and he matched his pace to hers, fucking the toy as his balls tightened, his spine tingling with the warning signs of how close he was.
"Baby," she cried out suddenly, her whole body arching off the bed, her free hand gripping the sheets. "Oh fuck, baby, I'm…"
"Yeah?" he gasped, not slowing down, his hips snapping forward with desperate force. "You gonna cum? You gonna cum watching me fuck your pussy?"
"Yes, yes, yes," she chanted, her voice breaking into a high, desperate keen. "Don't stop, don't stop, I'm…"
He watched her fall apart, her body seizing, her fingers working desperately between her legs as she came. He could see it in the way her thighs trembled, the way her back arched, the way her mouth opened in a silent scream before the sound caught up. She was beautiful like this, wrecked, open, and he wanted to keep fucking her through it, wanted to feel her clench around him as she rode it out.
"Now!” she cried out when she could speak again, "Cum with me, baby…. Fill it up. Pretend it's me."
He slammed forward one last time and held himself there, buried to the root, his whole body going rigid as the orgasm ripped through him. It started deep in his gut, a white-hot pulse that traveled down his spine and exploded out through his cock. He spilled into the toy with a ragged cry, pulse after thick pulse, his hips jerking involuntarily as he emptied himself. He could feel it filling the silicone, hot and messy, overflowing around his shaft and dripping out onto his fingers. It was filthy, obscene, his cum mixing with the lube and leaking out of the toy's entrance, coating his length as he kept thrusting through the aftershocks, slower now, milking himself dry.
"Fuck," He slumped back against the pillows, the silicone still clutched loosely around his softening length. Through the screen, he could see her collapsed against her own pillows, similarly spent, her hand still resting between her legs, her eyes closed, and a satisfied smile playing at her lips.
For a while, all he could do was breathe. Badly, too. He was slumped back against the pillows, robe fucked up around his waist, one hand thrown over his face like that was going to help with any of the damage she had just done to him. His chest heaved, his skin was tacky with sweat and lube and cum, and his brain felt like it had been wrung out completely, left somewhere back around the part where she'd told him to fuck it harder.
And suddenly, amidst all the silence… he laughed.
"What?" She opened one eye at him through the screen.
"I don't even know what to say to you." He dragged his hand over his mouth. "I think my brain broke."
She lifted her head, her hair falling across her face "What, that bad?"
"No." He looked at her "That good. That was... y/n, that was the hottest thing you've ever done."
“Yeah?” She laughed, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on her stomach. "You liked your present?"
"Are you kidding?" He reached for the phone, bringing her closer to his face like that would somehow make this more real. " That was the filthiest fucking thing anyone’s ever done for me and somehow also the sweetest. Like who does that? You're actually insane."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It's a proposal." He was grinning, stupid and smitten, his heart still hammering heavy in his chest. "Marry me. Can I marry you?”
She laughed, tucking her chin against her shoulder, looking at him like he'd lost his mind. “I get you a fake version of my pussy and suddenly you want to put a ring on it?”
“Yeah.” He laughed. “You pull some pornstar shit like that and expect me not to start thinking about forever? Baby, be fucking serious.”
Her smile cracked wider.
“I’m not even joking. Actions have consequen…”
Knock, knock, knock.
Three sharp raps against the door, and they both froze. Jisung's eyes snapped toward the sound, then back to the screen. She had pushed herself up on her elbows, her eyes suddenly wide and alert as she remembered exactly where he was and what state he was in.
“Room service,” a voice called from the hallway, muffled through the door. “Sorry for the delay, sir.”
A/N: Hi loves 💕
First of all, thank you so much for bearing with me and being so patient while I finish the Hyunchan threesome smut. I know I’ve been talking about it for a while, and I promise it hasn’t been forgotten.
As some of you may have seen, lawyer life decided to attack me personally and I had a client get arrested, so I had to put my fandom activities on hold for a bit and go deal with real life... Very rude of real life, honestly.
That being said, the smut is pretty much done. I don’t want to promise an exact date because every time I do, the universe humbles me, but it mostly just needs revision now, so it should be ready soon.
In the meantime, I really hope you enjoy this one. It was so much fun to write, and I missed posting here more than I can explain.
As always, English isn’t my first language, so please be kind.
If you liked this, please let me know what you think. Comments, reblogs, and asks genuinely make my day, and if you want to be tagged in my future works, just tell me.
I beat it till' it's sore, She screaming give me more
pairing: plug!hyunsung x reader
summary: college is shit so you find a plug but they come in two
warnings: SMUT!! dom!hyunsung, drug usage, choking, gagging, deep throating, brief cockwarming, oral (f and m rec), nasty spit play, swallowing saliva, finger sucking, unprotected sex, edging, dacryphilia, everybody high asf, threesome, porn without plot
wc: ~1.9k
erm
Shit, how did this happen?
You barely started the semester, everything went downhill in your life and you needed an immediate way out.
Someone recommended a plug. One plug, but they came in two.
Now you're sprawled onto somebody's couch, arms pinned above your head while they took turns in torturing you.
This is torture.
You want more.
“Shh, pretty. Open wide for me,” Hyunjin coos, knees planted between your parted thighs. He leans forward, cradling your cheek to your neck in a sensual touch. He goes lower, reaching the swell of your breast, “Jisung-ah,” he calls, not paying much attention to anything but your nipple poking at the thin fabric of your blouse. He tweaks it, circling the bud with his thumb.
You writhe, brain foggy and dizzy as the one above brushes the hair sticking to your face. “Han…” you whimper and he hums, smiling down at you like you were stupid. Maybe, at the moment you might have actually been.
“Easy baby,” he says, thumb and middle finger digging into your cheeks, forcing your mouth to form an ‘O’. “Just like that. Ah, ah– a little wider,” his voice is soothing, not noticing the blunt Hyunjin brings to your lips until Jisung clasps your lips shut around it. Forcing you to breathe in along a gasp as Hyunjin squeezes your tits.
Choking, you try to cough the smoke out but Jisung's mouth catches it before it gets the chance to air out. Soft lips wrapping themselves around yours, sucking in the burning smoke with an upside down kiss. You're hardly able to react – to kiss back – he doesn't care though, it's endearing the most. Spit spilling past your lips from the awkward positioning.
“Always such a good girl, look at you now.” Hyunjin says, “I was surprised when you came to us, y'know?” His knee presses harder against your core, letting a whine fall into Jisung's mouth. “You needed it badly, didn't you?”
The question fails to register, however you nod, compliant and putty to the haze that runs through your veins. You tug at your wrists when it gets hard to breathe, needing to break free from Jisung's assault on your lips. He bites onto the tissue, earning a wince from you as he pulls back. “Sorry,” he doesn't sound one bit apologetic, grinning foolishly. Smearing the droplets of blood with the pad of his thumb.
Hyunjin unbuttons your pants, zipper coming off with a swift glide. One second you're covered, the next cool air meets your bare legs. “What–” you blink through, staring down at Hyunjin between your curling legs. He pins them still, spreading you wider for him.
“Pussy so wet,” he comments under his breath, rubbing your clit over your panties. You're shaking, thrashing your head side to side at the sudden pleasurable sensation. It's all too much, the slightest touch feels tenfold with the high hitting you.
“I need to pee,” you excuse weakly, hopelessly trying to close your thighs. Needing an escape. He sighs, clicking his tongue.
“You don't,” he replies, pushing the fabric aside. “What you need is this,” his thumb finds your slick, shivering underneath the contact. “Jisung, fuck. Look at her, such a needy mess.”
The latter follows his friend's gaze, hand snaking to your sobbing cunt. Running two fingers past your arousal, tipping them inside before pulling back. “Look,” Jisung tells you, slapping your cheeks lightly to gather your attention. He parts his fingers, your wetness coating the digits in the dim lighting. The sight is nasty, juices sticky enough to create strings connecting his fingers with each scissor motion. He brings them to your lips, patting your mouth.
You turn to the side, whining a noise of disapproval. This is dirty — yet a part of you wants to fall into the mud.
He hums, bringing them to his lips instead. “Let me show you how,” you probably need someone to take the first step for you. So, he happily does. Obscenely sucking onto his skin, moaning shamelessly at the taste of you. The exit of his digits is messy, tongue probing out with saliva drooling onto his hand. “See?” he says as you watch him with that heavy gaze, eyelids slowly dropping in a trance. He inches towards your mouth once again, nails tickling your skin.
This time, you open up for him. He groans in response, feeling your warm tongue lap at his saliva. “Just like that, want to do this around my cock instead-” It's not a question and you know it, his other hand swiftly rolls off his sweatpants. Focus fully on the bulge straining his boxers, a sliver of his v line peeking from the fabric above and underneath his shirt. Tattoos, you try to read them in lazy blinks, eyes widening at the sudden sensation on your pussy.
“Ah–,” you cry out, searching for the culprit. “Hyun—” your sentence dies out as your mouth is filled to the brim, Jisung taking the opportunity to thrust right in. You strangle, spit gathering at the corners of your mouth with a gag. Your position has him hitting the back of your throat, esophagus tightening with a threat. He whines, hips stuttering at the tight squeeze.
The salty taste of skin and precum hits you a moment later, doing your best to try to breathe in through your nose. The attempts are futile with Hyunjin's lap onto the middle bottom of your body. He moans as your taste hits his tongue, inhaling your scent with his eyes shut. His own head is spinning, not quite grasping what he's eating right now but it's so fucking good. He can't do without it, swallowing your whole pussy with his mouth, his muscle slowly laps at your leakage. Drowning in your juices.
Hyunjin's rings dig into your thighs, the cool metal deliciously contrasting the burn on your skin, holding your trembling legs. He kisses you, sloppy and wet, separating with strings of saliva. He does it again, and again. Lips attaching themselves to your clit, sucking in lightly. His head is pushed back by Jisung, his fingers finding the roots on Hyunjin's scalp. Jisung's thrusts are shallow, using the tight squeeze throat to cockwarm rather than fucking in.
Jisung leaves a peck to your hip, pampering kisses further to your bud. Wrapping his mouth around it. He sucks harder, brimming tears to your eyes while Hyunjin teases your entrance, using Jisung's drool to ease his way inside.
You're losing breath, consciousness fading in with the wave of pleasure. Jisung finally jerks away, indulging in the huge inhale of air you take in, lungs expanding desperately in ragged pants. “Wait… wait–” you slur, lashes fluttering to catch yourself as Jisung climbs off you, hands gripping your shoulders to push you forward. The movement is brusque, the whole room spinning then it's suddenly perpendicular, strange colours clouding your vision.
Nausea hits you head-on, hunching forward in an attempt to get off the couch, however they plant themselves on either side of you. Caging you in the prison of their bodies. You glance up slowly, focusing your eyes to find an angel incarnated.
No, it's Hyunjin.
He gazes down at you, index finding your chin to tilt your face upwards. He sighs, shaky, looking behind your shoulder to Jisung. “Light another one,” he says and the other follows. Undoing your blouse, he slides it past your shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. The smell of smoke fills your nostrils, then a sensation of something soft yet searing on your skin. Not quite registering what, but it feels good.
Jisung passes the blunt to Hyunjin, watching him take an inhale. Hyunjin breathes in, the smoke swirling in his mouth as he brings it to your exposed skin. His burning lips blow the vapour onto your flesh, tongue soothing the burn marks without much consideration paid to your small whines. They paint your skin, tracing the marks with their mouths before sucking down harshly.
A belt clicks, eyes closed tight when they take turns in kissing you. Tongues curling to form a mess at your chin, sucking in the air out of you before forcing you to inhale their own. Your fingers wrap around Hyunjin's arm, nails digging into his bicep as something hard slides between your legs. Hot, everything has been hot – but they don't compare to this.
“Fuuuck,” Jisung swears, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “Baby, I could slip right in–” he shudders, pussy soaked enough to tease the tip inside on every shift of his hips. “You should try, hyung.”
“Yeah?” Hyunjin replies, heavy cock resting in his palm, aligning himself to nudge at your clit. Your thighs quiver, the dual sensation of them rubbing between your folds has you squirming for more. Aching from their endless teasing, your impending orgasm right there, if only one of them just– “Aah!” you cry at the sudden thrust, Jisung bottoming out fully on the first thrust with a loud squelch.
“Shit so wet,” he moans out, stilling inside completely to breathe in, hoping to regain composure. He snaps his hips forward, balls smacking against your cunt, the noise consistent and embarrassing. “You hear that?”
You're drooling, getting bent over Hyunjin as Jisung takes his fill, thighs shaking if it wasn't for Hyunjin supporting your limp body. Cute sounds huffing from your parted lips with each thrust, clawing at Hyunjin for balance. Jisung kneads your cheeks, spreading you wider to catch a better view of his cock splitting you open, juices overflowing past your labia down your thighs. You're gripping him so tightly, snuggly keeping him inside, not letting him draw out. His noises turn pathetic, biting at your shoulder to muffle his whimpers and groans.
It's too much, white clouding your mind as Hyunjin's fingers circle your clit in small motions, bringing you as close to the edge as possible before cruelly snatching it from you. Jisung pulls out, your hole gaping and begging for him to come back inside. “Not yet.”
“Why–” you demand in a sob, though it's quickly morphed into a moan as you're stuffed full once again. Hyunjin's cock moves inside you, throwing you onto Jisung's chest, the curve of his muscles flat against your spine with how Hyunjin drills into you. His thumb meets your clit again, pushing one leg on his shoulder to gain a better angle.
“This is how pussy should sound like, our pretty girl.” he says, voice breaking from your warmth alone. Your palm flies to your mouth, Jisung catches it before you're able to hide your moans, using your opened mouth to spit into it. You pause, the hesitation fading as quick as it came, swallowing his saliva obediently. Hyunjin's thrusts knock that one spot inside that has you all sensitive and gooey, hitting it over and over till you can't muster any thought other than them and the shape of their cocks and the swell of their lips against you.
Jisung gropes at your tits, thumbs twisting and pinching your nipples, pulling at them deliciously. You throb around Hyunjin, pussy spasming for release. To your dismay, he draws out, pushing the head between your lips before sitting back. He smiles at the tears that spill past your cheek, glancing at Jisung.
NEVER HAVE I EVER… FUCKED MY PROFESSOR FOR AN A+ 、 bc
──── ❛ you might be failing professor bang’s class, but you’re about to ace his extra-credit assignment
❪ 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 ❫ ﹒﹒ bc x f!reader 𝟯｡𝟳𝗸 smut prof!chan x student reader age gap semi-public sex desk sex cunnilingus p in v creampie
reblog4kiss ・・・ ❤︎
a massive, bright red F stared back at you from the top corner of your midterm paper.
it wasn’t just a regular failing grade. it was circled so hard that the red ink had bled through to the next page, practically mocking you. below it, in a neat, perfectly legible cursive script, was a note: please see me during office hours to discuss your standing in this course. – professor bang.
“oof. that is brutal,” your friend lena whispered, leaning over your shoulder to look at the paper. “I thought you at least got a C on that essay”
“i thought so too,” you groaned, dropping your forehead onto the wooden desk with a dull thud. the lecture hall was slowly emptying around you as students packed up their laptops and notebooks, laughing and talking about their plans for the weekend. you, on the other hand, felt like your chest was collapsing. “i’m literally on the brink of failing. if i don't pass this class, i lose my financial aid. i’m dead, lena. actually dead”
“well,” lena said, zipping up her backpack and giving you a look that immediately made you suspicious. “you know there’s an easy way out of this, right? kill two birds with one stone”
you lifted your head, squinting at her. “what are you talking about?”
“come on. everyone in this department knows professor bang is the hottest guy on campus. and everyone also knows you have a massive, pathetic crush on him. you literally turn red every time he calls on you in class”
“he’s my professor," you hissed, looking around quickly to make sure no one was listening. “and he’s older than me. it’s just a harmless crush. he’s brilliant, okay? it’s intellectual appreciation”
“sure, let’s call it that,” lena smirked, leaning closer. “look, i dare you. seduce him. go to his office hours, look cute, cry a little bit if you have to, and get him to raise your grade. you finally get to make a move on the man of your dreams, and you don’t lose your college funding. it’s a win-win”
“are you insane?” you shoved your failing paper into your bag, your heart doing a nervous flip just at the mention of it. “that’s academic misconduct. if i get caught, i’ll get expelled. plus, he would never. he’s incredibly professional. he doesn't even look at students that way”
“you don't know until you try,” lena said, patting your shoulder as she stood up. “think about it. unless you want to retake advanced sociological theory over the summer”
you watched her walk away, your stomach twisting into tight knots. the idea was terrifying. professor bang—chan, as you secretly called him in your head—was thirty-two, incredibly sharp, and carried himself with a quiet, polite confidence that made half the student body swoon. he wore well-fitted sweaters, glasses that sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose, and he always treated everyone with a kindness that felt entirely too genuine for a university professor.
you had spent the last seven months sitting in the third row, completely mesmerized by the way his hands moved when he lectured, or the deep, rumbling quality of his voice. but actually trying to get into his bed just for a passing grade? it was cheap. it was desperate. you couldn't do it.
the universe, however, seemed to have other plans.
over the next few days, it felt like you couldn't escape him. it started on thursday morning when you rushed into the campus coffee shop, completely drenched from a sudden downpour. you were shivering, your hair plastered to your face, trying to wipe the water off your phone screen.
“here, use this”
a clean, white napkin appeared in your field of vision. you looked up, blinking back the rainwater, and your heart stopped.
chan was standing right next to you, holding a steaming travel mug. he wasn't wearing his usual structured blazer today—just a soft, dark gray hoodie that made him look incredibly approachable, almost ordinary, if he wasn't so strikingly handsome. his hair was slightly damp, curling up at the ends.
“professor bang,” you stammered, taking the napkin. “uh, thank you”
“rough morning?” he offered you a small, warm smile. the crinkles around his eyes appeared, the ones you usually only saw from thirty feet away in the lecture hall. “the weather forecast completely lied to us today”
“yeah,” you muttered, frantically dabbing at your wet shirt, acutely aware of how messy you looked. “i forgot my umbrella. and my laptop is in my bag, so i’m just praying it didn't get ruined”
“if it did, let me know,” he said, his tone softening. “i can give you an extension on the weekly reading response if your tech is fried. i know you've been having a stressful semester”
you froze, looking into his dark eyes. he sounded so genuinely concerned that a wave of guilt hit you. he was being nice, and your best friend was currently text-nagging you to sleep with him for a B+.
“thank you,” you whispered. “i appreciate it”
“of course. get a warm drink,” he said, giving you a polite nod before turning to walk out into the rain. you watched his broad shoulders disappear through the glass doors, your chest aching with a strange mix of panic and longing.
the second accidental meeting happened on friday night. you had stayed late at the campus library, desperately trying to rewrite an assignment, but by 9:00 PM, your brain was completely fried. you packed up your things and walked down the quiet, dimly lit stairs of the social sciences building to head home.
as you pushed the heavy exit doors open, you ran straight into a solid chest.
books and loose papers went flying across the concrete stairs. you gasped, stumbling backward, but a strong hand instantly caught your forearm, steadying you before you could fall.
“whoa, careful,” a familiar voice said.
you looked up. it was him. again. he was holding a stack of graded essays, a few of which had scattered onto the floor. he looked tired, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose, his tie loosened at his collar.
“i am so sorry!” you cried, immediately dropping to your knees to help him gather the papers. “i wasn't looking where i was going, i’m so clumsy-”
“hey, it's fine. don't worry about it,” chan said, kneeling down right across from you. as you both reached for a fallen syllabus, your fingers brushed against his. a jolt of pure electricity shot up your arm. you pulled your hand back quickly, your cheeks instantly burning hot.
chan paused, his eyes dropping to your hand, then moving up to your face. in the dim light of the streetlamp, his gaze felt incredibly intense, much heavier than it ever did during class.
“you're working late,” he noted softly, stacking the papers neatly.
“just trying to save my grade,” you said, a bitter, nervous laugh escaping your lips. “i’m not doing very well in your class, professor”
chan stood up, offering you a hand to help you up. you hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing your hand in his. his grip was warm, firm, and completely steady. he didn't let go immediately after you stood up; his eyes searched yours for a long moment, scanning the dark circles under your eyes.
“you're smart,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, sounding deeply personal in the quiet night air. “i read your admission essay from last year. you have a lot of potential. you just seem... distracted lately”
because i spend the entire lecture staring at your mouth, you thought, a wave of sheer panic washing over you.
“i’ll try harder,” you managed to say, your voice trembling slightly.
“come to my office hours on monday,” chan said, finally releasing your hand, though his fingers lingered against your skin for a split second. “we'll figure something out. i don't want to see you fail”
by the time monday afternoon rolled around, you were a complete nervous wreck.
you had spent the entire weekend staring at your ceiling, lena’s voice ringing in your ears. seduce him. raise your grade. kill two birds with one stone. you had dismissed it as a joke initially, but after the library stairs—after the way he had looked at you, the way his hand had felt—a reckless, dangerous curiosity had taken root in your mind. what if he was interested? what if he was just as frustrated by the professional boundary as you were?
you stood outside his office door, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. you had taken a little extra time on your appearance today and you left your hair down. it wasn't overt, but it was deliberate.
you took a deep breath and knocked.
“come in,” his voice called out from inside.
you pushed the door open. chan’s office was small, crammed with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, stacks of research journals, and a large mahogany desk in the center. he was sitting behind it, typing away on his laptop. he looked up, and the moment his eyes landed on you, he closed his computer.
“ah. come on in,” he said, leaning back in his chair. he took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose before looking back up at you with a welcoming smile. “sit down”
you walked in, the heavy door clicking shut behind you. you sat in the low leather chair across from his desk, clutching your notebook like a shield.
“so,” chan started, reaching for your midterm paper, which was sitting on a stack to his left. “let’s talk about this midterm. i was surprised by the result. your thesis statement was completely unfocused.”
“i know,” you said quietly, looking down at your lap. “i had a really hard time organizing my thoughts for this one”
“it’s not just this paper,” chan said gently, his tone firm but entirely devoid of malice. he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk, bringing himself closer to you. “your quiz grades have been dropping, and you haven't been participating in class discussions. if this keeps up, you’re looking at a D or an F for the semester. i can’t curve a grade that low, no matter how much I want to”
no matter how much I want to.
the phrase hung in the air, fueling the tiny, reckless spark inside your chest. you looked up from your lap, meeting his eyes. he looked so professional, so completely out of reach, but you were desperate. you needed this grade, and more than that, you wanted him.
“is there... anything i can do to fix it?” you asked, your voice dropping into a softer, quieter tone. you leaned forward slightly, resting your elbows on his desk, mimicking his posture. “any extra credit? anything at all, professor?”
chan’s eyes narrowed slightly. he didn't move, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to your eyes. the atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted, the air becoming thick, heavy, and charged with an undeniable tension.
“extra credit?” he repeated, his voice low.
“yeah,” you murmured, your heart beating so hard you were certain he could hear it. you reached out, your hand moving slowly across the smooth dark wood of his desk until your fingertips were just an inch away from his forearm. you looked at him through your eyelashes, your chest heaving with shallow breaths. “i’m willing to do whatever it takes to pass this class. truly. i really need your help, chan”
the slip of his actual name cut through the professional quiet of the room like a physical shock.
chan looked down at your hand on his desk. for a long, agonizing three seconds, he didn't move. you held your breath, a sudden wave of sheer terror washing over you. i messed up, you thought, your stomach dropping. he’s going to report me. i’m going to get expelled.
but then, chan moved.
he didn’t pull away. instead, he reached out, his large, warm hand completely covering yours, pinning your fingers to the desk. he stood up slowly, his towering frame casting a long shadow over you. he walked around the perimeter of the desk, his movements calm and entirely deliberate, until he was standing right beside your chair.
“close the blinds,” he said, his voice incredibly deep, rougher than you had ever heard it.
you blinked, your brain scrambling to catch up. “what?”
“the blinds,” chan repeated, turning his head to look at the large glass window that faced the inner courtyard of the building. “if you’re going to talk about extra credit, i suggest we have some privacy”
your trembling legs barely carried you as you stood up. you walked over to the window, your fingers shaking as you pulled the cord, the plastic slats tilting shut and plunging the office into a dim, shadow-filled seclusion. when you turned back around, chan was leaning against the edge of his desk, his arms crossed over his chest, watching you with an intensity that made your knees feel weak.
“you’ve been staring at me during lectures for three months,” chan said, his tone entirely blunt, stripping away the professor persona completely. “did you really think i didn’t notice?”
you swallowed hard, stepping back toward him. “i... i didn’t think you cared”
“i shouldn’t care,” he said, a quiet, frustrated breath escaping his lips. he reached up, loosening his tie with one hand and pulling it over his head, tossing it onto his desk. “it’s against university policy. it’s unethical. i could lose my tenure”
“then why are you closing the blinds?” you whispered, stopping just inches from him. the scent of his expensive cologne and warm skin was dizzying.
chan reached out, his hands wrapping securely around your waist. his grip was firm, his fingers digging into the fabric of your sweater as he lifted you effortlessly, setting you down on the edge of his mahogany desk. notebooks and papers scattered to the floor, but neither of you cared.
“because i’m tired of watching you look at me like that from the third row,” chan muttered, stepping into the space between your thighs. he leaned down, his face halting inches from yours, his dark eyes burning with a hunger that had clearly been restrained for a very long time. “if you’re going to try and play this game to fix your grade, you better be ready for the consequences”
“i am,” you breathed, your hands reaching up to grip his broad shoulders.
chan didn’t hesitate. he leaned in, his mouth crashing against yours in a deep, heavy kiss that completely stole the air from your lungs. it wasn’t gentle, and it wasn’t polite. it was the release of months of pent-up frustration. his tongue slid into your mouth, tasting you hungrily, his hands sliding up your back to pull you flush against his chest. you moaned into the kiss, your fingers tangling into his soft hair, pulling him closer as the sheer thrill of it consumed you.
he pulled back just an inch, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps against your lips. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, his voice thick.
before you could answer, chan slid down to his knees on the floor between your parted legs.
your breath caught sharply in your throat, your hands gripping the edge of the wooden desk for balance. chan looked up at you from the floor, his expression entirely dark and focused. he reached out, his hands sliding up your legs, pushing your skirt up until it was bunched around your waist. he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs in one smooth motion and tossing them aside.
“chan, wait-” you gasped, the reality of where you were hitting you all at once. “in your office? what if someone knocks?”
“the door locks automatically,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. “be quiet”
he leaned forward, his hands gripping your thighs tightly, spreading you wide on the edge of the desk. he dipped his head, his warm breath fanning across your bare skin before his tongue made direct contact with your pussy.
a loud, broken gasp escaped your lips. you immediately clamped your hand over your mouth, your eyes widening in pure shock. the sensation was incredible. chan was ruthless, his tongue sweeping upward in long, wet, heavy strokes that hit your clit with perfect accuracy. he knew exactly what he was doing. he used his fingers to stretch you open, his thumb rubbing small circles right against your folds while his mouth created a deep, wet suction on your clit.
the sound of his tongue against your slick skin echoed softly in the quiet office. you threw your head back, your chest heaving as the pleasure began to coil tightly in your stomach. he picked up the pace, his mouth becoming hungrier, drinking you in as your body began to tremble.
“chan... please,” you whimpered against your palm, your hips helplessly rolling against his face, trying to chase the friction.
he didn’t slow down. he kept his two fingers plunged deep inside your wet warmth, mimicking a fast, driving rhythm while his tongue continued to assault your clit. the double stimulation was completely overwhelming. your mind went entirely blank, your muscles locking up as a massive, shuddering orgasm crashed over you. you moaned loudly against your hand, your thighs shaking violently against his shoulders as your body released everything.
chan didn't let you recover.
he kept his fingers inside you, feeling the tight, rhythmic contractions of your climax. as your breathing began to slow, he pulled his mouth back just enough to look up at you, his lips and chin slick with your moisture. a slow, dark smirk touched his lips.
“we’re not done,” he murmured, his voice incredibly deep. “that was just for me. now let’s fix that grade”
he stood up while unbuttoning his shirt, though he left it hanging on by the shoulders, unbuckled his belt and shedded his trousers in one fluid motion. his boxers followed, revealing his heavy, fully hardened cock pulsing in the dim light of the office. he looked entirely magnificent, his broad chest and tensed abs glistening with a light sheen of sweat.
he stepped back into the space between your legs, his hands gripping your waist to pull you right to the absolute edge of the desk. he guided his tip against your completely drenched entrance, tapping it twice against your sensitive clit, making you let out a needy whimper.
“look at me,” chan commanded softly, his dark eyes locking onto yours.
you looked up at him, your fingernails digging into the wood of his desk for support. in one smooth, heavy motion, chan drove himself entirely inside you.
a strangled moan escaped your throat, your head falling back as he filled you to the absolute brim. the sheer fullness of him after being eaten out was an unbelievable, overwhelming sensation. you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him closer as he began to move, his hips slamming forward in a steady, heavy rhythm.
the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed loudly in the office, mixing with your breathless cries. chan was relentless, his pace fast and heavy, his jaw clenched tightly as he looked down at your flushed face.
“f-fuck, you're so tight,” he gasped, his hands moving to grip your thighs, lifting your legs higher to angle his thrusts deeper. every single push hit your sweet spot with an accuracy that made your toes curl.
“chan... faster... please,” you whimpered, completely lost in the sensation of him filling you, your previous anxiety entirely forgotten.
he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming shorter, faster, and completely relentless. you were dancing on the edge of another orgasm, your stomach tightening for the second time that afternoon. chan let out a broken moan, his breathing completely ragged as he delivered five final, heavy thrusts, burying himself as deeply as possible inside you before his body locked up completely.
he came inside you with a shuddering sigh, his chest heaving as he collapsed forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck. your own release triggered right along with his, a final, lingering wave of intense pleasure that left both of you completely spent, trembling against the mahogany desk.
the room fell completely silent, save for the frantic, heavy panting of your lungs.
after a few long minutes, chan slowly shifted his weight, pulling out of you with a soft sigh. he reached around, grabbing a tissue from his desk to gently wipe you down before helping you slide off the desk. your legs were shaking so badly you almost collapsed, but his strong arms caught you immediately, holding you steady against his chest.
he reached down, picked up your underwear from the floor, and handed them to you with a quiet, gentle smile—the familiar, polite professor persona slowly returning, though his eyes still carried a lingering heat.
you quickly pulled your clothes back into place, smoothing down your sweater, your face burning with a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction.
chan walked back around his desk, pulling his trousers back on and buckling his belt. he picked up his tie, folding it neatly and putting it in his pocket, before opening his laptop once more. his fingers flew across the keyboard for a brief five seconds.
“there,” chan said softly, turning the screen around so you could see it.
you looked at the university grading portal. next to your midterm assignment, the bright red F was gone. in its place was a solid, perfect A-.
“you’ll still need to study for the final exam,” chan said, his tone returning to that professional, calm cadence, though a wicked, teasing glint danced in his eyes. “but i think we can arrange a few more extra credit sessions in my office before the semester ends to make sure you stay on track”
you let out a breathless, happy laugh, walking over to the door. “thank you, professor bang”
“happy to help,” chan murmured, watching you with a warm smile as you unlocked the door and stepped back out into the hallway, your heart light and your financial aid completely secure.
bro i put my whole heart, soul and coochie into this so PLEASE for the love of everything don’t leave empty likes and actually interact with me i beg😭🙏🙏
taglist 🏷️ @kloversung @yngjgn @stryscribbles @cherryblogger2003 @quokkaine @g0matchi @hyvnesangel @scoeng @gyuzies @hyunjinswife4ever @sturnsxbitvh @hanjisungs-favorite @miunicornfluff @viisstrayy @mvkas @twiddlehee @strawberristhings @lovecase @galaxygurlll @beablythie @fizzy0719・・・ click here to be added !
pairing: STEM!nerdsung x psych!f!reader, established relationships
genre/tags: college au, explicit content, porn with no plot, oral (m!receiving), brief facef*cking, c*m eating, unprotected sex, slight breeding k*nk maybe, creampie, sub!sung (*the crowd screams*)
word count: 2.7k
synopsis: Drive doctrine, or drive theory, refers to the attempts to classify and define the instinctual needs that influence the behavior of an individual.
Jisung looks like the last person who'd sneak his girlfriend into an empty classroom between lectures, but that's exactly how it works.
[a/n] this is from march...it took a while to finish bc i'm slow oops. (this was also scheduled on may 25 hehe)
⋆˚࿔ more nerdsung ⋆ masterlist
There were definite perks to having an unassuming boyfriend.
Firstly, Jisung wasn’t cocky. Sure, he had that “sleeper build” thing going on, with floppy, long hair and warm brown eyes, but he acted like he was the lucky one. Every little gesture from you - praising his grades, holding his hand, fixing his collar, bringing him snacks - earned you a soft, grateful smile and a deep blush. He sincerely couldn’t believe you were all his.
Moreover, other girls didn’t bother flirting with him. Not that he’d ever give them the time of day; he was loyal to a fault, and you knew it. But it was nice not having to silently duel over your man. It took a certain level of taste to appreciate a guy who spent his evenings watching VTuber karaoke streams. You had such superior opinions.
Lastly and most importantly, nobody ever questioned why he, of all people, had the keys to a spare classroom tucked away in the back of the science building.
You’d learned early on that all it took was one flirty message, a suggestive emoji, or - on particularly stressful days - a shameless selfie with a "come get me" caption, and Jisung was yours. It didn’t matter what he was doing. Studying. Gaming. Waiting in line for boba. The moment his phone buzzed and your name popped up, he was one of Pavlov’s dogs. He’d blush to his ears, and then start moving, key already in hand.
Today was a little different, to say the least. He simply texted, “y/n,” with nothing else. You replied with a single question mark, trying not to jump to conclusions but he usually wasn’t so stark. He responded quickly, though, and matter-of-factly.
spare room in 15 mins
please.
Now you sat perched on one of the tables, slightly out of breath and legs impatiently swinging, heart threatening to escape from your ribs. The empty science classroom smelled faintly of antiseptic and whiteboard markers, but there was something oddly romantic about it, for the same reason poets fucked in graveyards.
When the door finally creaked open, he peeked in like he was expecting a trap, as if he hadn’t set it himself.
“Took you long enough,” you sighed.
He shut the door behind him and locked it with a quiet click. “I had to pretend I wasn’t speed-walking,” he mumbled, eyes already darting over you.
You leaned back on your hands, giving him a slow once-over. “You know, I was in the middle of something. I have two quizzes due tomorrow.”
He shrugged sheepishly, unable to choose between feeling guilty or not.
You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense but you were oh so impressed. “It wasn’t exactly a polite request.”
He stopped in front of you, hands settling on either side of your thighs, gaze piercing but unsteady, but his cheeks tinged pink.
“No,” he said softly. “But I knew you’d come anyway.”
He leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted across your cheek, warm and uneven. His hands moved and settled lightly on your hips, as if afraid to hold you too tightly like he craved. Then, with a quiet kind of boldness, he pressed a delicate, deliberate kiss to your jaw. He’d never say it out loud, but there was something about that spot that made it his favorite. Something about the way you’d tilt your head just slightly, letting him in. He was grateful you had worn a low tank top that day because he could freely nip at your collarbones and even squish his face into the little bit of cleavage that escaped.
You groaned contentedly as you threaded your fingers through his hair, guiding him closer. You could feel his hard-on through his thin sweats and your skimpy yoga shorts, a spot on him already damp in anticipation. You rolled your hips forward, earning a squeaky gasp.
He popped up suddenly, his fluffy bangs already a mess and his lips red. When he spoke, it was in a hoarse whisper, on the verge of a plea. His eyes refused to meet yours, half not wanting to betray his desperation, half distracted by the teeny red marks he decorated on your chest.
“Y/n, I’ve thought about you all day a-and say no if this is too sudden but I c-can’t sit in another three hour lecture like this—“
You let out a gentle laugh as you tightened your grip in his hair, tugging so he finally met your eyes. It wasn’t that his request was funny - it was the way he still couldn’t believe you wanted him. Like it didn’t matter how many times you showed up or how often it’d be you pining for him, he couldn’t accept how badly you ached for him back.
“Jisung,” you drawled, “just ask.”
Your hand came around to cradle his plush cheeks, holding his gaze to yours. He was already a mess, lashes damp and glittering, lips parted like he was just barely holding it together. It made your heart skip.
“I said ask.”
He gulped. “Baby, can you suck me off? P-please, I—“
You kissed him, sweetly, almost innocently, and then pulled back just enough to flash him a smile that was anything but. His eyes fluttered, dazed already, and you took full advantage. You made sure to drag your hips along the length of him on the way down as you bounced off the table, quick yet shameless. He let out a choked moan, quickly gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
You caught his wrists with a quick, confident grip, spinning him with a grin as you guided his back into the table. He didn’t even hesitate, hands now splaying across the surface behind him.
With a mischievous giggle, you knelt down, kissing him along the way and shivering slightly as your bare knees finally made contact with the cold floor. All the while, Jisung already looked wrecked, breathing labored and his eyes clamped shut.
You tug down his sweats and boxers, releasing his eager cock. It was already such a pretty sight - pink, leaking, and twitching against his surprisingly taut stomach. It made you practically giddy knowing how badly he wanted you.
“Ji,” you called playfully, squeezing at his thighs so he would look you. Once he did, his eyes were glassy and his cheeks tinged red. You giggled at the sight before you leaned forward and dragged your tongue from the base to tip, staring right at him through your lashes.
“Sh-shit,” he stuttered, throwing his head back. His legs shook as you gleefully licked him again but stopping right before you reached the tip. Instead, you put the flat of your tongue to the swollen head and slowly lapped at his precum. You made sure to be as lewd as possible, humming happily as you attempted to clean him in vain. Jisung tried to stifle a groan, not wanting to seem ungrateful but needing so much more.
You did smirk proudly a little before wrapping your lips around him. You paused at the tip for a moment, showing him care and devotion as you practically made out with it. Eventually, because he was trying his damnedest not to rut into you, you slid down softly, but only with so much pressure. It was still enough to make him gasp. You sucked deeper the more he shuddered, needing him to unravel properly first. Your hand stroked what couldn’t fit, slow and steady, spit running down your fingers and wrist.
“Oh my god, baby,” he whispered. “Oh my god—“
The echoes in the stark room seemed louder than usual, every motion and movement amplified, vulgar and wet. Jisung’s heart thumped painfully, nervous energy making his palms a little clammy. But if he was being honest with himself - and he absolutely wasn’t - the thrill of possibly being caught only made his pulse race faster. There wasn’t a sight in the world he loved more than you, all focused on him like he and his dick were the only things that mattered, and he so badly liked the idea of showing that off.
You paused to breath, sliding your swollen lips off, spit clinging him to you in a salacious sight. You looked beautiful all red and sweaty and unbecoming but you didn’t have permission to stop. Bravely, he laced a hand through your hair, pulling you closer. You messily took him in once again, drooling down his shaft. He whimpered, pathetically and loudly, at the sudden touch. You blinked at the gesture, caught between protest and pride. His hips twitched forward hopefully, creeping towards his high.
“Don’t stop—please, don’t—“
He fucked your mouth, accidentally. He was distracted by his own desperation. Your mouth was so warm, so quick. He could feel his tip hit the back of your throat, but you never faltered. Your eyes rolled sinfully, one hand stroking him torturously while the other pawed at his balls.
“You’re so good,” he whined. “You’re always so good. I-I can’t last any longer.“
Jisung struggled to breath as his movements grew frantic. You only matched his deprivation. His knuckles turned white as they held harder in your hair. His entire body tensed before he shot, flooding your mouth with his cum.
Like a saint, like an angel sent down to test him and he failed miserably every time, you drank every drop. You swallowed everything, a content grin sparkling across your face and in your eyes.
POP!
After you released him, with your sore tongue and red lips, you lapped at him, humming to yourself and not wasting anything. All the while, your hand still stroked him evilly slow. He gaped at you, on the verge of actual tears.
“B-baby,” he stammered. “You’re too much.”
You didn’t look at him and spoke to twitching cock. “I like making you cum. I like how big and long it is. I like it when it scratches my throat—“
He groaned, his heart pounding violently in his chest and down below.
“I like when the way it tastes,” you sang as he was melted into a simpering disaster once more. “I love the way you taste, Sungie.” He was going to sob. That nickname signaled nothing good from you.
“Wanna taste?”
He laughed. He actually guffawed stupidly as you rose to meet him. You held his face with loving gentleness, his mouth parting instinctively. You spit him down his throat before kissing him. It was clumsy, hungry. Breaths gasping, moans vibrating deep within one another, teeth grazed, hands entangled in his hair and his hands latched firmly to your ass. You broke away quickly, taking his bottom lip with him.
“I want you to come inside me.” You batted your eyes as if you had only asked him for the time.
Jisung couldn’t decide how to react. He could either cry where he stood, half naked and dick twitching, or fuck you on the floor without another word being uttered. He sighed your name, a neutral position as he head spun.
You already made up your mind. You pushed him off and slid onto the table with the air of gleeful nonchalance, legs blissfully open and face only faintly flushed. You merely sat, as if waiting for a bus. It drove Jisung nuts. He scrambled over to you, head and arms before his feet, frantically peeling down your shorts and panties once his shaking hands found you. He could’ve came right there seeing how soaked you were already. Ever the gentleman, he stuck two fingers inside you first to get you comfortable. They sank into with a squishy, wet sound.
You moaned, high-pitched and greedy. “N-no, I said cum inside me.”
You grabbed him by the wrist and forced him to taste you on his own digits. You’d think that was all he’d be permitted. You grinned wide at the obscenity of it all.
You took advantage of how far gone he was already and handled his slippery cock yourself. It twitched pathetically in your hand, searching for you. In a quick movement, you wrapped your legs around him and sank fully into you.
“Put a baby in me, Ji,” you whispered as he fell onto you. “They’d be so smart, right? They’d take after their daddy.”
His only response was a high, repressed moan muffled against your chest. He was too pussy-drunk to even kiss or bite at your tits. All he understood was that your warm cunt fit perfectly around him and it was his duty to fuck it. His hips moved on instinct, the rest of his body shaking.
“Fuck, I’m yours,” he mumbled. “All of me…every drop—“
His breaths were labored and loud, echoing across the room, probably ringing enough that he could heard be outside. He didn’t care. He was entranced, whining; he could feel his leftover cum leak from you as he slowly pushed into you. He allowed himself a peek and it only made him bury himself deeper, bottoming out until your hole overflowed unto the shiny surface.
“S-so fucking good—“
Your back arched when you felt him finally hit your sweet spot. You helped him along by jerking your own hips, so your cervix hit his tip dully inside of you.
The sensation made him lose what little control he had. His fingertips dug bitingly into your hips and pushed you flat unto the table. You were startled by the sudden cold on your back, but you didn’t really have time to register much - his movements got faster. He was sloppy and volatile, concentrating only each strangled moan of his name as you let him pound into you.
“D-don’t stop,” you gagged, barely audible above his own groans. “This pussy is yours. Use it.”
He wasn’t lasting much longer.
Mercilessly, he threw one of your legs over his shoulder, so he could frantically pick up the pace even more. He was panting, whimpering like hell was a sopping wet cunt and a pretty girl screaming his name.
He was overwhelmed by all his senses. You were tight, choking him; your breasts bounced in time to his frenetic pace; your hands gripped his hair like your last tie to reality; the room was symphony of moans, splashing holes, and cut-off names and curses. His chest was warm with the comfort that only his cock got the honor of fucking you senseless.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he babbled against your sweaty skin.
You kissed him - down his jaw, across his chest. His breath hitched and his pace stuttered.
“Fill me up, Jisung,” you gasped. “Cum, please. Pretty please.”
He was ruined. Your mouth was favorite thing about you. Every movement was crazed and messy and starved. He desperately rammed into you through broken moans. The wet sounds of your bodies resounded in the empty classroom as he chased you, his hips irregular and cruel. He finally thrust hard one last time, deep against your cervix, grinding his seed.
Your orgasm ran into you at the same time, your poor cunt spasming around his cock. Every muscle in your body tightened and clung to him. Heat radiated from your tummy outward.
But Jisung didn’t stop. Not even as he erupted and spilled amply again, he kept thrusting into your ruined hole, unable to think straight. Each pulse agressive and needy.
“I can’t stop,” he cried. “You’re so full, you have to be full. I’m sorry.” His whimpers made up for everything.
He dropped his head once more to your shoulder once his own body failed to continue any longer, heaving lethargic inhales. He slowed gradually, sniffling from the sensitivity. He carefully unwrapped you from around him and eventually pulled out with a wince. You were left to ungracefully flop on the table as he barely held himself up with his arms.
What a mess.
You two were sweaty, achy, panting. His glasses were crooked, possibly permanently, useless in front of watery, glassy eyes. You saw stars in the fluorescents. You were both flushed, across faces, chests, in the tips of ears. Hair was damp, his curls frizzy from the friction. Together - exhausted, but happy.
“There’re,” you began, “baby wipes in my bag.”
“I don’t think I can walk,” he admitted with a thousand-yard stare.
You propped yourself up with difficulty - you were slippery. “I did the most work. My bag is on the floor.”
“With my dignity,” he mumbled with a soft laugh as he tottered away.
cw. soft dubcon-ish at the start, 9th member reader, chan's whipped and desperate and a perv (and fucks you like his life depends on it), wc. 2680 minors dni.
note. it's been a while but i haven't forgotten the 7k event :)) this turned out softer than i expected... might post a noncon version of the same story if there's enough interest! prompt: #31 "shh. go back to sleep."
you're not sure what wakes you.
for a moment you think it's the dream you were having; something about the choreography you kept messing up today and the steady hold of chan's hands on your waist after he pushed minho aside to correct your posture himself. you recall his breath chilling the sweat on your nape as he counted the beats. how close he'd been standing and how difficult it'd been to not step back and press yourself against him.
the hand on your hip shifts. your foggy brain struggles to catch up, your small room still dark except for the faint glow of city lights bleeding through a crack in the curtains. you can barely make out the shape of your desk chair, clothes piled on it. then you notice the warmth of a body behind you, and your pulse jumps —
"hey, it's just me."
chan's voice, barely above a whisper, but you'd recognise it anywhere. you blink hard to try and clear your sleepy haze, stifling a surprised whimper when his thumb brushes over your bare thigh. your heart is still hammering away in your chest, adrenaline and confusion jumbling together. you open your mouth to ask him what he's doing in your room, in your bed, but no words come out.
his hand finds your shoulder, its warmth bleeding through the thin cotton of your sleep shirt. his fingers gently curl around the curve of your arm. they move with a deliberate, soothing motion, the kind of thing he does when a member is having a panic attack or breaks down after an intense performance. but his hand doesn't move away this time. it lingers, thumb stroking in a slow, deliberate path down your arm.
"i heard you calling out my name… thought you were having a nightmare."
the dream. your face burns, and you're grateful for the darkness shielding your expression from him. the way he'd positioned you, his hands firm on your body, not unlike now…
his hand slides from your shoulder to the side of your neck. his palm covers the column of your throat, not pressing, just resting there. you desperately try to control the frantic beating of your heart, and you know he can feel your pulse jumping against his skin.
"are you okay? i could hear you through the walls."
you shiver. your room doesn't share a wall with his. his is down the hall, past the bathroom, on the other side of the dorm.
"chan-ah…" you whisper, but he answers the question before you can ask it aloud.
"i was walking by to get some water. then i heard you."
it's a flimsy explanation. you both know it is. he ignores the nickname he begrudgingly allows you to use sometimes, despite you being a year younger than him, hand softly squeezing your throat instead. there's none of his usual teasing, just the heavy tension hanging in the silence between you.
"i've heard you before," he admits. his thumb brushes along your jaw and there's no doubt he feels the way your breath hitches in your throat. "other nights. you think these walls are thick enough? you think no one can hear you?"
embarrassment washes over you. you think back on the nights you touched yourself thinking about him, muffling your whimpers in your pillow as best as you could, sure no one could hear —
"chan, you should leave."
before it's too late, you want to add, but the words fizzle out before they can reach your lips. there's too much at stake… the fans, your career, the company, this family of eight men you've become a part of. you won't jeopardize that.
"i can't stop thinking about you." there's a rawness to his voice, as if someone is dragging the words out of him. "it's driving me fucking crazy. i asked ji to work on the new track because your voice gets stuck in my head all day, and all i can hear is the way you moan." his hand moves up, fingers tightening in your hair, firm enough to pull at your scalp. "countless times i've stood outside this door and walked away, trying to be the better man. but not tonight. i won't walk away now."
"chan —"
"shh." he shifts, rolling you onto your back and throwing a leg over yours, caging you in. "go back to sleep, then. you were saying my name so prettily. let me hear it again."
"it's not - we can't —", the words come out jumbled as his hands push under the hem of your shirt. the friction of his rough callouses against your skin make your core clench. "the members…"
"are asleep." his thumbs caress the underside of your breasts, hovering there. "it's three in the morning, no one's going to wake up. they won't hear you. unless you're too loud… which you might be. because you get loud when you think about me, don't you? no need to be shy now."
you think of him standing right outside your door, his ear pressed to the wood. listening to every desperate, needy sound you made as you touched yourself thinking of him.
the thought should horrify you. instead, a hot pulse of arousal throbs between your legs, and you hate yourself for it. your body is responding to this – to him — like an over-eager dog keen to please its owner.
chan squeezes, just once, relishing in the way you arch into his hands.
"there she is. i knew you'd feel like this. so soft."
he tugs up your shirt, bunching the fabric above your sternum. cool air washes over your bare skin, your breasts exposed to the dark room, and you instinctively try to cover yourself. chan catches your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, holding them there against the pillow.
"don't hide from me." his gaze travels down your body, and even in the dim light you see his pupils are blown wide, swallowing the warm brown of his irises. "you have no idea how many times i've imagined you like this."
his free hand cups your breast, thumb dragging across your nipple. you bite your lip hard to keep from making a sound but a soft whimper manages to escape. chan smiles a small, crooked smile — nothing like the bright grin he shows on screen — and does it again, rolling your nipple between his thumb and finger until it stiffens.
"let me hear you." he pinches harder, switching to your other breast and giving it the same treatment, his voice taking on that same gentle tone that guides you through your parts in the studio. "just like that. you sound so sweet."
you turn your head to the side, unable to look at him. this is wrong. he's your leader, your co-worker, your friend, your family — and he's touching you, and you're letting him. you're not fighting hard enough. you're not fighting at all.
his mouth finds your neck and the wet heat of it shocks you. he grazes your skin, sucking and biting hard enough to leave a mark chaeyoun will have to cover up tomorrow while loudly complaining about your lack of self-control. but it doesn't matter, not when chan grinds down between your thighs and rolls his hips into yours.
"say my name again. say it like you do when you're touching yourself. when you're thinking about me fucking you."
he licks a stripe up your neck and a sob catches in your throat. his hand slides down your stomach, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. you feel how wet you are, how obvious your arousal is, and there's no hiding it from him anymore. his fingers drag through the slick mess between your legs and the noise he lets out is almost a laugh.
"so fucking wet." he circles your clit with two fingers, "all this from a little touching? or were you this wet just dreaming of me?"
your underwear is pulled down your thighs, your knees, off one leg and left dangling around the other ankle as he dips down and hoists your thighs over his shoulders. he wastes no time, tongue licking a fat stripe up your slit.
"chan," you gasp, and his grip on your hips tightens in response.
"again."
he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks.
"chan - hnng, ah, don't stop —"
"again."
you cry out when two of his fingers thrust inside you. he doesn't waste time being gentle, curling them to find the spot that has you chanting his name over and over again.
"that's it, baby," he coos, and you barely register the pet name between the feeling of his fingers fucking you open and his hot tongue lapping at your clit. you can already feel something building in your core, a coiling tension threatening to snap. it's too much, too soon. it shouldn't be this easy for him.
"just let go. i've got you. i'll always have you."
his words push you over the edge. the sudden wave of your orgasm overtakes you, thighs clamping around his head, and you bite down on your own arm to muffle your cries. chan works you through it with relentless fingers, sucking on your clit until you're shaking and overstimulated. your arousal drips down his hand, pooling beneath your hips. your legs twitch on the sheets but chan doesn't give you a chance to breathe. his fingers start moving again before you've come down, fucking into you with a wet squelch that makes you jerk in his grip. your whole body is trembling now, every nerve ending on fire, too sensitive and raw.
"no, 's too much, please, chan, i can't…"
"you can," he grunts, withdrawing his fingers only to push three back in, stretching you until the burn makes you sob. his thumb grinds against your swollen clit without mercy. "you owe me that much."
there's something desperate in his voice, cracking at the end of each phrase, and you realize he too has been burning up with need for months and months.
"do you know how many times i've jerked off thinking about you?" the words spill out faster now, as if the dam has broken and he can no longer contain the flood. "in the studio. in the shower. in the living room when the others had their own schedules. in my bed with my hand over my mouth so no one would hear me saying your fucking name —"
the wet, obscene sound of his fingers fucking you open fills the room, and your second orgasm builds just as sudden as the first one. you shake your head wildly, but your cunt is clenching around his fingers, sucking him in deeper.
"i used to steal your underwear." the confession comes out in a low growl, almost ashamed, but he doesn't stop. his fingers work you so expertly your vision starts bleeding white at the edges. "from the laundry. the ones you wore to practice… i'd hold them to my face and breathe you in and imagine this, you underneath me, imagine you crying on my cock the way you're crying now —"
you moan, cunt spasming around his fingers. a gush of wetness splashes against his palm, dripping down your thigh and thoroughly soaking the sheets beneath you. the orgasm is bordering on painful in its intensity and you can barely breathe, chan's gaze in the dim morning light almost too much to bear.
this time he lets you come down, slowly pulling his fingers from your swollen pussy and bringing them to his mouth. you watch in a haze how he sucks his fingers clean. his eyes fall shut and a shiver runs through his whole body. he licks between his fingers to lap up every drop, and when he opens his eyes again they're glassy and unfocused.
"not enough." he grimaces, snapping back into reality. "i need - i need more. i need to be inside you. i can't… i can't fucking think anymore —"
he shoves his sweats down and you hear the fabric hit the floor somewhere in the dark. you're unable to move, boneless and spent and still trembling. your aching cunt clenches around nothing.
then his cock brushes against your thigh and panic rises in your chest at the thought of him being inside of you. at the sudden understanding of this being real, and not some dream or figment of your imagination.
"wait —" you try to scoot backward on the mattress, but his hand grabs your hip and drags you back down. he wraps a hand around himself and strokes, and you hear the wet sound of it, feel him bump against your entrance. "chan, if we do this, we can't go back."
there's no need to elaborate. the weight of your words hangs heavy in the air between you, and chan lets out a desperate sigh.
"i know. and i don't fucking care. i spent months caring and it didn't get me anywhere. i'm gonna go mad if i don't get to feel you now."
he steadies himself and pushes, one long, brutal thrust that steals the air from your lungs. he doesn't give you time to accommodate the stretch of him, the way he fills you so completely radiating through your whole body. your hands fly up to grip his strong biceps, nails digging in hard enough to hurt, and you faintly register the sound of your own voice — a string of broken, desperate sounds you can't seem to stop from spilling out.
"oh fuck," his forehead drops to your shoulder and he breathes the words against your skin. "oh fuck, you feel perfect, baby - i knew it, i knew you'd feel like this —"
his hips pull back and snap forward again and again, and the force of it pushes you up the mattress. the way he moves is raw and desperate, as if he's trying to reach something so deep inside of you he has to drive himself further with every thrust.
"eight months," he grits the words out between strokes, each one punctuated by the wet slap of his hips against yours. "eight months of watching you walk around the dorm wearing nothing but a towel after every shower. eight months of you bending over in front of me during practice. eight months of you smiling at me like that, as if i'm not losing my fucking mind —"
his hands grab your thighs and push them wider, folding you nearly in half, changing the angle so he can reach impossibly deeper. the new position lets him grind against that sweet spot, his pubic bone pressed to your clit. you're not even trying to fight the familiar build of another orgasm this time, your body surrendering entirely to his.
"tell me you're mine," he pants, pressing his mouth against yours. his lips are soft, almost gentle despite his desperation. "promise me."
your body arches into him, cunt fluttering around his cock when he snakes a hand between your bodies and finds your clit again. your hands reach around his back, pulling him in closer.
"i'm yours, chan," you gasp into his mouth, not wanting to put an inch of space between the two of you.
he lets out a broken moan, cock throbbing and spilling deep inside of you. your nails drag a path down his back, deep enough to leave marks, but he holds you closer as your cunt milks him to the last drop.
you lay there sweaty and panting, the sudden quiet of your room no longer tense. you're sure he's fucked you so hard the bed left a dent in the wall, but you no longer find it in yourself to care about what the others might've heard.
chan kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, anywhere he can reach without having to pull out just yet and you giggle, feeling him smile against your skin. he's still holding you when you drift off into slumber again, his strong chest pressed against your back, as if he's always been there.
drabble — jisung loves it when he learned something new about you, and uses it for his own advantage
Han Jisung had noticed it weeks ago.
Every time he buried himself deep inside you, your eyes would drift up from his face to the thin silver chain around his neck. The small pendant, a sleek, smooth obsidian teardrop would swing with every brutal thrust, catching the low light of your bedroom and drawing your gaze like a magnet. Your lips would part, breath hitching, pupils blown wide as you followed its rhythmic dance above you. It was almost like the pendant hypnotized you, pulling your focus even as pleasure wrecked your body.
Tonight, he decided to test just how much power it held.
He had you on your back, thighs spread wide around his hips, his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made your walls flutter around him. Sweat glistened on his collarbones. His hips rolled steadily, cock dragging against your walls with every thrust. You moaned, nails digging into his back, but something felt… off.
Your forehead creased in confusion. Your eyes flicked up to his neck, searching. No chain. No pendant. Just smooth, sweat-slick skin and the rapid flutter of his pulse. There was nothing for your gaze to latch onto, nothing to follow, nothing to hypnotize you. Your mind started to wander even as pleasure pulsed through your body. You tried to focus on his face, his dark eyes, his parted lips—but your attention kept drifting back to that empty space where the necklace usually swayed.
Jisung smirked, noticing immediately.
“Something wrong, baby?” he asked, voice laced with teasing as he rolled his hips, grinding against that sweet spot inside you. “You look so distracted tonight.”
You bit your lip, trying to stay focused, but another deep thrust made your eyes flutter. Still, your forehead stayed creased. The pleasure was there, intense and building, but it felt… incomplete. Your mind wouldn’t settle.
He kept going, fucking you with steady, punishing strokes, never reaching for the necklace. Minutes passed. Your breathing grew more erratic, not just from the pleasure, but from the strange restlessness in your head. You couldn’t sink fully into it. Couldn’t let go.
Jisung leaned down, lips brushing your ear as he drove into you harder.
“You’re clenching around me so tight, but your eyes keep wandering. Can’t stop looking for it, huh?”
You whimpered, cheeks burning with embarrassment. He was enjoying this too much. Another particularly deep thrust made you moan loudly, but your mind was still fractured, searching for that missing anchor.
Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.
“Ji…” you gasped out, voice shaky and needy between moans. “Where’s your necklace? Please… put it on.”
The words tumbled out before you could stop them. Your voice sounded embarrassingly desperate, even to your own ears. Jisung’s hips stuttered for a second, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
“There it is,” he chuckled darkly, sounding satisfied. “My greedy girl finally admitted it.”
He slowed his thrusts just enough to reach over to the nightstand, grabbing the silver chain. He slipped it around his neck, letting the smooth obsidian pendant settle against his chest. The moment it appeared, your eyes locked onto it like a magnet. The crease in your forehead instantly smoothed out, replaced by that glassy, hypnotized look he loved so much.
“Fuck… there you go,” he groaned, feeling your pussy flutter hard around his cock the second your gaze found the pendant. “That’s what you needed, wasn’t it?”
He started moving again, building back up to a relentless rhythm. The pendant began to swing above you with every powerful thrust, back and forth, catching the light. Your eyes followed it obsessively, pupils blown wide, mind finally quieting as pleasure flooded every nerve.
Jisung gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he pounded into you.
“Open,” he ordered.You parted your lips instantly. He leaned forward, letting the warm pendant rest on your tongue. Your mouth closed around it, sucking eagerly as he fucked you even harder. The chain tugged against his neck with every brutal snap of his hips, the pendant shifting between your lips in perfect sync with his cock driving deep inside you.
“That’s my good girl,” he growled, voice rough with arousal. “Sucking on it so desperately after pretending you didn’t need it. So fucking hypnotized now, aren’t you?”
Your moans came out muffled and wet around the pendant as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter. The relentless rhythm, the thick stretch of his cock, and the warm weight on your tongue completely overwhelmed you.
Jisung’s hand slid up to hold your jaw gently as he railed you. “Cum for me while you’re sucking on it, baby. Let me feel how much better it is when you have this.”
Your orgasm slammed into you hard, body shaking violently as your walls pulsed around him. Jisung groaned loudly, burying himself deep and spilling inside you as he rode out both your highs, the pendant still trapped between your eager lips.
When he finally pulled back, the glistening pendant slipped from your mouth with a wet pop. He looked down at your blissed-out face with a proud, predatory smile.
syn ~ Hyunjin falls for a exotic dancer and they end up taking a unexpected turn in just one day!!
::warnings:: unprotected sex, squirting, creampie,fingering, p in v, full nelson, spanking, etc.
a/n:: first kpop post hope you like!!
The music pulsed through the walls as Hyunjin stepped inside the 24-hour nightclub with the rest of his group.
After hours of practice, the bright lights and energy of the crowd felt completely different from the studio.
People filled nearly every corner of the club. Some were dancing under flashing lights—while others sat in booths talking over drinks and snacks. The air buzzed with laughter, music, and excitement.
“Wow, this place is packed,” Seungmin said, looking around.
Hyunjin laughed and adjusted the hood of his jacket. “I thought it would be busy, but not this busy.”
The group carefully made their way through the crowd, trying not to draw too much attention. For a few minutes, they managed to blend in, enjoying the atmosphere and finally relaxing after their exhausting day.
A DJ switched songs, and the crowd erupted with cheers.
“Okay,” Han said, grinning, “we’re here now. What’s the plan?”
Hyunjin looked around at the dance floor, the arcade machines along one wall, and the snack bar in the back.
“For the first time all day,” he said with a smile, “the plan is to not think about practice.”
The group laughed and headed deeper into the club, unaware that the night was only just beginning.
As they make their way through the crowd, they come across another section of the club—there is when hyunjin laid his eyes on the most sexy girl he has ever seen. She had long black hair, flawless skin—she was wearing a red lingerie set that showed all of her skin very well.
He bit his lip hard that it started to bleed, god she was the finest lady he’s ever seen in his day of life.
The applause lingered even after she disappeared behind the curtain. Hyunjin found himself looking toward the backstage entrance—still thinking about how she danced like that.
“I wasn’t staring,” Hyunjin replied, but his smile gave it away.
The group laughed and found a table near the edge of the room. Another dancer took the stage, but Hyunjin’s attention kept drifting back to the girl from earlier.
There had been something familiar about the way she carried herself—the discipline, the confidence, the countless hours of practice hidden behind what looked effortless.
A little later, she reappeared near the side of the room, talking with a few other dancers.
Away from the stage—she seemed much more relaxed, laughing at something one of her friends had said.
“You should tell her how good her performance was.” Felix suggested.
Hyunjin look at her before shaking his head “And interrupt her from her friends? Yeah no buddy.” He laughs.
“Hey that’s your loss dude we tried to tell you.” Bangchan said taking a sip of the drink he ordered.
Before Hyunjin could respond, the performer glanced across the room. For a brief moment, their eyes met. She smirks before returning to her conversation.
“See.” I.N said. “Now you definitely have to say something to her.”
He laughs and stands up. “Shit whats the worst that can happen.”
The members watched with amused expressions as he made his way across the room, trying to act much more confident than he felt.
She notices him approaching and turned towards him with a smirk on his face.
“Hey.” Hyunjin said, leaning against the counter next to her. “Your preforms was really good.”
Her expression brightened. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
“I’m serious,” he added. “You can tell how much work you’ve put into it.”
“Really all I did was shake my ass all night and moved my hips that was all.” She said taking a sip of her drink.
“Yeah but you got moves. I like that about you, when you move it’s like damn. Who is that girl.” He smiled.
She laughs. ”you were staring at me.”
“Yeah you were very hot with it, I fell at first sight.” He smirked.
For the next few minutes, they talked about dance, performing—they flirted all night, not stopping their conversation even when the group was drunk and ready to leave, he stated with her, drinking and talking.
“Hey let me take you back to my place tonight maybe we could talk more there?” She smirks—eying him up and down.
He smirks, clearly drunk and sober out of his mind, he takes her hand and walks her out.
Everything from that night changed them for good.
You’re in his lap, legs spread wide open as he fingers you. His fingers are buried deep in your wet cunt.
You’re a moaning mess as he fingers you faster, your legs shake from the pleasure of his fingers being deep inside.
“Shit.. you’re so tight baby.. this fat pussy is so wet me.” he grunts, placing a soft kisses on your neck
He slaps your cunt a few times before rubbing it again sending you to your limit.
“Un-oo jinn!!~” you cry out, squirting all on his fingers and his lower body.
He reaches down freeing himself from his pants. His veiny cock springs free as he lifts your legs up—back leaning against the headboard.
He lines himself up with your lips before entering inside you without warning— you both let out a sharp moan, he starts moving at a fast pace.
“Ha..fuck,” he grunts not slowing down. “You’re so tight baby… squeezing my cock like that..”
“M-Mnghh jinn~” you wail, pleasure spreads through your body—you try to move but the position he has you in, stops you from even trying to move.
“You like that baby.. you like the way I fuck you like this..” he grunts, slapping your pussy as he thrusts into you.
You whine, head falling back against his shoulder.
“Jin’ m’gonna cum!” Your body shakes as your close to release at any second.
“Cum baby.. cum all over this cock.” He commanded. And with that you finish on his command, moaning loudly, screaming his name.
He keeps going, filling you up with his seed to the rim.
He pulls out with a ‘pop’ watching as his seed drips down his thigh.
“You did so good baby.. you took me so well..” he lays you down on the bed, placing a kiss on your swollen lips.
He gives your ass a soft slap before laying down himself.
ꨄ︎ a/n: i don't know where this depravity came from but i hope you like it all the same! forgive any typos especially with past/present tense as i usually write in present
ꨄ︎ paring: felix x reader
ꨄ︎ warnings: felix is a stalker. voyeurism. masturbation (m & f).
ꨄ︎ word count: 1,561
It started your first day in the office. Your computer wasn’t working, so IT sent Felix upstairs to fix it. And the moment he looked up and saw your smile, he was done for.
Obsessions weren’t new to him. Usually, it was a new hobby, certainly never a person.
Until you, kitten.
What began as harmless curiosity quickly spun into something else entirely. His access to the security cameras told him when you arrived each morning. Your employee records gave him access to your phone number and address. Soon he was remotely checking your work computer throughout the day. Eventually, one of the three monitors on his desk was dedicated entirely to observing you.
It helped that you were terrible with electronics, always needing him to come fix something. Always giving him an excuse to be near you.
But work only gave him eight hours with you and he wanted the other sixteen too.
At first he slipped a tracking device on your car.
It’s just to make sure you get home safely, kitten.
Then he started driving past your apartment occasionally, then weekly, then daily. He learned which lights belonged to your unit and which windows you liked to leave open. His favorite days were the ones where you exercised in the living room, dressed in biker shorts and a sports bra, completely unaware of your audience.
It felt wrong—the first time his cock twitched while watching you. Invasive. But the guilt faded quickly. He convinced himself anyone with eyes would react that way to you and he has to be the one to keep an eye on you.
To protect you from them, kitten.
One evening after confirming you were gone, Felix let himself into your apartment. The electronic lock took less than a minute to hack.
The first camera went into the living room. The second overlooked the kitchen and dining area. The third was on a bookshelf across from your bed.
Obviously.
He meant to leave immediately after placing them, but curiosity pulled him toward your dresser. The top right drawer was the first he opened and held exactly what he was looking for. He ran his fingers along the lace panties, smiling softly at the various shades and imagining how they’d look against your skin.
He took a red pair for himself.
Back at home, he was alerted to your arrival by the tracker and promptly darted to his computer to view the cameras.
It was surreal enough being there himself. But seeing you in your home now, hearing the sound of you moving throughout was entirely new, and fresh. And fuck, he wished he was there with you. Wished he could just tell you how much he wanted to be with you. Every waking moment.
His eyes followed you through the apartment on the cameras, but lost you when you entered your bathroom.
That felt like too private a place to watch you, kitten.
He had to have some standards.
He maximized the camera feed, letting the image of your room fill up the entire 45-inch monitor.
You returned a while later with a towel wrapped around your body and a bottle of lotion in your hand. His eyes darted to the windows in your room, making sure they were closed.
Can’t have you exposed and vulnerable, kitten.
You sat at the edge of your bed and dried off, giving him glimpses of parts of you he’d never seen before. Thighs. Stomach. Tits.
His cock stirred beneath his sweats.
When you finally let the towel fall completely, he leaned back in his chair, pulse racing as he watched you moisturize.
He would have given anything to be the one doing that.
You stood and turned around, showing your ass to the camera. His hand flew to his cock, gripping it through his sweats as if that would stop it’s longing to be inside of you. He kneaded the length of it with his thumb as you returned the towel and bottle of lotion to the bathroom.
He used the time while you were off screen to pull down his sweats and boxers. He didn’t care what you were about to do. If you sat there and scrolled on your phone or went to sleep, he wouldn’t stop stroking his cock until he came with his eyes locked on you.
He spat into his hand then grabbed his hardened cock, slowly stroking it as you came back into frame. His brow furrowed when you climbed straight into bed without putting on any underwear or pajamas.
Is that how you always slept?
He could only hope.
You pulled out a Kindle from your nightstand and leaned back against the pillows. You bent your knees and his heart stopped at the sight of your cunt, peeking out from between your thighs. He gripped his cock tighter.
You propped up the device and after a few swipes, became impossibly still as you read.
What are you reading, kitten?
He wished he knew.
But he got a good idea fairly quickly when you started to rub your thighs together. And when you pinched your nipple between your fingers, he was certain it was of the smut variety.
The thought of you reading sexually explicit content and touching yourself (while he watched you with his cock in his hand) sent even more blood rushing to his already painfully erect appendage.
He rubbed his thumb across the tip of his cock, smearing the precum as you continued your own movements. When you released a soft moan, the sound came straight for his soul.
But hearing it through the speakers wasn’t enough. He needed the sound closer. He grabbed his headphones and put them on before maxing out the volume.
He needed to clearly hear every sound that fell from your lips, every rustle of your sheets.
Felix squeezed his cock harder as he stroked it, watching closely as your hand snaked between your thighs, fingers rubbing circles around your clit. He was suspended in disbelief at what he was seeing. At how gracious you were to bless him with this presentation on his first night with you.
It was almost like you were touching yourselves together.
He could so easily picture himself on the bed with you, face between your thighs, nuzzling his nose against your cunt, inhaling your scent.
Bet you smell good, kitten.
You spread your legs further apart, plunged your fingers into your cunt then brought the back out to spread your juices around your clit. Your hips started to move as your breathing grew shallow.
He stroked his cock faster.
You moved your hand back up to your tits, cupping one and pinching the nipple, then moved it back to your clit. A soft whimper of frustration fell from your lips.
I could do both for you, kitten.
You worked yourselves up together, moaning and groaning as you both pleased yourselves. You returned your fingers into your cunt, slowly fucking yourself, then picking up speed, smacking your palm against your clit.
He gripped his cock harder, stroking from tip to hilt furiously. He wanted to know how his cock would feel inside you. Your cunt gripping him. Your juices coating his thighs.
He grunted at the thought.
He leaned back in the chair, teeth gritted as you rolled over. You placed the Kindle on your pillow and kept your right hand between your legs, fingers still driving into your wet cunt.
And the sounds it made, kitten.
Your hips bounced against your hand as you let loose on the bed, eyes still on the words giving you so much pleasure.
Was it possible to be jealous of an electronic device? Because he sure fucking was. Fuck that Kindle. Fuck whoever wrote that story. He was desperate to be the one making you feel like that.
Felix couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen. And as far as he was concerned, even blinking was a waste of time with you in front of him like that.
He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, fighting off his release.
“Oh fuck,” you moaned. “Fuck me, please.”
Was that dialogue from the story?
Dare he believe it was meant for him?
Because he did.
He imagined mounting you from behind, plunging his cock into you, pounding your cunt until he filled you with his cum.
He couldn’t hold back anymore and neither could you.
Come with me, kitten.
He groaned as you cried out. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, carrying him through his orgasm as cum spurt out the tip of his cock. It went everywhere—the floor, his desk, the keyboard. He didn’t fucking care.
When your hips stopped writhing against the bed, you flipped over onto your back and slipped your fingers into your mouth, moaning at the taste of yourself.
His cock twitched.
He looked down at it with furrowed brows as if it had a mind of it’s own.
Not yet.
He would wait for you to fall asleep. He wanted to cum while imagining himself standing over you, waking you up with his warm cum drenching your angelic face.
You made your way to the bathroom again and he finally stood to clean himself up, too.
Felix was happier than he’d been in a while.
No longer did he ever have to spend his time without you.
how was that? 🫣 i could see a part two eventually but that's it for now.
You only call because your friends won’t let the joke die.
Three weeks ago, one of them slipped a flyer across the table while the group was out for drinks.
“For emergencies.”
“What kind of emergency?”
“The lonely kind.”
Which brings you to tonight.
You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the number printed in small, almost sterile font. The kind of font that makes the whole thing feel less like a joke and more like a service someone, somewhere, expects to be used.
Your TV is on but you aren’t watching it. Your phone has no new notifications, just the glow of the screen reflecting faintly against your fingers as you keep staring at the number like it might change if you wait long enough.
You told yourself three times now that you’re not actually going to do it.
On the fourth, your thumb moves before your thoughts can catch up.
The line rings once.
Twice.
Then, “Thanks for calling. Please listen closely as our menu options may have changed."
Your heart starts to race anyway, like your body forgot this is still just a phone call.
"Press 1 for Channie. Press 2 for Lino. Press 3 Binnie. Press 4 for Hyunnie. Press 5 for—"
Click. You pressed 4, causing the recording to cut-off mid-sentence.
Silence rushes in right after, too sudden to feel empty. It feels intentional, like you just interrupted something you weren’t supposed to touch.
You stare at the phone. The name Hyunnie sticks in your head longer than it should. Softer than the others. Less like a label, more like something said too many times in the dark.
As you sit and wait for the call to connect you begin to have second thoughts.
Your thumb hovers near the screen, like it might still give you an easy way out. Like you could just cancel this and pretend you never got curious in the first place. The flyer suddenly feels a lot less funny than it did at the bar.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
Maybe this is exactly the kind of thing normal people don’t actually do.
The ringing continues anyway, pulling you forward whether you’re ready or not.
Then the line clicks.
For a moment, there’s only breath on the other end. A soft shift of sound, like someone leaning closer to a receiver.
Then his voice settles in, smooth and practiced, like it’s already decided what shape this call is meant to take.
“Hi there,” he says smoothly. “You found me.”
Not rushed, definitely not robotic. He sounded warm in a way that feels intentional.
Your thumb is still hovering near the screen, like your body forgot to commit even though you already did.
“Hey,” he says again, softer this time, like he’s noticing the hesitation without calling it out directly. “You still with me?”
At this point, all he could hear was you breathing softly through the phone. “Mmm,” he hums, not disappointed, not surprised. “That’s okay. You don’t have to perform for me.”
The word lands strangely in your chest.
Perform.
Like he can hear the version of you that tried to show up a minute ago and decided it wasn’t worth keeping.
You swallow. “I… pressed the wrong thing,” you say, and it comes out quieter than you meant it to.
A quiet exhale through the line. Almost a laugh, but not at you. “Pressed the wrong thing,” he repeats. “And you’re still here.”
It isn’t a question, but it still makes your stomach tighten.
“I can transfer you back to the menu if you want,” he adds, easy. “Or you can stay with me for a bit.”
There was no pressure in his tone. Just options, like he laid them out like expecting you to choose. You glance around your dark room, the phone light pooling across your hands, picking out the lines of your palms.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” you admit.
There’s a brief silence, but it doesn’t feel like emptiness. It feels like he’s listening. “Then don’t say the ‘supposed to’ stuff,” he replies. “Just say what’s real for a minute.”
He then pauses.
“And if what’s real is ‘I don’t know,’ that still counts.” Somewhere behind his voice, there’s a faint rustle, like he shifts his body. “So,” he says gently, slipping back into that practiced warmth without making it feel like a switch. “What made you call me tonight?”
That should be an easy question; unforunate for you, it isn’t.
Your throat feels tight in a way that makes you suddenly aware of how quiet your room is, how loud your own breathing sounds when no one is talking over it.
“I don’t know,” you say again, softer this time, like if you lower it enough it might become acceptable.
Its silent on his end for a second.
“Mmm,” he hums. “That’s usually the most honest answer I get.”
Something about that makes your shoulders loosen without you meaning it to. “I guess,” you start, then stop.
Try again.
“It was a joke.”
“A joke,” he repeats, like he’s turning it over carefully.
“Yeah. My friends…” You exhale through your nose, embarrassed before you even finish the sentence. “They gave me the number. Said it was for emergencies.”
“And tonight felt like one?”
“…Maybe.”
There’s a soft sound on his end, like he nods even though you can’t see it. “Okay,” he says simply. “We can work with maybe.”
That makes you huff a quiet laugh before you can stop yourself.
“Good,” he adds, and there’s something lighter in his tone now. “That means you’re still here with me.”
The way he says with me shouldn’t matter, and yet it does.
You shift on the bed, pulling your knees closer without really thinking about it. The room feels less like it’s pressing in on you now, though nothing about it has actually changed.
“I guess I just…” You trail off, searching for something that doesn’t feel stupid the moment it leaves your mouth. “I didn’t really think I’d actually call.”
“Mmm,” he hums again. “So you’re surprised you did.”
“Yeah.”
“That happens a lot,” he says finally. “People don’t usually call me because everything’s going great.”
That earns a breath of a laugh from you again, quieter this time. More honest. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” you ask.
“No,” he says, easy. “Just true.”
Somehow that does make you feel a little better.
The silence stretches again, but it’s different now. Less like a gap. More like a shared space neither of you are rushing to fill.
“You can hang up whenever you want,” he adds after a moment, tone still steady. “Just so you know.”
“I’m not trying to hang up,” you say before you can overthink it.
“Good,” he replies.
Like that answer was more than enough.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
Over the next few days, you don’t mean to call again.
That’s what you tell yourself later, framing it as a choice you carefully made instead of a craving you simply couldn't ignore. But it doesn’t feel like a decision when your fingers already know the number, sliding across the screen with a quiet familiarity you don’t question anymore.
The second time, it’s late.
Same bed, same oppressive quiet, same cold phone glow, except this time, the hesitation is gone. You want this.
He picks up almost immediately. There’s a beat of silence before he speaks, like he’s settling into you.
“Hey,” he says, softer than before, like the sound itself is meant to land closer.
“Hi,” you answer, your own voice sounding small, breathy.
“You came back,” he says.
You swallow hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the friction of your sheets against your legs and the silence of the room pressing in around you. “Is that weird?”
A faint exhale comes through the line, a ghost of a smile maybe. “For you, maybe,” he murmurs, “not for me.”
Something warm and tight coils in your lower belly, a subtle, unwanted pulse that makes you shift instinctively against the mattress.
“I had a long day,” you admit after a moment.
“Do you want to talk about it,” he asks, the tone shifting, becoming more focused, “or do you want me to take you out of it for a while?”
The phrasing catches in your throat. Not fix it. Not solve it. Just… take you. The implication of surrender makes your nipples harden against your thin shirt.
“…Out of it,” you whisper.
There’s a brief pause on his end, like he’s acknowledging the shift before stepping into it with you. “Yeah,” he says, voice lower now. “Okay.”
The change isn’t sharp. It’s gradual, controlled, like he’s adjusting the distance between you and everything outside the call.
“I’m going to need you to slow your breathing down for me,” he says.
You do it without thinking, then realize you’re following.
“Good,” he murmurs, and you swear he can hear the way your breath hitches. “Just like that.”
Then he pauses, “You’re still holding onto your day.”
You hesitate. ".....Yeah."
“Alright,” he says, like that answer is expected. “Let it go a little. You don’t have to carry all of it in here.”
The room around you feels heavier when he says it, like you’re only noticing it now because he told you to stop bracing against it.
His voice stays steady and controlled. Close in a way that isn’t physical but still feels like attention fully turned toward you.
“Stay with me,” he says. “Just listen for a bit.”
And you do, not because you’re told to.
Because everything else in the room starts to feel further away the longer he speaks, until it stops competing for your attention at all.
Another pause follows, thick and heavy with anticipation. It feels as though he is reaching through the phone, waiting for you to stop resisting the pull.
“I’m going to take this slow,” he says, his voice smoothing into a practiced, deliberate warmth that makes it harder to think clearly. “And you’re going to tell me if anything doesn’t feel right, okay?”
The boundary only sharpens everything. Not because it stops what’s happening, but because it defines it. Makes it real in a way the flyer never did.
“…Okay,” you whimper.
“Good,” he replies immediately, like he was waiting for that exact answer.
A small shift on his end. You can hear it in the sound of him settling in, the subtle change in proximity through the speaker, like he’s no longer halfway between roles and is fully present in this one.
“Then listen to me,” he says, softer now. “Don’t rush ahead of me. Don’t try to figure out where this is going.”
Your breath catches slightly at how easily he holds your attention without raising his voice.
“Just stay with my voice for a bit.” Close your eyes, and just listen.”
You close your eyes, and the world vanishes. The room, the phone, the lingering stress of the day, it all dissolves, leaving nothing but the dark and the heavy, velvet weight of his voice filling the void.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with a quiet satisfaction. “Just the sound of me. Nothing else matters right now.”
“I want you to start by noticing where you’re still tight,” he directs, his voice a low, steady hum. “Your shoulders… your jaw… the way you’re gripping the phone. Let it all go. Just melt into the mattress for me.”
As you follow his lead, your body feels heavy, almost liquid. The relaxation is so sudden it feels like a drug, leaving you raw and hypersensitive. Every brush of the sheets against your skin feels amplified, an electric current humming just beneath the surface.
“Good girl. Just like that,” he whispers.
The praise hits you like a physical touch, sending a sharp, sudden jolt of heat straight to your core. You let out a shaky exhale, your hips giving a small, unconscious twitch against the bed.
There’s a pause, and it feels like he’s listening to more than just your silence now. Like he’s tracking the way you’ve changed without you needing to explain it.
“You don’t have to hold yourself together in here,” he says after a moment, voice low and even. “Not with me.” The words settle in a way that makes your breathing slow without you meaning to force it.
He pauses, and the silence is thick, charged with an unbearable tension. You find yourself arching your back slightly, craving a touch that isn't there, your body instinctively searching for a way to bridge the distance between you.
“Now,” he says, his voice smoothing out into a command that leaves no room for doubt. “I want you to take your free hand… and I want you to touch yourself. Not there. Not yet. Just… start with your collarbone. Slowly.”
Your breath hitches. The request is simple, but the authority behind it makes your heart race. Slowly, trembling, you lift your hand and let your fingertips graze the sensitive skin of your neck, sliding down to your collarbone.
“Mmm, just like that,” he hums, the sound vibrating through the phone and settling deep in your belly. “Slow. Deliberate. Feel how warm your skin is. Feel how your heart is beating for me.”
As your fingers trace the line of your skin, the intimacy of the act, guided by a voice from the dark, makes you feel exposed and cherished all at once. You aren't just touching yourself; you are touching yourself for him.
“Keep going,” he whispers, his voice growing more focused, more hungry. “Slide your hand down. Over your chest… feel your nipples hardening under your touch. Tell me how they feel.”
“H-hard,” you whimper, your voice barely a thread of sound. “They’re… aching.”
“I know they are,” he replies, and you can almost hear the smirk in his voice. “I can almost feel them. Now… keep sliding down. Don't stop until you reach the place where you're the warmest.”
Your hand trembles as it slides lower, passing over the curve of your stomach, feeling the erratic flutter of your pulse. The air in the room feels thick, humid, as if his presence has physically manifested beside you. When your fingers finally brush against the damp heat between your thighs, you let out a broken moan, your hips instinctively lifting to meet your own touch.
“There it is,” he whispers. “You’re soaking for me, aren't you? I can hear it in your breath. I can hear how desperate you are.”
The bluntness of his words strips away the last of your inhibitions. You slide two fingers deep inside yourself, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. The sensation is overwhelming, the friction of your own skin combined with the commanding weight of his voice guiding every movement.
“Faster,” he commands, his voice dropping to a low, guttural rasp. “Don't be gentle. I want you to feel every bit of this. I want you to imagine it’s my fingers stretching you open, my thumb grinding against your clit until you can’t think of anything but me.”
You obey instantly, your movements becoming frantic, your breath coming in short, jagged moans. You are no longer just touching yourself; you are reacting to him, your body a puppet dancing to the rhythm of his voice. The tension in your belly coils tighter and tighter.
“Look at yourself,” he whispers, though you keep your eyes squeezed shut, seeing only the dark heat of his tone. “Imagine me watching you. Imagine me leaning over you, my hand replacing yours, forcing you to take every inch of me while I tell you how good you feel.”
That image is the trigger. The mental picture of his weight on you, the imagined scent of his skin, and the actual, physical friction of your fingers colliding. You feel the first wave of the orgasm crash over you.
“Yes… give it all to me,” he moans, his own voice sounding strained, as if he’s fighting his own release on the other end of the line. “Come for me, baby. Right now.”
Your body arched, your muscles started clamping tight around your fingers as you peak. The release is blinding, a flood of warmth and pleasure that leaves you gasping, your chest heaving as you slowly collapse back into the mattress.
The silence that follows is heavy, but not empty. It settles between you and him like something that doesn’t need to be filled right away, lingering in the space his voice just occupied.
All you can hear is your own breathing, slower now, uneven in a way that gradually starts to even itself out.
“Good,” he murmurs, his voice softened again, the edge of control easing back into something steadier. “Just stay there for me.”
There’s a pause on his end, like he’s checking that you’re still there, still present in whatever this has become.
“You’re okay,” he adds quietly, not quite a question, not quite reassurance either, just something he states like fact.
The room feels different now, not lighter exactly, but less sharp around the edges. Like you’ve come down from somewhere too loud to name and are only now noticing the quiet again.
“Take your time,” he says after a moment. “I’m here.”
And then, a beat later, softer, “Get some rest.”
The line clicks off.
For a while, you don’t move. The phone stays warm in your hand, your body still carrying the echo of his voice in a way that makes the silence feel less absolute than it should. Eventually, you set it down, but even then, it doesn’t feel like the call is fully gone yet.
It’s only later, when the room has fully gone quiet again, that it starts to settle in differently.
Not the intensity of it. Not the way he spoke to you, or the way you followed his voice like it was the only steady thing in the room.
It’s the fact that you did.
You stare at the ceiling, suddenly too aware of your own skin, your own thoughts returning in fragments you don’t know what to do with. The confidence you had on the call feels borrowed now, like something you put on and forgot to take off properly.
Your phone sits beside you, face down, like it might still be listening.
A heat creeps up your neck slowly, not from what happened exactly, but from remembering how easily you stopped overthinking when he told you to. How quickly you followed. How little resistance there actually was once you let it start.
You turn onto your side, pulling the blanket up a little higher than necessary, as if that changes anything.
It should feel ridiculous.
It does, a little.
But it also feels… real in a way you don’t want to name too directly.
Because somewhere between his voice telling you to relax and you actually doing it, you stopped feeling like someone who was just making a joke call.
And that’s the part that sits with you longest.
Not what he did.
What you let happen.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
The next time you call him, you hesitate longer than you expect to. Not because you don’t want to. That part is worse, because you do. It’s just that now there’s a layer of awareness sitting on top of it, like you’ve seen behind the curtain and can’t fully unsee it. You almost hang up twice before it connects.
When he answers, there’s a small pause before he speaks, like he’s already noticed something different. “Hey,” he says, easy as always, but slower this time, like he’s listening closer.
“Hi,” you reply, and your voice comes out tighter than you meant.
“You’re thinking a lot,” he says. It isn’t framed as a question.
Your stomach drops slightly at how quickly he clocks it. “I’m fine.”
“Mhm,” he hums, unconvinced but not pushing yet. “That doesn’t sound like ‘fine.’”
You shift on the bed, suddenly hyper-aware of your hands, your posture, the fact that you’re even here again after last time. “It’s just…” You stop, then restart, quieter. “Last time felt kind of…” You trail off, immediately regretting starting.
“Intense?” he offers, calm.
The word lands too accurately. You don’t answer right away, and that silence is enough confirmation. He doesn’t laugh or tease you, which somehow would’ve been easier. Instead, he exhales softly, like he already understands exactly where your thoughts are stuck.
“Hey,” he says, voice softening. “You don’t have to make it weird.”
You start automatically. “I’m not—”
“You are,” he cuts in gently, not harsh, just certain. “A little.”
That should make it worse, but somehow it doesn’t. Your shoulders loosen by a fraction without permission. “I’m just… aware of it now,” you admit finally.
There’s a pause, then his voice shifts again, subtle but deliberate. Not leaving the role, just adjusting how he holds it. “That’s normal,” he says. “First time people stop overthinking, they usually overthink the fact that they stopped overthinking.”
A quiet laugh slips out of you before you can stop it.
“There you are,” he adds immediately, like he’s been waiting for that sound.
You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see it. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you know me.”
A brief silence follows, but it isn’t tense. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. “I don’t need to act,” he says. “I just listen.”
That lands differently than it should. You stare at the ceiling, suddenly less defensive than you were moments ago. “…I didn’t know I’d call again,” you admit quietly.
“I figured you might,” he says simply.
That certainty tightens in your throat in a way you don’t fully understand yet. “And?” you ask, quieter. “Is that… bad?”
A small pause. “No,” he says. “It just means you’re still figuring out what you want from it.”
Another pause, then softer: “We can take it slower tonight if you want.”
The words should have created distance, but instead they loosen something in your chest you didn’t realize you were holding.
“I don’t know,” you admit after a moment, and it’s honest in a way that makes you feel exposed.
“That’s fine,” he says, steady and unbothered. “You don’t have to know yet.”
You let out a slow breath, staring up at the ceiling as if it might organize your thoughts into something less messy. “It’s just weird,” you add. “I didn’t think I’d actually call again after… last time.”
He doesn’t interrupt. The silence he gives you feels intentional, like he’s letting you finish without rushing where it goes. “I get that,” he says eventually. “A lot of people do that the first time. They overthink it afterward more than they do in the moment.”
That makes something shift in you, because it’s too accurate to ignore and too calm to feel like judgment.
“You’re not weird for it,” he continues. “You’re just aware of yourself now in a way you weren’t before.”
You swallow at that, because it sounds uncomfortably close to the truth. “I don’t really know how I’m supposed to act on these calls,” you admit, quieter now, like you’re testing whether honesty makes anything worse.
“You don’t have to act,” he says. “That’s kind of the point.”
You exhale through your nose, almost a laugh but not quite. “That’s easy for you to say.”
“It’s not about easy,” he replies. “It’s about not making it harder than it needs to be.”
There’s a pause where you almost fill the silence again, but don’t. He notices anyway. “You’re still trying to perform a little,” he says gently, not accusing, just observant.
Your stomach tightens, because he’s right in a way you didn’t want to recognize. “I’m not performing,” you say, but it comes out weaker than you mean it to.
“Mhm,” he answers, not arguing. “Then stop trying to sound like you’re okay with everything if you’re not.”
That lands softer than it should, because it isn’t pushing you away. It’s pulling you back into the moment.
You go quiet for a second, then finally admit, “I just don’t want it to be… awkward.”
“It already is,” he replies, and there’s something faintly warm in it, like he’s smiling without needing to perform it. “You’re just trying to pretend it isn’t.”
That makes you huff a small laugh despite yourself.
“There,” he says immediately. “That’s better.”
You roll your eyes again, even though he can’t see it, but your shoulders drop a little anyway.
“I’m not good at this,” you admit.
“At what?” he asks.
“Talking like this.”
“You don’t need to be good at it,” he says. “You just need to stay here with me.”
The way he says it doesn’t feel like instruction. It feels like permission. And somehow, that’s what you keep coming back for.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
Over the next few weeks, the calls stop feeling like something you have to talk yourself into.
They start happening the way habits do, without ceremony.
Sometimes you call him late, when the room is already dark and your thoughts are too loud to sit with alone. Those nights, his voice settles into you quickly, guiding you out of whatever spiral you’ve fallen into without asking too many questions. He doesn’t always push for conversation. Sometimes he just stays with you, talking low and steady until your breathing evens out again.
Other nights are lighter.
You tell him random things you wouldn’t normally say out loud, like how you think you’d be better at sleeping if your brain didn’t insist on replaying every conversation you’ve ever had at 2 a.m., or how you once considered moving to a different city just because you liked the way it sounded when you said it out loud. He listens like it matters more than it should.
And sometimes, it shifts again.
There are calls where the tone changes without needing explanation, where his voice drops into something more intimate and intentional, when you don’t have to pretend not to understand what that means anymore. You stop overthinking the role you’re supposed to play in it.
You just follow the rhythm of his instructions, the moans, the way he holds your attention without ever needing to raise his voice. Those calls leave you quieter afterward, more aware in a way that lingers longer than you expect.
But even those don’t feel separate anymore.
They all blur together eventually.
One night you’re talking about something you wanted to be when you were younger, and he hums thoughtfully like he’s actually picturing it. The next, he’s teasing you for overthinking your own sentences again, and you catch yourself smiling at the sound of it before you can stop.
You’re talking about nothing at all when the thought comes out before you can smooth it back down. “Do you ever think about doing something else?”
There’s a pause on his end that feels different from the usual ones, not uncertain, just… measured. “Something else?” he repeats.
“Like,” you hesitate, suddenly aware of how personal the question sounds now that it’s already in the air, “not this. Just… anything else.”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. You shift slightly on your bed, suddenly wishing you hadn’t said it, but he doesn’t let it drop.
“I do other things,” he says eventually, careful but not defensive.
“That’s not what I mean,” you reply, softer now.
Another pause, longer this time. Then his voice changes slightly, still calm, but less performative than usual.
“Sometimes,” he admits. “Yeah.”
That answer sits between you for a moment longer than it should.
You don’t rush to fill it. Instead, you let it settle, like you’re trying to understand what part of him exists outside the version that answers you like this.
“Would you stop?” you ask quietly.
It comes out more honest than you intended, less casual than you meant it to sound.
He doesn’t answer immediately, and in that silence, for the first time, it feels like you’ve touched something real behind the role he plays. “I don’t know,” he says finally.
For some reason, that answer stays with you longer than any of the others ever have.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
After that call, something changes in the way you think about him. Not in a dramatic way, not all at once, but quietly, in a way that doesn’t announce itself. You still call him the same way, still fall into the same rhythms, but now there are moments in between where he doesn’t feel like just a voice you reach for at night.
He starts existing in the gaps of your day.
You’ll be doing something ordinary and catch yourself wondering what his voice would sound like in response. You’ll pause mid-thought sometimes, realizing you’ve started conversations in your head you don’t actually plan to finish out loud. It doesn’t feel strange anymore, just familiar in a way you don’t fully examine.
The calls continue the same way they always have, but they also don’t.
He still meets you where you are. Some nights are light and easy, you talking about nothing in particular while he listens like it matters more than it should.
Other nights slip into that steadier, more intentional tone where the rest of the world feels further away and you stop trying to explain why you called in the first place.
And sometimes, you catch him in moments where he sounds less like the version of himself he presents and more like someone slightly off-script. Not enough to name, just enough to notice.
“Hyunnie?”
There’s a pause on his end like he wasn’t expecting you to say his name. The pause wasn’t long, but different enough to register.
“Yeah?” he answers.
Something about it tightens in your chest for no clear reason.
You almost don’t ask the question. You almost let it pass like you usually do with thoughts that feel too personal to keep out in the open, but you don’t this time.
“Do you ever think about me when I’m not calling?”
The silence that follows isn’t dramatic. It’s just longer than usual.
When he finally speaks, his voice is still steady, but more careful than before. “Yeah,” he says simply. “Sometimes.”
That should have been enough. It wasn’t.
Because now it changes shape in your mind. The idea that there is a version of him that exists in between you, just like there is a version of you that now waits for him more than you want to admit.
You don’t say anything for a moment. Neither does he. Instead of breaking it, he lets the silence stay with you.
“You’re quiet,” he says eventually, softer now.
“I’m just thinking,” you reply.
“About what?”
You hesitate, then let it come out before you can overthink it. “That I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do with this.”
There’s a pause, then his voice comes through gentler than before. “You don’t have to do anything with it,” he says. “Not yet.”
But the way he says yet makes it feel like he already knows that isn’t going to stay true forever.
The change is small at first, so small you almost don’t trust yourself for noticing it.
It isn’t that he stops answering. He still does. It’s just that sometimes there’s a little more space before he does, like the world on his side of the line is no longer arranged around the exact moment you call.
At first you tell yourself it means nothing. People get busy. That’s all this is.
The calls still happen, still fall into their familiar rhythm, but you find yourself listening a little differently now.
Waiting a fraction longer before you speak. Noticing when his voice takes a second more to settle into place, like he’s stepping into the only version of himself that you recognize on the other side of the phone.
“Hey,” he still says, like nothing has changed.
But sometimes it sounds slightly farther away.
You don’t ask about it.
Instead, you adjust without realizing you’re doing it. You stop calling at the same times. You wait longer between calls, telling yourself it’s just because you’re busy too, even though the thought of not calling doesn’t actually stick.
And when you do call, it feels slightly more intentional on both ends. Like it was less automatic. More so as if you were eager to talk to each other.
One night, after a pause that lingers just a bit longer than usual, you ask him if everything is okay.
There’s a small shift before he answers, subtle enough that you almost miss it. “Yeah,” he says. “Why?”
You hesitate, then decide not to make it bigger than it is. “Just wondering.”
“Mmm,” he replies, like he accepts that without needing more. But the answer doesn’t fully settle you this time.
After the call ends, you stay where you are longer than usual. Phone still in your hand, screen dark now, like you’re waiting for something that already finished.
You don’t know why it feels different yet. You just know it does.
It starts with a missed call.
You don’t notice it right away. You only see it later when your screen lights back up after hanging up.
You call back.
The line rings once, then drops into the familiar system.
“Thanks for calling. Please listen closely as our menu options may have changed.”
You wait, already knowing the rhythm of it now.
“Press 1 for Channie. Press 2 for Lino. Press 3 for Binnie. Press 4 for Hyun—”
You press 4 before it finishes.
The line cuts again, clean and immediate. It used to feel like a choice when that happened. Now it feels like recognition.
There’s a pause after, longer than you remember it being before. Not silence exactly, more like waiting that doesn’t resolve quickly.
Then the line connects, but not in the same way.
“Hey,” he says. It’s still his voice, but it takes him a second longer to arrive in it.
“Sorry,” you say automatically, even though you don’t fully know what you’re apologizing for.
A small pause. “You’re fine,” he replies, but it lands softer than before. Slightly distracted, like he’s somewhere else and choosing to be here anyway.
You sit up a little straighter without meaning to. “You missed my call.”
“I saw,” he says.
That should have been simple. Not for you though.
Because there’s no explanation after it. Just a quiet space where something used to come next.
“You okay?” you ask, slower now.
A beat too long. “Yeah,” he says again, but this time it sounds like something he’s saying while doing something else at the same time.
And you realize, faintly, that this is the first time the call feels like it had to catch up to him. Not the other way around.
You don’t know what to do with that yet, so you don’t push.
Instead, you just stay on the line a little longer than usual, listening to the space between his words start to feel slightly less stable than it used to.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
The next time you call, it doesn’t connect the way it used to.
The menu starts as expected. The same voice, the same polite distance.
“Thanks calling. Please listen closely for our menu options—”
You don’t wait for it to finish.
You press 4.
Nothing follows.
Not him, not the shift you’ve come to expect, just a pause that stretches too long before the system quietly resets itself and begins again.
You try once more, faster this time, like speed might matter. It doesn’t.
The menu returns exactly as it was.
After a while, you stop reacting to it. You just let it play through, listening without interrupting, like that might make it behave differently.
It doesn’t. Eventually, it disconnects without ever leaving the recording behind.
No voice. No transition. Just the drop into silence.
You try again later.
And again.
At some point, the attempts stop feeling like decisions and start feeling like repetition you’re no longer fully present for.
Morning, midday, night, the timing stops mattering. The result doesn’t change.
The menu always starts.
You press 4 less urgently now, sometimes not at all. Sometimes you listen to the full thing just to see if anything inside it shifts. It never does, but you keep checking anyway, like the outcome might revise itself if you witness it often enough.
There’s a moment, days later, when you realize you’ve stopped expecting him to appear in it. You’re still calling, still listening, but the anticipation has thinned into something quieter, less hopeful and more habitual.
One time, you don’t press anything at all.
You just let it run and when it ends, the silence that follows feels different.
And when you hang up, you don’t call back right away. Your hand stays still over the phone for a moment longer than it needs to, like it hasn’t caught up to what your body already understands.
He isn’t coming back to the line.
You set the phone down, and this time, the silence doesn’t ask you to try again.
For a moment, you keep the phone in your hand even though there’s nothing left on it to read or replay. Then you set it down like you’re returning something that was never really yours to hold. The room doesn’t change after that, but you do, in small ways you can’t quite name yet. You stare at nothing for a while before you finally let your eyes close, and even then, you don’t reach for anything.
note: I'm not responsible for any emotions felt during this
— SUMMARY. In which Y/N didn’t expect to hook-up with her bias, and Hyunjin didn’t expect to fall in love with her.
— PAIRING. hwang hyunjin x fem!reader
— GENRE. idol!hyunjin x fem!reader
— WC. 6.7k+
— WARNINGS/OTHER. cursing ; angst ; hyunjin’s lowkey an idiot (& also a stalker) ; lots of mutual pinning ; mentions of sex
NOTE. y’all are either going to hate me or love me for this one. either way, looking forward to hearing your thoughts <33
ᝰ SIX | SERIES M.LIST
Kyōka suigetsu (Japanese) — an idiom with the literal translation of “flower in the mirror and a moon in the water.” It references something which is visible and cannot be touched as well as the profound beauty of poems that cannot be described in words
Florence feels much softer in the rain. Hyunjin notices that almost immediately during his first day in the city.
The crowd outside had diminished significantly once the first downpour hit, right as Hyunjin stepped foot into the third art museum of the day. He’d like to say that the rain is the reason he’d been pushed into yet another gallery tucked along a narrow side street near the river, but that’s far from the truth. Especially when he finds himself in a particular exhibit that centers around emotional realism and reinterpretations of Renaissance intimacy. Very pretentious, very dramatic—exactly the kind of thing Hyunjin likes.
Art just feels easier right now—safer. And the weather outside further proves that point.
He moves slowly through the rooms, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his pants while soft instrumental music plays overhead. There aren’t many people here, surprisingly, despite a few tourists and a few groups of what appears to be university students sketching sculptures in their notebooks. Hyunjin figured that once the rain hit people would be pouring in here to escape it, but he was thankfully proven wrong. He prefers it this way.
He walks further down, his shoes lightly tapping against the floor, pausing at a massive oil painting. It’s depicting a man kneeling waist-deep in dark water beneath a giant golden sky. His eyes study it for a moment before drifting down to read the plaque, mouthing out the words salvation through suffering to himself. His eyes flicker back up to the painting, head tilting slightly as he traces every single detail before deciding that it seems just a tad bit dramatic. In his professional opinion, (which should be taken with a grain of salt), people tend to romanticize suffering too much. If someone is drowning, maybe they should be helped instead of allowing it to happen and calling it beautiful.
But that’s just his opinion.
He snaps a quick picture of it, sending it to the group chat before slowly walking into another room. More oil paintings line the walls in massive frames, all revolving around grief, isolation, longing—human suffering presented beautifully enough that has something pulling deep in his chest. He stays where he is for a second longer, studying each piece thoughtfully until his eyes drift down to focus on the reflection staring back at him through the glass protecting the painting. And although the reflection staring back at him appears familiar, there’s something distant there.
Hyunjin barely recognizes himself at times. He’s not the same guy he once was when they first debuted, full of passion and determination and life. As the years went on, the weight of everything got heavier on his shoulders, and he was stuck in a constant loop of exhaustion. It’s not that he hates his job—he loves his fans, the members, and performing more than anything. But he just hates that he has to feel so miserable sometimes when he’s supposed to be doing something he loves.
Even now, there’s some moments where he catches himself feeling strangely disconnected from the version of him everyone knows. He’s heard it all—the idol, the visual, the beautiful dramatic one. People think they know him because they constantly consume bits and pieces of him on a screen, but that’s exactly that—they think.
He doesn’t even remember the last time he’s went live. He used to be more active, going on random Instagram lives and sending numerous texts and pictures off Bubble. But lately, he hasn’t had the energy too. It feels performative, in a way, but everything is performative in his world.
He just wishes he could stop being what people want him to be and not care what people say about it.
Most days, he feels like a collection of carefully selected fragments pretending to be an actual person. Therapy helps. Medicine helps. Having a good support system helps. But sometimes, it’s not enough, and he needs to do things for himself to help clear his head, like take a however month long hiatus and do a solo trip to Italy.
Maybe that’s why he likes Italy so much. Maybe that’s why he likes art galleries so much. Nobody here expects anything from him.
Hyunjin tears his gaze away from his reflection, stuffing his hands back into his pants pocket before heading towards the next room. This one focuses on fractured intimacy. There’s paintings of lovers facing opposite directions, hands nearly touching but never quite reaching, bodies close physically but emotionally miles apart. He feels it instantly because, unfortunately, he understood this kind of distance too well.
He moves on before the feeling settles too deeply.
Hyunjin drifts through the next room half-focused, his thoughts scattered all over the place. One second he’s thinking about sketching, another second he’s thinking about finding another small restaurant near the river tonight. He’s thinking about anything, desperately trying to distract himself from the heavy feeling in his chest. He’s thinking about anything, until he can no longer think at all.
His entire body comes to an abrupt stop, like something inside him physically locks. The room suddenly feels colder, the weight on his shoulders grows heavier, and he feels like he might pass out on this sleek marble flooring.
At the far end of the gallery stands a woman beneath soft overhead lighting. She’s wearing a yellow dress with a cream-colored raincoat, dark curls falling over one shoulder, hands gripping onto the strap of her purse as she studies a painting in front of her.
For one second, Hyunjin’s brain refuses to process what he’s seeing, not because he doesn’t recognize her, but because he does instantly. In fact, every nerve ending in his entire body recognizes her before logic can even catch up with him.
No. There’s absolutely no way that she is standing a few steps away from him right now, at an art gallery in Italy. There is absolutely no way.
His brain scrambles for even more explanations, as he mentally talks himself out of a panic attack that may or may not be brewing. Lots of people have curly hair and a round face. Lots of people give off the exact same aura. He just drank too much wine at lunch, and that’s why he’s currently hallucinating her standing in front of him. Yeah, that must be it.
Only it isn’t. Because before he could even blink, she had shifted just slightly, now giving him a perfect view of her face, confirming what he already knew was true.
Y/N.
Somehow, she looks exactly the same, yet completely different all at the same time. Her hair is shorter than he remembers, darker than he remembers, falling down to her shoulders. She’s wearing minimal makeup, yet she’s still naturally so pretty, staring at the painting in awe. Gold rings line her fingers, catching the light in the room. She looks more mature, more settled into herself, and Hyunjin is suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that he’s currently ogling at a very much real Y/N in the middle of a very much real art gallery full of very much real people.
Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit.
His heartbeat slams violently against his ribcage, and he has to remind himself to breathe so he doesn’t actually pass out. He closes his eyes briefly, shaking his head back and forth before opening them again, his eyes widening once he realizes that he’s not hallucinating and she’s still painfully real, standing in front of him again after four fucking years.
And god, she’s still beautiful. The kind of beautiful that sneaks up on him before he can even emotionally defend himself.
He feels rooted to his spot, gawking, staring, still trying not to pass out. She doesn’t move for a second, and Hyunjin thinks he has to be hallucinating her, only for her to shift a little closer towards where he’s standing, and then reality comes back.
A quiet shriek escapes his mouth as he instantly steps behind one of the marble columns near him, shielding his view from her. He stands there for a second, breathing heavy, his stomach flipping so hard that it actually makes him dizzy.
This is insane. Actually insane. It’s been four years—four years of zero contact, of living lives in two completely different worlds, and somehow, seeing her for less than twenty seconds already feels catastrophic to his nervous system.
He pushes his back against the column, shifting himself so he’s more hidden. He feels calmer now that he can’t see her anymore, but that only lasts for five seconds before he’s peaking around the column again just to see that she’s still there. She’s still there, still looking at paintings, still completely unaware she’s currently ruining his emotional stability from thirty feet away.
Hyunjin knows he should leave. He should just turn around, pretend he didn’t even see her, and leave. That would be the normal thing to do, the healthy thing to do. But instead, he stays frozen exactly where he is, watching her, noticing every single movement and detail about her, just like he did when he saw her for the first time four years ago.
He notices the way she shifts her weight while she’s thinking. He notices the tiny line appearing between her brows while reading the plaque beside the painting. He notices the absentminded way she tucks her curls behind her ear. He notices everything—and it feels so unfair.
How can four years disappear instantly like that? How can his body remember someone this much after so much time apart?
He remembers her so vividly that it’s actually insane. He remembers her voice, her scent, her smile. He remembers how calm he felt around her, how right it felt being near her. He remembers how she sounded calling out his name as he made her cum on his cock.
His chest aches suddenly. He’s torn between a constant battle of leaving or following her until he may or may not develop the confidence to actually approach her. His mind screams at him to leave, the red flags going off in his head. But Hyunjin had never listened to himself in the first place, so why would he do that now?
He leans his head over to catch another glimpse of her, his eyes widening as he sees her walking into the next room. Panic shoots through him instantly, and before he could even blink, he’s already following her, hiding behind another large column.
He peaks over, noticing that she stops before another enormous painting. He doesn’t even bother to look at which one, his interest in all the art surrounding him diminishing instantly. He’s way too distracted by the fact that Y/N is real, standing ten feet away, breathing the same air as him for the first time in years.
His heart pounds harder the longer he keeps watching her. He should walk up to her and say something, and not keep hiding behind European architecture like a fucking stalker. He should, but he can’t.
What if she feels nothing for him now? What if she doesn’t want anything to do with him? What if she rejects him?
He can’t do it. He just can’t.
A large group of tourists suddenly moves in front of him, blocking his view from her completely. Hyunjin shifts immediately, trying to keep her in sight, feeling a surge of panic flow through his body as he searches the room. It feels like forever when everything finally clears, his shoulders relaxing instantly. Yet that didn’t last long, as he desperately tried to find her, only to realize that she’s gone.
“No, no, no,” He mumbles to himself like an insane person, moving quickly into the adjoining room, his eyes scanning faces in panicked desperation, hoping one of them was hers.
He moves into another hallway. Nothing. He begins circling rooms twice. Nothing.
He runs his fingers through his hair, feeling his stomach drop. Somehow, losing sight of her after finding her again feels devastating already, and it makes him feel insane. Maybe if he would stop being a fucking coward all the time and actually went up to talk to her whenever he first saw her, he wouldn’t be here searching the gallery pretending he isn’t searching the gallery.
He had to have hallucinated her. There was no way that she disappeared that quickly, like she just disappeared into the walls like a fucking ghost. He definitely would have seen her from how quick he rushed into the nearby rooms looking like a mad-man. He’s surprised they didn’t kick him out.
Hyunjin’s face suddenly heats up in embarrassment. Why did he allow himself to act like that in public? At an art museum, of all places? Over a girl he fucked four years ago?
Except she wasn’t just an insufficient fuck, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise. Sure, the sex was amazing, but that was also part of the problem. It was so amazing that it’s quite literally ruined everyone else for him, and part of him is bitter for that. There’s no denying how compatible they were sexually, but it was also emotionally. And that’s what’s been fucking with him the most.
Hyunjin runs his fingers through his hair again, taking a deep breath before pulling his phone out to text his driver he’s ready to leave. Normally, he would spend all day at an art museum, but right now he thinks he just needs to go back to his hotel and contemplate his entire life.
The rain falls steadily outside by the time he steps out of the museum. He didn’t bring a coat today, didn’t really think he would need one. But just like his emotions are all over the place, so is the weather here, apparently.
He spots his driver waiting for him, leaning against the car with an umbrella over his head. Hyunjin hurries over towards him, jogging through the rain, not even phased at how wet he seems to be getting. Honestly, it’s kind of nice, somewhat cooling his skin and helping his body calm down.
He gets into the back seat quietly. His clothes are sticking to his skin now, his hair falling in front of his forehead in damp waves. He combs it back once before slouching back in the seat, turning his head to watch the rain drops slowly falling down the window.
He tries not to think about her, he really tries. But his mind ends up going there anyway, replaying the scene over and over in his head like a broken record that just won’t stop playing.
She looked so beautiful. Her skin looked perfectly sun-kissed, eyes still so blue and hypnotizing, hair so pretty and soft. He couldn’t see her body well from the raincoat she had on, but he just knew the pale yellow dress would be hugging her so perfectly and have him falling to his knees immediately.
It’s wild how deeply she still affects him even after all this time apart. They spent one night together, yet it felt like he had known her his entire life. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much when he had to let her go.
Hyunjin was always a private person, introverted at best. He always kept to himself, never opening up to anyone first unless he trusted them, which was why when he found himself opening up to Y/N, it terrified him.
It still terrifies him, because he knows if he could see her again, he’d fall in even deeper.
He tries to focus on the rain again. He distracts his mind by counting the raindrops on the window, making mental bets on which raindrop would fall first—anything to prevent his mind from spiraling.
That doesn’t last long, though. Because as soon as he steps into his hotel room and strips off his wet clothes, he’s already plopping down onto his bed with a dramatic groan before grabbing his phone.
Chan answers the call after two rings.
“Well, well. Florence finally bored you?”
“I think I hallucinated Y/N in an art gallery.”
The words came out so fast and so frantic that Hyunjin wonders for a second if Chan actually understood what he said in the first place. He bites his bottom lip softly, nervously tapping his fingers against his chest. The silence is so loud he pulls his phone away just to make sure he didn’t accidentally hang up.
“Well, good evening to you, too.”
Hyunjin rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling, “I’m serious. I’m starting to go insane because I keep thinking about it.”
“Like, you actually saw her?”
“I mean, I think so,” Hyunjin replies quickly, another groan falling from his lips as he pinches his temple with his fingers, “I don’t know if I actually did or not. That’s what’s frustrating me.”
Chan immediately starts laughing, and Hyunjin narrows his eyes even though he can’t see him, “Stop laughing at me! I’m literally spiraling right now and you’re making fun of me!”
“I’m not making fun of you, Hyun,” Chan replies through another fit of laughter, much quieter this time, “It just sounds a little crazy, is all. Like what do you mean you think you saw her? Walk me through it.”
Hyunjin drags a hand down his face. This is giving him a headache already. “I was looking at paintings.”
“Mhm.”
“And then I saw this girl.”
“Incredible start.”
“She turned around, and I swear to fuck it was her,” He breathes out, feeling his heart race a little just thinking about it again, “Now that I think about it more, I’m certain it was her. And holy fuck, she was beautiful. I feel like I’m losing my mind right now.”
Chan exhales slowly through the phone, and Hyunjin feels a little embarrassed at what he just said, but whatever. He can’t take it back now. “That’s… strange.” He replies after a few more seconds of Hyunjin mentally freaking out, only adding on to that feeling.
“Strange?” He laughs incredulously, “Chan, I literally forgot how to breathe for a second. I’m still trying to catch my breath.”
“Okay, so you saw Y/N,” Chan spoke, voice softer, “Then what? You went and talked to her?”
“Well… not exactly,” He replies, already dreading this conversation because he knows Chan won’t be able to live this part down, “I kind of hid behind the giant columns and watched her from afar. And then I kind of followed her around the gallery. Kind of.”
Chan bursts out into laughter again, the sound so loud that it had him wincing as he pulled the phone away from his ear. “Hyunjin… you fucking idiot! Please tell me you did not just stalk this poor girl in a contemporary art gallery.”
“I panicked!” He defends himself, poorly, might he add, as the laughter on the other end only seems to be getting much worse, “I’m not good at this shit, okay?! She was looking at art so prettily! That’s intimidating!”
“That’s the most pretentious thing you’ve ever said.”
Hyunjin falls back onto the pillows behind his head with a loud groan, “I think something is deeply wrong with me.”
“Yeah,” Chan agrees quickly through another chuckle, causing him to glare at the screen, because why is he agreeing with him? “We established that years ago, unfortunately.”
Despite himself, Hyunjin laughs weakly, his eyes trailing over towards the rain-streaked windows. Part of him had always secretly wondered whether she carried their ending around the same way he did. Maybe she didn’t—maybe she healed properly while he kept romanizing unfinished things.
I guess he’d never know that because he couldn’t bring himself to go talk to her.
“She looked really good,” He admits quietly, watching the rain patter softly against the window, “She looked… so pretty. Just like I always remembered.”
Chan hums knowingly, “You’re an idiot. And you’re screwed.”
“I know.”
He listens to the rain for another second before a thought suddenly comes to mind. He sits up immediately, “Wait.”
Chan sounds suspicious already, “What?”
“You still talk to Kat.”
He’s quiet on the line, and Hyunjin hates how he can feel his heart beating even louder against his chest. “I do,” He drawls the word out, already seeming to know where this is going.
“Ask her if Y/N’s in Italy.”
More silence. And then—
“Oh my god.”
He’s laughing again, and Hyunjin grunts into the phone in annoyance, running another hand through his hair, “Chan, I’m serious! Text her right now and ask her if she’s in Italy.”
“Hyun, you do realize how insane you’re acting right now, right?” Chan chuckles in disbelief, “You haven’t seen this girl in four years and now you’re spiraling in an Italian luxury hotel because you think you saw her admiring paintings. You sound lovesick.”
Hyunjin presses both hands over his eyes, “Hyung, please. When do I ever ask you for favors?”
“All the fucking time, actually.”
“Please!”
Chan sighs dramatically over the line, “Fine. This is humiliating for you, you know that?”
“I know.”
“You could’ve just spoken to her and not stalked her like a fucking creep.”
“I know,” He swallows thickly, “You don’t understand.”
“No, I understand perfectly, actually. You’re terrified.”
That shuts Hyunjin up instantly. Because unfortunately, it’s true.
He’s terrified of rejection. He’s terrified of indifference. He’s terrified of discovering he’s carried this thing around for years only to realize she let it go completely.
And where would that lead him?
Chan sighs again after a few moments, “I’m texting her right now, okay?”
Relief floods through him embarrassingly fast, “You’re the best, Channie baby.”
“Ew, don’t call me that.”
Hyunjin laughs quietly, a giddy feeling rising in his body once he hears Chan typing on his phone over the line. He’s 99.9% sure she was Y/N, but having a verbal confirmation from her best friend would just be the icing on top of the fucking cake. If he gets confirmation that she’s actually in Italy, maybe he won’t feel so insane about it.
Another idea hits him all of a sudden, and he’s putting Chan on speaker before swiping out of the call, his fingers working fast to click on the Instagram app. He’s clicking on the search bar before he can think any better of it, typing in a username that he remembers from years ago when he first found her account, only hoping she didn’t change it.
His eyes light up instantly once he realizes she didn’t. And then he’s clicking on her profile.
“What are you doing?” Chan’s voice startles him for a second.
“Nothing.” He replies quickly, guiltily. His eyes widen once he sees her first post, and he wastes no time in clicking on the picture so he can see it better.
He heart falls into his ass once he sees it.
“Oh shit,” He breaths out, gawking at her most recent photo from a day ago. It’s a thread, a collection of ten pictures, the first picture being of her smiling in front of Brunelleschi’s Duomo.
“Oh, shit,” He says again, because what else can he say?
“Oh my god,” Chan says knowingly, “Are you stalking her right now? Seriously?”
“It’s public information,” He defends himself weakly, swiping through the rest of the post. Pasta, wine, a picture of a stray cat resting on a bench, another selfie. He stares at that one a little longer, unable to stop himself.
God, she’s so fucking beautiful. His heart hurts.
“That’s exactly what stalkers say.” Chan’s voice interrupts his thoughts, and he ignores him, quickly exiting out of that post to glance at the rest of her profile.
Coffee shops, books, Kat, (lots of Kat), the gym, weddings, yet there’s no engagement posts or anything that hints that she has a significant other. He hates how relieved he is from that.
Something about seeing pieces of her life condensed quietly into photographs makes his chest ache. She kept existing this entire time, but somehow, he never let himself imagine it clearly.
He’s clicking on one of her highlight reels she posted titled “Italy 🇮🇹” before he can stop himself. And his heart is falling into his ass once again.
The first one is of a window from a coffee shop while the rain pours outside. The second is of a piece of artwork from a different gallery he didn’t recognize. And the third… the third is a mirror picture she took of herself, wearing the exact same outfit he just saw her in. Her coat wasn’t on, showing off her curves so perfectly, the dress hugging her just right. It looked so pretty against her skin, her smile sending shivers down his entire body.
Holy fuck.
“Holy shit,” He covers his mouth with his hand, the raining pouring down harder now.
“What now?”
“She’s here,” He strains out, his heartbeat climbing, “She is literally here. In Florence.”
“Yep, she is.” He replies, but before Hyunjin can ask what he means by that tone, his phone is binging with a text from Chan. It’s a screenshot of a string of texts. He opens it quickly.
Chan: Random question
Chan: Is Y/N in Italy rn?
Kat: why
Chan: Hyunjin thinks he saw her and now he’s acting mentally unstable
Kat: OH MY GOD
Kat: WAIT, ACTUALLY????
Chan: Yep. He hid behind a column, apparently. Embarrassing 😳
Hyunjin groans immediately, “Seriously?! Why would you tell her that?!”
“Because it was funny.”
“It was not! You’re evil!”
“I’m correct.”
Another screenshot comes through, and Hyunjin mentally prepares himself before he opens it.
Kat: she’s in florence, rn
Kat: she’s been going to art galleries all week too, lol
Chan: That is horrifyingly romantic
Kat: don’t encourage him
Hyunjin’s stomach flips again. He really could run into her again. The possibility alone sends nervous energy rushing through him immediately, but things are different now. Now, he’s older, more established, with more freedom to do what he pleases. For the first time in his career, choosing someone wouldn’t automatically be impossible. And somehow, the universe drops Y/N directly into Florence while he’s finally at a point in his life where he maybe can choose her properly.
The timing feels cruel. Or maybe hopeful. He genuinely can’t tell.
“You’re being quiet.”
Hyunjin stares at her profile again, “I’m just… processing. I can’t believe she’s actually here.”
“Yeah,” Chan hums in response, “Kat said she’s there for another week.”
Hyunjin blinks, “Another week?”
He hears Chan curse silently over the line, and his eyes narrow, “It seems you know entirely too much information.”
“I do not.” His response is quick.
“You literally know her travel itinerary.”
“Okay, now that’s a little dramatic. Let’s simmer down.”
Hyunjin lets out a quiet scoff, pointing at the phone accusingly, “You and Kat are scheming, aren’t you?”
“We are absolutely not.” Again, another quick reply.
“I think you’re full of shit. Shitty shit shit.”
Chan sighs dramatically, and Hyunjin can just see his eyes rolling, “Ooookay. Maybe Kat mentioned she was doing a solo trip to Italy months ago.”
“Months ago,” He repeats the words, nodding his head slowly, “And then, somehow, I end up in Italy at the same exact time?”
“Well, when you put it that way…”
Hyunjin flops backward onto the bed, groaning dramatically, “I hate all of you. Especially you.”
“No you don’t.”
Unfortunately, that’s true.
His phone pings again with yet another screenshot. He sighs, knowing he’s about to be embarrassed again, but opening it anyway.
Kat: wait, does he like her???
Chan: Catastrophically so
Kat: omg I KNEW IT
Chan: He’s currently staring at her Instagram profile in silence like a widow in a period drama
Kat: don’t let him scare her, omg
Chan: Too late, he already hid behind a column
“You are unbelievable!” Hyunjin chokes out, completely mortified.
This is ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. And yet, underneath all the teasing and embarrassment and panic, hope starts blooming somewhere dangerous inside him. For the first time in years, Y/N doesn’t feel unreachable anymore, and he wants nothing more than to finally grab ahold of her.
His thumb hovers over the message button on her profile. He hesitates for a second, biting the inside of his cheek. The rain falls even harder outside, and he’s distracted by the sound for a split second before his thumb inches closer.
“Chan?”
“Yeah?” His reply is instant. He hesitates again, but only for a second.
“If I message her right now… is that insane?”
“Maybe,” He replies after a few seconds, and Hyunjin swallows thickly, “Do you want my actual opinion?”
Hyunjin doesn’t answer. The silence is answer enough.
“You’re in Italy to take a break from everything. You’re there to do things you enjoy, escape reality for a bit, clear your head, rest. You’re there to take care of yourself,” He speaks slowly, softly. The room grows very still around him, save for the relaxing sound of the rain that’s doing very little in quieting down his head right now.
Hyunjin swallows thickly, his eyes focused on Y/N’s smiling face illuminating quietly on his phone screen, his thumb still hovering.
“But, I think if you leave Italy without trying to talk to her, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life. You wanted to choose her years ago,” Chan exhales softly through the speaker, his fingers twitching in front of him, “And now, nobody’s stopping you except for yourself.”
The bathwater has gone lukewarm, but Y/N still doesn’t move.
Florence at night still feels like it’s holding its breath outside her hotel window. The rain is still tapping lightly against the glass, pulling her more into a euphoric calm that she’s been longing to experience for a while now. It’s quieter than New York in a way that almost feels wrong, like the world forgot to keep moving.
Three days ago, she arrived in Italy alone. Normally traveling alone in a foreign country would terrify her, but Italy has always been on her bucket list and she was in desperate need of a long break. And by long break, she means an entire summer off she barely knew how to use in the first place—an entire summer off from fluorescent ceilings, trauma alerts, and the constant low hum of the ER.
She had told herself this trip was about rest, but rest is a loose concept when your entire nervous system has been wired to anticipate chaos. Even now, immersed in bath water with a shit ton of lavender scented bubbles, her body still feels half-alert, like she’s just waiting on someone to call another code. Yet, instead, the only thing calling her right now is her memory.
And Hyunjin. Of course.
Y/N lets out a sigh, leaning her head back against the porcelain behind her. She hadn’t meant to think about him this much in Florence, but museums do that to her. There’s just too much beauty in one place, and it all leads back to him.
Earlier today, she stood in front of a Renaissance painting for an uncomfortably long time. Not because she was trying to understand the meaning behind the painting, but because it made her think of him. She could picture him standing there, his hands tucked into the pocket of his pants, his head tilted to the side as he studied every single detail. She knew he loved art, and he loved to create his own. And every time he would post one of his works on social media, it had her heart warming instantly.
He was so talented, in every way, shape, and form.
At first, she used to look forward to his posts, even having her notifications on so it would alert her whenever he posted. Seems excessive and a little stalker ish, she knows, but she was holding on to every little thing about him, desperate to connect with him, in some way. Even if that was through his artwork he posted on social media for millions of people to see.
She admits she did that for a few months before convincing herself that it was unhealthy behavior. Constantly pinning after an idol who was completely unattainable was unhealthy behavior. And she had to stop it before she buried herself deep into a flunk she’d never get out of.
She stopped listening to Stray Kids. She stopped outwardly supporting them. She stopped following them on all social media, and even canceled her Bubble subscription. It was all just a constant reminder of what she had with him, which was one, insignificant night where she came around his cock twice and then laid in bed with him afterwards like it meant everything.
And it did mean everything. It still means everything, no matter how hard she tries to convince herself otherwise. That was the problem with Hyunjin. He made everything feel like it mattered more than it should—even silence, even absence.
Y/N shifts slightly in the bath, staring at the condensation slowly sliding down the glass. It’s been four years since that night she spent with him, four years since Hyunjin became real and not a fantasy version of a man she projected meaning onto—just him.
She still remembers thinking this can’t actually be happening. Even now, she can’t believe it had actually happened. Because even then, she had been a fan, a Stay—the kind that knew too many music video details and had once argued online about dance formations like it mattered personally.
Hyunjin had been her ult bias. The word feels childish now, but it was true then. She had known his face before she knew his voice, known his stage presence before she knew how softly he spoke when he wasn’t performing. And then somehow, he had ended up in her world, in her bed, fucking her like he owned her just to tell her he couldn’t choose her.
She didn’t expect him to. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t want him to.
Y/N closes her eyes in the bath, sighing softly. It had messed with her for a while, but she eventually moved on, where she learned to separate emotion from action so effectively that sometimes she worries she might never fully turn it off.
It worked, mostly, but the human brain is not a system that respects change. Hyunjin didn’t stay in the past like she expected him to. He stayed in the quiet moments between shifts, on nights when she got home too late and the apartment felt too big, on subway rides when she had nothing else to think about, and stupidly enough, when someone in passing mentioned k-pop.
That’s when it came back. And even now, lying in a bubble bath in Italy, she finds herself thinking about him again.
Her phone buzzing on the toilet seat beside her makes her jump, knocking her out of her thoughts. She wipes her hands off with the towel hanging up beside her before leaning over, seeing that Kat was currently calling her. She smiles, answering the call and putting it on speakerphone before slouching back into the bathtub.
“Hey.”
“There she is!” Kat’s voice booms through the phone, always so bright and cheery, “My Italian girl. Professional eater of pastries.”
“I had one pastry today,” She rolls her eyes, shifting a little in the bath, the water sloshing around her lightly.
“Yeah, key word, today. Tomorrow you’ll probably have about five more.”
“I think you’re just jealous that you’re not getting any.”
“Very true,” She sighs. Y/N laughs softly, sinking deeper into the bath, the back of her head getting wet. “How are you doing, my girl?”
“Hm, kind of tired right now,” She admits softly, running her hands against her thighs, moving the bubbles around, “I walked like 20k steps today. My feet hurt so fucking bad.”
“I’m so glad I’m not there to massage them for you. Can’t bribe me with Taco Bell tonight.”
“I could fuck up ten cheesy roll-ups right now.”
Kat laughs, and Y/N lets herself relax into the sound, twirling the bubbles around with her fingers. It’s quiet for a second after that, but the silence is comfortable. It’s always comfortable with her. Kat is one of the few people who still makes her feel like her life isn’t split into before and after versions—even if she’s always known too much, even if she’s always been suspiciously good at reading between lines Y/N never explicitly drew.
“Sooo,” She drawls out suddenly, her tone shifting just slightly. Y/N’s body reacts before her brain does, and she narrows her eyes at the phone still sitting on the toilet seat. That tone is never good.
“No.” Y/N says immediately.
“I didn’t even say anything yet!” She quickly defends herself.
“You didn’t have to.”
Kat laughs in disbelief, “You always do that thing where you act like you can predict my thoughts.”
“Because I can.”
Kat sighs on the phone, and Y/N knows that’s whatever is about to come out of her mouth isn’t going to be good. “I’ve been texting Chan today,” She finally admits, and Y/N stills slightly.
“Ooookay,” She replies, a little confused as to why she’s telling her that, “You talk to him most days. Why are you telling me that?”
It’s quiet again, uncomfortable, this time. Too uncomfortable. She’s about to ask the same question again when Kat’s voice stops her.
“He mentioned something interesting.”
She tenses up even more, goosebumps forming on the back of her neck despite the warm water surrounding her, “Okay. That’s super vague and I don’t like it.” She hates it, actually.
“He’s in Europe.” She blurts out suddenly.
“Who?” Y/N asks, still confused and slightly on edge, because why is she making this so dramatic? “Chan? Why are you telling me this, Kat?”
“No, not Chan. Hyunjin.”
She blinks, wondering where this conversation is headed, “Okay. That’s nice for him. Europe’s big, you know?”
“I know geography, thank you very much,” Kat scoffs in fake annoyance, “He’s in Italy. Hyunjin is in Italy.”
Y/N sits up completely in the bath now, the bubbles falling down her chest. Her heart felt like it was about shoot right out of her chest. Hyunjin is in Italy? At the same time that she is?
Kat has known everything without technically knowing anything for four straight years, which is honestly terrifying. Y/N had never explicitly said that her and Hyunjin had hooked up, partly because of the NDA, but mostly because whatever existed between them had always felt strangely sacred, like exposing too much would ruin it completely. But Kat had figured it out anyway, probably because Y/N had cried over one man exactly once in her entire life.
And unfortunately, it was very obvious which man that was.
“And?” She squeaks out, trying to appear unaffected when she’s anything but.
“And nothing,” Kat replies lightly, but there’s something underneath it now, “It’s just… very interesting timing, is all.”
“This is ridiculous,” Y/N laughs out lightly, shaking her head as she forced herself to relax back into the bath.
“Sure.”
“I’m not going to run into him, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Sure.”
“Kat.” She calls her name, an edge to her voice. Her phone suddenly goes off again, and she sighs, leaning over to glance at the screen, fully expecting Kat to be screenshotting her a thread of texts or an article about it or something.
Her entire body goes rigid once her eyes land on the notification displayed across her lock screen.
Instagram. DM request. From hynjinnnn.
For a second, Y/N genuinely thinks she’s imagining it. That exhaustion just finally caught up to her in Italy and her brain decided to hallucinate the one person capable of psychologically ruining her from a whole other continent.
Kat’s still talking through the speaker on her phone, but Y/N isn’t comprehending anything she’s saying, hurriedly clicking on the notification and going straight to his profile, just to confirm it’s actually him.
It is. Of course it is. And somehow, it makes this ten times worse.
Her thumb hovers over the request, then she presses accept before she can overthink it too much. The first message loads instantly.
hyunjin: Hi.
It was simple, too simple. Y/N blinks at the message, once, twice, and then there’s more popping up almost immediately.
hyunjin: This is either a terrible idea or fate, and I genuinely can’t tell
hyunjin: I think I saw you at the Uffizi earlier today. And if it was really you… I don’t think I can pretend this never happened anymore
warnings: dom!jeongin & sub!reader ⋆ biting! ⋆ marking! ⋆ hand! & mouth!kink ⋆ hair!pulling ⋆ choking! ⋆ finger!sucking ⋆ katoptronophilia! (arousal of doing sexual activities in front of a mirror) ⋆ almost getting caught ⋆ small!manipulation, gaslighting and corruption ⋆ dirty talk ⋆ clit!play ⋆ overstimulation ⋆ squirting! ⋆ fingering (f.receiving)
summary: you always noticed them — his hands, big, fingers long and slender, so veiny, that you could feel every single one of them pressing against your skin…you tried so hard not to act on your own inner desires, but as more things started to happen, your control over your body began to waver — and you weren’t the only one
main masterlist
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He doesn’t even know what he is doing to you. Your lips fall apart, your own fingers grazing over your lips, face, trailing lower and lower, imagining they were his instead. With every simple move of his hand — gripping, holding, touching or even just extending — with every look, every fleeting glance, your whole body shakes from the inside, mind turning to mush. You tried to stop, feeling so awful after every single thought of his hands, but nothing was enough to keep you from denying yourself the small pleasure of even trailing your eyes trail over them. His hands — so big, so strong, fingers long and thin, veins pressing against his skin every time he so much as grazes over something, rings glimmering at you teasingly. You can’t stop yourself — not now, when you have finally, just barely, started to feel them pressing against you.
Jeongin…when you first met him, he was shy — always wearing a sweet smile on his face that deepened into the cutest dimples. That is how you remember him and that is what you thought he is always like. You still remember how your own anxiety radiated off you at the thought of meeting your best friend’s friends. However Felix, being his bubbly self, did everything he could to make feel comfortable — comfortable enough that you eventually started coming to their practice from time to time. At first, you didn’t want to get to know them, mostly of the fear that they might not like you, but that fear faded quickly, forgotten the first day you ever spent with them.
Like Felix, they all were nice to you. Some more quiet than the others, but they always intended to make you comfortable and included — from Chan, making you feel included in every conversation, to Minho making sure your plate is always full, to Changbin always putting smile on your face with his stupid jokes, to Hyunjin who you share your love for art with, to Han who secretly shares his sweets with you, to Seungmin whose bickering and nagging keeps you occupied most of the time, but with his and all of your new friends’ doings, it still couldn’t make your attention even a little waver away from him.
He is all the same — quiet, but after some time you have realized that maybe it is just you. With the others he is open, he is more himself and you? You keep your eyes on him. The beginnings were difficult for everyone — always careful with their words and actions, till they finally saw the small weight on your shoulders fall off. You didn’t even realize how truly you were nervous around them, but they actually were just acting careful around you, so they wouldn’t scare you off. Even him, but with him, you have never truly got close enough.
You were staring, awfully so and you wonder how the others didn’t picked up on it yet or even him. Maybe somehow they did, maybe they just didn’t want to embarrass you, or maybe they were just clueless. He was nothing, but kind to you, walking around you slowly like in waiting, but you always did nothing, but stare. He also, not like the others, didn’t touch you — not even a slight push nor a hug. You do know about his small dislike of someone touching him and you do respect it, keeping your hands to yourself, while also imagining what it would feel like to have his on your skin.
You wonder if he maybe did notice your eyes on him, nonmoving, glaring, but after some time you started to notice the small changes between you two. You don’t remember, when it was the first time you truly noticed them, but you do remember the time, when he got you a drink you have requested. You remember how his fingers wrapped around the cold can, leaving small imprints — you remember, when you went to take it, your own fingers didn’t even reach where his once were. Even just this lingering memory makes you shake, air getting stuck in your throat. Such a small gesture — simple, but it meant so much more for you. It also fully started your little obsession, with his hands.
You have never touched them, not even that time, too careful and trying to be respectful and with that you never truly appreciated, how nice his hands are. You for quite a while didn’t even realize yourself how much time you have spent looking at them. You always liked hands, you even had a particular picture of perfect pair of hands and he had them. It is almost one of the first things you notice on a person and not just in a certain way — how they hold a pen, phone or even how they squeeze at you, when you go shake your hand with theirs. However there was also a one way you like them the most — how they would hold you, grip at you or even pinch you. You didn’t want to think about him and his hands in that way, because you thought it was wrong, even pinching yourself every time it crossed your mind. Your skin was tender at the end of the day and even the slight sting couldn’t stop you and at one particular night, when you were on the brink of sleep, you decided to not hold yourself off any longer.
Your mind was already fuzzy, exhausted. You could feel the world around you turning into black spots before your very eyes, but you knew that it mostly wasn’t from the need for sleep. You couldn’t close your eyes, mind swirling, thoughts a mess, before every black spot before you formed into one solid picture. Him — right on top of you, caging you, body pressed against yours. His hands — trailing over your body, gripping, pinching your skin between his fingers. Your breathing has turned into quiet gasps as you followed his imaginary movements with your own hands. Oh, how would they feel running through your hair. How his fingers would pinch lightly at your peeks. How would he use them on you — pushing, scissoring, moving so fast, curling just right, till they reach the one delicious spot inside you and you just know it would be so good. He would know perfectly what to do to you — you would let him do anything and everything to you…You would let him wrap his hands around you, till your skin would turn tender. You would let him wrap them around your neck, your hips, your thighs, everything. You would let him fuck you onto his fingers, cunt leaking all over him, squeezing tightly, because you knew it would be too delicious to stop…You are a mess and a one thing that didn’t help was that he had finally started to feel comfortable around you.
You felt so dirty, yet you couldn’t stop, not when the thought of your hands replaced by his brought you to such ecstasy that it made your eyes roll back into your head. When he for the first time touched you — shivers of delight ran down your spine, world around you swirling. It was so simple again, but it being him was everything, but that. Shock — sparks alighting on the spot and you did nothing, but stare dumply at him, yet again he didn’t seem to notice.
One day, when you were outside in a small garden, it had happened. That night was warm, small wind blowing through your hair as you so desperately tried to put them behind your ear to take a small bite of Minho’s amazing cooking. You were frustrated, huffing lightly as your hand came to wrap around the small strand of hair, that kept getting inside your mouth every time you would try to take a bite. You were almost ready to rip it out of your head, till you felt a small graze of fingers against your temple and like your body knew, you froze. Standing before you, looking down at you, was Jeongin and for a split second you caught his gaze — staring, he was staring right at you…your lips. The food in your spoon almost fell off, watching him slowly and precisely put your stubborn hair behind your ear, before turning back around to the conversion he was having with Hyunjin, like nothing had happened.
Like he didn’t just touch — like he didn’t do something so intimate, right in front of the others, like he didn’t just stare at your lips….
Your appetite didn’t return, it just turned into something way more different. The first time he ever laid his hands on you…Maybe you were thinking too much, but you never have felt such a rush, when Felix did it for example. So simple, yet not. For the rest of that night, like every other, you couldn’t stop looking, thinking, dreaming about those hands. Everything he did with them was something so mesmerizing and you were absolutely smitten. That night is treasured deeply in your heart and how much you didn’t expect him to do it again and again.
You tried to keep your distance, even if it didn’t mean much since you kept looking at how his fingers moved — so elegantly that you truly couldn’t do anything about your staring, but he…he seemed to only move closer and closer to you since than. When he first sat beside you, your body almost froze, like you were certain a small move would make him move away. Maybe you did want that in some way, because his whole presence made your mind shut off — mumbling, muscles spasming yet frozen and you truly wonder how you could even press down on the buttons of the controller you were holding. The game you were playing with Felix was quickly forgotten, his whining and shouting, nothing but a background noice, but one sentence ringed in the air.
“Let me try.”
Your head didn’t turn to him, body so still you didn’t know if you should just fall over so the ground could swallow you whole. He never truly spoke to you and you have to wonder again how is it that he has you wrapped around his finger this much…that’s right his finger, the one touching yours. Your eyes stared down on the controller in your hands as he came to grab it from your grasp, hands momentarily wrapping around yours. His hands — so big and warm were almost galloping yours and you couldn’t fight against the small sigh leaving you. His touch was again so brief that you thought it was just your wild imagination, but it did happened and you did find the last bits of strength to look up at him.
He was smiling, dimples showing seemingly sweet, but something in his eyes flickered briefly, when he trailed his gaze over your features before looking away. You were a mess, truly a mess and there is no other word better to describe yourself. Since than he did so many things with his hands, when he was near you — hands running through his hair, till you got a whiff of his lingering shampoo, his fingers tugging at the zipper of his hoodie, tapping against the glass of his drink, fingers pressing against his lips, when he was deep in thought and every time you looked — every time you noticed how his head would slightly tilt into your direction and every time you looked away in shame. Every time your eyes met his, you naively thought he was only glancing your way, only looking at his new friend — but, oh…how wrong you were.
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Sweat — rolling down their flushed skin, chests rising in deep, rigid breaths, that you mirror lightly in your own way. You can see the exhaustion dripping off them, heads rolling back, muscles jumping, joints shaking as they slump down to the ground. You don’t know for how long you have been here, how long you have been lost in thought, but it was enough for them to feel their bodies screaming for relief. You tried to helped them the best you could, but you yourself didn’t see why you were even needed here in the practice room. Felix and the others, thought of you as a thing to lean on, a support and what kind be friend would you be not to stay…Even if you were just sitting on the couch watching — watching him.
Your best friend startles you a little, pulling you out of your thoughts as he flops down next to you, huffing, stretching. “Man, I am so tired–“ Felix whines to no one particular. However you do smile a little, when he turns to you to jokingly pout, before his lips part again to blow out puffs of air.
“We should take a break.” Says Chan, nodding at everyone, seemingly exhausted as well. The new comeback was a weight on everyone’s shoulders right now — nonstop practicing, trying to get perfect their dances that were already flawless. You had thought that maybe your presence might distract them somehow. However to them you were a calm presence, a shoulder to lean on. What they didn’t seem to realize, though, is that it was quite the opposite for you. It felt like torture in a sense…watching sweat drip down his face, trailing down his neck, pulling at his thin t-shirt in attempt to cool down a little, hearing the heavy breaths escape him between takes, the deep frown of concentration etched on his face as he danced.
You are more quiet than usual, fidgeting with your own hands, as your eyes travel from him to the others — no use whatsoever, because you still found yourself looking at him as he goes to sit down on the floor. “Want something to eat, before we continue?” Asks Chan, voice breathy and his question is already being answered by series of agreements.
You don’t know what time it is now, but you do feel small specks of exhaustion settling over you too. Still, as always, your mind and heart ignore the rest of your body, too occupied with the view infront of you. Jeongin had you mesmerized by his smooth movements, hair now slightly damp from the hours of practice and you couldn’t help, but wonder how much time had passed to get him like this — body sprawled over the floor, elbows holding his upper body up as he leaned back into the couch. Every time he would take a breath, his dark t-shirt would cling onto his chest. His head is rolled back, giving you a view of his long neck, your eyes following the prominent vein peaking from beneath the thin skin, Adam’s apple bobbing, looking good enough to bite and his hands…they keep twitching, like tapping into the rhythm of the music that already had stopped playing minute ago. You are distracted again, so much you don’t feel or hear the others moving around the room.
“Innie-ah, you coming?” Asks Hyunjin and that makes you turn away from him to the others, who look at their dark haired friend, who is still sitting on the floor. You don’t even realize, that they already moved to go get some food, your eyes meeting Felix’s and you do know he could see the way yours widened at the next words.
“No–“ Says Jeongin and you already feel a lump forming in your throat at the answer as he doesn’t even take a move to go with them. “Just buy me whatever.” He waves his hand lightly, your eyes flickering over the room back to him and you almost crumble, when he meets you in the middle.
You can feel the others now looking at you too in a silent question, which should be simple to answer in a sense, but you can’t help but almost stutter. You will be alone…alone with him, if you don’t go and you don’t know if you want that. No, you feel like your body needs that — feeling his and his presence only caging you in and the thought makes your seemingly exhausted body wake up from any kind of slumber it was in. Your body and heart speaks for you, but your mind screams at your answer.
“I don’t want anything — I will just wait here.“
Everything was said so fast and collected, but your gaze didn’t waver from his, because you physically couldn’t look away. You watch his eyes narrow a little, fingers twitching again and like a fly you follow the movement, almost blacking out at that, because he just saw you. He was you definitely looking and if you hadn’t turned away as if the sight of his hands physically burned you, it might have not look so obvious. You curse at yourself silently in your mind, glancing at the others, who nod at you in acknowledgment, before taking their leave and just as their presence started to fade, you feel his grow heavier — expanding, filling the space around you.
You are choking, thoughts a mess and for the first time you don’t think about anything and you just feel. You don’t hear, but feel the doors closing, the distancing footsteps, the way his breathing levels, the way his muscles stretch, when he goes to take a sip of his water. The way his fingers scrunch up the water bottle…You want to cry, scream, anything, because you don’t even recognize yourself anymore. You have never been so smitten, so mesmerized by someone and the worst part is that he might never know…
Jeongin swallows the last bits of water, before looking at you. Your legs are pushed up to your chest, sitting in the far corner of the couch, like you wanted to make yourself as small as possible. The dimmed light highlights the small frown on your face, watching silently, how you fumble with your fingers. It was quiet, nothing, but the small rustles of fabric from him, when he moves to stretch a little and the small hum of the air conditioning in the room. The small cold breeze does nothing for your heated skin, eyes looking down at nothing in particular, silently counting the seconds. You are pathetic — finally you have him alone with you and you can’t even do anything about it. You don’t even know what would you say…you don’t even know, if you are even capable of ever voicing your words out loud.
You don’t know if it is just you again, who feels the tension in the room, but you do feel how he suddenly turns his attention to you. You don’t move, his stare piercing through your body in a way that it is almost impossible for you to look back at him. You have no shield, no excuse — you can look at him, you are just not sure if you are capable of normally, without your emotions reflecting in your eyes. However you do see him from the corner of your eye stand up, pushing down his sweatpants that had ridden up his long legs. “Want some?” His voice cuts through the thick air and you can’t do anything, but nervously look up at him to know what he is asking.
In his hand is his now empty water bottle, fingers digging into the plastic little deeper than it is necessary. Your eyes meet his only, because he moves his occupied hand to his face to lightly flick off a small drop of sweat running down his jaw. At that you notice how your closed up throat is screaming in thirst, nodding slowly in plea, too scared to even open your mouth to speak. Jeongin mimicks you, before walking up to the small table in the corner of the room. You wonder why you both not just ignore each other, scrolling away on your phones before everyone gets back — you soak in each other’s presence.
You follow his every move, suddenly so confident with his back turned to you, watching muscles rip under his thin t-shirt. Everything goes slow around you, yet too quick at the same time, body twisting a little, when he turns back to you to give you your water. Your muscles spasm, legs falling down the couch in a sound way too loud in the silence of the room and you can’t help, but cringe at everything you are doing right now. You feel exposed under his eyes, even if he is just looking, even if his stare is always seemingly so nerve racking.
Jeongin stops right in front of you, making your frown disappear from your face so quickly you almost have a whiplash. Right before you is your water bottle, his hand wrapped around it — you go grab it slowly and unsurely. You keep your face straight as best as you can, but how can you, when your hand touches his…the reason you are so miserable. His skin is cold, kissed by the dripping water and you follow it, till it falls off the tip of his finger. You don’t know if you are moving so slow just to not crumble, hand lingering on his second too long that it seems intentional. However his touch — before you can melt into the leather couch any further is gone as his hand falls back to his side.
You feel your heart shatter not just from that, but also because you notice how your hands shake a little as you go to take a sip. The cold water though does nothing too ease your inner thirst, not when he is still standing before you…You swallow a little too hard, carefully glancing at him from beneath your lashes and your lips are left parted at the sight of him towering over you. He was always a bit taller than you, but from this angle you are even more intimidated. When did he move so close? You almost feel the material of his sweatpants grazing over you and you don’t move away from it nor into it — you are completely still, staring at him and he does notice the inner battle reflecting in your eyes. There is no use, you don’t have the strength to fight your emotions right now.
“Something wrong?” He asks you, voice smooth as ever, loud around you. You are completely drowning in his presence alone. Your lips go to press against each other, but your mouth is left open again, when you catch him following the movement. Goosebumps rise on your skin, words getting caught in your throat again, so you just decide to just shake your head, even if you are lying. Everything is wrong — with you and your obsession, kink, to the way he stands before you, talks, moves. How does he do it?
Your eyes travel away from him, just for a second to atleast blink, because it seems you can’t even do that, but then shock fills you. The move so quick and smooth you feel your mouth drying again, when he suddenly takes the water from you. Pathetically you want to chase the feel of his skin again, but you only look up at him in bewilderment. The way his fingers grazed over yours leaves a permanent burning sensation, that sends your stomach spinning. It seemed like he used your disbelief of such act to move closer, because your knee touches his leg briefly, but that isn’t the thing that makes you almost fall into unconsciousness.
It is the way he puts the rim of the bottle against his own lips, tongue sticking out for a moment and you visibly shiver at the thought of it being your lips instead. He takes a long sip of water, some of it rolling down to his chin, neck bobbing again. The way he makes everything look so good, should be illegal. Your mind shatter again, because he is drinking from the same bottle as you — he could have take a new one for himself. You knew how he is, when people get close to him, how he slightly pulls away from an unexpected hug, even if there is a smile on his face. He is definitely not smiling now…he is watching you from behind your water, small breath falling from him as he goes to wipe away the spilled water from his pink lips. “Sorry, thirsty–“ He shrugged, like that move didn’t just make you form into a puddle.
“It’s okay.” You mumble so quietly you don’t even hear yourself. You watch him relax his arms by his sides, also noticing, how he holds to bottle just with his fingers. You don’t know where to look right now, small silence between you two, before he so suddenly smiles down at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, nor it does last long as he tilts his head at you.
It was a silent question and you answer it by another wave of silence, not really sure what to do — if you want him to leave or let him get even closer to you. The quiet makes it hard for you to breathe, his presence and stare only intensifying it. You can see his own unspoken words circling in his eyes, yours nonblinking so you wouldn’t seem like a bigger mess than you already are. With his head tilted down at you, the move making your heart skip a beat, his lips form into a small frown. “You are always so quiet, when I am around…Did I do something?” Jeongin sounds sad, eyebrows furrowing lightly and you do nothing, but panic a little.
“No!” You say, voice a little too loud, making heat rush to your cheeks. With your now wide eyes you watch his frown deepen even more and you curse yourself for being like this around him.
“Really?“ He says, pausing a little, features softening, but his eyes hardening. “Then why do you keep looking at me?” You pause, breathing becoming short as you stammer to answer. He is only meaning now — not every day, every moment…You are again lying to yourself, but you have to, otherwise you would probably die on the spot. However the way he said it…no.
“I don’t look at you.” That is the most vile lie you have ever said and you are still looking at him, while you said it. You feel the world closing on to you at the thought of him noticing your nonstop staring — that’s it, you are only allowed to look at him from afar. Admire him, thing you will propably never have, but in some way you do wanted him to notice. In some twisted way, you want him to punish you for it…
Jeongin only hums lowly at your answer, gaze leaving yours, like in deep thought, before he twists his body a little to put the bottle onto the table behind him. Why does it feel like he is waiting? Maybe to see if you will crack? What if he did notice and now he thinks you hate him or something? Your mind is running wild, so distracted that you see him moving in the mirrors surrounding you, way before you feel him.
He humms lowly again, before he goes to sit right next to you, body so close to yours you do a double take to make sure you are seeing right. In the mirror you see him looking at you, feeling the hard glare on the side of your face, but you don’t meet it. You are baffled by everything he did so far — so out of character, so different from the smiley Innie you knew. For a moment think you think, that are dreaming. That you are only imagining his side touching yours, feeling every breath he takes. The small spasm of muscle, when he twists his body to face you a little more. However you see it and feel it, everything is happening so fast you can’t do anything about it yet again. His reflection — the smell of his sweat mixed with his perfume sends you into overdrive and when you see him move his right hand to you…you are left speechless again.
You let him, really you can’t even fight it, because you have been thinking about his hands, his touch every night and every day and now…now his hand comes to put your hair behind your ear. It is the same as before, but now his touch seems to hold a meaning, hand lingering on the side of your face. You let him trace his fingers over your jaw, all the way down to your chin, but he doesn’t make you look at him. You only watch him through the mirror, like you are not ready to face this reality of him touching you so intensely. His hair hides his gaze on your lips, but you do feel it, lips parting in silent gasp as he moves his hand back to your hair. Goosebumps rise on your skin, shivering, when he presses over the skin behind your ear, before you see him leaning closer, hot breath fanning over your ear.
“I know.”
That word…that word makes you freeze in your spot, panic, fear and something more striking you, head snapping to face him. He is close — his nose almost touches yours if you wouldn’t back away in on an instinct. Jeongin’s face is calm, hint of a smile on his lips at your state as your mouth keeps closing and opening. “What-“ You are in denial somehow, only to calm yourself down, but is it even possible with him being so close to you? You watch him remove his hand, with watchful eyes and with that his smile only widens, while you feel a lump forming in your throat. His leg is pressed against yours, reminding you of how close he still is to you and you almost whimper at the confident look you are given — he knows.
“You think, I didn’t notice?” His tone isn’t sharp, but it still does make shame and embarrassment reach you, because you have been caught. Jeongin doesn’t seem to be angry nor disappointed and that makes it all too worst, because he must already know the answer to why exactly you have been watching him. “You stare at me every time I turn away — hoping I won’t catch you, but I always do. So tell me…why and what is it you are looking at?”
You are ashamed. He already knows, but he still wants you to say it. His face is so close to yours, hand on the back of the couch and you know that if you would try to move away he will catch you — there is no way out of this. Though you don’t have the strength to admit yourself yet. “Nothing…” You whisper, head low, while he tilts his again.
“Nothing?” He repeats and now you hear a small hint of dissatisfaction.
“I…I am just looking nothing more, I swear-“ Liar — you are a horrible liar.
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
You have never heard such tone leaving his lips before and you wonder if he is turning angry only because you won’t say it. How can you? You have been caught, but it is not like you were subtle about your actions to begin with. You are embarrassed to be acting like that — so desperate and pathetic, but you can’t control your needs and desires. You feel almost on the brink of tears just from how ashamed you are and you want nothing more than to run and hide, so you do. However you are only quick enough to sit up, hands immediately finding you, pressing you back into the couch and you do gasp out loud at that.
He doesn’t remove his hands from your upper arms, hold strong enough for you to see there is no use trying to escape. His fingers dig into you hard, but it is everything, but painful. You are forced to meet his gaze again and you quiver at the glare he sends you. “Talk, Y/N — can you even do that?” Jeongin leans closer to you, making your back press into the cushion, while he almost hovers over your body.
You don’t know what to do — cry, scream? In embarrassment, pain, but mainly relief, because seeing him like this leaning over your body sends shivers down your spine. “I am sorry–“ You whisper, gasping lightly, when he suddenly releases you from one of his hands to press against the spot next to your head, leather squeaking under his weight.
“Sorry for what exactly?” You almost shake your head, because you don’t particularly know the answer. You are sorry for everything, yet not, because your actions leaded to this. You don’t take your eyes off each other, chests rising so wildly they almost meet. Something then flickers in his eyes, features softening just for you to notice the change. “Sorry, that you don’t talk to me like you do to others?” You blink at the change of tone a little, his words striking small confusion, but you are no fool — he is being manipulative and it is working.
“I was trying to be…respectful.” That word sits heavy on your tongue.
“Respectful…” He repeats after you again. You let him turn you into nothing by a mess beneath his hands, melting at the way his hand travels up your arm. “You and I both know there is nothing respectful between us–“ Your state — wide eyes, lips parted, skin heated — your state makes him melt a little too.
“Us?”
Jeongin is shaking on the inside, because he knew — he wanted you to say it so bad, his grip tightens over your collarbones, thumb pressing into the bone. “Tell me, Y/N. Why are ypu acting so different around me — and don’t tell me you were only looking. I can see you mouthing the words…what do you want?“ It’s a demand, perhaps a plea for you to stop acting innocent.
“I don’t–“
He tsks at you, frown falling over his face, growing frustrated. “Why are you so scared…Did I do something to upset you?” Jeongin says, quietly, sounding so sincere, you stutter.
“No!” It comes out broken, ending in a pathetic whine. You can’t breathe, because it would make you breathe him in too. You realize your state at that…You can’t hide any longer, there was no use even at the start of this. “It’s me…” You confess, not fully, but he sees the way the invisible shield before you crack enough for him to press against you more.
Your legs are pushing against each other, his hand griping on to the cushion next to your head, while the other slides over your arm back again. You watch his eyes turn dark, making you tremble beneath him. Jeongin’s breath mixes with yours, gaze piercing through yours, till it suddenly drifts to your mouth. “Then tell — tell me, what you want and I will give it to you.” His words are like honey, but you hear something, that makes you choke…desperation.
“I can’t–“ You can’t move, breathe, but you do feel him and it is becoming absolutely intoxicating.
“But you do want to–“ His eyes meet yours again, small silence falling between you after that. You don’t answer, because it is so obvious — you need it, want it, you are just not sure if you can handle it. Your body battles with your mind as his hand comes to caress the side of your neck. You whimper, the sound so loud in the silence and so raw you have to close your eyes. His fingers tickle you and your breath turns into gasp, when you feel him blowing air on to the thin skin of your neck. That sound sends sparks of pleasure up his spine. You are too into everything to notice the slight shake in his movements, while his next words bounce off your skin. “Do you want me is that it? Or do you just want my hands?”
You don’t recognize him, he is completely dripping in sin and you are eating every last bit of it. With his lips so close to your skin, your eyes flew back open, staring behind him at the reflection of you two. “I…I want–“ You are speechless, watching him pull away a little to meet your gaze again, heart hammering against your chest as he puts his hands around your back to pull you closer. “I want everything.”
“Then take it.”
You pull your hands away from your chest to press them against his instead, gasping lightly when you feel his heart. “Please–“ Your hands grasp at his t-shirt, making it slide down his chest a little and your simple plea makes him snap.
Jeongin knew — he knew from the beginning. How your lips fell apart every time he would look at you. How your body stilled, every time he was near you and how you stared at his hands and everything he does with them. He firstly thought he was imagining it, thinking maybe, that you are too shy to approach someone new to talk to them, but he quickly realized it — you didn’t want to just talk, you wanted something more, him. The idea corrupted him, the idea of his friend’s best friend being so smitten by him to the point you would fall down to your knees the second he would touch you. Like now — pulling you closer to his heated body, eyes falling to your lips, that were always so delicious to look at. He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to grasp the opportunity to finally talk to you, to feel you. He finally has you, where he wants and he wonders, what would Felix think about the way you are acting like now. So desperate, so his…
The racing thought, the realization that maybe somebody might walk in and caught you two in the act is something he never knew he wanted. His tongue swipes across his lips, mouth so close to yours now, that you feel it grazing you, your small gasp for air being then swallowed by his hungry mouth. It’s hard, all so knowingly desperate and he drinks your small sighs of pleasure with greediness. The feel of his lips finally on yours makes you delirious, letting your body fall onto his, lips pushing harshly against his. It is all spit, tongue and teeth, everything, but sweet, making your mixed drool roll down your chins. His hands roam then, sliding up your back, then down to your hips, before one of them tangles in your hair.
You cry out sharply, when you feel him tug at your roots, head rolling back, the new exposed flesh being immediately warmed by his mouth. Jeongin doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, running his lips over you — licking, sucking, nibbling and you let him take it all. “Finally you have said it–“ He mumbles across your skin, groaning into you. “If only you had said it sooner.”
“Jeongin–“ You yelp, when he suddenly bites the side of your neck, the pain quickly melting into pleasure. You panic, suddenly realizing your position and situation — the others can be back at any given moment, you know nothing about how far away they are and also their is a possibility of someone roaming around the building, even at this late hour. If someone wrong sees you, it would get you two into big trouble. However his kisses, touches quickly pull you out of your racing thoughts.
You trust him maybe more than you should, considering that you can feel the slight sting at the side of your neck. The small appearing mark doesn’t seem to stop him, it is completely the opposite. His hand finds the back of your neck, too weak to fight him, making him twist you to his liking. Jeongin licks a long straight line up your neck, before blowing cold air, sending shivers down your spine. You are already shaking, legs pushing against each other a little harder, smearing your already leaking juices. The action is not missed, hands falling to your thighs, pinching at your flesh. You are hot — sweat dripping down the side of your face, breathing fast. His mouth then meets yours again, in a kiss so sweet you can’t help, but whimper.
“Been thinking about your mouth for so long.” The confession makes you fist his t-shirt harder, almost ripping it. You feel yourself clenching over nothing, legs pressing against each other, his hands only increasing the pleasure.
Jeongin pokes his cheek with his tongue, breathing heavily through his nose as he leans away to look at you. Just your look — just your slick, puffy lips and glossy eyes make his cock twitch. The thought of you being so open for him like this, so trusting, is something that maybe he wants to show off. You are a problem…sweet, delicious, addicting, making him act like this, but it seems you are too drunk to even notice the effect you have on him. His fingers tug lightly at the material of your sweatpants, feeling the heat of your skin even through the layers of clothing. He watched you too — he thought about you and how you would look…Under him, on top of him, gasping, whimpering, pleading for more and more, till you are left crying in pleasure and overstimulation. He wondered how you would taste like. How you would sound like, when he would suck at your clit just right — he thought about your mouth and how it would be like to kiss you. How you would wrap your lips around his skin, his cock…His eyes then flicker to the closed doors briefly. He wanted you — all of you, but not right now. However he will give you exactly, what you want and need.
You are left puzzled for a moment, when he suddenly pulls away from you, feet hitting the floor. He sits back, lifting his lower half a little and at that you notice the outline of his cock pressing against his sweats. You bite your lip at the prominent outline of him, watching him spread his legs wider, before he lightly taps his thighs. “Come here–“ He says, leaning back onto the couch. Your desperation makes you not skip a beat, all shame leaving the room from seeing him worked up just like you are. You sit up, crawling your way up to him, but before you can sit, his hands find your hips. “No, like this.” His strength surprises you, letting him turn you around so your back faces him, lifting you up to sit you on his lap. You feel it — his chest rising under you, his breath on the side of your neck as he pushes your hair to the side, his cock pressing right against your ass as you come to sit between his open thighs. His lips find your skin straight away, hands running over your legs and you gasp lightly, when you suddenly lift your gaze to the mirrors infront of you, only finding him watching you the whole time. “I want you to see–“ Jeongin watches your eyes trace over his hands that lightly tweak at your thighs. “What exactly were you imagining?”
He wants you to say it, even if he knows it, even if he feels you shaking under his hands. Your eyes briefly close to savor the feeling, twitching on his lap, making you press your backside harder to his cock. You feel him chasing the feeling, hips lifting you up a little to make you bounce one more time. It makes you gush even more, legs opening and closing, trying to ease the ache between your legs. You are in haze, completely drunk of him and you don’t care about anything but his touch anymore. “Your hands on me…” You say, the confession making his hands stop at the waistband of your sweatpants, fingers grazing over your exposed skin.
His lips press against your skin, biting down a little, making you feel the smile on his face, before you even see it. The sight is so dirty — so everything, captivated by how his hand extends over your lower stomach. “Where?” Jeongin is teasing, getting off your frustration, watching a sweet frown fall on your face .
“Please, just–“ You move around on his lap, the another graze of your bottom half across his cock, making him hiss lightly, before you see him putting one of his hands back in your hair.
Jeongin tugs lightly, your head tilting to your shoulder, meeting his wild gaze in the mirror. “I can give you what you want, you just have to ask nicely.” You whine at that, few tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, glimmering in the soft light in the room.
You are done fighting against the last bits of your self respect, cunt clenching again, when his fingers on you travel lower, till you feel them dipping under your sweats. “Jeongin — I want your fingers, please–“ There is no time to waste if he wants to give you what you want and your sweet voice echoes around him like a siren.
He turns to look down at you, tugging your head so it faces his and he curses at the pout you give him. Your lashes are wet, bottom lip quivering and that action makes his eyes roll into the back of his head. “Fuck–“ He kisses you again, briefly yet messily, moaning with you as his tongue rolls against yours, before he pushes away again, small string of saliva connecting you two. Both of his hands find your waist again, rolling the soft material between his fingers, tugging a little. “Take these off.” Your skips a beat at his words, shaking hands finding his.
You pull your sweatpants off, with his help, lifting yourself up a little and as you kick them off your legs, sitting back again, the feel of his cock is much more intense than before. You gasp as he moves a little so he is right between your cheeks, eyes opening wide at the sheer size of him. Your eyes then meet his again, but now in the mirror, following his line of sight to the dark, wet spot on your underwear. “Look–“ You already are — watching him and his hands traveling down your legs, the feeling making you press against him even more.
His hands are hot and heavy, gripping at the meat of your thighs, when you just a little bit close them at the sight of your juices coating your skin. Your smell is intoxicating, the feel of you trembling just as his finger dips lightly inside your thighs is addicting. Jeongin is staring straight on the wet spot infront of your black panties, low light hitting your slick skin just right. You jerk at the first ever touch of his fingers — they press against you, right over your puffy clit, the small move more than enough to make you moan. “Fuck, you are dripping–“ You whimper in response, looking down at how his fingers are getting coated with your juices.
“More–“ You say, already loosing your mind at how his fingers just keep pressing and not moving. Your hole clenches at the thought his fingers dipping into you. Even though if your tone is whiny, borderline desperate he takes it in a way that makes him snap a little.
“Yeah? Want me to fuck you, with my fingers?” You are still having a whiplash from his sudden change of behavior, but you only lean more into it. You nod wildly, head turning to look at him, but his gaze doesn’t meet yours, because you suddenly feel him tugging at the flimsy material of your underwear. He pulls them to the side, making them snap a little when he releases them. Cold air kisses your slick cunt then, you shivering lightly, shaking, when his fingers just barely graze over you. You don’t even have time too look down, mind to hazy from the quick touch. You don’t even look, when one of his hands come to grip at the side of your neck — not when his other, coated with your juices comes to press against your lips.
“Open.”
Your lips fall apart in a gasp, making it for him all too easier to shove his two fingers inside your mouth, pressing them down at your tongue. Your mouth wraps around his digits instantly, sucking lightly the taste of your sweetness inside your mouth. But then you look — you see how his own eyes gloss over, mouth opening as you lightly bite down at the tips of his fingers. The look you give him makes his other hand travel to the front of your throat, making a loud sound escape you, when he suddenly rips his hand away from your lips, maneuvering your head back to face your reflection as he finally moves to touch you.
His already used hand comes to cup you, his palm digging into you, smearing your wetness all over your skin and his hand. “Soaked–“ Jeongin groans with you, hand on your throat squeezing a little and he can feel how that action makes your clit twitch under his fingers. Small, precise circles are made, him expertly moving the hood of your clit away to touch you more deeply — it is even better than you imagined. He is so mean about it too…Pressing you against his chest, with his hand on your throat, making you watch yourself in the mirror, while he plays with you. His rolls your bud between his fingers, pinching it lightly, the small pain just a low, addicting buzz. Your stomach twists, body burning and jerking over his cock, that he keeps pushing into you.
Your breathing is fast, matching his, eyes on yours reflection instead of looking down and the sight makes your stomach flip. It almost feels forbidden — you feel more exposed. Jeongin swipes his fingers over you, extending them to get every inch of you touched. He traces over your slit, each time his fingers dipping lower and lower, watching you clench over nothing. You feel blood rushing to your face, little bit self conscious of being in such exposing position and him still being clothed, while you are spread wide open, but everything is way too good to say anything about it. “So wet, that I could slide right in–“ You gasp when his ring and middle finger slide lower.
“Please — I want it–“ You keep repeating it, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder, but you only receive a tight squeeze to your throat.
“Then look.” You do — him helping you look back at your reflection, just as his fingers dig deeper into you. There is no resistance, you are so wet you can feel yourself dripping down on the couch. You twitch a little at the sensation, mind swirling. His long fingers slide inside you quick, too quick for you to breathe through it. However only your body knows its limits and you are not even surprised that you only suck them right in.
Jeongin is losing his mind over, how your velvety walls keep closing onto him — so soft and slippery. The thought of him sliding inside you instead is great, hips lifting both of your bodies in hopes he would get closer to your cunt, only making his fingers go deeper in you. You whimper, eyes almost closing at the way the tips of his fingers reach your cervix, palm of his hand grazing over your clit. His other fingers then hook around you, wrist twisting, before he starts to scissor his fingers inside you, searching. “You have touched yourself to this?” He mumbles lowly, lips against your neck. “You wanted this for so long, that you imagined it every time I would just barely touch you–“ No question — he knows.
“Wonder if I can make you squirt–“
A cry leaves you, when he suddenly at that curls his fingers inside you, palm moving against your clit. The idea of you doing that is unfamiliar. You have never done that, you have never even been close to it, but the way his fingers reach so easily to the one gummy spot inside you, tells you he might be able to do it way to easily. “Don’t stop — Jeongin-“ You moan his name, when he starts to trust his fingers inside you, curling them up each time they slide into you.
“You are…so–“ He is a little lost for words. The way your body reacts to his touch — hips lifting to chase his touch, your nails digging into his hand still holding your throat, though not clawing at it for him to stop — your other holding his, that keeps thrusting into you…He is drooling. Wet, nasty sounds fill the room, his fingers increasing on speed, but now more pushing against you so his palms keeps hitting your clit. You are moaning, gasping, music to his ears, however even if he knows that no one can hear you inside this room, he also knows that when you would go close enough to the door you could probably hear the filthy noises coming from you both.
Jeongin’s hand on your throat leaves you, making you gulp in air, but your mouth is only able to take in few breaths, before his hands clasps it. “Shhhh— you don’t want them to hear, right?” Your eyes widen at that, loud moans of pleasure turning into whimpers as you wildly shake your head. “Huh…still I bet you would like that–“ His words makes you clench down on his fingers, tips of them now just curling inside you, palm moving against you.
You are way too easy — you already feel you lower tummy rumbling in the way too familiar pleasure, moaning against his hand as he moves his other to push his thumb against you. You are starting be aware of everything around you — from the way he keeps whispering sweet, nasty nothings into your ear, hot air blowing against your skin. How he moans every time your hips press against his, how you both look like nothing, but sin in the mirror — where are you and what are you doing right now, knowing your friends might be back any minute. Your wildest dreams coming true — him fucking you with his delicious fingers, feeling every vein pressing against you…is all too much for your body to handle.
Then with one particular push of his thumb against your clit, fingers not losing any rhythm, scissoring, curling, you slide a little down on the couch. Your leaking cunt and sweat is making it too easy for you to slide off, but then his hand on your mouth comes to catch you before you could run away from the immense pleasure. He tsks again at your doings, small breath, like a laugh, leaving him, hand grasping your thigh, before hooking it around his. That only makes his fingers go deeper into you, hitting your cervix each time. You are huffing, choking to get air back inside your lungs as you start to shake around him.
Jeongin notices your change way too quickly, turning his head from your reflection to your tear stained face. “Gonna cum, baby?” The nickname makes you whimper pathetically, eyes barely open, but they don’t leave the mirror in fear he would stop. “You don’t even know, how much better I can fuck you, with my cock–“ Your breath hitches, pleading for him not to stop talking, his words just pushing you more and more to the edge. You have never knew, only dreamed about him talking to you like this — the words, even so unexpected, making you run hot, seemingly coming off way more natural than you would have thought.
You are shaking harshly, feeling heat washing over you, mewling at the way he keeps the delicious pace. Your head rolls to the side, teary eyes meeting his and he almost coos at the way you are having such a hard time to keep them open. Your legs keep closing, but he doesn’t let you move away, hand digging into your thigh so deep you know it will mark — and he does want to mark you with purpose, even though he decided that he would probably never let anyone get close enough to see it…though the mark on your neck says otherwise. You feel it — the burn inside you, the way your body keeps chasing the pleasure, face screwing up, mouth open and slick, droll running down your face.
“Fuck – I’m gonna–“ You start to breathe in series of gasps, gaze shooting back to the mirror and then back to him again.
With your sharp moan, Jeongin kisses you again, deep groan leaving the deepest part of his chest as he feels your body stilling. Your vision turns white, your ears ring, head rolling back in ecstasy as your hands fly to grasps his arm to ground your self. The orgasm is so strong it leaves you voiceless, silent scream leaving you, but then…it doesn’t stop — he doesn’t stop. His hand moves, but only so it doesn’t touch your twitching clit, only to start trusting his fingers inside you again with a movement so fast your cry rings in the room. “What are you – Oh, fuck!” You can’t see, your vision is blurry, eyes though still being capable to follow his line of sight.
Jeongin is breathing harshly, tongue poking out of his mouth, watching his fingers disappear inside you. He holds you down the best he can, moaning when he suddenly hears the wet sounds coming from your cunt. Your juices start to splash, your still hot cum leaking out of you and drooling down the couch and you panic at the foreign feeling bubbling inside you. It is too fast, too much — you try to warn him, run away from the intense feeling, but you are too weak to do anything other than tremble on top of him. You are overwhelmed, overstimulation high and you scream as the feeling comes over you. “Come on, just one more — do it, soak my fucking hand–” He silences you for your own good, fingers pushing inside your mouth again to quiet down the loud cry, as the feeling you were trying so hard to hold back wins over.
Before your eyes close, you see yourself squirt around his hand, your juices reaching all the way to the ground and table before you, making you scream in small horror and euphoria. You have never felt something so intense, something so pleasurable that it made you cry. Your body arches off his and Jeongin in his state of awe lets your legs fall shut, his hand still working you up. Everything is a blur for while for you, shaking and quivering, feeling your slick pooling on the couch under you. “Oh, my-“ His hand stills at your small whimper of overstimulation, fingers slowly sliding out of you and he has to push your legs apart to even free his hand.
Jeongin is marveled by the sight before him, eyes drifting over your reflection to you. You are covered in thin sheen of sweat, skin blooming under his touch and he has to stop himself from not going back to give you more. You are spent — done, you almost can’t even move, body slumped weakly against his. His eyes then drift back between your legs, that are finally moving apart, muscles spasming in your legs and exposed tummy. You have soaked everything — your legs, the couch, even the table before you and Jeongin has to bite back a groan at that. He watches you breathe through it, small whimpers still reaching his also ringing ears, however he then decides to lift you off his lap.
You moan in small protest, blinking away your now dried tears, while he stands to grasp the small box of tissues off the marked table. “Here-“ Still a gentleman, even after turning you into a complete mush. He is gentle now, atleast when he goes to wipe away your juices from your body for you, seeing you are too weak to even do it yourself. Your eyes trail over him, watching his eyes clear a little, but there is still that spark, still the reminder of what he did to you just now. You then look down to his still covered cock — he must have adjusted himself, when you weren’t looking, because you can only see just a small imprint of him. The tissues are little too harsh on your sensitive skin, jumping a little at the sensation, but his hand, now softly laying on your naked thigh, calms you.
You are sticky all over, the room hot from the thing you have done, but there is no shame now. Something about the way he cleans you so softly, touch so featherely, eyes bright, you realize that maybe there is something more about to it, then just lust. Though you could not think about it too long, because the silence between you is interrupted, when a loud sound of nearby voices is heard flowing down the hall. “Shit-“ Your eyes widened, scrambling away from him, just as he puts your underwear back over you and you do ignore how it stick to you like a second skin. You don’t look at him, too occupied of grabbing your sweatpants off the floor to notice his lingering stare. You push them up, just as you hear the voices of your friends right outside the door, eyes widening then, when you look to the wet spot next to you. No time to think — your hands push down your wild, messed up hair, pulling them forward, fingers grazing over the sensitive spot on the side of your neck, wiping away the loose spit coating your mouth, before the door opens.
“Hey.” You say, voice scratchy, coughing instantly and you can’t help, but cringe.
The others fill the room, each carrying bags of food that hopefully hides the smell of sex in the room. Your eyes meet Felix’s, who stumbles in last, whose smile still sits on his face, but then gives you a small look of confusion at your tone. “Hey? We brought you something–“ He beams a little as he nears you, while the others come to put the food on the table that thankfully wasn’t the one before you.
The wet spot is hot beside you, a burning reminder of a still fresh memory and you really have hard time to meet the eyes of your best friend at that. “Oh…that’s nice.” You say, eyes drifting away a little, when he suddenly comes to stand before you, eyes full of worry, while yours full of shame and you feel you sick of lying to him.
“Everything good?” He asks you like the sweet friend he is, but his close proximity makes you quiver a little, but you do try to keep the smile on your face, even though you still feel the ghost of his friend’s inside you.
“Yeah-“
“Hey, why is there–“
Your heart stops, head snapping to Hyunjin, who points to the spot next to you, before drifting all the way to the floor and table, while the others come to stand around him. Your mouth opens like a fish, mind crashing to scramble to answer atleast something, when everyone turns to look, but then a voice cuts in to safe you. “Oh, I just spilled some water.” Says Jeongin and no one other than you hears the small tone at the end of his sentence.
Everyone thankfully doesn’t say anything else, but you still don’t meet their eyes, heart beating fast, when you lean over to grab the box of tissues, eyes immediately falling on the rolled up ball of used ones, sitting right on top of the still wet, glass table. “I will clean it.” You say, immediately pulling out multiple of tissues to press them against the wet spot next to you. The light and your shadow thankfully hides the true substance of the liquid and how it slides over the leather.
“Okay, we will just eat on the floor, I guess.” Says someone, you don’t even care who, you only care that Felix and the others go away a little to let you drown in your own embarrassment. You will probably never let anyone sit on the spot ever again — in a twisted, sick way you have now marked it as yours. The rooms fills with chatter and laughter again, plastic bags rustling in the silent panic you are experiencing, before pair of piercing eyes, makes you look up.
Jeongin stares at you, with a teasing glint in his eyes, that only you catch. And then — right then, he puts the exact same fingers that have been inside you into his mouth, tongue swiping across his digits, before he bites down on the tips of his fingers — a move that only highlights the crazed smile grazing his lips and by that, you already know you are in for a wild ride.
you needed your best friend to take his words back before your brain decided to give in.
the room was quiet, the gentle hum of the air conditioner the only sound breaking the silence between jeongin and you. it was a lazy afternoon, the kind spent lounging around with friends, completely comfortable in each other's space.
jeongin was leaning against the headboard of your bed, casually flipping through a book he had picked up from your nightstand, while you rested your head on the pillow near his knees. out of nowhere, he closed the book, looking down at you with a sudden, unreadable intensity.
"hey," he started, his voice dropping slightly. "can i ask you something ? it's quite personal though —"
you shifted, looking up at him. "yeah, of course. what's up ?"
jeongin hesitated for a fraction of a second, his eyes locking onto yours, slightly wavering as the words left his mouth.
"when was the last time someone ate you out ?"
someone what ?
you must've heard him wrong. he probably meant took you out to eat or whatever other reason your mind could conjure up.
"um... ate me out ? what is that supposed to mean —"
"like... ate your uh — your pussy out ?" he clarified, the words rolling off his tongue with a heavy, sudden weight.
jesus fuckin' christ
in your three entire years of friendship, yang jeongin had never said the word 'pussy'.
and now you were obsessed with the way it rolled off his tongue —
your thighs instinctively clenched together as a fierce blush took over your face. you looked anywhere but at him. how could you, after he said those words that left you reeling ?
"i — i've.... um, never, actually."
"wha — how ?" jeongin trailed off, his brow furrowing in genuine disbelief. "i mean, the guys you've been with..."
"yeah, um... they never offered, and i didn't really want to ask for it," you muttered, your fingers nervously tugging at the fabric of your shorts.
"t-that's.... wow — sorry, it's just that i'm just surprised," he mumbled, fiddling with the book in his hand.
you tilted your head, your heart hammering against your ribs at his response. "surprised ? why ?"
jeongin apparently had it out for you, because the next words that fell into your ear literally shook you to your core (metaphorically and literally).
"cuz you look like you have the sweetest pussy —" he murmured under his breath, completely unaware that the quiet room allowed your ears to catch the last two words.
your breath hitched, the air fighting to escape as the blush burnt hotter on your cheeks.
he thought your pussy was sweet ?
he thought your pussy was sweet ?
your best friend — who you harboured a fat crush on — had been thinking about your pussy ? being sweet ?
oh sorry, correction — sweetest.
jeongin froze, his entire body going rigid the exact moment he realized his unfiltered thought had slipped out loud. he stared at you, his relaxed demeanor instantly melting away as he awaited your reaction with bated breath.
"you think it's sweet ?" you whispered, getting the words out despite the sudden tension in the room making your head spin.
"oh i know baby — with all those grapes and berries you eat ? it's gotta be diabetic —" jeongin huffed, as if stating the most obvious of facts.
the words escaped your lips before you had a opportunity to comprehend them.
"i mean, you can check it for yourself —"
jeongin didn't hesitate.
this was his only chance.
shifting downwards in one fluid motion, he slid between your knees, his warm, strong hands clamping firmly onto your inner thighs to keep you from closing them.
he looked up at you through his dark lashes, his thumbs tracing slow, possessive circles against your skin.
"spread your legs for me, baby," he commanded softly, his voice thick with desire. "and let me show you how it's supposed to feel."
the comment hung heavily in the air, vibrating right down to your core. your mind screamed at you to process the sheer absurdity of the situation — your best friend, the guy who usually argued with you over the last slice of pizza, was currently kneeling between your thighs with a look that promised to ruin you.
oh no — what had you said.
this shouldn't happen.
what if it ruins your friendship ?
you should say no, right ?
but your body was entirely traitorous. under the steady, firm pressure of his palms, your knees slowly parted further, giving him exactly what he had asked for.
jeongin let out a low, ragged breath at your compliance, his thumbs digging just a little deeper into the soft flesh of your inner thighs. his touch did nothing too soothe the throbbing between your thighs.
"look at you," he murmured, his voice a gravelly whisper that sent a violent shiver down your spine. "so compliant for your best friend."
"jeongin, please," you breathed out, your hands coming up to grip the fabric of his shirt, unsure whether you wanted to push him away or pull him closer. "this is... we shouldn't —"
"we absolutely should," he interrupted softly, his gaze never leaving yours as his hands slid upward, hooking under the hem of your shorts. "i'm not letting another day go by with you thinking that what those other guys gave you was enough. you deserve to be worshipped, baby. by me. let me do it."
as he felt you briefly relaxing in his hold, jeongin peeled your shorts down your legs, tossing them onto the floor without a care. you felt entirely bare, completely vulnerable beneath his intense scrutiny, but the sheer hunger burning in his eyes kept you from hiding away.
jeongin leaned in closer, his chest pressing against your knees as he hovered right at the apex of your thighs. the heat radiating from him was intoxicating. he dipped his head, his nose brushing lightly against the lace of your underwear, taking in your scent with a sharp inhale.
you gasped, your hips instinctively jerking upward at the proximity.
"fuck," he groaned against your skin, his hands wrapping securely around your waist to anchor you down. "you smell so good. so fucking sweet, just like i thought."
jeongin looked up through his lashes one last time, locking his dark, blown-out pupils onto yours, making sure you were watching before he caught the edge of your underwear and pulled the fabric aside, completely exposing you to his tongue.
"fuck baby — you're drenched." he was utterly in awe as he stared at your wet pussy, your juices clinging to the folds as if waiting for him to lick them up.
jeongin bent down, maintaining contact with your wavering eyes as his tongue licked up a stripe from bottom to top as his lips came to wrap around your puffy clit. as your juices hit his tastebuds, he audibly groaned into your pussy, the vibrations sending a shiver down your spine.
good fucking heavens
you couldn't fathom you were missing out on this.
"oh fuuuuuck i-innie — nnnnngh — oh my god."
your thighs tightened around his face on your cunt as he flicked the pearly bud, occasionally sucking on it.
yang jeongin ate you like a man starved.
"oh baby you're so sweet — fuck — gonna drown in this pussy."
the sound of his tongue lapping at your wetness was impossibly loud in the quiet room, completely destroying any lingering doubts you had left. his tongue was warm, broad, and wicked, painting long, slow strokes along your dripping slit before his lips clamped right back down onto your clit to suck it into his mouth.
you lost it.
your back arched off the mattress, your fingers burying themselves into his thick hair, instinctively pulling him closer, pressing his face directly against your soaking cunt.
"jeongin — ah, f-fuck, stop joking — nnnngh !" you wailed, your words dissolving into a high-pitched whine as his tongue flicked faster, targeted and ruthless right on your most sensitive spot.
"who's fucking joking ?" jeongin growled against your skin, the vibration of his voice buzzing directly into your clit and making your toes curl. he pulled back just an inch, his face glistening with your juices, his eyes completely wild as he looked up at you. "i told you, didn't i ? sweetest fucking thing i've ever tasted. and i'm cleaning up every single drop."
to prove his point further, he dived back down, his flat tongue burying itself deep into your opening, mimicking a slow, rhythmic thrusting motion that had you sobbing. he was eating you out with a terrifying hunger, his nose pressing hard against your dripping clit with every deep stroke, overstimulating you until your vision went blurry at the edges.
"i'm-i'm gonna cum — hic — innie, i'm gonna—" you gasped, your thighs trembling violently, unable to hold themselves up anymore.
jeongin didn't let you close up. he braced his strong forearms against your inner knees, pinning your legs wide open to take the full brunt of his assault. he knew exactly what he was doing; he could feel the tight walls of your pussy clenching around his tongue, the sudden rush of fresh, hot cream flooding his mouth as your climax rushed to the surface.
"do it, baby," he urged against your wet skin, his speed picking up, his tongue swirling fiercely over your swollen bud while his thumb slid inside you to stretch you open. "cum all over my face. let me taste how much you want me."
the mental image mixed with the brutal, soaking friction was the final blow. you screamed his name, your hips jolting violently against his mouth as a massive wave of an orgasm tore through your body. your pussy bucked against his face, releasing a heavy gush of sweetness that he swallowed down greedily, his tongue still working through your contractions, milking every last drop out of you.
you collapsed back into the pillows, panting heavily, your chest heaving as the aftershocks continued to make your stomach flutter.
jeongin slowly pulled away, sitting back on his heels. he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, looking down at you with a smug, heavy-lidded stare. his lips were shiny, completely coated in you, and his chest rose and fell with his own ragged breath.
"see ?" he murmured, a satisfied smirk finally breaking across his face. "told you you were diabetic."
kysa's note: been onto this title for a month and finally got down to writing it for jeongin — just cuz he's being a fuckin' tease these days. specially dedicated to my innie biased cuties hehe ❤︎ lene, nini & lottie ❤︎ let me know what you think about it in the comments — xoxo.
you've been sneaking around with jeongin for months, behind your friends' backs. but the two of you cut it close at one of chan's parties.
pairing: dom!yang jeongin x fem!reader
genre: smut, pwp
content: sneaking around, they’re in the laundry room, questionable logistics, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, jeongin’s a lil mean, risk of getting caught, mild degradation, praise, pet names, name calling (slut), unprotected sex (p in v), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie, slight dacryphilia (if you squint)
word count: 2.0k
a/n: hahahahaha here's a towel....have fun!
♡ m.list
“Shhh, you can’t let them hear us.” Jeongin’s voice is low in your ear as he fucks his fingers into you. You're sitting on the washer in his and Chan's laundry room, hiding away from your friends while party music blares on the other side of the door.
“Jeongin,” you whine, dragging out the last syllable. “Someone’s gonna come looking.” You bite your lip to stifle a moan as he speeds up his pace.
“Then quit moaning my name like that. Unless you want them to hear what I’m doing to you in here.”
You’d die. You’d actually die of embarrassment if someone walked in here and saw you, skirt hiked up and legs spread wide.
“You’re fucking soaked for me,” he breathes, nipping your earlobe. “Been thinking of this all night, haven’t you?”
“Mhm—,” you try to respond, but he presses three long fingers into you so deep he hits your g-spot, and you bury your face into his shoulder as you cry out.
It’s his fault, really. When you joined the friend group years ago, Chan made all the boys promise they’d never lay a hand on you. Out of respect, he had said. Because you deserved to have friends who didn’t try to sleep with you.
Then Jeongin showed up one day with arms at least three times bigger than they were, body completely toned and sculpted to perfection, and you lost your mind. He flirted harder, touched more, and you gave in to him because look at the man.
That was three months ago, you think.
His fingers slip out of you to give attention to your throbbing clit, tracing soft yet quick circles around the nub. “You’re all puffed up, baby. You need to come so bad.”
“Innie, please,” you whine again.
He moves your hair behind your shoulder to leave sloppy kisses along your neck. “I’ll tell you what,” he growls in your ear. “If you stay quiet for me, I’ll let you come. How does that sound, pretty girl? You think you can do that for me?”
You nod fervently, clutching onto his shoulders. His movements on your clit are slow, teasing, but you need more.
“But if you’re too loud, I’ll make you come so many times you’re gonna beg me to stop. And then they’ll definitely know what we’re doing in here.”
He has a devilish grin on his face, like the idea of getting caught turns him on even more. The implications are both terrifying and incredibly hot.
You nod your head, not daring to make a sound, and he drops to his knees in front of you, yanking your panties down to your ankles. Your head hits the wall with a soft thunk as you brace yourself with the sides of the machine.
He licks a slow, filthy stripe along your entrance, and you suck in a deep breath to keep from yelling. The wet sounds of his tongue against you make your brain go fuzzy. “You’re gonna make a mess, baby. What am I going to tell Chan-hyung?”
Your hands fly to his hair as he starts to devour you. His tongue laps at your folds with just the right amount of pressure to make you see stars. Your thighs threaten to close, but he keeps his grip on your thighs tight to keep them open.
“Look at me.” The demand makes you jolt, and you snap your eyes open to look down. “Watch me while I eat this pussy. It’s mine right? Tell me it’s mine, pretty girl.”
“I-it’s yours—fuck,” you manage to get out. You hardly recognize your own voice, broken and needy.
His tongue is absolutely relentless, fucking in and out of you as you squirm. You bite down hard on your lip as he flattens his tongue on your clit, but a whine still comes out involuntarily. You slap your hand over your mouth to try to stifle it.
“Quiet,” he warns. “Or I start counting how many times I can make you come.”
His grip on you tightens as he moves his mouth around your sopping cunt. He sucks your clit hard, moving one hand to tease his fingers at your entrance again.
“Innie—fuck,” you whimper, barely above a whisper. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”
Your hips grind against his tongue, chasing your high. The heat in your belly is too much, and you’re about to collapse.
“So fucking desperate,” he says as he pulls back. “You’re dripping down my chin.”
He latches onto your clit again while his fingers thrust in and out of you. The pleasure is too much, and you’re so close. A whine slips out before you can stop it, the sounds echoing throughout the small room.
Jeongin stops immediately. You pout at the sudden loss, trying to apologize, but he’s clearly not having it. He braces two hands on either side of you, looming over you on the machine.
“What did I say about being loud?” His eyes are dark, eyebrows raised like he’s waiting for you to answer. “Now I have to ruin you.”
“Jeongin, wait, I—.” You’re cut off by the way he throws your legs over his shoulders, attacking your cunt with a new kind of hunger.
His fingers enter you, angled precisely so he hits your sensitive spot every time. He flicks your clit in the way he knows will make you come, not bothering to move slowly anymore.
You’re trembling, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure. The music still thumps through the walls, but you can hear footsteps and voices right outside the door.
“Come now. While they’re right outside. And don’t you dare scream.”
The pleasure peaks and your orgasm crashes over you, sending your body into a series of shakes and spasms. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Your thighs squeeze around his head as he licks you through your high, drawing it out until your legs feel like jelly.
Even after you come down, he gives your cunt one last teasing lick, and you jerk at the oversensitivity. He stands up to kiss you, the taste of you all over his lips and his tongue.
“Good girl,” he whispers in your ear. “But we’re not done yet, are we? I still have to fuck you properly. And you’re going to stay quiet for that too, aren’t you, baby?”
You nod, unable to speak, as he helps you off the washer and spins you around. He presses you down against the machine, lying your chest flat. The cool metal against your nipples sends a shiver down your spine.
Jeongin flips your skirt up and kicks your legs apart, fitting himself behind you. You hear the clink of his belt and his zipper, and feel the heat slowly coming back to you.
Without warning, he pushes inside you in one thrust of his hips. The stretch burns as he splits you open, your sensitive cunt throbs around him, and you let out a choked cry.
He immediately wraps his hand over your mouth and jerks you upright, pulling you flush against his chest.
“I told you to be quiet,” he growls in your ear, snapping his hips harder. “You wanna cry? I’ll give you something to cry about.”
The washer shakes beneath you as he pounds into you. He sets a punishing pace, one hand still clamped over your mouth while the other bruises your hip. The wet slap of skin against skin is just barely masked by the party on the other side of the door.
“Fuck, you’re clenching so tight,” he moans quietly in your ear. “You love this, don’t you? Getting fucked like a slut while our friends are ten feet away.”
You whimper against his palm, pushing back to meet his thrusts. He angles his hips and hits that perfect spot, making your eyes roll back. You clench around him, and he huffs out a laugh.
“Close again already?” he mocks you. “Go on then, come on my cock.”
He snakes a hand around to rub tight circles on your clit, and it sends you over the edge. You clench your jaw as you come around him, making quiet but pathetic noises behind his hand. He fucks you through your second orgasm, rolling his hips against you and hitting deep inside.
“Good fucking girl—shit,” he groans before pulling out of you.
He spins you back around to face him, gripping your waist and hoisting you back on top of the washer. He steps between your legs and gives you a quick kiss before he whispers in your ear.
“Round three, baby. Think you can take me one more time?”
“Innie, I’m still—”
“Sensitive? Dripping everywhere? Good. That’s exactly how I want you.”
He pulls you forward until your ass is on the edge, spreading your legs for him again. He pushes himself in with one deep stroke, and you grasp his biceps, choking back a moan.
“T-too much,” you whine, the friction against your sensitive walls.
“You can take it,” Jeongin grunts, snapping his hips harder against you. “Because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?”
You nod frantically, head lolling to the side. The heat has crept its way back into your body, pooling in your lower belly like it has been all night. Your cunt is still fluttering around him, wet and sloppy and throbbing.
“Still haven’t had enough, have you?”
The door handle rattles before you can respond. You both freeze, bracing for someone to come in. You tuck your face into Jeongin’s shoulder, and he kicks his foot up against the door behind him to keep it from opening.
“Hey man, not the bathroom!” Jeongin shouts to prevent whoever it is from coming in.
“Oh, my bad!” A man you don’t know’s voice calls from the other side.
The footsteps move back down the hallway, drowning in the chatter and music in the house, and you let out a sigh. That was fucking close.
The second they’re gone, Jeongin’s back between your legs, hands gripping your waist as you wrap your legs around him. He fills you back up, thick cock sliding in easily, and returns to his previous rhythm.
“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he says through gritted teeth. “I bet you liked that, didn’t you? Almost getting caught with my cock stuffed inside you.”
You shake your head, denying the accusation. Your cunt pulses around him, betraying you.
He chuckles. “Liar.” He pounds into you faster, the machine creaking below you. “I bet you’d let me keep going if they walked in here. Let them watch me ruin my pretty girl.”
You’re shaking now, tears pricking your eyes, everything hurts so good.
“Give me one more,” he orders, wiping the tears before they can fall. “I wanna feel you soak me.”
His thumb rubs fast circles around your clit, and you feel the tingles shoot through your whole body. He rolls his hips, reaching so deep you can feel him in your throat.
“That’s it, baby. Let me feel how much you love being used.”
The knot in your belly tightens before it snaps completely, flooding through you. You bite down on his shoulder to keep from crying as you come harder than you ever have. Your legs lock around his waist, shaking violently from the pleasure.
“F-fuck—I’m coming, baby,” he announces, driving in one more time before he’s buried deep inside you and pumping you full of his seed.
You’re both panting, sweaty, and sticky when he finally stills. He pulls out slowly, watching a mixture of yours and his cum leak out of you. He fixes your panties back into place, trapping the liquid inside.
He leans in to kiss your temple, wiping damp strands of hair from your forehead, before he leans close to your ear.
“Get back out there, and try not to let my cum run down your thighs in front of our friends,” he says with a dark smile on his face.
“If you behave, maybe I’ll fuck that pretty face of yours next.”
a/n: i do not know what came over me but i do not regret it one bit :D
summ: jisung is already shaking from grinding against you. somehow, he still thinks ‘just the tip’ is a reasonable suggestion.
⋆ pairing: nerd!jisung x f!reader, established relationship
⋆ genre: smut (minors dni)
⋆ tags/cw: “just the tip” trope, perv!jisung too, pet names (jagi, baby, sweetie), kissing, A LOT of whimpering and whining, tit play, edging, teasing, cumming, creampie, piv, unprotected sex, rough sex, soft ending (if you squint)
⋆ words: 2.8k
a/n: this could be my third perv!jisung fic in a row? yes. i’m totally obsessed with him. i was thinking about gatekeeping this until friday/saturday, but i’m gonna be kind and let you read this finger licking fic today 😚 this trope is my comfort zone, so i ended this asap. i hope you enjoy this as much as i do. enjoy! <3
the show was still playing from jisung’s laptop, some loud scene getting drowned out by dialogue neither of you had actually listened to in at least twenty minutes.
at some point he’d ended up on top of you, settled between your legs like it had happened by accident.
except, honestly, both of you knew it hadn’t been an accident at all. your makeout sessions always started the same way: slow, distracted, a couple soft laughs in between.
and then jisung completely lost his mind.
you felt him sigh against your mouth the second your hand slipped under his hoodie, barely brushing the warm skin of his waist.
his hips moved against you on instinct and he let out a broken sound, immediately hiding his face in your neck like he was embarrassed with himself the second after.
“fuck…” he whined, the word coming out muffled. “so wet…”
jisung kept rubbing the tip through your soaked folds, hissing every time he accidentally brushed your entrance. his fingers dug into the skin of your hips, feeling his cock throb at the thought of finally being inside you.
you breathed softly, fingers sliding up the back of his neck, playing with his hair while your nails lightly scraped at his skin. and jisung literally trembled on top of you.
you couldn’t stop the amused smile tugging at your lips. because jisung was completely gone. his eyes stayed locked on his own movements, brows furrowed as he whimpered whenever the feeling got too intense.
and still, he kept looking at you with that completely lost expression that always showed up right before he started begging.
“p-please…” he panted, voice shaky, broken. “god- baby… let me in- fuck- i promise i’ll be good…”
his doe eyes looked glossy while he stared at you like he was begging without even realizing it. his cheeks were bright red, glasses crooked, lips swollen from kissing so much he could barely close them properly anymore.
and somehow he was still trying to grind closer again, body trembling, those pathetic little sounds completely ruining your head.
“don’t,” you breathed out, frowning a little when he pushed his hips against you again.
jisung let out a small frustrated sound into your neck.
“but, baby… need you so bad,” he whimpered quietly. “need to be inside you…”
the way he said it almost ruined you too, because jisung was completely out of it.
you shook your head, finding it harder and harder to think with his cock pathetically dragging against your folds and your clit. and don’t even get started on the messy, desperate, wet kisses he kept scattering all over your body.
every touch seemed to go straight through him. he trembled whenever your nails scraped his neck, whimpered against your skin whenever you kissed him too deep, and kept burying his face in your neck every time he got embarrassed by the sounds leaving him.
jisung was inexperienced. out of all his hobbies and obsessions, he’d genuinely never considered the possibility of touching a real woman. or at least, not until you started dating a few months ago.
ever since then, every single makeout session had gotten erotic enough for jisung to cum in his pants from just a couple kisses and touches alone.
it was ridiculously adorable.
and probably the worst part was that he wasn’t even trying to act sexy. jisung just looked like this whenever he got desperate for you. messy, shaky, completely incapable of thinking straight.
“jisung,” you murmured, fingers slowly running through his damp hair. “you’re already struggling.”
he let out another one of those miserable little sounds immediately.
“if we actually have sex,” you continued, “you’re gonna lose your mind.”
and that seemed to completely destroy him.
he buried his face in your neck instantly with a muffled moan, though his hands still wandered over you absentmindedly like he physically couldn’t stop touching you. your waist, your thighs, your tits. any part of you he could hold onto without completely losing it.
his breathing was a warm mess against your skin. his movements clumsy, wandering over you just to feel how soft and warm you were.
you could feel his uneven breaths against your neck, mumbling nonsense and kissing you chaotically. you whimpered when he finally pulled back to look at you with that devoted expression he always got around you.
“maybe…” he swallowed hard, breathless. “maybe just the tip?”
your laugh came out softer than expected. because of course jisung would still try negotiating despite trembling, flushed bright red, barely able to breathe right.
“sweetie, you’re shaking,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “i don’t think you can handle that.”
“i’ll be good,” he insisted quickly, almost stumbling over his own words. “i swear. i’d stop if you want me to- i can do it- i-i can behave… please…”
and honestly, seeing him like this was starting to drive you insane too.
you hooked your legs around his waist, pulling him sharply against you.
jisung let out a small broken whimper that died in his throat, briefly squeezing his eyes shut when he felt your wetness drag against his aching cock.
“you’re lucky i like you,” you murmured. “all right. go on. but if you lose your mind, that’s not my fault”
“oh my god- thank you,” he blurted out almost desperately, peppering quick clumsy kisses all over your face like he had no idea what to do with himself now that you’d actually said yes.
it was impossible not to laugh a little. because just minutes ago he’d been trying to act like he could control himself, and now he looked seconds away from passing out just from having you under him.
his hands trembled slightly, his breathing still completely wrecked. even the way he looked at you seemed too vulnerable for someone who’d spent the last twenty minutes shamelessly begging.
he moved closer slowly, way too focused on every little reaction from you to think straight anymore.
he wrapped a hand around his cock and lined himself up against you eagerly. and the second he pushed the head in, barely two centimeters, finally feeling you around him, his whole body froze completely still.
“oh my god…” he breathed out in a broken whisper.
his eyes shut immediately and one hand gripped your thigh like he needed something to hold onto. you could feel him shaking above you, breathing like he’d just run miles.
“shit… okay. okay, i’m good…” he tried to say, though he sounded completely destroyed by the end of it.
the smile that spread across your lips probably made everything worse. because the second he looked at you again and saw that pleased expression on your face, something inside him seemed to snap for good.
jisung let out another embarrassed little moan and buried his face in your neck instantly, like he was trying to survive the feeling.
“you’re doing good…” you whispered, running a hand slowly down his back.
and honestly, that didn’t help either.
you could feel him trying to control himself. the way he kept taking deep breaths, the way he slowly pulled himself back out of you, clearly losing his mind from how overwhelming it felt. he’d push in just a little before stopping again, like he was trying to buy himself time before completely losing it.
he dragged against your wet folds again, whining audibly every time he felt how tightly you took him. he could feel the urge to sink fully into you, make you moan his name, fill you completely.
“i-i’m behaving,” he murmured with a weak smile that disappeared immediately after another shaky gasp slipped out. “see?”
he started this tiny little pattern that was driving him straight to insanity. teasing your folds, brushing your entrance, slowly pushing in until his head spun from the pleasure, then pulling out before he embarrassed himself by cumming too fast.
you could practically see the superhuman effort in his movements, trembling every time he got a little deeper. until eventually he let out a frustrated whine, one that sounded genuinely desperate.
and that’s when you knew he’d already lost the fight with himself.
unable to take it anymore, jisung immediately dug his fingers into your thighs and slammed fully into you in one motion, stuffing you completely. one clumsy, needy thrust, completely out of control.
the sound he let out this time was almost miserable.
and he probably could’ve cum right there from how soft, wet, tight, and warm you felt around him. it felt unbelievably good. your cunt pressed against his hips, taking him completely with no problem at all.
it felt so good that the only thing he could think to do was grip your thighs tightly just so he could stay buried inside you until he got used to how tight you were.
“ji-jisung? you- ah…” you gasped, voice breaking in surprise.
but jisung wasn’t really listening anymore. or at least not fully.
something in his expression changed instantly. that desperate little look he always got whenever you were too close, whenever you touched him just a little too much.
and then he started moving again. started thrusting in and out in this messy, hungry rhythm like he was trying to get even closer to you somehow, even though there wasn’t any possible space left between you anymore.
his broken moans and pathetic whimpers every time his tip hit your cervix mercilessly were loud enough to make you worry someone might hear. you watched his tongue fall out slightly as he panted, feeling you squeeze him impossibly tight.
“oh shit- baby, you’re so fucking tight i-” a whine interrupted him, sounding completely wrecked. “i-i think m’gonna come already. god- i-i’m sorry… i didn’t mean to- fuck…”
jisung didn’t even know where to put his hands anymore. one second he was gripping your waist and the next he was touching you everywhere like he needed to feel every inch of you before completely losing his mind.
“oh fuck- you were totally right. you feel so fucking good- mmmh- i’m already losing it…”
you literally couldn’t respond. every thrust was so deep and overwhelming that all you could do was moan incoherently, nails digging into his back for support.
jisung moved erratically against you, pleasure crashing into him nonstop. he couldn’t think anymore. he was completely buried between your legs. your body twisted beneath him, trembling and taking him fully. his hands found your breasts again, squeezing and kneading desperately, not even knowing where to start.
completely ruined.
“mmmh- you feel- fuck- you feel even better than i thought, jagi…” he sighed against your hot skin, voice completely gone.
his glasses were fogged up now. hair stuck to his forehead, lips red and swollen from all the desperate kisses he kept leaving on your neck, your tits, any skin he could reach.
and still, he kept looking at you with that devastated expression, like he couldn’t believe you were really letting him do this.
he lowered his head and pressed it between your breasts. leaving a trail of open-mouthed, wet, sucking kisses. your back arched the second you felt his hot breath against your sensitive nipples.
it felt like heaven. jisung genuinely thought nothing had ever felt as good as the moans spilling out of you with every touch, lick, and kiss he left on your skin.
“fuck- i think i’m addicted to you…” he let out between shaky breaths. “too much, too much. you’re milking me so good…”
the confession came out so pathetic and sincere that your heart literally skipped a beat.
jisung needed more. he needed everything from you. your moans and shaky breaths in his ear were pushing him right to the edge. your legs trembled, thighs hugging his body tightly, trying to pull him deeper.
jisung felt like he could do this for hours and hours. except, unfortunately, his body had completely different plans.
breathing was getting harder and harder. keeping a steady rhythm without fully losing his mind was becoming impossible. the heat in his stomach was unbearable and he knew it.
he knew it from the way his movements were getting sloppier, from how his hands trembled against your body, from how he couldn’t stop staring at you.
your broken breaths only made everything worse. every tiny sound you let out had jisung reacting immediately with a gasp, an embarrassed moan, his hips speeding up, getting sloppier before he could stop himself.
“oh my god…” he whispered in a broken breath, desperately searching for your lips.
his thrusts were deep, rough, but inexperienced. he just wanted to stay completely inside you, fucking you mercilessly until he could empty every last drop into you.
you moaned against his lips with every thrust, desperate, whiny from the feeling, and jisung could feel every sound running straight through his body and directly into his cock.
then he looked down to where your bodies met and felt the heat in his stomach become unbearable. he watched the spot where his cock disappeared into you over and over again, the way your thighs were turning pinker from how relentlessly he kept slamming into you.
“s-shit- you’re perfect. made for me. taking me so good- fuck-” he threw his head back with a whine.
his words mixed together with sloppy kisses and uneven breaths. he didn’t even seem aware of what he was saying anymore. he was just talking, completely out of his mind, like the pleasure was ripping every thought straight out of his chest.
“ji- m’so close…” you panted, your voice broken.
and those words made his cock twitch inside you. he needed to make you cum on his cock while he fucked you. he wanted to push you right to that point where all you could do was cry out his name.
“that’s it- ah… wanna hear you coming, baby… please…” he whimpered against your lips.
the kiss turned messy, chaotic. jisung couldn’t stop, even when you started writhing beneath him from the huge wave of pleasure wrapping around you. jisung let out the most wrecked sound you’d heard from him all night.
and with a couple broken whines and incoherent moans, you came violently. your body tensed, your cunt clenching around him so tightly that jisung stopped completely after hitting your cervix one more time, freezing in place.
your head fell back and your whole body trembled. you could feel jisung’s hands roaming all over you, his devoted, excited gaze fixed on your body.
he’d done all of that. made you feel so good you couldn’t stop moaning his name until the very end. it was like making you cum was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
“baby- f-fuck… i’m gonna-!”
all of it made his cock ache, throbbing harder and harder until the orgasm hit when he felt you squeeze him suffocatingly tight one more time.
nothing had ever felt this good, this deep, this overwhelming. there was nothing left for him to do except chase it. he was moaning and whining like every nerve in his body was about to explode.
he came so fast he didn’t even have time to warn you before it happened. he finished completely inside you, cock twitching while he emptied every last drop.
it lasted longer than any time he’d ever touched himself thinking about you.
his cock wouldn’t stop pulsing and spilling, feeling his release slide out of you and onto the sheets beneath. he hissed and moaned, babbling praise that made you stare at him in shock, cheeks burning red while you smiled so hard at how utterly destroyed he looked.
exhaustion finally hit him, making him collapse beside you after carefully pulling out. he immediately wrapped his arms around you tightly, leaving kisses all over your face. all you could do was hum softly and melt into his arms, your tired breathing blending together.
“d-did i… d-did i do good? did you like it?” he asked, searching your eyes for reassurance. “i know i said i could control myself but- you’re… you felt so-” his voice came out fast, nervous.
“jisung,” you murmured, cutting off his rambling. “it was good. more than good.”
you could literally see his eyes light up before he started peppering even more kisses across your face. you could feel his heart-shaped smile against your skin through every soft kiss, relaxed like he’d been waiting for your approval since the second everything started spiraling out of control.
“really?” he asked quietly.
you nodded slightly and that alone was enough to ruin him all over again.
“fuck,” he laughed tiredly before burying his face in your neck. “i was so nervous.”
your laugh vibrated against his chest and jisung immediately pressed another absentminded kiss under your jaw. then another. and another, like he physically couldn’t stop.
“you were right, though,” he murmured against your skin.
“about what?”
“if we actually did it…” he paused for a second, sighing tiredly. “i kinda lost my mind.”
he let out another soft laugh before lifting his head just enough to look at you. his hair was messy, lips swollen, eyes still half-lidded with exhaustion. completely ruined.
and somehow, he was still looking at you like you were his favorite thing in the world.
so happy to have matched ur freak, hopefully I succeeded again w/ this one...
making chan wear a vibrating plug as you're out w/ the members. they're all joking around about how "chans such a control-freak, he'd never let anyone else take the reigns". while that is happening you're slowly raising the intensity of the vibrations, making him squirm in his seat until he has to excuse himself and head off to the bathroom... (maybe y/n joins him?) if possible, m!reader?? I'll leave it in ur capable hands 🙏
Railway [NSFW]
Read the sequel here <3
Summary: What started as a passing comment from Jeongin turns into a very, very fun night for you and Chan. Who knew the strong, control freak of a leader would do something so scandalous in front of his members?
Warnings: sub!bangchan, dom!m!reader, swearing, use of toys (chan!receiving), exhibitionism, semi-public sexual activities (single bathroom), fingering (chan!receiving), minho definitely knows what you’re doing
w.c.: 7.3K
– – –
Male reader my beloved!!!!!! Oh I am overjoyed to see you back in my inbox again. I love any excuse to write Chan as a sub, and the idea of messing with the leader in front of all his kids? Making their hyung squirm while he’s still trying to be a good leader?? Playing with him and he knows he shouldn’t be turned on but he is??? I had a lot of fun with this one >:) I hope you enjoy it! If not you’ll just haaave to send in another request…oh no….
It had started as a passing comment from Jeongin.
You had been over at their dorm, hanging out on the couch, when Chan had gotten a call. He’d immediately settled down with his computer afterwards, one headphone in, murmuring quietly to himself as he typed away. Another work thing, you were sure. As he was typing, Jeongin had popped out to say hi, as if sensing Chan was busy and coming to disturb his peace. You smiled and waved at the younger boy, who eagerly waved back as he peered over Chan’s shoulder curiously.
“What are you working on, hyung?” He asked, pressing in closer to Chan.
Chan elbows him gently in the stomach, pushing him away.
“None of your business, Ayen-ah. Let me work in peace.”
He doesn’t even look away from his computer for a second to say it, and Jeongin gives you an incredulous look, like he’s on a sitcom and you’re the camera. You shrug at him, content to hole up on the couch and wait for your boyfriend to be done. The two of you didn’t really have any plans today, and you were happy to just share the space with him today.
Jeongin leans in closer despite Chan’s warning, and Chan huffs, elbowing him a little harder.
“I’m serious Ayen-ah.”
“If it’s work-related, then I should be allowed to know!” He whines, draping himself across Chan’s back, “We work together. Your work is probably going to affect me, don’t I get a say?”
Chan groans, leaning back into Jeongin. “Jeongin, I swear to god-”
“You’re such a control freak,” Jeongin says with a laugh, pushing off of him, “I was messing around with you, but you took me seriously. Hyung, does Channie hyung ever take a break from having a stick up his-yah!”
Chan swats at him before he can finish his sentence, and he sticks his tongue out at him, settling into the couch next to you.
“Hyung, Channie hyung is being mean to me.” Jeongin says with a pout.
“How rude,” you say, pulling the younger boy closer to you dramatically, eyes twinkling, “You’re just trying to help.”
Chan rolls his eyes at your antics, but goes back to typing. You and Jeongin put something quiet on the TV and curl up, Jeongin’s appetite to mess with Chan successfully fulfilled now that he’s got you on his side.
But your brain is still caught up on the comment Jeongin made. It was little, and it probably was already out of his head, but you couldn’t stop thinking about it. You suppose it makes sense that the other members saw Chan as a control freak, with how in charge he always has to be in front of them. You also suppose that’s why he’s such a good boy for you in bed, because it’s his chance to let go and just not think for a while.
You also suppose you can use this to your advantage.
You wonder how much it would take for him to break in front of his bandmates. How much pressure you would have to put him under to see that leader facade of his crack and shatter, for his friends to catch a glimpse of the Chan you got to see all the time.
You bring it up to him later, once he’s off of his laptop and Jeongin, who had already gotten bored of the show that he put on, wandered back into his room. You’re splayed across the couch, Chan resting between your legs with his head on your chest. He’s a comforting weight on top of you, and you’re watching some movie you’re only half paying attention to. You’ve been fighting a boner since the idea of messing with Chan in front of his members started to swirl in your head, and now, when you have a sleepy Chan resting peacefully on your chest, was not the time to get hard.
It was the time, however, to mess with him just a little bit.
“Hey, jagiya,” you murmur, voice low and thick, “Can I ask you a question?”
“You already did,” he says, making you huff, “Also, just ask it. What are you asking me for?”
“It’s a sex question.”
“Ah. Ask anyways.” He says that, but there’s red tinging his ears already, like he’s flustered that you’re even thinking something like that right now.
“Would you wear a toy out in public?”
His head jumps up, the crown of it almost smacking your chin as he does. He’s giving you a wide-eyed look, completely bewildered, mouth opening and closing uselessly as he blinks up at you. You shoot him a look back, unamused.
“You told me to just ask-”
“I didn’t think it would be like-would be like…that.” He hisses, pink dusting his cheeks. “Why’re you even thinking about something like that??”
“Ayen-ah called you a control freak earlier,” you said, holding eye contact just to watch him fluster more, “It made me think about using a vibrator on you in front of your members and seeing if you could handle it. See how much of a ‘control freak’ you really are.”
“Jagi!” he whisper-yells, face flushed.
He buries his face back into your chest, fists curling into your hoodie to try and ground himself. Unfortunately for him, his crotch is pressed right against your thigh in this position, and you can feel the half-chub he’s already sporting at the way you’re talking to him. He shifts his hips a bit, but it’s not subtle, and his cock twitches against your thigh.
You press your thigh up, flexing it, grinning when he chokes back a whimper into a keen. It’s high and in his throat, and it makes you sliiiiide a hand down his back and squeeze at his ass. You use your grip on him to press him into the meat of your thigh, and he squirms in your grasp, caught between pushing you away and pressing you closer.
“Like the idea?” You tease, laugh rumbling in your chest when his only response is to whine into your neck.
“C’mon, jagi, use your words,” you faux pout, tone just a little mean, “You’re in control, right? My big boy, all in control and humping my thigh like a dog.”
“Stop,” he whines, but his face comes up so that he can glare at you weakly, “‘nd I like it a little too much. It’s risky, we can’t.”
“We can,” you murmur, slowing his movements to just a grind, “You just have to be good for me and keep quiet. I know you can do it.”
He lets out a shaky exhale, body betraying him as he humps into your thigh harder. You ignore the throbbing of your own erection, focusing now on making him come on your thigh. A few whispered praises and a properly timed flex of your thigh has him tipping over the edge, eyes rolling back and mouth parting in the prettiest ‘o’ you’ve ever seen. No sounds escape his mouth, trapped in his throat as his hips twitch weakly against you.
He presses himself back into you, sticky mess leaking through his pants and onto yours.
“Order one.” he says, voice muffled in your neck.
You blink, shifting to try and look at him. “What?”
“The…you know.” he says, eyes averted. It clicks, and you snort, rolling your eyes at him for trying to be discreet when he’s asking you to put a vibrator in his ass in the foreseeable future.
“Let’s get cleaned up, then you can help me choose one, how about that? Sound good, jagi?” You say, shifting the two of you until you’re upright.
“Okay. Okay.” He responds, mostly to himself.
That was three weeks ago. A week and a half ago, the vibrator showed up in a discreet brown box on your door. The one you had chosen was a pink and round, a little string with a ring on the end tailing off of it for easy removal.
“Like a tampon,” you had murmured, earning you a smack to the back of the head and a glare.
It bluetoothed to a tiny remote, equally as pink as its counterpart. The dial had ten options, which you had turned through on your own just to make sure it wasn’t too intense - the thrill of getting caught was what turned Chan on, but actually getting caught would ruin the scene (and his trust in you). It was perfect though, and when the boys had a free slot in their schedule, you had suggested a group dinner.
“Only if I get to tag along, though!” You had said, to which Jisung had informed you it “wouldn’t be a party without you, hyung” (whatever that means).
You and Chan had set up a nonverbal safeword, plus Chan could text you if he needed to slow down, but not desperately. You had stressed to him over and over that this scene was completely in his hands, not yours.
“It’s about your pleasure, sweet thing, not mine,” you reminded him, “We stop at any point and I will still be proud of you. Promise me you’ll use your word or your signal if it gets too much or you’re uncomfortable, okay?”
He had huffed and puffed, complaining about how he’s “not made of glass”, but he conceded that he would let you know how he’s feeling the whole time.
Now it was the afternoon before, and you had Chan naked and spread on your bed, legs hanging off the edge of the bed. He’s on his stomach, looking over his shoulder to watch you as you grab the lube and the toy, placing it gently on the bed next to him.
“Still sure about this, jagi?” you ask, reaching a hand to rub circles into his hip, “If you don’t want to-”
“Just put it in me already!” he whines out, head falling forward to be buried in the sheets.
“Been thinkin’ about it all week. C’mon, please? Need it, need you to make me a mess in front of everyone.”
“Yeah?” you say, pleasantly surprised by his eagerness and his open mouth. You file the fact that he wants his other members to know away for a later day - while the idea of exposing him tonight was enticing, this was a scene between the two of you. You had thought about asking him to bring other people in, to show off just how good of a boy he can be to someone else, but you had to keep yourself composed today. Another day, you think, I’ll talk to him about inviting one of them in, just to watch.
For now, you pop open the bottle of lube in your hands, pouring a generous amount into your hand. You swirl it between your fingers to warm it up a bit before tracing Chan’s rim with your pointer finger, coating it in lube. He shivers, body trying to arch towards you. He clenches around nothing, butt flexing as you tease his entrance. When you continue to tease, pressing just the tip of your finger in and nothing more, he whines, long and drawn out.
“I’ve been good, jagi, just-just put it in already! Please?”
You sigh, but comply, slipping your lubed finger easily into his waiting hole.
“I just like to see you beg, jagi, you know that.” You say, curling your finger so that you catch his prostate on the drag out.
He hisses, back arching, and you press a second finger in, scissoring your fingers a bit to make sure he’s ready to take the toy. It’s small - basically a bullet vibrator on a string - but you don’t want this to be uncomfortable for him at all, so you take a little time to make sure he’s stretched just right. You don’t need more than two fingers, the toy too small for much else, and soon you’re reaching for the little pink thing.
You don’t lube it up, instead pressing it in next to your still wet fingers. You’ve coated his walls enough that it slides in with ease, stretching him open so well with your fingers still inside of him. The sound he makes is pathetic, and it makes you want to make him come apart now, use your fingers to press the toy right to his prostate and crank it up slowly until he falls apart all over your sheets.
Unfortunately for both of you, you have a dinner to get to, and he needs to be on edge. You woefully slide your fingers out, a slick pop! ringing out as they pull out of his entrance. He whimpers, hole clenching around nothing, hips pressing once down into the sheets before he catches himself and stops them. His fists flex and unflex, gripping at the sheets to ground himself enough to get up and get ready for dinner. You smack his ass lightly once with your hand not covered in lube, and he glares back at you. You just stick your tongue out, backing off to go wash your hands and get yourself ready, too.
Getting ready goes smoothly, and while you consider for a moment turning the dial to ‘1’ while Chan is changing, you hold back. The longer it sits in him, comfortable and silent, the more he’ll forget about it, which makes cranking the toy up even more fun. You can’t wait to see his face when he’s sitting down next to his friends, trying to act normal, and you slide the dial up.
“You ready?” Chan says, peeking into the room.
You’re changed, though you do have to adjust your loose pants to make sure that your chub isn’t noticeable. The hardest part of this for you was going to be keeping your own body under control while you watch Chan try and keep himself quiet.
“Ready!” you chirp, double-checking that the little pink remote and small bottle of lube are still hiding in your pocket.
The lube was more you being hopeful that Chan would let you fuck him in the car afterwards, when he’s all worked up and whiny and pliant for you. You love when Chan pushes back and fights your control, but you love it even more when he’s broken down, mind and body all yours to play with and make feel good. And anyways, it never hurts to have on you, just in case.
You drive the two of you to the venue in tense silence. The weight of words sit heavy on both of your tongues, so heavy both of you choose to say nothing at all, instead letting the tension brew and fester. You caught him shifting nervously in his seat a couple of times out of the corner of your eyes, throwing glances at you whenever your hand shifted even a little. You know what he’s thinking about, sure the shape of the vibrator is shifting inside of him every time you hit a bump in the road, hopeful eyes pleading for more but too ashamed to ask for it.
The rest of the drive is a blur, and the walk into the restaurant is, too. Chan informed you earlier that they had rented a private booth in the back of the restaurant for privacy, and you let him guide the two of you to a back entrance, where someone is waiting to let the two of you in.
Everyone but Jeongin is there, which is to be expected, because he’s never on time without Chan nagging him out the door. He also says there’s an “art” to being “fashionably late”, so you figure that he’ll pull in 20 minutes late and have to bashfully order after everyone else already has.
You slide in across from Minho, who just gives you a small nod as a greeting and continues to chat with Changbin. Jisung greets you both excitedly, mouth already running a mile a minute. You catch that he’s happy the two of you made it, but everything else is drowned out in the flow of conversation as everyone else greets the two of you. You settle in, and pick through the menu, fingers coming down below the table to squeeze Chan’s thigh once. He stiffens a little, playing it off by reaching for his own menu and trying to talk with Felix, who’s on his left.
You let things roll out for now, watching the tension in Chan’s shoulder melt into something calmer. Your finger circles the dial in your pocket, watching him intently for a moment as he speaks with Felix, but you wait. You’ll have plenty of chances to mess with him later, you remind yourself, settling in to jump into a conversation with Minho.
The server comes to take orders just as Jeongin comes in, trying (and failing) to seem suave as he plops down next to Felix. He flips the menu open and tells them to come to him last, eyes frantically scanning the menu. You stifle a laugh, casually ordering as you peer at Chan next to you. You wait until he starts to order, mouth opening to talk to the server, and you let your hand drift to your pocket and click the dial up, just once.
The restaurant is too loud for you to hear the quiet buzz of the vibrator nestled inside of him, but you can hear the little squeak that he lets out, and you can see the look he sends you. It’s small, unnoticeable if you weren’t watching his face closely, but you, ever observant, have to bite back a smile. You catch Minho furrowing his eyebrows at the way Chan’s voice cracked, but he doesn’t seem to catch on to what’s happening. Only after the server to the next person does Chan kick you under the table, eyes not meeting yours when you glance over. You bite your tongue again, corners of your mouth curling, but don’t give in to him.
You instead click it up one more setting to watch him squirm, thighs tensing under the table as he shifts uncomfortably. The shifting makes the vibrator inside of him shift too, and he lets out a little breathy sound when it does, lower lip catching between his teeth.
Again, you catch Minho’s eyes drifting over across the table, but he doesn’t even look your way, clearly oblivious to why Chan is squirming, just aware that he is acting strange. You peer around Chan to ask Felix a question, dipping into easy conversation with him. Chan, unamused that you’re just leaving him like this, kicks at your ankle again, this time with more force. You drag your hand down his arm and squeeze the meat of his thigh, higher up than you should - a warning. He recognizes this, but you don’t miss the way his eyes narrow in defiance. He doesn’t do anything yet, though, so you leave it for now.
You leave it there for now, just up to the second setting, a low buzz inside of him that you know will be just present enough for him to feel, but not enough for him to actually get off. Even if he were to shift around until the vibe was pressed right to his prostrate, it wouldn’t be enough, not for him to come, anyways. Enough to drag him slowly towards the edge, but not fast enough to ever tip him over it.
Chan’s jaw has been clenching and unclenching since you turned the dial to two, doing everything in his power to keep his body stock still without making the tension in his body obvious. He’s doing a good job of it, too, tension curling in his fists and jaw to keep it from spreading anywhere else. He’s talking to Changbin about some song he’s working on right now, laughing quietly when Changbin whines about not having heard it yet.
“You know how Channie hyung is,” Jisung says, eyes glinting, “Such a control freak. We won’t be hearing that song until he’s heard it so many times he’s sick of it.”
“Hey I’m not-”
He’s cut off by you bumping the buzzing up not one level, but two. The vibrator is now on the fourth setting, teetering on high enough of a level for Chan to let a real moan slip out. Instead, a shiver wracks his body, and his hand shakes as he reaches for his water. He covers whatever sound was clawing at his throat with a cough, choked and clipped, taking a long swig of water. Some of it dribbles down his chin, hands too unsteady to guide the glass properly to his mouth, and you don’t hide your grin this time.
“You okay?” You ask, voice dripping with faux concern.
“Fine,” he hisses, biting the inside of his cheek, “Just took a weird breath. ‘m fine.”
This time, you meet Minho’s eyes across the table, who’s glancing between the two of you curiously. When you make eye contact, you just raise an eyebrow at him, tilting your head ever so slightly. He narrows his eyes at you, and he glances at your hands, suspicious, but both of them are above the table now. He huffs, sending you a look, but doesn’t say anything.
Chan’s having trouble, now - body unable to resist rocking into the vibrations. He tries not to, but every once and a while his hips twitch and he presses back ever so slightly, like he’s chasing a feeling. Felix isn’t paying any attention, too focused on the conversation he’s having with Jeongin to look right and see that his hyung is straining in his pants.
It’s obvious now, and he’s lucky he wore dark pants, because you know for a fact that, if you pressed your hand down on the front of his pants, there would be a wet spot there. Chan’s always been leaky, but you can tell from the flush clinging to his cheeks and the sweat beading down the back of his neck that this scenario was turning him on even more than normal.
At some point, his hand finds yours, fingers intertwining over the table. Jeongin and Hyunjin jokingly gag, and Changbin makes a comment about “young love”, to which Seungmin retorts with “old love, actually”, which sends the table into a fit.
A perfect chance for you to click the vibrator up another setting.
Chan lets out a real sound this time, and even though it’s quiet, you know he’s aware of it by the way his eyes scan the table. Once again, ever-observant Minho is already watching him, and when Chan’s eyes meet his, Minho gives him a once over. Like he knows. Chan isn’t sure that Minho actually knows the details of what’s going on, but Minho clearly knows something more than he should. There’s something predatory in his gaze, and it makes Chan feel small, and, embarrassingly, even more turned on than he was before.
You lean over, mouth so close your breath tickles his ear.
“Looks like Minho hyung knows something, hm? You like that? Like that Minho knows you’re being naughty at dinner, right in front of him? In front of everyone?”
Chan has to squeeze himself through his pants, left hand slipping to his front, to keep himself from coming right then and there. The point of this was that he was good, that he wouldn’t get caught, so why was it so hot that someone knew? That someone did see what he was doing?
“You okay, Channie hyung?” Minho’s voice rings out, cutting through the rest of the conversation easily.
Suddenly there’s seven sets of eyes (eight, including yours) on him. There’s varying levels of concern on their faces, some mixed with curiosity. You can’t help it - you click it up one more setting. His mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. You watch his entire body tense as he lets out a shuddering breath, trying to pull himself together enough to speak.
“You don’t look so good,” Minho pushes, rabbit teeth gleaming as he gives Chan a half-smirk, “Are you okay?”
“I-hah-I’m fine,” he responds through clenched teeth, glassy eyes locking with Minho’s, “Just-my stomach’s a little u-upset. Has been all day. But I’m okay!”
His tone is too cheery there at the end, forced and fake, and you watch the way all of his dongsaengs collectively started to retort.
“You’re so flushed, Channie hyung, are you sure you aren’t sick?” Felix says, ever the angel, leaning forward to press the back of his hand to Chan’s forehead.
“Yah! Such a control freak, never let us take care of you,” Changbin huffs, pointing an accusing finger at Chan, “Really on your dongsaengs every once and a while, huh?”
“I’m fine, r-really,” Chan says, and you click the dial up to seven.
He makes a sound that would have been a wail if he hadn’t choked it back, eyes pinching shut and face scrunching up. This immediately makes everyone jump to retort again, and he just lets his head fall to the table, fingers still tangled in your hand squeezing so hard it hurts.
He stays there for a second, head swirling as every movement he makes shifts the vibrator against his sweet spot, forcing him to bite his tongue so hard to hold back his sounds that he’s drawing blood. All he can taste now is the metallic taste of copper on his tongue and desire, so hot and heavy in his body that he feels it everywhere.
“‘m going to the bathroom,” he declares, voice shockingly clear for someone who’s leaking in his pants, “And I’m fine. I’ll be fine, stop worrying.”
He waves a hand at them as he presses out of his chair, turning around quickly so that (hopefully) no one can see the way he’s straining against his fly so hard it looks like it might burst. The lights are low and his pants are dark, so you think you’re probably the only one who sees it. Minho gives you a knowing look, a head motion beckoning you to follow Chan, but you shake your head lightly. Not yet, not when you want to press him further over the edge. Chan, despite his bratty behavior earlier, wouldn’t come without you. He would wait in that bathroom until either you came to join him, or he was able to calm himself down enough to be composed again.
“Do you think he’s okay?” Jeongin says, nervous eyes searching the table.
You’re about to jump in, but Minho beats you to it.
“Like you said Bin-ah, Channie hyung is such a control freak, he just needs to let go for a second and he’ll be fine. He just needs to find some sort of release.”
The two of you never break eye contact as he says it, knowing eyes peering into yours, half-lidded. There’s something glinting in his eyes that you just can’t place, but you let it go, faking concern.
“Well if he takes too long in there I’ll go check on him,” you huff, pretending to be worried, “He said the same thing earlier, too, when I asked if we should cancel on you guys. Always some nonsense about being ‘fine’ and how I ‘shouldn’t worry.’”
You reach into your pocket again and click the setting down one, settling it back to the sixth level. You can picture the way that Chan probably moaned in despair. While he knows better than to come without you, you also know that he can’t help but push the boundaries. If you know anything about him, and you reckon you do, he’s probably got a finger or two stuffed in his hole with the bullet, and one hand wrapped around his leaking cock.
Conversation starts to flow again, though it’s tentative, and you keep checking your phone. For a text, for a call, for something that indicates that Chan either wants your help right now or that he wants to call this off. You’ll give him ten more minutes before you go to “check” on him, so for now, you play the role of a concerned partner.
You’re asking Felix about his latest modelling project when a text comes. Your phone buzzes on your lap, and you ignore it to let Felix keep talking. Only once Felix has turned the talking back over to you do you flip your phone over, checking the messages. It’s from Chan, and it’s just a photo attachment, nothing else. No caption, no warning. You know exactly what it’s going to be, and you’re careful to angle your phone just right when you respond.
There he is, pants pulled down around his knees, in a single bathroom. You realize with glee that the bathrooms here must be singles, which means you won’t have to be confined to the handicap stall in a dingy restaurant bathroom, trying to be quiet with other people in the room. This makes the risk reasonable, reasonable enough that you might actually help him out when you get to the bathroom.
You let yourself drag your eyes over him for a little longer. It’s a mirror shot, and he’s using one hand to take the photo, while the other hand is slipped around his back. And while you can’t actually see what he’s doing, the way his back is subtly arched forward is enough for you to know he’s probably got his fingers buried inside of himself, right there in the public bathroom. His cock is red, angry and wet with his own precum. It glistens in the fluorescent light of the bathroom, and it makes your mouth water.
You control your breathing, evening your face out to be neutral again. If you do get up to anything in the bathroom, it has to be quick - the others are likely already a little suspicious, and Minho is more than aware of what’s happening. You wouldn’t put it beyond him to tip everyone else off on what’s happening. The clock on your phone tells you that you have two more minutes left to hit that ten minute mark, so you leave him on read. You want him to know that you’ve seen it, but didn’t even deign him with a response. You know that it’ll mess with him to be ignored like that, but it will also push him towards willing submission. He’s going to be beyond desperate when you do finally mosey to the bathroom, ready to bend to your whim just to come already. You can feel your own cock stirring in your pants, and you’re endlessly grateful once again to the low light and the foresight of wearing dark pants.
“Should I go check on him…?” You say, tilting your head at Felix like you’re not already decided. “He’s taking a while…”
“He’s probably just taking a shit,” Jisung says matter-of-factly, and continues when Minho elbows him sharply, “B-but it probably wouldn’t hurt!”
“Want me to come with you?” Minho says, sharp eyes digging into yours, “If he is sick, you might want an extra hand.”
“I’ll text you if I need help getting him to the car or something,” you respond, heat crawling up your neck, “Hopefully he’s just…‘taking a shit’, as Sungie so crassly put it.”
“Yah! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-”
Minho shushes him, rolling his eyes, but he keeps a keen eye on you as you step away from the table, pupils expanding when you throw him a wink over your shoulder. Two can play the teasing game, and you sure as shit aren’t going to lose to Minho.
You actually have no idea where the bathroom is, and after an embarrassing lap around the restaurant, you have to flag down a member of the staff to direct you there. There’s a set of three single restrooms around a back corner, far secluded from the restaurant, and lucky you, only one of them is occupied. You approach it and rap on the door sharply, three short knocks, just to hear the way Chan’s breath catches through the door.
“Everything okay in there, sir?” you say, voice dripping with mirth, “You’ve been in there quite a while. Was something unsatisfactory with our service?”
The door flies open and you’re dragged in by the collar of your shirt before you realize what’s happening. The door slams shut behind you as Chan presses you to it desperately, hand fumbling behind you to click the lock shut as he seals your mouths together. His tongue is pressing into your mouth the second your lips touch, hot and messy, and he’s fumbling with the buttons of your shirt as he kisses you. You let him get the first two before you’re grabbing his wrist, using your grip on him as leverage to flip the two of you around, caging him against the door.
“Needy baby,” you coo, letting your eyes drag down him, “Couldn’t even wait for me to help?”
“You took so long,” he whines, lips tugging into a pout, “I couldn’t help it!”
“I couldn’t leave right away, jagi, it would’ve been suspicious,” you murmur, breath hot against his neck as you lean down to nip at it, “Minho already knows what a slut you’re being. Thought you were supposed to be in control, what happened?”
He keens, a little too loud for your liking, hips bucking up towards you, searching for friction. You slap a hand over his mouth to muffle his sounds, listening for sounds outside the door. When there’s nothing you relax, pulling your hand away.
“God, it’s like you want the whole restaurant to know what we’re doing,” you sneer, “First your dongsaengs, now this? Come here.”
He wants to protest, tell you that he’s not a slut, but you’re dragging him away from the door and towards the sink, spinning him so that his hands are gripping at the cool porcelain and his back is arched towards you. You’re pressed behind him, and he can feel the swell of you against his ass, making him whimper as he presses back against it. You hiss, then grab his hair, yanking his head back so that he can see himself in the mirror.
He looks debauched, hair tousled and lips swollen. He’s drooling, and there’s tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. His eyes find yours in the reflection, and the hunger in your gaze paired with the vibrator, still buzzing incessantly inside of him, is almost enough to make him come. He swears, head falling forward as his hips buck down, body wound tight as he does everything in his power to hold back. You haven’t given him permission, after all.
You press three of your fingers against his lips, and they part without question, tongue swirling around your digits messily. He coats them in spit, already knowing what you need them for.
“Good job.” You say, pulling your fingers from his mouth once you find that they’re sufficiently slick.
Your wet fingers come to press to his waiting hole, and your other hand untangles from his hair to press at the remote in your pocket, turning the dial down to the fourth setting. You don’t want him coming just yet, though the choked, sad sound he makes at the loss is almost enough for you to fold and give him what he wants.
Instead you press two of your fingers in without warning, curling them, searching for the little pink bullet nestled inside of him. He moans, loud and unabashed, the sound echoing through the space. His eyes widen as he brings a shaky hand to his mouth, teeth sinking into the skin to try and stop the sounds. It doesn’t stop the little breaths and whimpers from escaping, and when your fingers do brush the bullet inside of him? He reacts as if he’s been shocked, his whole body jolting and eyes rolling back into his skull.
You search for it again, long fingers scissoring and curling, a third finger slipping in when you’re sure he’s stretched enough to take it.
“That’s it, jagi, taking my fingers so well,” you say, voice sickly sweet compared to your ministrations, “So good for me. Are you going to come around my fingers? Make a mess all over the sink?”
He nods frantically, wide eyes searching for yours again in the mirror. He tries to say something through his fist, but it’s muffled, and you slow your movements down, loving the way that the loss of stimulation makes him wail. It’s a little too loud, but you let it slip this time.
“What’s wrong, jagi? Use your words.” You’re so mean about it, fingers coming to press as the vibe inside of him right as he opens his mouth to speak.
It makes him choke on his words, and even on the fourth setting, the pressure that you’re applying to the bullet is pressing it against his prostate so hard it has him seeing stars.
“Wanna-hnngh, fuck! Wanna come ‘round your-hck! come ‘round your cock,” he whines out, tears finally slipping out of his shiny eyes, “Wanna feel you, please? Please please please, wanna-ooooh-wanna, wanna-”
You cut him off by slapping a hand over his mouth. As much as you love the sweet sounds he’s making, you’re still in public, and you’ve been gone for far too long now to fuck into him like he wants. The erection straining in your pants is pleading for attention, but that’s not what tonight is about. You take a deep breath, and keep curling your fingers slowly, keeping him on that edge.
You pull your hand away from his mouth once you know he’s not going to make any more loud sounds, his breathing getting less shaky. You reach your now free hand into your pocket for the remote, and click it up once, to the fifth setting.
“Give me your hand.” You say, and he reaches a shaky hand back.
You place the little pink remote in his hand, guiding his thumb to rest on the dial. He blinks back at you, surprised, but you have a wicked look on your face, your smile all teeth.
“You’re in control, right? We don’t have time for you to come on my cock, jagi, so be a good boy and crank that toy up for me, won’t you? Oh, and don’t drop the remote - drop it, and you won’t come until we’re home.”
He bites his tongue, another moan threatening to tear its way out of his throat. He knows you’re teasing him, playing with the power that you hold over him, but the idea of being good is enough for him to nod, hand clenching tight around the remote.
Your fingers pick up their pace, thrusting into his sharp and quick. Your hand, now free, comes to cup his mouth again, cutting his sounds off into your skin. He presses into the touch, barely able to keep himself up as his legs shake. His thumb slips on the dial and he tries to steady himself, and suddenly the vibrator is on seven. And oh. Oh. He’s not even sure where he is anymore, his body fully succumbing to the burning pleasure coursing through his veins.
He can faintly hear you in the background noise telling him to be quiet, to be good, and he tries. Really, he tries. He thinks that he’s not making any sound, and he hopes it’s true, but all he can hear right now is static in his ears. He can vaguely feel the hot streaks of tears pouring down his face, and the way your hand squeezes at his jaw when they trickle down your fingers.
And then his thumb slips again. And shit, he’s seeing stars.
Because if his vision was whiting out, he could look down, and see that he had just set the buzzing to the highest level, ten. But the second the vibrations pick up, your fingers are finding the bullet and pressing it right to his prostate. And you don’t thrust your fingers anymore, you don’t even breathe - you keep the bullet there, pressed against his most sensitive thought, until he’s babbling under your hand and coming.
And oh, it’s so much. He’s spraying his come across the porcelain, hips bucking forward to try and escape the overwhelming feeling of the vibrations. He feels it everywhere, like a livewire connecting his prostate to his brain, and his orgasm keeps going, and going. It’s obscene how much he comes, and you use the hand that’s covering his mouth to tilt his head so that he’s looking at himself in the mirror, watching himself fall apart. He bites your hand, hard, face flushed with the exertion of coming but also with something akin to embarrassment, but you don’t relent. You wince at the sting, but let him ride out his high.
When it starts to hurt and you can see it on his face, you pull out of him, sticky fingers coming to crank the dial down to zero. He lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, body slumping forward so that his forehead is pressed against the cool glass of the mirror in front of him.
Everything after that is a blur of you guiding him back together, wiping him down and helping him back into his clothes. You fuss with his hair and his collar the most, though you don’t think you can fix the way his collar is just slighted mussed now, crooked in a way that screams what the two of you just did. You sigh, taking a quick look at yourself in the mirror, and hope to god that your erection brings itself down by the time you make it back to the table, because you certainly don’t have the time to take care of it now.
You guide him back to the table, fingers interlaced, two full grown people stepping out of the same bathroom and trying not to be embarrassed about it. You decided to leave the vibrator in him, although you don’t think you’ll be turning it back on again until you’re at home (if at all - Chan might not be able to come again tonight after that release).
When you sit back down, hair pressed back neatly and the only evidence of your bathroom escapade the flush of Chan’s cheeks and the slight crook of his collar, you grin apologetically.
“Jisung-ah, I owe you an apology,” you say as you sit down, “You were 100% right. I had to wait outside the door for him.”
The table erupts in laughter, and Chan shoots you a confused (but grateful) look. His dongsaengs start poking fun at him for a joke he wasn’t even present for, and he plays up his confusion, much to their delight. As this happens, your phone buzzes twice in your pocket, and you glance down to read it.
From: Minho [18:23]
>Looks like the two of you had fun.
>You’ll let me watch next time, won’t you? It’s the least I deserve for keeping your secret.
You raise a challenging eyebrow at him across the table, and he just grins back, eyes heavy and lidded. He mouths “please?” and gives you his best pout, dramatic and fake. You just smirk back, knowing that he’s teasing, that he doesn’t actually mean it, but you can tell from the way Chan flushed earlier that he probably wouldn’t actually mind Minho being there to watch.
“Sure” is all you mouth back, loving the way that ever-composed Minho flushes and blinks back at you, eyes wide.
You message him, eyes lidded, corner of your lower lip catching in your teeth.
>Only if you’ll be good for me.
It’s going to be a long, long night.
I hope your enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated ♡
