contains: Teasing, trapped, slight force spaced, nicknames, mention of dagger, kissing, this one is more of a plot reveal not much happens, I'm sure I missed something, let me know in the comments.
WC: 1k
A/N: I know I've been a little MIA, I'm actually trying to write a book at the moment and its been taking a lot of my time. With that being said I'm not sure how often I will be on here, but stay tuned!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
You wake up. Your legs are numb, and your body is still slightly shaking. You smell…water lilies? Or is that roses? It's some sort of sweet flower. You hum. Stretching for anything familiar, but it's all too soft. It's too soft for the bed they gave you, and it's too pillowy to be the couch.
Your eyes snap open, and your body surges up, looking around the room. It's so…cozy. Books and artwork adorn the walls. A balcony overlooks the beautiful forest, and a telescope is positioned outside. It's a smaller room, but everything in it makes it feel huge.
“Finally, I was beginning to worry that those two heathens killed you with pleasure…..” Your head whips to the source. Seeing Hyunjin leaning against the door frame. He’s not wearing a shirt, just a leather jacket and jeans. His chest is on perfect display.. He chuckles. “I’m the only one allowed to make you bleed, princess.”
***
Your pulse hammers against your throat as you clutch the sheets tighter, the silk sliding treacherously against your damp palms. The room suddenly feels smaller, the walls closing in as he approaches.
"What's running through that beautiful mind of yours?" Hyunjin's voice drops to a whisper that seems to caress your skin. He stops just close enough that you can see the dangerous glint in his dark eyes, the way his chest rises and falls with each controlled breath.
"Nothing," you lie, your voice barely audible.
"Nothing?" His smile is pure sin. "Your eyes are telling me a very different story, darling." His gaze travels slowly down your form, lingering on the places where the sheet clings to your curves. "They're practically screaming."
Your breath catches as he reaches behind him, producing a dagger that gleams like liquid mercury in the moonlight. The blade catches the light as he spins it effortlessly between his fingers.
"I have a proposition for you," he purrs, settling into the chair across from you but never breaking eye contact. "A little game of truth and dare."
"What if I don't want to play?" The defiance in your voice surprises even you.
He throws his head back and laughs, the sound rich and intoxicating. "Oh, but you do. I can see it in the way you're looking at me right now—like you want to devour me whole."
The accusation sends fire racing through your veins. "I want answers."
"Answers are earned, not given." He leans forward, elbows on his knees, the dagger still dancing between his fingers. "What are you willing to trade for them?"
The question hangs in the air between you, charged with possibility and danger.
"What do you want from me?"
His smile turns predatory. "Trust me. Can you do that, beautiful? Can you trust me with that delicious body of yours?"
Every rational thought screams at you to run, but something deeper, more primal, keeps you rooted in place. "I trust you."
The words are barely out of your mouth before he's moving, the dagger flying through the air in a perfect arc. You flinch, but he catches it smoothly, his grin triumphant.
"Perfect. Now let's see just how far that trust extends."
"This wasn't exactly what I had in mind," you murmur, fingers trailing over the artwork he's given you to sort. His white button-down hangs loosely on your frame, the fabric so fine it might as well be gossamer. It barely covers your thighs, and you're hyperaware of every place it touches your skin.
"What did you have in mind?" Hyunjin's voice is honey and smoke as he settles beside you on the bed, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his skin. The dagger rests casually in his palm, but his eyes never leave your face.
You laugh nervously, focusing on the artwork—and immediately regret it. Each piece is a masterpiece, but more than that, they're intimate. Raw. A woman's bare back, her face turned in profile, lips parted in what might be pleasure or pain. A tiger wrestling with waves that look suspiciously like silk sheets.
"These are incredible," you breathe, studying the delicate charcoal strokes.
"I'm glad you think so." His voice has gone soft, almost vulnerable. "I drew them all thinking of you."
The admission stops you cold. You look up to find him watching you with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.
"How could you love someone you don't know?"
"But I do know you." He reaches out, fingers ghosting along your cheek. "Every freckle, every scar, every sound you make when you're lost in pleasure."
Your head begins to pound as you look at the next piece—two figures entwined, desperate and hungry for each other. The static in your ears grows louder.
"I love you," you whisper against his lips, tasting forever in that kiss.
"I love you too," he breathes back, and the words feel like coming home.
The memory hits you like a physical blow. You can still feel the phantom touch of his hands, the way he held you like you were something precious and dangerous all at once.
"Jinnie," the nickname falls from your lips like a prayer.
His reaction is immediate and devastating. The artwork scatters to the floor as he pulls you against him, his mouth finding yours with desperate hunger. He kisses you like he's drowning and you're air, like he's been starving and you're his first meal.
"Say it again," he growls against your lips.
"Jinnie," you whisper, and the sound breaks something open in both of you.
Your legs wrap around his waist as he deepens the kiss, his hands tangling in your hair, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp. The button-down rides up dangerously high, and you can feel his heart pounding against your chest.
"I've waited so long to hear you say my name like that again," he murmurs, his lips trailing fire down your throat. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
stray kids ot8 x reader | sweat-drenched worship, spit-slick ruin, and eight different ways to be fucked stupid
🖤 synopsis: You’ve always loved watching them stumble through the front door after dance practice—sweaty, breathless, loose-limbed in those damn grey sweatpants that hang just right. Usually, they shower before you can get your hands on them. Not tonight. Tonight, you ambush them. You wanted them filthy. Now you can’t stop shaking.
💌a/n: this one’s for the sinners 😵💫 filthy friday poll said grey sweatpants or die and y’all voted with your pussies, so here we are. shoutout to 🍒 for the original brainrot (you did this. i’m just the vessel). i blacked out somewhere between chan’s throatfuck and jeongin’s edgeplay. i’m not sorry for the filth. i should be. but i’m not.
p.s. reblog if you got ruined.
p.p.s. if this ruined you, tell me how. moan in my inbox. whimper in the tags. confess your sins—I eat those for breakfast.
p.p.p.s. can you tell i still struggle with the aesthetic pics? yeah... 😒
⚠️warnings: 18+ MINOR DNI | pure filth | oral (m & f) | face-fucking | gagging | deepthroating | rough sex | hair-pulling | spanking | choking | praise | degradation | sweat kink | scent kink | | spit kink | overstimulation | edging | cockwarming | fingering | squirting | multiple positions | furniture abuse | messy makeouts | creampies (wrap it up ppl) | swallowing | possessiveness | begging | dumbification | slurred speech | no plot just grey sweatpants and primal lust | explicit language | literally dripping smut | fic is horny and knows it | do not read in public unless you have a death wish
📌 Wipe your chin. Stretch first. Cancel your plans.
You barely breathe before your feet are moving—heart thudding, heat already curling low in your belly. You don’t wait. No time for hellos. No time for “Welcome home.”
The door creaks open and Chan moves inside—hood off, hair stuck to his forehead, black t-shirt clinging to the sweat on his chest, and those goddamn grey sweatpants slung low on his hips.
He doesn’t even see you coming.
You collide with him in the hallway—fists gripping his shirt, mouth crashing into his before he can speak.
“Wha—mmph,” he grunts, catching your waist automatically, stumbling back a step from the sheer force of your hunger. You don't give him a chance to recover.
Your tongue licks into his mouth, hands already sliding down, tugging at the loose knot in his drawstring, fingers brushing against sweat-damp abs. He shudders. You moan.
“Fuck—baby,” he groans, pulling back just enough to look at you. His pupils are blown, lips already swollen. “What’s gotten into—”
You drop to your knees.
Right there in the hallway. No warning. No teasing. Just grab the waistband of those soaked sweatpants and pull them down with purpose.
Chan gasps—his cock already hard, flushed deep red at the tip, leaking. You look up, tongue running across your bottom lip, and he just breathes, “Oh, fuck me.”
His hand flies to the back of your head—but he’s not pushing. He’s holding on. Like he might fall apart if you move too fast.
“Didn’t even shower,” he mutters, voice thick, guttural. “You want me like this? All sweaty, baby?”
You hum in response—warm breath ghosting over his length, and he twitches.
“I want you filthy,” you whisper, dragging your tongue up the base—slow and teasing, tasting every bead of sweat, the salt of his skin, the heat of hours on his body. “I want to ruin you before you get clean.”
“Jesus Christ,” he chokes. “You’re—fuck—You’re gonna make me cum already.”
And then you wrap your lips around the head, hollowing your cheeks, moaning as he sinks deeper into your mouth.
Chan loses it.
His head drops back against the wall, hips jerking forward, thighs trembling. The hand in your hair tightens, the other gripping the corner where wall meets doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.
“Good girl,” he groans. “Fucking perfect like this. Tongue—ah, shit, just like that.”
He grits his teeth, hips rolling forward slow—but the tension in his thighs betrays him. He’s trying to stay controlled, trying to savor you. But the second you moan around him again, lips glossy, eyes already glassy?
It’s over.
"Fuck it,” he mutters, voice dropping to that dangerous growl you know means trouble. “You want me filthy?”
You nod—barely—mouth still wrapped around him, your tongue licking behind your teeth, dragging along every swollen vein.
He exhales through his nose and grabs your jaw, thumb pressing against your cheek. “Then take it.”
And he starts to fuck your mouth.
Not a tease. Not gentle.
Thrusts deep, the tip hitting the back of your throat before you can breathe. The wet slap of skin on your lips echoes loud in the hallway as he ruts into your face, sweat from his abs dripping down your chin. You choke, eyes watering instantly—but you don’t pull back.
You want this. Need it. Crave it like air.
"That's it, baby," he pants, looking down at you like you're something to worship and ruin all at once. “Drooling on my cock already? Fuckin' nasty little thing.”
Your nails dig into his thighs and he groans, hips stuttering. “You’re not even fighting me. Just letting me use your throat like it’s mine.”
You try to say his name but it’s nothing but a garbled choke, spit dripping down your chin, eyes red and cheeks bulging. He pulls out with a loud, wet pop—just enough for you to inhale—before thrusting back in deeper, pushing past resistance.
“Gonna cum just like this,” he hisses, twitching on your tongue, forehead slick and eyes wild. “Not even a second in the door and you’re gagging on me like a fuckin’ heat-drunk mess.”
You whimper.
He feels it—your throat clenching, your tongue flattening, your jaw relaxing just to take more. You’ve gone slack and obedient, dripping with spit and submission.
“Ohhh fuck, good girl. Good—good fucking girl.”
And then he cums.
Hard.
Hot.
Deep.
Cock pulsing against your tongue as he moans, low and filthy, holding you flush to his pelvis. You swallow instinctively, once, twice, choking just a little—and he groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.
When he finally pulls out, cock still twitching and glistening with spit, your jaw’s slack, tongue out, lips shiny, and he just watches you breathe for a moment.
“Didn’t even let me get my shoes off,” he chuckles, dark and breathless. His hand strokes your cheek, thumb smearing a bit of his own cum across your lower lip. “God, look at you.”
You blink back the tears that gathered and Chan tucks himself halfway back into his sweats, helps you up to your feet—but doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath.
His arms wrap around your thighs.
You yelp.
And just like that, he hoists you over his shoulder, your ass in the air, face pressed to his sweaty back, heartbeat thundering between your legs.
“Didn’t even let me take a fuckin’ breath,” he mutters, palming your thigh. You can feel his cum still warm on your chin. “You think you’re getting away with that?”
You squirm, giggling, breathless—but he lands a hard slap on your ass and grins when you gasp. “You’re real fuckin’ lucky I missed you today.” You try to respond, but all you can manage is a breathless whimper as he stalks down the hall, grip possessive, pace fast.
He kicks the bedroom door open. Slams it shut behind him. And tosses you on the bed like you’re the next thing he’s about to devour. Already tugging his sweats the rest of the way down, dark eyes locked on you like a promise.
You're laid out on the mattress, chest heaving and Chan’s already crawling over you. Sweats gone. Cock hard again. Eyes dark like stormclouds rolling in. You can still feel his cum smeared across your chin, tacky on your skin, and it makes your head spin.
"You look so fucked out already," he murmurs, voice thick with want. “But you’re not done yet, are you, baby?”
You shake your head, biting your lip—and he smirks like you just said something delicious.
“No,” he hums, crawling between your legs, body hot and heavy and damp with sweat. “You’re never done with me. Not until I say.”
He grabs your jaw again—thumb smearing your bottom lip, collecting his own release from your skin and pushing it into your mouth.
“Swallow it.”
You moan around his thumb, tongue curling around the taste of him, and he groans, hips twitching forward.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “Such a good little mess for me.”
Then he leans in. Not to kiss. To devour.
His mouth crashes to your throat, trailing down to your chest, teeth dragging, tongue licking every inch of skin you didn’t even know was sensitive.
And when he gets between your legs? He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t talk. He just presses his cock in deep—slow and thick and overwhelming—with a groan that sounds like prayer.
You arch, crying out, hands clutching his forearms, nails sinking into sweaty skin.
“Shhh,” he coos, thrusting deep and slow. “Just let me in.”
You do. You take it. All of him. All over again.
He fills you like it’s instinct—like your body was made to hold his. And once he’s buried to the hilt?
He doesn’t move.
Just holds you there, pinned underneath him, cock throbbing, your cunt fluttering from the pressure, your legs wrapped tight around his waist.
“Feel that?” he whispers, kissing your jaw. “That’s me, baby. That’s all of me.”
You whimper. Squirm. Try to roll your hips.
He chuckles—deep and dangerous.
“Nuh-uh. Not yet. You wanted me sweaty? Filthy? Unshowered and on the edge? Then you’re gonna lie here and take every fucking inch of it until I decide I’m done fucking into you.”
He grinds, slow and brutal—just once—and your eyes roll back.
"Let’s see how many loads you can hold, sweetheart.”
He then starts to move. Not fast. Not pounding. Just deep. Possessive. Each thrust a grind of heat and pressure that makes your toes curl and your back arch.
“Yeah,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot against your lips. “You’re fuckin’ perfect like this. Wrapped around me. Taking me.”
You sob—can’t help it—because it’s too much and not enough. You’re so full, so wet, his precum already starting to mix with your slick, squelching every time he rocks into you.
“God, listen to that,” he pants, his mouth at your ear. “Hear how wet you are for me? You love this. You love getting stuffed full of me before I’ve even washed the day off.”
You nod frantically, legs locked around him. “C-Chan—fuck—I’m gonna—”
His hand slides down, grabs your jaw, tilts your face up.
“You’re gonna cum baby?” he growls, eyes sharp and electric. “Already?”
You whimper—helpless, delirious—your hips rising to meet his every push.
He’s so deep. So thick. So fucking good.
"Cum on it, then," he says through gritted teeth. “Be my good fucking girl and cum.” And you do. Your orgasm hits so fucking hard and you clamp around him with a cry, thighs shaking, eyes rolling back—and he fucks you through it, grinding deeper, sweat dripping off his body and down your chest.
His cock pulses—he’s cumming again.
“Shit—fuck—fuck, baby—”
He buries himself to the hilt with a groan that sounds like pain and pleasure melted together, hands grabbing at your waist like you’re slipping away. And then—
You feel it. Hot. Heavy. Endless. He cums again. Deep inside. But he doesn’t stop.
Just grinds. Slow. Messy. Filthy. Spreading the warmth of it everywhere inside you, cock still twitching, your cunt fluttering around the overstimulation.
He leans in, panting against your mouth, your sweat and his mixing on your skin, his arms shaking from holding himself up.
“You’re still fuckin’ tight,” he moans, rubbing himself deeper with every lazy grind. “Still squeezing me like you want another load.”
You can’t even speak. Just cry out, overwhelmed, broken open and full to the brim. And that’s when he stops moving. Just stays there. Buried deep. Cock still throbbing. Still hard. And he kisses your cheek, feverish and slow, whispering: “Shh… Just keep me inside, baby. Let me stay. We’ll move again in a minute.”
Lee Minho
You hear the door click open.
Minho having returned from dance practice. All silent and composed and already toeing his shoes off, black hoodie halfway unzipped, revealing the faintest sheen of sweat down his chest.
He doesn’t see you at first. But you’re already moving.
You don’t even let him shut the door.
You grab a fistful of his hoodie, yank him inside, and press your mouth to his before he can speak. He freezes—just for a second. Shock, maybe. You don’t usually ambush him.
But then—his hands slide around your waist. And his mouth turns hungry. He kisses back slow at first—dangerously slow—like he’s thinking while tasting you, deciding exactly how he’s going to handle this.
And when your hands drop to the drawstring of his grey sweatpants?
He grabs your wrists. Tight. Controlling. Not cruel. But unmovable. “What do you think you’re doing, baby?” His voice is a low purr. Dangerous. Almost amused.
“I want you like this,” you breathe, nuzzling into his neck. You inhale—he smells like warm cotton, salt, and that irresistible Minho scent that clings to his sweat. “Don’t want you clean. Want you filthy. Want you now.”
There’s a pause. Just the sound of your breathing. His grip doesn’t loosen and before you even know it, he yanks you toward the bedroom.
You stumble as he drags you down the hall, grip bruising on your wrist, chest rising under his damp hoodie. You try to speak—say “Minho—”—but you don’t get the chance.
Because the moment the bedroom door shuts behind you?
He pushes you onto the bed. Hard. Your back bounces on the mattress, and he’s already stripping off his hoodie with one hand, the other pushing your thighs apart like it’s his fucking right.
“You want me sweaty?” he growls, tossing the hoodie to the floor, eyes flashing like warning signs. “Want the smell of my sweat on your skin while you cum?”
You can’t even speak—just nod, breath shuddering as he sinks down to his knees.
“You really are filthy.”
He doesn’t even pull your panties down. He just presses his face between your legs, inhales hard, groans—“Fuck, that’s it.” And then licks you right through the fabric, tongue slow and deliberate, letting the scent of sweat and sex bleed together into something carnal and overwhelming.
You gasp—hips jerking—but he pins you down with both arms, holding your thighs wide apart, his face already soaked from your arousal and the heat of his own body.
“Minho—oh my god—” you choke, fingers flying to his hair.
And he rips your panties to the side with a grunt, diving in fully—tongue sliding between your folds, slick, greedy, relentless.
It’s not soft. It’s not patient. It’s devastating.
He moans low in his throat, tongue flicking your clit like he’s mapping out revenge, sucking hard, filthy, his nose bumping against your cunt, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.
“Does this feel good?” he mutters between strokes, not even looking up. “Getting eaten out by a man who hasn’t even showered?”
You sob something incoherent, already trembling.
And he smirks against you.
“Good. Because I’m not stopping until your thighs are shaking and my face is dripping with you.”
And then he buries himself again—tongue fucking deep, lips locking around your clit, fingers digging into your thighs like anchors—eating you like he’s starving and your cunt is the cure.
Your head rolls back.
You’re gasping now, sobbing into the sheets, legs locked around his shoulders—but he’s unrelenting. Tongue working in slow, devastating circles, lips dragging across your clit like velvet, every move so calculated it makes you cry.
And all the while, Minho doesn’t stop moaning.
Like you taste better than water. Better than sleep. Like he came home for this. Like your pussy was the destination.
“You sound so pretty when you whimper,” he mutters, pausing just long enough to breathe before licking a thick, heavy stripe up your center—tongue flat, slow, filthy. “Dripping all over my face, and I haven’t even touched your pussy with my cock yet.”
“Please,” you beg—desperate, undone. Your thighs tremble against his jaw, and your hands are in his hair, trying to anchor yourself to something.
He chuckles darkly. “You gonna cum like this? All messy and cock-starved?”
You whimper something like yes—but he doesn’t let you finish.
His mouth clamps around your clit again, sucking, tongue curling just right—and the orgasm rips through you like lightning.
You scream, back arching, thighs clamping, hips bucking into his face—and he just holds you down and keeps eating through it, licking and lapping and humming like he’s trying to drink your soul.
“Minho—fuck, please—”
You’re babbling, shaking, overstimulated beyond reason—and then he finally pulls away, his lips slick, chin wet, and eyes dark with hunger.
“Look at you,” he breathes, licking his mouth like he’s tasting your cum for a second time. “You came so fast for me.”
You reach for him. Desperate. Feral. Already empty again.
“I need—” you choke, voice shaking. “Minho—please, I need your cock. I need it—I need to feel it—I need to be full.”
His gaze sharpens. Voice lowers.
“You need to be fucked dumb, don’t you?”
You nod frantically, writhing.
He grabs your hips—flips you with one brutal pull—and kneels behind you. His sweats are already shoved down, cock flushed and leaking, and he doesn’t tease. Doesn’t pause. Doesn’t even breathe.
He lines up and slams into you in one deep, unforgiving thrust.
You moan loudly, voice cracking, because he fills you all at once—thick, hot, stretching you wide, your pussy already soaked and fluttering from the orgasm he tore out of you with his tongue.
“Fuck yes,” he growls, thrusting deep, pace fast and merciless. “This what you needed? This what that pretty pussy was crying for?”
You’re shaking under him, face buried in the mattress, hands clutching the sheets like they’ll keep you anchored to the earth.
He fucks you like he’s claiming you, hips slapping, sweat dripping from his body onto your back, his cock dragging across every nerve inside you like he knows exactly where to aim.
“Take it,” he pants, voice breaking. “Take all of it. You wanted me dirty, baby? You’re getting all of it.”
You’re choking on every thrust. Your body jolts forward with each snap of his hips, the mattress creaking beneath you, your thighs trembling, soaked and burning.
“You wanted this?” he snarls, pace brutal now, his voice wrecked, ragged. “Wanted me like this? Sweaty. Filthy. Feral—?”
Your mouth is open, drooling into the sheets, sounds spilling out with every slap of skin-on-skin. He’s so deep, fucking you like he’s trying to stay inside you forever—like your pussy is the only place he ever wanted to be.
And then—
His hand fists your hair.
He yanks your head back—sharp, mean, delicious—exposing your throat to the hot, panting air.
“Look at you,” he hisses against your ear. “Fucked stupid already. Can’t even speak.”
Your lips tremble, eyes fluttering, brain static. “M-Min—”
“No,” he cuts in. His cock drives deeper, angling just right to grind against your sweet spot with every savage thrust. “Don’t say my name. Scream it.”
And you do.
Because the drag of him inside you is overwhelming—relentless, the tip of his cock punishing your walls just right, your clit swollen and untouched, but still throbbing. You're wound so tight you could shatter from nothing but breath.
“Fuck, I feel you,” he groans, hips starting to falter—not slowing down, just getting wilder. “Your pussy’s choking me. You close? Huh?”
You sob—legs giving out—but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you fall. He grabs your hips tighter, slams in deeper, and pulls your hair harder.
"Cum on it," he grits out, teeth clenched, sweat dripping from his jaw to your skin. "Cum on my fucking cock like you were made for it."
You break.
Your whole body convulses—mouth open in a silent scream, vision white-hot as your orgasm tears through you. Your pussy clamps down around him, tight and wet and pulsing, and Minho groans like a demon.
“Shit—fuck—take it, baby, take it—”
He slams in one last time—deep and desperate—and cums hard.
So fucking hard.
His cock pulses, twitching inside you as he fills you deep, warm, thick—his hips rutting through it even as he moans, low and guttural, pouring himself into you like he’s emptying his soul.
You both collapse forward.
His body blanketing yours, cock still buried, cum dripping from between your legs, your chest heaving, your brain gone.
He doesn’t move. Just breathes. And whispers: “...Next time? Don’t you dare wait ‘til I’m clean.”
Seo Changbin
The lock beeps.
You’re already perched on the armrest of the couch like a trap.
Loose tank. No bra. Nothing under the shorts. Waiting.
And when Changbin walks in, fresh from dance practice—hair sticking to his forehead, black tank soaked through, neck glistening, grey sweatpants clinging to his thighs like a sin—you move.
“Hey, baby—whoa—!”
You pounce. Full-body slam.
He grunts, catching you with both arms instantly—those arms—biceps flexing as you wrap your legs around him like a koala on a mission.
“Missed me that much?” he teases, grinning, breathless from the surprise. “Or are you just that horny for my sweat?”
Your answer? Mouth on his neck.
Tongue dragging over salt-slick skin, nose buried in the heat beneath his jaw, hands tugging at the waistband of his sweats.
“Shit,” he breathes, stumbling backward as you grind against him, your arousal already soaking through your shorts. “You’re fucking serious.”
“Don’t shower yet,” you pant. “I want it like this. I want you like this.”
He looks down at you. Sees the hunger in your eyes. Smirks. “You’re outta your mind.” Then shrugs. “Lucky for you… I’m worse.”
He hauls you up higher, grips your thighs tight, and throws you on the couch like you weigh nothing. You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s on you—sweat-slick, pumped, and hard already.
And he doesn’t undress you. Doesn’t even ask. Just yanks your shorts down and growls: “Gonna fuck you like this until you’re crying.”
“Spread,” he growls, voice low, knuckles bruising your knees as he pushes your thighs open on the couch. “Now.”
You do.
Breath hitching. Heart pounding. Pussy already wet and twitching at just the sound of him. Changbin lowers his sweats alongside his briefs, freeing his cock and then spits into his hand—messy, hot, unbothered—and strokes himself once, twice.
And you see it.
Thick. Veined. Heavy.
That fat fucking cock you always forget just how much it stretches you. Until it’s right there again—pulsing in his palm, the tip flushed and leaking, already too big for your brain.
“You’re already dripping,” he mutters, leaning over you with a smirk. His tank hangs loose from one shoulder, soaked with sweat, and his hips are cocked like he’s about to ruin your entire career. “You that desperate for this cock, baby?”
You nod frantically. “Please—Binnie—need it, need to feel it—”
“Yeah?” He lines himself up. Pushes in—slow at first. Just the head.
And you sob. Because fuck, the stretch. The stretch.
Your pussy clenches helplessly, trying to take him, trying to make room—because he’s so thick and heavy, the kind of full that makes your eyes water. And he hasn’t even bottomed out yet.
“Shit,” he breathes, watching your face twist. “Still so fucking tight.”
He slides in more, and more—inch by devastating inch, sweat dripping from his chest onto your belly, his hands gripping your thighs so hard you’ll have bruises.
And when he finally bottoms out?
You’re split open. Stuffed.
“God, you’re fucking made for me,” he growls, pulling out halfway—then slamming back in. “Taking all this cock, huh? Just letting me stretch this little pussy out like it’s nothing.”
You choke on a cry, back arching, nails digging into the couch.
He picks up the pace. Fast. Brutal. Loud. The wet slap of skin against skin echoes through the room. Your body bounces with every thrust, tits shaking, throat raw with moans.
“You like that?” he pants, one hand gripping your waist, the other coming up to your throat.
Pressure. Just enough. Enough to make you go dizzy—floaty—your pussy fluttering around his cock as he ruts into you like a beast.
“Fuckin’ look at you,” he snarls. “Taking it all like a little cockslut. You wanted me sweaty? Now I’m drippin’ all over you while I pound this pussy into the fuckin’ couch.”
You can’t even answer. Just sob. Shake. Clench. So full.
And when he leans in, lips brushing your cheek, voice rough and close?
“You’re gonna cum like this. On this thick cock. With my hand around your throat. Soaked in my sweat.”
You’re whimpering, barely coherent, mouth slack as his fingers tighten around your neck—just enough to make your breath shallow, your vision swim.
And his other hand? He slips it under your loose tank, shoves it up, exposing your tits to the hot air.
“Fuck,” he hisses when he sees them—bouncing with every thrust, nipples stiff, glistening with sweat. “You’re so fucking pretty like this. Messy little fucktoy.”
His hips don’t stop. Not even for a second.
Slamming into you, brutal and perfect, cock dragging along every sensitive nerve inside you like he’s trying to carve you open. You cry out, high and breathless, and he just grins.
“That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.”
His palm cups your breast, rough and greedy, thumb flicking over your nipple while his cock splits you open, while your body burns under him—your pussy fluttering, stuffed so full you feel like you might break.
You gasp into his hand, and he moans low in his throat, like he can feel your reaction in his cock.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, almost sweet if his tone weren’t dripping with pure filth. “So fuckin’ close, huh? You gonna cum just from this?”
You nod, frantic, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as he releases your throat—only to drag that hand down between your legs.
“Oh my god—”
He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t tease.
Just rubs your clit hard and fast, the way he knows drives you insane—his cock still hammering into you, still filling you with every deep, punishing thrust.
“S’too much—Binnie—fuck—” You’re blabbering, sobbing, legs shaking, the couch damp beneath you.
But he’s not stopping. Not when you’re this close. Not when you’re writhing. He leans down again, body pressing to yours, soaked tank clinging to your skin, and growls in your ear: “Cum for me. Ruin this couch. Show me how good your little cunt is at milking every drop out of my cock.”
And you snap.
You cum with a scream—loud, shaking, your entire body locking up, your pussy clamping down so hard around him he curses, slamming in deep one last time.
He shudders as you pulse around him, and then he cums deep inside, thick and flooding you, pushing it even deeper by the way your hips buck helplessly under him.
You’re sobbing into the cushions. Soaking the couch. And he’s still grinding.
“Don’t run from it,” he murmurs, fingers still working your clit gently as his cock twitches inside your ruined, overstimulated cunt. “Take it all, baby. All of it.”
You’re wrecked.
And he just kisses your neck, smiling against your skin, whispering—
“You’re not moving for a while. And I’m not pulling out.”
Hwang Hyunjin
You hear the door before you hear his voice—keys dropping, gym bag thudding, shoes kicked off with a tired sigh.
He’s home. And you’re already moving.
Because Hyunjin after dance practice is your favorite version of him.
Sweaty. Loosened. Raw. His long hair sticking to his temples, his tank top clinging to his chest, and those goddamn grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, riding just right over tight thighs.
You meet him at the hallway.
No warning. No hello.
Just grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him in—mouth on his, tongue sliding deep, needy and wet and messy, and he freezes for half a second before he moans low, like a match being struck.
“What the fuck,” he breathes, dazed as you grind your hips against his. “You’re seriously doing this right now?”
You lick into his mouth, fingers already tugging at the knot in his waistband, and whisper, “I want you sweaty.”
He laughs—sharp and breathless. “Oh, baby. You’re in trouble.”
You don’t even make it to the bedroom.
He presses you against the wall, one hand already down your shorts, fingers dipping between your folds like he’s testing how badly you need it.
“You’re soaking,” he growls. “From a kiss? From my sweat? Fuck, that’s filthy.”
He sinks to his knees without warning, sweat-damp hair falling around his face, and rips your shorts down like he’s starving.
“Jinnie—!”
“Shut up,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “I’m eating.”
And then his mouth is on you.
Hot. Wet. Mean.
His tongue licks up your cunt like a threat, like he’s trying to carve his name into you with every flick. He grabs your thighs, spreads you open wider, and goes in.
He groans. Loud. And then he moans. Fucking moans like your pussy is the best meal he’s ever had, sloppy and noisy and unashamed, saliva dripping down his chin as he devours you like a man possessed.
"Sweet and salty," he murmurs, breath hot against your clit. "Just like I like it."
You’re shaking.
He presses his tongue flat, drags it over your clit slow—then sucks hard, lips locking around you, tongue fluttering fast, cruel, perfect.
Your hands fly to his hair. Your knees buckle. And he just grips your thighs tighter, moaning like he’s getting off on your sounds, your taste, your squirming.
“You gonna cum like this?” he pants, lips slick, chin drenched. “Gonna fucking fall apart on my face?”
You sob—already so close, already gone.
And he smirks. “Then fucking do it.”
Your vision’s gone white.
Your hips are grinding against his face, fingers clawing at his scalp, knees wobbling as the orgasm rips through you like a storm.
“F-Fuck—Hyun—!”
You cum on his tongue.
Messy. Loud. Drenched.
He groans—deep in his throat like he’s getting drunk on it—tongue flicking even harder, lips sealed tight around your clit as he sucks through your climax.
You try to pull away.
He doesn’t let you.
He grabs your ass with both hands and pulls you down onto his face harder—and now you’re riding it, practically sitting on his mouth, your thighs shaking, whimpering, overstimulated and wrecked and still so, so wet.
He comes up for air only after you’re crying.
Face soaked. Lips glistening. Chest rising and falling like he just sprinted a marathon.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, looks up at you with those wild eyes, and smirks.
“Did I say I was done?”
You barely have time to blink before he’s lifting you up, arms under your thighs, carrying you to the couch like you weigh nothing.
“Jinnie—wait—!”
“No.” His voice is low. Commanding. Filthy. “You’re gonna squirt on my fingers, and then you can beg for cock.”
He drops you onto the cushions, spreads your legs open, and sinks to his knees between them.
“You look good like this,” he mutters, watching your cunt twitch, still wet, still sensitive. “Pussy all swollen. Just begging to be used.”
And then—two fingers. Right in. No warning, no warm-up, just thick, long and fast, curling upward like he’s already memorized every nerve you can’t handle.
You scream.
He starts to finger fuck you hard, sweat still rolling down his neck, muscles flexing as his wrist moves with precision—like an artist painting with your body.
“That’s it, baby,” he groans, thrusting deep, palm slapping your clit with every motion. “You’re dripping all over my hand. You want more?”
“Please—fuck—I can’t—”
“You can.” He leans in close, breath hot against your cheek. “I haven’t even drawn my name in your cum yet.”
His fingers speed up. Wrist twisting. Palm grinding.
You lose it.
Your thighs lock, your eyes roll back, your pussy gushes—
You squirt.
All over his hand. All over the couch. Soaking the cushions, his arm, your thighs, everything.
And Hyunjin just watches. Smirking. Drenched. Hard as hell. “Yeah,” he pants, licking your cum off his wrist with lazy, hungry strokes. “Now you’re ready.”
He leans over you, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your stomach. “Now you’re gonna take my cock. And we’re not stopping ‘til you do that again.”
He leans over you slowly, tongue licking the corner of his mouth, his free hand already sliding down to push his sweats and briefs down just enough to free his cock—hard, flushed, dripping, slapping wetly against your mound.
You whimper.
"Shhh," he coos, breath hot against your cheek. "You're twitching already. Look at you. So fucking sensitive, and I haven’t even fucked you yet."
You try to speak—don’t even know what you’re trying to say—but your body is trembling, eyes wide and glassy, lips parted, hips rolling involuntarily toward the heat of him.
He reaches down and grabs his cock, drags the head between your folds, slow and mean, teasing your overstimulated clit with just the tip.
Your whole body jolts.
He watches the way your pussy jumps, the way your thighs clamp together, and smiles—soft and cruel.
"Still soaked from squirting on me like a needy little mess," he whispers, circling your clit again with the head of his cock. "You gonna cry when I finally fuck it in?"
You nod, desperate, broken, begging without words.
"Yeah? Then cry."
And he thrusts in. All at once. Deep. Heavy.
Your back arches off the couch with a scream, the sudden stretch too much, too fast, too fucking perfect, and Hyunjin moans as he bottoms out—his hips pressed against yours, your walls fluttering like they don’t know whether to grip or push him out.
"Oh my fuck—" he chokes, head dropping to your shoulder. "You’re tight as hell. So warm. Just sucked me right in."
He doesn’t move.
Just grinds, deep and slow, letting you feel every thick inch as your pussy clenches, so wet that the slide is almost obscene—your slick and his precum mixing, leaking down your ass and onto the couch.
"Can feel you pulsing," he whispers, voice gone hoarse. "Still coming down? Don’t care."
He leans up—grabs your hips, and starts to thrust. Hard. Deep. Bruising.
The sound of skin slapping against soaked skin fills the room. Sweat drips from his chest to yours. His hair sticks to his face. His cock pounds into you, and you sob from the overwhelming pleasure.
“Take it,” he growls, one hand sliding to grab your tit, fingers digging in as he thrusts rougher. “Take all of it.”
There's tears in your eyes. Mouth open in gasps. Pussy milking him like it’s trying to keep him in your body forever. “You’re shaking again,” he breathes, leaning close to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Bet I can make you squirt on my cock.”
You whimper—your whole body trembling, overstimulated to the point of delirium, sweat soaking your back, your thighs aching from how hard you’re clenching.
But he doesn’t stop.
He’s fucking you through it—deep, fast, brutal.
Every thrust is precise, his cock dragging right over that spot inside you that makes your legs kick, makes your voice break.
“C’mon, baby,” he pants, licking the sweat from your jaw, voice breaking with you. “Give it to me. Fuckin’ give it to me.”
His hips roll faster, slapping against your soaked skin, the sound wet and obscene, your body bouncing under his weight. You claw at his back, crying out, overwhelmed beyond sense, your mind already unraveling.
“Jinnie—I can’t—too much—!”
“Yes you fucking can,” he growls, teeth dragging against your collarbone. “You're gonna squirt all over my cock, and you’re gonna take every drop when I cum inside you.”
And then he slams deep and grinds, hips rolling in a filthy rhythm, cock thick and twitching inside you—and something in you snaps.
“Fuck—!”
You scream, back arching violently as it hits you. Your pussy clenches so hard around him it makes him moan, and then—
You squirt. All over his cock, down your thighs, onto the ruined couch beneath you.
Hyunjin groans deep in your ear, his voice a raw, fucked-out growl as your cunt pulses around him like it’s trying to pull his soul in.
“Oh my fucking god—yes—fuck yes—”
And he loses it.
One final thrust, and he cums. Presses all the way in, burying himself to the hilt, and you can feel the way he twitches, the way he fills you—thick ropes of it spilling into your sore, overstimulated pussy as he pants above you, drenched in sweat, still shaking.
He doesn’t move.
Just collapses forward, still inside you, your bodies pressed together, cum leaking down your ass, both of you breathless, ruined, shaking.
And then—his hand cups your cheek.
“Look at you,” he whispers, voice warm, wrecked, in awe. “Made a fuckin’ masterpiece on my cock.”
Han Jisung
The door slams open—harder than usual—and there he is:
Han Jisung, soaked with sweat, hood halfway off his head, grey sweatpants dangerously low, curls stuck to his forehead, and lips already parted.
“Baaabyyy,” he groans before even seeing you, tossing his bag somewhere in the general direction of the floor. “Practice killed me. I’m so sweaty, I smell like I fought a demon and lost—”
You cut him off with your mouth.
One second he’s mid-ramble, the next, your tongue is in his mouth, your hands in his waistband, your body already on fire. His eyes go comically wide—and then roll back.
“W-Whoa—wait—wait—mmph—!”
You don’t wait. You don’t stop. You’re already pushing him into the wall, kissing him filthy, tugging those sweatpants down while he makes the prettiest little sounds—half-laughs, half-gasps, all desperation.
“W-What the fuck—what the fuck is happening?” he pants, dazed. “Did you—did you just get turned on by my smell—?”
You palm his cock through his briefs.
He whimpers.
“Oh my God,” he chokes, hands flying to your hips like he doesn’t know whether to push or pull. “You’re—fuck, you’re actually into this? You’re gonna suck me off while I’m still gross from rehearsal?”
You pull back, licking your lips.
“I don’t want you clean, Ji. I want you messy.”
He just melts. Full body crumbles, eyes fluttering, mouth falling open.
“...I’m gonna cum just from that alone.”
You grab his wrist and yank him toward the couch without a word.
He stumbles after you, breath hitching, cock already half-hard under his briefs. He’s still sweaty, flushed from practice, his skin warm and sticky—but you don’t care.
You want it. You want all of it. You push him down onto the cushions, and he just falls with a soft oof, legs spread slightly, looking up at you with wide, ruined eyes.
“Wait—baby, are you—fuck, are you sure? I smell like a locker room and I haven’t even—”
You shove your hand into his waistband.
He chokes on his sentence.
You grip both sweats and briefs and yank them down in one go, cock springing free, flushed red and twitching—already leaking for you.
“Fuuuck,” he whines, head falling back, chest heaving. “You’re serious. You’re really—oh my God—”
You toss his sweats aside like trash. Kneel between his legs. Grab his thighs. And sink your mouth over the head of his cock without a single warning.
“F-fuck—oh fuck oh fuck—”
He’s already moaning, legs tensing, hands scrambling into your hair like he doesn't know whether to push or just hold on for dear life.
Your tongue swirls over the slit, catching the precum, letting it mix with your spit as you take more—inch by inch, until he hits the back of your throat and your eyes start to water.
You pull back just a little, then slide back down with a slick, wet groan—gagging softly, your lips stretched, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.
Jisung is losing his goddamn mind.
His hands tighten in your hair, and he’s panting like he just ran five miles.
“Shitshitshit—baby, baby, you’re gonna—fuck—if you do that again I’m gonna cum—I’m not kidding—”
You moan around him.
His hips jerk up off the couch, thrusting into your throat before he can stop himself.
“I’m sorry,” he gasps, voice cracking, eyes rolling back. “I-I didn’t mean to do that—fuck, you just feel so good, your mouth is so wet, I can’t—”
You moan again around him—loud and filthy, throat tightening around his cock as your own hand slips down into your shorts, fingers diving between your legs, rubbing messy circles over your clit while he fucks your mouth like he owns it.
You’re gagging softly, drooling, spit soaking your chin, hand moving faster over your clit as he thrusts shallow and fast, hips jerking forward in helpless little snaps.
Jisung looks down.
And he loses it.
“Holy—fuck—are you—are you touching yourself right now?!”
You look up at him, eyes glassy, makeup smudged, tongue flattening under his cock, and your fingers keep moving.
You don’t break eye contact. You just moan again. On his cock.
The sound vibrates all the way through him.
“Baby,” he whines, voice cracking open like he’s about to cry. “You’re gonna fucking break me, I swear to God—”
His hands are gripping your hair, holding you down while his hips fuck into your throat, wet sounds echoing through the room, your saliva dripping everywhere—his thighs, the couch, your own chin—and your fingers don’t stop.
You’re soaked.
So turned on from the weight of him on your tongue, the taste of his precum, the sound of his needy little moans echoing above you as he loses every last thread of control.
“Y-You’re fucking gagging on me while fingering yourself—fuck, I’m so in love with you—”
That one breaks you.
You whimper hard around his cock, thighs clenching, your clit throbbing under your fingers as he holds your head still and thrusts deeper, his hips rolling forward, desperate, brutal, eyes wild and glassy.
“You’re gonna cum?” he gasps. “Oh my god, you’re gonna cum with my cock in your throat?”
You nod. Just barely. And that’s all he needs.
“Cum for me. Fucking cum while I fuck your throat—please—please—”
Your fingers move faster. Your mouth is full. Your pussy is clenching—
And you cum. Hard. Shaking. Muffled. Gagging. And Jisung, he cums with you.
One loud, broken cry as he thrusts in deep and pours into your throat, his cock twitching hard on your tongue, his entire body curling over you, sweating and sobbing and panting like he just survived a war.
And you take it all. Every drop.
You pull off him slowly, lips dragging across his length with one last, wet suck—cum dripping down your throat, your mouth glistening, your chin a mess.
And then?
You swallow. All of it. Head tilted back, throat bobbing, eyes never leaving his. Jisung is frozen. Mouth open. Hair plastered to his forehead. Cock twitching, already starting to swell again between his thighs.
“...Holy shit,” he breathes.
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and then push yourself up onto your knees, climbing into his lap.
He still hasn’t recovered. But you don’t give him time. You straddle him, bare thighs spread over his, your soaked core grinding down against his softening cock—already half-hard again, twitching with every breath.
“You’re insane,” he whispers, hands flying to your hips. “You’re actually—fucking—insane.”
You just grin.
Then you kiss him.
Hard. Filthy. Desperate. Spit and heat and teeth and cum still on your tongue, moaning into his mouth as he grabs you tighter, groaning into the kiss like he’s being pulled back from the grave.
He tastes himself on you. You feel him thicken again beneath you. He breaks the kiss first—panting, eyes wild, lips swollen.
“You’re grinding on me already—?” he pants. “I just came. You swallowed all of it. I should be dead.”
“You’re hard again,” you whisper against his lips.
“Yeah, because you’re fucking sitting on me, making out with me like I’m your next meal—”
You roll your hips once—slick heat sliding over his cock.
He gasps.
And then: “Sit on it.” His hands grip your ass now, pulling you closer, voice wrecked and ragged. “Ride it. Ride me just like this. Sweat, spit, cum—I don’t care. Fucking ruin me again.”
Your hands press to his shoulders, thighs shaking, cunt throbbing as you lift your hips, grab his cock, and line him up.
You sink down, slow, stretching, aching.
And the second he slides in—fully, deeply, bottoming out—
You both moan, loud and wrecked, heads dropping forward to each other’s shoulders.
Your pussy clamps around him immediately, still tender and fluttering from cumming on his tongue, from choking on him until you shook, and now—he’s buried to the hilt, twitching inside you, and you swear you can feel it in your throat.
“Holy shit,” Jisung gasps, voice cracking. “You’re so tight, baby—fuck, you’re squeezing me like you missed me—”
You start to move.
Slow grind first, hips rolling, teasing him with every inch, the wet squelch of your cunt sliding along his cock so loud it makes his jaw clench.
His grip on your ass tightens.
And then?
SMACK.
“AH—!”
Your eyes fly open, body jolting as he slaps your ass, hard and perfect, his handprint blooming red against your skin.
“I said,” he growls, “ride me like you mean it.”
Before you can even catch your breath—
SMACK.
Other cheek.
You cry out, thighs shaking, cunt fluttering around him like it’s begging, and he groans at the way you squeeze him tighter with every hit.
“Fuck, I knew you liked that,” he pants. “Knew you were the type to cream on my cock while I spanked you.”
He grits his teeth and grabs your hips, starts thrusting up into you from below, meeting your hips halfway with each brutal slap of his thighs. “You’re gonna cum like this,” he growls, pulling your body down to slam against his with every movement. You’re gasping, slapping down onto him, the whole room echoing with wet, dirty sounds—skin on skin, sweat, soaked moans.
"Let me take control now baby. You had your fun." he breathes, pulling your hair back to make you look at him. His eyes are wild. Pupils blown. Mouth swollen.
“You sucked me so good,” he pants, hips snapping up. “Took me down your throat like you were starving for it.”
You whimper, back arching as he keeps fucking you from underneath, slamming into that perfect spot, his grip on your hips tightening until your skin burns beneath his fingers.
“I should be giving you a nap,” he growls, thrusting deep. “Letting you rest after swallowing all that cum—” He leans in, teeth grazing your jaw. “—but you rode me like a filthy little cockdrunk princess. So now I’m gonna break you.”
Your cunt clenches at his words—hard.
And he feels it.
“Oh, you like that,” he huffs out a laugh, sweat dripping from his neck to your chest. “You love when I take it from you, huh? When I grab your hips and fuck you like I’m claiming every fucking inch?”
He slams up into you, once—hard and deep—and you scream.
“Say it,” he pants, hand sliding from your hair to wrap around your throat lightly. Not squeezing. Just enough to hold you still.
“Yours,” you sob, eyes rolling back. “I’m yours—fuck—Jisung, I’m so close—”
“That’s right, baby,” he whispers, voice rough and proud. “My perfect little fucktoy. My good girl. My cockslut.”
His hips move faster now—precise, filthy, relentless.
“You’re gonna cum again, huh?” he groans. “On this cock you sucked dry. On the same dick that dumped down your throat and still came back hard for you.”
You’re gone. Shaking. Drooling. Falling apart.
And then he lifts his hips, grinds deep, and whispers: “Be a good girl. Cum for me. Cream on my cock while I fill you up again.”
And your orgasm rips through you.
Loud. Soaked. Violent.
You clamp down around him, pulsing so hard it nearly knocks the breath from his lungs—and Jisung groans, slamming up one final time, burying himself deep.
“Fuuuck—baby—fuck—”
He cums with a moan, high and sweet, whole body trembling as he spills inside you, hips jerking, breath catching, cum flooding your pussy in thick waves.
You both collapse—sticky, wrecked, gasping.
Jisung wraps his arms around you, kissing your temple as you collapse onto his chest.
“God, you’re insane,” he breathes. “I’m never letting you suck my dick again unless we’ve got, like, a week to recover.”
And then softer—sweeter: “Good girl. So fucking good for me.”
Lee Felix
The door opens. You don’t move.
You’re curled on the couch, legs tucked under a blanket, scrolling aimlessly—but your eyes snap up the moment you hear the keypad beep and the door click open.
Felix walks in like pure comfort. Grey sweats, damp curls, flushed from rehearsal, hoodie half off his shoulder. A sweet smile spreads across his face the second he sees you.
“Hey, baby.” Voice low. Soft. Like honey. Like he missed you so bad, even after just a few hours.
You don’t say anything. Just stare. Because he looks ridiculous. All sweaty and musky and glowing, and that smile? You’re going to hell for the things you’re about to do.
He crosses the room, leans over the back of the couch to kiss you—just a soft brush of lips, but his hand finds your cheek like always. Gentle. Warm.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
You nod. Then—reach down.
Grab his waistband. Tug. Hard.
Felix freezes. Eyes flicker. “…What’s that about?”
You smirk. “You smell too good to shower yet.”
He blinks. Once. Then again. And then—the smile shifts. Just slightly. “Oh, baby…”
He moves fast. In a blur, he’s coming around the couch, blanket yanked off, phone tossed aside, and you’re gasping as he climbs over you, caging you in.
“That little tug,” he whispers, mouth ghosting over yours, “was real fuckin’ brave.”
You grin, daring. “What if I do it again?”
He leans in. Nose to yours. Smile still soft, but his eyes?
Not sweet anymore.
“Then I guess,” he murmurs, “you want to see what happens when I stop being nice.”
You barely have time to gasp before his hand wraps around your throat—not tight, not cruel—just enough to hold you still. To make you look at him.
Felix grins.
Wide. Wicked.
Then he kisses you. Hard. Tongue greedy. Teeth catching your bottom lip. Soft hands—gone. Now they’re gripping your hips and yanking you flat beneath him, the weight of him pressing you into the couch.
"You really think I was gonna be soft forever?" he whispers between kisses, dragging his mouth to your neck. "After the way you looked at me? The way you tugged on my sweats like I’m just here to be used?"
He ruts against you—slow, heavy, his cock already straining hard beneath the fabric, grinding into your core like he’s marking the spot.
“I came home to shower,” he says, biting the shell of your ear, “but now I think I’m gonna fuck you messy and let your cum wash over me instead.”
Your breath catches—completely, violently gone—when he reaches down, yanks your shorts aside, and presses two fingers right against your soaked slit.
“Of course,” he laughs, low and smug, “you’re already wet.”
“Lix—” you gasp.
“I said you wanted this.” He kisses your cheek, sweet again for half a second—and then shoves your panties down with one hand and drags the other up to your throat. “So you’re gonna take it. All of it.”
He stands, yanks his sweats and briefs down in one motion—his cock slaps against his stomach, flushed and leaking, a fucking weapon aimed straight at you.
You stare, wide-eyed, mouth parted, thighs instinctively pulling together—
“Nope,” he grins. “Open those legs, pretty. Or I make you.”
You obey.
And then he’s kneeling on the floor, hooking your knees over his shoulders—
“I’m not gonna fuck you yet,” he purrs. “You wanted messy, right?”
He licks a long, slow stripe up your slit. You jolt. You scream. Because he doesn’t stop. Tongue fucking in, nose nudging your clit, moaning like you’re his favorite thing he’s ever tasted. Holding your thighs down while you squirm and cry and beg, humping his face, and he’s just smiling—grinding against the couch while he eats you alive.
“Good girl,” he mumbles. “Cum on my tongue. I’m not stopping till you do.”
His tongue is licking up every drop, flattening against your clit, then curling in with maddening precision. He groans like it’s divine, like you taste better than anything he's ever known, and you feel the sound vibrate through your whole body.
You arch. Grab at the cushions. Whimper his name.
And he just moans, mouth pressed so deep between your thighs it sounds like he's drunk on you.
“Felix—” you gasp, trembling.
He hums, lips never leaving your skin. Then, without warning—one finger slides in.
Perfect pressure. Curling. Filling.
Your eyes roll back.
"You’re gripping me so tight already," he pants, voice ragged now. “God, you really did wait for me, huh?”
A second finger joins the first. Slow. Stretching you. Fucking into you deep and steady while his tongue keeps flicking circles around your clit.
You cry out, back arching so high he has to hold you down.
"Stay still, angel," he murmurs against your soaked skin. "Let me take care of you. Just feel."
The lewd, wet sound of his fingers pumping into you mixes with his low groans—a symphony of filth and devotion. He licks harder. Sucks gently. And you snap.
Your thighs tremble violently. Breath stutters. Your hands fly to his hair—
“I—I'm—”
"Cum for me," he says into you, voice raw, fingers relentless. “You’ve been so good. So patient. Let go.”
You do. With a cry that shatters the room.
Your orgasm hits like a wave—rushing, rolling, full-body and dizzying. He doesn’t stop. Not even for a second. Sucking you through it, moaning like he’s the one falling apart.
And when your hips finally jerk away, overstimulated and slick and still fluttering, he kisses the inside of your thigh. Gentle. Sweet.
Then licks his lips, eyes dark.
“…That was one,” he says softly, standing up.
“And baby?” He presses the head of his cock between your soaked folds, eyes fluttering. “I’m not nearly done.”
Felix finally presses in. The stretch is filthy. Your mouth falls open. Your back arches. He lets out a low, broken sound that doesn’t even sound human.
“Fuck, baby…” he pants, sinking deeper, inch by inch. “You feel—God—you’re soaked.”
You gasp his name, nails digging into the cushions behind you as he finally bottoms out—deep and hot and thick and pulsing. For a moment, he just stays there, buried inside, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you trembling.
Then?
He moves.
Not gentle. Not slow. He fucks you like he means it.
Hips slamming against your thighs, cock dragging against that sweet spot again and again—wet slaps, broken gasps, filthy praise.
“Wanted to ruin you the second I walked in that door,” he groans, grabbing your waist to yank you into every thrust. “You looked at me like you needed it—needed me.”
You moan, breath catching as his pace turns brutal, the couch creaking beneath you.
“So take it.” He pulls out halfway, slams back in. “Take all of me.”
You can’t even form words anymore, just messy cries of his name, hands scrabbling for purchase as he leans over you, kissing your jaw, your mouth, your throat.
“You’re shaking so much,” he breathes, voice tight. “You gonna cum for me again?”
You nod frantically, tears prickling, already so close from how he devoured you before.
“Yeah?” he pants, thumb finding your clit, rubbing hard and perfect. “You'll hold it baby, yeah? You're my good angel, and you're gonna hold it for me.”
And you simply whimper at those words.
“Lift your arms for me, baby.” he suddenly said and you obey—barely—fingers shaking, vision still swimming, and he peels your shirt up slowly. Not rushed. Not frantic.
Just hungry.
It’s soaked with sweat, clinging to your back as he pulls it over your head. And then—his hands are everywhere.
Palms warm. Confident. Reverent.
He cups your breasts like he’s waited all day to touch them, brushing his thumbs over your nipples until they stiffen under his fingers. Then his head dips—lips soft and open-mouthed as he kisses between them, up your chest, until he can take one into his mouth.
Your back arches. You whimper.
“Felix—”
“Shh,” he breathes, voice like velvet and smoke, “I’ve got you.”
His tongue flicks, circles, sucks just hard enough to make you gasp. One hand kneads the other breast, lazy but firm, and the other? Slips between your thighs again, rubbing on your clit, a perfect rhythm to match his thrusts and you jerk at the feeling. “You’re close,” he breathes against your skin, lips grazing your collarbone, hips still moving in those deep, precise thrusts. “I can feel it.”
You nod frantically, eyes wide, barely holding on. Your body is taut beneath him, thighs trembling, hands gripping his arms like lifelines.
“But I said no, didn’t I?” he whispers, licking a slow stripe up your throat. “Told you not to cum. You held it for me like such a good girl.”
You whimper—desperate, wrecked. “Please… please, Lix…”
His pace falters. Just for a moment. Then his forehead presses to yours, eyes locked on yours, glowing with something tender and dangerous all at once.
“Okay,” he murmurs, breath warm and ragged. “Now.”
The permission breaks you. Instantly.
You unravel in his arms, clenching tight around him as your orgasm crashes through you—shaking, crying out, your entire body trembling.
And the second he feels it—the moment you pulse around him like that—he loses it too.
“Fuck, baby—god, you’re perfect—”
He spills inside you with a deep, broken groan, thrusting through it, chasing every last second of the high as his hands bury into your hips.
Even after—he keeps moving. Slow. Shallow. A few more messy thrusts.
Felix leans down and kisses your jaw. Your chest. Your forehead. He’s still buried in you, still warm, still full. “Shh,” he breathes, rocking into you once more. “I know. I know, baby.”
His voice goes soft again. Sunshine again.
“You're so perfect. All mine.”
Kim Seungmin
He doesn’t even blink when the door opens and you lunge at him.
Seungmin just tilts his head, one brow arched, sweat-damp hair clinging to his temple. His chest rises slow beneath the loose tee he hasn’t even had time to peel off. Grey sweats slung low. Post-practice glow radiating off him.
He drops his bag.
Crosses his arms.
“Wow,” he deadpans. “No ‘hi, baby’? No ‘how was practice’?”
You press your mouth to his jaw, already tugging at the waistband of his sweats.
He exhales. A quiet chuckle. “You really are desperate, huh?”
You nod, lips dragging down his neck, one hand already palming him through the fabric. “You smell so good,” you whisper. “So hot like this. I couldn’t wait—please, let me—”
And that’s when he grabs your wrist.
Hard. Firm. Controlling.
Eyes dark.
“You could’ve just said you needed to be put in your place.”
You blink.
He takes a step forward.
You take one back.
Until your knees hit the edge of the couch and you drop into it with a soft gasp.
“Better,” he mutters, leaning over you, hands braced on either side. “Now pick. You’re getting ruined either way.”
You swallow.
“On your knees,” he murmurs, “or on the couch. Choose.”
You don’t answer.
You can’t.
You’re already slipping off the couch and onto your knees—palms splayed against his thighs, mouth parted, breath coming fast. You look up at him with that desperate, pleading stare he lives for.
He hums. Smiles lazily.
“Good choice.”
Then he shoves his sweats down in one motion—boxers too—and his cock springs free, flushed, hard, dripping at the tip. Your mouth waters.
But before you can lean in—
His hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back just a bit.
“Tch. What’s the rush?” His thumb brushes your bottom lip, eyes glinting. “You couldn’t even wait five seconds to say hi to me, and now you think you deserve my cock in your mouth?”
You whimper.
“Say it,” he demands. “Say how desperate you are. Say you’re sorry.”
“I’m—” you gasp, “I’m sorry, Seungmin. I just—fuck—I need it. I need you.”
He grins, teeth sharp.
“Then open wide,” he growls, stepping closer. “Since you’re so fucking starved.”
You do.
And the second your tongue slides against the head, he groans—low and guttural—and sinks into your mouth with a hiss of breath through his teeth. “Yeah, just like that. Filthy little mouth. Fuck.”
His grip tightens in your hair, pulling your head back, then guiding you forward again. His hips begin to move—slow thrusts, shallow at first, letting you adjust—but it doesn’t last.
Not when you moan around him. Not when your tongue flattens against the underside of his cock like you need to be ruined. Not when you look up at him again with tears already gathering.
“Oh, you like this,” he pants. “You want me to use your mouth. Want me to fuck it raw, huh?”
He’s fucking into you now. Properly.
Holding your head still.
Groaning when your throat spasms around him.
“Gonna fill you up,” he gasps. “Make you swallow every fucking drop. And then I’m gonna throw you on that couch—stuff you full all over again.”
Your knees ache, your throat burns, and your whole body trembles from how long he’s kept you like this—spit slicking your chin, breath catching every time he slides back in with a guttural groan. But god, it's worth it.
“You’re still hanging on?” he pants, jaw clenched as his grip in your hair tightens. “Fuck. You’re better than I thought.”
His hips roll into you with a little more weight now. Less restraint. More need.
“You wanted it this way, remember?” He leans in, breath hot against your flushed face as he holds you steady and thrusts deeper again. “Didn’t even let me sit down. Didn’t give me a second to think.”
You moan around him—pathetic, needy—and that seems to do something to him.
“Thought so.” His voice drops to a low growl. “You like being used, don’t you?”
You nod as best you can, mouth stretched wide, spit coating your lips. Your hands are fisting the fabric of his sweatpants at his thighs, desperate for something to hold onto.
He groans through gritted teeth. “You’re shaking. You gonna cum just from this?”
You almost do. Just from the look on his face. The weight of him on your tongue. The raw, breathless sound of his pleasure.
Then—his cock twitches in your mouth, and he hisses, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye.
“Don’t move,” he warns. “You want to be my pretty little toy? Then stay right there.”
His hands cup your jaw, holding your face still, and he thrusts into your mouth again—slow but brutal, breath coming faster, his muscles tensing with every motion.
You barely register his words through the haze,
but his voice cuts through it all:
“Be good. Take all of it.”
And then he groans. Deep. Guttural. Raw.
The thrusts falter. Hips jerk. And you feel it — thick, warm, undeniable — as he spills down your throat with a choked, breathless growl of your name.
His hand is still tangled in your hair, but he’s shaking too now, his abs tightening as he pants through it, every muscle strung tight as a bow.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “You… fuck. You’re too good.”
You stay still, letting him empty every drop, swallowing around him as your hands clutch his thighs for support. He twitches once, twice, before finally pulling back, breath ragged, cock still flushed and glistening with the aftermath.
Your lips are shiny, your mouth wrecked.
He stares down at you like you’ve undone him completely.
“Goddamn,” he mutters, thumbing at your chin, his voice softer now. “Look at you.”
You look up, pupils blown wide, chest heaving.
And that’s when his smirk returns—dangerous, slow. “What?” he breathes. “You thought we were done?” He leans in close, brushing his lips against your jaw. “Cute.”
Seungmin moves and drops back onto the couch like he owns it, which he does,
sweatpants pushed halfway down, thighs spread, cock flushed and twitching against his stomach, still glistening from the mess you made together.
He looks wrecked. And hungry.
“Take it off,” he murmurs, gaze locked on you. “All of it. Want to see you.”
Your fingers tremble as you pull your shirt over your head, and he groans when he sees the state of your chest—kiss-bitten, rising and falling with every breath. Then go your shorts. Your panties. Every inch of you exposed, aching.
You take a step forward.
“Uh-uh,” he says, voice dipped in warning. “Beg first. You want me again? Ask.”
You swallow, pulse racing.
“Please, Seungmin,” you whisper, climbing into his lap with trembling thighs. “Need to ride you. Need it so bad.”
He smirks, hands gripping your waist. “Then ride me like you mean it.”
You sink down slowly—his cock still sensitive but hardening fast—and his head falls back with a growl.
“Shit—fuck, you feel perfect.”
You gasp at the stretch, the heat. His fingers dig into your hips, dragging you down until you’re seated fully, your cunt fluttering around him as you adjust to the pressure.
And then—he slaps your ass. Once. Twice.
"Move baby." he coos, words contradicting with the way he slapped your ass, skin bright red.
You start bouncing in his lap, your hands braced on his shoulders, your moans slipping out faster than you can control—Seungmin thrusts up to meet you, teeth grit, pupils blown wide.
Your thighs are trembling. You’re barely keeping rhythm, gasping every time his cock presses against that spot that makes your vision blur.
Seungmin’s grip tightens. He watches you—devours you—with that sharp, dangerous glint in his eyes. Your tits bounce with every slap of skin, your pussy soaked, sucking him in like you’re trying to pull his soul out.
“Fuck, baby,” he growls. “You’re so fucking messy for me.”
You nod—barely coherent, chasing your high.
But then—
“No.”
Suddenly his hands slide down, grip your thighs tight, and before you can even react—
He flips you.
Your back hits the couch cushions with a gasp, legs in the air, and his cock slips out for just a second—slick and twitching, the loss of pressure making you whimper.
He leans over you, hand gripping your jaw, eyes dark.
“You think you can fuck me like that and not get ruined?” And just like that, he slams back into you—deep, and hard.
His thrusts are relentless now. Sharp and punishing. One hand holds your leg up over his shoulder, the other planted firm beside your head.
“You’re not done till I say so.”
You claw at his back. Your walls clench. Every snap of his hips makes your mind blank out. It’s all Seungmin—his sweat on your skin, his cock driving you insane, his breath in your mouth as he leans in closer—
“You gonna cum for me pretty girl?” he pants, voice wrecked. “Gonna cream all over me like a good girl?”
You sob a yes, so close—
He’s deep—too deep—and you’re clenching so tight around him it feels like you’re going to split open. He leans over you, bracing his forearm beside your head, the other hand dragging down your thigh, gripping until your skin dimples.
“Come on,” he murmurs, voice gravel-thick. “Come on, pretty girl. Let go.”
You whimper. You’re close. Too close.
He dips his head, mouth brushing your cheek, breath trembling. “You know I’ll be right behind you. Just give it to me.”
Your fingers dig into his back. He’s grinding now, not thrusting—hips rolling deep, slow, cruel. His cock hits that devastating spot again and again, and your eyes blur, lips parting around a helpless moan.
“You’re shaking,” he whispers. “God, look at you—falling apart for me.”
You nod, unable to speak. Your whole body’s caught in that moment right before you break.
And then—he says it:
“Cum for me, baby. Right now. Let me feel you lose it.”
And you do.
It crashes into you like a wave—hot, blinding, full-body. Your back lifts from the cushions, a sob rips from your chest, and your thighs clamp around him as your climax hits—hard and all-consuming.
He groans your name like a prayer. Hips stuttering. You feel it—his release catching up with yours, the sound he makes low and wrecked, fingers gripping your face like you’re the only thing anchoring him to the earth as he spills his cum inside, painting your insides with it.
He stays there, buried deep inside you. Both of you breathing like you just ran through fire. And then he kisses you. Not rushed. Not filthy.
Just… real. Gentle.
"My perfect fucking girl. I think I would like to be greeted from dance practice like this."
Yang Jeongin
You barely hear the keypad beep before you bolt—socks sliding on the floor, heart pounding.
The door creaks open, and there he is.
Jeongin, sweaty and flushed from practice, black hair sticking to his forehead, grey sweatpants clinging low on his hips. He’s shrugging off his hoodie when he sees you rushing toward him.
“Wha—?”
You grab his face, kiss him hard. Open-mouthed, messy, greedy.
He staggers backward with a soft grunt, dropping his bag. His hands are up like he doesn’t know where to touch first. “W–Wait, baby, I’m—sweaty—”
“I know,” you whisper against his lips, tugging at his waistband. “Don’t care. Want you just like this.”
His breath catches.
“Oh,” he breathes, voice cracking around a moan as you sink to your knees. “Oh my God.”
He looks down at you like he’s never seen anything so filthy and perfect. His cock is already hard beneath the fabric, a damp patch blooming at the tip.
“You’re serious?” he pants, shuddering when you press your mouth over the bulge. “You—you’re gonna—fuck—here? Right now?”
You nod, tongue tracing him through the cotton. “You’re not going anywhere, Innie.”
His breath hitches as you tug his sweats down, just enough to free his cock—already flushed, leaking, twitching. And when your lips wrap around the head, he chokes on his own moan, one shaky hand flying to the back of your head.
“Fuck—baby—slow, slow, please—”
But you don’t slow down. You devour him.
Tongue licking flat underneath, hand stroking the base, spit dripping to your chin. You look up at him—eyes glassy, mouth full—and that’s what snaps the last of his control.
Jeongin’s voice drops, low and tight. “Get on the couch. Now.”
You blink, stunned by the sudden shift. He’s already pulling you up, guiding you backward, his hand curled around your jaw like he can’t stand not touching you.
You fall onto the cushions, dizzy from the way he’s looking at you now—hungry and steady and unshakable.
“Take your shorts off.”
You do, trembling. He kneels in front of the couch, spreads your legs with gentle fingers, and drags two through your wetness, his eyes going hazy.
“Messy already?” he murmurs. “From sucking me off?” He smiles, soft and wicked. “Poor baby. You really thought I was gonna let you cum that easy.”
You don’t get to respond.
His mouth is on you—hot and unrelenting—tongue pressing firm and slow, lips sucking just enough to make your hips jolt. And when you try to grind into it, he pulls back.
“Uh uh.” A soft laugh. “You stay still. Or I stop.”
You whimper, hips twitching—instinctive, desperate—but his strong arms hold your thighs apart, locked down like restraints.
“I said,” he repeats, voice low and dangerous, “stay still.”
He licks up your slit with deliberate slowness, savoring the way you tremble, how wet you are already, how you pulse around nothing.
“God, look at you. Thought you were doing me a favor, baby. But you're the one falling apart.”
You gasp when he sucks your clit—just once, just enough—and then pulls away again, mouth wet, chin glistening, flushed and still panting from dance practice.
“You taste so fucking good when you’re needy,” he groans, rubbing his slicked jaw against your inner thigh like a cat marking its prey. “But you don’t get to cum yet. Not until I say.”
His tongue returns, this time featherlight. Barely there. Every flick a tease, every stroke too soft to give you what you crave. You try to roll your hips again—just a little—and he slaps the inside of your thigh.
You gasp.
“Didn’t I just tell you to behave?”
His voice is breathless now, gravelly with want, his cock hard again from watching you lose it. He exhales through his nose like he’s trying to stay calm, but you can see it—his self-control hanging by a thread.
He drags two fingers through your slick, slow and thick, then brings them to your lips.
“Suck.”
You moan around them, tongue wrapping eagerly as he watches you with dark eyes.
“God, you’re such a good girl for me. Bet you’d let me edge you all night if I asked, huh?”
You nod, dazed. “Please, Innie, I—I need—”
“You need?” His voice goes sharp, mocking. “You need to cum?”
He slips one soaked finger in—and you cry out.
It curls just right, finding that spot instantly. But then it’s gone just as fast.
“No,” he whispers. “You want to cum. And that’s different.”
You’re sobbing now, tears welling from sheer frustration, your legs trembling against his shoulders.
His thumb circles your clit again—slow, steady, but never quite enough. Just on the edge of unbearable.
“You feel that? That pressure building?” he murmurs, licking back into you. “Don’t you dare cum. Not until I tell you.”
You clench, thighs shaking violently, pleasure coiled tight like a scream in your gut.
“Innie, please, please, I can’t—”
He growls, pulling back again, dragging your hips to the edge of the couch. His sweat drips onto your bare stomach as he leans over you, still panting, still flushed from training.
“You can. You will. You’ll take every second of it for me.”
Then—he spits on your pussy. Hot. Filthy. You cry out.
“Again,” he whispers. “Mouth open.”
You obey, lips parting—and he kisses you filthy, licking into your mouth like he owns it. You taste yourself on his tongue.
He’s jerking his cock now, slow strokes as he watches you writhe.
“When I finally let you cum…” he pants, eyes gleaming, “I want tears. I want begging. I want to ruin this couch.”
And then—he slides two fingers in, curls them just right—and stops.
“Not yet.”
You sob. He grins.
“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make you cum so hard you forget your own name. But not until you learn how to be good for me.”
Your body is trembling, sweat slick between your thighs and on the backs of your knees, chest heaving like you’ve just run a marathon. But all you’ve done is beg. And beg. And beg.
Jeongin’s knuckles are white around his cock now, stroking himself slow and steady, eyes never leaving you—your ruined expression, your swollen pussy, your trembling hands clutching the cushions.
You sob out his name. “Please—please, Innie, please—”
“You don’t even know what you’re begging for, do you?” he growls, leaning forward, gripping your jaw again. “You want me to fuck you?”
“Yes, yes, I—”
“You want to cum?”
You nod frantically.
He slaps your pussy—not hard, but mean. You yelp, whole body flinching.
“Too bad.”
You scream in frustration, thighs clenching, but he shoves them apart again, rutting his cock between them—rubbing the head against your slick folds, but never pressing in.
“You don’t get to cum just because you’re messy and desperate,” he breathes into your mouth. “You cum when I say. Only when I say.”
You moan—wild, helpless—as he rubs the head of his cock right against your clit. One press. Two. Three. Each time you jolt like you’ve been shocked.
“Want my cock?” he pants. “You think you’ve earned it?”
You nod so hard your neck aches.
“Open your mouth.”
You obey immediately, lips parting, tears clinging to your lashes. And Jeongin spits into it.
“Swallow it.”
You do. Without thinking. Without shame.
“Good fucking girl.”
And that’s when he snaps. With one hand braced under your thigh, he slams into you in a single, brutal thrust.
“Fuck—you’re so tight—” he groans, already moving, fucking into you like he means it. Like it’s punishment. Like it’s relief.
Your hands claw at the cushions, legs shaking around his hips, tears spilling down your cheeks.
“Innie—Innie—I’m gonna—”
“No.”
He pulls out completely—you sob, your orgasm vanishing like smoke—then slams back in.
“You don’t fucking cum until I tell you.”
He’s soaked now, even more than before, more than dance practice made him, hair stuck to his forehead, sweat dripping onto your body, the sound of skin on skin obscene in the room. His cock drags perfectly against that sweet spot inside you, over and over—until you're right on the edge again.
“You close again?” he growls.
You nod, sobbing.
“Hold it.”
He fucks you through it anyway—deep, rough thrusts designed to undo you—but keeps you dangling just on that razor-thin edge.
And when you start to tremble, to break—he pulls out again.
You cry out, a broken noise, back arching. “Please—I’ll be good, I swear, I swear—”
He grabs your face. Kisses you hard. Spits into your mouth again.
“Not yet.”
You can’t stop crying. Not from pain, not from fear—just from need. You’re shaking, soaked, every part of your body screaming for release.
And Jeongin is still holding you right there. Just there.
Teasing thrusts. Barely in. Pulling out. Slapping the head of his cock against your pussy like he’s mocking you.
“Every time I stop,” he pants, voice shredded, “you clench so tight. Like your body’s begging even when your mouth can’t form the words.”
You whimper, unable to breathe around how full he feels—when he lets you have him. And when he doesn’t? That emptiness is worse than death.
“You want to cum that badly, baby?”
You nod, broken. “Please, Innie, I can’t—I c-can’t—”
“Shhh,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your lip. “You can.”
And then—he spits into your mouth again.
“Swallow.”
You do. Reflex, reverence. His spit tastes like sweat and salt and sin. And Jeongin loses it. He slams into you. No warning. No restraint. Just full, deep, filthy thrusts—hips smacking hard against your ass, cock dragging against that sweet spot with unrelenting precision.
Your back arches. Your scream catches in your throat. Your orgasm hits like a fucking bomb.
He doesn’t stop.
“Cumming baby?” he growls, watching you fall apart. “Didn't tell you to, but I'm going to be nice, so fucking take this cock, yeah?”
You’re cumming so hard it hurts, body locked in a seizure of pleasure, clenching down on him like a vice.
Jeongin grunts in pleasure, too much pleasure, your cunt squeezing his cock perfectly. The perfect fit. “God—fuck—fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight—”
But he keeps going. Fucking you through it, past it, until you're shaking so hard your legs give out. Until your tears smear across your cheeks and you’re begging—actually begging—for mercy.
“Innie, please—please—I c-can’t—”
“Yes, you fucking can.”
He pulls out just long enough to flip you—rough hands manhandling your limp form onto your stomach, ass up, face buried in the cushions.
He shoves back in. Deep. And you sob.
“You wanted this,” he pants, cock twitching inside you. “Wanted to get on your knees all pretty with spit on your chin and act like a little slut—”
He grabs your hair, tugs you up so your back arches.
“Now take it.”
You’re crying, mouth open, drooling, babbling nonsense as your second orgasm crashes down even harder.
“Good fucking girl,” he snarls into your ear. “Now stay right there while I fill you up.”
His thrusts go erratic. Desperate. He grits out your name—once, twice—then groans, deep and raw as he empties inside you, cock pulsing, hips twitching.
And he stays buried. Breathing hard. Sweaty chest pressed to your back. You’re limp. Soaked. Ruined. And then he kisses your shoulder. So soft. His hand rubs slow circles into your hip as you tremble, wrecked beyond words.
“Next time,” he murmurs, pulling out with a filthy squelch, “you’ll ask before you put my cock in your mouth. Yeah? Or maybe let me get in the shower first.”
A pause.
“Actually, we can do this in the shower next time.” Smiling, all innocent.
: ̗̀➛ pairing: lee felix x brat fem!reader (a bit of seungmin x reader)
: ̗̀➛ word count: ~8k
: ̗̀➛ content: fluff, smut, felix is the sweetest thing but so mean, reader actively tries to make felix mad, minor injury in the kitchen
you make a bet with seungmin: you've got one week to get your boyfriend, felix—who seems completely incapable of getting mad at you—to finally snap. after a series of failed attempts, you figure if anything’s going to work, it might as well be in bed.
author's note: i’ve been on a writing grind lately so here’s a second fic in one sitting because apparently i have no self-control. i’m shitting my balls. i need felix like yesterday. enjoy! ♡
smut warnings below the cut!
: ̗̀➛ smut warnings: hard dom!felix, explicit sexual content, oral (f. receiving), reader has the biggest degradation kink, brat taming, slight edging, light bondage, power play, unprotected piv (don't), missionary, doggy style, semi-voyeurism
you’d always thought of him as sunshine.
everyone did.
even when he wasn’t smiling, felix had that glow—warm and unbothered, with freckles that danced across his cheeks like constellations and a voice that made people turn around just to hear him speak again. he was soft. gentle. sweet in that quiet, domestic way. the kind of boy who folded your laundry before you even remembered you’d done it.
even in bed—he was gentle. worshipful. like every touch was a question and you were the only answer. he was all murmured praise, soft sighs, slow hands. he loved you softly. every time.
which is probably why no one—including you—had ever seen him mad.
not truly.
you were perched on the edge of the couch in the boys’ dorm, nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of your hoodie. it was felix’s, naturally—oversized and warm and still faintly smelling like his laundry detergent.
you were here because you’d accidentally taken something you weren’t supposed to. a usb, to be exact. felix had handed it to you earlier in the day along with your own, and in your rush to leave, you’d pocketed the wrong one.
“i just feel so bad,” you groaned, glancing toward the hallway. “he said he needed it for something tonight. like, deadline-needed.”
seungmin was sprawled across the other end of the couch, legs kicked up, eyes on his phone. he barely glanced up as he responded.
“you’re being dramatic.”
“no, like—really bad. i shouldn’t have—”
“honestly?” he cut in, finally looking at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “i don’t think he’s even capable of getting mad at you.”
you blinked. “what?”
he chuckled, flipping his phone over. “i mean, come on. you could probably punch him in the face and he’d apologize for getting in the way of your fist.”
you laughed despite yourself. “that is so not true.”
“isn’t it?”
you opened your mouth to argue—but then the front door opened.
felix stepped in, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair slightly damp from the drizzle outside. his eyes found you immediately.
“hey,” you said, standing. “i brought it—sorry again, i seriously didn’t mean—”
“shh.” he was already moving toward you, gentle hands coming up to cradle your arms, thumbs brushing soothingly against the fabric of his hoodie—the one you were wearing. “don’t stress, angel. it’s okay.”
“but you said you needed it for tonight,” you mumbled, guilt creeping up your spine. “i should’ve double-checked—”
“and i should’ve labeled mine.” he gave a small laugh, pulling you closer, tucking your head under his chin with that easy warmth that always made your chest flutter. “it’s not a big deal. really.”
you swore you saw seungmin choke on a laugh in your peripheral vision.
your eyes flicked sideways—just in time to catch him turning away, phone suddenly so interesting he might’ve been reading the terms and conditions. his shoulders were shaking, just barely.
felix either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it.
“i’m gonna head out again to drop this off,” he said, voice still soft, fingertips lingering at your elbow for a second longer before letting go.
you nodded, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “right. of course.”
“thanks for coming all the way back,” he added, gaze warm and fond, like you’d just done something heroic instead of, you know, returning the thing you accidentally stole. he gave your arm one last squeeze. “text me when you get home, yeah?”
“i will.”
then he was gone—door shutting behind him with that soft click that always left the room feeling quieter somehow.
and the very second it closed, seungmin’s voice rang out from behind you.
“god, that was disgusting.”
you turned.
“excuse me?”
he didn’t even look up from his phone. “you took his drive and somehow walked away with a hug, and a thank you.”
you opened your mouth to argue.
then closed it.
“okay, but—”
“nope. don’t justify it.” seungmin pointed his phone at the door.
you rolled your eyes, hoisting your bag over your shoulder, but the words stuck with you. warmed you a little too much. annoyingly so.
still, you couldn’t help yourself.
“he’s still a person. he’s not, like… impervious to irritation.” you muttered, half to yourself, half to the room. “if i pissed him off enough, he’d crack,”
seungmin didn’t even flinch. “tell me when that ever happens.”
you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “you know i’m gonna try to, just to prove you wrong.”
“mhm,” seungmin said flatly, not even looking up. “60 bucks. you have a week.”
“60 bucks,” you repeated. “i’m gonna find his limit,” you said, dead serious. “he has to have one.”
“good luck.”
you’d been thinking about it for days—how to do it, how to gently prod at the edge of felix’s emotional limits without actually hurting him. you weren’t trying to be cruel. you just wanted to see something other than that unwavering calm, that endless warmth. you wanted to prove he could feel sharp things, too. that he wasn’t made of clouds and soft blankets and chamomile tea.
jealousy. that was your angle.
was felix ever jealous? you genuinely didn’t know. he’d never so much as blinked when people flirted with you—though to be fair, you’d never exactly flirted back. you never had a reason to. you didn’t want to.
but now, you needed a reaction.
just enough to light a spark. not enough to burn the house down.
so when your company hosted a casual dinner event—open to significant others and friends—you didn’t hesitate to bring felix. he looked unfairly good that night, dressed in soft black slacks and a black button up that hugged his frame a little too well. his hand found yours under the table the second you sat down, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles against your palm like always.
you were seated at a long table with a mix of coworkers and guests, plates being passed around, wine glasses clinking gently, soft laughter filling the room.
he was beside you, of course—close and warm and always tuned in to you.
but the guy on your other side?
friendly. talkative. a little too charming in that “business casual” way. you leaned into it. not too obvious. just enough to let felix notice.
you laughed at something the guy said—tilting your head just slightly, touching his arm in that way that could maybe be seen as flirty. maybe. you were careful. just close enough to the line to toe it, not cross it.
felix didn’t say a word.
he was smiling, even. still soft-spoken. still squeezing your hand every now and then. still brushing your thigh under the table with his when he shifted in his seat. he even leaned in at one point and murmured, “you okay?”
you nodded, playing it cool. “mhm. just chatting.”
felix grinned. that same soft, sunny smile that always made you feel like you were the only one in the room.
“alright,” he said, brushing your cheek with his knuckle before pulling back like nothing was even slightly off.
he went back to being quiet and polite. still engaged in the conversation going around the table, nodding at someone’s story, chiming in with a laugh when appropriate. he didn’t stiffen. didn’t narrow his eyes. didn’t even glance at the guy beside you like he might be competition.
you sat there smiling and nodding at whatever work guy was saying about his vacation to bali, but your stomach was knotting. tighter by the second.
because you knew what you were doing. you knew exactly how much you were leaning. exactly when you let your laugh ring just a little louder, your fingers trail just a little longer.
but felix wasn’t reacting.
or at least—he wasn’t reacting the way you expected.
he was just… him. gentle. warm. steady. and he could’ve been using this moment to get back at you.
there were plenty of chances. the woman across the table who complimented his accent. the one seated diagonally, sipping wine and laughing just a little too brightly at his jokes. one even asked him how his skin was so clear and if he worked out—which, in fairness, was a valid question.
felix didn’t take the bait. he was polite, as always. gracious, even. gave small answers. thanked them with a nod and a soft smile. but he didn’t engage.
didn’t lean in. didn’t flirt. didn’t offer even a flicker of attention that could be mistaken as anything more than manners.
and slowly—almost like he was aware of your internal panic creeping in—he started leaning in closer to you. gradually, without showiness. his knee pressed against yours beneath the table. then reached for his water glass and poured some into yours before you could even realize it was empty.
this wasn’t going to work.
you weren’t going to rattle him. you weren’t going to get that flash of possessiveness, that glint of sharp jealousy in his eyes.
because felix didn’t play games.
not with you.
he loved you out loud, completely, and without keeping score. he didn’t need to punish you or mirror your actions to prove a point. he didn’t flinch under pressure. he didn’t crack under quiet provocations.
he just was. wholeheartedly. constant. grounded.
this wasn’t going to work.
it had been a few days since the whole work dinner experiment—since felix had gently, unknowingly, demolished your plan by doing absolutely nothing except love you the way he always did. respectfully. consistently. infuriatingly.
but you weren’t done.
not yet.
jealousy didn’t work, sure. but irritation? that had potential. everyone had a limit, and you were determined to find felix’s.
you were at his place now—well, technically his and seungmin’s—kitchen lights warm, sleeves rolled up, and flour already dusting the countertop like early snow.
the goal today was mild sabotage. nothing irreversible. nothing that would actually ruin the cake. just… enough sugar to make it way too sweet. enough to maybe make him sigh. maybe scold you a little. maybe just something.
you waited until he stepped away to grab a new mixing bowl, and then—quickly, quietly—you dumped in an extra quarter cup. maybe a little more.
by the time he came back, you were standing innocently with the spatula, “gently folding” the batter like you hadn’t just committed a culinary crime.
he paused. looked at the bowl. then looked at you.
“…did you add too much sugar?”
you blinked up at him. “no?”
he hummed. scooped a bit of batter on his finger. tasted it.
and then—smiled. not annoyed. just… amused.
“if you wanted it sweeter, you could’ve just told me,” he said, voice playful, handing you a towel to wipe your fingers off. “i’m gonna balance it so it doesn’t taste like pure syrup.”
you sighed loudly, dramatic, flopping back against the counter. “this is so annoying.”
he laughed and leaned past you to grab a lemon from the fruit bowl.
“go chop up some of the fruit, okay? i’ll deal with this.”
you looked at seungmin, who hadn’t said a word. he gave you a look that screamed pathetic.
you stuck your tongue out at him and turned back to the cutting board, muttering under your breath.
great. jealousy failed. chaos failed. sugar sabotage failed. what were you supposed to do now? bake the cake upside down? hide the eggs?
you didn’t know.
you really didn’t know anymore.
your plan—whatever it had been—was unraveling, slipping through your fingers like flour dust in the air. and the worst part? you kind of… didn’t want to push anymore. felix had been so patient, so kind through all of it, and suddenly, you just felt silly. immature. you had something good, and you were trying to poke holes in it just to see if it would leak.
lost in thought, you didn’t even realize how close your fingers were to the blade until it was too late.
the knife slipped.
there was a sharp sting.
you yelped, the sound cutting through the warm haze of the kitchen as the knife clattered onto the counter and fruit scattered everywhere.
“ah!” you gasped, clutching your hand. blood was already rising.
felix’s head snapped up instantly. “what happened?”
you stepped back, breath shallow. “i—i cut myself—”
he was already there. crossing the kitchen faster than you’d ever seen him move, his hands reaching out to check your fingers—but the moment he saw the blood, something in him shifted.
“what were you even doing?” he snapped, voice sharper than the knife that slipped. he grabbed a towel with jerky, frustrated movements, wrapping it around your wound with practiced precision but no softness. “were you even paying attention?”
your lips parted, stunned. “i—i don’t know, i was just—”
“you weren’t thinking,” he cut in, tone clipped.
his voice rose, not yelling, but full-bodied, biting. that low, velvety rasp he usually used to whisper sweet things into your ear was now slicing through the air like it had teeth.
“for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, shaking his head, “i asked you to do one simple thing. not play with the goddamn knife.”
you stared at him, completely disarmed. not just by the tone. but by how he looked.
chest rising and falling under his fitted sweater, sleeves pushed back just enough to show the flex of his forearms. his jaw clenched, eyes dark with something deeper than just irritation. he looked… furious. unshakable. and so hot it was almost insulting.
your mouth went dry.
you couldn’t stop staring—at the way felix was breathing, his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, like he was trying to bite back whatever else he wanted to say. his hands, still stained with flour, flexed at his sides. every muscle in his jaw was tense.
seungmin stood up, crossing the kitchen to the cabinet.
he grabbed the first aid kit, crouching beside the chair you’d sunk into. he opened it like this wasn’t the most charged atmosphere he’d ever stood in. like felix hadn’t just snapped for the first time in recorded history.
“here,” he said, pulling out some antiseptic and a few band-aids. “don’t bleed on the tile. it’s ugly enough already.”
you gave him a weak glare, but he just smirked.
felix hadn’t moved. he was still standing there, looking at the floor now, his expression twisted with something like regret.
seungmin didn’t let up.
“you got really worked up there, man,” he said, tone light but clearly pointed.
that finally made felix move. he blinked like he was coming out of something, then turned toward you—eyes wide now, softer, voice quiet.
“i’m sorry, baby” he said.
you didn’t say anything for a second. just stared at him, still a little stunned by the whiplash.
but even now, with his shoulders slumped and his tone apologetic, he still looked good. still had that raw energy simmering just under the surface. still had you simmering.
you swallowed hard.
“it’s okay,” you said slowly.
seungmin raised a brow but said nothing, silently peeling the wrapper off a band-aid.
felix crouched in front of you, his hand ghosting over yours. his voice was soft again, almost too soft.
“i won’t yell like that again,” he murmured.
you blinked at him, and for a second—just a second—you wanted to say don’t promise that.
because god, the way his voice had cracked when he was angry. the way he looked at you like your carelessness hurt him. the way he shook with something that wasn’t just rage, but deep, desperate concern—you hadn’t expected it to do something to you.
but he was still doing everything out of love.
even when his voice rose and his hands tightened and his eyes darkened—he was still the same felix. still checking if you were okay. still apologizing even though you had started this whole mess.
and somehow, that made it worse.
you hadn’t even pissed him off correctly. not really. he didn’t yell because you were annoying. he yelled because you were bleeding and he didn’t know how else to handle the sudden fear curling in his gut.
and now he was kneeling in front of you, shame written in every line of his face, like he had done something unforgivable.
you wished he hadn't come down from it so fast.
you wished—maybe more than anything—that he knew he didn’t have to keep being perfect for you to love him.
you didn’t know what else to do.
jealousy had failed. sabotage had failed. even blood hadn’t done it right. every attempt chipped at something inside you—your confidence, your ego, your grasp on what you were even trying to prove. and yet…
seungmin had texted you the evening of the baking incident:
[ that was a close one ] [ but it didn’t count. try harder. ]
you'd stared at it for a long time. not because he was wrong—but because you agreed.
so now? one last attempt.
if you couldn’t get felix to be mad at you, then maybe—just maybe—you could make him lose control somewhere else.
which is why he was between your thighs right now.
you were sprawled across his bed, hips twitching, sheets clutched in your fists.
felix was eating you out like it was a mission. like you were something sacred, and he had all the time in the world to worship every inch of you.
his mouth was obscene—lips slick, tongue working you open so slowly you wanted to scream. and he kept murmuring things between licks, low and reverent.
felix’s tongue traced a slow, reverent line up your slit, lips closing over your clit with a tenderness that made your hips twitch. he groaned softly into you, the sound vibrating through your core like a low hum of devotion, and his arms curled tighter around your thighs, anchoring you in place. every motion was soaked in patience, in worship. you were trembling, half mad with need already, and all he’d done was kiss you like he loved you—which, of course, he did.
“taste so good, angel… always so sweet for me, aren’t you?”
“f-felix…” your voice broke on his name, hands knotted in the sheets. he just hummed again, content like he could spend the rest of his life here, lips gliding over your clit, tongue flicking in slow, perfect circles that had your thighs quivering. he was gentle, god, so gentle. like you were the only thing in the world worth touching delicately.
and maybe that was the problem.
you were panting, already so close—too close—and he hadn’t even slipped a finger inside yet. you could feel your orgasm mounting fast, could feel the heat blooming in your belly, the ache curling in your spine, and you knew what would come next. he’d hold you through it. he’d kiss your thighs, murmur praise, make you feel like you were the center of the universe.
you were already trembling, one hand fisting in his sheets, the other tangled in his hair, breath coming in staggered whines. he didn’t speed up. didn’t deviate. tongue curling soft and hot over your clit again and again until your hips twitched and a ragged moan slipped out without your permission.
and then he paused. just for a second.
his eyes lifted to yours, warm and glassy, lips shiny with you.
“shhh, darling…” he whispered, and the way he said it made your stomach flip. “seungmin’s in the living room, remember?”
your chest heaved. right. right—he always told you. always so careful to remind you, not because he was annoyed, but because you’d confessed once—embarrassed and flushed, the sheet pulled up to your chin after a particularly loud session—that you hated the idea of his roommate hearing. and since then, felix had always made sure to keep things quiet. to warn you. to soothe you when your voice got too high, your cries too desperate. he’d press a kiss to your throat, a hand to your mouth, shushing you.
but tonight, something twisted in you.
you weren’t going to hold back.
so when his mouth dipped again, lips closing over your clit in a slow, gentle suck, you let it out—a high, shaky moan that cracked on the end, followed by a breathless, “fuck, felix—!”
he froze.
lifted his head.
his mouth was still glistening, chin slick with you, flushed and beautiful in that way that always made your stomach twist. but his brows were drawn, just slightly, and his voice—when it came—was low and firm, not scolding but edged with something new.
“hey.” his thumb stroked up your inner thigh, slow but deliberate. “quiet down.”
it wasn’t a question. wasn’t a soft reminder like before. it was a command.
and it did something to you.
your breath hitched, thighs twitching around his shoulders as the authority in his tone settled in your chest like a stone dropped into water—rippling outward, stirring everything.
still, something in you bristled.
not in defiance. not exactly.
but you couldn’t stop yourself.
you pouted. just a little. “why?”
his eyes narrowed. there was a flicker of disbelief there, a tension that rippled beneath the surface like he didn’t quite believe you were pushing this boundary.
“because seungmin’s out there,” he said, slower this time, more deliberate, as if you’d forgotten. “and you hate being overheard.”
you shrugged, arching your back slightly, enough to grind your hips closer to his face again. “maybe i changed my mind.”
his eyes flicked to your cunt, glistening and swollen and shamelessly on display, then back up to your face. his expression had shifted. no longer just disbelief. something darker had crept in now—possessive and sharp, curling like smoke at the edges of his voice.
“well i don’t want him to hear you.”
the words were quiet. flat. measured.
you blinked, breath catching.
“i don’t want anyone hearing what you sound like when i’ve got you like this,” he continued, leaning in until you could feel the heat of his breath against your inner thigh.
you bit your lip, the heat rising in your face. in your chest.
“but…” you started, trying to keep your tone airy. “you always do what i want.”
that did it.
you watched his jaw clench tighter, watched the tension rise in his shoulders, watched the composure crack. just a little.
felix rose—slowly, smoothly, like a tide pulling back before it crashes—and settled over you, forearms bracketing your head, chest brushing yours as he leveled his face just above yours.
you felt it instantly.
that shift.
gone was the usual ease in his posture, the warm, pliant softness you always leaned into. what loomed above you now wasn’t your sweet, sunny felix—it was the part of him he always held back, the part that simmered under the surface like magma, always contained, until you poked at it.
and tonight?
you’d done nothing but poke.
he leaned in again, slow, like a tiger in tall grass, and planted his palm flat against the mattress beside your head. his voice was soft now, but laced with something that made your spine arch—authority, finality, control.
“you really think i don’t know?”
you swallowed hard.
“that you’ve been bratty for days,” he said, like it was fact. like it was math. “flirting with that guy at dinner. cutting your hand because you couldn’t stand that i didn’t break. ”
your cheeks flamed, breath catching, but you still held the edge in your smile.
“i was just distracted—”
his hand moved fast, gripping your jaw—not hard, just enough to make you stop talking.
“don’t,” he said. “don’t give me that look.”
your heart kicked up behind your ribs. he’d never grabbed your face like that before. never interrupted. never spoke like that.
it made your thighs press together. instinctive.
and he noticed.
he dipped closer, forehead brushing yours, and you could feel his heart beating in time with yours—hard, steady, controlled.
“you think i haven’t been watching you push?” he hissed. “every little act.”
you whimpered, lips parting—but he kept going.
“you’ve been begging for this,” he said, biting out the words. “not out loud. but with every goddamn thing you’ve done.”
you shivered.
“and you think i don’t see you?” he growled. “you think i don’t know exactly what that look means?”
his hand grabbed your jaw, fingers firm, tilting your face toward his—close enough to kiss, but he didn’t. he just held you there, breath brushing your lips, eyes burning through you.
“tell me the truth,” he said, voice a warning, a promise. “tell me what you want.”
you could barely breathe.
your voice came out thin, cracked around the edges. “you, like this…” your eyes were wide, lashes wet, trembling as you looked up at him. “this is what i want.”
felix didn’t flinch.
didn’t soften.
he just stared, his grip on your jaw unrelenting, eyes dark and unforgiving as they searched your face—saw the way you shook beneath him, the way your thighs pressed together, the way your chest rose and fell in shallow, panicked little gasps.
“of course it is,” he said flatly.
you blinked.
he tilted your face up a little more, enough that it hurt your neck to hold the position. his voice dropped, hard and disgusted. “look at you. shaking like a leaf, soaking the fucking sheets—just because i stopped being nice.”
you winced.
but your cunt clenched hard.
the words cut. not because they were cruel—but because they were true. and he knew it. you weren’t just turned on. you were unraveling. dripping and desperate, your body buzzing from the tension, your shame crawling over your skin like fire ants—but still, the burn felt good.
“you’re pathetic,” he said, letting go of your jaw like your skin burned his fingers.
he pushed you back roughly, your bound wrists catching against the bed as your shoulders hit the mattress. his hands were already on your thighs, spreading them open without care. not reverent. not gentle.
like you were his and he was sick of pretending otherwise.
“you want to be hated, don’t you? love isn’t enough for you?” he muttered, gaze locked on your slick cunt as he stroked two fingers through the mess between your legs.
your hips bucked.
“well,” felix said, voice like gravel dragged slow across glass, “if that’s what you want…”
his fingers sank into you—two at once, fast, merciless. your body jolted, a high cry tearing from your throat before you could stop it. he twisted his wrist, curled just right, and you felt the tremble start in your toes.
“i’ll give it to you.”
you gasped, back arching. “y-you don’t mean that,” you choked, words splintering on a sob. “you love me—”
he laughed.
dark. sharp.
“i’m gonna fuck you like i don’t.” he said, without softness.
his fingers pulled free. you barely had a second to breathe before he shoved your thighs wide, leaned over, and pressed his cock to your dripping cunt—still wet from your own need, from the tears and the shame and the way his voice had stripped you bare.
he held there.
right at your entrance, the head of his cock teasing just enough to make you squirm, to make your hips buck in desperate little jerks that only dragged the moment out longer. he could’ve slammed in. could’ve torn the rest of you open in a single thrust, left you breathless and sobbing.
but he didn’t.
because under all that dark fire, under the roughness and anger and heat, he was still him. still sweet. still good. still felix.
his jaw was tight, the muscle ticking as he looked down at you—ruined and trembling, legs spread wide, wrists bound and face flushed with lust and tears and something more fragile. he blinked, and for a second, just a second, you saw the question flicker through his expression.
“is that what you want?” he asked.
his voice had dropped low. he was still offering you a way out. still giving you that choice.
you knew it for what it was.
you nodded, frantic. fast. moaning as you tried to roll your hips, tried to force him inside again, but his grip on your thigh only tightened.
“talk to me,” he rasped, a thread of control still clinging to him.
you blinked at him through the haze, a smile curling on your lips—half brat, half breathless.
“yes,” you said, voice thin and greedy. “yes, i want it. i want you to fuck me like you’re sick of me. like i finally got under your skin.”
he cursed.
low and vicious.
you saw it—the moment that final wall crumbled, the way the storm in his eyes finally spilled over. his cock pushed in deep, slow at first, like he wanted to draw it out, make it last.
but then your cunt clenched—tight and wet and fluttering around him—and he snapped.
“you did,” he growled, pulling back and slamming in hard enough to make the bed jolt, your cry piercing the room. “you fucking did.”
his hips snapped forward again—louder this time, harder, brutal enough to knock the air from your lungs, the rhythm punching out soft, choked sounds from your throat with every thrust. not words. not anymore. just ragged little whimpers, helpless and high, your whole body jostling beneath him as he used you—fucked you—with none of the gentleness you’d always known.
“you wanted this,” he spat, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his hairline onto your chest as he folded you tighter, pushing your thighs up toward your shoulders to drive in even deeper. “you fucking asked for it.”
you sobbed—quiet at first, then louder, messy and wet as the tears finally spilled. they streaked hot down your cheeks, dripping into your hair, your jaw slack with pleasure too sharp to feel good and too good to survive. your wrists twisted uselessly in their binds, fingers curling tight as your whole body tried to keep up with the pace of him.
it was too much.
it was everything.
he growled—an actual growl, raw and guttural—as he looked down at you, at the tears rolling over your cheeks, at the way your mouth opened and closed, begging silently for something neither of you could name.
his rhythm never faltered.
not once.
even as your body broke beneath him—hips arching, wrists straining, cheeks soaked with tears that burned like proof—he kept going. kept fucking you with that same relentless pace, hips slamming against the backs of your thighs, the sound obscene, wet and cruel in the dark.
he watched your face twist with every thrust—watched you come apart, watched the edge of pleasure curdle into panic and drag you right back down into need.
and even then—you didn’t stop.
you couldn’t stop.
your lips trembled open around another sob, your voice half-hoarse, but still you met his glare with a shaky smirk, eyes glazed and bratty to your last breath.
“i never knew you were capable of being mean,” you gasped, voice cracking as you arched under him.
he snarled, something between pain and disbelief, and slammed in so deep you screamed, your entire body jolting up the bed from the force of it.
“because i love you,” he growled, voice so low it scraped the inside of your chest. “i’ve only ever tried to treat you well. like you matter. like you’re everything to me.”
he leaned in closer, one hand pressing hard into your hip, the other curling around your throat.
“but that’s not what you wanted, was it?”
you sobbed. not an answer. just a broken, keening sound.
he dipped lower, lips barely brushing yours. “you wanted this. you wanted me mean. you wanted me to use you, and now you’ve got it.”
his cock dragged out slow, thick and aching—and then drove back in so hard your moan broke on your tongue.
“you never wanted soft.”
you blinked up at him, tears hot and sticky down your temples, your mouth quivering.
“i was—” you panted, a hiccupped cry catching in your chest, “i was trying to prove a point—”
he sneered, not stopping, not relenting, pounding into you like he wanted to fuck the brat right out of your soul.
“to who, y/n?” he hissed, words snapping like whips.
you moaned—high and messy and wrong, because you were still so turned on, because the way he said your name made your body sing even while you trembled.
“who?” he shouted again, voice rising with disbelief and something deeper—something unspoken that cracked open in his throat like it hurt to say.
and you said it.
whimpered it.
half-mindless, but not mindless enough.
“seungmin.”
felix went still.
then he laughed.
it was low. bitter. a hollow bark of disbelief as his hand slid up the length of your thigh, slow and mocking, his cock still throbbing just barely inside you.
“fucking knew it,” he muttered, more to himself than you, jaw tight as he gave a small, almost deranged shake of his head. “you and him. the way you bicker. the looks.”
his hand curled around your throat again, thumb dragging over the mess of tears smeared across your cheek. not to wipe them.
just to feel them.
“and of course you’d moan his name out while i’m balls deep in you.”
you gasped, breath stuttering under the press of his palm, legs twitching around his hips.
he laughed again—sharper now, teeth flashing in the low light. “fucking pathetic.”
you whimpered.
“here i am,” he snarled, voice dropping to a whisper, “treating you like you’re mine—spending months giving you everything. folding your laundry. holding you when you cry.”
he slammed into you again, cruel and sudden.
you screamed, head snapping back.
“and you’ve been pushing me,” he said, voice quiet, almost calm—but beneath it, something was cracking. something brittle.
another thrust, hard and fast, punching a choked cry out of your lungs.
“all of that just to prove a point to kim seungmin?”
your mouth dropped open—useless, silent, your head lolling on the pillow as his cock hit that deep, devastating spot again and again, your body unable to hide how badly you were still enjoying it.
he sneered. “do you even understand what you’re doing?”
your eyes flicked to him—blurry, swimming, lashes soaked—and your lips moved, trying to form a denial. but you couldn’t lie.
not with your cunt sucking him in so greedily. not with the moans that still clawed up your throat even when you bit down on them. not with the guilt chewing holes through your stomach while your body begged for more.
“i—i wasn’t trying—” you whispered, but he cut you off.
“you weren’t trying?”
he laughed. dark and sharp and filled with something that sounded like it hurt his ribs to release.
“god, you’re worse than i thought,” he spat, pulling out just enough to let the next thrust slam in deeper. “you don’t even know what game you’re playing. you’re playing me, you’re playing him—”
you didn’t know anymore.
if he was really mad. if this was just another version of his anger wrapped in arousal, or if something had actually shattered under the weight of everything you’d done. you couldn’t tell if he meant the things he said—or if he was just saying them because it was what you’d asked for, begged for, pushed for until something inside him snapped.
all you knew was that your head was spinning, your lungs barely worked, and your body couldn’t stop trembling around him.
“i’m close,” you whimpered, your voice a rasp, broken and high and soaked in panic, “felix—please—”
he didn’t slow. if anything, he fucked you harder.
you were sobbing now, face sticky with tears, wrists straining in the binds as your body shook from the pressure curling tighter and tighter in your belly.
“i don’t think you deserve to cum,” he hissed, biting the words like they tasted foul. “not after what you did. you little bitch.”
the word slapped.
“i’m sorry,” you cried, the words tumbling out, raw and hoarse and true. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean—i didn’t—felix, please, i’m sorry—”
and for a second, just a second, something shifted in his face.
his brow twitched. his grip faltered. his eyes—not all the way, but just a little—softened.
he looked down at you, at your flushed face, your tear-soaked skin, your body trembling and still trying to push back against him, even through the guilt, even through the shame. begging for him.
he cursed under his breath. a low, ragged sound.
then he pulled out.
you whined—sharp and instinctive, your whole body lurching, chasing him.
“no—please—”
but he grabbed your hips and flipped you, fast and rough, until you were flat on your stomach, then dragging you up to your knees with no gentleness, no care.
he leaned in, lips at your ear, voice back to that quiet, dangerous whisper.
“all fours.”
you scrambled to obey, tears still dripping from your chin onto the sheets, your ass high, back arched, your pussy swollen and dripping and empty.
he stared for a long second.
then, flatly:
“prove it. prove your sorry.”
he didn’t move.
not even a little.
just knelt behind you, one hand resting heavy on your lower back, the other wrapped around the curve of your ass—fingers digging in, spreading you open so wide the air hit your cunt like ice. his cock stood thick and flushed against your thigh, glistening with everything he’d already taken from you. close. so close.
but he didn’t move
“you want to cum so badly?” he said, voice low and flat, unreadable, like it didn’t matter either way. “then do it yourself.”
your breath caught.
you blinked, stunned.
he gripped your ass harder, a sharp squeeze that made you jolt forward, but he didn’t move to stop you.
“come on,” he said, the cruelty now bitter instead of sharp. “you were so good at playing games earlier.”
your whole body shook.
you whimpered once—just one broken sound—and then moved. slowly. shamefully.
you rocked your hips back. tentative at first. your slick folds kissed the head of his cock and you moaned, soft and strangled, before pushing further, inching down onto him until the stretch began to burn again.
it wasn’t graceful. it wasn’t like when he took care of you.
it was work.
every inch felt like a trial. your legs trembled under the weight of it, thighs threatening to give out as you lowered yourself onto him, your breath coming in ragged sobs, your cunt pulsing with how close you were, how desperately your body wanted him to take over.
but he didn’t.
“make yourself cum,” he snapped, voice tighter now.
you nodded, rocking your hips again—sliding down fully this time, burying him inside, your body jerking as your sob turned to a long, high cry. your knees were slipping, your arms too bound to help you balance, and every time you moved your hips, your body twitched with the effort.
he just watched.
watched you ride his cock without rhythm, without grace—just need. just ruin. his hands stayed on your ass, holding it open, holding you wide for him to see.
but he didn’t help.
you were doing it alone.
“felix, i can’t—”
“you wanted this.”
and so you kept going.
kept fucking yourself back on him, over and over, your movements messy and broken, your body trembling with the weight of everything you’d done—everything you’d wanted.
and as you cried, he gripped your ass harder, dragging his thumbs over the skin, watching your hole stretch around him like it was all you were good for.
your thighs were giving out.
completely.
each roll of your hips got weaker, sloppier—your knees buckling inward, your movements more tremble than thrust, the sheer weight of him inside you unbearable.
your arms were still bound, chest pressed into the sheets, your cries muffled now—raw and constant, more sob than sound—as you tried to keep going. but your body wouldn’t move.
you shook your head, weakly, voice cracking as you rasped, “i—i can’t… i can’t do it…”
you felt his exhale first—long and deep. then the weight of his hands on your hips shifted. and his voice followed, low and so done.
“of course you can’t.”
you shivered.
“you couldn’t even fuck yourself properly,” he muttered, hands gripping your hips with new purpose. “you begged for this. cried for it. ruined both of us trying to prove something—and now you can’t even finish what you started?”
you sobbed but that was all he gave you time for. because he snapped his hips forward. you screamed, head slamming into the pillow, the thrust knocking your whole body up the bed.
and then he didn’t stop.
he fucked into you from behind, deep and punishing, dragging you back onto his cock with every stroke, the sound of skin on skin wet and violent, your cries rising in pitch until you couldn’t hold anything in anymore.
“isn’t this what you wanted?” he growled, voice right at your ear now, one hand on the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist so tight it burned. “to get used like this? to cry on my dick and act like you’re sorry?”
your throat was raw, your eyes stinging, your body screaming with the oncoming wave, your orgasm building so hard it almost felt like pain.
“felix—fuck—i’m gonna—”
his pace didn’t stutter.
didn’t falter.
“yeah?” he breathed, his voice a rasp, full of hate and heat and something so possessive it twisted your stomach. “that’s right.”
his thrusts turned vicious, his cock pounding into you, his voice ragged and shaking.
“cum then.”
and you did.
you came with a scream—full-bodied, wrecked, your spine arching like it was trying to tear free from your skin. it hit so hard you thought for a second you might black out. your pussy clamped down around him, fluttering and pulsing in rhythmic spasms, gushing slick down his cock in hot, wet waves that soaked your thighs and his lap and the sheets beneath you.
felix groaned—a sound ripped from the very pit of his chest, primal and deep, his pace faltering for the first time as he felt it. felt you soak him. felt you break.
“fuck—” he hissed, slamming into you again—chasing it now, rutting through the mess of your orgasm, the loud slap of his hips against your soaked skin. “you’re dripping, baby—fuck, you’re making such a mess—”
you sobbed into the sheets, body twitching, overstimulation crawling up your spine like static. but he didn’t stop. wouldn’t let up. not now. not after all of it.
and then—slowly, like the fire had finally started to burn itself out—his rhythm began to falter. just a little. his groans turned heavier, strained, his thrusts rougher but less precise. his body hunched forward, chest heaving, cock throbbing inside you as he buried himself one last time.
he shuddered against your back, hips twitching as he came inside of you, the warmth of it spilling deep and raw, filling you in heavy bursts. he stayed there for a moment, his hands slowly loosening their grip on your hips, breath ghosting against your shoulder.
then, gently, slowly, his body folded over yours.
his forehead pressed to the space between your shoulder blades. his chest to your back. one hand slid forward—shaky, tentative—and rested just beneath your ribs.
he stayed there, breathing with you.
then, without a word, he eased back.
his chest lifted off yours, his grip on your hip released fully, and for a moment, the loss of contact felt colder than the air in the room. he slid one palm down the arch of your spine, a soft, absent stroke. then came the slow shift of his hips—his cock slipping out, careful and deliberate, so tender in contrast to everything before.
you whimpered from the loss and the mess—his cum already spilling out of you in lazy drips, sliding down your thighs, thick and warm, clinging to the backs of your knees as gravity pulled it down. you twitched from the sensitivity, your body still trembling in little aftershocks, your hips useless, your arms limp where they lay tangled and bound under your chest.
you heard the faint shuffle of a drawer, the rustle of fabric, the hiss of warm water being poured. your eyes fluttered closed, head sinking into the pillow, your whole body too loose to lift.
you barely registered the soft wet cloth between your thighs until it was there—warm, soothing. he held you gently, one hand under your hip to tilt you, the other cleaning you with slow, careful strokes, wiping away the slick, the sweat, the release still dripping out of you.
he then settled you on clean sheets, wrapped a new blanket over your shoulders.
still nothing.
not a single word.
but he lay beside you, close but not pressed in, his fingers brushing soft through your hair, over your temple, down the curve of your jaw. you blinked slow and you opened your eyes.
and there he was.
your felix.
bathed in the low light of the room, hair a tousled halo of gold against the pillow, freckles blooming soft across his cheeks, lips pink and parted just barely. he looked tired. beautiful. like something that shouldn’t exist outside a dream.
you loved it. all of it. the softness now. the brutality before.
the way he made space for every version of you. the way he let himself be more than just the sun.
“i love you, felix.”
his hand stilled, resting against your cheek. his eyes softened then blinked, and they turned glassy.
“i love you too,” he whispered, his voice low, husky, still thick with the weight of everything.
you gave a little smile, lids already starting to droop again, your limbs heavy under the blanket he’d wrapped around you.
“i wouldn’t want you any other way,” you murmured.
that made him laugh—quiet, breathless, a sound like surrender.
and then you laughed too. barely a sound, more breath than voice, your smile curling into the pillow as your eyes slipped closed again.
he stayed beside you.
his fingers returned to your hair, softer than ever now, smoothing it back from your face as your breathing evened out, your body finally letting go.
and when you fell asleep, it was in silence.
the next morning, you woke slowly—warm, sore in all the right places, and still tangled in the soft scent of felix. the sheets around you were a little crooked, the pillow beside you empty.
you blinked blearily and reached for your phone, but it wasn’t the screen that caught your eye.
there was a note. folded and sitting neatly on the nightstand.
recording right now, but i’ll be back soon. pour yourself a cup of coffee. i love you! – lix ♡
you smiled—small, sleepy, still a little ruined from the night before. the words made your chest ache and flutter all at once. he hadn’t said anything heavy. no apologies. no over-explanations. just soft and simple. just felix.
you stretched out your limbs, wincing slightly at the ache before dragging yourself out of bed and into one of felix’s oversized sweaters and boxers.
barefoot and quietly smug, you padded down the hallway into the kitchen.
and there he was.
seungmin.
leaning against the counter in sweats and a hoodie, eyes fixed on his phone, coffee half-drunk on the table beside him. he looked up when he heard you—expression unreadable—and you did what anyone would do after getting absolutely obliterated in the next room over by his bandmate.
you pretended nothing happened.
“morning,” you said, voice light, moving straight to the coffee pot. “didn’t think you’d be up.”
“i’ve been up,” he said simply.
you nodded and reached for a mug—felix’s, the pale blue one with the tiny chip in the rim—and poured yourself a cup. steam curled up around your face, and you focused on it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
and then you felt it.
his presence. he stepped closer. closer.
you didn’t dare turn around.
then, casually—like it was nothing—he reached over your shoulder and set something on the counter in front of you.
sixty bucks in cash.
you stared at the bills for a second.
then turned.
slowly.
seungmin was already taking a sip of his coffee, eyes flicking to yours over the rim of his mug.
“congrats.”
your mouth twitched, the corner pulling into the smallest smile.
you looked down at the cash again and without saying anything, you plucked the bills off the counter and shoved them straight into the front pocket of felix’s hoodie like you’d just been handed your trophy.
“you really thought i wouldn’t pull it off?” you asked, turning back to your coffee, tone breezy.
“i hoped you wouldn’t,” he deadpanned. “i was rooting for the soft boy.”
you huffed a laugh, lifting the mug to your lips. “he’s still soft.”
seungmin gave you a long, dry look.
you shrugged, eyes twinkling over the rim. “...just not all the time.”
he snorted.
then leaned back against the counter, sipping slow from his mug. “so,” he said casually, “how’d you do it?”
“do what?”
“make him snap.”
you licked your lips, fighting another smile. “i might’ve… slipped your name in there a few times.”
his eyes narrowed, slow. “yeah?”
“just—it got him pretty worked up.” you said, laughing as you set the mug down. seungmin stared for a beat.
then—he rolled his eyes. “of course it did.”
there was a long pause. not uncomfortable. just tension.
he said, quiet but clear, “tell him he doesn’t have anything to worry about.”
you nodded.
“i will.”
you stepped back slowly, letting the silence hold, and turned toward the hallway—when the front door clicked open.
both your heads turned.
felix stepped in, hair tied back, hoodie sleeves bunched at his elbows, a little windblown from the walk. his eyes lit up the moment he saw you.
“hey, angel,” he said, smile so warm it melted straight into your ribs.
you crossed the room in a few slow steps, rising onto your toes to meet him halfway. your hand curled around his jaw, thumb brushing the skin just below his cheekbone, and you kissed him.
his other hand found your waist immediately, like muscle memory, pulling you in as he smiled against your lips. he pulled away just enough to wrap his arms around you, tucking you into his chest. his chin rested lightly on top of your head, breath warm as it fanned through your hair.
you melted into him, your hands slipping under the hem of his hoodie, fingertips grazing the bare skin at his waist. his heart beat steady against your cheek, and you let yourself breathe him in.
then, behind you, a shift in the air.
felix’s gaze lifted—over your shoulder.
met seungmin’s across the room.
you didn’t see what was unraveling between the two of them.
after a moment, you pulled back slightly, enough to tilt your head and meet his eyes.
felix looked down at you with a smile. and that was all you needed.
Tags: Slowburn smut, best friends to lovers, teasing, playful tension, emotional filth, alcohol, heavy teasing, strip games, oral (f + m receiving), 69, mutual masturbation, fingering, cock worship, dirty talk, creampie, overstimulation, switchy energy, possessiveness
Word Count: 6.6k
Summary: You and Chan have been best friends since middle school. No blurred lines, no awkward crushes—just pure, chaotic, platonic energy. That is, until a drunk night turns into a strip game, and suddenly, there’s too much skin and not enough self-control.
This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!
Your living room was a mess of snack bags, empty cans, and strewn jackets—somehow, you and Chan had survived the party without losing a limb or a phone, which felt like a miracle considering how trashed everyone else had gotten.
You’d made it home mostly in one piece, shoes off by the door, laughter still bubbling out of you both as you collapsed onto the floor in front of the couch, limbs tangled in a heap of jackets and throw pillows.
Chan was still chuckling when he flopped onto his back beside you, his face flushed from the vodka, dark curls messy from dancing like an idiot two hours earlier.
“You’re gonna have the worst hangover in the morning,” you mumbled, swiping at his cheek with your sleeve to wipe away some glitter. “Who the hell even put this on you?”
“I think it was that girl in the pink dress,” he said with a grin. “She told me I had ‘main character energy.’”
You snorted. “You? More like comic relief.”
He clutched his chest like you’d wounded him. “Rude. You know I’m the main event.”
You laughed until your stomach hurt. It felt good—easy. This was always the best part of a night out. Not the chaos or the noise, but the quiet hours after, when it was just you and Chan. You’d been doing this since high school: crashing at each other’s places, splitting hangovers, waking up tangled in blankets on the couch like siblings. Nothing new.
Except tonight, something felt different. Not in a big way. Just a flicker. A tension in the air. Maybe it was the leftover adrenaline, or the way his shirt had ridden up just slightly to show the V of his hip when he stretched his arms above his head, yawning.
“Alright,” you said, sitting up and tossing a pillow at him. “We’re not gonna fall asleep any time soon. Let’s play something.”
He blinked at you. “Like what? We’re not sixteen anymore.”
“Truth or dare?”
“Lame,” he groaned, but he was grinning.
You shrugged. “Got a better idea?”
“Hmm.” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes gleaming. “Truth or strip?”
You paused, blinking at him. “You’re kidding.”
“Not even a little bit,” he said, sitting up straighter. “Come on. Truth or dare is boring. But truth or strip? That’s some high-stakes sh*t.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You just wanna see me naked.”
He barked a laugh. “Please, I’ve seen you in worse. Remember Vegas?”
“Fair point.” You bit your lip. “Alright, fine. But you’re playing by the same rules.”
“Obviously,” he said, holding out his pinky. “Swear?”
You linked your pinky with his. His skin was warm—too warm—and for some reason, you felt your stomach do a stupid little twist. Don’t read into it. You were just tipsy and sleep-deprived.
“Alright,” you said, settling in cross-legged on the floor, facing him. “You start.”
He grinned like the devil. “Truth or strip?”
Your smirk was smug. “Truth.”
He pretended to be deep in thought. “Okay. Have you ever faked an orgasm?”
Your jaw dropped. “We’re starting there?”
“Game’s the game, sweetheart.”
You reached for your drink, trying to hide your grin. “Fine. Yes.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Wait—really?”
“Multiple times.”
“With who?”
“Not your turn to ask more than one,” you said, sticking out your tongue.
He laughed, clearly intrigued. “Okay, okay. Your turn.”
You cocked your head. “Truth or strip?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Truth.”
“What’s the weirdest porn category you’ve ever clicked?”
He choked. “Dude.”
You grinned. “Answer the question, Christopher.”
He groaned, rubbing his face. “Fine. One time I ended up on a step-sibling thing by accident. I panicked and closed it, but like… I stayed for the acting.”
You lost it, laughing so hard you fell back onto the couch cushions.
“You stayed for the acting?!”
“It was a dramatic plot!” he defended. “There was betrayal! Emotional arcs!”
“Oh my God,” you wheezed. “You’re so full of sh*t.”
His face was bright red, but he was laughing too. This was good. Safe. Still funny.
But you both knew the game couldn’t stay innocent forever.
“Alright,” he said, grinning wickedly now. “Truth or strip?”
You paused. Not because you were scared—but because something in his gaze had shifted just a little. Still playful, but there was heat there now. Or maybe you were imagining it.
“…Strip,” you said softly.
His brows lifted, impressed. “Bold.”
You slipped off your hoodie, leaving yourself in a little black crop top. Nothing scandalous. Still friendly. Still harmless.
But you noticed his eyes flick down and linger just a second too long.
And just like that—the air got a little thicker.
You were already warmer than you should’ve been.
Not just from the vodka, or from the buzz of lingering laughter between you and Chan—but from the subtle shift in the air. The way your hoodie sat discarded beside you, leaving you in a crop top and high-rise shorts while his eyes danced anywhere but directly at you. Except when they did.
“Alright,” he said, voice low and lazy, tapping his finger against a half-empty can. “Truth or strip?”
You caught the glint in his eye. Not teasing anymore. Or at least, not just teasing.
“…Strip.”
You weren’t drunk enough to not feel it. The nerves. The hesitation. You’d been friends for years. You’d fallen asleep beside him a hundred times. Shared beds. Shared hangovers. Shared so much.
But never this.
Your hands were steady, even though your heart wasn’t. You reached for the hem of your crop top slowly, half expecting him to interrupt. To laugh. To call your bluff.
He didn’t.
And maybe that was the worst part.
You peeled it over your head in one fluid motion and let it drop to the floor.
Silence.
No bra. Just bare skin and freckles and the weight of his gaze when it finally—finally—dragged up to meet yours.
You crossed your arms instinctively, even though you weren’t cold.
“Say something,” you muttered, not looking at him.
“Jesus,” he breathed.
You peeked at him, and—yeah. That was not a casual face. That was not a best-friend-safe-zone face. That was a holy shit, my best friend is topless face.
He cleared his throat, eyes jumping anywhere but your chest. “I—sorry. I just… wasn’t expecting you to actually…”
“You said strip,” you said, trying to act like you weren’t burning alive.
“I did, yeah. I just thought you’d maybe… like, take off a sock.”
You let out a breathless laugh, wrapping your arms tighter across your chest. “You’re the one who suggested this game, idiot.”
“Right,” he muttered, running a hand through his curls. “Right. That’s on me.”
You looked at him. Really looked.
His cheeks were flushed. His jaw was tight. His eyes flicked to your arms, then away again.
He was trying not to look. Trying so hard.
And for some reason, that only made it worse.
“I can put it back on,” you said, voice softer now.
His eyes shot to yours. “No. No—it’s… it’s fine.”
You both froze.
Just… sitting there. On your living room floor. Shirtless. Buzzed. And suddenly so far from where the night started.
You let out a nervous breath and tried to laugh it off. “Okay, new rule. No stripping unless we’re okay with getting weird.”
He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Totally. That’s fair.”
You stayed like that for a beat too long.
And then you said, quietly: “Truth or strip?”
His head jerked toward you like he forgot you were still playing. “…Truth.”
You studied him for a second. Not smiling anymore.
“Have you ever been turned on by something you didn’t expect?”
His breath hitched.
A full second passed before he said, “That’s a loaded question.”
You tilted your head. “That’s a yes.”
He dragged a hand over his face, groaning. “We’re not gonna be friends after this game.”
“Why? ’Cause you’re scared I’ll win?”
“Because I’m starting to feel like this might actually f**k us up.”
The words hung in the air like smoke.
You didn’t move. Neither did he.
“Do you want to stop?” you asked, barely above a whisper.
Chan looked at you like he wanted to say yes. But instead, his voice came out rough:
“No. I just think we should be careful what we ask next.”
And God, something about that—that—was hotter than any strip or dare.
You both sat in silence for a long moment, your pulse loud in your ears. There was music playing faintly from your bedroom—something slow and bass-heavy—but it felt far away. Like the world had gotten quieter since you took off your shirt.
You could still feel Chan’s gaze flicker over you and then away, like his eyes couldn’t decide whether to look or run for their lives.
You were still covering yourself with your arms, elbows resting on your knees. Trying to pretend it wasn’t weird. That your nipples weren’t tight from the air. That you weren’t hyper-aware of how small this room suddenly felt.
“I’m just saying,” you said eventually, breaking the silence, “if you get to ask if I’ve ever been choked, I get to ask something borderline illegal too.”
Chan huffed a laugh, visibly relaxing. “Alright, hit me.”
You tilted your head, letting your eyes rake over him slowly.
“…Strip.”
His brows lifted. “No truth?”
“Nope.”
He looked at you for a beat—then reached for the hem of his tank top. His fingers curled under it, and for some reason, that movement alone made your stomach clench.
He pulled it off in one smooth motion, revealing the lines and curves you’d seen a million times at the beach, in the gym, shirtless in your kitchen—but somehow this time it was different. The air in the room shifted like it knew.
You tried not to stare. You failed.
You’d forgotten how solid he was. Broad shoulders, defined chest, those little indentations near his hips that only appeared when he was fully relaxed. Which, ironically, he didn’t look now.
Chan tossed the tank top aside. You followed the motion. Watched it flutter to the floor and suddenly realized—between the two of you, there wasn’t much left to take off.
You were braless in just your shorts. He was shirtless in sweats.
Dangerous territory.
You both sat there for another beat, and then Chan leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping lower.
“…Wanna make it more interesting?”
Your heart jumped.
“How?” you asked, even though you already knew this was the moment the game turned fatal.
He smirked, but it was softer now. Like he was testing your reaction.
“What if we add… dares?”
You blinked. “Dares?”
“Yeah. Like… if you don’t want to answer a question or strip, you can take a dare.”
“That’s just—Chan, that’s just truth or dare with extra steps.”
“Yeah,” he grinned, “but sexy.”
You raised a brow. “Define sexy.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe I dare you to do something dumb. Or risky. Or…”
His voice trailed off, and his eyes dropped to your mouth for just a split second. You felt it like a match striking.
“…or?”
He shrugged, playing innocent. “Who knows. That’s the fun of it.”
Your heart thudded harder. This felt like a crossroads. Like a moment you could still laugh off or steer away from. But instead, your voice came out quieter, steadier:
“…Okay. Let’s do it.”
His eyes flicked back up to yours. And just like that, you were in even deeper.
He nodded. “Alright. Truth, strip, or dare?”
You licked your lips. Thought about it. Then: “Dare.”
The way his smile curled slowly across his lips was unholy.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked straight at you.
“I dare you…” he paused, letting the silence stretch, “to take your arms down.”
You froze.
You weren’t even cold. But you’d kept them there the entire time, like a half-hearted attempt at modesty. Like a shield.
And now he was daring you to drop it.
Not touch him. Not take anything else off. Just… let him see you.
Your arms stayed in place for a beat longer. You bit the inside of your cheek.
“I hate you,” you whispered.
“I know.”
Slowly—so slowly—you uncrossed your arms and let them fall to your sides.
His eyes dropped like gravity pulled them there.
And when they did—when he finally looked, really looked—he didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease.
He just stared.
You could see the exact moment his breath caught. The slight flare of his nostrils. The clench in his jaw. The ripple of something restrained deep in his chest.
He looked at you like you were a secret he wasn’t supposed to know.
You shifted, suddenly restless under the weight of it. “Okay. Now you.”
He dragged his gaze back up slowly, his voice a little hoarser now. “Truth, strip, or dare?”
“Truth.”
He raised a brow. “Playing it safe?”
“Playing it smart,” you said.
“Fine,” he murmured. “Have you ever wanted to kiss me?”
You blinked.
Then laughed. “What happened to sexy dares?”
“Answer the question.”
You hesitated.
Wanted to kiss him? No. Never. You’d never thought about it. Never let yourself.
But right now, with him shirtless and flushed and watching you like he wasn’t sure what the hell he’d just asked—it didn’t feel so absurd.
“…No,” you said finally. “Not until maybe two minutes ago.”
Chan’s mouth parted just slightly. Like you’d slapped him and kissed him all at once.
“Your turn,” you said, heart thudding now. “Truth, strip, or dare?”
He didn’t look away.
“…Dare.”
You felt it. That wicked spark at the back of your throat.
“Touch me.”
His brows lifted.
“Where?” he asked.
You smiled, slow and dangerous. “Dealer’s choice.”
You could hear your heart.
Not figuratively. Not romantically. Literally. It was thudding in your ears like a war drum—deep, steady, traitorous.
Chan didn’t move right away. Just watched you, as if checking one last time to make sure this was okay. That he wasn’t hallucinating the dare that just came out of your mouth.
And then—he shifted.
He leaned in slowly, like any sudden movement might shatter the moment, and reached out with the hand that always used to ruffle your hair or flick your forehead or pass you a drink like it was nothing.
But this time, his fingers didn’t feel like nothing.
They brushed your bare shoulder, the pads of them soft and impossibly careful. He dragged them up—along your collarbone, then higher—skimming the slope of your neck in one long, reverent line that left your skin goosebumped and buzzing.
You tilted your head without meaning to.
And that’s when his hand slid up the side of your face, his thumb catching beneath your jaw as he guided your head to the side—gently, but with the kind of confidence that made your pulse slam.
You breathed out, shaky.
His fingers disappeared into your hair at the back of your head, and then—God.
He tugged.
A small, firm pull.
Not painful. Not even rough. Just assertive. Controlled. Possessive in a way that made your thighs clench and your thoughts scatter like marbles.
“Chan,” you whispered. Barely.
But he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you—really looked. His face close. His breath warm. His grip steady.
Your chest rose and fell faster than it should have.
You didn’t realize how long you’d been staring until his fingers relaxed and slid away, trailing down your neck like he was reluctant to stop.
You sucked in a breath like you’d been holding it forever.
Silence.
Until you muttered, almost accusing, “You’re good at that.”
Chan blinked, looking a little shaken himself. “Wasn’t trying to be.”
You stared at him.
He stared right back.
And then, just when it felt like the tension might tip into something you couldn’t undo, he exhaled hard, sat back on his heels, and said:
“…Okay. My turn.”
You blinked, trying to reboot your brain. “Your what?”
“Truth, strip, or dare,” he said, voice rough, “I pick strip.”
You stared at him. “You don’t even wanna hear the options first?”
He shook his head, jaw tense. “I need to lose something.”
And with that, his hands slid to his hips, and you realized—with a full-body jolt—that he only had one layer left too.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweats, and for the first time tonight, you were the one staring like a deer caught in headlights.
He pulled them down slowly—gray cotton dragging over tanned skin—and when he tossed them aside, what was left was…
Obvious.
Not exaggerated. Not cartoonish. But undeniably, definitively, a problem.
You blinked at the bulge pressing against his dark briefs, very real and very impossible to unsee.
Neither of you spoke.
Chan shifted slightly, like the pressure was getting to him, and you watched the twitch in his thigh, the tight clench of his abs, the subtle flex in his fingers like he didn’t know what to do with them anymore.
“…That a side effect of vodka?” you asked, trying to make your voice light, even as your brain short-circuited.
Chan snorted. “That’s a side effect of having your tits out for the past ten minutes while telling me to touch you.”
You blinked.
Your mouth opened, then closed again.
“You’re not… embarrassed?”
He shook his head. “I think we passed embarrassed somewhere back when you dared me to touch you like that.”
“…Fair.”
Another beat passed.
Then his eyes cut to you, warm and half-lidded.
“Truth, strip, or dare?” Chan asked again, but this time his voice was different.
Lower. Darker.
Less of a question and more of a challenge.
You should’ve been drunker.
You weren’t sober by any means, but in this moment—sitting on your bed in nothing but shorts while your best friend sat shirtless, flushed, hard, and watching you like a fucking meal—you felt painfully aware of every choice you’d made to get here.
You met his gaze. “Strip me.”
He blinked. “What?”
Your lips twitched. “You heard me.”
He hesitated—just long enough to make your stomach flip—and then leaned forward, his hand moving slowly toward the waistband of your shorts.
You held still. Let him.
His knuckles brushed your hip.
Then, with quiet fingers, he tugged the hem down. You lifted your hips instinctively, and the fabric dragged over your thighs, past your knees, to the floor—leaving you in just your lace thong, nothing else, the cool air brushing every inch of bare skin and making you shiver.
Chan sat back, eyes stuck on you like he was trying to memorize the whole scene in case it disappeared.
“You’re—” He swallowed, hard. “Shit.”
You gave a breathless little laugh. “That all you’ve got?”
He looked up, eyes flickering over your face, and for a moment, it felt like he wasn’t your best friend anymore. Like something had shifted permanently.
And then—of course—he tilted his head, and said:
“…Dare.”
Your pulse jumped. “What?”
He smirked. “You said I could strip you. So I did. But it’s still my turn.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off, already moving forward.
“I dare you…” His voice was molten now, every word sliding under your skin, “…to get on my lap.”
Your heart practically stopped.
Not “sit next to me.” Not “touch me.” Climb into his fucking lap.
“You want me to sit on you?” you asked, voice smaller than you intended.
He raised a brow. “I said lap, not cock. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
You blinked at him. Jaw slack.
But he just leaned back on his palms, legs slightly parted, abs tightening as he waited.
Waiting for you to make the move.
Your skin was already on fire. Every part of you felt exposed, not just physically—but mentally, emotionally, like this wasn’t just a dare anymore. This was something else.
Still… a dare was a dare.
So you crawled over slowly—like each movement might detonate something—and settled yourself on his thighs, careful not to touch too much.
But even that little bit of contact—your knees bracketing his hips, your chest dangerously close to his, your barely-covered core pressed against the heat straining under his briefs—made both of you tense.
He inhaled, slow and deep.
You swallowed.
“Still just a game, right?” you whispered.
Chan’s eyes flicked to your lips. “We’re still playing.”
But he didn’t smile this time.
Didn’t laugh.
He just sat there with you on his lap, staring like he was seconds from forgetting his own rules.
Your breath hitched. “Your turn.”
“Truth, strip, or dare?” he murmured.
Your voice came out soft. “Dare.”
He stared at you for a beat. Then, quiet:
“…I dare you to tell me what you’re thinking right now.”
You froze.
The tension between you buzzed like live wire.
Your thighs clenched slightly. You could feel him under you, hot and heavy and undeniably affected. And yet, somehow, he still wanted the truth before the touch.
You licked your lips. Breathed in.
“…I’m thinking,” you said slowly, “that if you move your hands even once, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”
He blinked.
Then, ever so slightly, his fingers twitched behind him.
“Careful,” Chan muttered, voice strained. “You keep talking and moving like that, and this game’s gonna end real fast.”
You gave him a sweet little blink, all innocence. “I’m just sitting.”
“You’re grinding.”
“Am I?” You tilted your head. “Weird. Didn’t notice.”
Chan exhaled sharp through his nose, clearly fighting for composure. His hands were still braced behind him, his biceps flexed, and the muscle in his jaw ticked once—hard.
“Behave,” he warned low, but it wasn’t convincing. Not with the way his eyes refused to leave your chest. You could feel them there, like a second kind of heat, burning over the curve of your breasts. Your nipples had been hard since the second he touched your neck, but now? Under his gaze, they felt damn near untouchable.
“You’re staring,” you said, biting back a smirk.
He didn’t deny it.
Didn’t even blink.
“Hard not to,” he muttered. “They’re just… right there.”
You arched your spine slightly, just enough for your tits to bounce once, subtle and unintentional on purpose.
Chan swallowed.
His eyes darkened.
“I warned you,” he said, but it was a growl now. Less of a threat and more of a promise.
Still—you didn’t back down.
“Okay, then,” you said casually, “my turn.”
He blinked, a beat late. “Huh?”
“I get to ask now, remember?” You smiled sweetly. “Truth, strip, or dare?”
He scoffed. “You’re literally naked. I’m hard as fuck. I think it’s safe to say there’s no more stripping left.”
“Then pick something else.”
He hesitated. For a long moment, he looked like he was weighing every possibility.
Finally: “Truth.”
You leaned in—close enough for your bare chest to brush his as you whispered:
“Coward.”
He laughed—tight and hoarse—but you didn’t let him recover.
“Wrong answer,” you said. “Try again. Truth’s not allowed anymore.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You just made that rule up.”
“I’m not the one rock hard in my own boxers begging for mercy. Pick again.”
Chan stared at you. His entire face was flushed now—not embarrassed, but aroused. Frustrated. Barely holding it together.
“…Fine,” he said, voice rough. “Dare.”
You smiled slow. Dangerous. And then dropped it like a lit match:
“I dare you to put your mouth on me.”
Everything in him went still.
You felt it—the way his thighs tensed beneath you, the way his eyes flicked up to yours like he couldn’t quite believe you said that.
But you didn’t flinch.
You leaned in until your forehead brushed his, until your lips hovered so close he could taste the breath between them.
“I didn’t say where,” you whispered. “Or how long. Just your mouth. Somewhere. Anywhere.”
His eyes flicked to your lips.
Then your neck.
Then lower—much lower.
He exhaled, long and trembling, and his voice came out so deep it sounded like gravel.
“…You’re evil.”
You smirked.
“Still playing, though.”
⸻
Chan still hadn’t moved.
Not even an inch.
But his jaw was clenched, the muscle tight under his skin, and his eyes were flickering over your face like he needed permission to breathe.
“You’re really gonna make me do this?” he muttered.
You grinned. “It’s a dare.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose—then leaned in.
Slow.
Measured.
Like you were something sacred he was about to defile.
The first place his mouth landed was your neck.
Just under your jawline. Warm, plush lips grazing the thrum of your pulse, and lingering. Not a quick kiss. Not even close.
It wasn’t even a kiss—it was a taste. The kind of mouth-on-skin contact that made your whole body hum and your thighs press harder around him without realizing it.
Your breath hitched. He felt it. Smirked.
And then moved lower.
The next kiss landed in the center of your chest, just above the curve of your breast. Hot. Open. His tongue swiped lightly over your skin like he was testing it.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured against you.
“No, I’m not.”
“Liar.”
You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Not when he tilted his head—lips still on you—and dragged his mouth downward.
And then he stopped.
Right at the swell of your left breast, so close his breath fanned over your nipple, and froze.
His lips parted.
But he didn’t move.
Didn’t take.
Didn’t dare.
You felt his breath hitch, his throat bob as he swallowed.
“You said anywhere,” he said, voice hoarse. “Didn’t say I had to choose.”
Your heart felt like it was gonna punch through your ribs.
You didn’t move either.
“Then what?” you whispered.
His hand slid up your thigh. Not rushing. Just claiming.
Then he leaned up, lips brushing your ear.
“I want you to tell me,” he whispered. “Say where.”
Your stomach flipped violently.
His mouth was still close enough to feel, his hand still not touching where you wanted it, and now—he was flipping the script. Holding himself back, just to make you ask for it.
Your dare.
His rules.
You felt his nose nudge your temple, his breath fanning your cheek.
“Say it, baby,” he murmured. “You want my mouth? Tell me where to put it.”
You swallowed thickly.
Your hips flexed just slightly against his lap, and he groaned under you, soft and strangled.
“I hate you,” you whispered.
He smiled into your skin. “No, you don’t.”
Your fingers curled against his shoulders, your whole body tensed in the electric silence between you.
And then—
The tension snapped in your chest like a livewire.
You didn’t say a word.
Didn’t warn him.
Your hand just moved—fast, instinctive—sliding up into his hair, gripping the back of his head, and pulling.
His breath stuttered out of him.
You didn’t stop.
You guided him down, slow but firm, until his lips met the bare swell of your breast—and then you pressed harder.
Right there.
Right on your nipple.
His reaction?
Fucking feral.
A low, helpless sound tore out of his throat the second his mouth made contact. His hands flew up, grabbing your hips like restraint was no longer an option. And then—oh god—
He groaned.
Long and broken.
It rumbled against your chest like thunder, and his lips parted immediately, open-mouth kissing over the soft skin, dragging the flat of his tongue just under your nipple, breath shaking.
“Fuck,” he muttered, muffled against you. “Fucking hell, you—”
You arched into him, your thighs squeezing tighter around his lap as the sensation pulsed through you like a jolt.
His mouth was hot.
And his tongue—
God, his tongue teased your nipple like he’d been dying to taste it all night.
“You said anywhere,” you gasped, tilting your head back. “So I picked for you.”
Chan’s breath hitched. His lips moved to your other breast, not even hesitating now, sucking your nipple into his mouth with a low moan like he couldn’t stop himself even if he tried.
Your hand stayed in his hair, fisted tight. Your hips rocked once against him—just once—but it was enough.
He felt it.
Felt everything.
His hips jolted up under you, and you swore under your breath at the heat and thickness pressing against your center through the thin lace of your underwear.
He was rock hard.
So hard you could feel the outline of him now.
Still clothed—but barely.
Chan pulled back slightly, eyes glassy, lips swollen, chest heaving.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he rasped.
You smiled, breathless.
“You’re still playing, aren’t you?”
He blinked slowly, a dangerous kind of haze settling over his face.
Chan’s eyes were wild now.
Dark and shining, pupils blown wide. His hands slid slow up your thighs, stopping at the crease between hip and waist, right where your lace clung tight.
“You’re fucking soaked,” he said roughly.
You didn’t deny it.
Didn’t need to.
You were sitting on his lap with your tits in his face—dripping into his boxers—trembling and bare and drunk on the kind of heat that didn’t come from alcohol.
Chan licked his bottom lip slowly.
And then—smirked.
“Truth, strip, or dare?” he asked again.
You opened your mouth to answer—but he didn’t let you.
He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw as he whispered:
“Never mind. I’m picking for you.”
Your heart slammed once, hard.
Then his hands gripped your thighs tighter, spreading them just slightly over his lap.
He pulled back to meet your eyes.
And dropped it—low and lethal, right between your legs:
“I dare you…”
A pause.
Then a smile so cocky and devastating it made you clench.
“…to sit on my face.”
Silence.
Your lungs stopped working. You blinked, dizzy, absolutely reeling.
He saw it.
His grin widened.
“You heard me,” he said, voice like sin. “Come here, take these pretty thighs—” he ran both hands up them, slow and reverent, “—and sit. Right over my mouth. Let me taste everything you’ve been trying to pretend isn’t happening.”
You swallowed, hard.
Your breath stuttered.
And he kept going.
“I want your legs shaking around my head, baby girl,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours. “I wanna feel you lose it on my tongue. Right. Fucking. Here.”
Then—soft, almost cruel:
“What’s the matter? Scared of your best friend’s mouth?”
You didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
You just looked at him, wide-eyed and flushed, like the dare alone had knocked the wind out of you.
Chan wasn’t smiling anymore.
Not really.
There was still a little curve to his lips—but it wasn’t cocky now.
It was hungry.
Serious.
Almost desperate.
“Too much?” he asked softly, eyes flickering between yours.
You opened your mouth. Closed it again.
You were barely in your lace thong. Your breasts were still flushed from his mouth, your thighs slick and twitching from where they sat astride his lap—and now?
He wanted you over his face?
You weren’t supposed to think about Chan that way. Not ever. Not until tonight. Not until his tongue was on your chest and his voice was rasping filth that had your spine curling like a livewire.
You swallowed hard, trying to blink the fog from your head.
“Chan…”
“Say no,” he breathed. “Tell me no. I’ll stop.”
But then—he moved.
His hands slid down, gripping your ass, pulling you in at the same time that his hips grinded up—slow and thick and hard, dragging his length right against the soaked heat of your thong.
“Fuck—” you gasped, eyes flying open, your hands clenching against his chest.
His mouth fell open too, like he hadn’t even meant to do it.
Like his body moved without permission.
Then he did it again.
Grinding up.
Pressing you down.
Letting the friction between you grow deliberately unbearable.
You could feel him now. Feel the curve and weight of him, thick and straining beneath you, sliding through the drenched fabric like he already knew how wet you were.
Your hips jolted before you could stop them.
Chan groaned—low and ragged—fingers tightening.
“Babe…” he warned, voice shaking. “I’m not—”
Another roll of his hips. Babe
“I’m not playing anymore.”
Neither were you.
“Fuck it,” you whispered.
And then you shifted, rising slowly—legs shaking—only to grab the edge of the couch and lift yourself just enough to move forward.
Over his chest.
Then his collarbone.
Then—God help you—his face.
Chan’s breath hitched.
His head tilted back against the couch, eyes never leaving you as your knees slid up to either side of his head, your thighs trembling, fingers still digging into the cushions.
“Holy fuck,” he breathed, voice wrecked.
You paused just inches above his mouth, heart hammering, pulse in your ears, lace clinging to the heat between your legs.
And then?
He reached up.
Grabbed your thighs.
And yanked you down.
The moment your thighs framed his face, Chan made a sound—deep and wrecked—and then he didn’t waste a single second.
There was no hesitation.
No teasing.
Just the sharp snap of fabric tearing and your startled gasp as his fingers ripped through the middle of your soaked thong like it was paper.
“What the fuck—!”
“Couldn’t wait,” he growled, voice hoarse, hungry. “Needed you.”
And then—he buried his face in you.
You choked on a cry, both hands flying to his hair as his mouth sealed over your bare, aching cunt, tongue dragging from your entrance all the way up to your clit in one long, filthy stroke.
Your thighs jerked.
Your spine arched.
And Chan—moaned.
Loud and desperate.
Like he was tasting fucking paradise.
He pulled you down harder, forcing your thighs to lock around his head as he licked you again, faster this time—his mouth moving with a rhythm that had your whole body shaking, his tongue working over your clit like he knew exactly what would break you.
“You’re so sweet,” he mumbled against you, voice muffled, drunk. “Fuck, you taste so—”
Another moan, this one so guttural it vibrated through you.
And then he just devoured.
Sucked your clit between his lips, tongue circling, teasing, driving you out of your mind. He kept going, relentless, like he was starving, hands roaming up your waist, squeezing your ass, holding you down when your thighs tried to run.
“Chan—fuck—I can’t—” you gasped, eyes rolling.
“You can,” he groaned. “You’re gonna.”
His eyes flicked up, locking with yours from between your thighs, wild and ravenous.
“Sit on my face and fucking come for me.”
You were close.
So fucking close.
Chan’s tongue was merciless, his grip bruising, and the slick sounds of him devouring you filled the room, matched only by your moans and gasps and the deep, desperate groans he let out every time your thighs clenched around his head.
You felt the heat snap up your spine.
You felt your legs start to shake.
You were seconds—seconds—from falling apart on his tongue—
And then you flipped.
In one breathless motion, you spun your body over his, never once lifting from his face. Your knees planted on the couch cushions, straddling him in reverse now—and facing his cock.
Chan moaned violently into you.
You heard it.
Felt it.
His hips jolted, thrusting up like he couldn’t help it, and suddenly your best friend’s hard, flushed length was right in front of your face—thick, leaking, twitching with the same need he was pouring into your cunt.
You grinned.
“Fuck,” you panted, glancing down between your legs, “you like this?”
Chan didn’t answer—his mouth was too busy buried in you, tongue dragging through your folds again with a new kind of urgency.
So you reached down and wrapped your hand around him.
He bucked.
A loud, muffled grunt punched into your pussy from below.
You giggled, breathless, and stroked him slow, your fist gliding over hot, slick skin, spreading the pre-cum at his tip.
“You’re so hard,” you whispered, licking your lips. “What the fuck, Channie…”
Then—you bent down.
And slid your mouth over his cock.
He fucking shouted.
The noise was muffled by your cunt, but it rattled through his chest.
His hips snapped up into your mouth so suddenly you almost choked—but you took it, sucking him deeper, tongue swirling, moaning around him while he screamed into your pussy.
His mouth was messy now—his tongue wild, his lips soaking you, sucking, lapping, chasing your orgasm like it was his only mission in life.
And all the while?
You kept sucking.
Pumping.
Ruining him.
Your mouth worked him with purpose, with rhythm, swallowing every desperate sound he made until his cock throbbed hard on your tongue.
You didn’t even care anymore.
You were lost.
Your thighs were clenching, your moans echoing into his skin, and Chan’s hands were digging into your hips, holding you down while he devoured you like he’d die without it.
And just before you tipped over the edge—
You both groaned at the same time.
Raw.
Ragged.
Feral.
His mouth was everywhere.
Your thighs had no strength left in them, your moans spilling out louder, broken, as Chan’s tongue moved in tight, fast circles, drawing orgasm after orgasm closer until your hips were trembling and your chest was heaving and—
“Chan—I’m gonna—”
He sucked your clit deep between his lips and groaned.
That sound—that sound—vibrated through you like an earthquake, tipping you straight off the edge.
You came hard.
Harder than you ever had in your life, your whole body clenching as pleasure ripped through your core and burst like fireworks behind your eyes. You ground against his face, breath caught, voice lost, shaking apart while your best friend held you there and licked you through it like he couldn’t stop.
Like he wouldn’t stop until you gave him every last drop.
Your thighs were still twitching when you started stroking him faster, hand slick and wet, mouth messy and open as you sucked him deep again—and Chan’s moan turned into a growl.
His hips bucked once.
Twice.
Then his hand flew to your ass, gripping tight as his cock pulsed in your mouth—and he came with a loud, shattered cry muffled into your pussy, spilling down your throat in thick, hot waves while his body convulsed beneath you.
You swallowed it all, trembling, moaning softly as his hips slowly stilled.
And then?
Silence.
You collapsed, barely able to breathe, sliding down off his face and rolling to the side, both of you gasping—sweaty, dazed, fucked-out.
He didn’t say anything.
Just turned toward you.
Grabbed you by the waist.
And pulled you into him—tight.
You melted, pressing your face into his neck, feeling his heart pound against your chest as the sweat on your skin cooled.
Neither of you spoke.
Not one word.
Because anything either of you said would change everything.
Authors note: BEFORE YOU KILL ME!! There will be a part 2 but we gotta be more interactive if you want me to keep feeding y’all lol. 100 notes and ill drop part 2 asap!
So encourage this horny writer and leave that like!! ❤️❤️
Summary: It was supposed to be a harmless retro movie night with your best friend Chan. Then the film started… and it was porn. Now you’re stuck in a dark adult cinema, horny, flustered, and sitting way too close to the man you’ve never seen that way—until now. What follows? Stolen touches, filthy tension, crossed lines, and the slowest and fastest descent into “we probably shouldn’t be doing this.” Too bad neither of you wants to stop.
This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
You didn’t think twice about asking Chan.
It was a throwaway message — a random, impulsive moment while scrolling your phone. The kind of thing only your best friend would say yes to without making it weird.
Got two free tickets to a retro film screening lol. Come with me?? Apparently it’s a surprise title.
You didn’t expect him to reply three seconds later with,
Say less. I’m already choosing snacks in my head.
And now here you were.
Shoulder to shoulder in a darkened theater that smelled like old velvet and warm popcorn, curled up in plush, oversized recliners that felt suspiciously luxurious for an indie cinema. You’d joked about it when you walked in — called it “bougie-arthouse-meets-grandma’s-living-room.”
Chan had laughed, soft and bright, and dropped his head to your shoulder for a second.
“You and your weird luck,” he’d said. “Only you would win tickets to a mystery movie night in a place that looks like it doubles as a jazz bar for ghosts.”
And you’d smiled. You always smiled when he touched you.
Now, the lights dimmed fully, and the film began with a crackle of film grain and a vintage soundtrack humming over the speakers.
At first, everything felt normal.
Old cars. Sepia tones. Awkward, exaggerated acting from a woman in a silk slip and a man with a mustache too big for his face. You sipped your drink. Chan occasionally leaned in to whisper dumb commentary in your ear, and you had to cover your mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
Then the silk slip hit the floor.
You blinked.
Onscreen, the woman dropped to her knees.
“…Wait,” you said under your breath.
Chan leaned forward slightly. “Is she…?”
She was. Very much.
The theater stayed silent, but you could feel it now — the strange atmosphere. The intentionality of the recliners. The lack of teenagers. The fact that everyone was sitting in pairs. Close. Intimate.
You glanced at Chan.
He was frowning a little, eyes still fixed forward.
And then she moaned.
Loudly. Lewdly. Wet and raw.
Chan inhaled sharply, then turned to you — eyes wide with disbelief.
“Is this—?”
“Porn,” you whispered. “I think it’s porn.”
You both stared forward again.
The camera cut to the man’s face — all clenched jaw and labored breathing as she took him deeper into her throat.
You sat frozen, drink in your hand, heart suddenly thudding like you were caught watching something you shouldn’t.
Chan cleared his throat. Shifted in his seat.
“We should… we could leave,” he said, but his voice was strained.
You couldn’t look at him. “Mhm. Could.”
But you didn’t move. Neither did he and the screen only got filthier.
There was something hypnotic about it — not the porn itself, but the setting. The heavy quiet of the room. The creak of recliners. The small, breathy gasps from one or two corners of the theater where other pairs sat just a little too close.
Chan shifted again beside you, and this time you felt it — his thigh brushing yours.
He wasn’t pulling away. Neither were you. And your chest was rising faster now. You didn’t say anything.
You couldn’t.
Not with the screen soaked in moans and movement and sweat, and the awareness of him sitting right there, warm and silent and way too close.
You didn’t look at him.
But you wondered If he was feeling it too. You didn’t dare move.
Not because you were afraid — but because you weren’t sure what might happen if you did.
The screen lit up with flesh. Grainy but real. A woman on her back now, legs spread wide, breathless under a man twice her size. He fucked her slow and deep, long strokes that made her back arch off the mattress.
The audio was soft but obscene.
You swallowed hard.
You hadn’t meant to watch porn with your best friend. Hadn’t meant to sit this close, thighs touching, breaths syncing like your bodies had somehow started responding to the same rhythm pulsing through the room.
The theater was still mostly quiet, but… not entirely.
There were sounds. Small, barely-there ones. A stifled moan from the far right corner. A squeak of leather from behind you. Someone shifting in a way that didn’t sound like they were just trying to get comfortable.
Your skin prickled.
And beside you, Chan exhaled. A little shaky.
You finally turned your head toward him. He looked… tense. Eyes fixed on the screen, jaw tight, one hand braced on his thigh like he was deliberately keeping it there.
You whispered, “Chan…”
He blinked, tore his gaze from the screen, and looked at you.
His eyes were darker now.
His lips parted, breath shallow.
“I didn’t…” he said softly. “I didn’t think it would actually be—”
“I know,” you breathed. “Me neither.”
A beat passed. Neither of you looked away.
The sounds from the movie grew louder — wet, rhythmic, raw. Her moans echoing, punctuated by filthy dialogue that made your stomach flip.
Chan’s eyes dropped to your lips for just a second.
Just long enough to make your breath catch.
And when they lifted again — slowly — his tongue darted across his bottom lip.
“You okay?” he asked. Quiet. Gentle.
You nodded before you even thought about it.
But he didn’t look convinced.
Your knees were still touching. Bare skin brushing denim. The air between you was thick enough to chew.
You tried to shift your attention back to the screen — to pretend none of this was happening.
But all you could think about was the way Chan was not moving away.
The way your skin still tingled from that single look.
The way your body had started to thrum in time with the soundtrack.
You heard her moan again — a long, high cry that made your thighs clench instinctively.
Chan noticed. You knew he noticed.
His fingers twitched against his own leg. And then he let out a quiet, almost silent laugh — like he couldn’t believe what was happening either.
“This is insane,” he muttered.
You bit your lip. “Mhm.”
And then — softer — he added, “You’re warm.”
You turned to look at him fully now. “What?”
His eyes were on your bare thigh, where it pressed against his. His hand hovered just above it.
“You’re warm,” he said again, like it meant something else. Like he wasn’t just talking about skin temperature.
You held his gaze. And for the first time all night, something shifted. Your pulse spiked but he didn’t touch you.
Not yet.
But his hand stayed there. Hovering. Close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his palm. Like he was waiting for permission he didn’t know he needed.
Your breath hitched.
And Chan’s jaw clenched again — like holding back was costing him something.
“I should…” he started.
But he didn’t finish the sentence. Because neither of you really knew how this was supposed to go anymore.
You tried to shake it off.
The porn, the glances, the way Chan looked at your thighs like they were saying something. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That best friends had weird moments sometimes — and maybe you’d laugh about it tomorrow over coffee.
But then you went to dinner.
Just a casual spot near the theater. Dimly lit bar-slash-restaurant, exposed brick, candlelight on the tables. The kind of place where your friend group could cram into a long booth and pass menus around like nothing was vibrating under the surface.
Chan slid in next to you without a word.
You were hyper-aware of it. Of his shoulder against yours, the brush of his denim jacket sleeve. His thigh pressing against yours again like he needed it. Like he hadn’t gotten it out of his system earlier.
Your friend across the table said something — you didn’t catch it.
You laughed anyway. Too loud. Too bright.
Chan didn’t say much at first. He drank his beer, leaned in for the occasional snarky comment in your ear, but you could feel it — the way his hand stayed in his lap, twitching sometimes like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.
And then.
You reached for a napkin. Your legs shifted. And his hand landed on your knee.
Accidentally — at first.
At least, you thought it was accidental. But he didn’t move it.
You froze.
Looked down.
He was staring straight ahead, nodding at something one of your friends was saying — like nothing was happening.
Like his fingers weren’t slowly brushing the bare skin just above your knee, under the hem of your denim skirt.
You inhaled sharply.
He heard it. You knew he did, because his fingers paused, then curled just a little.
Your stomach dropped.
You flicked your eyes sideways at him.
Chan was still looking at the others. Still pretending. But his hand was now fully on your thigh — warm, heavy, steady — and slowly sliding higher.
Your breath caught.
He was doing it on purpose. And you… You weren’t stopping him.
He leaned in then, head tilted toward yours like he was about to whisper another joke — but his voice was low this time. Quiet enough that only you could hear it over the ambient music and clinking glasses.
“You’re not moving,” he murmured. “You’re letting me do this.”
You bit the inside of your cheek.
“You’re the one touching me,” you shot back, voice tight.
His thumb brushed higher.
Your skin tingled.
“Yeah,” he said, barely audible now. “And you’re letting me.”
Your legs shifted under the table, parting just a little — not on purpose, not really — but it didn’t matter. Because his fingers slipped right into that space. Hot and deliberate.
You felt the pad of his middle finger slide up the inside of your thigh.
Slow and Dangerous.
And you snapped your knees together instinctively — not in rejection, but because it was too much.
He stopped. Froze.
You looked at him but he was already looking at you. Eyes blown wide, jaw tight. Like he wasn’t sure who he was right now. Neither were you.
Your voice came out a whisper. “Chan…”
“I’ll stop if you tell me to,” he said.
Silence stretched between you.
The others were still talking. Laughing. Existing in some parallel universe where you weren’t seconds from being fingered under a dinner table.
But you weren’t in that universe.
You were here. You were wet.
And Chan’s fingers were moving again.
You should have told him to stop.
There were too many people. Too many eyes. Your friends were right there — sharing food, sipping drinks, cracking jokes across the table like this was just another Thursday night.
And under the table? Chan’s hand was under your skirt.
Fully.
You didn’t know how it had happened so quickly — or maybe you did. Maybe it was always going to happen, after what the movie did to the both of you. After the way your thighs touched and neither of you pulled back.
But this? This was insane.
His fingertips brushed the edge of your underwear, and you inhaled sharply — too sharply — so you faked a cough and reached for your water.
Chan’s body shifted subtly beside you. You felt his breath near your ear as he leaned in to pretend he was saying something casual.
“Still not stopping me,” he murmured.
You clenched your thighs again, but this time it was too late. His fingers had already slipped past the edge of your panties.
Your hips twitched. And his knuckles pressed against your core.
You were soaked.
Like your body had been waiting for this since the cinema. Like it had been aching for him in the most humiliating, undeniable way.
Chan froze.
And then — low enough that no one else could possibly hear — he let out the smallest, most desperate sound.
“Fuck…”
You looked at him, panicked — your voice a whisper. “Chan, we’re in public.”
“I know,” he breathed, barely glancing at you. His hand didn’t move. “Tell me to stop and i will.”
You didn’t. You couldn’t.
And that was all he needed. His middle finger slipped inside you in one slow, hot push.
Your thighs tensed. Your mouth fell open.
You grabbed your drink like it was the only thing tethering you to reality — fingers white-knuckling the glass as you tried to keep your face normal, blank, anything but wrecked.
Above the table, someone asked you a question. Something about dessert. A menu. It didn’t matter. You didn’t hear it.
Because Chan curled his finger inside you.
Your hand shot to your lap, gripping your thigh to keep yourself from squirming. You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t look at anyone. You just nodded blindly and mumbled something noncommittal, hoping it passed.
Chan didn’t let up.
His finger moved in and out slowly, and your entire body flushed with heat. He had the audacity to smirk — just the tiniest bit — eyes still fixed on his drink like he wasn’t currently fingering his best friend under the table while people laughed and talked around them.
“This is so fucking wrong,” you hissed under your breath.
“I know,” he said. Another finger joined the first. “But you’re not telling me to stop.”
Your eyes fluttered shut for half a second.
You tried to breathe through your nose. Stay quiet. Act normal. But every subtle movement of his hand made your legs twitch, your core clench, your heartbeat crash against your ribs.
You glanced at him again.
He looked flushed now too. Like he was seconds from losing his mind, but still holding it together because it was you. Because this wasn’t just lust, it was something older, deeper — something that had been crawling under both your skins for months.
“Chan,” you whispered, like a warning.
“Say the word,” he said, voice tight. “Say stop. I will. But you don’t want me to.”
And you hated how right he was. Because instead of pulling away, you shifted forward an inch — just enough that his fingers sank deeper inside you.
Chan sucked in a breath. And you both went still.
A sharp laugh cracked from across the table, drawing attention — and you had to force a smile, nod along, pretend you weren’t sitting there with your best friend’s fingers knuckle-deep inside your body, massaging a spot that made your eyes blur.
Your thighs trembled and Chan leaned in, lips brushing your ear like a secret.
“You’re gonna cum,” he whispered. “Right here, aren’t you?”
You shuddered. Your breath hitched.
And he smiled — not cocky, not cruel. Just in awe. Like he couldn’t believe how beautiful you looked with your cheeks flushed and your teeth digging into your lip to keep a moan from slipping out.
You felt your orgasm build — fast, frantic, terrifying.
You grabbed his wrist under the table.
He stilled instantly. “Too much?”
You shook your head. “Not enough.”
And that was it.
His fingers moved faster, deeper, his palm nudging your clit just enough to send you over the edge in a quiet, trembling crash of heat and pleasure. You came with your teeth pressed into your fist, staring hard at a candle on the table like it could anchor you, keep you grounded while your body shattered in silence.
And when it was over, you sat back—Breathless. Shaking.
His fingers slipped out of you slowly, carefully — like he respected what he’d just done to you, even if it made no sense at all.
Your eyes met his and the panic set in.
What the fuck are we doing?
But you were still wet. Still aching.
And you knew — without a doubt — you weren’t done.
You bolted from the table the second your legs worked again.
Something about needing the bathroom. A brush of your hand on your friend’s shoulder as you excused yourself, voice a little too high-pitched, smile a little too tight.
You didn’t look at Chan.
Couldn’t.
Your body was still pulsing from what he’d just done to you — in public, surrounded by friends, like it was the most natural thing in the world to slide his fingers into his best friend and make her come in silence while everyone else debated dessert.
Your heart thundered.
You didn’t think. You just ran.
The bathroom door swung open and you staggered inside, gripping the sink, trying to catch your breath. Your panties were still wet, your thighs sticky, your reflection in the mirror pink-cheeked and glassy-eyed and wrecked.
“What the fuck,” you whispered to yourself.
And then the door opened behind you. Your stomach dropped.
“Chan, don’t—”
But it was too late.
He stepped in, locked the door behind him, and turned to face you — eyes dark, breathing shallow, like he’d sprinted the whole way.
“I had to,” he said. “I couldn’t just let you leave like that.”
You backed up a step. “We’re in the bathroom.”
“No one saw me come in.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?” His voice cracked on the edge of something— desperation, maybe. “Because I just made you cum under the fucking table and you didn’t even look at me.”
“I couldn’t!” you hissed, voice sharp and low.
He flinched. Just slightly.
You swallowed, heart pounding.
“It was too much,” you added. “You— that— fuck, Chan.”
He moved toward you. Slow. Careful. But you didn’t step back.
“You liked it,” he said softly.
You blinked. “That’s not—”
“You liked it,” he repeated. “Your body loved it. You soaked through my fingers.”
Your lips parted.
He stopped right in front of you now, eyes flicking down to your mouth, then back up.
“You didn’t even know you were grinding against my hand until I curled my fingers and you almost choked on your drink.”
“Chan—”
“You’re still wet, aren’t you?” he asked, voice wrecked. “Still aching.”
You stared at him. And you didn’t deny it. A beat of silence passed.
Then: “I don’t know what this is,” you whispered. “I don’t know what’s happening to us.”
His hand rose — not to touch you, but to rest against the wall behind your head. Caging you in. Close enough that his breath hit your lips.
“I do,” he murmured.
Your stomach flipped.
He leaned in just a little more. “I can’t stop thinking about the way you looked in that theater. The way you breathed. The way your thighs trembled.”
You swallowed hard.
“I shouldn’t want you,” he said, forehead nearly touching yours now. “You’re my best friend.”
“Then stop,” you said. It sounded like a challenge.
He looked at you.
“You don’t want me to stop.”
Your silence was answer enough.
And then he kissed you.
Hard. Hungry. Like every second you’d known each other had been leading here, and he was done pretending. His hands gripped your waist, and before you could catch your breath, he had you backed against the stall door, mouth trailing fire down your neck.
“I need to taste you properly,” he whispered against your throat. “But I can’t wait.”
You whimpered as his hands slid under your skirt again, rougher this time — no hesitation. He shoved your panties down with practiced fingers, lifted your leg over his waist and slide two fingers back inside you like they belonged there.
You moaned — couldn’t help it.
His free hand clamped over your mouth immediately.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “You’ll get us caught.”
His eyes burned into yours — wild, wrecked, possessive.
And he fucked you with his fingers like he meant it. Like he needed to make you feel it. Wrist twisting just right, fingers rubbing the spot that made your eyes roll back, and all you could do was cling to his shoulders and take it.
You came harder this time.
Biting into his palm. Hips jerking against his hand.
And even after your legs gave out and your body sagged against the door, he didn’t pull away. He held you there. Pressed his forehead to yours. Breathing you in.
“I’m not sorry,” he whispered.
You shook your head, eyes still glazed. “Me neither.”
—
Neither of you said anything on the way back.
You walked side by side, hands in your pockets, your face still flushed from the bathroom, heart still pounding in your throat.
The streets were quieter now, warm with the scent of summer and distant traffic, and the occasional brush of Chan’s arm sent shivers crawling down your spine.
You couldn’t look at him.
Because if you did…
You might ask for something neither of you could ever come back from.
Your thighs still ached. Your underwear still clung damp to your skin. And between your legs — Jesus. It was like your body had been switched on and couldn’t shut off.
You were still feeling his fingers inside you.
And he kept glancing sideways. Like he wanted to say something. But didn’t know how.
You finally reached his building. The stoop was dim and familiar — how many nights had you sat there together, late-night snacks and dumb conversations and sleepy yawns on each other’s shoulders? You could still see the ghost of those moments hovering in the air, but they were dissolving fast.
Chan turned to you at the door.
Hands in his pockets.
Voice rough.
“Do you wanna—” He swallowed. “Come in?”
Your heart stuttered.
You should’ve said no.
But instead you nodded.
His apartment smelled like his cologne and roses.
You stood in the middle of his living room, heart hammering. Your skin felt too tight, your legs still shaky. And Chan — god, Chan — locked the door behind you, then leaned back against it like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.
Until he looked at you.
Really looked at you.
And you felt your breath catch.
“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he said quietly.
You blinked. “What?”
“I can’t stop thinking about you. Your thighs, your mouth, the way you looked at me when I touched you. I’ve never seen anything that turned me on more in my life.”
Your throat went dry.
He pushed off the door and stepped closer.
“I want to fuck you so bad I’m shaking.”
Your lips parted.
“Chan—”
“I want to pin you down,” he continued, voice wrecked. “I want to have your wrists in one hand, your neck in the other, and just ruin you.”
You made a small, helpless sound.
He reached for you then — slow, giving you time to pull away — but you didn’t.
He brushed your hair back. Tilted your chin up.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he said. “How many nights I’ve had to jerk off in silence after hugging you goodbye.”
You stared at him. Speechless.
“I think about you when I fuck my fist. I imagine you beneath me, half-undressed, legs open, begging.”
You gasped — one hand flying to cover your mouth.
But he wasn’t done.
“I want to pin you to the bed,” he whispered. “Hold you down while you squirm. Make you cry my name while I fuck you like you owe me something.”
Your legs buckled.
He caught you instantly.
“You like that?” he breathed.
You nodded, stunned.
“Good,” he growled. “Because I’m not done.”
He backed you toward the bedroom, eyes locked to yours.
“And after that?” he said. “I’m gonna cum all over you. Your stomach. Your face. Wherever I want.”
You whimpered.
“I’m gonna fuck you in your clothes, with your skirt bunched around your waist and your panties pushed aside, because I can’t wait to take them off.”
He licked his lips.
“And you’re gonna take it, baby girl.”
You stared at him, heart pounding. Breathless. Speechless.
So fucking turned on.
And then, softly you said:
“Show me.”
—
The bedroom door clicked shut behind you.
And it was like your body knew.
Your heart was a live wire. Your breath shallow. You took two slow steps into Chan’s room — familiar walls, familiar scent — but it didn’t feel like home tonight.
It felt like danger. It felt like him.
Chan followed behind, slow and steady, letting the silence stretch until you couldn’t take it anymore.
You turned around to face him.
He looked wrecked already — hair tousled, chest heaving, hands flexing open and shut at his sides like he was fighting the urge to grab you and ruin you.
You didn’t say anything.
You just looked at him — wide-eyed, breathless — and reached for the hem of your skirt.
He caught your wrists before you could tug it up.
“Let me,” he said.
And that voice — god, that voice — low and dark and possessive, made your knees tremble.
He walked toward you, slow like a wolf circling prey. You expected him to strip you, to yank your clothes off with that filthy desperation he’d whispered about.
But he didn’t.
He kissed you.
Soft, at first and then not.
His hands slid down to your thighs, gripping the backs with practiced heat. And when he pulled your skirt up — when he saw your ruined panties again — he let out a sound so deep it rattled in your chest.
“Still wet for me,” he said.
You couldn’t speak.
“You came twice and you’re still soaked.”
He dipped his head — not to kiss your mouth, but to press his lips to your throat. You tilted your head back with a gasp as he sucked at your pulse, teeth grazing, mouth open and hot.
“I’m gonna fuck you just like this,” he growled. “Skirt up. Panties in the way. Legs spread for me.”
Your fingers tangled in his hair as he dropped to his knees in front of you.
“Chan—”
“Shh.”
He kissed your inner thigh, lips dragging dangerously close to your center, but not touching. Not yet.
“You have no idea how many times I thought about this,” he said against your skin. “How many nights I imagined tasting you.”
And then his fingers hooked your underwear and tore them down.
You gasped.
He looked up at you from between your thighs, eyes dark and blown.
And then — finally — his mouth closed over your core.
Your knees buckled.
You moaned his name, loud and desperate, and he growled into you, arms locking around your thighs as he dragged you closer. His tongue was everywhere — licking, curling, sucking your clit in a rhythm that was absolutely obscene.
You lost time.
Lost sense.
You gripped his hair and ground against his face, your body taking what it needed because he wouldn’t stop, he wouldn’t let you breathe, and when his fingers slipped inside you, you came so hard your vision blacked out for a second.
“Fuck— fuck—” you sobbed, hips jerking.
He rode it out. Held you through it. Slowed down only when you begged him to.
And then he stood.
Still fully clothed.
Hard as a rock behind his jeans.
You couldn’t think. Could barely stand.
“Take it off,” you breathed, grabbing the hem of his shirt.
But he was already on it — pulling it over his head, tossing it aside, eyes locked to yours.
And fuck.
He was beautiful. He had always been.
His body was all sharp muscle and light skin and hunger, abs flexing as he worked his jeans open, breath stuttering like he couldn’t believe this was real.
And when he stepped out of them — hard, flushed, huge — you choked on your own gasp.
He grinned.
“Scared?”
You shook your head.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not gonna be gentle.”
You moaned.
He pushed you back until the backs of your knees hit the bed.
Then shoved you onto it.
Climbed on top of you, hands bracketing your head, knees parting your thighs.
“Hands up,” he said.
You obeyed instantly, arms stretched above you on the pillow.
He leaned down, kissed your lips like they were sacred.
“Keep them there.”
You nodded.
He lined himself up — and hovered for just a second.
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered. “If I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”
“Then don’t stop.”
And he thrust in.
Hard.
You arched up with a cry, nails digging into the sheets as he filled you to the hilt. He groaned above you, head falling to your shoulder, arms shaking with restraint.
“You feel like fucking heaven,” he breathed.
He gave you a moment.
And then he started to move.
Fast. Deep. Merciless.
The sound of skin slapping echoed through the room, and your gasps turned to cries, your hands fisting the sheets as he pounded into you like a mad man. Like he needed it. His fingers tangled with yours above your head, pinning you in place as his hips slammed into you again and again and again—
“Fuck—! Chan—”
“You’re mine,” he growled. “You’re so fucking mine.”
Your fourth orgasm tore through you like fire, and Chan groaned when he felt you clench around him, hips stuttering as he chased his own end.
And when he pulled out last-second and came all over your stomach, hot and messy and shaking, you felt like your soul had left your body.
You both collapsed.
Silence.
Only breath and heat and the soft whisper of, “Holy shit.”
You turned your head to look at him.
He looked at you. And he smiled.
—
It was the sun that woke you.
Bright and slow, bleeding through the gap in the curtains and painting gold across the bed. You stirred, eyes still closed, your body humming with a dull ache — sore thighs, tender hips, a deep throb between your legs that made your breath catch.
And then you felt it.
Warm skin at your back.
A chest rising and falling slowly behind you.
An arm, heavy and wrapped around your waist, fingers splayed possessively just under your ribs. His scent still clung to your skin — sweat and something darker, heady, him.
And that’s when the memories crashed in.
The bathroom.
The restaurant.
The bed.
The way he’d pinned your hands above your head and fucked you like he meant to wreck you.
Your cheeks burned instantly, eyes flying open.
Holy shit.
You slept with your best friend.
You slept with Chan.
And not just slept. You let him possess you— He had you on his face. His fingers, his mouth, his everything, and then he’d whispered things that should’ve made you run for the door but instead made you soaked.
You swallowed thickly.
And then the arm around your waist pulled you closer.
You yelped.
Chan groaned softly behind you, voice gravelled from sleep.
“Mm… what time is it?”
You didn’t answer. Because you didn’t know what to say.
He blinked his eyes open, peeking over your shoulder. “You okay?”
You turned to face him — slowly, hesitantly.
He looked wrecked. Hair a mess, voice hoarse, lips kiss-bruised and sleep-swollen.
Your stomach flipped.
“I’m fine,” you said. Then added, “Sore.”
He grinned — and you hated that your thighs clenched at the sight of it.
“Good sore or bad sore?”
“Chan—”
He slid his hand down to your hip, voice low.
“Because I can fix it.”
You stared at him. He wasn’t teasing. He meant it.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you whispered.
He quirked a brow. “Like what?”
“Like I’m still the same girl you— you—”
“Fucked six ways from Sunday?” he offered, smug.
Your face burned.
But then he leaned in, nuzzled his nose against yours.
And whispered: “You’re not.”
You blinked. “I’m not?”
He shook his head.
“You’re completely mine now remember?”
Your stomach flipped.
Your brain melted.
“Chan…”
“I’m serious,” he said. “Last night… that wasn’t just sex. That wasn’t just me losing my mind. That was me finally doing what I’ve wanted for months.”
You stared at him. He was serious.
“I thought this would ruin everything,” you whispered.
He tilted his head.
“And now?”
You took a breath.
And admitted it: “I don’t want to stop.”
He grinned. “I never was gonna let you.”
He pulled you into him, kissed you — slow, lazy, warm — and you melted right into his arms.
The morning didn’t feel awkward.
It didn’t feel scary.
It felt like the beginning of something new.
And then—
“I meant what I said last night, by the way,” Chan murmured against your mouth.
You blinked. “What part?”
“The part where I pin you down and fuck you like you stole from me.”
Your mouth dropped open. “You already did—”
“And the part where I cum all over your face.”
“CHRISTOPHER—”
“Just letting you know what’s on the schedule.”
You slapped his chest, flustered beyond belief.
He just laughed.
And kissed you again.
“Cum on my face, huh?”
Your voice came out soft. Dangerous.
Chan blinked. His grin froze on his lips. “…Uh-oh.”
You rolled onto him. Just like that. Bare skin on bare skin, straddling his hips while he stared up at you with those huge, still-sleepy eyes.
But sleep was over.
You rutted your hips once, slowly, deliberately—feeling the way his cock stirred between your thighs—and he made a sound.
“Y’know,” you said, sweet and sharp, “you’re not the only one with fantasies.”
His hands gripped your hips instantly. “Oh?”
“Mmhmm.” You leaned down until your mouth brushed his ear. “You’re not the only one who thinks about pinning someone down.”
He hissed.
“And I know you like control, but imagine this—” you rolled your hips again, voice turning breathy, “—imagine me riding you so hard you beg me to let you cum.”
He groaned.
“Imagine I keep going… and don’t let you. Just to see how long you last.”
“Fuck—”
“And I’ve thought about your mouth too. Not just eating me out—though, Christ—” you shuddered, “—I still don’t think i can walk right, thanks for that—”
He smirked proudly.
“But I’ve thought about your whimpers too. What you sound like when I suck you so slow you start losing your mind.”
You kissed down his chest, dragging your nails across his abs, feeling him tense and twitch beneath you.
“I wanna leave marks,” you whispered. “Wanna make you look wrecked for me.”
Chan was flushed now. Practically trembling under you.
“Baby girl,” he rasped. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You smiled.
And slid down between his legs.
“I haven’t even started.”
He wasn’t ready, but you took your time.
You teased him with your mouth first — slow licks up his shaft, tongue circling the tip, only enough suction to drive him insane. You had your hands braced on his thighs, nails biting into skin just enough to own him.
“Jesus—” he gasped, head thrown back. “You’re—fuck, that’s good—”
You moaned around him and watched his hips twitch up, his hand flying to your hair like instinct, fingers tightening in warning.
“Babe— I swear—if you keep going like this, I’m gonna—”
You pulled off right before he came.
And smirked.
“Oh, we’re doing this now?” he asked, breathless.
“Damn right we are,” you said, climbing back on top of him. “I’m getting mine now.”
You lined him up, braced yourself—
And sank down in one slow, maddening slide.
Chan’s eyes rolled back.
You didn’t even move for a full ten seconds. Just sat there, gripping his chest, clenching around him until he was panting.
And then you rode him. Like a woman possessed.
You weren’t slow. You were relentless. Skin slapping, sweat slicking your bodies together, his hands scrambling for purchase on your hips as you bounced with wild, desperate rhythm.
“Fuck—fuck— you’re insane,” he groaned.
“Say you love it,” you panted.
“I fucking love it—!”
You leaned down and bit his shoulder.
And that was it.
He flipped you over without warning, slammed back into you hard enough to rattle the headboard, and locked your wrists above your head like he had something to prove.
You moaned his name so loud it echoed.
He looked down at you — hair in his eyes, lips parted, body dripping sweat — and whispered, “I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t talk.”
“Try me.”
So he did.
You lost count of how many times you came. How many times he made you scream. The sun climbed higher outside and you never even noticed.
He had you on your back.
Then on your stomach.
Then on your side with one leg thrown over his hips while he pounded into you, growling your name like a prayer he didn’t deserve to say.
And when you came again — thighs shaking, back arched, eyes fluttering — he pulled out and came all over your chest, jaw tight and groaning like it destroyed him.
You lay there for a second.
“Holy… fuck,” you breathed.
Chan flopped beside you.
“Yeah.”
Silence.
Then:
“…I want pancakes,” you whispered.
Chan turned his head, eyes still blown wide. “How the fuck are you thinking about pancakes right now?”
You smiled lazily.
“I burn calories fast.”
He groaned into the pillow.
“You’re gonna kill me.”
You rolled onto your side and kissed his cheek.
“But what a way to go.”
—
You were wearing nothing but Chan’s shirt and a pair of socks.
And it was doing things to him.
He stood at the stove, shirtless, trying to focus on flipping pancakes while you leaned over the counter, hair messy, skin glowing, humming some made-up song about how much you deserved “carbs and cuddles after all that cardio.”
“You’re just using me for my protein,” he muttered, hiding a grin.
You stretched dramatically, popping a strawberry into your mouth. “Technically, you used me for your protein.”
Chan nearly burned the pancake.
You laughed when he choked on air, stepping over to whack his back. “Careful, old man. I still need you alive for round– wait, how many rounds now?”
He turned his head, gave you a look that could scorch.
“Keep talking like that and we’re not making it to breakfast.”
You kissed his shoulder. “Then hurry up. I’m starving.”
He flipped the last pancake with a little more urgency.
A few minutes later, the two of you were at his mini kitchen table, knees brushing under the surface, your plate stacked high like a kid at a sleepover.
“You know,” you said through a mouthful of syrupy goodness, “this is dangerously close to looking like a real relationship.”
Chan froze.
You blinked. “What?”
He tilted his head. “Is that… a bad thing?”
You paused.
Fork halfway to your mouth.
“…No.”
He watched you carefully. “Because I was kinda hoping it was.”
You squinted. “Hoping it was bad?”
“No—” he laughed, raking a hand through his hair. “No, I mean—I was hoping it was a relationship. Or that it could be.”
Your heart thudded.
Hard.
“Chan…”
He looked nervous for the first time since he’d had you straddling him in bed the night before.
“I don’t wanna go back,” he said. “Not to pretending. Not to brushing this off. That’s not what last night was for me.”
You set your fork down gently.
“It wasn’t for me either.”
The tension cracked open—just a little—and he reached across the table, linking your fingers together.
“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” he said quietly.
You nodded. “I think I have too.”
“And I know we were reckless and a little feral and probably woke my neighbors up—”
“They applauded, Chan.”
He laughed.
You smiled.
But then—his eyes softened.
And his voice turned sincere. “Can I take you out?”
Your brows lifted. “You always do”
He smirked. “Like, properly. Date you. Buy you dinner. Try to behave myself.”
You leaned your chin on your hand, pretending to think. “And if you fail miserably?”
“Then I’ll behave badly… respectfully.”
You grinned.
“Okay,” you said. “I’m in.”
He looked so genuinely happy you felt it in your bones.
You finished breakfast in a daze of syrup and laughter, tangled limbs and coffee stolen from each other’s mugs. And when he pulled you back onto the couch, wrapped around you like he couldn’t get close enough, you let him.
Because somehow, this—this—felt more dangerous than anything that happened last night.
Not because it was wild. But because it was real.
And you both knew? You were in trouble.
The best kind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Authors note: GUYS!!! WE HIT 1K FOLLOWERS!!!! 🤩 wowwwww, thank you so much for always reading and indulging my delulu 😭❤️ i love you guyssssss! I think i will be doing a new series since Angry Boys did well, but ill make a poll to know what direction to go next and until then, please leave nice comments, likes and a reblog if you enjoyed this!
Sorry guys I know I’ve been slacking on posts recently, that’s because ur girl is going to Korea for the week 😁😁😁😁 I’ll post some pics when I can and I promise I’ll get back to posting soon!!!
contains: Teasing, trapped, slight force spaced, fingering, humping, over-clothes stimulation, nicknames, overstimulation, unprotected sex (don't), three some, male dom!!!, gagging, I'm sure I missed something, let me know in the comments.
WC: 5.4k
A/N: thank you for ya'll patience, I just needed the extra day to finish it. I'm hoping to have a post ready for this weekend, but...I'm not too sure. For now, I hope you guys like this!!!
@imagine-all-the-imagines
****
“We all care about you Y/N” he whispers.
You bite your lip, and he clings to you tighter. “Will you at least talk to them?” his voice is filled with promise. It wouldn’t hurt to at least hear them out.
Your eyes collide with his. You nod your head slowly and his smile widens. He kisses you with the smile still etched on his face.
Well….this is gonna be interesting.
***
You wake up surrounded by warmth, your eyelids fluttering open. The first thing you see is Jeongin’s parted lips and calm features. A warm smile tugs at your lips as you take in your surroundings. It’s quiet. Maybe everyone else is still sleeping. Then it hits you: Jeongin is asleep, and it seems like everyone else is too.
Slowly, you climb away from his grasp and slip out of bed. He stirs silently but doesn’t wake. Your heart hammers in your chest as adrenaline kicks in. You walk over to where you tossed your clothes to the side. A simple shirt and sweats. They’ll have to do.
With careful footsteps, you retreat backwards to the door, doing a little victory dance when you discover it creaks open—thank goodness, it’s unlocked. You might actually be able to get out of here, see where you are, and figure out what the hell is going on!
You seal the door shut quietly. You’re out… but were you ever trapped to begin with? You shake the thought away, turning on your heel and cautiously venturing down the hallway. You’re in the middle of a long corridor; a few steps to your right lead downstairs. There are several doors to your left and right, but you don’t bother checking them. You can’t risk anyone finding you, not when you’re this close.
You make your way to the stairs. With quick, silent footsteps, you descend the glass staircase and enter a grand living room. To the left is a modern kitchen, with a bar countertop that opens into the dining room. But you can’t stop to gawk; the elevator out of here is open! You sprint toward the elevator, your legs burning with protest, but you don’t care. You see the exit!
You slam your finger on the ground button, but the keypad turns red. No. You hit it again and again, but it glows red and doesn't budge. “Fuck,” you whisper.
“Sorry, pretty. It’s not that easy.” Your eyes snap to Minho, who is leaning against the couch a good dozen feet away from the elevator.
Frustration bubbles inside you. Of course, it can't be that easy. “I thought you said I was free to go?”
“You are,” he shrugs. “If that's what you really want.” His eyebrow shoots up. You open your mouth to demand that he take you home, to set you free. But the words die on your tongue. Everything in you knows you should run. You should escape. But why can't you just say it?
He chuckles, his shoulders shaking. “Alright then. How about something to eat?”
Your shoulders slump. Shit.
***
A few moments later. You're sitting at the bar counter, sipping a glass of water while Minho sips his tea. He pushes a small plate full of cheese and crackers to you, but you turn your head away. He snickers, taking a piece of cheese between his fingers and scarfing it down.
“I hate you.”
“Sure you do,” he counters, walking over to the sink to rinse his hands. It's a simple thing. A simple, ordinary gesture, but the veins etched into his knuckles make your insides clench. He turns, leaning his side on the counter and staring at you. He smirks when he realizes you’ve been looking at his hands the whole time.
You roll your eyes in frustration. “Me and some of the boys have some work to do in the city. Can we trust that you won’t cause any trouble here?”
Your arms cross over your chest. “No,” you grumble, already scanning the luxurious room for any weaknesses or anything you could use as a weapon.
Minho chuckles. "I thought so,” he sighs, “that's why Seungmin and Felix will be staying with you today.” He crosses his own arms over his chest, but it makes him look larger, filling out the already small space.
Your brow furrows, and your teeth grit, but you don’t answer. Just pout like a child.
“Be good” is all he says before sauntering out of the kitchen.
***
About an hour later, everyone comes sauntering in. Changbin and Hyunjin come in dressed like twins, wearing black jeans and black t-shirts, each adorned with a black leather jacket. They looked as though the outfits were tailored for the "bad-boy" aesthetic. The leather clung to Changbin’s body, accentuating his form, while it hung loosely on Hyunjin, who sported an evil smirk laced with mischief and a hungry glint in his eyes.
Jeongin appeared more relaxed, wearing a rock band shirt and baggy jeans that hung loosely around his hips. He gave you a small smile as he headed in the same direction where Hyunjin and Changbin had disappeared, towards the elevator that would’ve led to your escape.
Chan followed next. His gray t-shirt fit him like a second skin, while a giant jean jacket concealed his perfect physique. He looked at you with a sad smile, pain evident in his eyes, before joining the others.
Minho was the last to arrive, and his outfit made your breath hitch. He looked dressed to the nines in fitted formal pants and a plain white button-up with the top two buttons undone. He didn't bother to put on a jacket. He looked like a work of art, and he knew it. With a smug smile tugging at his lips, he winked at you and called out, "Be good," before stepping into the elevator as the metal doors closed behind him.
You're trapped. Again.
“Well, well, it looks like it's just you and me, pup,” you whip your head, hearing his faint chuckle.
“Don’t forget about me,” Felix whines, popping up next to him.
A weird feeling sprints down your spine at the thought of being completely alone with them. Oh, come on. We need to get mad at them. Get it together!
You cross your arms over your chest and huff. Your eyes lock with Seungmin's. His eyes are similar to Chan's, yet distinct in their own way. They are dark and bright like Jeongin's, but they also have a glint of mischief reminiscent of Hyunjin. You find yourself easily getting lost in them; he has the same captivating effect as Chan. Felix’s eyes dart from you to Seungmin, clearly shifting from your stares. “Soooo, what do you wanna do, sweets?”
*****
You don’t even know how much time has passed. You ended up watching a movie, a chick flick that Seungmin had turned on, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell him you hated it. Seungmin is on the other side of the couch, a good 5 feet away from you. Felix is in the kitchen…baking cookies.
You’re curled up in a little ball, mindlessly watching the movie play out in front of you. You steal a glance over to Seungmin. His arms are crossed, and there's a dent between his brows. He’s either thinking, frustrated, or constipated. You're hoping it's the goddamn ladder.
“Stop fucking staring,” he grumbles. Which makes you roll your eyes.
“Or what, you gonna kidnap me?” you snark.
His tongue pokes at the side of his cheek. Clearly, he’s irritated. “We didn’t kidnap you,” he whispers to himself. You almost didn’t hear it.
“I have cookies!!!” Felix chimes, sing-song-ing his way back to the kitchen…with a tray full of chocolate chip cookies. “Here!” he sets them on the coffee table in front of you, a grin reaching his eyes.
He makes you smile. His eyes are not like any of the others. They're bright. Brighter than Jeongin’s, even though he’s young and innocent, there is a hardness to them. Felix’s are full of joy and playfulness that makes your heart squeeze every time you look into them.
“Thank you,” you sigh, taking a cookie in your hand. You stop yourself before taking a bite, noting that they are both watching you….and no one else has taken a cookie.
Seungmin grunts, and Felix looks down. A little sad. Seungmin reaches over and takes a cookie into his hand. Taking a huge bite. With that, you take a bite as well. Fuck there, good.
You moan as you take another bite, the sweet chocolate melting on your tongue. Felix snaps his head to you, his eyes bulging. Seungmin snickers. “Keep making those noises, pup, and you won’t like what happens next.”
Your body goes rigid. The half-eaten cookie still in hand. You swallow thickly, letting the sweetness linger on your tongue. You slow your bites, looking anywhere but at them.
Seungmin snickered again, seeing the blush spread.
Another 20 minutes passed, Felix joined the two of you on the couch, but sat next to Seungmin, giving you space. You were grateful, seeing the kindness in his eyes, but as the movie dragged, so did your patience.
“I’m so bored,” you groan, stretching your legs out in front of you.
Seungmin looks bored, too. His arms are crossed, and his eyes scream annoyance, but Felix seems fine. He keeps his hands on his lap, silently watching the movie play. “What do you want to do, sweets?” he asks, sounding innocent and nice.
“Yeah, what do you want to do?” Seungmin rolls his eyes.
You glance between them and then at the door. “How about a bet?” you suggest. This could be your chance. Seungmin sees the challenge in your eyes—got him.
“I’ll never back down from a bet,” he replies with a drawl. Felix’s face fell in panic. Clearly, he sees what's about to happen, and he doesn’t like it.
“Pick a game. If I win, you tell me everything I want to know, no hidden words, no secrets, everything,” you say, looking straight at Seungmin while ignoring the sheen of sweat glistening on Felix’s forehead.
Seungmin smirks, “And if I win?” His eyebrow arches. You open your mouth to reply, but Seungmin beats you to it. “If I win, we get to have you,” he demands.
Have you? Seungmin sees the furrow on your brow, and he chuckles, “You let us take you, pup” he clarifies. Then it registers. Fuck.
Everything inside you clenches. The anticipation and adrenaline rush sprinting through your body like a track runner. An anvil settles in the pit of your stomach at the thought of you losing. That would mean submitting, giving up your fight. Fuck that, even if you lose something will scream at you to keep running.
You meet the same dark challenge in Seungmin’s eyes and smirk. Felix looks at you, his eyes ready to pop out of his skull. “I have a better idea!”
You and Seugmin both look to Felix, his sweat shining in the dim light. “We’ll play a series of games. Every game you win, we’ll tell you something.-” You look to Seungmin, whose face contorts in frustration. “-but once we win….-” Felix swallows. “-you take off your clothes.” His eyes dart down your body, a new hunger settling.
Your eyes shoot up. It's not the same as giving in. It's not as forceful. It's kinder. You smile at him. “Alright”
****
You all move to the kitchen.
The cups were set up, and Felix poured cranberry vodka instead of the stronger liquor that Seungmin had requested. You didn't mind playing with the stronger stuff, but Felix seemed worried it would affect you too much. So, you shrugged and went along with it.
"You're going down, pretty boy," you said, preparing your body and trying to calm the nerves buzzing inside you.
"Sure I am, pup," he smirked back.
"Go!" Felix shouted, and your body sprang into action. You chugged down the first cup, feeling the alcohol burn pleasantly as it slid down your throat, but you didn't have time to dwell on the taste. You slammed the cup down and began to flip it. First try—yes!
You quickly moved to the second cup, downing its contents. You stole a glance at Seungmin, who was pumping his fist in the air as he finished his second cup as well. Your hand moved expertly, but as you tried to flip the cup, it wouldn't budge. You attempted again and again, but it kept falling over, not landing.
You look up, seeing Seungmin moving on to his third and final cup. Shit, think think. You move your shirt to the side, dipping it low to flash him a nipple. He looks and starts to choke on the liquid, coughing into his arm. It gives you enough time to reclaim your speed, flipping it perfectly and going to the third cup. “She cheated!” Seungmin yells, forgetting his place.
You hear Felix let out a hearty belly laugh, but then panic washes over Seungmin's face as he realizes you're flipping your final cup. He quickly chugs the rest of his drink, desperately trying to regain his lead, but it’s too late. Your final cup lands perfectly, and you leap into the air in victory. “Yes!”
“Thats not fair! You cheated,” Seungmin claims.
“Didn’t cheat. Just used my resources.” You wink, and Felix lets out another laugh. Seungmin clenches his jaw, running a hand through his hair. You see the veins popping in his neck and his forearm. They make you drool. Seeing the contrast from his body to his face, his face is so soft, but he keeps it so stern. And his body is clearly fit; he just hides it away, leaving it a mystery you want to unfold.
“Stop eye fucking me, unless you want me to fuck you” he snaps you out of your thoughts and you snarl in disgust.
“I wasn-”
“You were,” Felix chuckles, looking back at you. You cross your arms and roll your eyes. “Okay, sweets. What do you want to know?”
“Ah ah. That wasn’t part of the deal.” Seungmin stops. Rounding the table and coming closer, he leans on the counter, reminding you of Mihho. Felix steals a chair from the table, sits down, and relaxes his body. “The deal was that we would tell you something, not that you would pick what that something was.”
You huff in annoyance, the slimy bastard. He chuckles at your little pout. “You're cute when you're frustrated.” Seungmin smirks, “Alright. What do you think we should tell her?” Seungmin turns to Felix, and he shrugs.
“How about where we are?” Felix suggests, and something blooms in your chest. Your eyes dart from man to man, and you see the struggle on Seungmin’s face.
He throws his hands up slightly, almost bored, and he steps away from you. Your hope turns to Felix, and he offers you the sweetest smile. “We’re far from the city. The closest thing to civilization is about 30 or so miles from where we are. The thing that I can tell you is that the closest highway is Biam-ri, but thats maybe 50 miles east.” Your face falls. You're more than 2 hours away from the city, if not more. Your home is in Seoul, Seoul is hours away, even by car. How did you end up here?
“Thats it.” Seungmin appears behind Felix, arms crossed and face as hard as a rock. “He told you more than enough, next game.”
***
Felix chose the next game. And of course, it was Mario, more specifically Mario Kart. You tried…..you really did—but video games are not your strong suit. “Ugh,” you stare at the shared screen, 4th place glowing on your screen while Felix’s showed 2nd…..at least he didn’t get first.
“HA” I beat you. Felix’s jump in victory.
“You couldn’t even beat Felix. Damn, maybe we should stick with this game” You and Felix whip your heads to see a chuckling Seungmin. Felix looks just as annoyed as you do.
Seungmin sighs and walks over to where you and Felix are seated in the living room. “Pay up, pup.”
Your shoulders tense. You thought maybe it would be a few more games before you lost, but apparently, fate had other plans. You stand up, sighing in defeat, and walk to the middle of the room. You look at the two men before you, and roll your eyes before quickly shimmying out of your clothes. The shirt goes first, then you hike down the pants in one final movement. You’ve never really been ashamed of your body, so the fact that you didn’t have underwear on and they were staring at you bare didn’t bother you…. However, you don’t think they were prepared for that.
Felix’s face goes beet red, and Seungmin’s eyes pop. Their eyes feast on every part of your skin like they are starved. Your breasts bounce freely, and the sudden cold breeze makes you shiver. You roll your shoulders, trying to seem unbothered, even as small waves rush through your body.
Felix lets out a low sigh, letting his eyes travel from your breasts all the way down. Seungmin, however, can’t stop looking at your chest. “Had your fill?” you raise your brow, seeming annoyed. Something boils in you, something mixing in with the anger you feel.
“Never sweets,” Felix lets out. His eyes growing dark. You roll your eyes once again and saunter back over to the couch. Not having a single fuck to give. Let them stare, let them drool. Like hell if you’ll actually let them touch you.
Your body slams back onto the couch, and your arms go to cross over your chest, making your breasts push up. “You gonna stare at me all day or are we gonna keep playing?”
That seems to snap Seungmin back into the present. “What is there to play pup? You lost. His voice turns a shade darker, and you can see his body inching closer to yours.
“I want more information.” You match his stare.
He smirks, “Okay, and what if you lose?” his head quirks to the side, like a curious animal examining their prey.
You don’t see him, but you can feel him. Felix scoots closer to you, letting his body heat embrace you without actually reaching out his hand to touch you. “Unless,” Felix whispers.
“We make another deal.” Seungmin finishes. “If you lose we get to fuck you sweetheart”
Your body tenses, and you curse your inner morals at the fact that you clench at his words. “But if I win, I get to pick the information I want to hear.” Your heart hammers in your chest.
“Deal,” Seungmin and Felix say at the same time.
You take a moment to breathe. “Okay, boys, what are we playing?”
****
The first option was Uno, but both men agreed that they didn’t want to waste too much time…plus they didn’t know if they could sit that long with your naked body on display.
Then they offered Twister, but for obvious reasons, you shut down the idea. A little frown formed on Felix’s lips, and Seungmin actually looked a little disappointed.
Then finally! You settled on a game to play. “It's easy,” Felix perks up, sitting directly in front of you on the carpet. He was kind enough to get you a blanket, but Seungmin demanded that you keep your clothes off. “All you have to do is count,” he says, his shoulders relaxing as he lays out and sorts out the deck. “You have to be the closest to 21 to win. If either one of us goes over, then that person loses,” he explains. He sets two cards in front of me, both facing up. A king of spades and a 9 of diamonds. “We’ll play three times.-” he sets his own cards. One facing down, another facing up. 3 of hearts. “Majority wins it all,” he meets my eyes. “Need to know how to play?” he asks.
You can feel Seungmin’s piercing gaze drilling into the back of your skull, but you refuse to let it break your focus. “Nope. I stand,” you assert defiantly, your heartbeat quickening.
Felix smirks, his confidence palpable. He flips his hidden card with a flourish, revealing a queen of diamonds. He hits, drawing another 3. 19 vs 16. Victory surges through you, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “It’s only the first one, pup,” Seungmin’s voice slithers against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.
Felix collects the cards, meticulously setting a new pair in front of you: the queen of spades and a 4 of diamonds, giving you 14. Panic begins to settle in; it’s too low. You steal a glance at his card—one hidden and a Jack. “Hit me,” you command, your voice steady despite the adrenaline rushing through you. Felix draws a 9 of diamonds and then flips his own down card. Jack plus a 9 of clubs. 19 vs 23. You lose, your stomach sinking.
“Neck and neck, sweets,” Felix taunts, a smirk playing on his lips while your blood drums loud in your veins, a fierce rhythm that drowns out everything else.
Your eyes remain fixated on the cards being laid in front of you. A 6 of diamonds and a 4 of hearts. 10. Felix deals for himself—9 of hearts. Fate’s cruel laughter echoes in your mind. “Hit me,” he grins, and suddenly the stakes feel impossibly high. He pulls a 2 of diamonds. Damn it. “Hit me again!” you plead, urgency snapping at your heels. The next card: a 2 of clubs. 14. Again, too low. “One more time,” you bark, adrenaline surging like wildfire through you.
“You sure about that, pup?” You can feel his wicked smile brush against your skin, a dangerous thrill.
“Hit me!” … The card flips: 8 of hearts. 22.
Felix’s expression shifts as he reveals his own cards: 9 of hearts and an 8 of spades. 22 vs 17. Another loss, a knot tightening in your chest as the tension hangs like a storm, swirling around you both.
“You lose sweets.” Felix gathers the cards, setting them to the side, but you can’t bother to care where. Your body twitches to run, to sprint, to fight. But you're too stunned to move. Your mind has frozen just like the rest of you. You lost. The one chance you had to get the information you needed, pulled from you…possibly for good.
You don’t even realize Seungmin moves until he's pressing his front to your back, wrapping his arms around the blanket you're holding tight around yourself. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, smelling your hair. “You have no idea how long we’ve waited for this,” he whispers, sending goosebumps down your skin. Felix watches, his eyes fixated on your body's reactions. “How desperate we’ve been for you.”
His hands travel, circling to your front. You don’t even throw a fight, and you don’t even know why. Your body thoughtlessly relaxes into his touch, your back leaning against him as his hands travel to cup one of your breasts. “You're just as I remember,” he whispers against your skin.
Your brow furrows. You open your mouth to ask him what he means, but Felix reacts faster, claiming your lips with his own. His kiss is as demanding as Chan’s, but his lips are as soft and delicate as Jeongin’s. His tongue begs for entrance, gliding along your lower lip. Your mind goes fuzzy when you gently welcome his tongue.
His hands grasp the sides of your face, focusing you on only him. Not letting a single thought stray away from him. Seungmin’s hands grow in confidence. His left hand sneaks under the barrier of the blanket and grasps a nipple, making you gasp. His thumb and forefinger twist your already hard nipple, sending a new wave of electricity straight to your cunt. While his right hand bravely slithers to cup your aching folds, his own lips attaching to your neck, sucking and kissing your pulse point.
You moan into Felix’s mouth, and he swallows it gratefully. “We are going to worship you,” Felix breaks away, breathing heavily. Seungmin seizes your chin, whipping your head to meet his lips, claiming your mouth. His kiss is anything but gentle or kind; his tongue surges between your lips, plunging down your throat, making anything and everything you ever thought about drift away into oblivion. One of his fingers start to play with your folds, rythmlessly circling around your clit. Your hips writhe under his touch, searching for more.
Suddenly, you feel Felix’s hands on your hips, stopping you from moving. He leans in, even if Seungmin still claims your lips. Felix’s teeth graze your ear, “You lost, sweetheart. Which means you're ours, you’ll take what we give you.”
You break away from Seungmin on a gasp, and finally, he enters one finger past your folds. Your body arches, turning back to Felix and wrapping your arms around his neck. He kisses you as your hips mindlessly roll against Seungmin’s finger. “You know, for someone who hates our guts, you sure do seem to like it when we use you,” Seungmin snickers.
You groan against Felix’s lips, that fire burning in your belly now mixing with anger. Seungmin plunges another finger past your folds, making you tense. “Don’t be a brat.”
You whimper. Felix starts to kiss your neck, then moves down your shoulder and onto your chest. He tries to kiss every inch of you, as Seungmin teases you with his fingers. Seungmin’s thumb start circling your clit, making your whines exceed into moans.
Felix attaches himself to a nipple, biting the hard nub with his teeth. He bites it so hard you think it might bruise, but it just makes your walls squeeze around Seungmin’s finger. You let out a small whimper when Felix detached himself from you, only to move onto the opposite nipple. “Aw, our little brat likes her pain mixed with her pleasure.” Seungmin’s fingers pick up their pace, caressing and thrusting into you, reaching places you didn’t even know existed.
Felix chuckles against your skin, an evil, sadistic chuckle. He lifts his head, leaning his forehead against yours. “Your gonna cum on Seung’s fingers, then your cum on my cock” your walls physically shake from his words and the promise they hold. You can feel your stomach twisting, the fire in your core venturing into your bloodstream, and chockwaves of pleasure igniting your nerves. Seungmin bites down on your neck, and you fall apart. Screaming around his fingers and legs shaking. “Good girl,” Felix whispers, setting a light kiss on your lips and holding your cheeks in his hands. “But we aren’t done.”
Seungmin removes his fingers from you and stands to his full height. Felix moves to his place, behind you, and holding your weight as your body feels like putty. He guides you to straddle his lap, your back facing him as he lies on the ground. Your core aches and spasms around nothing desperate to be filled. You feel Seungmin’s hand rake through your hair, lifting your gaze up. His pants are unbuttoned, and his length springs free in front of him. “Open”, he demands calmly.
Your eyes shoot daggers into him, your jaw clenches. Your mind might be drunk on pleasure, but you are this close to biting his dick off. “I wasn’t asking, pup. Either you open, or I’ll fuck you like the bitch you are.” You can’t help but gasp. And he takes your parted lips without question. Surging his cock down your throat. He hits the back of your throat, and you gag around his length. He pulls back with mercy in his eyes, but not in his soul. He pulls back to the crown and thrusts back in. Your tongue flattens on the bottom of his length, but you graze your top teeth along his shaft, making him hiss.
His eyes are shut, and his hips move on their own. His hand is still tangled in your hair, gripping it like it's his last line of defense. Something clings to you, watching him fall apart. Watching him lose control on your tongue. Your hands dig into the skin of his thighs, marking him with red lines, but you don’t push him away. Your tongue flattens, and your teeth only graze. “I knew you still loved this,” he moans more to himself than anything.
Your so lost in giving Seungmin pleasure that you hardly notice that Felix is nudging his pants lower and lower, gliding his dick along your wet folds. You hum when his tip flicks your clit. The vibrations running across Seungmins dick.
“Fuuuck,” Felix sighs when he pushes the crown past your folds, stretching you. You moan around Seungmin's length, making his jaw clench. “How can you be this tight?”
You can tell Seungmin is close, that the pleasure is getting to him, his hips have lost rhythm and his pace is bruising. But you welcome it, the loss of control, the visible submission your body feels. It's freeing in a way. No thoughts. No insecurities clouding your judgment. They use you as they please, and you have no time to second-guess a thing.
Felix begins to lift his hips slowly, relishing in the feeling of you clenching around him. While you look up at Seungmim, you squeeze his thigh, getting his attention to look down at you. And when he does you bore into his soul, twirling your tongue around his tip and hollowing your cheeks to suck. He lets out a gutteral moan and hiss as he watches you welmcome his dick with open arms. “Shit!” he shouts stilling in your mouth. You feel the slick warmth glide down your throat and fill your cheeks, a little escaping the corner of your lips. Seungmin pulls out so fast it makes you dizzy, but he’s there crouching down in front of you, gathering the spilled cum on his thumb, and pushing it back into your mouth. “Not a single fucking drop goes to waste” he whispers, inches from your lips.
You whimper when Felix pushes into you, going balls deep and hitting your cervix. Seungmin only chuckles and kisses you. He doesn’t change the way he kisses, even when he tastes himself on you, he still pushes his tongue so far down your throat he makes you see stars.
“I’m not gonna last,” Felix groans almost like he’s in pain. You moan around Seungmin’s tongue.
Felix's pace stays the same, leisurely and calm, but so deep you can feel him in your guts. Your hips rock against his, circling him. Seungmin smirk against your lips and suddenly you feel his fingers back on your clit. Pinching the drumming bud. You scream, your walls gripping Felix’s shaft like a vise, your legs shaking once again, and your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
Your orgasm rips through you with such power that you might faint. You’ve never experienced anything like this before. You’ve seen stars, you’ve felt spent, but this. Your whole body spasms, and your head feels a little fuzzy. Felix curses under his breath, and he thrusts into you at a mercurial pace, extending your already mind-blowing release. He uses your tight walls for a few more thrusts before he stills and empties himself in you.
You remember falling into Seungmin’s waiting arms before everything went black.
****
You wake up. Your legs are numb, and your body is still slightly shaking. You smell…water lilies? Or is that roses? It's some sort of sweet flower. You hum. Stretching for anything familiar, but it's all too soft. It's too soft for the bed they gave you, and it's too pillowy to be the couch.
Your eyes snap open, and your body surges up, looking around the room. It's so…cozy. Books and artwork adorn the walls. A balcony overlooks the beautiful forest, and a telescope is positioned outside. It's a smaller room, but everything in it makes it feel huge.
“Finally, I was beginning to worry that those two heathens killed you with pleasure…..” Your head whips to the source. Seeing Hyunjin leaning against the door frame. He’s not wearing a shirt, just a leather jacket and jeans. His chest is on perfect display.. He chuckles. “I’m the only one allowed to make you bleed, princess.”
contains: Teasing, trapped, slight force spaced, fingering, humping, over-clothes stimulation, nicknames, overstimulation, unprotected sex (don't), three some, male dom!!!, gagging, I'm sure I missed something, let me know in the comments.
WC: 5.4k
A/N: thank you for ya'll patience, I just needed the extra day to finish it. I'm hoping to have a post ready for this weekend, but...I'm not too sure. For now, I hope you guys like this!!!
@imagine-all-the-imagines
****
“We all care about you Y/N” he whispers.
You bite your lip, and he clings to you tighter. “Will you at least talk to them?” his voice is filled with promise. It wouldn’t hurt to at least hear them out.
Your eyes collide with his. You nod your head slowly and his smile widens. He kisses you with the smile still etched on his face.
Well….this is gonna be interesting.
***
You wake up surrounded by warmth, your eyelids fluttering open. The first thing you see is Jeongin’s parted lips and calm features. A warm smile tugs at your lips as you take in your surroundings. It’s quiet. Maybe everyone else is still sleeping. Then it hits you: Jeongin is asleep, and it seems like everyone else is too.
Slowly, you climb away from his grasp and slip out of bed. He stirs silently but doesn’t wake. Your heart hammers in your chest as adrenaline kicks in. You walk over to where you tossed your clothes to the side. A simple shirt and sweats. They’ll have to do.
With careful footsteps, you retreat backwards to the door, doing a little victory dance when you discover it creaks open—thank goodness, it’s unlocked. You might actually be able to get out of here, see where you are, and figure out what the hell is going on!
You seal the door shut quietly. You’re out… but were you ever trapped to begin with? You shake the thought away, turning on your heel and cautiously venturing down the hallway. You’re in the middle of a long corridor; a few steps to your right lead downstairs. There are several doors to your left and right, but you don’t bother checking them. You can’t risk anyone finding you, not when you’re this close.
You make your way to the stairs. With quick, silent footsteps, you descend the glass staircase and enter a grand living room. To the left is a modern kitchen, with a bar countertop that opens into the dining room. But you can’t stop to gawk; the elevator out of here is open! You sprint toward the elevator, your legs burning with protest, but you don’t care. You see the exit!
You slam your finger on the ground button, but the keypad turns red. No. You hit it again and again, but it glows red and doesn't budge. “Fuck,” you whisper.
“Sorry, pretty. It’s not that easy.” Your eyes snap to Minho, who is leaning against the couch a good dozen feet away from the elevator.
Frustration bubbles inside you. Of course, it can't be that easy. “I thought you said I was free to go?”
“You are,” he shrugs. “If that's what you really want.” His eyebrow shoots up. You open your mouth to demand that he take you home, to set you free. But the words die on your tongue. Everything in you knows you should run. You should escape. But why can't you just say it?
He chuckles, his shoulders shaking. “Alright then. How about something to eat?”
Your shoulders slump. Shit.
***
A few moments later. You're sitting at the bar counter, sipping a glass of water while Minho sips his tea. He pushes a small plate full of cheese and crackers to you, but you turn your head away. He snickers, taking a piece of cheese between his fingers and scarfing it down.
“I hate you.”
“Sure you do,” he counters, walking over to the sink to rinse his hands. It's a simple thing. A simple, ordinary gesture, but the veins etched into his knuckles make your insides clench. He turns, leaning his side on the counter and staring at you. He smirks when he realizes you’ve been looking at his hands the whole time.
You roll your eyes in frustration. “Me and some of the boys have some work to do in the city. Can we trust that you won’t cause any trouble here?”
Your arms cross over your chest. “No,” you grumble, already scanning the luxurious room for any weaknesses or anything you could use as a weapon.
Minho chuckles. "I thought so,” he sighs, “that's why Seungmin and Felix will be staying with you today.” He crosses his own arms over his chest, but it makes him look larger, filling out the already small space.
Your brow furrows, and your teeth grit, but you don’t answer. Just pout like a child.
“Be good” is all he says before sauntering out of the kitchen.
***
About an hour later, everyone comes sauntering in. Changbin and Hyunjin come in dressed like twins, wearing black jeans and black t-shirts, each adorned with a black leather jacket. They looked as though the outfits were tailored for the "bad-boy" aesthetic. The leather clung to Changbin’s body, accentuating his form, while it hung loosely on Hyunjin, who sported an evil smirk laced with mischief and a hungry glint in his eyes.
Jeongin appeared more relaxed, wearing a rock band shirt and baggy jeans that hung loosely around his hips. He gave you a small smile as he headed in the same direction where Hyunjin and Changbin had disappeared, towards the elevator that would’ve led to your escape.
Chan followed next. His gray t-shirt fit him like a second skin, while a giant jean jacket concealed his perfect physique. He looked at you with a sad smile, pain evident in his eyes, before joining the others.
Minho was the last to arrive, and his outfit made your breath hitch. He looked dressed to the nines in fitted formal pants and a plain white button-up with the top two buttons undone. He didn't bother to put on a jacket. He looked like a work of art, and he knew it. With a smug smile tugging at his lips, he winked at you and called out, "Be good," before stepping into the elevator as the metal doors closed behind him.
You're trapped. Again.
“Well, well, it looks like it's just you and me, pup,” you whip your head, hearing his faint chuckle.
“Don’t forget about me,” Felix whines, popping up next to him.
A weird feeling sprints down your spine at the thought of being completely alone with them. Oh, come on. We need to get mad at them. Get it together!
You cross your arms over your chest and huff. Your eyes lock with Seungmin's. His eyes are similar to Chan's, yet distinct in their own way. They are dark and bright like Jeongin's, but they also have a glint of mischief reminiscent of Hyunjin. You find yourself easily getting lost in them; he has the same captivating effect as Chan. Felix’s eyes dart from you to Seungmin, clearly shifting from your stares. “Soooo, what do you wanna do, sweets?”
*****
You don’t even know how much time has passed. You ended up watching a movie, a chick flick that Seungmin had turned on, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell him you hated it. Seungmin is on the other side of the couch, a good 5 feet away from you. Felix is in the kitchen…baking cookies.
You’re curled up in a little ball, mindlessly watching the movie play out in front of you. You steal a glance over to Seungmin. His arms are crossed, and there's a dent between his brows. He’s either thinking, frustrated, or constipated. You're hoping it's the goddamn ladder.
“Stop fucking staring,” he grumbles. Which makes you roll your eyes.
“Or what, you gonna kidnap me?” you snark.
His tongue pokes at the side of his cheek. Clearly, he’s irritated. “We didn’t kidnap you,” he whispers to himself. You almost didn’t hear it.
“I have cookies!!!” Felix chimes, sing-song-ing his way back to the kitchen…with a tray full of chocolate chip cookies. “Here!” he sets them on the coffee table in front of you, a grin reaching his eyes.
He makes you smile. His eyes are not like any of the others. They're bright. Brighter than Jeongin’s, even though he’s young and innocent, there is a hardness to them. Felix’s are full of joy and playfulness that makes your heart squeeze every time you look into them.
“Thank you,” you sigh, taking a cookie in your hand. You stop yourself before taking a bite, noting that they are both watching you….and no one else has taken a cookie.
Seungmin grunts, and Felix looks down. A little sad. Seungmin reaches over and takes a cookie into his hand. Taking a huge bite. With that, you take a bite as well. Fuck there, good.
You moan as you take another bite, the sweet chocolate melting on your tongue. Felix snaps his head to you, his eyes bulging. Seungmin snickers. “Keep making those noises, pup, and you won’t like what happens next.”
Your body goes rigid. The half-eaten cookie still in hand. You swallow thickly, letting the sweetness linger on your tongue. You slow your bites, looking anywhere but at them.
Seungmin snickered again, seeing the blush spread.
Another 20 minutes passed, Felix joined the two of you on the couch, but sat next to Seungmin, giving you space. You were grateful, seeing the kindness in his eyes, but as the movie dragged, so did your patience.
“I’m so bored,” you groan, stretching your legs out in front of you.
Seungmin looks bored, too. His arms are crossed, and his eyes scream annoyance, but Felix seems fine. He keeps his hands on his lap, silently watching the movie play. “What do you want to do, sweets?” he asks, sounding innocent and nice.
“Yeah, what do you want to do?” Seungmin rolls his eyes.
You glance between them and then at the door. “How about a bet?” you suggest. This could be your chance. Seungmin sees the challenge in your eyes—got him.
“I’ll never back down from a bet,” he replies with a drawl. Felix’s face fell in panic. Clearly, he sees what's about to happen, and he doesn’t like it.
“Pick a game. If I win, you tell me everything I want to know, no hidden words, no secrets, everything,” you say, looking straight at Seungmin while ignoring the sheen of sweat glistening on Felix’s forehead.
Seungmin smirks, “And if I win?” His eyebrow arches. You open your mouth to reply, but Seungmin beats you to it. “If I win, we get to have you,” he demands.
Have you? Seungmin sees the furrow on your brow, and he chuckles, “You let us take you, pup” he clarifies. Then it registers. Fuck.
Everything inside you clenches. The anticipation and adrenaline rush sprinting through your body like a track runner. An anvil settles in the pit of your stomach at the thought of you losing. That would mean submitting, giving up your fight. Fuck that, even if you lose something will scream at you to keep running.
You meet the same dark challenge in Seungmin’s eyes and smirk. Felix looks at you, his eyes ready to pop out of his skull. “I have a better idea!”
You and Seugmin both look to Felix, his sweat shining in the dim light. “We’ll play a series of games. Every game you win, we’ll tell you something.-” You look to Seungmin, whose face contorts in frustration. “-but once we win….-” Felix swallows. “-you take off your clothes.” His eyes dart down your body, a new hunger settling.
Your eyes shoot up. It's not the same as giving in. It's not as forceful. It's kinder. You smile at him. “Alright”
****
You all move to the kitchen.
The cups were set up, and Felix poured cranberry vodka instead of the stronger liquor that Seungmin had requested. You didn't mind playing with the stronger stuff, but Felix seemed worried it would affect you too much. So, you shrugged and went along with it.
"You're going down, pretty boy," you said, preparing your body and trying to calm the nerves buzzing inside you.
"Sure I am, pup," he smirked back.
"Go!" Felix shouted, and your body sprang into action. You chugged down the first cup, feeling the alcohol burn pleasantly as it slid down your throat, but you didn't have time to dwell on the taste. You slammed the cup down and began to flip it. First try—yes!
You quickly moved to the second cup, downing its contents. You stole a glance at Seungmin, who was pumping his fist in the air as he finished his second cup as well. Your hand moved expertly, but as you tried to flip the cup, it wouldn't budge. You attempted again and again, but it kept falling over, not landing.
You look up, seeing Seungmin moving on to his third and final cup. Shit, think think. You move your shirt to the side, dipping it low to flash him a nipple. He looks and starts to choke on the liquid, coughing into his arm. It gives you enough time to reclaim your speed, flipping it perfectly and going to the third cup. “She cheated!” Seungmin yells, forgetting his place.
You hear Felix let out a hearty belly laugh, but then panic washes over Seungmin's face as he realizes you're flipping your final cup. He quickly chugs the rest of his drink, desperately trying to regain his lead, but it’s too late. Your final cup lands perfectly, and you leap into the air in victory. “Yes!”
“Thats not fair! You cheated,” Seungmin claims.
“Didn’t cheat. Just used my resources.” You wink, and Felix lets out another laugh. Seungmin clenches his jaw, running a hand through his hair. You see the veins popping in his neck and his forearm. They make you drool. Seeing the contrast from his body to his face, his face is so soft, but he keeps it so stern. And his body is clearly fit; he just hides it away, leaving it a mystery you want to unfold.
“Stop eye fucking me, unless you want me to fuck you” he snaps you out of your thoughts and you snarl in disgust.
“I wasn-”
“You were,” Felix chuckles, looking back at you. You cross your arms and roll your eyes. “Okay, sweets. What do you want to know?”
“Ah ah. That wasn’t part of the deal.” Seungmin stops. Rounding the table and coming closer, he leans on the counter, reminding you of Mihho. Felix steals a chair from the table, sits down, and relaxes his body. “The deal was that we would tell you something, not that you would pick what that something was.”
You huff in annoyance, the slimy bastard. He chuckles at your little pout. “You're cute when you're frustrated.” Seungmin smirks, “Alright. What do you think we should tell her?” Seungmin turns to Felix, and he shrugs.
“How about where we are?” Felix suggests, and something blooms in your chest. Your eyes dart from man to man, and you see the struggle on Seungmin’s face.
He throws his hands up slightly, almost bored, and he steps away from you. Your hope turns to Felix, and he offers you the sweetest smile. “We’re far from the city. The closest thing to civilization is about 30 or so miles from where we are. The thing that I can tell you is that the closest highway is Biam-ri, but thats maybe 50 miles east.” Your face falls. You're more than 2 hours away from the city, if not more. Your home is in Seoul, Seoul is hours away, even by car. How did you end up here?
“Thats it.” Seungmin appears behind Felix, arms crossed and face as hard as a rock. “He told you more than enough, next game.”
***
Felix chose the next game. And of course, it was Mario, more specifically Mario Kart. You tried…..you really did—but video games are not your strong suit. “Ugh,” you stare at the shared screen, 4th place glowing on your screen while Felix’s showed 2nd…..at least he didn’t get first.
“HA” I beat you. Felix’s jump in victory.
“You couldn’t even beat Felix. Damn, maybe we should stick with this game” You and Felix whip your heads to see a chuckling Seungmin. Felix looks just as annoyed as you do.
Seungmin sighs and walks over to where you and Felix are seated in the living room. “Pay up, pup.”
Your shoulders tense. You thought maybe it would be a few more games before you lost, but apparently, fate had other plans. You stand up, sighing in defeat, and walk to the middle of the room. You look at the two men before you, and roll your eyes before quickly shimmying out of your clothes. The shirt goes first, then you hike down the pants in one final movement. You’ve never really been ashamed of your body, so the fact that you didn’t have underwear on and they were staring at you bare didn’t bother you…. However, you don’t think they were prepared for that.
Felix’s face goes beet red, and Seungmin’s eyes pop. Their eyes feast on every part of your skin like they are starved. Your breasts bounce freely, and the sudden cold breeze makes you shiver. You roll your shoulders, trying to seem unbothered, even as small waves rush through your body.
Felix lets out a low sigh, letting his eyes travel from your breasts all the way down. Seungmin, however, can’t stop looking at your chest. “Had your fill?” you raise your brow, seeming annoyed. Something boils in you, something mixing in with the anger you feel.
“Never sweets,” Felix lets out. His eyes growing dark. You roll your eyes once again and saunter back over to the couch. Not having a single fuck to give. Let them stare, let them drool. Like hell if you’ll actually let them touch you.
Your body slams back onto the couch, and your arms go to cross over your chest, making your breasts push up. “You gonna stare at me all day or are we gonna keep playing?”
That seems to snap Seungmin back into the present. “What is there to play pup? You lost. His voice turns a shade darker, and you can see his body inching closer to yours.
“I want more information.” You match his stare.
He smirks, “Okay, and what if you lose?” his head quirks to the side, like a curious animal examining their prey.
You don’t see him, but you can feel him. Felix scoots closer to you, letting his body heat embrace you without actually reaching out his hand to touch you. “Unless,” Felix whispers.
“We make another deal.” Seungmin finishes. “If you lose we get to fuck you sweetheart”
Your body tenses, and you curse your inner morals at the fact that you clench at his words. “But if I win, I get to pick the information I want to hear.” Your heart hammers in your chest.
“Deal,” Seungmin and Felix say at the same time.
You take a moment to breathe. “Okay, boys, what are we playing?”
****
The first option was Uno, but both men agreed that they didn’t want to waste too much time…plus they didn’t know if they could sit that long with your naked body on display.
Then they offered Twister, but for obvious reasons, you shut down the idea. A little frown formed on Felix’s lips, and Seungmin actually looked a little disappointed.
Then finally! You settled on a game to play. “It's easy,” Felix perks up, sitting directly in front of you on the carpet. He was kind enough to get you a blanket, but Seungmin demanded that you keep your clothes off. “All you have to do is count,” he says, his shoulders relaxing as he lays out and sorts out the deck. “You have to be the closest to 21 to win. If either one of us goes over, then that person loses,” he explains. He sets two cards in front of me, both facing up. A king of spades and a 9 of diamonds. “We’ll play three times.-” he sets his own cards. One facing down, another facing up. 3 of hearts. “Majority wins it all,” he meets my eyes. “Need to know how to play?” he asks.
You can feel Seungmin’s piercing gaze drilling into the back of your skull, but you refuse to let it break your focus. “Nope. I stand,” you assert defiantly, your heartbeat quickening.
Felix smirks, his confidence palpable. He flips his hidden card with a flourish, revealing a queen of diamonds. He hits, drawing another 3. 19 vs 16. Victory surges through you, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “It’s only the first one, pup,” Seungmin’s voice slithers against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.
Felix collects the cards, meticulously setting a new pair in front of you: the queen of spades and a 4 of diamonds, giving you 14. Panic begins to settle in; it’s too low. You steal a glance at his card—one hidden and a Jack. “Hit me,” you command, your voice steady despite the adrenaline rushing through you. Felix draws a 9 of diamonds and then flips his own down card. Jack plus a 9 of clubs. 19 vs 23. You lose, your stomach sinking.
“Neck and neck, sweets,” Felix taunts, a smirk playing on his lips while your blood drums loud in your veins, a fierce rhythm that drowns out everything else.
Your eyes remain fixated on the cards being laid in front of you. A 6 of diamonds and a 4 of hearts. 10. Felix deals for himself—9 of hearts. Fate’s cruel laughter echoes in your mind. “Hit me,” he grins, and suddenly the stakes feel impossibly high. He pulls a 2 of diamonds. Damn it. “Hit me again!” you plead, urgency snapping at your heels. The next card: a 2 of clubs. 14. Again, too low. “One more time,” you bark, adrenaline surging like wildfire through you.
“You sure about that, pup?” You can feel his wicked smile brush against your skin, a dangerous thrill.
“Hit me!” … The card flips: 8 of hearts. 22.
Felix’s expression shifts as he reveals his own cards: 9 of hearts and an 8 of spades. 22 vs 17. Another loss, a knot tightening in your chest as the tension hangs like a storm, swirling around you both.
“You lose sweets.” Felix gathers the cards, setting them to the side, but you can’t bother to care where. Your body twitches to run, to sprint, to fight. But you're too stunned to move. Your mind has frozen just like the rest of you. You lost. The one chance you had to get the information you needed, pulled from you…possibly for good.
You don’t even realize Seungmin moves until he's pressing his front to your back, wrapping his arms around the blanket you're holding tight around yourself. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, smelling your hair. “You have no idea how long we’ve waited for this,” he whispers, sending goosebumps down your skin. Felix watches, his eyes fixated on your body's reactions. “How desperate we’ve been for you.”
His hands travel, circling to your front. You don’t even throw a fight, and you don’t even know why. Your body thoughtlessly relaxes into his touch, your back leaning against him as his hands travel to cup one of your breasts. “You're just as I remember,” he whispers against your skin.
Your brow furrows. You open your mouth to ask him what he means, but Felix reacts faster, claiming your lips with his own. His kiss is as demanding as Chan’s, but his lips are as soft and delicate as Jeongin’s. His tongue begs for entrance, gliding along your lower lip. Your mind goes fuzzy when you gently welcome his tongue.
His hands grasp the sides of your face, focusing you on only him. Not letting a single thought stray away from him. Seungmin’s hands grow in confidence. His left hand sneaks under the barrier of the blanket and grasps a nipple, making you gasp. His thumb and forefinger twist your already hard nipple, sending a new wave of electricity straight to your cunt. While his right hand bravely slithers to cup your aching folds, his own lips attaching to your neck, sucking and kissing your pulse point.
You moan into Felix’s mouth, and he swallows it gratefully. “We are going to worship you,” Felix breaks away, breathing heavily. Seungmin seizes your chin, whipping your head to meet his lips, claiming your mouth. His kiss is anything but gentle or kind; his tongue surges between your lips, plunging down your throat, making anything and everything you ever thought about drift away into oblivion. One of his fingers start to play with your folds, rythmlessly circling around your clit. Your hips writhe under his touch, searching for more.
Suddenly, you feel Felix’s hands on your hips, stopping you from moving. He leans in, even if Seungmin still claims your lips. Felix’s teeth graze your ear, “You lost, sweetheart. Which means you're ours, you’ll take what we give you.”
You break away from Seungmin on a gasp, and finally, he enters one finger past your folds. Your body arches, turning back to Felix and wrapping your arms around his neck. He kisses you as your hips mindlessly roll against Seungmin’s finger. “You know, for someone who hates our guts, you sure do seem to like it when we use you,” Seungmin snickers.
You groan against Felix’s lips, that fire burning in your belly now mixing with anger. Seungmin plunges another finger past your folds, making you tense. “Don’t be a brat.”
You whimper. Felix starts to kiss your neck, then moves down your shoulder and onto your chest. He tries to kiss every inch of you, as Seungmin teases you with his fingers. Seungmin’s thumb start circling your clit, making your whines exceed into moans.
Felix attaches himself to a nipple, biting the hard nub with his teeth. He bites it so hard you think it might bruise, but it just makes your walls squeeze around Seungmin’s finger. You let out a small whimper when Felix detached himself from you, only to move onto the opposite nipple. “Aw, our little brat likes her pain mixed with her pleasure.” Seungmin’s fingers pick up their pace, caressing and thrusting into you, reaching places you didn’t even know existed.
Felix chuckles against your skin, an evil, sadistic chuckle. He lifts his head, leaning his forehead against yours. “Your gonna cum on Seung’s fingers, then your cum on my cock” your walls physically shake from his words and the promise they hold. You can feel your stomach twisting, the fire in your core venturing into your bloodstream, and chockwaves of pleasure igniting your nerves. Seungmin bites down on your neck, and you fall apart. Screaming around his fingers and legs shaking. “Good girl,” Felix whispers, setting a light kiss on your lips and holding your cheeks in his hands. “But we aren’t done.”
Seungmin removes his fingers from you and stands to his full height. Felix moves to his place, behind you, and holding your weight as your body feels like putty. He guides you to straddle his lap, your back facing him as he lies on the ground. Your core aches and spasms around nothing desperate to be filled. You feel Seungmin’s hand rake through your hair, lifting your gaze up. His pants are unbuttoned, and his length springs free in front of him. “Open”, he demands calmly.
Your eyes shoot daggers into him, your jaw clenches. Your mind might be drunk on pleasure, but you are this close to biting his dick off. “I wasn’t asking, pup. Either you open, or I’ll fuck you like the bitch you are.” You can’t help but gasp. And he takes your parted lips without question. Surging his cock down your throat. He hits the back of your throat, and you gag around his length. He pulls back with mercy in his eyes, but not in his soul. He pulls back to the crown and thrusts back in. Your tongue flattens on the bottom of his length, but you graze your top teeth along his shaft, making him hiss.
His eyes are shut, and his hips move on their own. His hand is still tangled in your hair, gripping it like it's his last line of defense. Something clings to you, watching him fall apart. Watching him lose control on your tongue. Your hands dig into the skin of his thighs, marking him with red lines, but you don’t push him away. Your tongue flattens, and your teeth only graze. “I knew you still loved this,” he moans more to himself than anything.
Your so lost in giving Seungmin pleasure that you hardly notice that Felix is nudging his pants lower and lower, gliding his dick along your wet folds. You hum when his tip flicks your clit. The vibrations running across Seungmins dick.
“Fuuuck,” Felix sighs when he pushes the crown past your folds, stretching you. You moan around Seungmin's length, making his jaw clench. “How can you be this tight?”
You can tell Seungmin is close, that the pleasure is getting to him, his hips have lost rhythm and his pace is bruising. But you welcome it, the loss of control, the visible submission your body feels. It's freeing in a way. No thoughts. No insecurities clouding your judgment. They use you as they please, and you have no time to second-guess a thing.
Felix begins to lift his hips slowly, relishing in the feeling of you clenching around him. While you look up at Seungmim, you squeeze his thigh, getting his attention to look down at you. And when he does you bore into his soul, twirling your tongue around his tip and hollowing your cheeks to suck. He lets out a gutteral moan and hiss as he watches you welmcome his dick with open arms. “Shit!” he shouts stilling in your mouth. You feel the slick warmth glide down your throat and fill your cheeks, a little escaping the corner of your lips. Seungmin pulls out so fast it makes you dizzy, but he’s there crouching down in front of you, gathering the spilled cum on his thumb, and pushing it back into your mouth. “Not a single fucking drop goes to waste” he whispers, inches from your lips.
You whimper when Felix pushes into you, going balls deep and hitting your cervix. Seungmin only chuckles and kisses you. He doesn’t change the way he kisses, even when he tastes himself on you, he still pushes his tongue so far down your throat he makes you see stars.
“I’m not gonna last,” Felix groans almost like he’s in pain. You moan around Seungmin’s tongue.
Felix's pace stays the same, leisurely and calm, but so deep you can feel him in your guts. Your hips rock against his, circling him. Seungmin smirk against your lips and suddenly you feel his fingers back on your clit. Pinching the drumming bud. You scream, your walls gripping Felix’s shaft like a vise, your legs shaking once again, and your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
Your orgasm rips through you with such power that you might faint. You’ve never experienced anything like this before. You’ve seen stars, you’ve felt spent, but this. Your whole body spasms, and your head feels a little fuzzy. Felix curses under his breath, and he thrusts into you at a mercurial pace, extending your already mind-blowing release. He uses your tight walls for a few more thrusts before he stills and empties himself in you.
You remember falling into Seungmin’s waiting arms before everything went black.
****
You wake up. Your legs are numb, and your body is still slightly shaking. You smell…water lilies? Or is that roses? It's some sort of sweet flower. You hum. Stretching for anything familiar, but it's all too soft. It's too soft for the bed they gave you, and it's too pillowy to be the couch.
Your eyes snap open, and your body surges up, looking around the room. It's so…cozy. Books and artwork adorn the walls. A balcony overlooks the beautiful forest, and a telescope is positioned outside. It's a smaller room, but everything in it makes it feel huge.
“Finally, I was beginning to worry that those two heathens killed you with pleasure…..” Your head whips to the source. Seeing Hyunjin leaning against the door frame. He’s not wearing a shirt, just a leather jacket and jeans. His chest is on perfect display.. He chuckles. “I’m the only one allowed to make you bleed, princess.”
skz maknae line (individual) x f!reader
word count: 1.6k
genre: smut, established relationship, scenarios
warnings: cockwarming ⋆ fingering (f) ⋆ vanilla smut ⋆ blowjob ⋆ cheirophilia ⋆ somnophilia ⋆
a/n: you can tell i got a little carried away on some of them :) and my favourite is definitely han's one ♡
~ ~ ~
jeongin - when you're writing or typing
[cheirophilia]
he's sitting beside you in the library as you're scribbling down some notes. you're chatting together as you work and you notice his gaze won't leave your hands.
just to test him, you pause your writing and move your hands closer to play with your pencil; it’s just as you thought– he’s mesmerized.
jeongin stares at your delicate fingers, loosely holding onto your pencil as you fiddle with it in your grip. his eyes follow every movement.
he knows he shouldn’t be imagining you like this but- the thought of your pretty fingers around his cock and your perfect nails tracing around his tip won’t leave his mind. it’s making him dizzy.
he hasn’t even noticed the bulge that's formed in his pants until you, just to tease him, reach under the table and lightly poke it with your pencil. he jumps in surprise despite his eyes having followed your hand all the way down to his crotch.
“darling, you're doing this to me on purpose~” he whines.
“you mean holding my pencil– like a normal person would?”
he sighs, “you know- i wasn’t like this before… you’ve made me a pervert.” a smirk ghosts over his lips, “and you’ll have to take full responsibility– once we get home, of course.”
seungmin - when you're concentrating
whether you're studying, sketching or reading (basically anytime you have to concentrate) seungmin desperately has an urge to break your focus and just annoy you instead. but this urge comes with another urge of wanting to fuck you dumb due to how hot he finds the expression you make. your serious, focused face makes him hard like nothing else. he’d let you edge him for hours if you stared him down with that expression- but not even torture could get him to admit this.
so when you’re sitting at your desk editing your assignment, seungmin seizes the opportunity. he lifts you off your chair in a princess lift and plops down onto it with you on his lap.
“seungmin~ i’m busy!”, you say with fake annoyance
“i know; so you can carry on working– i’ll just sit here and keep you comfy.” he says with innocence and his big boba eyes.
you agree, persuaded by his cuteness, but you’re soon distracted by the warm bulge that’s prodding beneath your thighs. you side-eye him but you’re only met by seungmin’s blissed-out face looking like he’s seen a goddess– and he has, really. your narrowed eyes, hair falling around your face and occasional lip biting has him melting on the spot. there was no way he wouldn't get hard and seungmin was completely aware of this from the moment he vowed to ‘keep you comfy’.
he looks at you with his puppy eyes and you fold immediately. “fine, but you have to wait until i’m done.”
seungmin’s way too happy as he slides his dick into you, stifling a moan. you stay like that for a while until you’re both just as needy and that assignment is the last thing on your mind.
felix - when you’re sleeping
[somnophilia]
you know you shouldn’t have said yes to felix coming over this late at night. you’re fighting sleep and the thought of seeing felix is the only thing keeping you conscious. sleeping around felix only ever leads to one thing. you know this from experience; like the many times you’ve woken up to him eating you out, grinding into your butt in the middle of the night or groping you just before he has to get up. anyway, felix and you sleeping is a dangerous combination.
“babe, i’m here! and i brought snacks!!” felix’s cheerful voice rings out as he walks through the door.
“mmh, i missed you so much~” you say through a yawn. felix comes up and kisses your head as he hugs you from behind where you’re sitting on the couch. he’s acting like he didn’t just see you yesterday and his energy is as high as usual.
you snuggle up together on the couch and you listen to him talk about silly little things until you’re nodding off. the warmth, felix’s voice and your need for sleep are all affecting you and soon you’re unconscious jelly in his arms.
felix notices your deep breathing and lack of response and sucks in his breath when he sees how your cheek is squished against his chest, a drop of drool threatening to fall from the corner of your mouth and the way your eyes twitch in your sleep. his hands clench into fists and he tips his head towards the ceiling like he’s fighting the urge to touch you- because that’s exactly what he’s doing.
felix gets cuteness aggression from seeing you like this; but it’s more than that, it’s like your cuteness as well as your vulnerability put together makes him insanely hard. to avoid hugging and squeezing you like a teddy bear, felix opts to instead avoid touching you completely. that is…until an hour’s past and he can barely stand it.
“mm, ‘lix… so, pretty~” you murmur in your sleep
that’s when he breaks. his poor cock is so hard and leaky from having to bear you rolling all over him for the past hour and all he wants is to touch you- to use you like a sex doll or watch you wake up cumming on his fingers. he's a little disappointed in himself for not being able to be the gentleman he was attempting to be, but he knew you’d forgive him. he slides his fingers into your panties and begins to lightly trace your clit and folds. watching you squirm as he presses into your clit is only making him harder. he starts fucking a finger into you– rougher than he meant to and you wake up, all confused.
he looks insanely guilty with his eyes comically wide and he’s all shy and apologetic,“‘m sorry– i didn’t mean to wake you…but, i-i waited a whole hour and– nevermind. i’m sorry.”
“awh, lix, it’s okay~ anyway, do you want some help down there?” you say with a giggle.
han - when you’re eating an ice block
it’s mid-summer and you’re sitting in your room on the floor watching a drama with han. your head is leaning on his shoulder and your body is molded into his side, despite the hot weather. han clearly doesn’t want to move away from you either.
“babe, what do you think about ice blocks?” you ask, speaking half into his neck.
“mhm~ that shouldn’t even need to be a question– but why didn’t you mention it before?? we’re melting!!”
“well maybe because i like melting if it’s with you ♡” you giggle as you leave to the kitchen.
you come back with two strawberry ice blocks and give one to han before getting comfy again. han watches your lips attach to the tip of the ice block before you suck the juice out. he gulps unintentionally and absently starts licking his too, still staring at you. his jaw almost drops down as you stretch your tongue out and lick along the length of it. but you’ve been so focused on the drama, you haven’t noticed han’s staring.
you’re licking the top now and han just isn’t able to bring his eyes away. you sink your teeth in and you both wince - you at the cold on your gums and han at whatever he was imagining. after giving han a questionable look you go back to the drama, this time a little less focused. so of course you notice han’s not paying any attention to the drama playing.
“han, what’s wrong– do you want some of mine? you know they’re the same flavour, right?”
“mm no… ‘s nothing.” he shuffles so you won’t see the bulge of his half-hard cock. but that’s when you do notice what’s up with him. “did you get jealous of my ice block– is that it? did you want it to be your pretty cock in my mouth instead~?” you tease, tracing your fingers over his shorts.
“fuuuck yes, i do” he practically moans at the thought.
you pull out his dick with one hand, your ice block still in the other. instead of sucking him off like han was anticipating, you get your ice block and touch it on the tip of his dick. he jumps at the sudden coldness and looks at you with wide, shocked eyes.
smiling, you place it back on his dick and let it glide around his shaft causing him to shiver. there’s a mixture of precum and juice on his dick now and you go to lick it off.
“han~ mm, so sweet– tastes so good”
han lets out a whimper from the warmth of your mouth on his sensitive dick but he’s actually enjoying this way more than he should be.
“fuck, ‘s warm– ‘m gonna cum- can i cum in your mouth?” it’s more like begging than an actual question but still, you have a different idea. “nope.”
he whines as you let go and continue stroking him with your hand. you hover your ice block over his dick as he cums. you gather every drop of his cum onto your ice block before licking and sucking it all off as you finish it. han’s frozen with mouth fallen open, stunned. “already hard for me again, aren't you, hannie~♡”, you tease.
Just You and Me is so good! Can I get added to your taglist please? ❤️❤️
I don’t typically have a tag list in place 😅, but I’ll add you to the next part when I write it!!! Thank you so much comments, likes, and everything makes my heart happy 🥰🥰🥰
contains: Teasing, trapped ( reader has been kidnapped), kidnapped!, slight force spaced, humping, over-clothes stimulation, nicknames, overstimulation, unprotected sex (don't), I'm sure I missed something, let me know in the comments.
WC: 3.5k
props to: @multi-fandommaniac
part 1 part 3
A hollow click slices through the silence, echoing off the walls and setting your nerves on edge. Unlike the familiar sound of the speakers crackling to life, this noise is far more substantial, a heavy, industrial thud that reverberates in your chest. Suddenly, the door at the front of the room disengages with a groan, its old metal latch giving way as it inches open, revealing shadows beyond.
A chill sweeps through the space as anticipation thickens the air. You turn to Chan, your hearts racing in unison. Chan catches your eye, his smile glowing with warmth that cuts through the tension like sunlight piercing through clouds. “Together?”
***
A smile creeps along your face as you take his outstretched hand. “Together,” you say. You both get dressed in the clothes you had thrown around the room, your fingers still intertwined. Slowly, you step into the darkness.
“Wait, there’s something I need to tell you,” Chan suddenly halts your movements before you can go any further.
“Now?” you ask.
“Yes, now—”
The lights suddenly turn on. A sea of white light floods the dark, assaulting your eyes. You stumble backward, running into Chan’s hard chest. The rest of Stray Kids stand in front of you. What. The. fu—.
****
“You know I’m not an animal in a cage; you can’t just stare at me, waiting for me to move.” It's been a few minutes. They gave you a small cup of tea to sip on and a blanket.
“We’re sorry.” Minho’s head hangs low.
Your heart thunders in your chest. How the hell is this happening? “We’ll do anything you ask. If you want, we’ll even take you home.” Chan’s calming voice soothes your worries for two minutes.
Your eyes dart between all the men standing around you. Their shoulders slump, and their heads hang. A part of you wants to go home, to end what you thought was the most traumatic nightmare of your life….but the other part loves that you had the chance you did with Chan. You just have a lot of questions right now. For starters, how did this happen?
“What do you want, pup?” Seungmin itches to reach you. “Do you want to go home?”
This entire experience has been more than terrifying; it's been exciting, thrilling, and daring even. The gears turn in your head, but some of the gears are broken.
“She doesn’t want to go home.” Hyunjin's voice is slick with temptation.
“I don’t know what I want,” You whisper.
“You don’t have to decide now,” Felix’s voice calls from the back of the group, like a beacon in a storm.
“I think….” you hesitate. “I just have questions. A lot of questions.” You take a very long sip of the tea Felix made. The soothing mint calms your buzzing nerves, but there's a shiver of something tracing down your spine.
“Ask, and we’ll answer.” Jisung comes forward. A small smile etched on his features that immediately smoothes some of the shivers you felt.
“How….” it's hard to form the question burning at the forefront of your mind. “How do you know…me?”
Seungmin and Hyunjin Chuckle, their eyes immediately going to Changbin in the corner. A blush adorns his cheeks, which even he can’t deny. “I saw you…at one of our concerts. I thought you were…..really pretty,” he says shyly.
You can’t help but smile. Nervously, you tug the blanket closer. “After Binnie pointed you out, we all tried to get a good look at you, and…well, let’s just say we all agreed.” Hyunjin continues, and everyone nods their heads in agreement.
“But you didn’t mention you knew me.” You turn your attention to Chan.
He darts his eyes to the ground and scratches the back of your head. “About that-”
“We faked it” Seungmin steps up. He wipes some speck off his shoulder as his whole demeanor seems bored; even his voice is laced with something you can’t place, as he’d rather be folding clothes than be here. “We staged you ‘getting kidnapped’ and the whole thing.” he looks up at you, putting the words ‘getting kidnapped’ into quotations.
It's like your heart drops to the ground. You can physically feel your blood draining from your face, and you don’t know how, but you tumble in the seat, your hand catching you before you fall to the ground. You can’t look any of them in the eyes, so you don’t see the way Chan’s jaw ticks or how Jisung’s eyes start to water. You hear some curse words Minho says in Seungmin’s direction, but no one stands up to correct him.
You close your eyes, breathing deep, slow breaths. You hear the faint steps Chan makes to you but you whip your head up to him, glaring at him. “So. let me get this straight. You saw me at a concert-” you look to Changbin “-decide to stage a fake kidnapping-” then to Seungmin “-get me to sleep with Chan while you all were watching, I assume-” everyone looks guilty as you speak, even Seungmin shifts uncomfortably. “-now…now what? You gonna make me sleep with all of you?!”
“No” Minho is the one who steps up now. Grasping Chan’s shoulder to keep him from touching you. The last thing you want is to be touched. “We want….we want what you want.”
What do you want? Your mind is spinning, and if you didn’t know better, you thought you were going to be sick. “I just want….” everyone leans in. Jeongin steps forward this time. A crease so deep in his forehead that he actually looks older.
He couches down to your line of sight; you almost didn’t realize you couldn’t look up from the ground. “How about we get you to a bed. Have you take a shower? Get you some food and some more tea. Then you can decide what you want.” his offer was a soothing relief. Tears gather in your eyes. For some odd reason, you just couldn’t make decisions right now. Sure, disgust and fear still churned in your stomach, but something else was prickling at your skin. You didn’t want to leave…but you didn’t want to stay either.
Jeongin held out his arms to you, silently asking to carry you. When you nodded your head shyly, he picked you up into his arms with ease.
***
It felt like hours when it was really only maybe one when Jeongin carried you into another room after your shower. You spent a good thirty minutes washing away the event but holding onto some of the feelings you felt for Chan. You felt sick, holding onto the feeling of his arms warping around you; it was wrong, wasn’t it? Holding onto these faint feelings. Thats when you let the tears fall. You felt broken, shattered.
Jeongin insisted on carrying you after he gave you a new set of clothes. You tried not to think about how prepared they were with all this, that is until Jeongin carried you to another room, this one decorated. There was a bed in the corner and curtains drawn over a window. “We aren’t underground?” the promise of light behind the dark curtains. He sets you down on your feet, and you silently explore the room with your eyes.
Jeongin chuckled. “No, we aren’t underground.”
“Then where are we?” You asked as he set you down carefully. He treated you like you were made of glass.
“I can’t tell you that, gorgeous.” his features fall slightly.
“You say I’m free to go. That I can ask whatever I want. Yet you treat me like I’m some prisoner.” You turn around, anger bubbling to the surface.
“You are free to go. If that’s what you want,” Jeongin’s soft voice echoes in your head. The words are on the tip of your tongue, so why the hell can’t you just say them?
Tears threaten again, but you swallow them down; whatever this is, you will not let them see you cry. Your pride won’t allow it. “Thats what I thought,” Jeongin whispers under his breath. He turns around to leave. “There's a phone next to the door. All you have to do is pick it up, and we will be at your beck and call.” and before you could stop him, he shut the door behind him.
****
You only picked up the phone once to ask for food. And within twenty minutes someone knocked on your door. You open the door carefully, seeing Jeongin’s smile shine, “I have a bargaining chip” he holds the food up playfully. You can’t help but giggle.
You let him inside, and he went to the other end of the room, where a small desk rested. You drew the curtains back, hopeful to get a glimpse of where you were, but the only thing that greeted you was a vast sea of trees and mountains. Where the hell am I?
“Do you draw?” Jeongin forced his voice through your thoughts. "Hyunjin filled the desk with all sorts of art supplies, but we weren’t certain.” He busyes himself, fixing your food onto a paper plate; the sight makes your stomach grumble loudly.
“I haven’t in a long time; I never really considered myself good,” Jeongin turns around, plate in hand. “Thank you,” you say, as he hands you the plate. You walk over to your bed and sit down on the floor, leaning your back against the bed frame for support. Jeongin walks over, sitting opposite of you, but not close enough to touch you.
You pick around at the food they gave you. It's just food, but you stare at it like it might bite. “We didn’t do anything to it,” he says softly, a hint of hurt in his voice.
You look up at him; the trust in his eyes practically pleads with you. If they were going to hurt you in any way, they would have already done it…..well….you know what I mean.
You take a tentative bite; the food melts in your mouth. A small hum leaves you. At a rapid pace, you devour the food, eating like your starved. “Slow down, you don’t want to get sick.” He chuckles as you’re mid-bite. Heat flushes your cheeks as you slow your chews.
“Sorry,” you say through mouthfuls.
“Don’t apologize for being hungry.” His smile is so warm. So inviting.
Your mind spirals. There are so many questions so many holes to fill. “How…how did you do it?”
“How did I do what, gorgeous?” He leans forward, his features painted in concern.
You swallow, and set the food down onto the plate. “How did all of you kidnap me?” he flinches at the word. Clearly, non of them are used to it yet.
“I can’t tell you that either.” Frustration boils inside you. What the hell is going on? “But I can tell you this—” your head lifts expectantly, “we couldn’t have done it without your help.” His response makes your skin crawl. It's ominous and filled with a secret message that makes your head spin.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll find out, I promise. All of this will make sense, just…not yet,” he says with that same warm smile. You bring your knees to your chest, wrap your arms around them, and effectively make yourself into a ball.
Jeongin inches toward you but doesn’t touch you. You roll your shoulders, feeling the tension starting to build. This whole situation is just too much. “Can I help?” his voice is as soothing as a blanket.
“How?” you ask.
“I’ve always been told my hands are pretty good message tools.”
You chuckle at his offer, but his smile remains. You nod slowly. Jeongin stands, holding out his hand to you, and you take it with ease. He guides you to the enormous bed and nods at you to sit. “Trust me” he says quietly.
You don’t know why, but you do. So you gently sit down on the bed, and Jeongin playfully pushes your shoulder so you can lie down. You do as he wants, laying down and then rolling over so your back is to him.
His hands start working the tension in your shoulders, rubbing away the panic you once felt. You groan as his thumbs focus on one particular spot. “Are you always this tense?” he asks, his voice a shade darker.
You huff out a laugh. “Only when I get kidnapped.”
He doesn’t chuckle at your joke. You feel his hands freeze for a moment before resuming his task. “That was meant to be funny” You whisper.
He grunts in response, trailing his hands lower and focusing on your lower back. “If I ask you a question, will you answer honestly?” You are being bold, knowing his answers are limited and scarce, but you need to try.
“Maybe,” he responds. His palm flattens in your spine, and you can feel the way he presses down, the way his palm snakes up your spine, sending your tension elsewhere.
“How about this? All you have to answer are yes or no questions…not detail.”
It takes him a moment. Like he is thinking about any tricks in this little game, but then he responds, “Okay,”
“If I wanted, would you really let me go?” You know it's not just him keeping you here, but…. semantics.
“Yes,” his tone is matter-of-fact. You sigh, but you don’t want to leave. Not yet.
His hands slowly retrace their steps, rubbing small circles into your lower back. His touch is so gentle and soft that it sends tingles all through your spine. Everywhere he touches you, it sends another shockwave through your body.
“Do you….and everyone else… watch me and Chan,” your voice comes out shaky. You don’t know what it is, but the thought of everyone watching you sends a small tingle between your legs, but it's still wrong. This isn't right. Liking the fact that you got kidnapped, were told to sleep with someone, and are now about to find out if they watched you fuck your celebrity crush….but the only part that makes your heart sting…is the fact that you didn’t know.
He pauses, taking a deep breath. “Yes,” he says, more hushed than before, more sad.
You think of your next question carefully. How do you pry out more information in just a simple yes or no? “Do people know where I am? Are people looking for me?” too many. Too quick.
“Yes. and no.” Your breath hitches in his response. This just got a whole lot more complicated.
“What did you mean when you mentioned my help?” He doesn’t answer. Not a yes or no.
Your head spins. “Was I part of my own kidnapping?” He still doesn’t answer. Okay….not gonna answer that one either.
You take a deep breath…A question lingers at the forefront of your mind,….“If I wanted to be touched-” you dare ask “-all I would have to do is ask…is that correct?”
His hands don’t pause, but they do become a tad more forceful “Yes” he all but groans. His hands move to your hips, gently rubbing circles. You gasp when his fingertip faintly slips past the waistband of the shorts he gave you.
Something else barges into your thoughts like a boulder. “Have you ever—” your voice breaks, and you have to cough into the sheets to get your voice back-have. You ever touched a woman before?” It's a fair question. You asked something similar to Chan. He made it seem like it was a silly thing to ask, but Jeongin is not only a superstar…but he’s young.
He hears his faint chuckle. “Yes, I’ve touched a woman before.” his fingertips slip further down into your shorts, the material slowly sliding off. “However, If your about to ask if I’ve ever put my cock into a pussy before…” he pauses, letting the material slip past the curve of your ass. You gasp. “The answer is no.”
You swallow the moan that threatens to slip. The cold air spikes goosebumps along your skin. You blush when you remember your black lacy panties. Anticipation spirals into your bloodstream. You wait and wait for his hands to kneed at your ass or even slap a cheek…but what comes shocks you even more.
You can feel the faintness of his breath along your skin, and gently, he presses a single kiss to your lower back. “Any more questions?” His tone is dark, almost unrecognizable.
You shake your head, fearful of any whimper escaping. “Good,” You gasp as he throws you onto your back and immediately sneaks into the crook of your neck, his hand grasping your throat but not squeezing. His thumb rubs at your pulse point, probably relishing in the way it beats erratically. “Fuck you smell divine” He presses a kiss below your ear.
That is when the first noise falls from your lips. A whimper? Maybe a groan? Whatever it is, it makes Jeongin snap his eyes to you, lifting his head. His whole weight traps you, and you feel his length spasm against his jeans.
His eyes grow darker, a shade similar to Chan’s, he looks wild and crazed. “Do that again,” he commands. Your mouth opens and closes like a pathetic fish. “What do I have to do to make you sound like that again?” his words, even the shade of his voice, make your whole body buzz. Your eyes dart down, where your thigh are pressing together seeking friction. You look back up at him….and the cocky sucker winks.
His kisses start at your throat, delicate and sensual, letting his tongue dart out for only a second, leaving you practically begging for more.
“Let me take my time with you.” His kisses trail down your body. Gentle and slow. His hands fisting your shirt and hiking it up to nip kisses on your breasts, then your stomach.
He kisses your inner thigh, winking at you between your legs. His palms press your inner thighs apart, spreading them wide.
With a gasp, he lowers his head, lightly kissing your clit. You squirm underneath him as he kitten licks your folds, devouring each delicate taste. He flattens in tongue and drags it slowly up to your clit. Your moans fill the empty air. Noises you didn’t even know could fall past your lips.
He drags out each swipe of his tongue, each nip at your clit. After 30 minutes, you're a writhing mess, mindlessly grinding your hips against his face. Your nails dig into his scalp, tugging at his hair. With a groan, he lifts his head, crawling the length of your body until his lips attach to yours. He twirls his tongue along yours, and you can taste your arousal. “Jeongin please,” you pant “I-I need you.”
“You need me?” He half chuckles. “Gorgeous, I think its the other way around. I need you like my next breath.” He devours your lips. Your legs wrap around his waist, bringing his clothed erection to press against your waiting core. You both groan in unison.
“Please” you beg.
Tears gather in your eyes when the frustration mingles with desperation, Jeongin looks at you. “Fuck” he moans, sliding one hand between your bodies to kick on his jeans. Its messy and complicated, but eventually he slides the material to free his member.
You don’t even have a chance to look at how undeniably pretty his cock is, before he’s rubbing his tip against your clit and then pushing the head past your folds.
Your body shakes, already your high reaches its limit at the stretch of him. Finally. You moan loudly, and he attaches his lips onto your pulse point, sucking harshly. His hips stutter. “Tight” he whispers.
Thats right. Fuck. this is his first time. Your hand go to wrap around his shoulder, then grasp the sides of his face. You ignore the burning sensation between your legs, the overstimulation taking its hold on you, but you push it aside. “Your doing so well baby, just keep going” you press a small kiss to his lips. He nods his head, his brow furrowing.
You can visibly see the pleasure taking over his body, his hips growing in confidence. He pace quicken, clearly chasing that high. He chants your name on breathless pants, and with one more thrust into your cunt, he’s spilling into you. “Fuuuuck”
He crashes his body weight on top of you. “You did so well, baby. You did so good,” your praises echo in his head as he twists you to lay face to face with him.
He holds you like a weighted stuffy, close to his chest and wrapped in his arms. You can feel the steady beat of his heart and his breath starting to even out. Its been a few minutes, enough time to gather your melted mind off the floor.
“We all care about you Y/N” he whispers.
You bite your lip, and he clings to you tighter. “Will you at least talk to them?” his voice is filled with promise. It wouldn’t hurt to at least hear them out.
Your eyes collide with his. You nod your head slowly and his smile widens. He kisses you with the smile still etched on his face.
contains: Stalking, explicit names, oral (f receiving), over-clothes stimulation, teasing, male doms, let me know if I missed anything.
P.s. : this is straight up Delulu and long sorry in advance…….. 🙃
WC: 5.1k
***
My feet are sore, my head is pounding, and I’m pretty sure I’m so tired that I’d collapse in the shower. I round the corner headed to my apartment, but something stops me in my tracks.
A tall figure stands at my door. “Hello,” I call out, my bag dipping off my shoulder and into the palm of my hand. “Can I help you?”
He doesn’t answer, but he does turn his head slightly. I gasp when I see his masked face. A blue skull mask hides his features as he stands there in an oversized black hoodie adorned with a knife sharper than my breath in his palm.
My heart drums in my ears so loudly that I can feel it echoing through my bloodstream. My feet react faster than my brain can catch up with my breathing. I sprint in the other direction, clutching my bag to my side for dear life. I can hear his footsteps too close behind me, keeping pace as I round the corner to the stairs. I pound on every door, screaming for someone, anyone, to come to my aid. “HELP! PLEASE, SOMEONE HELP ME!” I scream.
I trip on my heel, stumbling but managing to regain my balance. In desperation, I ditch the heels altogether and sprint down the hall barefoot. I pound on the door in front of me. “Please! I need help!” My voice cracks, pleading into the empty air.
“There’s nowhere to hide, little one,” his voice, thick with malice, taunts me. I lean back against the door, sliding down to the ground. I can’t die like this. I won’t die like this. The fight inside me urges my feet to run again, but my legs shake, and the adrenaline in my system mixes too dangerously with the exhaustion that threatens to overwhelm me.
“What could possibly—” I tumble backward, my back hitting the ground. I look up at the voice that sounds almost bored. Fear etches my face, and my eyes widen. The man above me looks confused, his beautiful face furrowed in concern. “What the—” He glances up, and his jaw tightens. I lean back to see the masked figure charging toward us.
In a split second, the man above me lifts me slightly, enough to throw me into the apartment, and then he slams the door shut, locking it just before the masked man can get in.
I don’t allow myself to breathe, my eyes scanning the small entryway and finding the kitchen nearby. I make a break for the counter, grabbing a nearby pan. My knuckles turn white on the handle as I hold it out defensively.
“Okay, I locked the door and put the shoe dresser in front of it, but I can still see him through the peephole—whoa,” the man raises his hands in defense. He’s a little taller than me, his shoulders suggesting a strong build. His hair is tousled as if he just rolled out of bed. Dark circles under his eyes indicate he works late at night, but he clearly keeps himself in shape.
“Who are you?” Fresh adrenaline courses through my veins.
“My name is Chris—”
“Chan, what’s going on?” Another man walks around the corner, wiping the sleep from his eyes until the scene registers before him. “What the hell?” His head darts from me to Chris like a game of darts.
“Minho, not now,” Chris says, his voice turning stern and clipped. Wait. I know those names. But no, that’s not possible.
“Wait. Chan?” I look at Chris, whose eyes widen slightly, and his nod confirms my suspicion. “And you’re Minho… like Lee Know?” I ask, turning my head toward the other man and angling my pan at him as well. His hands go straight to defense mode as he vigorously nods. That’s when I see it—His clipped face and the hair that reaches just before his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I let out a long breath and set the pan down on their countertop.
They both lower their hands, sighing in relief. “I’m safe,” I say softly, feeling the fear and panic begin to fade, replaced by the adrenaline from earlier.
“You are,” Chan confirms. Stepping forward to grasp the pan and set it on another counter, no doubt fearful that I’ll actually use it. “You know us?”
“Who doesn’t?” My shoulders begin to shake. Tears prick my eyes. I grip the counter, trying to stabilize myself, but it only makes my head spin.
“Whoa, is she okay?” Minho’s concerned voice breaks me through my trance, and I whip my head in his direction.
“She's fine,” I say, my voice a soft whisper. “And she’s leaving,” I swing my bag over my shoulder, digging my phone out from the bottom.
“Don’t call the police!” Chan’s voice calls out. He quickly strides to stand in front of me, his hands itching to take the phone.
“Excuse me?”
“Please, don’t call the police,” Chan corrects himself, and Minho comes into view, his soft features furrowed in worry.
“Why?”
Both of them appear deflated, their shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. “No one knows where we are,” Chan admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “We had to leave the last place in a hurry.”
Confusion swirls in my mind, and it must be evident on my face because Chan lets out a heavy sigh, frustration evident in his bright eyes. “You know who we are, right? It’s already a struggle trying to find a place in the city. But it’s even tougher to find somewhere we can…” His voice trails off, the unspoken words hanging in the air like a heavy fog.
It takes me a moment to fully grasp the implications of what he’s saying. Slowly, I loosen my grip on the phone, its cool surface slipping through my fingers as I return it to the depths of my bag. A flicker of hope ignites in Chan’s eyes as a small, tentative smile breaks through his worry, tugging at my heartstrings. But my gaze darts to the door, anxiety tightening its grip around my chest.
“You shouldn’t go back to your apartment, at least not tonight.” Chan reads my face like a book, but I’m sure it's not hard to tell what I’m thinking. I look up at him; I get lost in the dark irises of his eyes. They promise so much pain, joy, and love. It's easy to get lost in someone's eyes, but Chan’s is like jumping into an endless pit.
Minho darts his eyes between me and Chan…..“Can someone tell me what's going on!?”
***
About an hour later, Chan loaned me some of his spare clothes, and I took a shower. Minho made me a cup of tea, which I’m now clutching like it's my lifeline, and he also draped a blanket over my shoulder. I smile softly at him and cradle the cup to my chest.
“I don’t see him through the peephole, but I don’t trust that he isn’t waiting around some corner. Who is that guy anyway?” Chan walks to the living room and sits next to Minho on the opposite side of the couch.
“I’m not sure who he is. But he’s been... stalking-” the word tastes sour in my mouth. “-me. This, however, is the first time he’s shown up at my house.” I take a small sip of the tea, letting the warmth soothe my nerves. Even though the tears have stopped and the adrenaline has left my system, I can’t seem to stop shaking.
“How long?” Minho asks, staring at the way my fingers tremble.
“Maybe a month or two,” I answer honestly. I know I should have reported it. I know I should have told someone. But, I either thought know one would believe me, or I would have gotten told the same thing. Move. And right now….I just can’t afford to move. “And before you say ‘why haven’t I told anyone-’”
“We weren’t,” Chan interrupts me. A crease forms between his brows. I look up at him, my face softening and my grip tightening.
“Okay, well. One thing is for certain: you're not sleeping at your place tonight. I’ll take the couch; you can have my bed. I’ll take first watch at the door.” Chan crosses his arms and stalks to his door.
“No, this is your apartment. I’ll sleep on the couch,” I say, standing with him. But the thought of sleeping out here alone, right in front of the door, makes my whole body go rigid.
“You're not sleeping out here.” Minho steps forward, grasping my shoulder. He smiles at me—a genuine, reassuring smile that doesn’t reach his eyes but makes me relax.
That night, Chan took two pillows and left me with another two to sleep. He slept outside on the couch while Minho kept his door open in case he heard anything. It felt strange sleeping that night. Earlier exhaustion weighed on me so heavily, and Chan’s soothing scent helped ease my eyelids closed, but a part of me remained awake. I was still ready to bolt upright and sprint out the window if I heard a crash, or worse... the door.
***
“When you get to your apartment, you should call the police.”
I laugh nervously. “They’re just gonna tell me to move. Or to ignore him. And I can’t afford to move,” I tell Chan for what feels like the twentieth time. He sighs, running his palm up the side of his face as he leans against the door frame.
Minho washed my clothes and made us breakfast the following morning. I insisted on leaving because I didn’t want to impose on them; they had already risked so much, and besides, I needed to get to work. “At least let one of us walk you to your apartment, just in case,” Minho said, poking his head through the doorframe with his brow furrowed.
I sigh. It would be nice just to be safe. I nod, and they both tumble through the door. “I thought you said just one of you.” I laugh as they both come out of the apartment and pull the door closed. “Samntics,” Chan huffs.
As we make our way slowly to my apartment door after a few turns, anxiety grips me like a vice, and I can’t shake the memory of sprinting down these halls. With shaky hands, I reach for my keys. “We’re right here,” Chan whispers. I take a long breath, put the key in the lock, and twist it with a quiet thud. At least it's still locked; that has to be a good sign. I let the door swing open. We all lean forward, expecting someone to jump out and say, “boo! Gotcha!” but nothing happens. It's quiet. Nothing is out of place. Everything is fine. “See!” I gesture to the very empty apartment. “Perfectly fine”
****
When I get back from a long day at work, I'm half expecting to see Mr. Blue face standing at my door, but thankfully, the only thing on my doormat is a package. I set the package on my marble kitchen counter after I lock and bolt the door…just in case. I set my leather sling bag on one of the chairs nearby and opened the package with a nearby kitchen knife.
I’d assume it was something I had forgotten about or something I ordered a while ago, but instead, it's Chan’s T-shirt with a sticky note pressed to the top.
If you ever need us. You know where to find us.
And a phone number at the bottom. Something in my chest swells. I quickly text the number.
Me: thank you <3
Chan: anytime ;)
I add the contact as “Chris ;)” and make something easy for dinner.
***
Days pass, and there is no sign of Mr.Blue Skull. I’m beginning to think he’s lost interest. But at least one good thing came out of it all. Chan and I have been texting nonstop, and he even gave me Minho’s number. It took me a while to get comfortable with his blunt text and his clipped attitude, but I realized that’s just how he expresses himself, and he can be kind of a teddy bear when you get under his skin.
Me: hey, Min, can you send me that recipe you were talking about??
My mean hoe: No. And stop calling me, min. My name is either Minho or Lee Know, so unless you want to change our friend status to something else, those are the names you should call me.
Me: :( Channie….min is being meeaannn.
Channie: Lee Know, don’t be rude to the princess. What recipe, hun?
We talked for a little longer about a new brownie recipe one of his friends was making. The conversation took me all the way to my apartment door. I fish out my keys, still half paying attention to my phone when I realize my door is open. I look up, and it's slightly ajar. I swear I locked it this morning; at least I closed it. I put the phone in my pocket and pushed the door open with just my finger.
I stagger backward on a gasp, an icy dread seeping into my bones as I take in the nightmare that was once my apartment. The air is thick with the metallic scent of fear, and the remnants of my life lay in ruins. My cushions, viciously torn, lie scattered like the shattered dreams of my sanity. Fragments of glass blanket the floor, the remnants of my cherished plates. My beloved books, once my refuge, are grotesquely ripped apart, their pages fluttering in the stillness like wounded birds.
In the midst of this chaos, my eyes are drawn to a knife embedded in the fabric of my couch, staged as a pin to hold a single piece of paper. The words “you can’t run, little one” are etched into it, the threatening strokes of ink sending chills down my spine. A shriek escapes my lips, raw and primal, as panic grips my heart like a vice. I don’t even think; my feet fly in the opposite direction, propelled by instinct, as I refuse to confront the horror that has invaded my home. I race to the one place I can still hope to find safety, heart pounding, breath quickening, terrified of what—or who—might still be lurking among the ruins of my life.
“Minho!!” I slam my fists on the door. Within seconds, it flies open. Tears streak down my cheek,s and I fling myself into his waiting arms.
“Shh shh, what happened?”
I tell him everything. From my open door to the note that made my skin turn white. “Thats it. You can’t go back there; you have to move.” he looks at me, worry and anger dancing in his eyes.
“I can’t. I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t have enough money or time to get a place.” I let my hands cradle my face, more tears gathering at the corner of my eyes.
“Then move here,” the sound of the front door opening and closing. I lift to see Chan walking to us, his backpack slung casually over one shoulder.
“What?” I look at him dumbfounded. Even in such a casual outfit, shorts and a black t-shirt, my mouth waters.
“Move in with us. We have a spare room. We use it as an office, but we can make it into a bedroom.” He says it like it's the most normal thing in the world.
“But that-”
“A perfect idea,” Minho finishes. I’ve never seen a smile reach his eyes, not the way Chan has claimed Jisung does to him, but when he looks at me, his eyes sparkle, and it's like I’m staring at a whole new person. It almost makes me agree on the spot, just so I can keep staring at his beautiful smile, but….this isn’t right.
“No. We can’t.” I stare at Chan because I know if I see Minho’s smile fall, it’ll be the end of me.
“And why not?” Minho’s voice breaks, and I know I’ll never see that smile again.
“Because if someone were to find out I’m staying with you guys, I couldn’t even imagine the fallout.” It's true. Not only are they both major popstars, and the idea of a relationship to either of them is so foreign that I’m afraid they’ll never have that experience, but they are also the most infamous and passionate creators out there, like hell if I jeopardize even a sliver of what they worked for.
“No one will know.” Chan’s soothing voice comes closer and now he’s crouching down next to Minho.
“This is a bad idea,” my voice breaks.
“It’ll keep you safe.” Chan’s eyes trap me once again. Thats his magic ability. He can trap you and bend you to his will if he just keeps eye contact with you.
I find myself falling deeper and deeper into his captivating gaze. “Fine,” I say softly. That same beautiful smile stretches across Minho’s face, and Chan's smile is soft. “This is still a bad idea.”
***
A week later, I’m moving three boxes into an empty room in Chan and Minho’s apartment. My bed is already set up with clean sheets and two pillows I borrowed from Chan’s room. I can’t help it; his scent and the thought of his warmth help me sleep better.
As I hang up the rest of my clothes, Chan knocks on my door. “Movie night tonight?” he asks. I nod, my smile bright and infectious.
An hour later, I’m curled up on the couch, a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of us, and some random action movie is playing. I’m in the middle of the couch while Minho sits with his arms crossed, furrowing his brow at the screen. “I don’t understand any of this,” he grumbles.
Chan’s relaxed posture shifts as he turns his attention to Minho. “You’re not supposed to. Just watch,” he says, draping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me close.
Work has been especially hard lately, with papers piling up and hours blurring together, so the exhaustion I feel is pulling at my eyelids. I snuggle closer into Chan’s embrace, grateful for his warmth.
***
I really only meant to sleep until the movie was over, but when I’m rubbing my eyes awake, stars twinkle in the window, and it's not the couch I wake up on. It’s Chan’s bed.
I’ve only ever slept in here that one time, but it feels like ages have passed since I ran my fingers over his soft sheets. I turn my body around, careful not to wake the obvious weight behind me. I stare as Chan sleeps. His lips parted, his hair fallen over his face and his usual crease between his brows has softened. He looks so peaceful, so calm.
He stirs slightly, the familiar crease forming on his brow as he shifts. Before I can process what’s happening, his strong arms envelop me, drawing me snugly against his chest. I let out a soft yelp as my body collided with his chiseled frame, the firmness of his muscles pressing against me. My hands instinctively reach out, seeking balance, but I can't help but curse myself as I feel the solid expanse of his shoulders beneath my fingertips.
The warmth radiating from him is enticing, and I can sense the rhythm of his steady breath brushing against my skin, sending delightful shivers dancing down my spine. He feels so inviting, so undeniably comforting—he’s almost too easy.
I find myself slowly falling back to sleep…until I feel it.
Something poking me between my legs, something large and growing. It takes me a total of 3 seconds to realize what it is. Heat spikes along my neck, crawling up my cheeks. I try to move, wiggling out of his arms, but I just end up pressing my back to his chest. My ass aligned perfectly with his growing erection. Well, shit. What do I do now?
I bite my lip, trying to ignore the very prominent, very large bulge pressing and drumming to my backside. Wy universe? Why is this how you test my self-control?
He stirs again, and his erecting presses harder against me. I bite back a moan when he subconsciously ruts against my ass. I can feel my arousal pooling between my thighs. I press them together, desperate to feel some sort of relief.
I can feel the rapid beat of his heartbeat. Thud. Thud. Thud. And his breathing becomes shallow, almost panting. His hips roll, chasing the pleasure that I’m sure is coursing through him. Should be angry. I should be scared. I should be feeling so many things other than the one thing I am feeling. His arms trap me, pulling me closer, and I let him. I even roll my hips along his own, matching his pace as he chases his high. I squeeze my thigh tightly, my own pleasure building, and he isn’t even fully touching me.
“Y/N,” he moans. And my body freezes. No, he did not. “Fuck” he groans again. If it were possible to come undone at the sound of his voice, I would have simply melted into the air right then and there. Instead, my desire radiates off me like steam sizzles on a stove.
I let a small whimper escape my lips, his own hips picking up pace. I can feel his arms tensing. I know he’s close; I press my ass harder, grinding down on him, desperate to feel his own undoing. I should be ashamed. I should stop, but I don’t. My lust-filled mind taking over any and all rational thinking.
He groans again, and his body stills. But I don’t feel anything. I don’t feel a change behind me. I don’t even feel his shake with pleasure. No, I just feel his body tense….and tense…he doesn’t relax.
With a movement so swift it knocks the air right out of me, his whole body lifts above me, and his hands pin mine above my head. I gasp as I stare into his wide eyes and the furrow of his brow. Well, shit.
A mix of emotions races across his face, so many that I can’t even determine what he’s thinking. The best thing about Chan is that I’ve never had to guess his thoughts. He wears his emotions on his sleeve; if he’s happy, his smile reaches his eyes, making the whole world melt in his presence. If he’s lonely, he acts small and childlike, needing touch or attention from those around him. If he’s pissed… let's just say don’t be in his line of sight.
“C-Chan?” I stutter. Panting into the thick air, anticipation spiking my adrenaline like I’ve just run a marathon.
“Is this a dream?” he pants.
It takes everything in me to tell him this is real. I want so badly to tell him that he’s dreaming, that even after tonight, we can go back to our flirtatious banter, to calm, warm movie nights, because deep down, I know nothing will be the same if I tell him that this is real.
“It's real,” I whisper.
His body relaxed merely for a moment. Like a weight was lifted off of his back. “Chan?” I whisper again, trying to bring him back to me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, just that he’s thinking too much. He’s lost in his own thoughts.
Suddenly, his attention snaps to me. His eyes dart to my wrists, held by his own hands. “You're not struggling,” he says.
He states that it's a question. Heat flushes my cheeks at the real reason. I love the control he possesses over my body. I love the promise of his touch and how commanding his voice is. It sends delightful shivers down my spine. “I trust you,” I decide to say, even though the thought of him dominating me makes my thighs press together.
He doesn’t seem convinced, but I catch a faint smirk forming on his lips. “You should go before we do something we regret,” he says, but he doesn’t move. Instead, his grip tightens on my wrists, and his body tenses.
“I should,” but doesn’t come out as it should. It comes out breathy and wanting, and my body arches into his, begging for more of his warmth.
His neck descends to ghost his lips along mine, and I close my eyes, anticipation burning. I feel his breath on my neck as I wiggle my wrists to run my fingers through his hair. But his grip doesn’t let up—no, he just chuckles. “Not yet, princess.” His lips connect with my neck, and he leaves faint kisses, crossing over my neck and paying extra attention to where my pulse drums.
“Chan,” I sigh. The ache grew between my legs.
“Yes, princess?” He all but growls. He lifts his head, locking his gaze onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath away. I don’t even recognize him anymore. Gone is the nice, calm man I can snuggle up to; gone is the careful gentleman that I know will catch me if I fall. He’s replaced with someone much more sinister, someone much more wicked. His eyes have turned a shade impossibly dark, and his hair is in disarray. While one hand holds my wrists captive, the other sustains his weight on one side of my head; he looks towering. I swallow when lust gathers between my legs.
“Cat caught your tongue pussy cat” We both turn our heads to see Minho leaning against the door frame of Chan’s room. A smug smile decorated his face. “Oh, don’t stop on my account,” he saunters into the room with as much confidence as a cool kid on college campus.
Chan turns back to me, that same lust-driven look in his eyes. Before I can protest or really say anything on the matter, Chan’s lips come crashing onto my own, stealing my thoughts. His tongue demands entrance as he guides this kiss in his own dominance. He kisses as he dances with confidence and a sense of power no man can possess. It's a powerful dance of tongue and teeth that makes me moan into him. His knee pushes my legs apart, and he settles his hips in between my legs, rolling his growing erection into me.
“Fuck” he groans when he breaks the kiss for a fraction of a breath. I moan when his hips continue to roll, creating friction on my clit that throws my head back. I can feel how big he is, and he’s growing with every second.
“Thats it,” Minho's voice sounds throughout the room, but I don’t dare to look at him, not when Chan’s hips are still rolling into me. “A needy little thing,” Minho’s voice echoes in my head.
Suddenly, Minho is leaning down on the side of the bed, his lust-filled smile drawing my attention. “Do you need us to finger you first? Or do you want one of our tongues instead?” No one has ever talked to me like that so casually. It makes something tighten in my core, and I groan loudly. Chan kisses me, stealing my noises right out of me.
Minho chuckles. “Chan, why don’t you make the princess feel extra good?” Chan lifts his head in Minho's direction. The ladder sends Chan a seductive wink, and Chan gives me one last swift kiss before crawling down my body. The covers are tossed and forgotten.
Chan’s hands rake down my body, and I faintly feel his finger stip guiding my sleep shorts down the length of my legs. “Eyes up here pussy cat” Minho’s dark voice guides my eyes to his. They're so similar to Chan’s but so uniquely different. Their dark, sure, but they hold a familiar embrace, one that screams to trust him. His hand cradles my jaw, lining my head so he can press a gentle kiss to my lips.
He’s so soft, so gentle. He peppers kisses on my lips, stealing one right after another. I want him to take me, to possess me, but he doesn’t allow me a moment to drive the kiss deeper, forcing me to go at his pace.
I’m so aroused and frustrated that I don’t even notice when Chan lifts and separates my thighs to press kisses along my skin. “If you scream, it will only make this end quicker” is the only warning I get from Minho when Chan drives his tongue onto my core.
It's like he’s been possessed, starved, or worse, replaced by his instincts. He feasts on my cunt like there’s no tomorrow, lapping at my folds only to suck my clit between his teeth. His tongue darts in and out, effectively fucking me with his tongue. My moans escalate into screams, but Minho quickly swallows every noise with his kiss. He bites my bottom lips, forcing me to gasp, and he takes the opportunity to plunge his own tongue down my throat.
I feel like I’m flying like I’m floating above them. One hand sneaks into Chan’s hair, pulling at his roots. I get a low growl from him, the vibrations sending goosebumps. His hands grip my thighs almost bruisingly. My other hand warps around Minho’s neck, drawing him closer.
My hips roll onto Chan’s face as he buries himself between my thighs. I can feel my core twisting into a delicious knot, and I’m sure Chan can feel it, too, as his tongue becomes more forceful. Within seconds, I’m shaking, my whole body convulsing under their demise. Chan doesn’t stop until my thighs are squeezing around his head so tight I’m afraid he can’t breathe. Minho breaks away, staring at my bruised lips; his own lips are plush, red, and swollen, and his eyes are crazed like a madman.
Chan lifts his body, licking his lips and staring at Minho. “She’s fucking delicious.”
“I can’t wait to see for myself.” Minho doesn’t break eye contact with me. The thought of Minho between my legs, driving his own tongue into me, has me aching. “But for now, I’ll settle with fucking this pussy with my cock” The palm of Minho’s hand comes crashing at my folds harshly. I whimper; I can’t tell if it’s because I’m still sore or due to his explicit words. “What do you say pussy cat? Think you can take two? We’re both dying to be inside you.”
contains: Stalking, explicit names, oral (f receiving), over-clothes stimulation, teasing, male doms, let me know if I missed anything.
P.s. : this is straight up Delulu and long sorry in advance…….. 🙃
WC: 5.1k
***
My feet are sore, my head is pounding, and I’m pretty sure I’m so tired that I’d collapse in the shower. I round the corner headed to my apartment, but something stops me in my tracks.
A tall figure stands at my door. “Hello,” I call out, my bag dipping off my shoulder and into the palm of my hand. “Can I help you?”
He doesn’t answer, but he does turn his head slightly. I gasp when I see his masked face. A blue skull mask hides his features as he stands there in an oversized black hoodie adorned with a knife sharper than my breath in his palm.
My heart drums in my ears so loudly that I can feel it echoing through my bloodstream. My feet react faster than my brain can catch up with my breathing. I sprint in the other direction, clutching my bag to my side for dear life. I can hear his footsteps too close behind me, keeping pace as I round the corner to the stairs. I pound on every door, screaming for someone, anyone, to come to my aid. “HELP! PLEASE, SOMEONE HELP ME!” I scream.
I trip on my heel, stumbling but managing to regain my balance. In desperation, I ditch the heels altogether and sprint down the hall barefoot. I pound on the door in front of me. “Please! I need help!” My voice cracks, pleading into the empty air.
“There’s nowhere to hide, little one,” his voice, thick with malice, taunts me. I lean back against the door, sliding down to the ground. I can’t die like this. I won’t die like this. The fight inside me urges my feet to run again, but my legs shake, and the adrenaline in my system mixes too dangerously with the exhaustion that threatens to overwhelm me.
“What could possibly—” I tumble backward, my back hitting the ground. I look up at the voice that sounds almost bored. Fear etches my face, and my eyes widen. The man above me looks confused, his beautiful face furrowed in concern. “What the—” He glances up, and his jaw tightens. I lean back to see the masked figure charging toward us.
In a split second, the man above me lifts me slightly, enough to throw me into the apartment, and then he slams the door shut, locking it just before the masked man can get in.
I don’t allow myself to breathe, my eyes scanning the small entryway and finding the kitchen nearby. I make a break for the counter, grabbing a nearby pan. My knuckles turn white on the handle as I hold it out defensively.
“Okay, I locked the door and put the shoe dresser in front of it, but I can still see him through the peephole—whoa,” the man raises his hands in defense. He’s a little taller than me, his shoulders suggesting a strong build. His hair is tousled as if he just rolled out of bed. Dark circles under his eyes indicate he works late at night, but he clearly keeps himself in shape.
“Who are you?” Fresh adrenaline courses through my veins.
“My name is Chris—”
“Chan, what’s going on?” Another man walks around the corner, wiping the sleep from his eyes until the scene registers before him. “What the hell?” His head darts from me to Chris like a game of darts.
“Minho, not now,” Chris says, his voice turning stern and clipped. Wait. I know those names. But no, that’s not possible.
“Wait. Chan?” I look at Chris, whose eyes widen slightly, and his nod confirms my suspicion. “And you’re Minho… like Lee Know?” I ask, turning my head toward the other man and angling my pan at him as well. His hands go straight to defense mode as he vigorously nods. That’s when I see it—His clipped face and the hair that reaches just before his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I let out a long breath and set the pan down on their countertop.
They both lower their hands, sighing in relief. “I’m safe,” I say softly, feeling the fear and panic begin to fade, replaced by the adrenaline from earlier.
“You are,” Chan confirms. Stepping forward to grasp the pan and set it on another counter, no doubt fearful that I’ll actually use it. “You know us?”
“Who doesn’t?” My shoulders begin to shake. Tears prick my eyes. I grip the counter, trying to stabilize myself, but it only makes my head spin.
“Whoa, is she okay?” Minho’s concerned voice breaks me through my trance, and I whip my head in his direction.
“She's fine,” I say, my voice a soft whisper. “And she’s leaving,” I swing my bag over my shoulder, digging my phone out from the bottom.
“Don’t call the police!” Chan’s voice calls out. He quickly strides to stand in front of me, his hands itching to take the phone.
“Excuse me?”
“Please, don’t call the police,” Chan corrects himself, and Minho comes into view, his soft features furrowed in worry.
“Why?”
Both of them appear deflated, their shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. “No one knows where we are,” Chan admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “We had to leave the last place in a hurry.”
Confusion swirls in my mind, and it must be evident on my face because Chan lets out a heavy sigh, frustration evident in his bright eyes. “You know who we are, right? It’s already a struggle trying to find a place in the city. But it’s even tougher to find somewhere we can…” His voice trails off, the unspoken words hanging in the air like a heavy fog.
It takes me a moment to fully grasp the implications of what he’s saying. Slowly, I loosen my grip on the phone, its cool surface slipping through my fingers as I return it to the depths of my bag. A flicker of hope ignites in Chan’s eyes as a small, tentative smile breaks through his worry, tugging at my heartstrings. But my gaze darts to the door, anxiety tightening its grip around my chest.
“You shouldn’t go back to your apartment, at least not tonight.” Chan reads my face like a book, but I’m sure it's not hard to tell what I’m thinking. I look up at him; I get lost in the dark irises of his eyes. They promise so much pain, joy, and love. It's easy to get lost in someone's eyes, but Chan’s is like jumping into an endless pit.
Minho darts his eyes between me and Chan…..“Can someone tell me what's going on!?”
***
About an hour later, Chan loaned me some of his spare clothes, and I took a shower. Minho made me a cup of tea, which I’m now clutching like it's my lifeline, and he also draped a blanket over my shoulder. I smile softly at him and cradle the cup to my chest.
“I don’t see him through the peephole, but I don’t trust that he isn’t waiting around some corner. Who is that guy anyway?” Chan walks to the living room and sits next to Minho on the opposite side of the couch.
“I’m not sure who he is. But he’s been... stalking-” the word tastes sour in my mouth. “-me. This, however, is the first time he’s shown up at my house.” I take a small sip of the tea, letting the warmth soothe my nerves. Even though the tears have stopped and the adrenaline has left my system, I can’t seem to stop shaking.
“How long?” Minho asks, staring at the way my fingers tremble.
“Maybe a month or two,” I answer honestly. I know I should have reported it. I know I should have told someone. But, I either thought know one would believe me, or I would have gotten told the same thing. Move. And right now….I just can’t afford to move. “And before you say ‘why haven’t I told anyone-’”
“We weren’t,” Chan interrupts me. A crease forms between his brows. I look up at him, my face softening and my grip tightening.
“Okay, well. One thing is for certain: you're not sleeping at your place tonight. I’ll take the couch; you can have my bed. I’ll take first watch at the door.” Chan crosses his arms and stalks to his door.
“No, this is your apartment. I’ll sleep on the couch,” I say, standing with him. But the thought of sleeping out here alone, right in front of the door, makes my whole body go rigid.
“You're not sleeping out here.” Minho steps forward, grasping my shoulder. He smiles at me—a genuine, reassuring smile that doesn’t reach his eyes but makes me relax.
That night, Chan took two pillows and left me with another two to sleep. He slept outside on the couch while Minho kept his door open in case he heard anything. It felt strange sleeping that night. Earlier exhaustion weighed on me so heavily, and Chan’s soothing scent helped ease my eyelids closed, but a part of me remained awake. I was still ready to bolt upright and sprint out the window if I heard a crash, or worse... the door.
***
“When you get to your apartment, you should call the police.”
I laugh nervously. “They’re just gonna tell me to move. Or to ignore him. And I can’t afford to move,” I tell Chan for what feels like the twentieth time. He sighs, running his palm up the side of his face as he leans against the door frame.
Minho washed my clothes and made us breakfast the following morning. I insisted on leaving because I didn’t want to impose on them; they had already risked so much, and besides, I needed to get to work. “At least let one of us walk you to your apartment, just in case,” Minho said, poking his head through the doorframe with his brow furrowed.
I sigh. It would be nice just to be safe. I nod, and they both tumble through the door. “I thought you said just one of you.” I laugh as they both come out of the apartment and pull the door closed. “Samntics,” Chan huffs.
As we make our way slowly to my apartment door after a few turns, anxiety grips me like a vice, and I can’t shake the memory of sprinting down these halls. With shaky hands, I reach for my keys. “We’re right here,” Chan whispers. I take a long breath, put the key in the lock, and twist it with a quiet thud. At least it's still locked; that has to be a good sign. I let the door swing open. We all lean forward, expecting someone to jump out and say, “boo! Gotcha!” but nothing happens. It's quiet. Nothing is out of place. Everything is fine. “See!” I gesture to the very empty apartment. “Perfectly fine”
****
When I get back from a long day at work, I'm half expecting to see Mr. Blue face standing at my door, but thankfully, the only thing on my doormat is a package. I set the package on my marble kitchen counter after I lock and bolt the door…just in case. I set my leather sling bag on one of the chairs nearby and opened the package with a nearby kitchen knife.
I’d assume it was something I had forgotten about or something I ordered a while ago, but instead, it's Chan’s T-shirt with a sticky note pressed to the top.
If you ever need us. You know where to find us.
And a phone number at the bottom. Something in my chest swells. I quickly text the number.
Me: thank you <3
Chan: anytime ;)
I add the contact as “Chris ;)” and make something easy for dinner.
***
Days pass, and there is no sign of Mr.Blue Skull. I’m beginning to think he’s lost interest. But at least one good thing came out of it all. Chan and I have been texting nonstop, and he even gave me Minho’s number. It took me a while to get comfortable with his blunt text and his clipped attitude, but I realized that’s just how he expresses himself, and he can be kind of a teddy bear when you get under his skin.
Me: hey, Min, can you send me that recipe you were talking about??
My mean hoe: No. And stop calling me, min. My name is either Minho or Lee Know, so unless you want to change our friend status to something else, those are the names you should call me.
Me: :( Channie….min is being meeaannn.
Channie: Lee Know, don’t be rude to the princess. What recipe, hun?
We talked for a little longer about a new brownie recipe one of his friends was making. The conversation took me all the way to my apartment door. I fish out my keys, still half paying attention to my phone when I realize my door is open. I look up, and it's slightly ajar. I swear I locked it this morning; at least I closed it. I put the phone in my pocket and pushed the door open with just my finger.
I stagger backward on a gasp, an icy dread seeping into my bones as I take in the nightmare that was once my apartment. The air is thick with the metallic scent of fear, and the remnants of my life lay in ruins. My cushions, viciously torn, lie scattered like the shattered dreams of my sanity. Fragments of glass blanket the floor, the remnants of my cherished plates. My beloved books, once my refuge, are grotesquely ripped apart, their pages fluttering in the stillness like wounded birds.
In the midst of this chaos, my eyes are drawn to a knife embedded in the fabric of my couch, staged as a pin to hold a single piece of paper. The words “you can’t run, little one” are etched into it, the threatening strokes of ink sending chills down my spine. A shriek escapes my lips, raw and primal, as panic grips my heart like a vice. I don’t even think; my feet fly in the opposite direction, propelled by instinct, as I refuse to confront the horror that has invaded my home. I race to the one place I can still hope to find safety, heart pounding, breath quickening, terrified of what—or who—might still be lurking among the ruins of my life.
“Minho!!” I slam my fists on the door. Within seconds, it flies open. Tears streak down my cheek,s and I fling myself into his waiting arms.
“Shh shh, what happened?”
I tell him everything. From my open door to the note that made my skin turn white. “Thats it. You can’t go back there; you have to move.” he looks at me, worry and anger dancing in his eyes.
“I can’t. I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t have enough money or time to get a place.” I let my hands cradle my face, more tears gathering at the corner of my eyes.
“Then move here,” the sound of the front door opening and closing. I lift to see Chan walking to us, his backpack slung casually over one shoulder.
“What?” I look at him dumbfounded. Even in such a casual outfit, shorts and a black t-shirt, my mouth waters.
“Move in with us. We have a spare room. We use it as an office, but we can make it into a bedroom.” He says it like it's the most normal thing in the world.
“But that-”
“A perfect idea,” Minho finishes. I’ve never seen a smile reach his eyes, not the way Chan has claimed Jisung does to him, but when he looks at me, his eyes sparkle, and it's like I’m staring at a whole new person. It almost makes me agree on the spot, just so I can keep staring at his beautiful smile, but….this isn’t right.
“No. We can’t.” I stare at Chan because I know if I see Minho’s smile fall, it’ll be the end of me.
“And why not?” Minho’s voice breaks, and I know I’ll never see that smile again.
“Because if someone were to find out I’m staying with you guys, I couldn’t even imagine the fallout.” It's true. Not only are they both major popstars, and the idea of a relationship to either of them is so foreign that I’m afraid they’ll never have that experience, but they are also the most infamous and passionate creators out there, like hell if I jeopardize even a sliver of what they worked for.
“No one will know.” Chan’s soothing voice comes closer and now he’s crouching down next to Minho.
“This is a bad idea,” my voice breaks.
“It’ll keep you safe.” Chan’s eyes trap me once again. Thats his magic ability. He can trap you and bend you to his will if he just keeps eye contact with you.
I find myself falling deeper and deeper into his captivating gaze. “Fine,” I say softly. That same beautiful smile stretches across Minho’s face, and Chan's smile is soft. “This is still a bad idea.”
***
A week later, I’m moving three boxes into an empty room in Chan and Minho’s apartment. My bed is already set up with clean sheets and two pillows I borrowed from Chan’s room. I can’t help it; his scent and the thought of his warmth help me sleep better.
As I hang up the rest of my clothes, Chan knocks on my door. “Movie night tonight?” he asks. I nod, my smile bright and infectious.
An hour later, I’m curled up on the couch, a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of us, and some random action movie is playing. I’m in the middle of the couch while Minho sits with his arms crossed, furrowing his brow at the screen. “I don’t understand any of this,” he grumbles.
Chan’s relaxed posture shifts as he turns his attention to Minho. “You’re not supposed to. Just watch,” he says, draping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me close.
Work has been especially hard lately, with papers piling up and hours blurring together, so the exhaustion I feel is pulling at my eyelids. I snuggle closer into Chan’s embrace, grateful for his warmth.
***
I really only meant to sleep until the movie was over, but when I’m rubbing my eyes awake, stars twinkle in the window, and it's not the couch I wake up on. It’s Chan’s bed.
I’ve only ever slept in here that one time, but it feels like ages have passed since I ran my fingers over his soft sheets. I turn my body around, careful not to wake the obvious weight behind me. I stare as Chan sleeps. His lips parted, his hair fallen over his face and his usual crease between his brows has softened. He looks so peaceful, so calm.
He stirs slightly, the familiar crease forming on his brow as he shifts. Before I can process what’s happening, his strong arms envelop me, drawing me snugly against his chest. I let out a soft yelp as my body collided with his chiseled frame, the firmness of his muscles pressing against me. My hands instinctively reach out, seeking balance, but I can't help but curse myself as I feel the solid expanse of his shoulders beneath my fingertips.
The warmth radiating from him is enticing, and I can sense the rhythm of his steady breath brushing against my skin, sending delightful shivers dancing down my spine. He feels so inviting, so undeniably comforting—he’s almost too easy.
I find myself slowly falling back to sleep…until I feel it.
Something poking me between my legs, something large and growing. It takes me a total of 3 seconds to realize what it is. Heat spikes along my neck, crawling up my cheeks. I try to move, wiggling out of his arms, but I just end up pressing my back to his chest. My ass aligned perfectly with his growing erection. Well, shit. What do I do now?
I bite my lip, trying to ignore the very prominent, very large bulge pressing and drumming to my backside. Wy universe? Why is this how you test my self-control?
He stirs again, and his erecting presses harder against me. I bite back a moan when he subconsciously ruts against my ass. I can feel my arousal pooling between my thighs. I press them together, desperate to feel some sort of relief.
I can feel the rapid beat of his heartbeat. Thud. Thud. Thud. And his breathing becomes shallow, almost panting. His hips roll, chasing the pleasure that I’m sure is coursing through him. Should be angry. I should be scared. I should be feeling so many things other than the one thing I am feeling. His arms trap me, pulling me closer, and I let him. I even roll my hips along his own, matching his pace as he chases his high. I squeeze my thigh tightly, my own pleasure building, and he isn’t even fully touching me.
“Y/N,” he moans. And my body freezes. No, he did not. “Fuck” he groans again. If it were possible to come undone at the sound of his voice, I would have simply melted into the air right then and there. Instead, my desire radiates off me like steam sizzles on a stove.
I let a small whimper escape my lips, his own hips picking up pace. I can feel his arms tensing. I know he’s close; I press my ass harder, grinding down on him, desperate to feel his own undoing. I should be ashamed. I should stop, but I don’t. My lust-filled mind taking over any and all rational thinking.
He groans again, and his body stills. But I don’t feel anything. I don’t feel a change behind me. I don’t even feel his shake with pleasure. No, I just feel his body tense….and tense…he doesn’t relax.
With a movement so swift it knocks the air right out of me, his whole body lifts above me, and his hands pin mine above my head. I gasp as I stare into his wide eyes and the furrow of his brow. Well, shit.
A mix of emotions races across his face, so many that I can’t even determine what he’s thinking. The best thing about Chan is that I’ve never had to guess his thoughts. He wears his emotions on his sleeve; if he’s happy, his smile reaches his eyes, making the whole world melt in his presence. If he’s lonely, he acts small and childlike, needing touch or attention from those around him. If he’s pissed… let's just say don’t be in his line of sight.
“C-Chan?” I stutter. Panting into the thick air, anticipation spiking my adrenaline like I’ve just run a marathon.
“Is this a dream?” he pants.
It takes everything in me to tell him this is real. I want so badly to tell him that he’s dreaming, that even after tonight, we can go back to our flirtatious banter, to calm, warm movie nights, because deep down, I know nothing will be the same if I tell him that this is real.
“It's real,” I whisper.
His body relaxed merely for a moment. Like a weight was lifted off of his back. “Chan?” I whisper again, trying to bring him back to me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, just that he’s thinking too much. He’s lost in his own thoughts.
Suddenly, his attention snaps to me. His eyes dart to my wrists, held by his own hands. “You're not struggling,” he says.
He states that it's a question. Heat flushes my cheeks at the real reason. I love the control he possesses over my body. I love the promise of his touch and how commanding his voice is. It sends delightful shivers down my spine. “I trust you,” I decide to say, even though the thought of him dominating me makes my thighs press together.
He doesn’t seem convinced, but I catch a faint smirk forming on his lips. “You should go before we do something we regret,” he says, but he doesn’t move. Instead, his grip tightens on my wrists, and his body tenses.
“I should,” but doesn’t come out as it should. It comes out breathy and wanting, and my body arches into his, begging for more of his warmth.
His neck descends to ghost his lips along mine, and I close my eyes, anticipation burning. I feel his breath on my neck as I wiggle my wrists to run my fingers through his hair. But his grip doesn’t let up—no, he just chuckles. “Not yet, princess.” His lips connect with my neck, and he leaves faint kisses, crossing over my neck and paying extra attention to where my pulse drums.
“Chan,” I sigh. The ache grew between my legs.
“Yes, princess?” He all but growls. He lifts his head, locking his gaze onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath away. I don’t even recognize him anymore. Gone is the nice, calm man I can snuggle up to; gone is the careful gentleman that I know will catch me if I fall. He’s replaced with someone much more sinister, someone much more wicked. His eyes have turned a shade impossibly dark, and his hair is in disarray. While one hand holds my wrists captive, the other sustains his weight on one side of my head; he looks towering. I swallow when lust gathers between my legs.
“Cat caught your tongue pussy cat” We both turn our heads to see Minho leaning against the door frame of Chan’s room. A smug smile decorated his face. “Oh, don’t stop on my account,” he saunters into the room with as much confidence as a cool kid on college campus.
Chan turns back to me, that same lust-driven look in his eyes. Before I can protest or really say anything on the matter, Chan’s lips come crashing onto my own, stealing my thoughts. His tongue demands entrance as he guides this kiss in his own dominance. He kisses as he dances with confidence and a sense of power no man can possess. It's a powerful dance of tongue and teeth that makes me moan into him. His knee pushes my legs apart, and he settles his hips in between my legs, rolling his growing erection into me.
“Fuck” he groans when he breaks the kiss for a fraction of a breath. I moan when his hips continue to roll, creating friction on my clit that throws my head back. I can feel how big he is, and he’s growing with every second.
“Thats it,” Minho's voice sounds throughout the room, but I don’t dare to look at him, not when Chan’s hips are still rolling into me. “A needy little thing,” Minho’s voice echoes in my head.
Suddenly, Minho is leaning down on the side of the bed, his lust-filled smile drawing my attention. “Do you need us to finger you first? Or do you want one of our tongues instead?” No one has ever talked to me like that so casually. It makes something tighten in my core, and I groan loudly. Chan kisses me, stealing my noises right out of me.
Minho chuckles. “Chan, why don’t you make the princess feel extra good?” Chan lifts his head in Minho's direction. The ladder sends Chan a seductive wink, and Chan gives me one last swift kiss before crawling down my body. The covers are tossed and forgotten.
Chan’s hands rake down my body, and I faintly feel his finger stip guiding my sleep shorts down the length of my legs. “Eyes up here pussy cat” Minho’s dark voice guides my eyes to his. They're so similar to Chan’s but so uniquely different. Their dark, sure, but they hold a familiar embrace, one that screams to trust him. His hand cradles my jaw, lining my head so he can press a gentle kiss to my lips.
He’s so soft, so gentle. He peppers kisses on my lips, stealing one right after another. I want him to take me, to possess me, but he doesn’t allow me a moment to drive the kiss deeper, forcing me to go at his pace.
I’m so aroused and frustrated that I don’t even notice when Chan lifts and separates my thighs to press kisses along my skin. “If you scream, it will only make this end quicker” is the only warning I get from Minho when Chan drives his tongue onto my core.
It's like he’s been possessed, starved, or worse, replaced by his instincts. He feasts on my cunt like there’s no tomorrow, lapping at my folds only to suck my clit between his teeth. His tongue darts in and out, effectively fucking me with his tongue. My moans escalate into screams, but Minho quickly swallows every noise with his kiss. He bites my bottom lips, forcing me to gasp, and he takes the opportunity to plunge his own tongue down my throat.
I feel like I’m flying like I’m floating above them. One hand sneaks into Chan’s hair, pulling at his roots. I get a low growl from him, the vibrations sending goosebumps. His hands grip my thighs almost bruisingly. My other hand warps around Minho’s neck, drawing him closer.
My hips roll onto Chan’s face as he buries himself between my thighs. I can feel my core twisting into a delicious knot, and I’m sure Chan can feel it, too, as his tongue becomes more forceful. Within seconds, I’m shaking, my whole body convulsing under their demise. Chan doesn’t stop until my thighs are squeezing around his head so tight I’m afraid he can’t breathe. Minho breaks away, staring at my bruised lips; his own lips are plush, red, and swollen, and his eyes are crazed like a madman.
Chan lifts his body, licking his lips and staring at Minho. “She’s fucking delicious.”
“I can’t wait to see for myself.” Minho doesn’t break eye contact with me. The thought of Minho between my legs, driving his own tongue into me, has me aching. “But for now, I’ll settle with fucking this pussy with my cock” The palm of Minho’s hand comes crashing at my folds harshly. I whimper; I can’t tell if it’s because I’m still sore or due to his explicit words. “What do you say pussy cat? Think you can take two? We’re both dying to be inside you.”
contains: Teasing, knife play (briefly), Male dom, unprotected sex (dont), oral, F rec, pet names, I'm sure I missed smt let me know in the comments..... this is .... unhinged
prompt: “You will,” he says. “This won’t be the only time. I’ll catch you.” he kisses my temple. “Come for me, princess.” + knife play
WC: 1.7k
“Are you sure that’s what you want? I could really hurt you.”
Jeongin's brow furrows, creating a hard line on his forehead. Jitters run down my spine like tiny bugs. I nod, angling my head down to hide the blush of embarrassment. Jeongin takes my jaw in his hands, forcing me to meet his gaze. A slow smile curves his lips, and my body practically goes limp. "It's okay, princess. We all have hidden desires," he says in a low voice.
My insides clench.
***
A week later, I completely forget about the conversation—until Jeongin calls me at my desk. "When I get home, I want you to be wearing what I laid out for you," he demands.
“Oh, no, 'hi honey, how are you?'” I tease, a smirk distracting me from his demand.
“Hi honey, I love you, but when I get home, I need you to be wearing what I laid out, and I also want you dripping wet.” The phone clicks.
****
I shut the door behind me with a soft click, letting out a weary sigh as I slip off my work shoes, feeling the relief flood through my tired feet. My bag thuds onto the floor as I drag myself toward our shared bedroom, the remnants of a grueling day still echoing in my mind. I had forgotten entirely about Jeongin's earlier call—I was too exhausted to hold onto anything else.
And then, I catch sight of it. A stunning two-piece lingerie set is meticulously displayed on the pristine white sheets of our bed. The deep, rich black of the fabric stands out dramatically against the bright white backdrop, almost gleaming under the gentle glow of the late afternoon sun. The lace material is dainty, delicately sheer, hinting at what lies beneath with an air of tantalizing mystery. The flimsy straps seem to float delicately, and a sudden flush of heat rises in me as I swallow hard, my heartbeat quickening.
My mind races. It's 5:30. He should be done with practice in 30 minutes. That leaves me plenty of time to take a speedy shower and change. I rush into the bathroom, stealing the set off the bed within seconds. Twenty-eight minutes later, I let my hair out of my messy bun, tightened the shoulder straps of the set, and took a long, deep breath.
“Oh, honey! I’m hoooome” Jeongin calls, followed by the click of the door.
Nerves sprint races down my spine. My hand inches from turning the door knob.
“Are you ready, princess? " His voice is low and dark, and he is right there, right behind the door.
I turn the doorknob with shaky hands, and the door creaks open. I take four steps close to the bed and turn my body to see Jeongin leaning on the door frame into our bedroom. My hands frantically find purchase across my body.
“You look…” he bites his lip. “Breathtaking”
A delicious ache stirs in my chest, and I can’t help but feel the urgency to press my thighs together. My gaze is drawn to what he’s holding. The gleaming silver of the kitchen knife glints in the light, capturing my attention. A soft gasp escapes my lips, and I bite down on my bottom lip, the mix of fear and desire igniting my senses.
His stare bolts my feet where they are. Slowly, he walks to where I stand. My chest heaves, and the delicate fabric of the bra dips with each breath. “Breathe, princess.” the shine of the metal makes my mouth dry, but the ache between my legs grows. “Do you trust me?” he whispers, his face inches from mine, his warm breath coating my skin in goosebumps.
“Yes,” I whisper back on a shaky breath.
“Good.” The bastard smirks and lifts the knife to snap the middle of the lingerie. The bra flings off my chest, and I let out a gasp.
“Jeong-!”
“Shh,” his gaze rakes over my bare chest. He takes the knife and glides it across my collarbone, careful not to draw blood. The cold makes my fists clench at my sides, and my whole body buzzes with anticipation. His warm breath is all I feel against my skin as my nipples harden. He smirks.
He takes my hand, guiding it down the length of our bodies. He presses my palm to his hardened length. I gasp at the sheer size of him, and my hand instinctively wraps around him, squeezing lightly over his pants. “Fuck” he hisses.
Within seconds, his lips are on mine. I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my bare chest to his clothed one. It's a messy dance of tongue, taste, and addiction. He wallows every ounce of my moan, and his hands bruise the sides of my waste. Only for a second do we separate to remove the barrier, which is his shirt.
It's not long until I’m stripped of the last piece of the lingerie set, and he’s stripped to nothing. “Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” He leans into the crook of my neck, whispering his words. Shivers down my spine.
“No,” I moan, raking my nails down his back.
“Good girll” He trails his kisses down the length of my body, stopping to look up at me with a devilish smirk….
**** This is just where it gets out of hand****
He doesn’t waste time teasing or toying with me - he immediately goes for the kill. Swirling his tongue around my sensitive clit and plunging it past my folds in an expert rhythm, it has me muffling my scream in the palm of my hand.
Pleasure jolts through my system like lightning coursing through my veins. His fingers are the next weapon. Talented and wicked, he slips two easily past my walls. His tongue works my clit, and his fingers work my insides like he’s playing a goddamn instrument.
A thick sense coils in my stomach. My hips begin to rock against his face, chasing the high climbing inside me. But it's not enough. I want more. I want him. I need his hands all over my body, everywhere simultaneously. I need his mouth. I need him in me.
My whole body stiffens with a gasp. His fingers curl against the soft spot inside my walls, and my whole body shakes. Each pleasurable wave rakes through me as his tongue lashes at my clit. A silent scream leaves me as he coaxes the last few waves of pleasure through. Leaving me breathless.
I bite my lip, trying to regain my breath and slow my heartbeat. He climbs the length of my body, meeting my eyes. My breath catches as I watch his thumb drag across his lower lip and disappear between his lips. Then his tongue darts out, licking his lips.
A slow smile curves his mouth, and my thighs fall limp. He slides his hands beneath my thigh, dragging them farther apart. He braces his weight on his palms.
He lowers his mouth to mine, kissing me roughly. He tastes like wine and sin…and me. I’ve never found the combination so addicting. I’m done waiting. I brace my thighs on either side of his hips and slither my hand between our bodies, grasping his length in my palm. Gently I guide the head of his cock to my entrance as he hisses at the contact.
My other hand grasps his shoulder, silently begging him to thrust into me, but he makes no move to do so. “please,” I beg.
One of his hands shifts to cradle my hip. Then, in one long thrust, he drives into me every delicious inch. Until he’s all I can feel. All I can see. All I can taste. The pleasure, the stretch, the very feel of his body pressing against my own is enough to send shivers running down my spine.
“Fuck, your tight” He barely gives me time to breathe before he starts to withdraw, only to snap his hips forward. Pleasure shoots through my bones, making me see stars. He starts a low, deep rhythm that has my own hips meeting his.
My arms reach around his neck, bringing our mouths together in a passionate kiss. I can only respond with moans and sighs.
“Princess, if you keep making those noises, this won’t last very long.” His words sink to my stomach. The coil tightens, but the thought of this ending makes me hold on a little longer.
My body stiffens as his pace picks up. His thrusts became harder, deeper, and more desperate. Each thrust has me straining for breath. I tug his lips with my teeth, the burning pleasure beading down my body in sweat.
“Mine,” he growls, so low I almost didn’t catch it. But the word makes me clench around him harder.
My hands reach to the middle of his back, and my nails scratch at him, tugging him impossibly deeper. “If you’re going to keep scratching like some kitty cat, I’m gonna have to tie you up.” His hips don’t falter. But the underlying promise in his voice makes my whole body tense with such need it almost shatters my soul.
One of his hands snakes around my hip and under my thigh, hitching one of my legs to my chest. He drives himself even deeper inside me, hitting such a sweet spot that I can taste it on my tongue. “Jeongin!”
“That’s it, baby. Say it louder for me.” he punctuates each word with a thrust. And I do. I scream his name, and my strength wavers, but I keep holding on for as long as humanly possible. “Let go,” he whispers. Still driving his hips at a forgotten pace. “You have to let go for me, Princess.”
I bite my lip and shake my head. I don’t want this to end. If this ends, when will it ever start again? I hold him closer, tighter. Not willing to let him go. “I won’t”
“You will,” he says. “This won’t be the only time. I’ll catch you.” he kisses my temple. “Come for me, princess.”
He hits that sweet spot once more, and I shatter. He swallows each and every one of my moans as my body convulses. He kisses my temple, my lips, my jaw, and my cheeks as the waves dwindle. His hands slowly mend me at the seams.
“Gorgeous,” he muffles to himself as his own high starts to show. His hips lose their previous momentum, and his whole body starts to flex. With a few short thrusts, he stills with a low groan. He collapses onto me and gently rolls us to our sides.
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