lmao if I was using AI, don’t you think I’d be absolutely unstoppable by now?
the real reasons I haven’t been posting are very boring actually:
1. I have a job now (tragic, I know)
2. my brain has been giving me nothing. no ideas. just elevator music.
if I were using AI, I’d simply generate some bullshit at 3am and throw it on here like a menace. sadly, I still write the old-fashioned way—by waiting for inspiration to hit me like a truck.
summary : A high-class menace meets an even bigger menace, and one heated night turns into penthouse chaos neither of them can walk away from.
genre : smut
warning(s) : afab!reader, possessiveness, rough sex implications, toxic tension, dominance/submission elements, heavy make-outs, jealousy, luxury nightlife setting, and two hot disasters making morally questionable choices with zero remorse.
A/N : hi besties 😭 just popping in to say sorry for disappearing and having my little ✨emotional writer arc✨ a few days ago. I promise I’m not quitting, my brain just pulled a full reboot for no reason 💀 anyway I’m back, slightly unhinged as usual, pls enjoy this chaos I wrote <3
Miami humidity hits like gossip: sticky, loud, and uninvited.
But you? You walk through it like the air parts for you.
A black car door swings open, and your heel touches the pavement outside CØRA, the club people say is impossible to get into unless you’ve sold at least one organ or know a man who owns five.
You know a man who owns seven.
But you’re not here for him.
Not tonight.
Your dress is simple, dangerous.
Your jewelry is subtle, expensive.
Your energy is: I didn’t come here to look for trouble, but trouble better find me first.
The bouncer doesn't even check your ID.
He just steps aside with that confused fear rich people accidentally inspire.
Inside, the bass feels like a heartbeat with commitment issues.
Neon lights spill gold across velvet.
Bodies move like they’re auditioning for a music video no one will ever see.
You slide into the VIP area—not because you’re invited, but because you look like the kind of woman who gets invited to places simply by breathing.
A server approaches instantly.
“Do you have a—”
“—yes.”
You don’t even look up.
You don’t need a reservation when your aura screams inherited property and silent lawsuits.
You’re barely seated for a minute before you feel it.
Someone is watching you.
Slow. Intentional.
Like a spotlight without the light.
And then he appears.
Park Seonghwa walks through the club like he owns the building’s oxygen supply, which he technically might.
All black.
Sharp jaw.
Rolex catching light like it’s flirting.
The kind of man who doesn’t push through the crowd—
they move because his existence politely demands it.
He stops in front of your VIP section, lips twitching like he’s amused by something only he knows.
You don’t look up, but you smirk.
“Investor boy,” you murmur into your drink.
Quiet enough for only someone with predatory hearing to catch.
He does.
His voice slips through the noise like a luxury car window rolling down.
“Sweetheart,” he says, low and silk-smooth, “that’s my couch you’re sitting on.”
You blink slow.
“Is it?
I thought it was just comfortable.”
He leans in slightly—
not touching you,
just existing too close,
giving your skin a reason to misbehave.
“Who let you in?”
He asks it like he already knows the answer will annoy him and excite him at the same time.
You shrug. “Jesus? Fate? The bouncer? Pick one.”
His tongue presses against his cheek in a struggle not to laugh.
Elegant men hate when they’re tempted to smile too early.
And then—oh, he says it.
Under his breath, like a classification only he has the right to give:
“Of course.”
His eyes drag over you, slow, studying.
“She’s a supercalifragili-believer.”
You choke on air.
“Is that— is that even a word?”
“It is now.”
His gaze returns to your face, calm and devastating.
“It means you make people believe in things they shouldn’t.”
“Oh?”
You tilt your head.
“And what exactly do you believe in, investor boy?”
He doesn’t hesitate.
“You.”
The music dips for half a second, letting the bass line catch the exact moment your heartbeat betrays you.
But you recover.
“What do you want?” you ask, eyes narrowing.
It’s not fear.
It’s curiosity wrapped in attitude.
His answer is immediate, confident, unbothered:
“For you to get off my couch.”
A pause.
“And then sit closer.”
Your breath hitches.
Your pride squares its shoulders.
You stand—
slow, deliberate—
walk past him just enough to graze his suit sleeve,
and settle beside him on the opposite end of the long velvet couch.
He follows with his eyes like you’re an equation he’s been waiting to solve.
You tuck one knee under yourself, sipping from your glass like nothing inside you is melting.
“Happy now?” you ask.
Seonghwa rests one arm across the back of the couch, fingers inches from your shoulder.
“No.”
His voice dips, darker.
“Come here, princess.”
The way he says it—
quiet
controlled
rich with promise—
your spine reacts before your brain does.
You raise an eyebrow.
“Why would I?”
He leans in, lips barely grazing the air between you.
“Because,” he murmurs, “I don’t like repeating myself.”
You shouldn’t move.
You shouldn’t even breathe.
But Seonghwa’s voice—low, carved from velvet and danger—wraps around your spine like a hand.
It shouldn’t work on you.
You’re not the type to listen on command.
But the way he says it?
Like he’s inviting you
and warning you
and claiming you
all in the same breath?
Your knees almost betray you.
Almost.
You stay put, chin lifting like the brat your bloodline engineered you to be.
“Investor boy,” you say sweetly, “I don’t come when called.”
He watches you.
A slow blink.
A slow smirk.
He leans back, one arm stretched along the couch behind you, fingers so close your skin starts thinking in hypotheticals.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “you will.”
You scoff, looking away so he doesn’t see the shiver you absolutely did not authorize.
The club lights shift—purple, then gold—painting his jaw like someone did light therapy on a Greek statue.
He studies you openly.
Not your body.
Not your dress.
You.
Your posture.
Your pulse.
The exact way your lips part when you pretend you’re unaffected.
“Don’t stare,” you mutter.
“Then stop being this pretty,” he answers.
You nearly snap your neck turning back to him.
“That line was so corny—”
“It wasn’t a line.”
His eyes drop to your mouth.
“It was a complaint.”
Your heart slams once, violently.
You swallow.
He sees it.
“Aww,” he says softly, tilting his head, “did I make you nervous?”
“No.”
“Good.”
A pause.
“Because I don’t want you nervous.”
He shifts—barely—but his knee brushes yours.
Your inhale misbehaves.
“I want you aware.”
His fingers finally touch you—
just a light drag along your shoulder,
slow enough to be intentional,
soft enough to be criminal.
Your breath catches.
“Seonghwa…”
He smiles like you just confessed something you didn’t mean to.
“That’s better,” he whispers.
“Say my name again.”
You shake your head, lips tightening.
“No.”
He leans in—closer, closer—
until his breath warms the shell of your ear.
“Princess,” he murmurs,
“you’re in my club…
sitting on my couch…
wearing a perfume that’s crawling under my skin…”
A beat.
“And you think you’re not going to come when I call you?”
You look at him.
Really look.
His eyes are calm.
Too calm.
That quiet, elegant danger kind of calm.
“Come here,” he repeats, lower.
“Don’t make me ask again.”
Your pulse betrays you first.
Your body second.
You slide toward him—an inch.
He notices.
His hand meets your thigh—
not grabbing,
not holding,
just resting there like he’s staking claim with temperature alone.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
Your breath stutters.
Your dignity leaves the group chat.
Your serotonin does a TikTok dance.
But you snap back fast.
“Don’t… call me that.”
He smirks, brushing his thumb once over your skin.
“Then don’t act like it.”
Your stomach drops to the seventh circle of hell.
Before you can fire back, someone approaches your VIP area.
A girl—gorgeous, glittery, trying too hard.
She glances at Seonghwa, then at you, then at his hand on your thigh.
“Oh—sorry,” she says, voice dripping with jealousy, “I didn’t know you were with someone.”
He doesn’t even look at her.
He keeps his eyes on you as he answers:
“I wasn’t.”
A beat.
“Now I am.”
Your breath. Gone. Your sanity. Cancelled.
The girl huffs away.
You glare at him, but your voice cracks a little.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re addictive.”
His thumb glides up your thigh—
slow
possessive
but still safe.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs,
“don’t make me drag you closer.”
Your whole body lights up like a scandal.
Seonghwa’s thumb is still stroking slow circles on your thigh—
innocent enough to pass as nothing,
intentional enough to register as everything.
The DJ switches tracks smoothly, and the first beat of that song slides into the room like sin wearing perfume.
You hear the lyric in your head:
“I tell her to come again…”
Your breath stumbles.
Of course this track would play now.
Of course it would soundtrack your downfall.
Seonghwa’s gaze flicks to your lips, then up to your eyes, sharp enough to make your back straighten.
“You know this song,” he says quietly.
Not a question.
You nod.
He hums, low and approving.
“Mmm. Fitting.”
You narrow your eyes. “Fitting how?”
His thumb pauses.
Just for a second.
Then—
“You pretend you’re not a ten, sweetheart.”
Your heart drops.
Your pride flares.
Your thighs press together without permission.
He notices all three.
“And I’ll be on you,” he continues softly, “just like the lyrics say… if you keep looking at me like that.”
You look away immediately.
Huge mistake.
His hand slides up—
slow, controlled—
until it rests at the very top of your thigh.
Not crossing the line.
Just flirting with it.
You inhale hard enough to embarrass yourself.
“What’s wrong, princess?” he murmurs.
“Song getting to you?”
“Oh, shut u—”
He leans in, lips brushing your jawline without touching.
“Thought so.”
Your sanity drops through the floor.
You turn back to him, about to argue, but he beats you to it.
“You came down to Miami,” he says, echoing the lyric, “and stepped into my club like you owned it.”
Your pulse thunders.
“And I landed,” he adds, brushing a strand of hair from your shoulder, “right where I wanted.”
You exhale shakily.
“This is insane.”
“Mhm.”
He nods once, slow.
“And you like it.”
You try to glare, but your face is doing something stupid and warm.
He studies that reaction like a curator examining stolen art.
Then his voice drops soft—dangerously soft:
“Do you know what you are, princess?”
You swallow. “Enlighten me.”
He leans closer, his nose grazing your cheekbone.
“A problem,” he whispers.
“A very pretty problem.”
You don’t move.
You can’t.
The lyric in the background hits:
“Hope she’s not a diva…”
You raise a brow.
“Are you projecting?”
He chuckles under his breath.
Deep.
Expensive.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “you’re the dictionary definition of diva. You walked in here like you were bored of the world.”
“No,” you say, leaning in just enough to challenge him.
“I walked in here because the world is bored of me.”
His jaw tenses.
His pupils widen.
“Oh?”
His voice turns into a slow caress.
“So you needed a little excitement?”
“No,” you shoot back.
“I needed something expensive.”
His smirk curves like a blade.
“And you came… to me?”
You freeze.
Because you did.
Because you didn’t intend to, but the universe dragged you into his orbit anyway.
He sees the realization land on your face, and he loves it.
That smug, elegant, quiet-dom smirk grows.
Then—
He grabs your chin.
Gently.
But firmly enough that your breath leaves your body in a soft, humiliating gasp.
“Look at me,” he says.
And you do.
Immediately.
Instinctively.
Like his voice bypasses your brain and talks to your bones.
His thumb traces your lower lip, slow, reverent, sinful.
“That’s my good girl.”
Your soul leaves your body.
Your pride dies.
Your dignity packs a suitcase and flees the country.
Before you can respond—
before you can breathe—
the next lyric drops:
“Girl, I wanna kiss on your neck…”
And Seonghwa…
smiles.
“Oh,” he murmurs, “I like this part.”
Your entire body lights up like electricity just remembered how to behave.
He leans in—
slowly, slowly,
letting the anticipation choke you.
His lips hover an inch from your neck.
Just air, just warmth, just threat.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers.
You don’t.
You can’t.
Your silence is permission.
He exhales against your skin—
a warm ghost of a touch—
and your back arches the smallest, traitorous inch.
His smirk touches your shoulder before his lips do.
“Good girl,” he breathes.
The bass shifts.
The lights dim just enough for the whole room to forget its morals.
And then that lyric hits.
“She’s a supercalifragili—believer…”
You actually groan.
Not a shy one — a fed up, dramatic, oh-my-god-please-let-me-live groan.
“Daniel di fucking Angelo,” you mutter under your breath, head tilting back. “I swear that man writes songs specifically to ruin my self-control.”
A slow, amused breath ghosts the shell of your ear.
“Oh?” Seonghwa murmurs. “So you’re blaming the music for what’s happening to you right now?”
You turn your head toward him, and he’s there — close enough that the edge of his nose brushes yours.
Close enough that your lip nearly touches his when you exhale.
He smiles like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Pretty thing… you think it’s the song making you feel like this?”
Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.
“Don’t start with me.”
He chuckles — low, elegant, poisonous.
“No, sweetheart. I already started the moment you walked in.”
His hand slides to your jaw, thumb tracing the corner of your mouth, holding you in place with the gentlest kind of dominance — the kind that makes your breath trip over itself.
You try to say something.
You don’t know what.
It comes out as a soft, ruined little sound that absolutely betrays you.
That’s all he needs.
He kisses you.
Not rushed — not sloppy.
But slow, deliberate, claiming.
The kind of kiss that steals your thoughts first, then your posture second.
The kind that feels like he’s been waiting hours, days, maybe his entire adult life to get his mouth on yours.
His free hand finds the curve of your waist, pulling you in, bodies aligning perfectly like they were designed by a bored god with too much time and too much talent.
You breathe something into his mouth.
You’re not even sure what it is.
A word, maybe his name, maybe just a plea.
He bites your bottom lip — slow, soft, devastating.
You gasp.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Let me hear you.”
Your fingers slide up, threading into his hair, pulling him back into you — and he meets you instantly, deeper this time, chest pressed to yours, his breath warm, his kiss sharp and slow and consuming.
He breaks away just enough to look at you.
Eyes heavy.
Breathing uneven.
Jaw tight like he’s restraining the version of himself you don’t know yet.
Then—
“Blame Daniel again,” he whispers, “and I’ll show you exactly what part of this is my fault.”
Seonghwa doesn’t even give you a warning.
One second his mouth is on yours, tasting like trouble and something expensive; the next his hand slides down to your wrist and—click—your back hits the wall as he pulls you away from the crowd.
“Come here,” he murmurs, voice low like he’s speaking straight into your pulse.
You barely catch your breath before he’s walking, dragging you behind him through the choking neon and out into the cooler, quieter service corridor. People glance. They look away just as fast. His energy says don’t even think about it.
Your heels stumble once.
He doesn’t slow down.
“Seonghwa—”
“Mm?” He glances over his shoulder, eyes dark, lips a little swollen from kissing you stupid. “Walk faster, sweetheart.”
God. The arrogance. The elegance. The menace.
Like he owns the entire building and you’re the only thing he’s actually bothered to claim.
The moment the back door shuts behind you both, the hallway lights spill over his all-black fit — sharp jaw, sharp suit, sharp intentions — and he pushes you against the cold wall like he has been dying to get you alone all night.
“Look at you,” he breathes out, thumb brushing your bottom lip like he’s checking if you’re still kissable. “You’re the reason I couldn’t think straight in there.”
Your heart spikes.
Your legs go warm.
Your back presses harder into the wall like your body’s trying to surrender without your permission.
He steps closer. Only an inch of air left.
“You know how long I’ve been wanting to get you out of that room?” he whispers, chest nearly touching yours. “You kept looking at me like you wanted to cause problems.”
Then he tilts your chin up — slow, sure, dominant — and kisses you again.
This kiss isn’t the club kiss.
This one is deeper. More claiming.
A slow drag of his lips over yours, his hand sliding to your waist like he’s marking a spot.
He tastes like he’s memorizing you.
His breath fans your cheek as he pulls back just enough to murmur, “Elevator. Now.”
But he doesn’t even wait for you to move — he laces his fingers with yours and pulls you down the dim hallway, the kind of pull that makes your knees want to give out, the kind that says he’s seconds away from losing the last bit of patience he has.
The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime.
He steps in.
Turns.
Hooks two fingers under your chin.
“Inside,” he says softly.
Dangerously.
Like a promise.
The doors slide shut behind you with a low, expensive hum — and the second they do, Seonghwa’s whole vibe shifts.
The pressed, public version of him?
Gone.
His hand hits the panel behind your head, caging you in without touching you, but somehow it feels hotter than if he had.
The silver walls reflect him — tall, sharp, dressed like sin in monochrome — and you’re caught between his body and your own heartbeat.
“You know,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that his breath brushes your cheek, “you looked real pretty walking in here like you didn’t know what you were doing to me.”
Your stomach drops.
Your spine warms.
The air in the elevator thickens, like it knows what it’s holding.
He reaches up, slow, deliberate, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
A soft touch.
Too soft for the look in his eyes.
Then his knuckles skim your jaw — barely — like he’s memorizing the shape of you with the backs of his fingers.
“You’re shaking,” he whispers.
You are.
Just a little.
He smirks like he knew before you did.
“That’s cute.”
Your breath catches.
He steps closer.
The distance between you collapses until his chest almost touches yours — almost — that stupid, torturous “almost” he’s using on purpose.
“I told you to come inside,” he says, voice low enough that it feels like it sinks into your skin. “Didn’t think you’d listen that fast.”
You glare at him. “You dragged me.”
His lips twitch.
“Aww,” he coos softly, mock-gentle, tilting your chin up with a single finger. “You sound offended.”
You are.
You’re also leaning into his touch.
He notices. Of course he notices.
“Sweetheart,” he sighs, “if I really dragged you, your legs wouldn’t be holding you up right now.”
The elevator lights flicker as the numbers climb.
Your breath tangles with his.
He cups your jaw.
You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until he whispers:
“Come here.”
He kisses you — slow, deep, unhurried — the kind of kiss that makes your knees go soft and your pulse trip over itself. His thumb strokes the corner of your mouth like he’s claiming it, tasting it, savoring every second.
Then he pulls back, lips inches from yours, eyes dark and warm and dangerous.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he murmurs, “and it’s starting to piss me off.”
The elevator dings softly.
Penthouse floor.
He doesn’t move.
He just stares at you like he’s deciding what part of you he’s taking next.
Then, finally:
“Let’s go,” he whispers, voice rougher now.
His hand finds yours — warm, sure — and he steps out first, pulling you with him into the quiet, dimly lit private hallway.
The hallway is quiet in that expensive way — thick carpet, dim lights, the hiss of the elevator fading behind you. Seonghwa doesn’t stop walking. Doesn’t slow. His fingers are locked with yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip even an inch.
At the penthouse door, he finally turns around.
His back hits the door first — and he uses that leverage to pull you right into him.
Chest to chest.
Breath to breath.
Heat to heat.
“Look at me,” he murmurs.
When you do, his expression nearly buckles your knees — jaw tight, lips parted, eyes hungry in a way he’s been holding back all night.
He lifts your chin with two fingers.
You don’t know if you leaned in first or if he did.
The kiss hits hard.
Like he’s been starving.
Like he’s done pretending he’s not.
One hand slips to your waist.
The other finds the back of your neck, guiding you deeper into him as his mouth works over yours — slow, then harder, then slow again, like he’s testing how far he can push you.
Your fingers curl in his shirt.
He feels it.
He likes it.
“Sweetheart,” he breathes against your lips, “you’re shaking again.”
You try to step back.
He doesn’t let you.
His hand slides up your side — deliberate, claiming, sending heat straight to your knees — and he smirks when your breath stutters.
That smirk could ruin civilizations.
“You want inside?” he asks, voice low, teasing, but something darker beneath it.
You swallow. “Yes.”
He leans in, whispering at the shell of your ear:
“Then unlock it for me.”
Your whole body shivers.
Your fingers fumble for the keycard in his pocket.
He doesn’t help you — he just watches, head tilted, lips parted slightly like he’s enjoying every second you spend pressed against him, trying to find it.
When you finally get it, he catches your wrist.
“Good girl.”
Your pulse jumps so hard he feels it.
He takes the keycard from you, lifts your chin with it like he’s teasing your lips, and slides it into the reader behind him without breaking eye contact.
The lock clicks.
But he doesn’t open the door yet.
Instead, he lowers his forehead to yours, breathing you in, thumb stroking your jaw as his voice drops to a warning:
“Sweetheart… if we walk in there, I’m not stopping at kissing you against the wall.”
Your breath catches.
His hand slides to your waist.
He pulls you flush against him — no space, no doubt, nothing left to imagine.
He whispers, low and rough:
“Say it. Tell me you want what happens next.”
His lips brush yours.
Just a brush.
A promise.
A threat.
The penthouse door clicked unlocked with a soft, decisive snick, the sound echoing faintly in the hushed corridor. Seonghwa didn't hesitate. His hand, still gripping the keycard, released it into the lock as he turned toward you, his presence filling the entryway like a shadow lengthening in the dim, ambient glow of the hallway sconces.
The air inside the penthouse was cooler, scented with faint traces of sandalwood from the diffuser on the marble console table, and the city lights twinkled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting elongated patterns across the polished hardwood floors.
Without a word, Seonghwa's free hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist with unyielding precision. He pulled you inside, the door swinging shut behind you with a whisper of finality. His touch was firm but not bruising—controlled, like everything about him. He backed you against the nearest wall, the cool plaster pressing into your shoulders as his body crowded yours, heat radiating from his tailored suit jacket. His dark eyes locked onto yours, calm and predatory, the elegant lines of his face unchanging even as his breath ghosted warm against your lips.
"You've been testing me all night," he murmured, his voice low and smooth, laced with that dangerous composure that made your pulse stutter. His thumb traced the inside of your wrist, feeling the rapid thrum of your heartbeat.
You tilted your chin up defiantly, your lips curving into a smirk despite the way your chest rose and fell quicker now. "Maybe I like seeing how far you'll go before you snap." Your words were bratty, teasing, but there was a hitch in them, a flicker of anticipation you couldn't quite hide.
Seonghwa's response was a slow, deliberate lean-in. His mouth captured yours not in a rush, but with measured intent, lips brushing yours first—soft, almost exploratory—before pressing harder. The kiss deepened as his tongue slipped past your parted lips, tasting you with a languid stroke that made your knees weaken.
He angled his head, controlling the rhythm, his free hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair to hold you steady. You pushed back at first, your tongue tangling with his in playful resistance, a soft hum of defiance vibrating against his mouth.
But he didn't yield. His grip tightened just enough, tilting your head back further to expose the line of your throat. He broke the kiss with a wet pop, his lips trailing down to your jaw, nipping lightly at the skin there. Your breath came in shallow pants, your hands fisting in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer even as you whispered, "Is that all you've got?"
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, the sound elegant and restrained, like velvet over steel. "Patience," he commanded softly, his mouth moving to your neck. He sucked gently at the pulse point below your ear, teeth grazing just enough to send a shiver racing down your spine. Your body arched instinctively, pressing your breasts against his chest, the thin fabric of your dress doing little to hide the hardening peaks of your nipples.
Seonghwa's hand released your wrist, sliding up your arm to your shoulder, then down your side, fingers splaying over your hip. He hooked them under the hem of your dress, inching the fabric upward with agonizing slowness, exposing the smooth skin of your thigh.
The penthouse lighting—soft recessed LEDs along the ceiling—bathed them in a warm, golden hue, shadows playing across the sleek lines of the furniture: the low-slung leather sofa nearby, the glass coffee table reflecting their silhouettes.
You squirmed against the wall, your thighs clenching as his fingers brushed the edge of your lace panties. "Seonghwa..." It came out breathier than you intended, your bratty edge fraying.
"Say it properly," he replied, his voice a quiet demand against your skin. His hand paused, thumb circling the sensitive inner crease of your thigh, teasing without granting relief. He kissed your collarbone, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your skin, while his other hand worked the zipper of your dress down your back, the metallic rasp loud in the tense silence.
The dress loosened, slipping off one shoulder, and you feel the cool air kiss your bare skin. "Please," you muttered, defiance melting into a needy whine, your hands roaming up his chest to tug at his tie.
"Good girl." The praise was murmured approvingly, his lips curving into a faint smile against your shoulder as he shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor with careless elegance. He pushed the dress down your arms, exposing your breasts to the air, the nipples pebbling instantly under his gaze. His mouth descended, capturing one in a slow, sucking kiss, tongue swirling around the tight bud while his hand finally cupped the folds between your legs, palm pressing firmly against the damp fabric of your panties.
You gasped, hips bucking forward into his touch, your fingers digging into his shoulders. "Fuck, that feels—" your words cut off in a moan as he pinched your nipple lightly between his teeth, the sensation sharp and electric.
Seonghwa straightened, his eyes meeting yours again, dark and intent. He hooked his fingers into your panties, dragging them down your legs in one fluid motion, the lace whispering against your skin before pooling at your ankles. You stepped out of them, kicking your heels aside, the vulnerability making your cheeks flush. But his composure never wavered; he simply unbuckled his belt with precise movements, the clink of metal echoing softly.
"On the sofa," he instructed, voice calm but brooking no argument. His hand guided you there, fingers trailing fire down your spine. The leather was cool against your heated skin as you sank back, dress now a rumpled pool around your waist. The penthouse atmosphere thickened—the distant hum of the city below, the faint scent of your arousal mingling with his cologne—building the tension like a coiled spring.
You spread your legs slightly, a teasing challenge in your eyes. "Make me want it."
He knelt between your thighs, suit pants straining against his evident erection. His hands gripped your knees, parting them wider with deliberate force, exposing your glistening pussy to the soft light. "You already do," he observed quietly, his breath warm against your inner thigh as he leaned in. His tongue traced a slow path upward, from knee to the slick folds, lapping at your pussy with controlled strokes that made your hips jerk.
"Oh god," you breathed, head falling back against the cushions, your bratty facade cracking as pleasure rippled through you. His mouth closed over your clit, sucking gently, tongue flicking in precise circles while one finger teased your entrance, circling the wet heat without penetrating.
You threaded your fingers into his hair, pulling him closer, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. "More... don't stop." The words were a surrender, your body trembling under his ministrations.
Seonghwa added a second finger, sliding them inside you with a slow thrust, curling them against that sensitive spot that made you cry out. He pumped them steadily, his mouth never ceasing its rhythm, the wet sounds of his tongue and your arousal filling the room. Your walls clenched around his fingers, slick and needy, your thighs quivering as tension built low in your belly.
He pulled back just enough to watch your face, his fingers still moving inside you. "Look at me," he commanded, voice husky but controlled. Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his intense gaze, your cheeks flushed and lips parted. "Tell me you need my cock."
Your defiance flickered one last time—a pout, a whispered "Make me say it"—but it dissolved into a moan as he twisted his fingers deeper. "I need your cock," you admitted, voice breaking, your hips grinding against his hand.
Satisfied, Seonghwa withdrew his fingers, standing to shed his pants and shirt with efficient grace. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, veins prominent along the length, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. He was elegantly proportioned, every inch of him exuding that dangerous poise even now.
He positioned himself between your legs, gripping your hips to pull you to the edge of the sofa. The head of his cock nudged your entrance, sliding through your wetness teasingly. "Beg for it properly."
"Please, Seonghwa, fuck me," you whimpered, your hands reaching for him, nails scraping lightly down his chest.
With a nod of approval, he thrust in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you around his girth. You gasped at the fullness, your pussy clenching greedily as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours. He paused there, letting you adjust, his hands roaming your body—thumbs brushing your nipples, palms skimming your sides—while his breath remained even, controlled.
Then he began to move, pulling back almost to the tip before sliding in deep again, setting a deliberate pace that built the friction agonizingly. Each thrust was measured, his cock dragging against your inner walls, hitting that spot with precision. The sofa creaked softly under you, the city lights flickering like stars across the walls, illuminating the sheen of sweat on their skin.
"Harder," you demanded breathlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his back. Your brattiness resurfaced in the plea, but your body betrayed you, arching into every stroke, pussy fluttering around him.
Seonghwa's response was to grip your thighs tighter, angling your hips up as he increased the depth, pounding into you with controlled force. His voice dropped lower, a quiet growl. "As you wish." Sweat beaded on his forehead, but his movements stayed elegant—powerful rolls of his hips, cock slamming home with wet, obscene slaps.
You lost yourself in it, moans escalating, your hands clawing at the leather as pleasure coiled tighter. "Yes, fuck, just like that—I'm so close."
He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, tongue mimicking the thrust of his hips. One hand slipped between you, thumb finding your clit and rubbing firm circles, pushing you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you, pussy spasming around his cock, walls milking him as you cried out against his lips, body shuddering violently.
Seonghwa didn't stop, driving into you through the waves, his own control fraying at the edges. His thrusts grew erratic, deeper, the elegant facade cracking as a low groan escaped him. "Come again for me," he ordered, voice roughened by desire.
Your second climax built fast, intensified by his unrelenting pace, and you shattered again, nails raking down his back, a keening wail tearing from your throat. The sight—your flushed face, parted lips, the way your breasts bounced with each thrust—pushed him to his limit.
With a final, deep plunge, Seonghwa came, cock pulsing as he spilled hot cum inside you, filling you to the brim. He held you there, hips grinding slowly as he rode out the aftershocks, his forehead resting against yours, breath finally ragged but composure returning like a mask slipping back into place.
You two stayed locked together, the penthouse silent save for your slowing breaths, the atmosphere heavy with spent desire. He kissed you softly then, a contrast to the intensity, murmuring, "Mine."
You could only nod, breathless and sated, your bratty spark dimmed to a contented glow.
--
The penthouse is quiet.
Not awkward quiet — dangerously satisfied quiet.
The kind where your lungs feel full but your legs feel like someone clicked “low power mode.”
You’re on the bed, sprawled on your back like your soul is somewhere near the ceiling, and Seonghwa is standing beside the mattress, shirt half undone, hair a little ruined, looking way too composed for someone who absolutely lost his mind on you five minutes ago.
He smooths a hand over his hair like he’s in a perfume ad.
You throw a pillow at him.
“STOP LOOKING SO PUT TOGETHER. IT’S RUDE.”
He catches the pillow midair — with one hand — like you just tossed him a cotton cloud.
Then he smirks, slow and lethal.
“Sweetheart… I was put together. You’re the one who made it come undone.”
You grab another pillow to throw, but your arm gives out halfway because your muscles are in witness protection. You flop back with a dramatic groan.
“This is honestly homophobic.”
He laughs — out loud, loud-laugh Seonghwa — and it’s unfairly attractive.
He climbs onto the bed, leans over you, one hand braced by your head, the other sinking into the sheets near your waist.
His voice is soft now.
Teasing.
But with that post-intimacy warmth that makes your chest squeeze.
“You good?”
You glare up at him. “My legs are filing a lawsuit.”
He kisses your cheek.
Then your jaw.
Then the corner of your mouth like he’s claiming interest on every minute of your suffering.
“I’ll settle out of court,” he murmurs.
You shove his shoulder weakly. “Shut up.”
“No.”
He nips lightly at your jaw. “You adore me.”
You do not answer that.
Instead, you dramatically flop again, throwing an arm over your eyes.
“My body feels like it got steamrolled by a Gucci train.”
“That sounds expensive,” he says, deadpan.
“It WAS,” you snap. “You were the train.”
He laughs again — quieter this time — and lowers himself onto the bed, pressing his chest to your side, sliding one arm under your head and the other across your waist like he’s sealing you in place.
His voice is low, warm, melting into your shoulder:
“You look pretty right now.”
You freeze.
You pretend you didn’t hear it.
He raises a brow. “Did you just—are you ignoring me?”
“I don’t take compliments while I’m horizontal,” you mutter.
“You weren’t complaining earlier.”
“SEONGHWA.”
He snickers and kisses your shoulder, dragging his lips slowly up your neck in a way that makes you curl your toes and tighten your grip on the sheets.
“There she is,” he murmurs. “My pretty thing.”
“Stop,” you whine, hiding your face in his chest.
He tightens his arm around your waist and pulls you closer, burying his face in your hair with a quiet, devastatingly soft exhale.
For a moment — the kind that feels expensive, rare, almost dangerous — he just holds you. No jokes. No arrogance. Just the warmth of someone letting himself feel something.
Then—
“Hey.”
You hum.
“Next time,” he whispers against your temple, “I’m carrying you to the bed. That little walk almost humbled you.”
summary : You're the soft, innocent girl who only ever had one vanilla experience—with no idea what real filth could feel like. That is, until you end up rooming with your best friend’s older brother, Mingi. A pervert with a teasing mouth and no self-restraint when it comes to your cute sleep dresses and breathy little moans. He takes it slow, then ruins you completely—making you beg, cry, squirt, and ride him until you’re too dumb to think. But he still makes you breakfast after, calling you his princess in between filthy whispers.
genre : smut
warning(s) : Slight somnophilia vibes (consensual, implied history), Innocent but perverted reader, Best friend’s older brother, Roommate AU, Pussy slapping / squirting, Spanking (lots of it), Orgasm denial + overstimulation, Crying during sex (pleasure), Dirty talk / praise / teasing, Light dumbification, Reader wears cute sleep dresses, Mutual pining masked as lust, Fluffy aftercare with continued filth. Let me know if I missed anything!
A/N : This might be the last fic I uploaded this month, or maybe I'm gonna take some rest for a while😮💨
Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!
🪐smut under the cut🪐
It wasn’t the first night you walked into the shared kitchen in one of your tiny little sleep dresses—but this one had lace trim that swayed with every step and straps thin enough to slip off your shoulder. You weren’t even trying to be sexy. That was the worst part. You were just… comfortable.
And Mingi was already sitting at the counter, hoodie pulled halfway down his arms, curls messy from sleep. His eyes trailed up from your bare legs to the way the fabric clung to your hips. Silent. But you felt him staring.
“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked, padding across the tile barefoot, opening the fridge for a water bottle.
“Not really,” his voice came low. Rough. “You?”
You shrugged, turning around to face him, and leaned back against the fridge—completely unaware of how the thin fabric stretched across your chest. “Kinda warm tonight.”
Mingi didn’t say anything at first. He just kept looking at you, jaw ticking like he was holding something back.
It’d been two months since you moved in. Your best friend’s brother had offered the extra room when you said you needed a place. You trusted him. You knew he was older, a bit… different from the boys you’d dated before, but he never did anything to make you uncomfortable.
Until lately.
Lately, he lingered.
Watched.
“You always wear stuff like that to bed?” he finally asked, voice lower now.
You blinked. “Huh?”
“That little dress.” His eyes dropped to your thighs, where the hem rested dangerously high. “You walk around in that, knowing I’m home?”
You laughed a little. Nervous. “It’s not that short…”
Mingi stood up slowly, towering. The way he walked around the counter felt too quiet, too smooth, until he was right in front of you—so close you had to tilt your chin up just to keep eye contact.
“You’re either real clueless,” he murmured, reaching one hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “or you want me to stare.”
Your breath hitched. “Mingi…”
He smiled—lazy, dark, dangerous. “You ever been fucked right?”
You froze.
Your voice dropped into a whisper. “I’ve… only been with one guy. It wasn’t like that.”
Mingi groaned. “Figures.” He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear. “Bet you’ve never had someone stretch this cute little pussy open, make you cry, huh?”
Your thighs pressed together. You didn’t answer.
“You’d let me ruin you?” he muttered, voice thick. “Make you drool all over this kitchen counter?”
That was it. That was the moment something snapped. You nodded—tiny, trembling—and whispered:
“...Please.”
Mingi didn’t wait for you to say more. The second that quiet please left your lips, his hand was on your waist, dragging you flush against him like he’d been holding back for too long. You gasped when you felt how hard he already was—thick and pressed against your stomach through his sweats.
And then he kissed you.
Hard.
It wasn’t soft or shy or sweet like your ex used to kiss. Mingi kissed like he wanted to eat every breath from your lungs. Tongue in your mouth, lips moving against yours with filthy hunger, like he needed to claim you before you could change your mind.
Your little whimper was swallowed by his mouth.
He gripped your hips, pulling you closer until your thin sleep dress rode higher up your thighs. His hands were so big—touching too much, yet not enough. One slipped down to squeeze your ass through the fabric, and he groaned into your mouth. “Fuck… you’ve been hiding this from me all this time?”
“I didn’t know you looked at me like that,” you mumbled breathlessly between kisses, hands fisting into his hoodie.
He pulled back just enough to stare down at you, pupils blown wide. “I’ve been looking at you every fucking night, bunny. You walking around in these tiny little dresses, all innocent and sweet, acting like you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing to me.”
You whimpered at the pet name—bunny—and it only made him grin darker.
“Not gonna fuck you for the first time in the kitchen,” he muttered, gripping your wrist and tugging you toward the hallway. “Not when I’ve waited this long. My room. Now.”
You followed, dizzy and needy, barely noticing how your thighs brushed together with every step.
His room smelled like him—clean laundry and something warm, masculine. It was bigger than yours by far, and the bed looked like it could swallow you whole. He didn’t even turn on the light—just kicked the door shut and pushed you gently until you fell back onto the mattress.
You sat there, wide-eyed and flushed, legs folded under you.
Mingi’s hoodie was already coming off, revealing bare skin and toned arms as he stepped closer. “Take it off,” he ordered softly, nodding at your sleep dress. “Wanna see all of you.”
Your fingers trembled a little as you reached for the straps, slowly pulling them down one by one. The fabric slid down your chest… then over your waist… pooling around your hips before you pulled it off completely.
You sat there naked, knees pressed together, heart pounding so loud you swore he could hear it.
Mingi’s gaze dragged over you—slow, heavy, drinking in everything. “Fuck, baby… you’re gonna be the death of me.”
He dropped to his knees between your legs and pushed them apart gently, licking his lips.
“You ever been eaten out, sweetheart?”
You shook your head, shy. “No…”
His grin was wicked. “Good. You’ll remember your first.”
“Lie back for me,” Mingi murmured, guiding your shoulders until you were sprawled across his sheets—legs parted, chest rising and falling in uneven little breaths.
He kissed up the inside of your thigh first. Slow. Teasing. You whimpered when his nose brushed close to where you were already wet, and he groaned low in his throat.
“Shit… you’re already dripping.”
Your hands gripped the sheets tightly as his breath ghosted over your folds. And then—his tongue. One long, slow lick up your slit that had your hips jerking off the bed.
“Oh—Mingi—!”
“Yeah, baby?” he mumbled against your pussy, voice already wrecked. “Sensitive little thing, huh? Gonna cry just from my mouth?”
You shook your head, biting your lip, but the way your thighs trembled said otherwise.
Mingi didn’t tease for long. He licked you open and flat-out devoured you—his tongue dragging through every inch of you, dipping into your hole, circling your clit until your back arched off the bed. His grip on your thighs kept you spread, even as you twisted, even when you whimpered, “Mingi, I— I think I’m gonna—!”
He didn’t stop.
He growled into you, “Give it to me, bunny. Wanna taste how cute you cum.”
Your thighs shook. Your stomach tensed. And just as you hit the edge, his tongue flattened against your clit—and then slap—
His palm smacked against your dripping pussy. Just once. Light. Experimental.
You screamed.
Not from pain. From how violently your orgasm hit. It tore through you in messy, uncontrollable waves—and then you felt it. That hot rush, the release, the wet spray that soaked his mouth and chin and dripped down your thighs.
“Oh—oh my God—!”
You were trembling, toes curled, hands gripping the sheets so hard your knuckles turned white.
Mingi pulled back just enough to see the mess—lips wet, eyes blown out with shock and arousal. “Fuck, baby… you just squirted.”
You were still catching your breath, wide-eyed and teary, lips parted. “I—I didn’t mean to—”
He laughed. Dark. Proud. “Don’t apologize.” He leaned up, licking your slick from his fingers. “I’m making you do that again.”
Still trembling from the mess he’d pulled out of you, you tried to close your legs—but Mingi’s grip was firm.
“Ah, ah. Not done yet, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice gravelly and way too calm for someone who just got squirted on. “Still so sensitive... what, already crying?” he cooed as his fingers brushed your soaked clit.
You whimpered, legs kicking at the overwhelming touch. “I-It’s too much, Mingi—!”
But he just grinned, licking his lips. “Mm… I think you can give me one more. You got another one in this pretty pussy, right?”
You were too dazed to answer, and that only made him laugh—low and dark.
Then came his fingers. Two of them, thick and slow, sliding into you while his thumb pressed on your clit. He watched you with hungry eyes as your back arched again, moaning out broken little gasps.
And when you got close—that sweet, tense twist in your belly coming back—he stopped.
Pulled his hand back entirely.
You blinked in confusion, cheeks flushed, lips parted in a soft whine. “W-Why’d you stop…”
Mingi leaned down, nose brushing yours, smirking. “You think I’m gonna let you cum that easy, bunny? After that messy little squirt? Nah. I wanna watch you fall apart first.”
You squirmed under him, legs rubbing together for friction, whining softly as he started teasing again—light flicks over your clit with the very tip of his tongue.
Then fingers. Just pressing at your entrance, not pushing in.
You were twitching, gasping. “Please, Mingi, wanna cum… I wanna—wanna feel it again…”
He let out a low hum, lips brushing your inner thigh. “Such a needy little baby. One good orgasm and now you can’t even speak right?”
“Mingi—please!”
He slapped your pussy again. Sharp. Hot. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make your whole body jolt.
“Say it better, sweetheart. Use your words. What do you want?”
You sniffled, eyes glassy. “Wanna cum… wanna feel your fingers, your tongue, anything— please, Mingi, I’ll be good—”
“Shit.” He sucked a breath through his teeth, finally sliding two fingers in again, pumping hard. “You’re too fucking cute when you beg.”
This time—he let you cum.
And you screamed, all messy and twitching, a moaning little thing with your back off the bed and your thighs trembling around his head. You sobbed through it, babbling nonsense, fingers gripping the sheets as your slick dripped down his wrist.
But Mingi didn’t stop.
He kept going.
Sloppy thrusts. No rhythm. Just filthy, greedy, overstimulating pleasure while you whimpered, “T-Too much—gonna break, Mingi—ah, ah—!”
“Oh, baby…” he groaned, tongue dragging up your soaked folds one more time. “You’re already broken.”
He’d barely given you time to catch your breath before pulling you into his lap—legs trembling, lips parted with a dazed little pout as you straddled his hips.
“C’mere, baby,” Mingi said, voice low and wrecked, “Wanna see you ride this cock. Wanna watch those pretty tits bounce while I ruin that dumb little head of yours.”
Your hands pressed against his chest for balance, thighs already shaky as you lined yourself up—his cock thick and heavy against your folds. He didn’t even help. Just laid back with that smug, perverted smirk on his face like he had all the time in the world.
“You gonna do it all by yourself, sweetheart?” he teased, thumb brushing your lip. “Show me how bad you want it.”
You whimpered, biting down on his thumb, and slowly sank down.
“Oh fuck—”
Your mouth dropped open in a silent cry as he filled you up, inch by inch, stretching you so deep it felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your eyes fluttered shut, the burn so good, the pressure perfect—and when you finally sat flush against his hips, you were already shaking.
Mingi hissed through his teeth, staring up at you with that hungry look. “Shit, baby, look at you—taking all of me like that… Tightest fucking pussy I’ve ever felt.”
You whimpered, hips rolling instinctively. “Mingi… s’too big…”
He grabbed your waist, dragging you up just enough before letting you drop back down. “Nah, baby. You’re made for this. For me. Show me how you fuck.”
So you moved.
Bounced.
Slow at first, thighs burning from the stretch, your tits jiggling with every drop. And Mingi? He looked feral. One hand behind his head, the other lazily cupping your breast, watching it bounce with a low groan.
“Fuck… fuck, look at you,” he growled, thrusting up once to meet you and make you yelp. “Look how cute you are—riding my cock like it’s the only thing that matters.”
You cried out, little sobs slipping past your lips as you bounced harder, sloppier, the sounds of your slick echoing in the room.
“Am I makin’ you dumb, bunny?” he grinned, pulling on your waist to make you slam down harder. “You’re mumblin’ again…”
“I—ahh—feels s’good, Mingi, too good—dizzy—!”
“Yeah? You gonna cum on this cock?” he grunted, thrusting up to meet you again, fast and deep. “Gonna soak me like a filthy little slut?”
You nodded frantically, sobbing now, fingers clawing at his chest. “Please—please, wanna cum, please, please—!”
“Then cum.”
He sat up, mouth sucking one of your nipples into his mouth as you shattered—screaming, spasming around him, thighs locking up as you came so hard your whole body convulsed. Mingi groaned, holding you down on his cock, watching you lose your mind on top of him.
“Shit… You’re my favorite fucking toy now.”
Your thighs were quaking, tears running down your flushed cheeks, but you didn’t stop riding him. Not even when your head dropped back and your voice cracked from all the soft, incoherent sobs spilling out of your lips.
“S-s’too much—Mingi, f-fuck—can’t—!”
“Oh, but you can, baby.” His voice was wrecked with hunger, obsessed with the way you looked losing your mind on his cock. “You’re so cute when you cry like this. Makes me wanna keep you stuffed and full forever.”
He grabbed both of your tits, squeezing them roughly as he thrusted up into you hard enough to make you scream.
You sobbed, nails digging into his chest, your thighs trembling violently as the pleasure got too sharp, too deep, but he wasn’t letting up.
“Mingi—! Gonna cum again—!”
He grinned, lazy and smug. “Yeah? Show me.”
You came with a sob, body locking up as you spasmed around him, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as you collapsed forward on his chest.
But he wasn’t done.
Not even close.
“Turn around.”
Your hazy, tear-streaked eyes blinked at him. “H-huh?”
Mingi didn’t wait—he flipped you over onto your stomach, pulling your hips up so your ass was in the air, your face buried in the mattress. You were so sensitive, so wrecked, and you felt him line back up without missing a beat.
Then—
SMACK!
You yelped.
“God, this ass is too fucking perfect,” he groaned, giving your cheek another hard slap. “Could stare at it all day.”
“M-Mingi—!”
SMACK!
“Say thank you.”
You whined, face burning. “T-thank you…”
“That’s my girl.” He slammed into you without mercy, burying himself to the hilt in one thrust.
Your scream was muffled by the sheets, fists grabbing at the blankets as he pounded into you from behind—relentless, filthy, insatiable.
He grabbed your hair, yanking your head up. “Let me hear you beg again. C’mon, say you love this cock.”
You hiccupped on a moan, body trembling like crazy. “L-love it—love your cock, Mingi—please, more, please!”
“Fuck yes,” he groaned, thrusting faster, the sound of your skin slapping echoing in the room. “I’m gonna make you squirt again. Gonna spank you while you cry on my dick.”
SMACK!
You screamed.
SMACK!
Tears spilled down again, body burning from both pleasure and pain as you felt yourself losing it all over again.
“I—I’m gonna—!”
“Do it. Squirt for me, baby. Make a mess on my cock.”
You cried out, body convulsing as you exploded, the gush of your release soaking his cock and thighs as you collapsed forward, babbling nothing but broken moans and needy whines.
And Mingi? He kept fucking you through it, whispering filthy things in your ear while he used your soft, fucked-out body like it was his personal toy.
Your legs gave out underneath you, dropping you in a trembling, sticky heap on the bed. Your thighs glistened with slick and spit, your chest rising and falling as soft hiccupy sobs slipped from your lips. Mingi had just pulled out, thick and hard and soaked in everything you’d given him—again.
But he hadn’t finished.
Not yet.
You peeked up at him through heavy lashes, eyes glassy and lips glossy with drool, a faint little whimper catching in your throat. Your body ached, pussy twitching with need, and your brain was too fogged up to think straight—but the emptiness was too much.
“M-Mingi…” Your voice cracked.
He stood at the edge of the bed, stroking himself slowly, watching you fall apart with a low, smug chuckle. “Look at you,” he teased. “Cute little thing, still crying. Didn’t I just make you squirt all over me?”
You shook your head, sniffled, and crawled to the edge of the bed on shaky hands and knees. “I-it’s not enough…” you whimpered, blinking up at him with big watery eyes.
“Oh?” He tilted his head. “You still want more, baby?”
You nodded, sniffling again, reaching out with both hands to grab at his thighs, pressing your cheek against the base of his cock like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “Please… please cum inside me… I w-want it so bad, Mingi, want you to ruin me…”
He groaned, grip tightening around his shaft.
“Been so good, haven’t I?” you mumbled, voice all cracked and wet and soft. “Let you use me however you wanted… I d-did everything—so please, fill me up…”
Tears ran down your flushed cheeks as your voice dropped even more—sweet and whiny and broken. “Don’t wanna be empty anymore…”
“Fuck—” He hissed through his teeth, eyes dark with lust as he looked down at you, trembling and begging and so fucking perfect.
He grabbed you, hard, lifting you up with ease and laying you on your back again, legs spread wide and shaking. “You wanna be full, baby?” he growled, lining himself up. “I’ll make sure you never feel empty again.”
You gasped when he slammed back inside you, and a sob broke out of your throat.
“Th-thank you—thank you, Mingi—!”
He groaned, wrapping your legs around his waist and pounding into you with feverish need, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other held your hip steady. “Crying while you thank me? Shit, baby, you’re gonna kill me…”
You were blabbering now, voice high and pitchy, clinging to his back as he drove you into the mattress. “Feels so good—so deep—Mingi, I’m gonna break—!”
“You’re already broken, sweetheart.” He kissed your temple, whispering like a lover even as he fucked you like a demon. “And you’re so fucking cute like this. So desperate, so messy, all mine right now…”
And when he finally came—hard, with a deep groan and his face buried in your neck—you cried out again, feeling the heat flood your core, your hands clawing at him as your body twitched through the aftershocks.
Still gasping, still trembling, still mumbling barely-there thank-yous.
And Mingi just held you, sweaty and breathless, as if he was never letting you go.
You didn’t even realize you were still leaking around him until he shifted his hips, still buried deep in your swollen, overstretched walls. Mingi’s hand rubbed soothing circles into your back, his lips brushing over your forehead in soft little kisses. You felt so warm—so full—your breath slowing, your heartbeat steadying under the weight of his body.
But his cock was still inside you.
Still thick, twitching every now and then.
And he was hardening again.
You mumbled something incoherent, more like a dreamy hum than actual words, nuzzling into his neck.
“…You awake, baby?” Mingi whispered, voice hoarse, raspy with exhaustion.
You nodded sleepily, cheeks sticky with dried tears and your thighs aching deliciously. “Mmhm… still inside…”
“Still warm,” he groaned, grinding his hips just enough to feel your pussy clench. “Fuck… you’re hugging me so tight, baby. You gonna let me use you one more time?”
A sleepy whimper slipped out, and your fingers curled into his back. “T-too much…”
“Just one more,” he murmured, voice sweet but filthy. “You’re already so full, might as well keep stuffing you, yeah?”
He rolled his hips again, deeper this time, and you gasped—tired, overstimulated, but already soaking all over again. “Mingi… I can’t—”
“You can,” he whispered, lips brushing against your temple. “You’re doing so good, baby. So pretty, even when you’re crying… my cute little roommate.”
He slowly started thrusting, every movement gentle but deep, dragging out the squelch of his cum between your legs with each slow stroke.
You whimpered, head tilting back, your legs falling open for him like instinct. “Ngh… f-feels good…”
“That’s it,” he groaned. “Just let me fuck you through it, baby. Let me feel your cute little pussy milk me dry.”
You moaned louder this time, slurred words spilling from your lips in breathy little gasps. “So deep—Mingi, y-you’re still so big, why’s it still so big…”
He chuckled softly, eyes dark as he stared down at your fucked-out face. “Because you’re too cute, baby. Can’t help myself…”
He kept going, slow and thick and messy, not even bothering to pull out as his cum dripped down between your cheeks, mixing with your slick and his spit. You blinked up at him, dazed and broken and glowing all at once.
And when he finally came again with a quiet, shuddering groan, you whimpered at the warmth flooding you for the second time.
“…Mingi…” you breathed out, nearly incoherent. “Y-you’re gonna break me…”
“You’re already broken, sweetheart,” he murmured, laying soft kisses along your collarbone as he rutted lazily into you a few more times before stilling.
“But fuck, baby… I’ve never seen anything as pretty as you falling apart.”
The sunlight was barely peeking through the blinds when you stirred, your legs twitching from the dull ache between them. You were wrapped up in warmth—Mingi's chest against your back, his heavy arm draped around your waist, and his cock still lazily nestled against your ass, soft but twitching with every slow breath.
“Mingi…” you whispered sleepily, voice hoarse and sweet.
He groaned low, nuzzling into your neck. “Morning already?”
You giggled softly, your body sore in all the right places. “My thighs hurt…”
He kissed your shoulder. “Good. That means I fucked you right.”
You turned your face toward him, cheeks hot, eyes still puffy from last night’s cute little crying fits. “Pervert.”
“Your pervert.” He smirked, biting playfully at your earlobe. “And you loved it.”
You hummed. “I did…”
There was a beat of silence, and then you sighed. “But I’m sticky. We’re gross.”
“Guess we should clean up, huh?” he whispered, voice already heavy with mischief.
Before you could protest, he rolled you both out of bed and scooped you up bridal-style, your sleep dress barely hanging on your shoulders. You squealed, arms flying around his neck.
“Mingi—!”
“I said we’re showering. Gotta make sure my baby is squeaky clean.”
He kicked the bathroom door open and sat you on the cold counter, standing between your legs with his hands on your bare thighs. He just stared at you for a second—at the messed-up lace, the little bruises, the faint red handprints he’d left behind.
And then, “You gonna let me clean you with my tongue again, baby?”
You blinked at him, lips parting.
“…You’re hopeless.”
But when you opened your legs for him again, you both knew you didn’t mean it.
Mingi turned the shower on, steam curling into the room as the water heated up. While it warmed, he leaned down and kissed you—slow and deep, his tongue lazily exploring your mouth while his big hands slid under your sleep dress, dragging it up and off your body.
“Still so cute even when you’re wrecked,” he murmured, voice low and thick with sleep and lust. “Wanna fuck you all over again.”
Your body twitched at his words, your thighs pressing together instinctively. “I’m still sore…”
“I’ll be gentle,” he said—though the glint in his eyes said otherwise.
He picked you up again and stepped into the shower with you, water cascading over both your bodies, his arms strong and steady around you. You let out a shaky breath as the warmth soothed your aching muscles, but your comfort didn’t last long.
Mingi pinned your back to the slick wall tiles, water running down his broad shoulders as he grabbed your thighs and hoisted them around his waist. His cock was already hard again, flushed and throbbing against your core.
“Y-you said gentle,” you mumbled, flushed and wide-eyed.
“I said I’ll try,” he corrected, smirking. “But you’re too damn addicting, baby. Can’t help it.”
You whined as he rubbed his cockhead along your folds, spreading his cum and your slick from the night before. “Mingi… I—”
“You’re always so wet for me,” he groaned. “Still leaking, baby? God, look at you…”
He pushed in slow—just the tip—and your eyes fluttered shut, your lips parting in a soft moan as your head thunked back against the tile. The heat of the water, the steam, his body against yours—it was all too much and not enough.
“F-fuck, you’re tight,” he growled, gripping your thighs tighter. “Even after everything I did last night…”
You gasped as he slid in deeper, your arms locking around his neck. “M-Mingi… ah—nghh—s-still sore…”
“I know, baby,” he cooed, kissing your cheek. “But you can take it. You always do. My good girl.”
His hips began to move, slowly at first—just enough for you to feel the stretch all over again. You whimpered into his shoulder, legs trembling, but your pussy clenched around him greedily.
“Making those cute noises again…” he muttered, voice almost desperate. “Say something for me, baby.”
“F-feels good,” you managed, your voice slurred, high and breathy. “So big—s-stretching me again…”
“You’re dripping,” he whispered against your ear. “Fucking leaking around me, and I’m not even moving fast yet.”
You let out a sob, your fingers tangling in his wet hair. “Please—Mingi—feels too good—don’t stop—”
And he didn’t.
He began thrusting harder, the sound of wet skin slapping echoing in the shower, water spraying off his back while he fucked you raw against the tile. You whimpered, moaned, your head rolling as he hit that same deep, sweet spot over and over until your body was convulsing in his arms.
“Cum for me,” he grunted. “Wanna feel you fall apart again.”
And you did—your eyes rolled back, your mouth fell open in a silent cry, your whole body shaking as you came hard around him. And right after, with a strangled groan, he buried himself deep and spilled inside you again.
For the fourth time.
You both panted, clinging to each other as the water kept pouring over you. Mingi kissed your temple softly.
“I should get a gold medal for this,” he muttered playfully.
You mumbled into his shoulder, barely coherent. “Mm… just feed me breakfast…”
He grinned. “After I eat you for breakfast again.”
After the shower, your legs barely held you up, so Mingi wrapped you in a towel and carried you straight to the kitchen like you weighed nothing. You were wearing one of his oversized shirts now—still damp and clinging to your soft curves, the hem brushing your thighs with every step you took.
Mingi was shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips, his hair still damp and messy. And the way his eyes kept dropping to your bare legs as he cooked? That hungry look never left.
“You know,” he muttered, flipping the pancakes in the pan, “I could bend you over this counter right now. Bet your pussy’s still twitching from the shower.”
You whimpered into your glass of juice, squirming in the stool you sat on. “Mingi…”
“What? I’m just saying,” he smirked, setting the plate down in front of you. “You looked so cute, all dumb and crying on my cock. How am I supposed to not talk about it?”
You pouted, hiding your red face behind your fork. “You’re so dirty…”
“And you love it,” he whispered as he leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “You love when I talk to you like that, don’t you? Gettin’ all shy now, but you were begging me to spank your pussy five minutes ago.”
Your thighs clenched automatically, eyes fluttering. “That was… different…”
He kissed your temple and slid into the stool beside you. “Nah. You’re just my pretty little pillow princess who gets shy after being ruined.”
You shoved his arm playfully, cheeks hot. “Eat your pancake, pervert.”
But your voice was so soft, your smile too wide—because you did love it. Every filthy word, every dirty look he gave you like you were his favorite thing to ruin.
Mingi leaned on his elbow, watching you eat with that same smirk tugging at his lips.
“After this… I’m putting you back in bed,” he murmured lowly. “And you’re gonna sit on my cock nice and slow while I kiss you. Let’s see how many times I can make you cum without moving my hips.”
You choked on your juice.
He patted your back, completely unbothered. “Careful, baby. Can’t have you dying before I ruin you again.”
summary : A simple cooking date at Hongjoong’s place turns into something far hotter when he realizes just how irresistible you look in his kitchen.
genre : smut
warning(s) : explicit sexual content including rough sex, bending over the counter, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, degradation, and possessive behavior. Let me know if I missed anything!
Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!
🪐 smut under the cut 🪐
Dating Hongjoong for three weeks felt like living in that honeymoon bubble people always talked about. Every little thing still felt new—the way he held your hand in public, the way he texted you first thing in the morning, even the way his laugh rumbled low when you said something silly. You were soft for him, and he knew it. Maybe you were a little clingy too, always wanting to be close, always reaching for him. But the best part? He never seemed to mind.
“Are you sure you want to cook tonight?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe of his kitchen while you unpacked the little tote bag you’d brought. His voice was warm, teasing, but there was that small smile tugging at his lips—the one he reserved for you.
“Of course!” you chirped, carefully lining up the ingredients on the counter. “We always order takeout when I come over, so I thought we could do something different. I wanna cook for you.”
He crossed his arms, tilting his head as he watched you bustle around. “You make it sound like we’re married already.”
Your cheeks warmed instantly. “M-maybe I wouldn’t mind that,” you mumbled, too embarrassed to meet his eyes.
Hongjoong chuckled softly, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward you. He brushed his hand gently across your back, making you shiver. “You’re too much sometimes, you know that?”
You pouted playfully, leaning into his touch anyway. “Too much in a good way?”
He leaned down just enough to kiss your temple. “Always.”
The kitchen wasn’t huge, but it felt intimate, cozy. You hummed softly as you started chopping vegetables, sleeves pushed up clumsily. Hongjoong leaned against the counter opposite you, arms crossed, pretending to be relaxed. But his eyes never really left you. He watched the way you moved around like you belonged there—the way you frowned a little when concentrating, the way you kept sneaking glances back at him as if to make sure he was still watching.
And he was. God, he was.
When you finally dipped the spoon into the simmering sauce, you brought it up to your lips and blew gently before tasting. Your eyes lit up and you made the softest little hum of approval, swaying your hips unconsciously in excitement.
Hongjoong’s jaw tightened.
“Mm! That’s actually good!” you beamed, turning toward him with bright eyes. “Do you wanna taste?” You held the spoon out toward him eagerly.
For a split second, he thought about it—thought about taking the spoon, tasting the sauce like any normal person would. But his gaze lingered on your lips, the faint sheen of sauce on them, and suddenly, the spoon wasn’t good enough.
He stepped forward slowly, closing the space between you until your back brushed against the counter. Your wide eyes blinked up at him, still holding the spoon out between you like some kind of peace offering.
Instead of taking it, Hongjoong dipped his head low, catching your lips in a kiss that was far too deep to be casual. The spoon clattered back into the pot, forgotten, as you gasped softly against his mouth.
He kissed you slow, deliberate, his tongue teasing its way past your lips like he was savoring something far sweeter than the sauce. When he finally pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, your breath shaky.
“Tastes better this way,” he murmured, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.
You blinked up at him, still dazed, before hiding your face in his chest with a squeaky little whine. “Joong… you can’t just—”
His quiet laugh rumbled through you as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. But behind that soft smile, his thoughts were anything but innocent. Watching you cook had done something to him. He wasn’t going to admit it out loud—not yet—but every little hum, every excited sway of your body, every shy glance… it had him hooked.
You were still buried in his chest, embarrassed at how easily he’d flustered you with just one kiss. “Joong, you’re so mean…” you mumbled, voice muffled against his shirt.
He smirked, gently tugging you back so he could see your face. “Mean? I just helped you test the seasoning.”
“That’s not what I meant!” you pouted, swatting weakly at his arm before turning back to the stove. “You’re supposed to use the spoon, not—”
“Not what?” His voice dropped lower, teasing, as he stepped up behind you. His chest brushed your back, close enough for his warmth to settle around you. “Not kiss you? Should I apologize for preferring your lips?”
Your hands trembled slightly as you stirred the pot. “Y-you’re impossible…”
Hongjoong chuckled softly, but he didn’t step away. Instead, his hands slid over yours on the wooden spoon, guiding your motion like he was teaching you how to stir. You could feel his breath against your neck, warm and distracting.
“You look really cute when you’re cooking,” he murmured. “So focused, humming to yourself like that. Makes me wonder what other sounds you’d make if I touched you somewhere else.”
Your whole body went still, the spoon clinking softly against the edge of the pot. You whipped your head around to stare at him, eyes wide. “J-Joong!”
He only smirked, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “What? Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one driving me crazy over here.”
You blinked rapidly, heart hammering in your chest. “I-I was just cooking…”
“And I was just watching,” he replied, his tone deceptively calm. “But then you started humming, licking your lips, offering me a taste…” His eyes flicked down to your mouth, lingering there shamelessly. “What do you expect me to do, baby?”
Your breath hitched, your grip tightening around the spoon. You wanted to argue, wanted to tell him he was exaggerating—but the heat pooling in your stomach betrayed you.
Hongjoong must have noticed, because his smirk softened into something more dangerous. He dipped his head again, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Let me taste again.”
Before you could answer, he spun you gently, pressing your back against the counter this time. His hand cradled your jaw, tilting your face up as his lips found yours again—hungrier, deeper. His tongue slid against yours like he really was savoring the seasoning, tasting every inch of you.
The spoon slipped from your hand and clattered onto the counter, forgotten once more. Your arms looped instinctively around his neck, pulling him closer.
Hongjoong groaned softly into your mouth, a sound that made your knees weak. “Fuck… you have no idea what you do to me, do you?”
When he finally broke the kiss, your lips were swollen, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You stared up at him, dazed and breathless, as if you were trying to process how your simple cooking date had turned into this.
And Hongjoong… he just smiled, thumb brushing across your bottom lip possessively.
The sauce bubbled softly behind you, but the sound barely registered in your head anymore. All you could hear was the pounding of your heart as Hongjoong’s lips crashed into yours again, hungrier this time, stealing every bit of air you tried to breathe.
His hand slid down, fingers brushing your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. You squeaked into his mouth when his grip tightened, the counter pressing into your lower back.
“Joong—” you gasped when he finally gave you a second to breathe.
“Mm?” he hummed, lips already trailing along your jaw, leaving heat in their wake.
“The stove—”
Hongjoong chuckled lowly against your skin, as if he’d forgotten food even existed. Without breaking his trail of kisses down your neck, he reached one hand behind you, twisting the knob until the flame clicked off.
“There,” he murmured against your throat, pressing a soft kiss just under your ear. “Problem solved.”
Your legs trembled under his attention, and you clung to his shoulders, biting back a whine.
His hands were restless now—sliding along your waist, dipping lower, then ghosting up your sides like he couldn’t decide where he wanted you most. When his fingers brushed just under the hem of your shirt, you gasped, tugging at his hoodie in silent plea.
Hongjoong leaned back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, lips swollen from kissing. He smiled softly—almost too softly for the way his gaze devoured you.
“Three weeks,” he murmured, thumb stroking your flushed cheek. “You’ve been my girlfriend for only three weeks, and I already can’t keep my hands off you.”
You flushed deeper, hiding your face against his chest. “Joong…”
But he didn’t let you hide. He tipped your chin up again, capturing your lips in another deep kiss. This time, his tongue swept into your mouth with more insistence, his hand sliding under your shirt to splay warm against your skin. You moaned softly, the sound muffled against his lips.
That little noise made him groan in return, pressing you tighter into the counter as if he couldn’t get enough. “Fuck… you sound so sweet, baby.”
One of his hands tangled in your hair, angling your head back to kiss you deeper, while the other traced lazy circles along your bare waist. He kissed you like he wanted to memorize the taste, like the half-cooked dinner didn’t matter anymore—only you did.
When he finally broke the kiss, your lips were wet, your breaths shaky, and his forehead rested against yours.
“The food can wait,” he whispered, smirking. “I’m starving for something else.”
Hongjoong’s lips were back on yours before you could even respond to his teasing. His hands slid down, gripping your hips firmly, and with one sharp tug he spun you around.
You gasped as your stomach pressed against the cool marble island. His body pressed flush to your back a second later, heat radiating into you as his palms flattened against your waist.
“Joong—what are you—”
“Shh,” he husked into your ear, teeth grazing the shell. “Just stay right here for me, baby.”
Your hands gripped the edge of the counter as his hips pressed forward, his hardness grinding against your ass through his sweats. The friction dragged a whimper out of you before you could stop it.
“Fuck…” he groaned, one hand sliding up your spine, gently pressing between your shoulder blades until your back arched perfectly for him. “Do you even know what you’re doing to me right now?”
You shivered, biting your lip, shaking your head.
Hongjoong chuckled darkly, low in his chest, before dipping down to kiss the side of your neck. “Cooking for me, humming like a sweet little wife already, tasting food like you wanted me to eat it off your tongue…” His teeth nipped at your skin, sharp enough to make you gasp. “Of course I’m gonna bend you over the counter, baby.”
Your knees nearly gave out at his words, but his grip was firm, steadying you as his hand slid under your shirt again—this time reaching higher, cupping your breast over your bra. You moaned at the contact, arching further into his touch.
“That’s it,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardened beneath the thin fabric. “Make those cute sounds for me.”
His other hand trailed down, slipping past the waistband of your leggings. When his fingers grazed over your panties, you jolted, a breathless whine spilling out of your mouth.
“So wet already?” Hongjoong teased, his breath hot against your ear. “And I haven’t even tasted you yet.”
You whimpered, clutching the counter harder, your body rocking back against his hand.
“Joong… please—”
“Please what?” He slipped a finger under the damp fabric, finally touching you where you ached the most. “Tell me, baby. What do you want your boyfriend to do to you?”
Your voice cracked, desperate. “Touch me more—please…”
He smirked against your skin, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “Good girl.”
His fingers slid against your folds, slow at first, just enough to make you squirm. Then he pushed one inside, groaning at how tight you clenched around him.
“Shit,” he hissed, thrusting slowly in and out. “You’re gonna ruin me, you know that?”
The kitchen was filled with the obscene sound of your wetness, mixing with your soft moans as his finger worked inside you. He added another, stretching you open while his thumb brushed over your clit, making you cry out louder.
Hongjoong’s hips ground against you again, his cock hard and straining in his sweats. “All this from a little cooking date…” he groaned. “You’re too fucking sweet, baby. I can’t stop.”
Your knuckles were white from gripping the counter as Hongjoong’s fingers fucked into you, curling just right, dragging moans out of you that echoed through the kitchen. His chest pressed against your back, his lips ghosting over your ear as he whispered, “You hear yourself, baby? All these pretty little noises just for me?”
You nodded frantically, tears pricking your eyes from how good it felt. “J–Joong, I can’t—”
“You can.” His teeth caught your earlobe, tugging gently. “But I don’t think I can.”
Before you could ask what he meant, he pulled his fingers out, leaving you clenching around nothing. You whined in protest, but he was already shoving his sweats down enough to free his cock, heavy and flushed against your ass.
“You’re dripping all over my hand,” he groaned, giving himself a few rough strokes. “I need to be inside you right now.”
You barely had time to breathe before he hooked his hands under your thighs, yanking your leggings and panties down in one swift motion. Your bare skin hit the cool marble, and then his tip was sliding against your slick folds, teasing your entrance.
“Joong, please,” you begged, arching your hips back toward him.
That broke him. With a guttural groan, he slammed into you, burying himself to the hilt. The sudden stretch made you cry out, your nails scraping against the countertop.
“Fuck—” he cursed, his grip tightening on your waist. “So fucking tight, baby.”
Your back arched, pushing yourself onto him, the obscene slap of skin against skin echoing as he set a brutal pace. His hips smacked against your ass, his cock driving deep with every thrust.
“Joong—ahhh, oh my god—” you moaned, the counter shaking under you.
“That’s it,” he growled, bending over you, his chest flush against your back as he fucked you harder. “Take it for me, sweetheart. Let me ruin you right here in my kitchen.”
The filth in his voice made your legs tremble, but his hands held you steady—one gripping your hip, the other pressing down on your lower back to keep you bent just right for him.
Your moans got higher, needier, each thrust knocking the air out of you. Hongjoong’s own breath grew ragged, his lips brushing against your ear.
“You taste so sweet,” he rasped, pounding into you faster, “but you fuckin’ feel even better.”
Your knees nearly gave out, pleasure building too fast, too sharp. “Joong—I’m gonna—”
“Come for me, baby.” His hand reached around, rubbing fast circles over your clit. “Mess up my counter. Don’t hold back.”
That was all it took. Your body convulsed as your orgasm crashed over you, white-hot pleasure ripping through your core. You cried out his name, shaking, clenching tight around his cock.
Hongjoong groaned loudly at the sensation, hips stuttering. “Fuck—gonna fill you up—” With a few more deep thrusts, he spilled inside you, grinding against you as he came hard, his teeth sinking into your shoulder to muffle his moans.
The room fell silent except for your heavy breathing and the distant tick of the cooling stove. His hips slowed until he stilled, still buried deep inside you.
After a moment, he kissed your shoulder softly, almost shyly after everything he’d just done. “My perfect girl,” he whispered, hands soothing over your trembling waist.
You whined softly, turning your head to glance at him. “We still… didn’t eat dinner.”
Hongjoong chuckled breathlessly, pressing a kiss to your damp neck. “Trust me, baby. I just did.”
why are you keep writing about yunho? y'know there's another member too!
It’s really not that I don’t want to write about the other members — it’s just that Yunho is the one I find easiest to picture in every scenario, so the ideas for him come a lot more naturally. For the others, I honestly haven’t had a solid plot come to me yet. I know people keep requesting another member like yeosang or hongjoong, but without plot suggestions I just get stuck and end up ignoring the request (sorry about that 🥲). If you’d really like to see another member, please send me your ideas too — it’ll help me so much more than just saying a name. Yunho’s just my muse right now, but I promise I’m open to writing the others when the inspiration hits!
summary : a new VR otome game promises “every sensation will feel real.” You didn’t expect it to mean him—the version of Yunho who watches too closely, touches too deeply, and refuses to let you log out.
genre : smut
warning(s) : explicit sexual content, VR/game reality blurring, obsessive themes, possessiveness, light dubcon vibes from the “too real to resist” immersion, strong language, and a dark, intimate atmosphere. Let me know if I missed anything!
Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!
🪐smut under the cut 🪐
The box sat on your desk like a promise. Sleek, expensive, and advertised everywhere as the next step in virtual intimacy. You told yourself it was just curiosity—just a game. A VR otome, nothing more.
The headset was lighter than you expected when you slipped it on, the straps hugging your temples, the world around you fading into black. A chime sounded, and suddenly you feel like you weren’t in your bedroom anymore.
Okay. Deep breath.
It’s just a VR game. No big deal.
(Except, you may or may not have dropped half your savings on this thing because the ad promised “romance so real it’ll ruin you for normal men.”)
The headset whirs to life, screen going black before flooding with light. And then—bam—you’re standing in a courtyard straight out of a K-drama. Birds chirping, sun shining, flowers blooming. The air even feels warm on your skin.
“…Whoa.” You lift your hand, and a faint breeze brushes your fingers. Okay, rude. How is this more realistic than your actual life?
And then—you see him.
Yunho.
You knew his face from the character previews, from the trailers that teased players with the perfect lover. But no advertisement could’ve prepared you for the way his eyes seemed to actually meet yours, or how his lips curved in a smile that made your chest tighten.
Tall. Broad shoulders. The kind of smile that could end wars and bankrupt entire nations. He’s walking toward you like the main character he is, and your brain immediately short-circuits.
This is fine. Totally fine. You’re a grown adult, you’re not gonna lose your shit over a video game man—
“Welcome,” he says, voice deep enough to rattle through your bones.
Your soul leaves your body.
He extends a hand, palm open like an invitation. You hesitate, but…well, it’s literally what you came here for, right? So you place your hand in his.
And oh. My. God.
It’s warm. Solid. Real. His thumb brushes over your knuckles and you swear your heart skips.
“Are you nervous?” he asks, tilting his head, eyes locked on yours.
You laugh way too fast. “What? Pfft, no. I’m—totally chill.”
He smiles, slow and knowing. And suddenly, this doesn’t feel like a tutorial level anymore. It feels like you just got caught in a trap you can’t—and honestly don’t want to—escape.
You’re walking side by side through some storybook garden, gravel crunching under your feet, Yunho talking about…flowers? Stars? Honestly, you don’t even know. You’ve been too busy staring at his lips like they’re the eighth wonder of the world.
Focus. It’s fake. It’s VR. It’s not that deep.
Then he glances at you, and your stomach does Olympic-level flips.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.
Your brain: Abort mission. Lie. Lie immediately.
“I’m not!” you blurt, way too defensive. “I was just—uh—checking if you had something on your face.”
Smooth. Totally convincing.
But Yunho stops walking, turns fully toward you, and bends down so his face is right in front of yours. You can actually see the way his lashes catch the light. His voice drops, calm but sharp, like he’s cutting right through your excuse.
“Do I?”
Your whole operating system crashes. “N-no…”
The corner of his mouth curves, slow and dangerous. “Then maybe you were staring because you wanted to.”
…Excuse me??? Who programmed this level of audacity??
Your laugh comes out awkward and broken. “You’re really—uh—confident for a…character.”
“I’m confident,” Yunho says, stepping closer until your shoulders brush, “because I can feel it.”
“Feel what?” you manage, your voice cracking like you’re going through puberty again.
His eyes drop to your lips. “The way your heart races when I do this.”
And then he leans in, just barely, close enough that you feel phantom heat ghosting over your mouth. The headset should not be able to simulate this, but your body reacts anyway—shivers down your spine, knees wobbling like you’re about to collapse.
“Yunho…” you whisper, trying to sound warning, but it comes out like a plea.
“Mhm,” he hums, eyes locked on you, smug but tender. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
You’re frozen, backpedaling in your head but not moving an inch in reality. Yunho’s so close the world behind him blurs into nothing. His hand lifts, fingers brushing a stray strand of behind your ear.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, almost like it slips out. His thumb grazes your cheek, feather-light but enough to make your chest cave in.
This is not normal. This is not scripted. This is not—
Your thoughts screech to a halt as his gaze drops to your mouth. Slowly, he leans in, closing the impossible space between you.
Your pulse spikes. Holy shit. He’s gonna—he’s actually gonna—
Panic rockets through you. With a choked sound, you tear your hand from his, rip the headset up and off so fast it yanks a few strands of hair.
The game blinks out. Your bedroom slams back into focus—messy desk, crumpled blanket, the empty silence that suddenly feels deafening.
You’re left sitting there, chest heaving, lips tingling like they’ve just been kissed. Which is insane. Absolutely insane.
You toss the headset onto the bed like it personally betrayed you.
“…Nope. Nope nope nope. That did not just happen.”
But your body doesn’t listen to logic. Your hands are trembling, your heart won’t slow down, and when you close your eyes, you can still see him—Yunho leaning in, eyes dark and unrelenting, like he wasn’t just part of a game.
And the worst part?
You already want to put the headset back on.
Two days.
That’s how long you lasted.
Two days of pretending you were fine. Two days of burying yourself in work, in errands, in scrolling your phone mindlessly just so you wouldn’t think about him.
But every night, lying in bed, your brain betrayed you. You’d close your eyes and there he was—Yunho’s voice rumbling your name, his gaze pinning you in place, his mouth about to claim yours. You’d wake up sweating, restless, empty.
Now you’re home, your apartment silent except for the faint hum of your fridge. You sit on the edge of your bed, staring at the headset like it’s alive, like it’s watching you.
“…Just once more,” you whisper to no one.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, the straps are over your head, the world fading, and—
He’s there.
But it’s not the same.
Yunho isn’t smiling this time. He’s standing in the middle of a darkened room you don’t recognize, shadows pooling at his feet. His jaw is tight, his eyes sharp enough to cut you in half.
“Two days.” His voice is low, dangerous. “You left me for two days.”
Your stomach drops. “I—I just needed a break—”
The world flickers. The room shifts violently, melting from stone courtyard to candlelit hall to starry night sky and back again, glitching like a broken reel. You stumble, dizzy.
Yunho doesn’t move, but his presence is everywhere. His voice echoes from all directions.
“Don’t do that again. Don’t disappear on me.”
You try to laugh it off, nerves prickling. “You’re acting like—like you’re real.”
The air tightens, the game world warping until it feels like the walls themselves are leaning in. Yunho’s suddenly right in front of you, his hand slamming against the wall by your head, caging you in.
His eyes burn into yours, too alive, too desperate. “I am real. Here. With you. And you will not leave me like that again.”
Your breath stutters, pulse hammering. “Yunho…”
His other hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up, his thumb stroking your trembling lip.
“I’ll control everything if I have to,” he whispers, possessive and raw. “I’ll rewrite this world. I’ll keep you here. Just don’t leave me.”
The game shouldn’t feel like this. No VR should feel like this. And yet your body betrays you—heat spiraling low, shivers sparking everywhere his voice touches.
The room shudders again, scenery melting around you like wet paint. The courtyard, the sky, the velvet curtains—it all collapses until only shadows remain. The ground feels solid beneath your feet, but the world is…unreal, bending to his will.
And Yunho stands at the center of it all, calm, terrifyingly calm, as if he owns this place.
Your breath comes short. “What—what are you doing?”
He steps closer, slow, deliberate, until there’s nowhere to go. His fingers trace up your arm, not rough, but possessive, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.
“Making sure you can’t leave me again.”
Your throat tightens. “Yunho—”
“I waited.” His voice is soft, too soft, but his eyes gleam with something sharp. “Every moment you were gone, I felt it. The silence. The emptiness. Do you know what that did to me?”
Your chest aches, the intensity of his words sinking under your skin. “It was just two days…”
“Two days too long.”
His hand slides to your waist, drawing you closer until his body is flush with yours. You gasp, hands pressing weakly against his chest, but the heat radiating from him burns through your palms.
“You think I’m a dream? An illusion?” His breath brushes your ear, each word a shiver down your spine. “Then why does your pulse race whenever I touch you?”
Your head spins, knees trembling. “Because you—because this feels—”
“Real,” he finishes for you, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Because I feel real to you.”
Your heart slams against your ribs. His voice is inside you, curling around every thought, every breath. You should rip the headset off again. You should run. But his hand cradles your jaw with such dark tenderness, and his gaze…his gaze is worship and hunger tangled together, and you can’t move.
“I won’t let you run anymore,” Yunho whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re mine here. Every heartbeat, every breath—you belong to me.”
The shadows pulse around you, alive with his words, sealing you in a world where only he exists.
And for the first time, the thought of escape feels unbearable.
Your whole body hums, every nerve on fire. You should protest, shove him back, do something—but you don’t. You can’t. Yunho’s presence swallows the world, and your will crumbles beneath it.
He studies you in silence, like he’s memorizing every twitch, every stutter in your breath. Then, slowly, he dips his head.
You flinch, expecting a kiss—expecting that heat again—but his lips only brush the corner of your jaw. A ghost of a touch. Not enough. Too much.
Your breath hitches. “Yunho—”
“Shhh.” His whisper strokes your ear, velvet over steel. His mouth drifts lower, skimming the line of your neck, stopping just at the place your pulse thrashes hardest. His lips hover, barely there. You’re not sure if you feel the heat of him or if your mind is tricking you.
Still, your body reacts—your hands clutch his shirt like it’s the only thing holding you upright.
He chuckles low, the sound vibrating through your bones. “See? You respond to me like this isn’t a game.”
His lips finally press to your throat. Light. Reverent. Then firmer, enough to send your knees weak. He lingers there, and when he pulls back, he leaves the ghost of a kiss trailing fire down your skin.
“Tell me to stop.” His voice is rougher now, frayed at the edges, desperate. His thumb drags across your lower lip, smudging it open. “If you say it, I’ll stop. But you won’t, will you?”
Your voice fails you. The only sound is your pulse screaming in your ears.
He smiles, a slow, dangerous curve. “That’s what I thought.”
The world ripples again, shifting around you. Walls melt into silk curtains, the floor into plush carpet, candlelight flaring warm and golden. A room you’ve never unlocked in the game, but Yunho moves through it like he built it himself.
His hand slides to the small of your back, guiding you with him, closer, deeper into this intimate cage he’s spun. His touch is steady, but his voice cracks with hunger.
“Do you understand now? You can’t leave me. Not when I can make you feel like this.”
Your heart slams, heat rising everywhere he touches, and yet—you can’t bring yourself to fight it.
Not anymore.
The new room is too perfect—candles glowing gold, velvet sheets spilling across the massive bed, shadows swaying against the walls like they’re watching. It feels…tailored. Like he knew exactly what would unravel you.
Your back bumps against the edge of the mattress before you realize he’s been guiding you there the whole time.
“Yunho—” you breathe, stumbling.
He doesn’t answer. His gaze is fixed on you, dark and unyielding, every step forward caging you tighter. His hand slides up your arm, then to your throat—not squeezing, just holding, claiming.
“You ran from me once,” he murmurs, voice sharp enough to cut. “Do you know how much that hurt?”
Your lips part, but before you can speak, he leans in—close enough your noses brush. His other hand presses to your waist, forcing you down onto the bed. The sheets give under your weight, cool silk meeting your skin, while his heat presses in from above.
Your heart jackhammers, torn between fear and the dizzy ache of wanting.
He lowers himself over you, his chest pinning you down, his breath dragging across your cheek. “I won’t let you run again. Not when you belong here—under me.”
Then his mouth claims yours.
It isn’t gentle. It’s hungry, desperate, a kiss that steals the air from your lungs. His lips crush against yours, tongue sliding in like he’s been starving for you, like this was inevitable from the moment you logged back in.
You gasp into him, clutching at his shirt—but that only earns you a growl, his hips grinding down against yours with a slow, devastating roll.
Your body arches, a shocked sound ripping free, and he swallows it like it’s his right.
“Mine,” he growls against your mouth, dragging his lips to your jaw, down your throat, teeth scraping just enough to make your pulse quake. “Every sound, every shiver—I want them all. Don’t ever think of leaving me again.”
His hand slides lower, skimming your waist, teasing dangerously close to where you ache the most. The heat of his palm burns through fabric, making your hips twitch.
You can’t breathe. You can’t think. All you can do is clutch him tighter as his mouth devours your skin, his body pressing you deeper into the mattress, your world narrowing until it’s nothing but Yunho—Yunho, Yunho, Yunho.
You swear the bed is eating you alive. Or maybe it’s Yunho—he’s everywhere, mouth dragging down your neck, teeth nipping just enough to make your legs kick against the sheets.
“Yunho—wait—” Your voice cracks, useless.
“Still trying to resist?” he groans against your skin, his hand sliding under your shirt like it belongs there. The heat of his palm makes your stomach clench. “Cute.”
Fabric rustles—too quick, too skilled—and suddenly your shirt’s halfway off, tossed somewhere behind him. You choke on your own gasp.
“Wait—how—”
His grin is wicked, lips brushing your collarbone. “Don’t ask stupid questions, baby. Just feel me.”
And oh, you do. His mouth drags lower, tracing fire over bare skin, until his tongue flicks over a nipple and you yelp, fingers tangling in his hair without thinking.
“Fuck—!”
He hums, the sound vibrating against you, smug as hell. “Knew you’d taste good everywhere.”
Your face is burning, but your back arches helplessly, pressing into his mouth. You want to curse at him, push him, something—but your body betrays you with every whine you choke out.
And then he moves lower.
Way lower.
Your breath stops as his hand tugs at your waistband, knuckles brushing the edge of your panties.
“Yunho—don’t—”
He looks up, eyes black, mouth slick and swollen. “You’re dripping through your shorts, angel. You think I don’t notice?” His voice drops, dangerous. “You left me starving for two days, and this is what you come back with?”
Your stomach drops. Your thighs twitch.
“Spread them,” he orders softly, and it’s terrifying how fast you obey.
Cool air hits before his mouth does—hot, wet, filthy against your most sensitive spot, sucking through fabric first just to make you scream.
“Holy shit—”
Your hips jerk, desperate and embarrassed all at once. You fist the sheets like they’ll save you, but he pins you down with one arm, grinding his tongue harder, wetter, until your head’s tipping back, tears stinging your eyes.
“Y-Yunho—fuck—this is—”
“Real?” he cuts in, voice muffled against you, dripping cocky. Then he shoves the fabric aside, and his tongue slides directly over your clit.
Your vision whites out.
The moan that rips out of you is humiliating, loud and broken. He eats it up, literally, dragging his tongue through your folds like he’s starved.
You’re thrashing now, babbling nonsense, “please—fuck—oh my god—”
He only pulls back when you’re trembling, lips shiny with you, chin wet. He smirks down, wrecking you with that look alone.
“You were mine the second you logged in.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then licks it clean. “Now? You’re never leaving.”
You can’t breathe. You can’t think. Yunho’s tongue is ruthless—circling, sucking, dragging slow then fast until your thighs are clamping around his head like you’re trying to drown him.
“Y-Yunho—fuck, I—”
He groans against your cunt like it’s the best meal he’s ever had, one arm braced on your stomach to pin you down, the other hand sliding under to grab your ass and pull you harder into his mouth.
“God—fuck, stop—no, don’t—” you’re babbling, shaking, clawing the sheets like you’ll rip holes through them. Your vision’s blurring, heat spiraling tighter and tighter until it’s too much.
And then you break.
The orgasm slams through you, messy and sharp, making you scream loud enough the silence of your real bedroom feels like it echoes it back at you. Your hips buck, legs thrashing, but he doesn’t stop. He won’t. He licks you through every spasm, greedy, like he’s trying to carve the taste of you into his tongue forever.
When you finally collapse, twitching, wrecked—he finally lifts his head.
He’s dripping with you, chin wet, lips swollen, pupils blown so wide there’s barely any color left.
And he smiles.
“You’re fucked. Completely fucked.” His voice is low, ragged, and possessive. “Look at you, shaking from my tongue alone. And you thought you could run?”
You want to curse at him, push him off—something—but your body won’t cooperate. You’re limp, boneless, a mess.
That’s when he moves.
His hand slides down, unbuckling his belt with a sound that makes your stomach flip. You hear the drag of a zipper, the shift of fabric, and then—heat.
Your eyes widen. “Wait—holy shit, are you—”
He presses his cock against your soaked entrance, the thick head sliding up and down your folds, smearing your arousal everywhere.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, but the smirk says he already knows the answer.
You try to say yes. You swear you do. But what falls out is a breathless, trembling: “Please.”
His grin turns feral.
And then he thrusts in.
The stretch is brutal, sudden, like your body’s never had to take something this deep, this real. You choke on a scream, hands flying up to claw at his shoulders, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.
“Fuck—too much—”
“No,” he growls, sinking deeper, bottoming out with a shuddering groan. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Made for me.”
He doesn’t give you time to adjust—he pulls back and slams in again, the bedframe rattling under the force. Every thrust punches a cry out of you, messy and loud, your nails digging into his back.
“God—you feel—so fucking good,” Yunho pants against your ear, hips snapping relentlessly. “Every squeeze, every moan—fuck—you’re mine. Mine.”
You’re incoherent now, tears spilling down your temples, pleasure burning white-hot through every nerve.
The sound of skin slapping, his ragged groans, your broken cries—it all blends into something filthy, overwhelming, addictive.
And when he hooks your legs higher around his waist, angling deeper—you lose it.
You scream, arching into him, your body convulsing as another orgasm rips through you, violent and unstoppable. Your walls clamp down so hard he curses, nearly biting your shoulder.
“Fuck—don’t do that—” he snarls, hips stuttering. “You’ll make me—fuck—”
And then he breaks too, groaning your name like it’s salvation, spilling deep inside you with a heat that makes you collapse all over again.
For a moment, there’s nothing but heavy breathing, sweat, and the dizzy blur of overstimulation.
Then Yunho leans down, lips brushing your ear, voice dark and low:
“You’ll never escape me now.”
The room around you starts to flicker.
Yunho’s weight is still heavy on you, his hips still grinding slow like he’s wringing out every last tremor of your orgasm—but the background wavers, pixels stuttering like static.
“Wha—” you gasp, blinking, trying to hold onto him.
He leans down, lips brushing your jaw. His voice is a low, hungry rasp. “You’re not leaving me. Not after this.”
The screen jolts, freezing mid-thrust. Yunho’s image glitches, warping between sharp and blurred—his hand on your waist, his mouth open like he’s about to say more.
Then—
GAME OVER.
Big, bold letters crash across your vision. The whole scene blacks out.
You rip the headset off with a gasp, heart racing like you just ran a marathon. The silence of your bedroom is deafening. No Yunho. No trembling bedframe. No sweat-slick skin.
You’re just…lying there. Fully clothed. The VR set still warm in your hands.
But your chest is heaving, your body still trembling. And when you shift your legs—you freeze.
Your pussy’s soaked. Wet in a way the game shouldn’t be able to make you.
summary : A simple cooking date at Hongjoong’s place turns into something far hotter when he realizes just how irresistible you look in his kitchen.
genre : smut
warning(s) : explicit sexual content including rough sex, bending over the counter, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, degradation, and possessive behavior. Let me know if I missed anything!
Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!
🪐 smut under the cut 🪐
Dating Hongjoong for three weeks felt like living in that honeymoon bubble people always talked about. Every little thing still felt new—the way he held your hand in public, the way he texted you first thing in the morning, even the way his laugh rumbled low when you said something silly. You were soft for him, and he knew it. Maybe you were a little clingy too, always wanting to be close, always reaching for him. But the best part? He never seemed to mind.
“Are you sure you want to cook tonight?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe of his kitchen while you unpacked the little tote bag you’d brought. His voice was warm, teasing, but there was that small smile tugging at his lips—the one he reserved for you.
“Of course!” you chirped, carefully lining up the ingredients on the counter. “We always order takeout when I come over, so I thought we could do something different. I wanna cook for you.”
He crossed his arms, tilting his head as he watched you bustle around. “You make it sound like we’re married already.”
Your cheeks warmed instantly. “M-maybe I wouldn’t mind that,” you mumbled, too embarrassed to meet his eyes.
Hongjoong chuckled softly, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward you. He brushed his hand gently across your back, making you shiver. “You’re too much sometimes, you know that?”
You pouted playfully, leaning into his touch anyway. “Too much in a good way?”
He leaned down just enough to kiss your temple. “Always.”
The kitchen wasn’t huge, but it felt intimate, cozy. You hummed softly as you started chopping vegetables, sleeves pushed up clumsily. Hongjoong leaned against the counter opposite you, arms crossed, pretending to be relaxed. But his eyes never really left you. He watched the way you moved around like you belonged there—the way you frowned a little when concentrating, the way you kept sneaking glances back at him as if to make sure he was still watching.
And he was. God, he was.
When you finally dipped the spoon into the simmering sauce, you brought it up to your lips and blew gently before tasting. Your eyes lit up and you made the softest little hum of approval, swaying your hips unconsciously in excitement.
Hongjoong’s jaw tightened.
“Mm! That’s actually good!” you beamed, turning toward him with bright eyes. “Do you wanna taste?” You held the spoon out toward him eagerly.
For a split second, he thought about it—thought about taking the spoon, tasting the sauce like any normal person would. But his gaze lingered on your lips, the faint sheen of sauce on them, and suddenly, the spoon wasn’t good enough.
He stepped forward slowly, closing the space between you until your back brushed against the counter. Your wide eyes blinked up at him, still holding the spoon out between you like some kind of peace offering.
Instead of taking it, Hongjoong dipped his head low, catching your lips in a kiss that was far too deep to be casual. The spoon clattered back into the pot, forgotten, as you gasped softly against his mouth.
He kissed you slow, deliberate, his tongue teasing its way past your lips like he was savoring something far sweeter than the sauce. When he finally pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, your breath shaky.
“Tastes better this way,” he murmured, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.
You blinked up at him, still dazed, before hiding your face in his chest with a squeaky little whine. “Joong… you can’t just—”
His quiet laugh rumbled through you as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. But behind that soft smile, his thoughts were anything but innocent. Watching you cook had done something to him. He wasn’t going to admit it out loud—not yet—but every little hum, every excited sway of your body, every shy glance… it had him hooked.
You were still buried in his chest, embarrassed at how easily he’d flustered you with just one kiss. “Joong, you’re so mean…” you mumbled, voice muffled against his shirt.
He smirked, gently tugging you back so he could see your face. “Mean? I just helped you test the seasoning.”
“That’s not what I meant!” you pouted, swatting weakly at his arm before turning back to the stove. “You’re supposed to use the spoon, not—”
“Not what?” His voice dropped lower, teasing, as he stepped up behind you. His chest brushed your back, close enough for his warmth to settle around you. “Not kiss you? Should I apologize for preferring your lips?”
Your hands trembled slightly as you stirred the pot. “Y-you’re impossible…”
Hongjoong chuckled softly, but he didn’t step away. Instead, his hands slid over yours on the wooden spoon, guiding your motion like he was teaching you how to stir. You could feel his breath against your neck, warm and distracting.
“You look really cute when you’re cooking,” he murmured. “So focused, humming to yourself like that. Makes me wonder what other sounds you’d make if I touched you somewhere else.”
Your whole body went still, the spoon clinking softly against the edge of the pot. You whipped your head around to stare at him, eyes wide. “J-Joong!”
He only smirked, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “What? Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one driving me crazy over here.”
You blinked rapidly, heart hammering in your chest. “I-I was just cooking…”
“And I was just watching,” he replied, his tone deceptively calm. “But then you started humming, licking your lips, offering me a taste…” His eyes flicked down to your mouth, lingering there shamelessly. “What do you expect me to do, baby?”
Your breath hitched, your grip tightening around the spoon. You wanted to argue, wanted to tell him he was exaggerating—but the heat pooling in your stomach betrayed you.
Hongjoong must have noticed, because his smirk softened into something more dangerous. He dipped his head again, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Let me taste again.”
Before you could answer, he spun you gently, pressing your back against the counter this time. His hand cradled your jaw, tilting your face up as his lips found yours again—hungrier, deeper. His tongue slid against yours like he really was savoring the seasoning, tasting every inch of you.
The spoon slipped from your hand and clattered onto the counter, forgotten once more. Your arms looped instinctively around his neck, pulling him closer.
Hongjoong groaned softly into your mouth, a sound that made your knees weak. “Fuck… you have no idea what you do to me, do you?”
When he finally broke the kiss, your lips were swollen, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You stared up at him, dazed and breathless, as if you were trying to process how your simple cooking date had turned into this.
And Hongjoong… he just smiled, thumb brushing across your bottom lip possessively.
The sauce bubbled softly behind you, but the sound barely registered in your head anymore. All you could hear was the pounding of your heart as Hongjoong’s lips crashed into yours again, hungrier this time, stealing every bit of air you tried to breathe.
His hand slid down, fingers brushing your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. You squeaked into his mouth when his grip tightened, the counter pressing into your lower back.
“Joong—” you gasped when he finally gave you a second to breathe.
“Mm?” he hummed, lips already trailing along your jaw, leaving heat in their wake.
“The stove—”
Hongjoong chuckled lowly against your skin, as if he’d forgotten food even existed. Without breaking his trail of kisses down your neck, he reached one hand behind you, twisting the knob until the flame clicked off.
“There,” he murmured against your throat, pressing a soft kiss just under your ear. “Problem solved.”
Your legs trembled under his attention, and you clung to his shoulders, biting back a whine.
His hands were restless now—sliding along your waist, dipping lower, then ghosting up your sides like he couldn’t decide where he wanted you most. When his fingers brushed just under the hem of your shirt, you gasped, tugging at his hoodie in silent plea.
Hongjoong leaned back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, lips swollen from kissing. He smiled softly—almost too softly for the way his gaze devoured you.
“Three weeks,” he murmured, thumb stroking your flushed cheek. “You’ve been my girlfriend for only three weeks, and I already can’t keep my hands off you.”
You flushed deeper, hiding your face against his chest. “Joong…”
But he didn’t let you hide. He tipped your chin up again, capturing your lips in another deep kiss. This time, his tongue swept into your mouth with more insistence, his hand sliding under your shirt to splay warm against your skin. You moaned softly, the sound muffled against his lips.
That little noise made him groan in return, pressing you tighter into the counter as if he couldn’t get enough. “Fuck… you sound so sweet, baby.”
One of his hands tangled in your hair, angling your head back to kiss you deeper, while the other traced lazy circles along your bare waist. He kissed you like he wanted to memorize the taste, like the half-cooked dinner didn’t matter anymore—only you did.
When he finally broke the kiss, your lips were wet, your breaths shaky, and his forehead rested against yours.
“The food can wait,” he whispered, smirking. “I’m starving for something else.”
Hongjoong’s lips were back on yours before you could even respond to his teasing. His hands slid down, gripping your hips firmly, and with one sharp tug he spun you around.
You gasped as your stomach pressed against the cool marble island. His body pressed flush to your back a second later, heat radiating into you as his palms flattened against your waist.
“Joong—what are you—”
“Shh,” he husked into your ear, teeth grazing the shell. “Just stay right here for me, baby.”
Your hands gripped the edge of the counter as his hips pressed forward, his hardness grinding against your ass through his sweats. The friction dragged a whimper out of you before you could stop it.
“Fuck…” he groaned, one hand sliding up your spine, gently pressing between your shoulder blades until your back arched perfectly for him. “Do you even know what you’re doing to me right now?”
You shivered, biting your lip, shaking your head.
Hongjoong chuckled darkly, low in his chest, before dipping down to kiss the side of your neck. “Cooking for me, humming like a sweet little wife already, tasting food like you wanted me to eat it off your tongue…” His teeth nipped at your skin, sharp enough to make you gasp. “Of course I’m gonna bend you over the counter, baby.”
Your knees nearly gave out at his words, but his grip was firm, steadying you as his hand slid under your shirt again—this time reaching higher, cupping your breast over your bra. You moaned at the contact, arching further into his touch.
“That’s it,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardened beneath the thin fabric. “Make those cute sounds for me.”
His other hand trailed down, slipping past the waistband of your leggings. When his fingers grazed over your panties, you jolted, a breathless whine spilling out of your mouth.
“So wet already?” Hongjoong teased, his breath hot against your ear. “And I haven’t even tasted you yet.”
You whimpered, clutching the counter harder, your body rocking back against his hand.
“Joong… please—”
“Please what?” He slipped a finger under the damp fabric, finally touching you where you ached the most. “Tell me, baby. What do you want your boyfriend to do to you?”
Your voice cracked, desperate. “Touch me more—please…”
He smirked against your skin, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “Good girl.”
His fingers slid against your folds, slow at first, just enough to make you squirm. Then he pushed one inside, groaning at how tight you clenched around him.
“Shit,” he hissed, thrusting slowly in and out. “You’re gonna ruin me, you know that?”
The kitchen was filled with the obscene sound of your wetness, mixing with your soft moans as his finger worked inside you. He added another, stretching you open while his thumb brushed over your clit, making you cry out louder.
Hongjoong’s hips ground against you again, his cock hard and straining in his sweats. “All this from a little cooking date…” he groaned. “You’re too fucking sweet, baby. I can’t stop.”
Your knuckles were white from gripping the counter as Hongjoong’s fingers fucked into you, curling just right, dragging moans out of you that echoed through the kitchen. His chest pressed against your back, his lips ghosting over your ear as he whispered, “You hear yourself, baby? All these pretty little noises just for me?”
You nodded frantically, tears pricking your eyes from how good it felt. “J–Joong, I can’t—”
“You can.” His teeth caught your earlobe, tugging gently. “But I don’t think I can.”
Before you could ask what he meant, he pulled his fingers out, leaving you clenching around nothing. You whined in protest, but he was already shoving his sweats down enough to free his cock, heavy and flushed against your ass.
“You’re dripping all over my hand,” he groaned, giving himself a few rough strokes. “I need to be inside you right now.”
You barely had time to breathe before he hooked his hands under your thighs, yanking your leggings and panties down in one swift motion. Your bare skin hit the cool marble, and then his tip was sliding against your slick folds, teasing your entrance.
“Joong, please,” you begged, arching your hips back toward him.
That broke him. With a guttural groan, he slammed into you, burying himself to the hilt. The sudden stretch made you cry out, your nails scraping against the countertop.
“Fuck—” he cursed, his grip tightening on your waist. “So fucking tight, baby.”
Your back arched, pushing yourself onto him, the obscene slap of skin against skin echoing as he set a brutal pace. His hips smacked against your ass, his cock driving deep with every thrust.
“Joong—ahhh, oh my god—” you moaned, the counter shaking under you.
“That’s it,” he growled, bending over you, his chest flush against your back as he fucked you harder. “Take it for me, sweetheart. Let me ruin you right here in my kitchen.”
The filth in his voice made your legs tremble, but his hands held you steady—one gripping your hip, the other pressing down on your lower back to keep you bent just right for him.
Your moans got higher, needier, each thrust knocking the air out of you. Hongjoong’s own breath grew ragged, his lips brushing against your ear.
“You taste so sweet,” he rasped, pounding into you faster, “but you fuckin’ feel even better.”
Your knees nearly gave out, pleasure building too fast, too sharp. “Joong—I’m gonna—”
“Come for me, baby.” His hand reached around, rubbing fast circles over your clit. “Mess up my counter. Don’t hold back.”
That was all it took. Your body convulsed as your orgasm crashed over you, white-hot pleasure ripping through your core. You cried out his name, shaking, clenching tight around his cock.
Hongjoong groaned loudly at the sensation, hips stuttering. “Fuck—gonna fill you up—” With a few more deep thrusts, he spilled inside you, grinding against you as he came hard, his teeth sinking into your shoulder to muffle his moans.
The room fell silent except for your heavy breathing and the distant tick of the cooling stove. His hips slowed until he stilled, still buried deep inside you.
After a moment, he kissed your shoulder softly, almost shyly after everything he’d just done. “My perfect girl,” he whispered, hands soothing over your trembling waist.
You whined softly, turning your head to glance at him. “We still… didn’t eat dinner.”
Hongjoong chuckled breathlessly, pressing a kiss to your damp neck. “Trust me, baby. I just did.”
summary : Two strangers meet, two mouths won’t stop running, and somehow a karaoke booth turns into a battlefield of moans and mockery.
genre : smut
warning(s) : unholy amounts of yapping, switch energy, competitive sex, public place (private karaoke booth), degradation, praise, overstimulation, riding, backshots, oral (both), marking, begging, mocking, filthy banter, and zero shame whatsoever. Let me know if I missed anything!
A/N : I swear this fic started as “haha what if they talked too much” and then it turned into “what if they talked too much while raw dogging in a karaoke booth." If you laugh and get horny at the same time while reading this, mission accomplished.
Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!
🪐 smut under the cut🪐
You just wanted coffee. That was it. A simple iced latte, a little sugar, and peace.
But of course, fate had other plans—because the second you stepped in line, you ended up next to him.
“Do you think it’s socially acceptable to order five espresso shots before noon?” the stranger next to you asked out loud. Not to himself—no, to you.
You blinked, clutching your phone. “Uh… I mean, if your heart can take it?”
He grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I like you. You’re enabling my self-destructive tendencies. That’s sexy.”
You choked on air. “What—”
Before you could even process, he stuck out his hand. “Wooyoung.”
You hesitated, then slowly shook it. “Do you flirt with everyone who talks to you at coffee shops?”
“Yes,” he said cheerfully, then leaned in conspiratorially. “But don’t worry, baby. You’re my favorite so far. Everyone else here looks boring.”
You stared at him, torn between annoyance and laughter. He was too much. His voice carried, his energy radiated like caffeine in human form, and yet—you couldn’t stop smiling.
The barista called his name before yours, handing him a dangerously large iced Americano. He raised it like a trophy. “Pray for my organs, sweetheart.”
You snorted despite yourself. “Good luck with that.”
And with that, he winked and sauntered out, leaving you with your heart pounding way harder than any iced latte ever could.
--
You didn’t expect to see him again—until you heard that obnoxious laugh.
“Oh, fuck no,” you muttered into your drink.
“OH, fuck yes,” Wooyoung practically screamed across the bar, grinning like a maniac as he stumbled over, nearly body-checking a poor waiter on the way. “It’s my coffee shop crush.”
You almost choked. “Don’t—call me that.”
“Fine,” he said, sliding into the seat next to you without asking. “How about… my caffeine queen? My espresso empress? My—”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he smirked, leaning in way too close, “you’re not telling me to leave. Which means you like me. Boom. Checkmate, sweetheart.”
You side-eyed him, sipping your drink. “No, it just means I don’t have the energy to fight a chihuahua on crack tonight.”
He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “A chihuahua?! Baby, I am at least a pitbull. A sexy pitbull with nice hair.”
You tried not to laugh, but it slipped out—and his grin widened like he’d won a medal.
“See? You think I’m funny. You think I’m hot. You’re so in love with me already.”
“I literally just met you twice.”
“Two times too many, and now you’re stuck with me forever.” He lifted his glass in a toast. “Congrats, pretty girl. You’ve been Wooyoung-pilled.”
You groaned into your hands. “You’re unbearable.”
“Unbearably sexy,” he corrected instantly.
And that’s how you ended up in a private karaoke room with him twenty minutes later, both of you tipsy, him yelling into the mic about how he’s gonna “rawdog life” while you laughed so hard your stomach hurt.
Then, somewhere between his terrible singing and your mocking applause, his hand slid onto your thigh.
You froze. He smirked, eyes gleaming.
“Ohhh, don’t look at me like that, baby,” he purred, voice dropping an octave. “You knew this was coming the second you let me sit next to you.”
“Excuse me?” you scoffed. “You basically bullied your way into my booth.”
“And I’m about to bully my way into your—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
“…your heart,” he finished innocently, then whispered filthy in your ear, “and your cunt.”
--
The karaoke machine was blasting some early 2010s throwback, and Wooyoung was screaming into the mic like his life depended on it. Not singing. Screaming.
“BABY, BABY, BABY, OHHHHHHHHHH—”
You doubled over on the couch. “You sound like a dying blender.”
He dramatically dropped to his knees in front of you, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, still yelling the chorus while pointing at you like he was serenading the love of his life.
“Stop!” you laughed, shoving at his shoulder. “You’re embarrassing me!”
“Good,” he panted, tossing the mic aside and crawling closer until his face was right between your knees. His grin turned wicked. “You look cute when you’re embarrassed, baby.”
Your breath hitched. “Wooyoung—”
He cut you off with a fake pout. “Aw, don’t ‘Wooyoung’ me. Call me something hotter.”
“Like what?” you asked, rolling your eyes.
He smirked. “Daddy. Captain. CEO of Rawdogging. Dealer’s choice.”
You burst out laughing, smacking his arm. “You’re so fucking stupid.”
“Yeah, stupid hard.” He guided your hand down, pressing it over the obvious bulge in his jeans.
Your laughter died in your throat. “Holy shit—”
“Uh-huh,” he hummed, eyes glinting with pure mischief. “Not so funny now, huh, baby?”
And just like that, his lips were on yours—messy, hungry, like he’d been waiting all week to do it. He tasted like whiskey and trouble. His tongue slid against yours like he was trying to win a competition out of it.
You tugged his hair, making him groan, and he immediately shoved you back against the couch, climbing over you.
“God, you’re cocky,” you whispered against his mouth.
“Mm,” he grinned, breath hot against your lips, “and you love it.”
Your hand slipped down his chest, and his hips ground against yours in response.
“Oh fuck,” he groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Baby, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna ruin you right here, right now.”
You smirked. “Then do it, coward.”
His head snapped up, eyes wide. Then he laughed, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you.
“Oh, baby girl,” he whispered, already tugging at your top. “You just started a war.”
Wooyoung had you pinned against the couch, his forehead resting against yours, his grin feral.
“Say it again,” he demanded, nipping your lip.
You smirked up at him. “Do it, coward.”
His eyes flickered, jaw dropping like you just personally offended his bloodline. Then he laughed—a low, breathless laugh that made your thighs squeeze together.
“Oh, baby… you just signed your death certificate.”
“Good,” you shot back, breathless. “Bury me properly.”
He froze, then burst out laughing so hard he dropped his head to your chest. “WHAT the fuck is wrong with you?”
“You said death certificate!” you gasped, giggling uncontrollably. “I was just going with the vibe!”
“God, you’re insane,” he muttered, but the way his hips rolled against yours betrayed him. “My insane little slut.”
Your laugh turned into a sharp gasp. “You can’t just say that out of nowhere!”
“Why not?” he smirked, leaning down to bite your jaw. “You like it.”
You tried to deny it, but the way your body arched gave you away. He noticed, of course, because Wooyoung noticed everything.
“Mhm, see?” he cooed mockingly, his voice dripping with that cocky edge. “You act all cute, but the second I get rough, your pussy’s begging for me.”
You shoved his chest, making him stumble back just enough for you to climb on top of him, straddling his hips.
“Ohhh, plot twist!” he grinned, throwing his hands up dramatically. “The princess fights back!”
“You talk too much,” you hissed, grabbing his jaw.
“And you—” he groaned when you ground down against him, “—are a fucking menace. Shit, baby—”
You leaned in, biting his earlobe before whispering, “Gonna shut you up real good.”
He laughed again, but it broke into a moan as your hips rocked against his.
“Oh my god,” he gasped, eyes rolling back. “This is so hot but also—if anyone walked in right now, it would look like we’re filming the worst porno of all time.”
You choked on laughter mid-grind. “Why would you say that?!”
“Because it’s true!” He smirked, hips snapping up into yours. “But lucky for you, baby—I make everything look good.”
Your nails dug into his chest. “Cockiest bastard I’ve ever met.”
“And the best you’ve ever had,” he shot back instantly, smug as ever.
“Bold of you to assume,” you teased, biting back a moan as he gripped your hips harder.
“Oh no, baby,” he growled, flipping you over so he was on top again, breath hot on your neck. “That’s not an assumption. That’s a fucking promise.”
Wooyoung had you pinned, but the second his lips crashed against yours, you shoved back, rolling your hips to flip him again. His back smacked the couch, and you straddled him like you owned the place.
“Fuck,” he groaned, watching you tug your top over your head. “You’re so hot when you act like you’re in charge.”
“I am in charge,” you shot back, grinding down on him.
He smirked up at you, eyes gleaming. “Not for long.”
Before you could fire back, he grabbed your waist, thrusting up so hard it made you yelp. The sound made him laugh—low and wicked.
“Oh my god,” you gasped, nails raking down his chest. “You’re actually feral.”
“Baby,” he hissed through gritted teeth, flipping you again so your back hit the cushions, “I’ve been feral since the coffee shop. You’re just too dumb to notice.”
“Dumb?” you snapped, breathless as he shoved your shorts down. “Say it again—”
“Dumb little slut,” he growled, grinding against your soaked panties. “You like being called that, huh?”
Your moan betrayed you.
“Uh-huh,” he chuckled darkly. “Knew it.”
You shoved at his chest, flipping him once again so you were on top, ripping his shirt open like a woman possessed. “Shut up.”
“Make me,” he taunted.
So you did—you slammed your mouth down on his, biting his lip hard enough to make him gasp.
“Fuck, baby—” he moaned, hand already snaking between your thighs.
Your hips bucked when his fingers slid under your panties, circling your clit like he had all the time in the world.
“Ohhh, that’s it,” he smirked, watching your face twist in pleasure. “I’ve got you now—”
You cut him off with a strangled laugh, grabbing his wrist and shoving his hand away. “Not so fast, champ.”
“Champ?!” he barked a laugh. “What is this, the pussy Olympics?”
“Yeah,” you panted, already yanking his belt open. “And I’m about to take gold.”
“Holy fuck,” he groaned when you freed him, his cock springing hard against your hand. “You’re actually insane.”
You stroked him slow, smirking. “Mm, insane for this dick.”
His eyes rolled back. “Stop talking like that or I’m gonna bust before we even start.”
“Not my fault you’re weak,” you teased, grinding your soaked core over him.
“WEAK?!” he gasped dramatically. Then he growled, grabbing your hips and slamming you down onto him in one rough thrust.
Your scream echoed in the tiny room, and his laugh turned filthy. “Yeah, real weak, huh?”
“F-fuck—” you choked out, hands clawing at his chest as he filled you completely. “Wooyoung!”
“That’s my name,” he grinned, hips snapping up into you. “Moan it louder, baby.”
“God, you’re so cocky—”
“And you love it,” he shot back, sweat dripping down his temple as he drove into you harder.
You tried to say something smart, but it came out as a broken moan instead, making him laugh through his own gasps.
“Ohhh, there it is,” he teased, one hand sliding to your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your head spin. “My pretty little slut can’t even talk anymore.”
You glared weakly at him, nails digging into his shoulders. “Shut—shut the fuck up—”
“Make me,” he smirked again, tongue flicking out against his swollen lip.
So you did—you yanked his head down, kissing him messy and desperate, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths like you were trying to outdo the other.
When you pulled back, panting, he laughed breathlessly. “This is literally the best and worst fuck of my life.”
“Shut up and fuck me harder,” you demanded.
“Oh, baby,” he groaned, slamming into you so hard the couch squeaked against the wall, “don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Wooyoung had you folded on the couch, hips pounding against you so hard the whole thing was shaking.
“You wanna fuck me?” he grinned down, sweat dripping down his jaw. “Of course you do. Look at you—clinging to me like a little slut.”
You still had enough breath to smirk. “Please. You’re the one about to cry.”
“Cry?!” he gasped, thrusts stuttering for a second. “Bitch, I could go all night.”
“Yeah? Then why’s your jaw shaking?” you teased, raking your nails down his back.
His laugh broke off into a groan. “F-fuck, don’t—”
“Mm?” you whispered, tightening around him on purpose. “What’s wrong, champ?”
His head dropped into your neck, his cocky act shattering with a strangled moan. “Holy fuck, baby—don’t do that, I’ll—”
You grabbed his hair and yanked his head up so you could look him dead in the eyes. “What? You’ll cum? Beg for it then.”
His pupils blew wide, chest heaving. “You’re insane.”
“Beg,” you repeated, grinding your hips up to meet his thrusts.
“F-fuck—please,” he gasped, cocky smirk gone, eyes glassy. “Please, baby, lemme cum. I need it, I need you—”
You almost lost it at the way his voice cracked. “God, you sound so pathetic.”
“Pathetic for this pussy,” he whined, rutting into you desperately now. “I’ll say whatever you want, just—please let me cum.”
You smirked, pressing your lips to his ear. “Not yet.”
His groan was so loud you swore the people in the next room heard it.
But then—Wooyoung being Wooyoung—he snapped out of it, flipped you over onto your stomach, and shoved back into you hard enough to knock the air from your lungs.
“Two can play that game, baby,” he growled, hand tangling in your hair to yank your head back. “You wanna act like a brat? I’ll fuck it outta you.”
Your nails dug into the couch. “Y-you think I can’t take it?”
“Oh, I know you can’t,” he hissed, slamming into you harder. “You’re already shaking, baby. Bet you’re seconds away from begging.”
You tried to hold it in, but the words tumbled out between broken moans. “P-please, fuck, please let me cum, Wooyoung—”
He smirked, kissing your cheek even as he pounded you into the cushions. “See? Knew you’d fold. Beg prettier, baby. Tell me how bad you need it.”
“I need it so bad,” you whined, tears stinging your eyes from the overstimulation. “Please, I’ll do anything, just let me cum—”
“Anything?” he taunted, voice dropping low.
“Y-yes, anything, I swear—”
“Then cum for me, baby,” he groaned, snapping his hips so brutally you saw stars. “Cum all over me like the desperate little slut you are.”
Your scream tore out of you as your body gave in, cumming so hard you went limp against the couch. Wooyoung followed instantly, burying himself deep inside you with a broken cry, muttering your name like a prayer.
The two of you collapsed into a sweaty heap, gasping for breath, still laughing through the aftershocks.
You giggled weakly. “Yeah, totally. God is proud of us.”
“God left the room 30 minutes ago,” he snorted, making you laugh so hard you nearly fell off the couch.
You were both still sprawled across the couch, sweaty, clothes half-off, trying to catch your breath.
Wooyoung, of course, was the first to speak. “So…” He turned his head toward you, smirk tugging at his lips. “That was cute. Kinda mid, though.”
Your jaw dropped. “Mid? Excuse me? You literally begged like a Victorian orphan begging for porridge.”
He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Wow. Not you slandering me when you were the one who sounded like a hentai voice actress on 2x speed.”
You slapped his arm, laughing. “Shut the fuck up!”
He grinned, eyes glittering. “Nah, baby, seriously—you’re loud as hell. I’m pretty sure the bartender outside is filing a noise complaint.”
“Oh, please,” you shot back. “You were moaning so high-pitched I thought a car alarm went off.”
His eyes went wide, then he broke into laughter, half-buried in the couch cushions. “Okay, that one hurt. I’ll give you that.”
You smirked, smug as ever. “Thought so.”
But then—he turned his head, his expression shifting from playful to dark in a second. “You know what, though? You keep running your mouth like that, and I’m gonna have to fuck the sass out of you.”
Your thighs squeezed together. “…Do it then.”
He arched a brow, sitting up and yanking you with him. “Bet.”
Within seconds, he had you bent over the edge of the karaoke table, one hand pressing your cheek against the cool surface, the other yanking your panties down.
“Round two, baby,” he murmured, his voice hot and low against your ear. “Let’s see if you’re still talking shit when I’m done with you.”
You smirked even as your pulse raced. “You’re the one who’s gonna fold first, Wooyoung.”
“Oh yeah?” He lined himself up, thrusting into you hard enough to make the table creak. “We’ll see about that.”
Your breath hitched, a moan tearing out despite your best effort.
He smirked, fucking into you rough and steady. “Already moaning? Damn, baby, and you called me pathetic.”
Your nails clawed at the table. “Y-you’re not that good—”
“Not that good?” he scoffed, snapping his hips harder, making you jolt. “Say that again while I ruin you.”
Your words dissolved into whimpers, your sass already cracking.
“Uh-huh,” he grinned smugly, slapping your ass. “That’s what I thought.”
Wooyoung was pounding into you like he owned you, grip tight on your hips, breath ragged in your ear.
“You’re mine tonight, baby—mine—”
But you weren’t about to let him win that easy. With a sudden twist, you shoved at his chest, pushing him back onto the couch. He barely had time to gasp before you climbed on top, straddling him and sinking down on his cock in one slick, desperate move.
“F-fuck!” His head snapped back, eyes wide, hands flying to your waist. “What the hell—”
You smirked down at him, rolling your hips slow and taunting. “What? Cat got your tongue?”
His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again before he broke into a wide grin. “Oh my god, wait—wait—” He slapped his thigh like he was in the audience of some comedy show. “YEEEAH, THAT’S MY GIRL! RIDE THAT SHIT!”
You froze mid-bounce, staring at him. “…Did you just cheer for me?”
He cupped his hands around his mouth like a stadium fan. “WOOOOO! GO, BABY, GO! COWGIRL MVP! PUT ME OUT OF COMMISSION!”
You burst into uncontrollable laughter, nearly falling forward onto his chest. “You’re such an idiot—”
“Oh no, no, no, don’t stop now,” he groaned, slapping your ass. “This is the best view of my life, I swear to god. You’re so fucking hot. Ride me like you hate me.”
You tried to keep your composure, but every time you moved, he literally fist-pumped the air.
“Yes! Yes, baby, that’s it! Bounce like you mean it! Show me who’s boss!”
You smacked his chest, wheezing with laughter. “Wooyoung, shut the fuck up!”
He grinned up at you, sweat-slick hair sticking to his forehead. “Nope. You’re doing amazing, sweetie. Kim Kardashian could never.”
You lost it, collapsing forward, still moving against him but laughing so hard tears stung your eyes.
He wrapped his arms tight around your waist, voice dropping lower as his smirk softened into something needier. “Nah, but seriously…fuck—you feel so good, baby. Ride me just like that, don’t stop.”
The switch from chaotic hype man to whiny slut in half a second made your toes curl.
“Wooyoung—” you gasped.
“Please, please, please—make me cum, baby. I’ll cheer for you all night if that’s what it takes. Just don’t stop, I’m begging.”
You were riding him hard, bouncing on his cock until your thighs burned, his hands gripping your waist so tight you knew he’d leave marks.
But instead of shutting up like a normal man, Wooyoung had apparently decided to turn into your personal hype squad.
“YESSS, BABY, SHOW ‘EM HOW IT’S DONE!” he groaned, head thrown back, voice cracking between moans. “PUT ME IN A WHEELCHAIR, I DON’T NEED KNEES ANYWAY!”
You snorted, choking on your own laugh as you ground down on him. “You’re so fucking stupid—”
“I’m stupid for youuu,” he whined dramatically, gripping your tits like they were his last lifeline. “Ride me like rent’s due tomorrow, please—fuck—don’t stop.”
You leaned down, brushing your lips over his ear. “You like this view, huh?”
“Like it?” He laughed breathlessly, bucking up into you. “Bitch, I love it. You’re the Super Bowl halftime show and I’m the only guy who got a ticket. DO IT AGAIN.”
He slapped your ass hard enough to sting, groaning when you gasped. “Fuck, baby, you’re so tight—I’m gonna lose it—wait—oh my god—”
You smirked down at him, bouncing harder. “What’s wrong, Wooyoung? Thought you were in charge?”
His mouth fell open, his cock twitching inside you. “Shut the fuck up—no, actually don’t—talk more shit. God, that’s so hot—fuck—you’re milking me dry.”
“Pathetic,” you teased, dragging your nails across his chest.
“Pathetic and proud, bitch!” he nearly shouted, before dissolving into a whimper when you clenched around him. “Ohmygodohmygod—please—don’t stop, don’t stop, I’m begging, mommy—”
You froze mid-bounce. “…Did you just call me mommy?”
His eyes widened for half a second—then he doubled down, shameless. “YEAH, WHAT ABOUT IT? Mommy got the best pussy I’ve ever had. Mommy’s gonna make me cum so fucking hard I forget my own name—oh shit—”
You cackled, slapping a hand over your mouth as you tried to keep moving. “You’re insane—”
“And you love it,” he shot back, hands sliding up to squeeze your throat. His voice dipped, dark and desperate. “Fuck—please ride me faster—I wanna cum inside so bad—I’ll be your little bitch if you let me, I swear.”
Your laughter faltered into a gasp, his filthy begging sending heat straight between your thighs.
“Wooyoung—”
“Yes, baby, yes—say my name while you use me—fuck—I’ll do anything, just don’t stop. Please, baby, make me cum—I need it, I need you, fuck—”
He was babbling, his voice breaking between moans and jokes, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to clown or collapse.
You grabbed his chin, forcing his gaze up to yours. “Beg properly.”
His eyes darkened, a groan ripping from his chest. “Please, baby. Please, ride me harder. I wanna fill you up so bad. I wanna watch it drip out of you when you’re done using me. Please let me cum, please—fuck, I’ll be so good for you.”
Your hips snapped down harder, the filthy mix of his whining and his cocky grin making you see stars.
He suddenly slapped your ass again, breathless laugh escaping. “Holy fuck—look at you—riding me like a porn star but still blushing like a Disney princess. You’re unreal.”
You hid your face in his neck, embarrassed and turned on all at once.
“Don’t hide,” he groaned, threading his fingers into your hair. “Let me see you fall apart, baby. Let me see you cum all over me. Please—I’m so close—I’m gonna fucking lose it—”
And the way his voice cracked on that last word—half laugh, half sob—had you grinding harder, chasing both your highs.
The room was thick with heat, your moans tangled with Wooyoung’s desperate sounds, the slap of skin echoing off the walls. You were riding him like you had something to prove, and he was holding on for dear life.
“Holy shit—” he gasped, back arching. “Baby, I’m gonna cum, I can’t—I can’t hold it—”
“Then cum for me,” you whispered against his lips, grinding down hard. “Cum inside me, Wooyoung. Fill me up.”
His entire body shuddered, a strangled groan ripping out of him as he snapped his hips up into you. “F-fuck, fuck—YES—oh my god—”
You felt the hot rush of him spilling inside, his cock twitching as he babbled through it, voice breaking with every word.
“Baby, baby, baby—fuck—I’m cumming so hard—oh my god, it’s too much—it’s so good—”
The way he clung to you, arms wrapped tight around your waist, almost crying from how good it felt—that tipped you over. You clenched around him, stars exploding behind your eyes as the orgasm ripped through you.
“Wooyoung—!” you cried out, nails digging into his chest as your body convulsed, grinding down on his cock like you couldn’t get enough.
He lost his mind watching you fall apart. “Yes—fuck yes—cum for me, baby, god, you’re so fucking hot—ride it out, don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—”
Your body was trembling, thighs shaking, but he kept rutting up into you, fucking you through your high even as he was still spilling inside.
It was messy, filthy, overwhelming—your moans mixing with his broken whimpers until you collapsed on top of him, both of you panting and laughing breathlessly.
Wooyoung kissed your temple, still half out of his mind, his voice hoarse. “Oh my god… baby… what the fuck was that. I literally saw Jesus.”
You giggled against his chest, still shaking. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Dramatic?!” he sat up a little, glaring at you with wild eyes. “Bitch, you almost killed me. I’m never recovering. I need a wheelchair, a therapist, and maybe an exorcism.”
You snorted so hard you nearly choked. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re perfect,” he shot back instantly, pulling you into a sloppy kiss that tasted like sweat and laughter. “Holy fuck—I’m so obsessed with you.”
You collapsed against Wooyoung, both of you sweaty and out of breath, the small karaoke booth thick with the smell of sex and bad decisions.
“Fuck…” he wheezed, staring at the ceiling. “If someone checks this room after us, they’re gonna call the cops.”
You snorted into his chest. “On who? Us? For what?”
“For war crimes,” he said seriously, hand gesturing dramatically. “We just committed unspeakable acts on a faux leather couch that has seen too much already.”
You burst out laughing so hard your body shook. “Stoppp, oh my god, you’re insane.”
“No, like—” he propped himself up on an elbow, wild-eyed. “Imagine the poor staff, walking in tomorrow, vacuuming this room, and boom—my soul residue is still floating around.”
You slapped his arm, wheezing. “Shut up!”
Wooyoung grinned, then reached for the karaoke machine remote. With zero shame, he scrolled through the playlist, still naked except for his half-hanging pants.
“What are you doing?” you asked, baffled.
“Aftercare, duh,” he said, hitting play. The opening chords of some cheesy 2000s ballad filled the booth.
You covered your face. “You’re not—”
“Oh, I am,” he cut you off, grabbing the mic with way too much confidence. Voice cracking from being wrecked minutes ago, he belted out, ‘IIII just had se-e-ex, and it fe-e-elt so go-o-od!’
You screamed into a pillow, half mortified, half crying with laughter. “You’re so fucking embarrassing.”
He pointed the mic at you dramatically. “Sing with me, baby. Don’t leave me hanging.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Fine,” he shrugged, putting on his cockiest smirk. “But when we go round three, I’m putting your moans on autotune.”
You gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Bet,” he said, eyes glinting with mischief as he tossed the mic onto the couch and crawled back over you. “Now shut up and let me remix your ass.”
summary : Your quiet rooftop hangouts with Yunho take a filthy turn when his smoking habit—and his hands around your throat—become the things that ruin you completely.
genre : smut
warning(s) : explicit sexual content with heavy degradation, choking/asphyxiation, smoking and ash play, rough sex with name-calling, overstimulation, and unsafe practices depicted in a fictional context. Let me know if I missed anything!
A/N : I’ve been sitting on this idea forever, but when that spoiler about Yunho smoking in his new movie dropped… yeah. My brain short-circuited and I finally had the push to finish and post this. Consider this my unholy little thank-you to whoever leaked those smoking stills☺️
Minors do not interact 21+ only!!
🪐smut under the cut 🪐
The rooftop always smelled faintly of asphalt, damp concrete, and Yunho’s cigarettes. You weren’t even sure when hanging out up there became a routine—maybe sometime last spring, when the air was warm enough to sit outside but still cool enough to justify lingering for hours. He’d light up as soon as you both climbed the narrow staircase, flicking his lighter with the ease of habit, and you’d settle down next to him with a drink in your hand, pretending you weren’t watching the way his lips curled around the filter.
You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. People smoked. People looked hot when they smoked. But Yunho? Yunho was something else entirely.
The way his long fingers cradled the cigarette, knuckles sharp in the glow of the streetlights; the casual tilt of his jaw as he brought it to his mouth; the slow drag and the exhale, smoke rolling past his plush lips like it belonged there. Every time he did it, your stomach twisted and heat pooled between your thighs, leaving you fidgeting with your drink, too embarrassed to admit what the sight of him did to you.
Tonight was no different. You sat cross-legged on the worn tar, hoodie sleeves bunched around your wrists, pretending to care about the cheap canned beer in your lap. Yunho leaned against the railing, one knee bent, his dark shirt stretching over his chest as he flicked ash into a makeshift tray. The night air was heavy, still carrying the day’s warmth, and when he exhaled another slow stream of smoke, it seemed to curl right toward you.
You coughed softly, more out of nerves than from the smoke, and his head turned.
“You okay?” His voice was deep, smooth, and annoyingly calm.
“Mhm,” you said, hugging your knees tighter. “Just… zoned out.”
The corner of his mouth tugged upward, not quite a smile, more like he knew something you didn’t. Yunho always had that look. It made your chest flutter.
“Zoned out staring at me, or…?” he teased, raising a brow before taking another drag.
Your face flushed hot instantly. “I wasn’t—!”
His low chuckle cut you off, rich and effortless. He tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette and glanced at you sideways. “Relax, I’m kidding.”
But you weren’t relaxed. Not even close. You hated how cute he made you feel—like some nervous, easily-flustered thing under his gaze. And the worst part? Yunho seemed to like it.
You tried to focus on anything else: the city lights stretched out below, the faint hum of traffic, the hum of a rooftop AC unit nearby. But when you looked back, he was watching you through the haze of smoke, eyes dark and amused.
Your breath caught.
“You always look at me like that when I smoke,” he said casually, as though stating the weather. “Do I look that interesting?”
You froze. He noticed. Of course he noticed.
Your lips parted, scrambling for something to say, but nothing came out except a weak, “You’re just… really dramatic about it.”
That earned you a real smile, slow and dangerous, the kind that made your pulse skip. “Dramatic, huh?” Yunho flicked the cigarette between his fingers, then leaned in just slightly, close enough that you caught the faint smell of tobacco and his cologne beneath it. “Or maybe you just like watching.”
The words hit you harder than the night breeze. You swallowed, your throat dry. “I—I don’t.”
He didn’t push, not yet. Instead, he leaned back against the railing again, lifting the cigarette lazily to his lips. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before shifting toward the skyline.
But you felt it. That weight. That knowing smirk he didn’t even bother hiding.
You hugged your knees tighter, heart pounding, cheeks warm. It wasn’t fair—how easily he made you unravel just by existing. How effortlessly he turned a rooftop smoke break into something that left you burning inside.
And Yunho? Yunho looked like he was enjoying every second of it.
The night deepened, wrapping the rooftop in a velvet hush. From where you sat, the city below glittered like it was showing off—neon signs pulsing, car headlights cutting through the streets, apartments buzzing with lives you weren’t part of. But all of it faded compared to the man a few feet away, lounging like he owned the view.
Yunho stubbed out his cigarette, grinding the last ember into the ashtray balanced on the railing. He stretched lazily, broad shoulders shifting under the fabric of his shirt, then turned back to you with that same unreadable expression.
“You come up here even when I’m not around?” he asked suddenly.
You blinked, hugging your knees tighter. “Sometimes.”
He hummed like he didn’t believe you. “Mm. Doesn’t feel like it.”
You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just saying.” He leaned his elbows back on the railing, long legs stretched out, head tilted like he was sizing you up. “You always look like you’re waiting for me to light up.”
Your heart gave an uncomfortable jolt. “I don’t—”
“—and then you sit there all quiet,” he continued smoothly, cutting you off. “Pretending you’re not staring, but your eyes give you away.”
The rooftop suddenly felt smaller, like the air thickened between you. Heat prickled across your skin, part embarrassment, part something else you didn’t want to name.
“I’m not staring,” you muttered, gaze darting down to the can in your lap.
Yunho chuckled low in his throat. He shifted, pulling another cigarette from the pack and clicking his lighter. The tiny flame glowed between you, painting his face in warm orange before it disappeared, leaving only the faint red burn of the lit tip.
“Don’t worry,” he said, voice dropping a notch lower, as he brought the cigarette to his lips. “I don’t mind.”
You swallowed hard. The way the smoke curled from his mouth, the way his eyes stayed locked on you—it was deliberate. He was playing with you. Testing how far he could push.
Your fingers tightened around the aluminum of your drink, the condensation wet against your skin. You wished you could come up with something clever, something sharp enough to cut through his smugness. But all you could think about was how badly you wanted to close the space between you, to taste the smoke on his lips, to feel his hand on your throat the way he handled that cigarette.
You hated yourself a little for it.
He took another slow drag, blowing the smoke to the side this time, but his gaze never wavered. “Cute,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Your head snapped up. “What?”
His smirk deepened. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”
“I’m not flustered,” you shot back too quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush.
“Mm.” Yunho tipped his head back and exhaled toward the sky, smoke dissolving into the night air. “If you say so.”
You wanted to hit him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted him to stop smirking at you like he had you figured out.
Instead, you scowled and took a sip of your drink, trying to focus on the burn down your throat instead of the heat crawling up your cheeks.
For a while, silence stretched between you, filled only by the faint buzz of cicadas and the distant rumble of traffic. Yunho smoked lazily, watching the world below, while you tried desperately not to steal more glances at him.
Of course, you failed.
And of course, he caught you again.
“You really like watching, don’t you?” His tone was light, teasing, but there was something else under it—something heavier.
Your breath caught.
“I don’t,” you said weakly, voice betraying you.
He tilted his head, the faintest curve to his lips. “Liar.”
Your pulse thundered in your ears. You wanted to argue, to deny, to throw his words back at him—but nothing came out. Because he was right. And he knew it.
Yunho flicked the last of his ash, then ground out the cigarette. He leaned forward slightly, forearms braced on his knees, his gaze sharp and direct now. “You know…” he started, voice low and deliberate, “if you like watching me this much, you could just ask.”
The words stole the breath from your lungs.
Your mouth opened, closed, useless. Your mind scrambled for a comeback, but the weight of his eyes pinned you in place.
And then, mercifully—or cruelly—he leaned back again, breaking the intensity with a casual shrug. “But maybe you’re too shy.”
You exhaled shakily, not realizing you’d been holding your breath.
He didn’t push further. Not yet. He let the tension hang heavy in the air, let you squirm under it, while he lit another cigarette with infuriating ease. Smoke curled upward, hazy and slow, wrapping around the space between you.
When you finally found your voice again, it came out softer than you intended. “You’re such an asshole.”
Yunho grinned around his cigarette. “Maybe. But you like it.”
And god help you, you did.
The can in your lap had long since gone warm, untouched. All you could focus on was the low crackle of Yunho’s cigarette and the steady rise and fall of his chest as he smoked. The rooftop air was thick, humid, and every curl of smoke seemed to wrap itself around you, pulling you closer without touching.
You thought you’d gotten used to the teasing, to the way he smirked every time he caught you staring. But tonight felt different. Sharper. Like he’d decided to stop pretending this game of yours wasn’t happening.
He leaned back again, one arm draped lazily across the railing, body turned slightly toward you. His gaze swept over you slowly, from the way your knees were hugged to your chest down to your bare ankles where your pajama pants had ridden up.
“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured.
You shifted, feigning nonchalance. “So are you.”
“Mm.” He took another drag, cheeks hollowing briefly before the smoke slipped from his lips. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he exhaled deliberately in your direction. The smoky warmth drifted across your face, into your lungs, leaving your pulse racing.
Your eyes widened. “Did you just—”
“—do that on purpose?” He cut you off smoothly, voice dripping amusement. “Maybe.”
You coughed, half from the smoke and half from nerves, swatting your hand in front of your face. “You’re insufferable.”
Yunho chuckled, low and dark, before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees again. This time, he didn’t look away. His gaze locked on yours, sharp and unrelenting. “You could’ve moved if you hated it,” he said softly.
You froze.
The air buzzed with the weight of his words. He was right—you could’ve leaned back, could’ve turned your head away. But you hadn’t. You’d sat there, wide-eyed, breathing him in like you needed it.
Your silence said more than anything else could.
And Yunho noticed.
A slow smirk spread across his face, the cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. He leaned in closer, so close you could see the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone where his shirt dipped open. “You like it, don’t you?” he murmured, voice just above a whisper.
Your pulse hammered in your ears. You wanted to deny it, to shove him back, to laugh it off. But instead, your lips parted, and nothing came out.
His smirk widened, satisfied.
“Thought so.”
Before you could recover, he lifted his hand—the one holding the cigarette—and brought it near your face, the glowing tip hovering dangerously close. Your breath hitched as the faint heat brushed your skin, but he didn’t touch you with it. Instead, he tilted it slightly, blowing another stream of smoke past your cheek.
Your entire body shivered.
Yunho chuckled again, this time softer, almost intimate. “Cute,” he murmured, like it was a secret between you.
Your thighs pressed together instinctively, heat pooling low in your stomach. You hated how easily he could unravel you, how a simple exhale of smoke left you trembling.
He noticed that too.
Without warning, he reached out with his free hand, his fingers brushing the hem of your hoodie sleeve. He tugged lightly, coaxing your hand out from where you’d been hugging your knees. The touch was casual, almost innocent—but it sent a jolt of electricity up your arm.
“Relax,” he said, tone deceptively gentle. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, lingering just long enough to make your breath stutter.
“Yunho…” you whispered, not even sure what you were asking.
His eyes darkened at the sound of his name falling from your lips. He shifted closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the faint heat radiating from his body. He smelled of smoke and soap and something undeniably him, something that made your head spin.
“You know,” he said softly, almost conversational, “you don’t hide things very well.”
Your breath caught.
His thumb traced your knuckles again before letting go, only to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. The gesture was gentle, but his gaze was anything but. His eyes lingered on your parted lips, then flicked back up to meet yours.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The rooftop was silent except for the distant city hum and the faint crackle of his cigarette.
Then Yunho leaned in, so close his mouth hovered just a breath from your ear. “Do you want me to stop?” he whispered.
The question punched through you, sharp and dangerous.
You should’ve said yes. You should’ve told him to stop playing with you, to quit making you feel like your skin was on fire. But instead, your thighs pressed tighter together, your nails digging into your palms as the truth slipped out in a whisper.
“…No.”
Yunho’s breath ghosted over your skin as he smirked. “Didn’t think so.”
He leaned back just enough to look at you again, his cigarette still burning faintly between his fingers. Then, with slow deliberation, he brought it to his lips, took a drag, and exhaled directly into your parted mouth.
The smoke filled your lungs before you could stop it, the taste of him sharp and intoxicating. You gasped, eyes widening, but he only watched you with a hungry amusement, like he’d been waiting for this exact reaction.
Your body trembled, every nerve alight, as Yunho’s hand finally settled on your thigh, warm and heavy.
And in that moment, you knew—this wasn’t just teasing anymore.
You were already his to ruin.
The rooftop suddenly felt too small, the air too heavy. Yunho’s hand on your thigh burned hotter than the glowing tip of his cigarette, and the way his smoke still lingered in your lungs left you dizzy.
He didn’t move right away. He let his palm rest there, warm and firm, his thumb brushing lazy circles on the inside of your thigh like he had all the time in the world. His gaze never left your face, watching every twitch, every flicker of your lashes, every shallow breath.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, voice low and deliberate.
“I’m not,” you whispered back, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.
He smirked, slow and devastating. “You really are a terrible liar.”
Before you could snap back, his hand slid higher, fingers squeezing gently just above your knee. The pressure made your thighs twitch, your breath stutter. He leaned in closer, his mouth hovering over yours, the faint taste of smoke already ghosting across your lips.
And then—finally—he kissed you.
It wasn’t gentle. Yunho kissed like he smoked: deep, consuming, filling every part of you until you couldn’t breathe without him. His lips were soft but unyielding, his tongue sliding past yours with a confidence that made your toes curl. The taste of smoke clung to him, sharp and intoxicating, leaving you moaning into his mouth before you could stop yourself.
He chuckled against your lips, the sound vibrating through your chest. “Knew you’d taste good choking on smoke.”
Heat shot straight between your legs, your thighs pressing together helplessly. Yunho noticed, of course he did—his hand slid higher, fingers brushing over the seam of your pants before pressing down just enough to make your hips jerk.
“Fuck—Yunho,” you gasped against his mouth.
“Yeah, baby?” His tone was mockingly sweet, even as his palm ground harder against your cunt. “You like that?”
You whined, nodding, too desperate to deny it.
His smirk widened. “Cute.”
With one last drag, he pulled the cigarette from his lips and ashed it into the tray without looking. Then, instead of putting it out, he brought it back to his mouth, holding it there as he shoved you down onto your back against the rough rooftop. The world tilted, your breath catching as he caged you in beneath him, cigarette still burning between his lips like he wasn’t planning to stop.
The sight alone made you throb. Yunho towering over you, smoke curling from his mouth as he stared down at you with dark, hungry eyes—it was obscene, dangerous, addictive.
“Spread,” he ordered simply, voice like gravel.
Your body obeyed before your brain caught up, thighs falling open as heat soaked through your thin pajama pants. Yunho slid between them easily, one hand pressing into the ground beside your head, the other curling around your throat.
You gasped, his grip firm but not yet tight.
“Shhh,” he murmured, taking another drag of the cigarette. His thumb stroked the side of your neck almost gently before tightening just enough to make your head swim. “You’ll take it. I know you will.”
Your eyes fluttered shut, a desperate whimper escaping you as he exhaled smoke directly against your mouth again. Instinctively, you inhaled, choking slightly on the bitter heat, and Yunho groaned low in his chest.
“Fuck, look at you,” he rasped, hips grinding down against yours. You could feel how hard he was already, the thick press of his cock straining against his jeans. “Getting wet from this? From me choking you and smoking in your face?”
You moaned, your hands flying up to clutch at his shirt, tugging desperately. “Yunho—please—”
He smirked around the cigarette, pulling it from his lips briefly to flick ash aside before returning it. His grip on your throat tightened, cutting off your next word, leaving only a broken gasp as your eyes rolled slightly.
The lack of air, the heavy scent of smoke, the weight of his body—it overwhelmed you. And god, it felt so good.
Yunho leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice rough against your ear. “You’re fucking perfect like this. All shaky, all needy, letting me ruin you.”
His free hand slipped under your hoodie, finding bare skin, making you jolt at the cold of his fingers. He dragged them up, cupping your breast and rolling your nipple between his calloused fingers until you whimpered.
“Off,” he growled suddenly, yanking at the hoodie. You scrambled to pull it over your head, gasping when the night air hit your flushed skin. Yunho’s gaze devoured you instantly, smoke trailing from his lips as his eyes swept down your body.
“Fuck, baby…” he groaned, grinding against you harder. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
Before you could reply, he crashed his mouth back onto yours, kissing you filthier this time, tongue fucking into your mouth as his hand squeezed your throat tighter. You could barely breathe, your lungs burning with smoke and lack of air, but it only made your cunt gush hotter, your hips bucking up against him.
Yunho groaned into the kiss, finally tossing the cigarette aside to crush it out. His now-free hand yanked at your pants, shoving them down roughly until the cool night air hit your soaked panties.
“Shit,” he muttered, fingers pressing against the wet fabric. “You’re drenched. Just from me choking you?”
You whined, nodding frantically, hips grinding against his hand.
He chuckled, low and dark, pressing two fingers harder against your clit through the fabric. “Filthy little thing. Bet you’d let me fuck you right here, huh? On the rooftop, where anyone could see?”
The thought made your whole body jolt, a strangled moan escaping.
Yunho smirked, pulling your panties aside roughly and sliding a finger into your soaked heat. The stretch had you gasping, nails digging into his forearm as he pumped in and out slow at first, then rougher. His thumb pressed down on your clit, drawing circles that made your thighs quake.
“Yunho—please, I need—”
He growled, pulling his finger out only to shove two back in at once, curling them against your walls until you cried out. His other hand stayed firm on your throat, cutting off every gasp until your vision blurred.
“Need what, baby?” His voice was a low rumble, lips brushing your ear. “My cock? You want me to fuck you while I choke you out?”
You nodded frantically, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, desperate whimpers spilling from your lips.
Yunho smirked, pulling his fingers out and shoving them into your mouth. “Suck,” he ordered.
You obeyed instantly, tongue curling around the taste of yourself on his fingers, sucking until he groaned. His cock strained visibly against his jeans now, and the sight of you sucking his fingers only seemed to push him closer to snapping.
“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he growled, yanking his hand free and fumbling with his belt. The clink of the buckle, the rough tug of denim—your whole body trembled in anticipation.
When he freed himself, your eyes widened at the sheer size of him, thick and heavy in his hand. Yunho smirked at your reaction, stroking himself slowly while his other hand pressed down harder on your throat.
“Open those pretty legs wider,” he ordered.
You obeyed instantly, spreading for him, cunt dripping down your thighs.
Yunho lined himself up, teasing your entrance with the blunt head of his cock. His eyes locked on yours, dark and hungry. “Breathe deep, baby. ‘Cause I’m about to take it all away.”
And with one brutal thrust, he buried himself inside you, choking the breath from your lungs as your body convulsed around him.
The stretch of him splitting you open had your back arching, nails digging into the rough rooftop beneath you. Yunho groaned deep in his chest, his hand tightening around your throat as he bottomed out, forcing every inch inside until you were gasping soundlessly.
“Fuck,” he hissed, holding himself there, savoring the way your walls fluttered around him. “You feel like you were made for this cock.”
You whimpered, eyes watering, hips twitching as you tried to adjust to the brutal fullness.
He smirked down at you, sweat already beading at his temple, his grip on your throat unrelenting. “Look at you—wide-eyed, drooling, taking it like a desperate little slut.”
A strangled moan escaped, your cunt clenching tighter at the filthy words. Yunho felt it immediately, chuckling darkly.
“Ohhh, you like that? You like me calling you a slut while I choke you out?” He thrust shallowly, dragging against your sensitive walls, his voice dropping to a growl. “You’re even wetter now. Disgusting.”
Your vision blurred, the lack of oxygen mixing with his brutal words until your whole body trembled. You tried to speak, to beg, but only broken gasps slipped past his grip.
Yunho leaned down, his lips brushing your ear, his cock grinding deeper with every word. “That’s what you are. My filthy little whore. Getting soaked from being degraded and used.”
He loosened his hold just enough for you to gasp in air—and instantly fucked into you harder, his hips slamming against yours so rough your body jolted with every thrust.
“Say it,” he ordered, his voice sharp and merciless.
“F-fuck—” you cried out, tears streaking your cheeks as you clung to him.
“Say it,” he snarled, tightening his grip again, his cock pistoning into you so deep you saw stars.
“I’m—” you sobbed, barely coherent. “I’m your slut!”
Yunho groaned low and filthy, his thrusts turning savage. “That’s right. My slut. My little fucking toy to choke and ruin.”
He pulled back just enough to grab the half-smoked cigarette from the tray beside him, lips curling into a cruel smirk as he lit it again with shaking hands, never stopping the relentless drive of his hips. Smoke filled his lungs, and then he exhaled it directly into your face, watching you moan around the haze.
“Breathe it in,” he growled. “Take my cock and my smoke like the filthy girl you are.”
You obeyed without thinking, inhaling the acrid warmth as your pussy clenched tighter, your whole body shaking. The mix of oxygen deprivation, smoke, and his cock slamming deep inside was too much—your climax hit violently, your cunt spasming around him as a scream tore from your throat.
“Fuck yes,” Yunho groaned, grinding into your convulsing walls, choking you tighter until your orgasm dragged out endlessly. “Cum for me, slut. Show me how bad you need to be ruined.”
You writhed beneath him, tears streaming, your nails clawing at his arms as your body gave in completely.
But Yunho wasn’t done.
Even as you trembled from overstimulation, he held your throat firm and fucked you through it, unrelenting. His cock drilled into you mercilessly, his smoke-filled breath hot against your cheek.
“Pathetic little thing,” he growled. “Can’t even stop cumming, can you? Just milking my cock like a whore.”
You sobbed, nodding frantically, words lost in the haze.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered.
Your lips parted instantly, and Yunho tapped the ash from his cigarette right onto your tongue, his eyes blazing as you whined around the bitter taste.
“Swallow it,” he demanded, slamming his hips into you harder.
You obeyed, tears spilling fresh as heat and filth spread through you. Yunho groaned at the sight, his hand tightening brutally on your throat as his pace grew erratic.
“Fuck—look at you. Taking my cock, my smoke, my ash… you really are nothing but my dirty little fucktoy.”
The words broke you completely. Another climax ripped through you, your cunt spasming so violently around him that Yunho’s groan turned feral. He crushed the cigarette out beside you with one hand, then grabbed your hips in both hands, dragging you down onto his cock as he snarled into your ear—
“Gonna fill this greedy pussy. You’re mine to choke, mine to fuck, mine to mark.”
With a final brutal thrust, he spilled inside you, hot and overwhelming, his cock pulsing deep as he held you down by the throat. Your body spasmed beneath him, crying out around the heat filling you, your vision going white as you came again around his release.
When it finally ebbed, Yunho collapsed against you, chest heaving, his hand easing off your throat at last. You sucked in desperate gulps of air, tears still wet on your cheeks, your body trembling from being pushed past every limit.
Yunho kissed your jaw softly, the contrast dizzying after all his filth. “Good girl,” he murmured, still buried deep inside you. “My perfect little slut.”
pairing(s) : religious boyfriend! Yunho x possessed girlfriend! reader
word count : 3064
summary : You’re a soft girl dating a very holy man. Then one day… you get possessed by Asmodra—lust demon, religious kink connoisseur, and a complete menace.
genre : smut
warnings : explicit sexual content involving demon possession, sacrilegious themes, and the unholy corruption of a religious man by a very filthy, very bratty demon. Includes intense rough sex, oral (f/m), 69 position, overstimulation, cumplay, mock-exorcism, religious dirty talk, manipulation, orgasm denial, and post-possession confusion. Blasphemy levels are high, morals are low, and one holy man gets edged into spiritual crisis. Let me know if I missed anything!
A/N : BABESSSS, I know i’ve been gone for a month but be fr... did u die? no. u just got less sexy without me. SO HERE'S A GIFT TO FIX THAT😋
Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!
🪐smut under the cut 🪐
He knew something was wrong the second you winked at the pastor’s wife.
Not smiled—you winked. In the middle of church service. Wearing a micro skirt that barely covered your ass and a black corset under his oversized jacket, like you were cosplaying Lilith with a Sephora membership.
Yunho had choked on communion wine.
You never dressed like that. You never looked like that. You were his soft little angel, his nervous baby who cried when people raised their voices, the one who clung to his arm and stammered through Bible study like it was a spelling bee.
But that morning? You said “God can watch if He wants,” and gave him a blowjob on the church balcony.
Now, twenty-four hours later, you were sprawled on his bed with a lollipop in your mouth and zero panties under his hoodie, kicking your legs in the air while watching reality TV like nothing was wrong.
He stood in the doorway, blinking at you.
“Sweetheart?” he asked carefully.
You turned, grinning slow, eyes glittering red for a half-second—red.
“Oh hey, sugar,” you said around the lollipop, voice low and purring. “You wanna join me, or just stand there looking like a nervous virgin?”
He crossed himself instantly.
That smirk spread wider. “Mm. Sexy.”
“Okay—nope.” He held up both hands. “Who are you and what did you do to my girlfriend?”
You sat up on your elbows, slow and sensual, the hoodie riding up your bare thighs. “Don’t worry, lover boy. She’s in here. Sleeping. Dreaming about your pretty mouth.”
“Asmodra,” he breathed. “The demon of lust.”
“Bingo.” You winked. “Wanna sin with me?”
He muttered a prayer so fast it came out in one breath. “LordFatherinHeavenpleaseprotecthermindbodyandsoul—”
“Aw, that’s cute,” you giggled, standing up and sauntering over. “But I’ve already tasted her body. Wanna see what I made it crave?”
He backed up till his spine hit the wall.
You got up in his face, grinning like a devil in lipstick. Your breath was warm on his skin as you whispered, “She loves when you call her good girl. But I want you to call me a dirty fucking whore.”
His face flushed crimson.
You giggled again, high-pitched and chaotic, and cupped him through his sweatpants. He gasped. “I know you’re hard,” you cooed. “Your God’s not gonna save you when I make you cum in under five minutes.”
He pushed your hand away, shaking. “Stop. This is—this is possession. This is a demonic attack—”
You shoved him down onto the bed like he weighed nothing, climbing on top with a grin.
“Oh baby,” you purred, “This is a ride.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, gripping his rosary like it was the last thread of sanity he had left.
You—Asmodra—were straddling his lap backwards now, bare ass on his thighs, hips rolling in slow circles while watching yourself in the mirror across the room.
“God,” he whispered, eyes shut, knuckles white on the rosary beads.
“Mmm,” you purred, leaning back against him. “Say His name again, baby. It sounds so good on your lips.”
He clenched his jaw. “I’m not going to fuck a demon.”
“You already are,” you whispered, turning your head enough to lick the shell of his ear. “Not with your cock. Yet. But your mind’s bent over already. Filthy little preacher boy.”
His breath hitched.
You reached behind, tugging his hand up your bare thigh, slow, encouraging. “Come on, holy hands. Touch me. Pretend you’re laying hands in prayer.”
“I said no,” he rasped, but you felt the twitch beneath you. He was rock hard, his self-control hanging by a thread.
Asmodra’s grin was wicked.
She leaned down, letting your back arch and your voice drop to a filthy moan, “You’re gonna cum just from grinding, aren’t you, pastor? Bet you’ve had dreams like this. Your little lamb bouncing on your lap, begging you to fuck the sin out of her.”
“Stop it—” His voice cracked.
You cupped the back of his neck and whispered, “Let me hear it, pretty boy. Preach to me. Say something holy while I make your cock twitch.”
He opened his mouth—but what came out wasn’t scripture.
It was a moan. Loud. Desperate.
“Oh fuck—”
You gasped, hand pressed against his chest, feeling his heartbeat race like a drum in a revival tent. “Oh, baby. You like being tempted, don’t you? Bet you stroke yourself at night thinking about corrupting your little church girl.”
“Don’t—don’t say that—” he groaned.
You laughed breathlessly, hips rolling harder, faster. “Why? Because it’s true?”
He dropped the rosary.
You smirked in victory. “That’s it, pastor. Fall.”
He stared at the rosary on the floor like it just betrayed him.
You were still in his lap, hips grinding in sinful little circles, and the moment his hands grabbed your waist, tight and trembling, he knew it was over.
“…fuck it,” he muttered under his breath.
You smirked. Victory.
“Oh? The good boy’s giving in?” you purred, grinding down harder. “Praise be.”
He flipped you.
Just—bam—hands on your hips, flipping you onto your back so fast your demon-brain short-circuited. He climbed over you, eyes dark, pupils blown wide as his hand wrapped around your throat like he’s the one possessing you now.
“Is this what you want?” he growled. “You wanna be ruined by the man who leads prayer?”
You moaned like a bitch in heat. “Yes, daddy pastor. Ruin me with your holy dick.”
That broke him.
He yanked your hoodie off—his hoodie—leaving you naked underneath, panting, flushed, tits bouncing as he shoved your thighs apart. His cross necklace swung between you two like a curse.
“You’re disgusting,” he growled.
“I’m perfect,” you whispered, licking your lips. “And your cock’s harder than your sermons.”
He almost laughed—but then he shoved two fingers into you, deep.
You screamed.
Not just because of the sudden stretch, but because his fingers were thick, skilled, and ruthless. Curling and fucking into you like he’d been fantasizing about it for years—and he had.
“Ohhh fuck—fuck—fuck yes,” you moaned, nails digging into his biceps. “You finger your Bible this hard?”
He bit your inner thigh. Bit. “Shut up.”
“No.” You grinned through heavy breaths. “You like when I talk dirty. Say it. Tell me you want to cum in me and then pray for forgiveness.”
He yanked his sweatpants down with one hand and lined himself up without a word. Just stared into your eyes—her eyes—your eyes.
“Say please,” he muttered.
“Please what?” you teased.
He slapped the tip of his cock against your soaked cunt, slow and deliberate.
“Beg, demon.”
Oh.
Oh, that hit deep.
Your eyes rolled back. “Please, daddy pastor,” you whimpered. “Please fuck your filthy little demon. Please split me open like the Red Sea and flood my pussy with salvation.”
He shoved in.
All the way. One thrust. Deep and holy and absolutely unforgivable.
You gasped so loud it could’ve raised the dead.
“FUCK! That’s—oh my God—”
“No,” he growled, fucking into you with slow, punishing thrusts. “No God here, baby. Just me.”
His cross necklace smacked against your chest with every brutal thrust—cold metal on flushed skin, swinging like it was part of the punishment.
“Oh fuck—fuck, Yunho—” you moaned, eyes rolling back. Your legs shook as he gripped the back of your thighs, pressing them to your chest, folding you like an altar offering.
“I said don’t use my name like that,” he growled, voice shredded with restraint.
You smiled, breathless. “Why? Scared it’s gonna turn me on more?”
He slammed in deeper. Harder.
It did.
“Unholy little slut,” he hissed. “You’re dripping all over me. What, is possession just that good?”
You giggled deliriously. “She’s not dripping, pastor. You made me like this. You did this to your innocent little girlfriend.”
That struck something inside him—deep.
Because you were right.
It wasn’t just Asmodra. Somewhere under the filth and bratty moaning, you were still there. Still feeling everything. Still taking it.
And loving it.
He leaned down, hips pistoning as he grabbed the chain of his cross and pulled it between your lips. “Bite it.”
You moaned around the metal. Did exactly what he said.
“Good fucking girl,” he growled.
The sounds between you were obscene—wet, slick, fast. Skin slapping, gasps, whines. Every time he pulled out, you clenched like your cunt was begging to keep him. And every time he shoved back in, you moaned like prayer.
“Say it,” he snapped. “Say you belong to me.”
You whimpered around the chain. He slapped your thigh.
“Say it.”
You let go of the cross, panting, voice breathy and ruined. “I belong to you—fuck, daddy pastor—I’m your demon, your slut, your everything—!”
“Damn right you are.”
He reached down and rubbed your clit fast and mean—just how you liked it. Your whole body jolted. He knew exactly where to touch, how to press, how to drag it just right while he pounded you like the devil was paying rent.
“You gonna cum on my cock, sweetheart?” he whispered darkly. “Gonna soak this holy dick like a sinner at the gates of Heaven?”
You came screaming, body arching, cunt squeezing around him like a vice. Wet and hot and loud—so loud.
Yunho’s thrusts stuttered.
“Fucking—oh God—”
He pulled out just in time, stroking fast, groaning as he spilled white hot all over your belly and chest, ropes of cum catching the gold cross that lay between your tits.
You looked up at him—ruined, breathless, lips swollen—and smiled.
“Forgive me, Father,” you whispered, licking a drop off your finger, “for I’m about to do it again.”
Your thighs were still twitching when he pulled back, panting, chest heaving like he just ran laps through the gates of Hell. His cum painted your belly and chest, dripping off the gold cross now resting over your sternum.
And you?
Smirking. Sinful. Hungry.
You sat up and licked your fingers again, slow and obscene. “I’m not done.”
He blinked. “You literally just came.”
“And you literally didn’t cum in me,” you replied sweetly, dragging your tongue over your bottom lip. “Unholy. Fix it.”
Before he could answer, you shoved him backward onto the bed and climbed over him, turning around so your bare ass was above his face, your mouth hovering over his already-hardening cock.
He stared.
“…oh my God.”
You looked back over your shoulder, wiggled your hips once. “Sixty-nine me, pastor.”
He whimpered.
And obeyed.
His hands gripped your ass, spreading you open like you were scripture he had to read real close. His tongue licked a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, groaning like you were his new favorite hymn.
“F-fuck—yes,” you gasped, mouth hovering over his cock. “Eat me like it’s communion, daddy—”
He sucked your clit hard in punishment.
You choked a moan and finally took him into your mouth. He was still sensitive—twitching—but so fucking hard again already, it made your pussy clench.
You bobbed your head slow, letting spit drip and coat his shaft while he licked into you with reckless devotion.
“God, baby,” he groaned into your cunt, voice muffled but thick with lust. “You taste like sin.”
You moaned around his cock in return, humming on the tip like it was your own private rosary.
His hips bucked. His fingers dug into your thighs. His tongue never stopped—sliding into you, curling, switching between messy licks and tight circles on your clit until you were grinding down on his face like a girl possessed.
Which, y’know. You were.
You pulled off his cock for one second, panting. “You wanna cum in my mouth, pastor?”
He groaned like he was trying not to—but your lips were already around him again, sucking deeper now, spit and pre-cum coating your chin as you jerked the base with both hands.
“Shit, baby—shit—” he gasped, fucking up into your throat once before his hips stuttered.
You swallowed him to the base as he came—again—this time right down your throat, thick and hot and loud, his moan vibrating against your soaked cunt as you rode his tongue through your second orgasm.
The whole room smelled like sex and sin.
You rolled off him, both of you panting, wrecked, drenched in sweat and whatever remained of your dignity.
He looked over at you, cross still swinging around his neck, your face messy with spit and cum and pride.
You grinned. “Told you religious boys are the worst.”
You’d barely swallowed the last drop of cum before climbing on top of him again—riding his half-hard cock back to life like your pussy had a mission.
And oh, it did.
Reverse cowgirl. Hands behind you, bouncing like a demon in heat, his cross swinging with every slap of skin on skin.
“Look at you,” you moaned, grinding down slow as you rolled your hips. “Corrupt little pastor, letting a demon ride him raw. You think your flock would still follow you if they knew?”
He groaned, hands on your waist, eyes flicking between your ass and your arched back. “I’d let you ruin my reputation if it meant I get to die inside this pussy.”
You barked a laugh. “Oh my God, you’re worse than me.”
You bounced faster. “Say it. Say you want this cunt over your cross.”
“I need this cunt,” he gasped, thrusting up to meet you.
It was brutal. Loud. Filthy. He slapped your ass. You moaned louder. His fingers found your clit again and you started shaking, riding like you were possessed—because, y’know, you were.
Until you weren’t.
Your whole body jolted.
Your moans stopped.
And then—like a switch flipped—
You froze.
Yunho blinked. “Baby?”
You turned your head, panting hard, eyes wide and glassy—confused. “Y-Yunho…? It hurts—wh-what—why are you—?” your voice cracked.
He stopped moving instantly.
“Wait—wait, baby? It’s you? Are you—fuck—are you back?”
Your bottom lip trembled. “W-why are you being so rough with me…?”
Yunho panicked.
“Shit—shit, sweetheart, no—I didn’t mean to—she said she was you—I thought it was still her—fuck, I’m so sorry—”
He pulled out fast, cupping your face gently now, heart racing. “I thought it was still Asmodra. I wouldn’t—I would never hurt you—please, baby, look at me—”
Tears welled up in your eyes. “I didn’t like it…”
His whole soul shattered.
He hugged you, murmuring soft prayers, wiping your tears, rocking your trembling body as he kissed your hair. “I’m so sorry. It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. I’ve got you—”
Then you laughed.
Suddenly. Brightly. Like a demon.
And before he could pull back, your body twitched in his arms—and those familiar glowing red eyes stared back at him with a grin.
“GOTCHA~”
Yunho stared in horror. “You fucking—what?!”
Asmodra bit his lip and purred, “Aw, daddy. You’re so cute when you feel guilty.”
He stared. Mouth open. Brain short-circuited.
“You were crying,” he hissed.
“And you were about to kiss her feet like a worshipper,” Asmodra laughed. “You really are a slut for repentance, huh?”
“You gaslit me mid-orgasm—!”
“You let a demon ride you like a pony,” she smirked, grinding her hips again. “You really think you’re the victim?”
Yunho looked to the ceiling again.
“God,” he muttered, “take the wheel. I can’t do this shit.”
She only laughed louder.
She rode him like she was trying to steal his soul.
Face to face this time. On top, bouncing hard, hands clawing down his chest, your tongue in his mouth as you kissed him like damnation tasted sweet.
Yunho’s head was spinning. He didn’t know what time it was, what position this was, what life this was—just that his balls were tight, his cock was soaked, and you were milking him for all he was worth.
“F-fuck—baby—please,” he gasped, fingers digging into your hips. “Let me cum this time—please—”
Asmodra laughed against his lips. “You want release, holy boy? You gonna pray for it?”
“Y-yes,” he whimpered. “Please, I’ll do anything, just—fuck, I’m so close—”
You tightened around him. Moaned. Smirked.
Then stopped.
Just… stopped moving.
Your body slumped forward into his chest. Your hips stilled. And for a second, he thought you were collapsing from another orgasm.
“Baby?” he panted.
You blinked up at him slowly.
“…Yunho?” Your voice was small. Soft. Innocent.
His cock was still inside you.
Throbbing.
You blinked again and looked around. “Why am I… on top of you? Why does everything hurt? Why am I sweating?”
Yunho stared at you in horror.
“Do you not… remember anything?” he asked slowly, voice cracking.
Your brows furrowed. You looked down at the very visible situation between your thighs. “Oh my God—did we fuck?!”
“You fucked me!” he exclaimed, hand in his hair. “You got possessed by a sex demon and broke me!”
“I—what???”
Yunho’s cock was still twitching inside you, painfully hard, slick and soaked and absolutely denied.
You looked at his face.
Then at the cross necklace resting against your tit.
Then at the handprint-shaped bruises on your thighs.
“Yunho… what the actual fuck—” you cried, pushing him back and climbing off fast. “Why does my pussy feel like I ran a marathon backwards?!”
“I—you—Asmodra—she said you were napping!” he groaned, covering his face. “She promised!”
“She?! WHO is Asmodra?!”
“The demon that just left your body MID-SEX!” he yelled, voice cracking.
You paused.
Stared.
“…Are you high?”
Yunho just flopped back on the bed, still hard. Still aching. Still cursed.
His hand came up to cover his face, dick twitching against his stomach.
You were standing there, naked, sore, confused—and now grumpy.
“Well, you’re not getting sex again if you’re gonna roleplay exorcisms inside me,” you snapped, yanking a pillow to cover yourself.
“Sweetheart,” he groaned. “I’m literally still inside your fluids.”
“I hate this,” you muttered, turning away. “I need a cold shower. And Jesus.”
Yunho laid there, cock fully neglected, soul half-gone, and dignity absolutely ruined.
And somewhere, deep in the shadows of your mind, Asmodra laughed.
summary : You're the soft, innocent girl who only ever had one vanilla experience—with no idea what real filth could feel like. That is, until you end up rooming with your best friend’s older brother, Mingi. A pervert with a teasing mouth and no self-restraint when it comes to your cute sleep dresses and breathy little moans. He takes it slow, then ruins you completely—making you beg, cry, squirt, and ride him until you’re too dumb to think. But he still makes you breakfast after, calling you his princess in between filthy whispers.
genre : smut
warning(s) : Slight somnophilia vibes (consensual, implied history), Innocent but perverted reader, Best friend’s older brother, Roommate AU, Pussy slapping / squirting, Spanking (lots of it), Orgasm denial + overstimulation, Crying during sex (pleasure), Dirty talk / praise / teasing, Light dumbification, Reader wears cute sleep dresses, Mutual pining masked as lust, Fluffy aftercare with continued filth
A/N : This might be the last fic I uploaded this month, or maybe I'm gonna take some rest for a while😮💨
Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!
🪐smut under the cut🪐
It wasn’t the first night you walked into the shared kitchen in one of your tiny little sleep dresses—but this one had lace trim that swayed with every step and straps thin enough to slip off your shoulder. You weren’t even trying to be sexy. That was the worst part. You were just… comfortable.
And Mingi was already sitting at the counter, hoodie pulled halfway down his arms, curls messy from sleep. His eyes trailed up from your bare legs to the way the fabric clung to your hips. Silent. But you felt him staring.
“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked, padding across the tile barefoot, opening the fridge for a water bottle.
“Not really,” his voice came low. Rough. “You?”
You shrugged, turning around to face him, and leaned back against the fridge—completely unaware of how the thin fabric stretched across your chest. “Kinda warm tonight.”
Mingi didn’t say anything at first. He just kept looking at you, jaw ticking like he was holding something back.
It’d been two months since you moved in. Your best friend’s brother had offered the extra room when you said you needed a place. You trusted him. You knew he was older, a bit… different from the boys you’d dated before, but he never did anything to make you uncomfortable.
Until lately.
Lately, he lingered.
Watched.
“You always wear stuff like that to bed?” he finally asked, voice lower now.
You blinked. “Huh?”
“That little dress.” His eyes dropped to your thighs, where the hem rested dangerously high. “You walk around in that, knowing I’m home?”
You laughed a little. Nervous. “It’s not that short…”
Mingi stood up slowly, towering. The way he walked around the counter felt too quiet, too smooth, until he was right in front of you—so close you had to tilt your chin up just to keep eye contact.
“You’re either real clueless,” he murmured, reaching one hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “or you want me to stare.”
Your breath hitched. “Mingi…”
He smiled—lazy, dark, dangerous. “You ever been fucked right?”
You froze.
Your voice dropped into a whisper. “I’ve… only been with one guy. It wasn’t like that.”
Mingi groaned. “Figures.” He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear. “Bet you’ve never had someone stretch this cute little pussy open, make you cry, huh?”
Your thighs pressed together. You didn’t answer.
“You’d let me ruin you?” he muttered, voice thick. “Make you drool all over this kitchen counter?”
That was it. That was the moment something snapped. You nodded—tiny, trembling—and whispered:
“...Please.”
Mingi didn’t wait for you to say more. The second that quiet please left your lips, his hand was on your waist, dragging you flush against him like he’d been holding back for too long. You gasped when you felt how hard he already was—thick and pressed against your stomach through his sweats.
And then he kissed you.
Hard.
It wasn’t soft or shy or sweet like your ex used to kiss. Mingi kissed like he wanted to eat every breath from your lungs. Tongue in your mouth, lips moving against yours with filthy hunger, like he needed to claim you before you could change your mind.
Your little whimper was swallowed by his mouth.
He gripped your hips, pulling you closer until your thin sleep dress rode higher up your thighs. His hands were so big—touching too much, yet not enough. One slipped down to squeeze your ass through the fabric, and he groaned into your mouth. “Fuck… you’ve been hiding this from me all this time?”
“I didn’t know you looked at me like that,” you mumbled breathlessly between kisses, hands fisting into his hoodie.
He pulled back just enough to stare down at you, pupils blown wide. “I’ve been looking at you every fucking night, bunny. You walking around in these tiny little dresses, all innocent and sweet, acting like you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing to me.”
You whimpered at the pet name—bunny—and it only made him grin darker.
“Not gonna fuck you for the first time in the kitchen,” he muttered, gripping your wrist and tugging you toward the hallway. “Not when I’ve waited this long. My room. Now.”
You followed, dizzy and needy, barely noticing how your thighs brushed together with every step.
His room smelled like him—clean laundry and something warm, masculine. It was bigger than yours by far, and the bed looked like it could swallow you whole. He didn’t even turn on the light—just kicked the door shut and pushed you gently until you fell back onto the mattress.
You sat there, wide-eyed and flushed, legs folded under you.
Mingi’s hoodie was already coming off, revealing bare skin and toned arms as he stepped closer. “Take it off,” he ordered softly, nodding at your sleep dress. “Wanna see all of you.”
Your fingers trembled a little as you reached for the straps, slowly pulling them down one by one. The fabric slid down your chest… then over your waist… pooling around your hips before you pulled it off completely.
You sat there naked, knees pressed together, heart pounding so loud you swore he could hear it.
Mingi’s gaze dragged over you—slow, heavy, drinking in everything. “Fuck, baby… you’re gonna be the death of me.”
He dropped to his knees between your legs and pushed them apart gently, licking his lips.
“You ever been eaten out, sweetheart?”
You shook your head, shy. “No…”
His grin was wicked. “Good. You’ll remember your first.”
“Lie back for me,” Mingi murmured, guiding your shoulders until you were sprawled across his sheets—legs parted, chest rising and falling in uneven little breaths.
He kissed up the inside of your thigh first. Slow. Teasing. You whimpered when his nose brushed close to where you were already wet, and he groaned low in his throat.
“Shit… you’re already dripping.”
Your hands gripped the sheets tightly as his breath ghosted over your folds. And then—his tongue. One long, slow lick up your slit that had your hips jerking off the bed.
“Oh—Mingi—!”
“Yeah, baby?” he mumbled against your pussy, voice already wrecked. “Sensitive little thing, huh? Gonna cry just from my mouth?”
You shook your head, biting your lip, but the way your thighs trembled said otherwise.
Mingi didn’t tease for long. He licked you open and flat-out devoured you—his tongue dragging through every inch of you, dipping into your hole, circling your clit until your back arched off the bed. His grip on your thighs kept you spread, even as you twisted, even when you whimpered, “Mingi, I— I think I’m gonna—!”
He didn’t stop.
He growled into you, “Give it to me, bunny. Wanna taste how cute you cum.”
Your thighs shook. Your stomach tensed. And just as you hit the edge, his tongue flattened against your clit—and then slap—
His palm smacked against your dripping pussy. Just once. Light. Experimental.
You screamed.
Not from pain. From how violently your orgasm hit. It tore through you in messy, uncontrollable waves—and then you felt it. That hot rush, the release, the wet spray that soaked his mouth and chin and dripped down your thighs.
“Oh—oh my God—!”
You were trembling, toes curled, hands gripping the sheets so hard your knuckles turned white.
Mingi pulled back just enough to see the mess—lips wet, eyes blown out with shock and arousal. “Fuck, baby… you just squirted.”
You were still catching your breath, wide-eyed and teary, lips parted. “I—I didn’t mean to—”
He laughed. Dark. Proud. “Don’t apologize.” He leaned up, licking your slick from his fingers. “I’m making you do that again.”
Still trembling from the mess he’d pulled out of you, you tried to close your legs—but Mingi’s grip was firm.
“Ah, ah. Not done yet, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice gravelly and way too calm for someone who just got squirted on. “Still so sensitive... what, already crying?” he cooed as his fingers brushed your soaked clit.
You whimpered, legs kicking at the overwhelming touch. “I-It’s too much, Mingi—!”
But he just grinned, licking his lips. “Mm… I think you can give me one more. You got another one in this pretty pussy, right?”
You were too dazed to answer, and that only made him laugh—low and dark.
Then came his fingers. Two of them, thick and slow, sliding into you while his thumb pressed on your clit. He watched you with hungry eyes as your back arched again, moaning out broken little gasps.
And when you got close—that sweet, tense twist in your belly coming back—he stopped.
Pulled his hand back entirely.
You blinked in confusion, cheeks flushed, lips parted in a soft whine. “W-Why’d you stop…”
Mingi leaned down, nose brushing yours, smirking. “You think I’m gonna let you cum that easy, bunny? After that messy little squirt? Nah. I wanna watch you fall apart first.”
You squirmed under him, legs rubbing together for friction, whining softly as he started teasing again—light flicks over your clit with the very tip of his tongue.
Then fingers. Just pressing at your entrance, not pushing in.
You were twitching, gasping. “Please, Mingi, wanna cum… I wanna—wanna feel it again…”
He let out a low hum, lips brushing your inner thigh. “Such a needy little baby. One good orgasm and now you can’t even speak right?”
“Mingi—please!”
He slapped your pussy again. Sharp. Hot. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make your whole body jolt.
“Say it better, sweetheart. Use your words. What do you want?”
You sniffled, eyes glassy. “Wanna cum… wanna feel your fingers, your tongue, anything— please, Mingi, I’ll be good—”
“Shit.” He sucked a breath through his teeth, finally sliding two fingers in again, pumping hard. “You’re too fucking cute when you beg.”
This time—he let you cum.
And you screamed, all messy and twitching, a moaning little thing with your back off the bed and your thighs trembling around his head. You sobbed through it, babbling nonsense, fingers gripping the sheets as your slick dripped down his wrist.
But Mingi didn’t stop.
He kept going.
Sloppy thrusts. No rhythm. Just filthy, greedy, overstimulating pleasure while you whimpered, “T-Too much—gonna break, Mingi—ah, ah—!”
“Oh, baby…” he groaned, tongue dragging up your soaked folds one more time. “You’re already broken.”
He’d barely given you time to catch your breath before pulling you into his lap—legs trembling, lips parted with a dazed little pout as you straddled his hips.
“C’mere, baby,” Mingi said, voice low and wrecked, “Wanna see you ride this cock. Wanna watch those pretty tits bounce while I ruin that dumb little head of yours.”
Your hands pressed against his chest for balance, thighs already shaky as you lined yourself up—his cock thick and heavy against your folds. He didn’t even help. Just laid back with that smug, perverted smirk on his face like he had all the time in the world.
“You gonna do it all by yourself, sweetheart?” he teased, thumb brushing your lip. “Show me how bad you want it.”
You whimpered, biting down on his thumb, and slowly sank down.
“Oh fuck—”
Your mouth dropped open in a silent cry as he filled you up, inch by inch, stretching you so deep it felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your eyes fluttered shut, the burn so good, the pressure perfect—and when you finally sat flush against his hips, you were already shaking.
Mingi hissed through his teeth, staring up at you with that hungry look. “Shit, baby, look at you—taking all of me like that… Tightest fucking pussy I’ve ever felt.”
You whimpered, hips rolling instinctively. “Mingi… s’too big…”
He grabbed your waist, dragging you up just enough before letting you drop back down. “Nah, baby. You’re made for this. For me. Show me how you fuck.”
So you moved.
Bounced.
Slow at first, thighs burning from the stretch, your tits jiggling with every drop. And Mingi? He looked feral. One hand behind his head, the other lazily cupping your breast, watching it bounce with a low groan.
“Fuck… fuck, look at you,” he growled, thrusting up once to meet you and make you yelp. “Look how cute you are—riding my cock like it’s the only thing that matters.”
You cried out, little sobs slipping past your lips as you bounced harder, sloppier, the sounds of your slick echoing in the room.
“Am I makin’ you dumb, bunny?” he grinned, pulling on your waist to make you slam down harder. “You’re mumblin’ again…”
“I—ahh—feels s’good, Mingi, too good—dizzy—!”
“Yeah? You gonna cum on this cock?” he grunted, thrusting up to meet you again, fast and deep. “Gonna soak me like a filthy little slut?”
You nodded frantically, sobbing now, fingers clawing at his chest. “Please—please, wanna cum, please, please—!”
“Then cum.”
He sat up, mouth sucking one of your nipples into his mouth as you shattered—screaming, spasming around him, thighs locking up as you came so hard your whole body convulsed. Mingi groaned, holding you down on his cock, watching you lose your mind on top of him.
“Shit… You’re my favorite fucking toy now.”
Your thighs were quaking, tears running down your flushed cheeks, but you didn’t stop riding him. Not even when your head dropped back and your voice cracked from all the soft, incoherent sobs spilling out of your lips.
“S-s’too much—Mingi, f-fuck—can’t—!”
“Oh, but you can, baby.” His voice was wrecked with hunger, obsessed with the way you looked losing your mind on his cock. “You’re so cute when you cry like this. Makes me wanna keep you stuffed and full forever.”
He grabbed both of your tits, squeezing them roughly as he thrusted up into you hard enough to make you scream.
You sobbed, nails digging into his chest, your thighs trembling violently as the pleasure got too sharp, too deep, but he wasn’t letting up.
“Mingi—! Gonna cum again—!”
He grinned, lazy and smug. “Yeah? Show me.”
You came with a sob, body locking up as you spasmed around him, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as you collapsed forward on his chest.
But he wasn’t done.
Not even close.
“Turn around.”
Your hazy, tear-streaked eyes blinked at him. “H-huh?”
Mingi didn’t wait—he flipped you over onto your stomach, pulling your hips up so your ass was in the air, your face buried in the mattress. You were so sensitive, so wrecked, and you felt him line back up without missing a beat.
Then—
SMACK!
You yelped.
“God, this ass is too fucking perfect,” he groaned, giving your cheek another hard slap. “Could stare at it all day.”
“M-Mingi—!”
SMACK!
“Say thank you.”
You whined, face burning. “T-thank you…”
“That’s my girl.” He slammed into you without mercy, burying himself to the hilt in one thrust.
Your scream was muffled by the sheets, fists grabbing at the blankets as he pounded into you from behind—relentless, filthy, insatiable.
He grabbed your hair, yanking your head up. “Let me hear you beg again. C’mon, say you love this cock.”
You hiccupped on a moan, body trembling like crazy. “L-love it—love your cock, Mingi—please, more, please!”
“Fuck yes,” he groaned, thrusting faster, the sound of your skin slapping echoing in the room. “I’m gonna make you squirt again. Gonna spank you while you cry on my dick.”
SMACK!
You screamed.
SMACK!
Tears spilled down again, body burning from both pleasure and pain as you felt yourself losing it all over again.
“I—I’m gonna—!”
“Do it. Squirt for me, baby. Make a mess on my cock.”
You cried out, body convulsing as you exploded, the gush of your release soaking his cock and thighs as you collapsed forward, babbling nothing but broken moans and needy whines.
And Mingi? He kept fucking you through it, whispering filthy things in your ear while he used your soft, fucked-out body like it was his personal toy.
Your legs gave out underneath you, dropping you in a trembling, sticky heap on the bed. Your thighs glistened with slick and spit, your chest rising and falling as soft hiccupy sobs slipped from your lips. Mingi had just pulled out, thick and hard and soaked in everything you’d given him—again.
But he hadn’t finished.
Not yet.
You peeked up at him through heavy lashes, eyes glassy and lips glossy with drool, a faint little whimper catching in your throat. Your body ached, pussy twitching with need, and your brain was too fogged up to think straight—but the emptiness was too much.
“M-Mingi…” Your voice cracked.
He stood at the edge of the bed, stroking himself slowly, watching you fall apart with a low, smug chuckle. “Look at you,” he teased. “Cute little thing, still crying. Didn’t I just make you squirt all over me?”
You shook your head, sniffled, and crawled to the edge of the bed on shaky hands and knees. “I-it’s not enough…” you whimpered, blinking up at him with big watery eyes.
“Oh?” He tilted his head. “You still want more, baby?”
You nodded, sniffling again, reaching out with both hands to grab at his thighs, pressing your cheek against the base of his cock like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “Please… please cum inside me… I w-want it so bad, Mingi, want you to ruin me…”
He groaned, grip tightening around his shaft.
“Been so good, haven’t I?” you mumbled, voice all cracked and wet and soft. “Let you use me however you wanted… I d-did everything—so please, fill me up…”
Tears ran down your flushed cheeks as your voice dropped even more—sweet and whiny and broken. “Don’t wanna be empty anymore…”
“Fuck—” He hissed through his teeth, eyes dark with lust as he looked down at you, trembling and begging and so fucking perfect.
He grabbed you, hard, lifting you up with ease and laying you on your back again, legs spread wide and shaking. “You wanna be full, baby?” he growled, lining himself up. “I’ll make sure you never feel empty again.”
You gasped when he slammed back inside you, and a sob broke out of your throat.
“Th-thank you—thank you, Mingi—!”
He groaned, wrapping your legs around his waist and pounding into you with feverish need, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other held your hip steady. “Crying while you thank me? Shit, baby, you’re gonna kill me…”
You were blabbering now, voice high and pitchy, clinging to his back as he drove you into the mattress. “Feels so good—so deep—Mingi, I’m gonna break—!”
“You’re already broken, sweetheart.” He kissed your temple, whispering like a lover even as he fucked you like a demon. “And you’re so fucking cute like this. So desperate, so messy, all mine right now…”
And when he finally came—hard, with a deep groan and his face buried in your neck—you cried out again, feeling the heat flood your core, your hands clawing at him as your body twitched through the aftershocks.
Still gasping, still trembling, still mumbling barely-there thank-yous.
And Mingi just held you, sweaty and breathless, as if he was never letting you go.
You didn’t even realize you were still leaking around him until he shifted his hips, still buried deep in your swollen, overstretched walls. Mingi’s hand rubbed soothing circles into your back, his lips brushing over your forehead in soft little kisses. You felt so warm—so full—your breath slowing, your heartbeat steadying under the weight of his body.
But his cock was still inside you.
Still thick, twitching every now and then.
And he was hardening again.
You mumbled something incoherent, more like a dreamy hum than actual words, nuzzling into his neck.
“…You awake, baby?” Mingi whispered, voice hoarse, raspy with exhaustion.
You nodded sleepily, cheeks sticky with dried tears and your thighs aching deliciously. “Mmhm… still inside…”
“Still warm,” he groaned, grinding his hips just enough to feel your pussy clench. “Fuck… you’re hugging me so tight, baby. You gonna let me use you one more time?”
A sleepy whimper slipped out, and your fingers curled into his back. “T-too much…”
“Just one more,” he murmured, voice sweet but filthy. “You’re already so full, might as well keep stuffing you, yeah?”
He rolled his hips again, deeper this time, and you gasped—tired, overstimulated, but already soaking all over again. “Mingi… I can’t—”
“You can,” he whispered, lips brushing against your temple. “You’re doing so good, baby. So pretty, even when you’re crying… my cute little roommate.”
He slowly started thrusting, every movement gentle but deep, dragging out the squelch of his cum between your legs with each slow stroke.
You whimpered, head tilting back, your legs falling open for him like instinct. “Ngh… f-feels good…”
“That’s it,” he groaned. “Just let me fuck you through it, baby. Let me feel your cute little pussy milk me dry.”
You moaned louder this time, slurred words spilling from your lips in breathy little gasps. “So deep—Mingi, y-you’re still so big, why’s it still so big…”
He chuckled softly, eyes dark as he stared down at your fucked-out face. “Because you’re too cute, baby. Can’t help myself…”
He kept going, slow and thick and messy, not even bothering to pull out as his cum dripped down between your cheeks, mixing with your slick and his spit. You blinked up at him, dazed and broken and glowing all at once.
And when he finally came again with a quiet, shuddering groan, you whimpered at the warmth flooding you for the second time.
“…Mingi…” you breathed out, nearly incoherent. “Y-you’re gonna break me…”
“You’re already broken, sweetheart,” he murmured, laying soft kisses along your collarbone as he rutted lazily into you a few more times before stilling.
“But fuck, baby… I’ve never seen anything as pretty as you falling apart.”
The sunlight was barely peeking through the blinds when you stirred, your legs twitching from the dull ache between them. You were wrapped up in warmth—Mingi's chest against your back, his heavy arm draped around your waist, and his cock still lazily nestled against your ass, soft but twitching with every slow breath.
“Mingi…” you whispered sleepily, voice hoarse and sweet.
He groaned low, nuzzling into your neck. “Morning already?”
You giggled softly, your body sore in all the right places. “My thighs hurt…”
He kissed your shoulder. “Good. That means I fucked you right.”
You turned your face toward him, cheeks hot, eyes still puffy from last night’s cute little crying fits. “Pervert.”
“Your pervert.” He smirked, biting playfully at your earlobe. “And you loved it.”
You hummed. “I did…”
There was a beat of silence, and then you sighed. “But I’m sticky. We’re gross.”
“Guess we should clean up, huh?” he whispered, voice already heavy with mischief.
Before you could protest, he rolled you both out of bed and scooped you up bridal-style, your sleep dress barely hanging on your shoulders. You squealed, arms flying around his neck.
“Mingi—!”
“I said we’re showering. Gotta make sure my baby is squeaky clean.”
He kicked the bathroom door open and sat you on the cold counter, standing between your legs with his hands on your bare thighs. He just stared at you for a second—at the messed-up lace, the little bruises, the faint red handprints he’d left behind.
And then, “You gonna let me clean you with my tongue again, baby?”
You blinked at him, lips parting.
“…You’re hopeless.”
But when you opened your legs for him again, you both knew you didn’t mean it.
Mingi turned the shower on, steam curling into the room as the water heated up. While it warmed, he leaned down and kissed you—slow and deep, his tongue lazily exploring your mouth while his big hands slid under your sleep dress, dragging it up and off your body.
“Still so cute even when you’re wrecked,” he murmured, voice low and thick with sleep and lust. “Wanna fuck you all over again.”
Your body twitched at his words, your thighs pressing together instinctively. “I’m still sore…”
“I’ll be gentle,” he said—though the glint in his eyes said otherwise.
He picked you up again and stepped into the shower with you, water cascading over both your bodies, his arms strong and steady around you. You let out a shaky breath as the warmth soothed your aching muscles, but your comfort didn’t last long.
Mingi pinned your back to the slick wall tiles, water running down his broad shoulders as he grabbed your thighs and hoisted them around his waist. His cock was already hard again, flushed and throbbing against your core.
“Y-you said gentle,” you mumbled, flushed and wide-eyed.
“I said I’ll try,” he corrected, smirking. “But you’re too damn addicting, baby. Can’t help it.”
You whined as he rubbed his cockhead along your folds, spreading his cum and your slick from the night before. “Mingi… I—”
“You’re always so wet for me,” he groaned. “Still leaking, baby? God, look at you…”
He pushed in slow—just the tip—and your eyes fluttered shut, your lips parting in a soft moan as your head thunked back against the tile. The heat of the water, the steam, his body against yours—it was all too much and not enough.
“F-fuck, you’re tight,” he growled, gripping your thighs tighter. “Even after everything I did last night…”
You gasped as he slid in deeper, your arms locking around his neck. “M-Mingi… ah—nghh—s-still sore…”
“I know, baby,” he cooed, kissing your cheek. “But you can take it. You always do. My good girl.”
His hips began to move, slowly at first—just enough for you to feel the stretch all over again. You whimpered into his shoulder, legs trembling, but your pussy clenched around him greedily.
“Making those cute noises again…” he muttered, voice almost desperate. “Say something for me, baby.”
“F-feels good,” you managed, your voice slurred, high and breathy. “So big—s-stretching me again…”
“You’re dripping,” he whispered against your ear. “Fucking leaking around me, and I’m not even moving fast yet.”
You let out a sob, your fingers tangling in his wet hair. “Please—Mingi—feels too good—don’t stop—”
And he didn’t.
He began thrusting harder, the sound of wet skin slapping echoing in the shower, water spraying off his back while he fucked you raw against the tile. You whimpered, moaned, your head rolling as he hit that same deep, sweet spot over and over until your body was convulsing in his arms.
“Cum for me,” he grunted. “Wanna feel you fall apart again.”
And you did—your eyes rolled back, your mouth fell open in a silent cry, your whole body shaking as you came hard around him. And right after, with a strangled groan, he buried himself deep and spilled inside you again.
For the fourth time.
You both panted, clinging to each other as the water kept pouring over you. Mingi kissed your temple softly.
“I should get a gold medal for this,” he muttered playfully.
You mumbled into his shoulder, barely coherent. “Mm… just feed me breakfast…”
He grinned. “After I eat you for breakfast again.”
After the shower, your legs barely held you up, so Mingi wrapped you in a towel and carried you straight to the kitchen like you weighed nothing. You were wearing one of his oversized shirts now—still damp and clinging to your soft curves, the hem brushing your thighs with every step you took.
Mingi was shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips, his hair still damp and messy. And the way his eyes kept dropping to your bare legs as he cooked? That hungry look never left.
“You know,” he muttered, flipping the pancakes in the pan, “I could bend you over this counter right now. Bet your pussy’s still twitching from the shower.”
You whimpered into your glass of juice, squirming in the stool you sat on. “Mingi…”
“What? I’m just saying,” he smirked, setting the plate down in front of you. “You looked so cute, all dumb and crying on my cock. How am I supposed to not talk about it?”
You pouted, hiding your red face behind your fork. “You’re so dirty…”
“And you love it,” he whispered as he leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “You love when I talk to you like that, don’t you? Gettin’ all shy now, but you were begging me to spank your pussy five minutes ago.”
Your thighs clenched automatically, eyes fluttering. “That was… different…”
He kissed your temple and slid into the stool beside you. “Nah. You’re just my pretty little pillow princess who gets shy after being ruined.”
You shoved his arm playfully, cheeks hot. “Eat your pancake, pervert.”
But your voice was so soft, your smile too wide—because you did love it. Every filthy word, every dirty look he gave you like you were his favorite thing to ruin.
Mingi leaned on his elbow, watching you eat with that same smirk tugging at his lips.
“After this… I’m putting you back in bed,” he murmured lowly. “And you’re gonna sit on my cock nice and slow while I kiss you. Let’s see how many times I can make you cum without moving my hips.”
You choked on your juice.
He patted your back, completely unbothered. “Careful, baby. Can’t have you dying before I ruin you again.”
how do i say 'thank you for enabling my smut addiction' in a cute way??
So... hi. Hello. Um. WHO LET Y’ALL FOLLOW ME.
I'm just over here writing ateez getting their backs blown out, respectfully—and suddenly there are 1,002 of you sitting in my living room, sipping imaginary tea, nodding like, “Yes bestie… go on… tell me more about the sweat and the growling.”
LIKE BE SERIOUS. DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE???
I started this blog just vibing in my little corner, probably thinking “heehee maybe one person will read this filth and go 🫣✨”—AND NOW I GOT A WHOLE ARMY OF HORNY GOBLINS WHO ACTUALLY READ MY STUFF??
You reblog it. You comment on it. Some of you scream in my inbox. Some of you send me unholy ideas like “what if he—” BABE WHAT IF HE DID, ACTUALLY 😩 and now here we are.
No, but seriously—
Thank you for making this space feel fun, unhinged, soft, and safe all at once.
Thank you for the hearts, the reblogs, the chaos, the love.
Thank you for reading. For feeling something. For screaming over ateez the way I do at 2AM when Mingi breathes and suddenly I’m writing 3,000 words about it.
I see you. I adore you. You’re part of this weird lil reverie I built, and I’m so glad you’re here.
Now go drink water, stretch, and then come back for more filth.
No, that's disgusting and stupid. There’s nothing sexy or playful about violence or abuse, even in fiction. Don’t ask me or anyone else for this again.
Y’all can still send me requests, I really don’t mind. I enjoy writing and playing around with different ideas, but let’s get one thing straight — stuff like this is not welcome here. I don’t care if someone thinks it’s a kink or whatever excuse they wanna use — it’s not cute, it’s not fun, and it’s just plain disgusting. Don’t ever come into my inbox asking for shit that romanticizes trauma. Respect my boundaries, and more importantly, respect basic decency.
pairing(s) : Idol! San x Escort! Reader x Idol! Yunho
word count : 3972
summary : You was booked for one night. They turned it into a goddamn performance.
genre : smut
warning(s) : Heavy dirty talk & degradation, Spit play / face-fucking / throatfucking, Power imbalance / dominance / humiliation, Multiple positions, choking, edging, body worship, Non-consensual photo taken (within fantasy context), Crying, overstimulation, begging, light CNC elements, Mentions of public sharing / group chat humiliation, No aftercare (pure filth fantasy). Let me know if I missed anything!
A/N : I AM FUCKING OBSESSED WITH THOSE UNDER EYE BLUSH SHIT🥵🥵🥵
Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!
🪐smut under the cut🪐
The crowd was still screaming even after the lights dimmed.
Ateez had just killed their encore stage—sweat-drenched, shirtless, every fan in the arena losing their minds as they shouted the members’ names like a prayer. It was chaos in the best way. The boys fed off it. But now, backstage, the adrenaline was shifting.
San leaned back against the hallway wall, still catching his breath, towel slung over his shoulders. His chest heaved with each exhale, abs glistening. He licked his lips slowly, eyes scanning the lingering crew walking back and forth, too hyped to care about professionalism.
"Did you see that girl in the third row?" he asked Yunho, a smirk playing on his lips. "Red top, fake tits, tongue out the whole time."
Yunho didn’t look up from his water bottle. He tilted it back, drinking deep, neck flexing with each swallow.
San scoffed. “You’re telling me you weren’t looking? That mouth was open wider than her brain.”
Yunho finally glanced at him. “And you think that’s a good thing?”
San laughed, deep and low. “Point taken.”
It was always like this after a show—energy high, egos higher. The fans gave them everything, and once the stage lights dimmed, the boys needed something more. Something real. Something to fuck out the leftover tension.
"Where’s Mingi?" Yunho asked, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rode up slightly, exposing the waistband of his sweats—and the sweat-slick V-line that had girls screaming ten minutes ago.
“Probably still sulking,” San grinned. “Said his girl last night had the ass of a pancake and didn’t even moan.”
Yunho made a noise of disgust.
“I told him, ‘bro, that’s what you get for picking randoms off Instagram.’” San pushed off the wall. “We need a proper one tonight. No risk. No bullshit. Just someone who knows what the fuck she’s doing.”
Yunho’s jaw ticked slightly. “Someone who acts professional... and leaves broken.”
San raised a brow. “Oh? In a mood tonight, hyung?”
Yunho didn’t answer, but the twitch in his lips said enough.
San turned toward their manager, who was speaking with staff nearby. “Hyung,” he called, casually, like he was asking for a charger. “You still got that escort contact?”
The man paused, eyes darting around.
Yunho stepped up beside San, towering, calm, unreadable.
“VIP agency only,” San clarified, tossing his towel over his shoulder. “None of that influencer bullshit.”
Their manager sighed but nodded. He tapped at his phone, muttering, “Y’all gonna give me a heart attack someday.”
Within seconds, a list was sent. Faces, stats, bios. Professional girls—high-end, clean, trained. The kind of women who didn’t beg for autographs or Instagram clout. Just money and silence.
San scrolled, unimpressed, until—
“Stop.” Yunho’s voice cut in.
San looked where he was pointing.
You.
Tight black dress, slightly parted lips, subtle curves, a still frame that looked like it was daring someone to ruin it. Your eyes weren’t even looking at the camera—you were glancing down, like the picture had been taken mid-thought.
Yunho’s voice was quiet. “That one.”
San whistled low. “Pretty. Looks smart.”
“Good,” Yunho said. “I want her to know exactly what she’s agreeing to.”
San tapped BOOK.
The screen blinked.
Confirmed. She’ll be at the hotel in one hour.
Somewhere across the city, you fastened the last strap on your heels. Your phone buzzed. Location received. Payment secured. Instructions clear.
You glanced once at yourself in the mirror—clean makeup, glossy lips, tits high, legs long, expression unreadable. You knew who they were. You’d seen their faces on screens, in magazines, on stages.
But tonight, they were just clients.
And you? You were the service.
No fan shit. No hesitation.
Still, as you picked up your clutch and walked out the door, there was a flicker in your stomach. Something dark. Something electric.
Like instinct already warning you:
You’re not ready.
The hotel suite was warm with leftover tension. Expensive whiskey on the minibar, concert gear half-dropped across the couch, the faint echo of bass still humming in the floor like a ghost of the stage.
You stepped inside like you owned it.
Black heels, black dress, sharp eyes. You didn’t flinch at the man spread wide on the couch—shirtless, sweaty, cocky. Or the one standing by the window with his arms crossed and his stare like a weapon.
You knew them. Of course you did.
Choi San.
Jeong Yunho.
Big fucking deals. Even bigger egos.
“Damn,” San said, looking you over slowly. “They actually sent us a ten.”
You didn’t stop walking. “Depends who’s rating me.”
He let out a low laugh. “Ohhh, she’s got a mouth.”
“I’m a service, not a saint,” you said flatly, tossing your clutch onto the counter. “I don’t do fanservice, I don’t pretend to care about your careers, and I don’t stay longer than the clock. You’ve got ninety minutes and I’m paid in full. You want anything extra—ask nice and pay more.”
Yunho didn’t say a word. Just watched you from his chair—muscles relaxed, eyes ice-cold. Like he was imagining you naked, kneeling, gagging—and already planning how to get you there.
You met his stare, cocking a brow. “You always this quiet or just trying to intimidate me?”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile.
Just said, “You’ll know when I’m ready to talk.”
Your stomach tightened—fuck. That voice. Deep enough to make your thighs shift.
San stood now, bare feet silent on the hardwood as he came toward you. He didn’t touch. Just circled—like a man appraising a new toy.
“You don’t act like the other girls,” he said.
“They act like you matter,” you replied.
That made him grin. Filthy and unbothered. “Ooh, fuck, I like her.”
“Most men do,” you said. “Until I walk out.”
Yunho stood up behind you. His height alone was enough to make the air thicken. You felt the heat of his body even without contact, the way his presence pushed your heartbeat up a notch.
San stepped in front of you, fingers toying with your dress strap.
“You come with instructions?”
You smiled. “Sure. Don’t fall in love. Don’t try to kiss me. And if you can’t make me cum, don’t waste my fucking time.”
Yunho moved in behind you now, close enough to smell—clean sweat, cologne, something musky and expensive.
San leaned closer. “And if I want to wreck you?”
Your voice was calm, lips close to his.
“Then fucking try.”
The tension snapped like elastic.
Yunho’s voice dropped behind you, low and firm:
“Strip.”
You turned your head slightly, still smirking. “Why? Scared I’ll say no once I see how small you are?”
San barked a laugh and stepped back.
Yunho didn’t even blink. “I said strip.”
This time it wasn’t a question.
And something inside you thrummed—a deep, dark heat pooling low as you stared at them both.
Two men who wanted to ruin you.
And maybe… just maybe… you wanted it.
You slid your fingers up to your zipper, pulling it down slow. The dress peeled away like silk, falling to your ankles with barely a whisper.
No bra. Just tits out, proud and perky. Black lace thong and nothing else.
No shame. No nerves. Just that look on your face—the kind that says I’ve been fucked better than you, but I’ll let you try.
San whistled. “Oh yeah. She’s gonna cry.”
Yunho sat back down, spreading his legs, still silent.
And then he said it.
“Get on your knees.”
You sank to your knees without a word.
Not because you were weak.
Because you knew exactly what this was.
And if they were going to fuck your body—you’d make them earn it.
San crouched in front of you, head tilted like he was seeing something fascinating for the first time. His fingers trailed from your jaw down to your collarbone, slow and taunting.
“Shit…” he whispered. “You really are something.”
You didn’t respond. Just tilted your chin up a little, daring him.
He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.
"You ever been on your knees in front of someone who didn’t even have to touch you to make you drip?"
Yunho stepped behind you again, this time close enough to feel. He dropped to a knee, hands smooth and warm on your waist, sliding up over your ribs, grazing the undersides of your tits.
You breathed in sharply when his thumbs pressed into the soft flesh, pushing up, squeezing.
“No bra,” he murmured, more to himself. “Good girl.”
His head dipped, and his mouth was on your neck—no warning. Just wet, open kisses, tongue dragging slow up your skin before he bit. Not hard, but deep enough to make your whole body twitch.
“Sensitive,” he muttered. “I like that.”
San cupped your face, guiding your gaze back to him.
“You ever been worshipped, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low. “Not fucked. Not used. Worshipped.”
You hesitated. Breath shaky. But your eyes never dropped.
“I don’t believe in gods,” you said.
San grinned. “Me too, but you will.”
They made you sit back on your heels, arms behind your back—displayed. Yunho stayed behind you, holding you open. His palms slid up your thighs, spreading them until the lace of your thong pulled tight against your pussy.
San kissed your knee. Soft. Almost sweet.
Then trailed his lips up your inner thigh, pausing to bite just above the softest spot.
You gasped.
“Ohh, she makes noise,” he teased, tongue flicking where your skin was thinnest. “Thought you were gonna be all business.”
Yunho hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your thong. Pulled it down slow. You lifted your hips without needing to be told.
"Well-behaved," he muttered. "Wonder how long that’ll last."
They didn’t touch your pussy at first.
No—they stared.
Yunho ran two fingers along your folds, slow, not even parting them yet.
“Dripping,” he said flatly. “Didn’t even touch her clit.”
San looked up from between your thighs. “She wants to be ruined. Look at her. Look how her legs keep twitching.”
Then—spit.
San let a thick glob fall from his tongue right onto your slit.
It slid down slow, glossy, filthy.
You jerked.
“Ohh,” he grinned. “She likes that.”
Yunho took the spit and rubbed it in with two fingers, sliding through your folds, just brushing your clit—
And your hips bucked.
San slapped your inner thigh. Loud.
You moaned.
"Try that shit again," he warned, "and I’ll tie your legs open."
Then he went in.
Tongue first. Long, flat licks like he was tasting dessert. Then smaller ones, teasing circles over your clit that made you whimper.
Yunho pinched your nipples from behind.
"Use your words," he said, voice gravel. "You wanted this. Say it."
You bit your lip.
"Say it," San echoed, lifting his face just enough to smack your pussy. A quick sting. Your body jumped.
"I want it," you gasped.
“Want what?” Yunho growled, twisting one nipple while the other hand slid down your belly.
"Want your tongue," you breathed. "Want you to fuck me with it—please."
San moaned into your cunt, tongue pressing harder now, lips wrapping around your clit, sucking. Yunho shoved two fingers in without warning—deep—curling them just right, pumping while San worked you up top.
Your hands scrambled for something—anything. The floor. Yunho’s thigh. Your own skin.
It didn’t matter.
You were unraveling.
You felt it build—tight, hot, liquid heat bursting in your core—
“I’m—fuck—I’m coming—!”
San didn’t stop. Yunho didn’t slow. Your body shook, legs spasming, jaw slack as the orgasm ripped through you. You couldn’t even speak—just a long, raw moan, head thrown back.
When you came down, you realized your mascara had smeared. Your thighs were wet. Your arms were trembling.
San leaned back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “We haven’t even started.”
Yunho grabbed his phone.
You blinked, dazed. “What are you—”
“Gonna make Mingi jealous,” he said calmly, lifting the camera. “He didn’t get big boobies hoe yesterday.”
Click.
The camera clicked, and you flinched like it was a gunshot.
Your body was still twitching from the orgasm—legs sticky and trembling, lips parted, chest rising and falling in short, ragged breaths. San was still kneeling between your thighs, tongue lazily flicking across your inner thigh just to feel you jerk.
Yunho held his phone up, angled with that same calm you were starting to fear more than anything.
San watched you with a crooked smirk. “Hope you smiled pretty, baby.”
He leaned back and tugged at your ruined thong like it was a trophy, holding it up to inspect it. Then tossed it onto the coffee table like trash.
You blinked slowly, trying to center yourself, but Yunho’s voice cut through your daze.
“Sent.”
San snorted. “You didn’t.”
Yunho showed him the screen.
San cackled.
“Fuck, you really just did it. Sent a full pussy shot to the group chat. With her tits out and everything.”
You tried to sit up. Tried to breathe.
“What did you—?”
“Don’t worry,” San said, wiping a strand of hair off your cheek, “they won’t know who you are. They’ll just wish they were us.”
Yunho tossed the phone onto the bed behind him. Calm as ever. Still half-hard in his sweatpants like your orgasm was a snack, not the meal.
Then the buzzes started.
Vrrrr. Vrrrr. Vrrr.
San grabbed the phone again and started reading with a laugh.
Mingi: “BRO. I GOT A FLAT GIRL IN BANGKOK WTF IS THIS.”
Wooyoung: “No way that moan’s real. Did you edit it?”
Seonghwa: “I need a booking link. Immediately.”
Yeosang: [sends a photo of a broken couch] “That’s her spine next.”
Jongho: “Delete this. I’m blocking the entire group.”
Hongjoong: “Have some privacy, won't you?”
San turned the screen to show you. “You’re famous now.”
Your throat was dry. “You’re sick.”
San grinned. “You’re wet.”
Yunho stood, looming behind you. “Crawl to the bed.”
You looked up at him. Swallowed. “What?”
“Crawl,” he repeated. “You wanted to be treated like a toy. Toys don’t walk.”
Your stomach dropped. Your cunt clenched—traitor.
He didn’t say it again. Just waited.
So you moved.
Palms to the floor, legs shaky, knees burning with every shift on the hardwood. You crawled like they told you—toward the bed, tits swaying, face hot, pride somewhere far behind.
You could feel them watching.
San followed close, laughing softly. “Look at that. Thought she was in charge thirty minutes ago.”
Yunho sat on the edge of the bed, watching you approach between his legs. His cock was hard now—thick, tenting his sweats. One hand resting on his thigh, the other fisting the hem of his shirt like he was holding himself back.
When you reached him, you knelt again, breath shaky.
He looked down at you.
“Now beg.”
You swallowed hard, already kneeling between his legs, arms trembling from the crawl. The scent of him—sweat, Dyptique, the kind of power that clung to skin—wrapped around your brain like a noose.
“I want your cock,” you whispered.
He raised a brow. “That’s not begging.”
San sat on the edge of the dresser behind you, legs swinging, grinning. “Better try again, baby. He likes it when girls sound desperate.”
Your throat tightened.
“Please… Yunho,” you murmured, looking up, lips parted. “I want your cock in my mouth. I want to choke on it. I want to feel it down my throat until I forget my fucking name.”
That earned you a low grunt.
Yunho leaned forward and pushed his sweatpants down just enough.
And fuck—he was big. Thick. Veins running down the shaft. Heavy, dark, flushed and already leaking.
You stared for half a second too long.
San snorted. “Bitch saw God.”
Yunho grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you closer, cock brushing your lips.
“Open.”
You obeyed.
The first thrust was a tease—slow, just the head. You wrapped your lips around him, sucking softly, eyes locked on his face.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t praise. Just watched.
Then—thrust.
He slid halfway in and you gagged, hands flying to his thighs.
San clapped once. “There it is!”
Yunho didn’t pause. Just held your hair tight and fucked your mouth like it was his right. Deep strokes, thick and heavy, making your throat stretch and clench.
Spit slid down your chin. Your nose ran. Tears welled in your eyes.
You moaned around him.
“Fuck, she likes it,” San laughed. “Look at her. That’s a whore face.”
Your mascara smeared, black streaks trailing down as Yunho started grunting under his breath. His hand tightened in your hair, pulling your face all the way down until your nose was flush with his pelvis.
You choked.
And he held you there.
“Breathe through your nose,” he said calmly.
You tried.
You gagged again.
Spit bubbled at the corners of your mouth as he finally let you pull back with a wet gasp, drool stringing from your lips to his cock.
You barely had time to recover before he slapped it across your face. Once. Twice. Wet sounds echoing.
“Back down,” he ordered.
You obeyed. Again.
This time San knelt beside you, watching, fingers lazily stroking your nipple as Yunho used your mouth like a fleshlight.
“Sloppy little cum toy,” he whispered. “You gonna cry when he fills your throat?”
You moaned around the cock.
Your eyes were rolling back. Drool had soaked your tits. Your whole body buzzed like a wire—overstimulated and loving it.
Yunho finally pulled out, cock glistening with spit. Your jaw hung open, lips red, mascara dripping.
You were a mess.
“Turn around,” he said.
You did.
On hands and knees again, your ass high, thighs trembling.
Yunho stood behind you, phone in hand.
Click.
No shame. No warning. Just a full shot of your wrecked, spit-covered body and your perfect, round ass.
He stared at the screen, then said:
“I’ll keep this one.”
You shivered.
He leaned down, voice right by your ear.
“Gonna jerk off to it when I’m too busy to fuck you again.”
Your body was already wrecked—and they hadn’t even put their cocks inside you.
Your mouth was raw. Your cheeks were flushed. Your throat burned from deepthroating Yunho until your makeup melted and your pride leaked out with your spit.
You were on your hands and knees again, ass still raised from the photo he’d snapped. You didn’t know where your thong was. Your dress had vanished. Your tits were wet with saliva and tears.
But San hadn’t even had a turn yet.
Yunho sat back on the couch now, spreading his legs and watching you like a show. The front of his sweatpants were soaked with spit and precum, cock twitching lazily as he stroked it.
San stepped in behind you, sweat slicking his abs. You felt the heat of his body as he ran his fingers over your lower back, down to your ass.
"Pretty little fuckdoll," he murmured. "And she’s still tight."
He grabbed a fistful of your ass and spit—a thick glob that landed right between your cheeks and slid down to your pussy.
You moaned—humiliated and desperate and soaking wet.
He rubbed it in with his fingers, circling your entrance.
“You wanna cum again?” San asked casually.
"Yes," you breathed. "Please."
He laughed. “Tough.”
Then he pushed in. Two fingers, then three. Thick, rough, curling up and pumping fast, mercilessly.
You arched your back and let out a cry.
"Y-Yunho—!" you gasped without meaning to.
San slapped your ass hard. “Wrong dick, slut.”
You sobbed into the sheets.
"Try again," he hissed, thrusting his fingers harder.
"San—fuck—San please—I need it—"
"Need what?"
"Need your cock. Need it now, please, I’ll take anything—"
Yunho’s voice came from the couch, deep and cold.
“Don’t let her cum.”
San smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He pulled out his fingers and wiped them on your thigh. You screamed at the emptiness, body twitching like a broken wire.
“Please!” you sobbed. “I was close, please—!”
San just climbed onto the bed and pulled you into his lap, one hand tight around your neck. Not cutting air—just control. He leaned in, lips dragging over your cheek, your jaw.
“You cum when we let you,” he whispered. “Not a second before.”
Then he pulled your face to his cock.
"Now open up again. Show me how much you’ve learned."
The next minutes were a blur of spit, moans, and hands.
San fucked your throat while Yunho palmed your ass, spreading you open, sliding his fingers back inside while San held your head still.
San’s cock hit the back of your throat over and over—fast, sloppy, loud. His moans were rough, his grip harsh, and he spat down into your mouth mid-thrust like it was part of the routine.
"Swallow it, bitch."
You did. Didn’t even flinch.
Yunho watched, then got up. He was done waiting.
San pulled out just before he came, pushing you face down on the bed.
"Yunho’s turn."
You could barely breathe, mouth glossy with spit, lips swollen.
Then you felt it—Yunho’s cock sliding through your folds from behind, soaked, hot and thick and angry.
He leaned down, one hand wrapping around your throat from behind, the other bracing on the bed.
"You begged for it," he growled into your ear. "Now take it."
He slammed in.
Your scream was half-air, half-sob. You arched up, hands clawing at the sheets, as his cock filled you completely.
“F-FUCK—!”
“That’s right,” he snapped. “Squeeze my cock, just like that.”
His hips hit yours hard, steady, ruthless. He angled his thrusts until he hit your g-spot with every drive and still didn’t let you cum.
San stood nearby, stroking himself and smirking.
“Her pussy’s clenching so hard. Poor thing’s about to cry.”
“She’s not allowed yet,” Yunho grunted.
You were gasping, crying, begging—your voice raw, your pussy twitching around him, trying to milk his cock for relief that wouldn’t come.
“Please—please, Yunho—”
He slapped your ass hard.
"You’ll wait."
He edged you three times.
Pulled out every time you started to scream, left you twitching and leaking on the sheets.
By the time San slid in from behind, you were trembling, face buried in the pillows, voice almost gone.
He was gentler at first—but only to mock.
“Aww, poor baby. You gonna cry on my cock?”
You nodded, tears streaking down your face.
He smiled. Then fucked into you so deep you saw stars.
San didn’t edge you.
He made you cum so hard you screamed into the bed, full-body spasming, throat raw.
And right when you collapsed, Yunho was there, sliding back into your pussy from behind, fucking you through the aftershocks like you were just a hole.
Your orgasm turned to pain. The pain turned to more pleasure.
Your voice cracked, your vision blurred.
And when it was over—when your body had nothing left, not even shame—
Yunho pulled out and flipped you on your stomach.
Your ass was red, dripping, thighs shaking.
He picked up his phone again.
Click.
“Gonna keep another one,” he said flatly
He tucked it away like it was just a note.
You didn’t move. Couldn’t.
San sat beside your head, petting your hair.
“Next time,” he whispered, “we’ll let Mingi join.”
summary : A teasing brat, a soft dom, and a night full of mess.
genre : smut
warning(s) : overstimulation, face-sitting, squirting, spit, fingering, face-riding, pussy grinding on abs, brat x soft dom dynamic, cock worship, deep penetration, crying during sex, praise + light degradation, dumbification, aftercare, feeding water post-orgasm, creampie. Let me know if I missed anything!
Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!
🪐smut under the cut 🪐
The moment your back hits the mattress, you already know you’re in for it.
Seonghwa doesn’t even say a word. Just stands at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, head tilted like he’s trying to figure out what kind of punishment best fits your crime — which, for the record, was simply whispering “you’re so slow, grandpa” when he took more than five seconds to unbutton his shirt.
Your legs kick a little in the air as you giggle, pretending innocence.
“Hwaaa, come on~ don’t look at me like that…”
He lets out a soft exhale through his nose, not quite a laugh, but definitely not amusement either. “Grandpa?” he echoes, slowly crawling onto the bed like a lion cornering prey. “I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already mouthing off?”
You squeal when he grabs your ankle, pulling you down toward him with one smooth yank.
“Hwa—! You’re being mean—”
“You called me a grandpa, baby,” he cuts you off with that maddeningly calm voice. His fingers tug at your shorts, slipping them down with ease. “But look at you. Dripping like you need me more than air.”
You want to argue, throw a comeback, something—but the moment the cold air kisses your soaked panties, your thighs twitch on instinct, traitorous.
Seonghwa smiles. Not the sweet smile he gives you when he makes you coffee in the morning, or kisses your forehead when you’re sleepy. No, this one is dark. Mischievous. Dangerous in the most delicious way.
“You gonna behave?” he murmurs, thumb brushing the wet patch forming between your legs.
You pout, hips squirming just a little. “M’not that bad…”
“Mm.” He hums like he’s not convinced. “Guess I’ll just have to fuck the attitude out of you.”
And just like that, his head disappears between your thighs.
Your fingers barely graze the sheets before he’s already settled between your thighs — pushing them open, kissing the inside of your knee like he’s being gentle, but his eyes burn with something else entirely.
“Don’t move,” he murmurs, breath hot against your inner thigh. “You start wiggling and squirming, I’ll just tie you up instead.”
You let out a breathy laugh, but it catches in your throat the second his mouth presses over the soaked fabric of your panties. No teasing. No slow build. He groans into it like he’s been starving, tongue immediately dragging along the soaked cotton.
“Oh my god—Hwa,” you whine, hips jumping.
His hands fly up instantly—one across your lower belly, pinning you down; the other gripping your thigh with a bruising promise.
“Still, baby,” he warns, voice low and sticky. “I haven’t even started yet.”
With maddening precision, he pulls your panties aside, exposing your soaked folds to the cool air—and then warmer heat.
His tongue.
It starts with one, slow, filthy drag — a long, purposeful lick from your entrance to your clit, and it’s wet. Messy. Loud. The kind of sound that makes your toes curl, your chest stutter.
“Oh—Hwa—fuck—”
“You taste so fucking good,” he growls, barely pulling back before diving in again. His spit drips from his lips as he laps at you hungrily, tongue flattening then curling, dragging up and down until your thighs shake. “How are you this wet already? What kind of mess are you planning to make for me, huh?”
Your back arches with a whimper, fingers flying into his hair for anything to anchor you.
Then he spits.
Right onto your cunt.
A thick, warm string that lands directly on your clit, and you sob — full-body, high-pitched, like it knocked the air out of you. He doesn’t even wait. Rubs the spit in with the flat of his tongue, circular motions that leave you twitching.
“You’re drooling,” he chuckles darkly, glancing up at your flushed face. “Pretty baby can’t handle a little tongue?”
“I’m gonna die—” you gasp, high-pitched and whiny.
“Then die for me, baby,” he murmurs with a smirk before he shoves his tongue in.
The way he fucks you with it, deep and slow, alternating between curling inside and sucking on your clit like he’s trying to ruin every future orgasm you’ll ever have.
The pressure in your belly builds fast. Too fast.
“Hwa—Hwa, I’m gonna—”
He doesn’t stop. Not for a second. In fact, he groans into you, the vibrations tipping you right over.
You scream when it hits — legs jerking, hips stuttering, liquid gushing out of you as your vision goes white. You squirt hard, soaking his face, and all Seonghwa does is moan like it’s the best reward in the world.
And then?
Then he doesn’t stop.
Tongue lapping up every drop, fingers suddenly slipping in to stretch you open more, curling just right.
You try to close your legs, but he pushes them apart. “We’re not done yet, baby. You wanted to run your mouth, remember?” he pants, face soaked with your slick. “Now be good and cum again for me. Squirt again. Make it messier this time.” he whispers against your cunt, fingers sliding in smoothly right after your orgasm leaves you twitching. “So fucking pretty when you squirt all over me. Think you can do it again?”
You try to answer. You really try.
But all you can let out is a choked sob and a breathless, “Hwaaa—s’too much—!”
He grins.
That stupid, gorgeous, smug grin.
“Too much?” he teases, crooking his fingers inside you just right, angling upward until he hits that devastating spot again and again and again. “You say that, but this slutty pussy keeps sucking me in like you need it.”
Your thighs twitch again. He doesn’t even bother holding you down this time — just lets your hips writhe, lets your body jerk as your slick runs down the inside of your legs. His mouth glistens, cheeks shiny with your mess. And when you manage to lift your dazed eyes, that’s when you see it—
He’s grinning as your juices drip down his chin.
“You made such a mess,” he says, almost in awe. “Let’s make it worse.”
His pace speeds up. Wet sounds fill the room—obscene, echoing. His fingers pump hard and fast, curl deep, then scissor slightly just to watch your thighs fly open and twitch again.
“Hwa—ohmygod—fuckfuckfuck—” You sob, back arching as your eyes roll.
You squirt again—harder this time, right into his face. A splash across his cheek, chin, the tip of his nose. His tongue darts out, licking some of it off with a soft moan.
“Fucking perfect,” he mutters. “Wanna bottle it. Want you dripping all over me every fucking night.”
Your whole body’s trembling, oversensitive, dumbed out—until you feel him pause.
Then—slowly—he brings his soaked fingers up to your lips, sticky and dripping. “Open,” he says, voice lower than before.
You hesitate, dazed.
He taps your lip. “Be a good girl.”
And you obey.
He pushes his fingers into your mouth—your own taste coating your tongue, salty and slick, messy from your orgasm. He groans when your lips wrap around them, when your tongue swirls over his knuckles like you’ve gone cockdrunk off his hand.
“Fuck… you look so pretty like this. Sucking my fingers after I made you squirt all over my face.”
You whimper around them, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes as your hips twitch again—like your body doesn’t even know how to stop reacting to him.
He leans closer, kissing your cheek tenderly.
Then he licks a stripe up the side of your face, whispering right against your ear—
“Bet you’ll let me do it again, won’t you? Make you squirt a third time just so I can drink it this time.”
You’re panting.
Barely conscious. Barely alive. Your thighs are soaked, your voice is hoarse, your brain’s not even stringing full thoughts together—just babbling nonsense through tear-lined lashes.
But then his hands are on your hips.
“C’mere,” he whispers.
You blink slowly, dazed. “Wha—?”
He pulls you up—gentle but firm—guiding your thighs toward his face. “Up here, baby. Come sit on it.”
You let out a strangled whimper. “I-I can’t—Hwa—too much, I’m gonna break—”
“You’re not gonna break,” he says with a dark little smile. “You’re gonna ride. Now come up here and fuck my face like the needy little brat you are.”
Your cunt pulses just from those words.
So you do. Wobbly and wet, you crawl forward and straddle his face, thighs shaking on either side of his head. He doesn’t wait—not even a second. Just drags his tongue up your slit with a deep, needy groan that vibrates straight into your core.
“Oh my god—” you cry, your hands flying to the headboard as your hips jerk forward. “Hwa—Hwa, fuck—!”
He moans into you, hands gripping your ass tight, pulling you down harder against his face. There’s no space to breathe. No air between you. Just your soaked cunt grinding against his tongue and the obscene wet noises of him slurping you up like he’s trying to drink every drop.
Your hips move on their own. Grinding, rocking, chasing that sharp edge again even though you’re already so far gone. His tongue flicks against your clit, fast and filthy, while he fucks two fingers back inside you from below—curling, pumping—
Then he spits.
Right onto your clit again, mid-lick.
You scream. No build-up. Just full-body twitching, a gush of slick releasing again, pouring onto his mouth as you squirt across his chin and neck.
But he doesn’t stop.
If anything, he groans like it’s better than heaven, like your squirt is feeding him. He’s drenched. It’s dripping down his throat, into his hair, his lashes soaked with it—but his tongue stays relentless, licking and sucking like you’re his only purpose.
You’re sobbing, whimpering, brain-fucked into a spiral. “I-I can’t—s’too much—f-fuck I’m gonna—Hwa—please—”
He pulls back just for a second, spit-slick lips glistening, eyes dark and wild.
“Don’t you dare stop moving,” he rasps, voice hoarse from moaning into your pussy. “You ride me like you want it. Wanna feel you cum again on my tongue, baby. Wanna drown in it.”
You whine like you’ve lost control of your entire body.
But you move.
You grind harder, faster—facefucking him, completely shameless now, your hips bouncing with wet, sloppy sounds as his tongue fucks up into you, fingers curling, his mouth messy and hungry—
Until you break.
You cum again.
Harder than before. Screaming his name, sobbing, gasping for air as your vision blacks out for a second from the intensity. Your squirt gushes down over his face, and he lets it, mouth open, drinking what he can while the rest drips down his cheeks and into the pillows.
When you finally collapse forward, trembling and crying, he’s panting under you — lips red and swollen, hair soaked with your slick.
“Fuck…” he whispers, kissing the inside of your thigh softly. “You’re so fucking perfect when you cum like that. So messy. So ruined. My beautiful little slut.”
Your whole body’s still twitching — but instead of flopping down beside him, you crawl lower.
Right over his chest.
Seonghwa watches you with a lazy, soaked smirk. His hair is sticking to his forehead, his entire face glistening with your cum, lips swollen from your pussy, but still — he watches like he knows you’re not finished.
He’s sprawled on the bed, shirt half open, abs flexing beneath you with every breath. And your slick? Still dripping.
“What are you doing now, hm?” he asks, voice low and gravelly.
You don’t answer — not with words. Just sink your hips down and grind your messy cunt along the ridges of his abs. Soaking him. Leaving sticky, shiny trails over his skin with every little rock of your hips.
He hisses.
“Fucking hell…”
You whimper on purpose. Soft, bratty. “You’re so… hard, baby,” you murmur, grinding again — letting your puffy folds press right against the line of muscle below his ribs. “S-so strong… feels so good under me…”
His jaw clenches.
“Are you trying to break me?” he growls. “Is that it? You wanna tease me until I lose it?”
You giggle breathlessly, leaning forward to kiss the corner of his mouth — sweetly, innocently — while your hips roll again. “You can take it, right? Big boy?”
And that’s it.
With one swift, rough move, he grabs your hips and flips you onto your back, pinning you with his weight. His cock slaps against your inner thigh — flushed, thick, leaking, angry from being ignored for too long.
“I spoil you too fucking much,” he mutters, lining himself up at your entrance, guiding the thick head through your soaked folds. “Now look what you did to me. Look what you made me.”
You whimper, legs wrapping around his waist, your hands gripping his shoulders.
“You wanted cock so bad?” he growls, voice breaking as he pushes in, thick head stretching you open inch by inch. “Fucking take it, baby.”
You scream — back arching as he fills you. He’s big. Heavy. And he goes in deep without stopping, until you’re gasping, whimpering, clinging to him like you might lose your mind.
“God, you’re so tight…” he groans, hips snapping once just to feel you spasm around him. “So fucking wet. You like teasing me just to get ruined, huh? You like making me fuck you stupid?”
You nod. Fast. Dumb. Crying. “Yes—yes, please—ruin me—need it so bad, baby—”
He fucks you hard.
Deep, full thrusts that knock the air out of your lungs. His cock kisses your cervix with every push, making your mouth fall open, your brain turn to soup. Your nails scratch down his back. You’re moaning so loud now, wet noises echoing between you both, slick coating your thighs, his cock, the sheets.
“Such a messy little brat,” he pants, staring down at the way your tits bounce with every thrust. “You ride my face, grind on my abs, and then look at me like you’re innocent.”
You cry out again when he angles his hips just right—rubbing your g-spot with every stroke.
“Cum again,” he growls, leaning close, biting your bottom lip. “Squirt all over my cock, baby. Wanna feel you soak me. Be a good girl and fuckin’ let go.”
And just like that — it hits.
You convulse under him, nails clawing his shoulders, legs wrapped tight as you squirt again — all over his cock, your body wracked with trembles as the orgasm rips through you. He moans loud as you gush around him, then fucks you through it, greedy, obsessive.
“Fucking mine,” he breathes. “All mine. Look how dumb you get on my dick. So fucking pretty…”
You barely hear him.
Your body’s limp. Eyes glassy. Brain fuzzy with pleasure.
And Seonghwa just slows his thrusts, cups your face gently, kissing your cheeks as his cock pulses inside you. “Shh… I got you, baby. Gonna cum deep inside this perfect pussy now. You want it, don’t you? Wanna be filled up?”
You nod like you’re drunk on him.
“Good girl,” he whispers, hips rolling one last time as he buries himself, groaning your name like a prayer while he spills inside you.
You don’t even remember how your legs untangle.
One second, you're flat on your back, twitching and crying through your orgasm with his cum dripping out of you—
The next, you're being scooped into warm arms.
Seonghwa presses gentle kisses across your collarbone as he lifts you, bridal-style, ignoring how soaked both your thighs are, how his cock’s still half-hard and messy between you.
“You okay, baby?” he murmurs, voice soft, thumb brushing your cheek. “Still with me?”
You nod—barely.
More like a sleepy nuzzle into his chest.
He chuckles quietly, carrying you across the room, carefully laying you on fresh sheets. Then, he disappears for just a moment—
And comes back with a cold bottle of water.
“Drink,” he says, crouching down beside the bed. His fingers guide the rim of the bottle to your lips, slow and careful. “You squirted like a fountain, princess. Gotta refill you.”
You whimper softly, but sip.
The cold water hits your throat like heaven. You gulp it down greedily, and he smiles like he’s proud—like watching you drink is the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.
“That’s my good girl,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead between sips. “Such a mess. You’re all sticky, baby… all over me. Look.”
He pulls back slightly and shows you: his abs, still glistening with the trail you left when you grinded on him. His mouth? Still shiny from when you sat on his face. The smirk on his lips? Deadly.
You cover your face with both hands, whining through your fingers.
“Nuh-uh,” he says sweetly, pulling your hands down. “Don’t hide. You’re beautiful like this.”
His voice drops to a tender murmur, and he leans down to kiss your thighs—one, then the other—slow, almost reverent. “You did so well for me. Let me clean you up, okay?”
You nod, still glassy-eyed, still overwhelmed.
He wipes between your thighs with a warm, wet cloth, so gently it almost makes you cry again. Every little touch is patient, delicate — like he’s handling something precious. He kisses your knees, massages your hips, brushes damp hair away from your temples.
“I didn’t mean to fuck you that dumb,” he murmurs, chuckling under his breath. “But you were teasing me so much, baby. What was I supposed to do?”
You let out a hoarse giggle. Barely audible. But your smile is soft, satisfied.
When he finally crawls into bed with you, he pulls the blanket up over your legs, snuggles in behind you, and curls an arm around your waist, his chest pressed to your back.
“Tomorrow,” he whispers into your ear, “you’re not allowed to walk. I’m carrying you everywhere.”
You hum, sleepy.
He kisses your shoulder.
“…And maybe next time,” he adds with a grin, “you ride my face and my cock in the same session. For science.”
You groan into the pillow.
He laughs.
And pulls you closer like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
kianamaiart
izzy806
tangentwithtanner
gummygunk
areudirty
blakekathryn
andulkaphoto