johnny's slut

lucky me, lucky you 결국엔 거짓말 we lie so what? so what? || https://ko-fi.com/starsuh

[star-suh]

about me:

𖤓 hi, my name is seb, i'm 23 - he/him

𖤓 male reader writer

𖤓 +18, MINORS DNI

★ MASTERLIST ☆

★ RULES FOR REQUESTS ☆

★ IDOLS I WRITE FOR ☆

other: 𖤓 request are OPEN, send asks or wtv u want (opinions, recomendations, feedback, questions, etc) / before requesting something read the rules and the idol list please ☆

[star-suh]

Sweet Fixation

Johnny Suh x Male Reader.

cw: reader has an oral fixation, manipulative johnny(?), anal insertion, cum eating.

an: this is just me being nasty with a lollipop.

—

yn has always had a weird necessity of having something in between his lips, he needs to feel it. first it was him chewing on ice cubes that then transformed into smoking e-cigarettes –it was bad for his health so he decided to change it for something more “healthy”, lollipops.

yn frequented a well known bar and for the staff there or other recurring clients it was normal seeing him with one on his mouth but none of them actually cared to know why, they didn’t see it as some sort of habit it’s just that he really liked lollipops, just a man with a sweet tooth, no one ever seemed to pick up on it, no one except one person –johnny.

he was another recurring client there, he watched how the other guy always carries a lot of those little lollipops on the pockets of his coat, how when he ends with one he immediately starts with another, how when there’s no more to suck on his tongue starts brushing against his teeth and his leg bouncing –something that disappears when he finally can put another lollipop between his lips. “you really like those candies huh?” johnny murmured while being on the bar, waiting for his whiskey. yn looked at him, he eyed him up and down and smiled, “yeah they’re really good. want one?” he put his hand on the pocket of his coat and took one out, then he extended his hand towards the tall man, “thanks dude” he received the candy and left to sit in his private stall. “holy shit, he’s so fine” yn sighs while looking at the man disappearing behind a door.

since that day on they started what yn called a friendship –they would engage in casual conversations, getting to know each other a little bit better. that’s how johnny confirmed his theory that yn had an oral fixation, and as the mischievous person he is he planned something, after all he hasn’t had fun for so long, yn fell right into his lap.

one night johnny invited yn to his private stall, excited he accepted –private stalls are isolated from the noise outside of them, they have all the accommodations you can pay for– “damn this couch is so comfy man” yn said happily laying on it, “i can certainly sleep in here”. minutes passed and after some more alcohol yn stood up to go towards the bathroom, big mistake.

johnny quickly searched for the lollipops on the other’s coat and hid them around the stall but keeping just a single one in his pocket. then yn came back he was just biting the stick of the candy so he quickly went towards his coat to prepare a new one but he didn’t find one. those nervous tics came back again, tongue against his teeth and his leg bouncing, anxiety taking over him. a sly half-smile tugging on his lips, everything was falling into place for him, “what happened? you seem nervous” he asked, “nothing, it’s just that i” he breathes, “i thought i have enough lollipops for tonight… you know my sweet tooth” he tries to joke and mask the uncontrollable need to have something on his mouth then his eyes catch something –johnny has a lollipop on his hand, he’s playing with it, twirling it in between his fingers– yn tries to act cool but that might be his only chance to calm his urges at least for the rest of the night.

yn gulped, his throat bobbing, then johnny’s words caught him off guard, “you need something in your mouth, don’t you?”. yn stood still, freezed on place while he watches how johnny unwraps the candy slowly, teasingly –johnny waited for yn’s reaction, he didn’t say something he just stared at the cherry red candy on johnny’s hands, licking his lips out of habit, his eyes locking on the precious candy. johnny chuckled at yn’s dumbfounded mood, who would’ve thought a simple candy has such immense power over him. the tall then puts the lollipop on his mouth, tongue swirling over it, savouring it slowly with dragged “hmm’s” to let yn know how delicious it was, the other’s breath hitched seeing this, his mouth watering at the thought of it. then he pulls it out, glossy and slicked with his saliva, a string of it connecting it with his lips.

johnny smirks, he moved closer towards yn, “open up” he demanded in a murmured voice, yn obeyed after hesitating some seconds –after all he can finally have something on his mouth again, or that was he thought. johnny grabbed yn by his chin, parting his lips on the process, he press the lollipop flat on the other’s tongue, dragging it up on his tongue –letting him taste the mixed flavor of the candy with his saliva– yn’s face growing red every passing second, the stall being filled with sinful wet squelching sounds coming from yn’s mouth. johnny worked it deeper, then pulls it out dragging the slicked candy across his lips like it’s some sort of lip balm.

“so fuckin messy” johnny muttered, amused by what he’s doing. saliva started to pool on the corners of yn’s mouth and his eyes become glassy –needy sounds coming from yn pushed johnny to keep going, the candy being smeared wet and sticky across his lips and tongue while a thin trail of saliva dripped down the other’s chin slowly, some of it coating the hand of johnny that’s holding his chin still.

he pulled the lollipop out with a wet pop, holding it just inches away, strings of spit stretched between it and yn’s glossy sticky lips, then –with no warning– he pushed it back in, but deeper this time bumping it against the back of yn’s throat. he choked out a muffled moan, eyes watering as he sucked harder, the mix of cherry and spit flooding his senses. johnny’s gaze darkened as he watched yn’s struggle over a lollipop, “you like this don’t you?. we are just getting started”.

johnny made him open the mouth more this time to spit inside of it, the glob of saliva fell onto the candy and then slid down yn’s throat, he moaned at the act. johnny continued defiling yn’s mouth until half of the candy was already melted, some of it coating his knuckles while his other hand was the same but with yn’s saliva instead. johnny puts the candy back to his mouth and leaned down to yn’s ear, “want something bigger, thicker and tastier?”, his gaze pinning yn on his place. the other introduced his thumb on yn’s mouth to give him time to think about the proposal.

yn swallowed hard but the answer was already written on his face, with his other free hand johnny unzipped his pants while maintaining eye contact with yn –who kept sucking his thumb, licking the candy remains that was on it. johnny freed himself, his dick springing hard, thick and already leaking. “c’mere” johnny guided him towards his shaft, his thumb being replaced quickly by his shaft. yn hummed at the first taste, the salty taste of the precum contrasting against the sweet one of the candy, his tongue swirled on the underside of it and on the tip –sucking out every bead of precum out of it.

yn grabbed johnny’s thighs while going deeper, eager and sloppy –johnny groaned, his hands tightening around yn’s head while he rocked his hips slowly, waiting for yn to adjust to his size. “fuckk” he slurred, “...that’s it” he watches through half lidded eyes as yn’s lips stretch taut on his cock, spit slicking it along with his chin and dripping down messily. when he pulls out to catch his breath lots of thick thin saliva strings can be seen between his mouth and the other’s cock and balls, like a messy spider web. yn moaned around him, the vibration sending a shudder through johnny’s cock.

“up” johnny demanded, pushing him against the stall’s door, “gonna fuck you so good you would forget about fucking lollipops”. yn’s cheek pressed against the cold surface of the door, “please johnny..” yn begs but he doesn’t specify for what –does he wants the remaining candy on johnny’s mouth or does he wants johnny’s cock?– why not give him both?.

johnny yanks down all the clothes of his lower body, leaving him with just the turtleneck black shirt, yn’s dick is pressed against the cool surface of the door too, making him hiss at the sensation. johnny stops sucking on the lollipop putting it back on yn’s mouth. johnny lines up his cock, teasing the hole with his wet tip before thrusting in hard, his cock stretching the other's walls making him gasp after feeling how good johnny filled him up. yn’s hands tried to find something to hold on to while the other fucks him relentlessly, the door rattled due to the sheer strength of johnny’s thrusts, filling the room with wet slaps of skin on skin. his hips snapping against him with a brutal pace.

johnny then stopped thrusting and pulled out making the other whine for feeling empty, then he turned him around and lifted him up like nothing, “hold on tight” he said as he yanked his legs over his shoulders before pinning him against the wall again in a mating press position, folding him in half to go deeper, also a perfect angle to hit right at his prostate. yn’s back arched and his head tipped back but the candy remained still on his mouth, the position made his vision blur, the pounding becoming rough and merciless.

yn’s body shook, overwhelmed by the constant abuse of his sweet spot, the candy helping to muffle his moans –he forces his mouth shut to not let it slip out– johnny just smirked, sweat rolling down his forehead to his cheeks and finally dripping down his chin. he shifts positions again, this time he puts yn in the coach and maneuvered him into a full nelson, his strong arms hooked under yn’s knees and bith hands locking behind his neck spreading him wide and shamelessly. yn couldn’t handle it anymore, his head tipped back against johnny’s shoulder, every movement of the other driving deeper and harder than the last one.

the sounds that filled the room were filthy, wet squelches, ragged gasps, the grunts of johnny. yn’s cock bobbed uselessly against his stomach leaving wet trails of his precum. johnny growled into his ear, nipping at the lobe as he slammed one last time pushing both to their edge, “let’s cum together” he said. yn spilled across his torso and chest, his seed painting his body white while johnny’s cock pulsed inside his hole, filling him up drawing a satisfied groan out of the top’s mouth. johnny finally let yn’s legs drop, smirking as he slumped him on the coach.

“was it better than the lollipop?” he asked, voice hoarse but still with a smug tone. yn only nodded, still catching his breath. johnny takes the lollipop out of his mouth, seeing how there’s still some of it and then an idea crosses his mind after seeing his cum seeping out of the other’s wrecked hole. he puts the lollipop on his mouth and starts sucking out his cum like that, sometimes he just drags the candy around the other’s hole to smear the cum on it or he does it around the rim to taste the sweetness when he’s sucking the puckered hole –he even puts the lollipop inside yn, “wanna know how you taste?” he says as he fucks yn with the candy– all while the other just stares at him dumbfounded and fucked out after the intense ramming sesh. “you’re fucking nasty” yn mutters, “but you love it or else you would’ve stop me already” he mocks, putting the lollipop back on yn’s mouth for him to suck it for the rest of the night while his face disappears under yn’s dick, his lips latched on the other’s rim, messily sucking it and fucking him with his wet slicked tongue, squelching sounds echoing around.

johnny’s face ends up being smeared with saliva and cum around his mouth and cheeks, he licks and smacks his lips, “sweet. better than fucking lollipops” he says as he stands up and smacks the abused hole.

“anytime you want this in your mouth just tell me” johnny says, grabbing his cock and whipping it before putting it back on his trousers.

[star-suh]

Sweet Fixation

Johnny Suh x Male Reader.

cw: reader has an oral fixation, manipulative johnny(?), anal insertion, cum eating.

an: this is just me being nasty with a lollipop.

—

yn has always had a weird necessity of having something in between his lips, he needs to feel it. first it was him chewing on ice cubes that then transformed into smoking e-cigarettes –it was bad for his health so he decided to change it for something more “healthy”, lollipops.

yn frequented a well known bar and for the staff there or other recurring clients it was normal seeing him with one on his mouth but none of them actually cared to know why, they didn’t see it as some sort of habit it’s just that he really liked lollipops, just a man with a sweet tooth, no one ever seemed to pick up on it, no one except one person –johnny.

he was another recurring client there, he watched how the other guy always carries a lot of those little lollipops on the pockets of his coat, how when he ends with one he immediately starts with another, how when there’s no more to suck on his tongue starts brushing against his teeth and his leg bouncing –something that disappears when he finally can put another lollipop between his lips. “you really like those candies huh?” johnny murmured while being on the bar, waiting for his whiskey. yn looked at him, he eyed him up and down and smiled, “yeah they’re really good. want one?” he put his hand on the pocket of his coat and took one out, then he extended his hand towards the tall man, “thanks dude” he received the candy and left to sit in his private stall. “holy shit, he’s so fine” yn sighs while looking at the man disappearing behind a door.

since that day on they started what yn called a friendship –they would engage in casual conversations, getting to know each other a little bit better. that’s how johnny confirmed his theory that yn had an oral fixation, and as the mischievous person he is he planned something, after all he hasn’t had fun for so long, yn fell right into his lap.

one night johnny invited yn to his private stall, excited he accepted –private stalls are isolated from the noise outside of them, they have all the accommodations you can pay for– “damn this couch is so comfy man” yn said happily laying on it, “i can certainly sleep in here”. minutes passed and after some more alcohol yn stood up to go towards the bathroom, big mistake.

johnny quickly searched for the lollipops on the other’s coat and hid them around the stall but keeping just a single one in his pocket. then yn came back he was just biting the stick of the candy so he quickly went towards his coat to prepare a new one but he didn’t find one. those nervous tics came back again, tongue against his teeth and his leg bouncing, anxiety taking over him. a sly half-smile tugging on his lips, everything was falling into place for him, “what happened? you seem nervous” he asked, “nothing, it’s just that i” he breathes, “i thought i have enough lollipops for tonight… you know my sweet tooth” he tries to joke and mask the uncontrollable need to have something on his mouth then his eyes catch something –johnny has a lollipop on his hand, he’s playing with it, twirling it in between his fingers– yn tries to act cool but that might be his only chance to calm his urges at least for the rest of the night.

yn gulped, his throat bobbing, then johnny’s words caught him off guard, “you need something in your mouth, don’t you?”. yn stood still, freezed on place while he watches how johnny unwraps the candy slowly, teasingly –johnny waited for yn’s reaction, he didn’t say something he just stared at the cherry red candy on johnny’s hands, licking his lips out of habit, his eyes locking on the precious candy. johnny chuckled at yn’s dumbfounded mood, who would’ve thought a simple candy has such immense power over him. the tall then puts the lollipop on his mouth, tongue swirling over it, savouring it slowly with dragged “hmm’s” to let yn know how delicious it was, the other’s breath hitched seeing this, his mouth watering at the thought of it. then he pulls it out, glossy and slicked with his saliva, a string of it connecting it with his lips.

johnny smirks, he moved closer towards yn, “open up” he demanded in a murmured voice, yn obeyed after hesitating some seconds –after all he can finally have something on his mouth again, or that was he thought. johnny grabbed yn by his chin, parting his lips on the process, he press the lollipop flat on the other’s tongue, dragging it up on his tongue –letting him taste the mixed flavor of the candy with his saliva– yn’s face growing red every passing second, the stall being filled with sinful wet squelching sounds coming from yn’s mouth. johnny worked it deeper, then pulls it out dragging the slicked candy across his lips like it’s some sort of lip balm.

“so fuckin messy” johnny muttered, amused by what he’s doing. saliva started to pool on the corners of yn’s mouth and his eyes become glassy –needy sounds coming from yn pushed johnny to keep going, the candy being smeared wet and sticky across his lips and tongue while a thin trail of saliva dripped down the other’s chin slowly, some of it coating the hand of johnny that’s holding his chin still.

he pulled the lollipop out with a wet pop, holding it just inches away, strings of spit stretched between it and yn’s glossy sticky lips, then –with no warning– he pushed it back in, but deeper this time bumping it against the back of yn’s throat. he choked out a muffled moan, eyes watering as he sucked harder, the mix of cherry and spit flooding his senses. johnny’s gaze darkened as he watched yn’s struggle over a lollipop, “you like this don’t you?. we are just getting started”.

johnny made him open the mouth more this time to spit inside of it, the glob of saliva fell onto the candy and then slid down yn’s throat, he moaned at the act. johnny continued defiling yn’s mouth until half of the candy was already melted, some of it coating his knuckles while his other hand was the same but with yn’s saliva instead. johnny puts the candy back to his mouth and leaned down to yn’s ear, “want something bigger, thicker and tastier?”, his gaze pinning yn on his place. the other introduced his thumb on yn’s mouth to give him time to think about the proposal.

yn swallowed hard but the answer was already written on his face, with his other free hand johnny unzipped his pants while maintaining eye contact with yn –who kept sucking his thumb, licking the candy remains that was on it. johnny freed himself, his dick springing hard, thick and already leaking. “c’mere” johnny guided him towards his shaft, his thumb being replaced quickly by his shaft. yn hummed at the first taste, the salty taste of the precum contrasting against the sweet one of the candy, his tongue swirled on the underside of it and on the tip –sucking out every bead of precum out of it.

yn grabbed johnny’s thighs while going deeper, eager and sloppy –johnny groaned, his hands tightening around yn’s head while he rocked his hips slowly, waiting for yn to adjust to his size. “fuckk” he slurred, “...that’s it” he watches through half lidded eyes as yn’s lips stretch taut on his cock, spit slicking it along with his chin and dripping down messily. when he pulls out to catch his breath lots of thick thin saliva strings can be seen between his mouth and the other’s cock and balls, like a messy spider web. yn moaned around him, the vibration sending a shudder through johnny’s cock.

“up” johnny demanded, pushing him against the stall’s door, “gonna fuck you so good you would forget about fucking lollipops”. yn’s cheek pressed against the cold surface of the door, “please johnny..” yn begs but he doesn’t specify for what –does he wants the remaining candy on johnny’s mouth or does he wants johnny’s cock?– why not give him both?.

johnny yanks down all the clothes of his lower body, leaving him with just the turtleneck black shirt, yn’s dick is pressed against the cool surface of the door too, making him hiss at the sensation. johnny stops sucking on the lollipop putting it back on yn’s mouth. johnny lines up his cock, teasing the hole with his wet tip before thrusting in hard, his cock stretching the other's walls making him gasp after feeling how good johnny filled him up. yn’s hands tried to find something to hold on to while the other fucks him relentlessly, the door rattled due to the sheer strength of johnny’s thrusts, filling the room with wet slaps of skin on skin. his hips snapping against him with a brutal pace.

johnny then stopped thrusting and pulled out making the other whine for feeling empty, then he turned him around and lifted him up like nothing, “hold on tight” he said as he yanked his legs over his shoulders before pinning him against the wall again in a mating press position, folding him in half to go deeper, also a perfect angle to hit right at his prostate. yn’s back arched and his head tipped back but the candy remained still on his mouth, the position made his vision blur, the pounding becoming rough and merciless.

yn’s body shook, overwhelmed by the constant abuse of his sweet spot, the candy helping to muffle his moans –he forces his mouth shut to not let it slip out– johnny just smirked, sweat rolling down his forehead to his cheeks and finally dripping down his chin. he shifts positions again, this time he puts yn in the coach and maneuvered him into a full nelson, his strong arms hooked under yn’s knees and bith hands locking behind his neck spreading him wide and shamelessly. yn couldn’t handle it anymore, his head tipped back against johnny’s shoulder, every movement of the other driving deeper and harder than the last one.

the sounds that filled the room were filthy, wet squelches, ragged gasps, the grunts of johnny. yn’s cock bobbed uselessly against his stomach leaving wet trails of his precum. johnny growled into his ear, nipping at the lobe as he slammed one last time pushing both to their edge, “let’s cum together” he said. yn spilled across his torso and chest, his seed painting his body white while johnny’s cock pulsed inside his hole, filling him up drawing a satisfied groan out of the top’s mouth. johnny finally let yn’s legs drop, smirking as he slumped him on the coach.

“was it better than the lollipop?” he asked, voice hoarse but still with a smug tone. yn only nodded, still catching his breath. johnny takes the lollipop out of his mouth, seeing how there’s still some of it and then an idea crosses his mind after seeing his cum seeping out of the other’s wrecked hole. he puts the lollipop on his mouth and starts sucking out his cum like that, sometimes he just drags the candy around the other’s hole to smear the cum on it or he does it around the rim to taste the sweetness when he’s sucking the puckered hole –he even puts the lollipop inside yn, “wanna know how you taste?” he says as he fucks yn with the candy– all while the other just stares at him dumbfounded and fucked out after the intense ramming sesh. “you’re fucking nasty” yn mutters, “but you love it or else you would’ve stop me already” he mocks, putting the lollipop back on yn’s mouth for him to suck it for the rest of the night while his face disappears under yn’s dick, his lips latched on the other’s rim, messily sucking it and fucking him with his wet slicked tongue, squelching sounds echoing around.

johnny’s face ends up being smeared with saliva and cum around his mouth and cheeks, he licks and smacks his lips, “sweet. better than fucking lollipops” he says as he stands up and smacks the abused hole.

“anytime you want this in your mouth just tell me” johnny says, grabbing his cock and whipping it before putting it back on his trousers.

[star-suh]

CRUMBled

Park Jisung x Male Reader

cw: jisung has a partner, cheating, degradation, not a healthy relationship between reader and jisung.

—

jisung's phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand, the screen glowing with his parrner’s name for the third time that hour and he didn't even glanced at it.

his tall frame towered over yn and his fingers twisting tight in his hair as he fucked into that warm, eager mouth with lazy, deep strokes, "fuck yeah~ that's it" jisung groaned, his voice husky and low, "look at you... on your knees like a desperate whore the second i text you. my partner thinks i'm at practice right now" he chuckled, “you're already drooling all over my cock… so pathetic", yn's eyes watered with every thrust of that fat cock entering his tight throat. yn’s eyes shone with pure adoration as he stared up at jisung, he was completely infatuated and obsessed with every rough touch jisung gave him, every cruel word jisung tells him.

the way jisung used him like this—sneaking away from his picture-perfect life just to ruin him—that made yn's heart race and his cock throb painfully in his boxers. he moaned loudly around the thick length stretching his throat, sucking harder, his tongue pressing against the underside as spit ran down his chin, slicking the whole shaft.

jisung laughed darkly, his hips snapping forward to bury himself deeper, "choke on it, baby. that's all you're good for. my cocksleeve".

he pushed the bottom all the way down his lenght, making him deepthroat him and locking his thighs around his neck. the top moaned loud, throwing his head back in ecstasy, laughing, “running here like a bitch in heat just to get fucked and discarded, can't believe my dick is that good…" yn whimpered in agreement, the degradation sending sparks straight to his dick. he hollowed his cheeks, taking jisung to the base again, until his nose pressed against his pelvis, holding there as long as he could. the humiliation felt so good. he loved being jisung's dirty little secret, loved knowing he got the parts of jisung that his partner never saw.

after a few more brutal thrusts, jisung pulled out with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting yn's swollen lips to his glistening cock. he yanked yn up by the hair and shoved him face-down onto the bed, "ass up” jisung commanded, his voice rough with lust.

he slapped yn's ass hard, the sharp sound echoing as a red handprint appeared on his skin, yn obeyed instantly, arching his back deeply, his knees spreading wide, showing his twitching hole, anticipating for the fat cock to wreck him open.

jisung spat directly onto his hole, watching it drip down before pushing two long fingers inside without warning. he scissored them roughly, curling and stretching, feeling every inch of that warm inside. "so fucking loose already. you been playing with yourself all day thinking about me?” the top growled, "fingering this slutty hole while you moaned my name?... needy cockslut”.

" yes—fuck, jisung… please…" yn gasped into the pillow, his face and neck flushed and covered in sweat already, pushing back onto the fingers desperately. his voice was already wrecked, "i need you... only you". jisung added a third finger, pumping them fast and mean, hitting that spot that made yn see stars.

“only me?... good”, he pulled his fingers out, lined up his thick cock, and slammed in balls-deep in one powerful thrust.

yn cried out, his body jolting forward as jisung immediately started a punishing rhythm. the sound of skin slapping skin filled the room. jisung's big hands gripped yn's waist hard enough to leave bruises, pulling him back onto every thrust, "take it. take every fucking inch like the whore you are", jisung growled, anger laced on his words. leaning over yn's back, he bit down on his shoulder, then licked the mark.

one hand fisted yn's hair again, yanking his head back so jisung could growl right against his ear, "my partner could never handle me like this. they'd cry", the thrusts becoming rougher and rougher, “but you? you fucking live for it, cock-addicted bitch".

"i'm your dirty bitch—hngh…—fuck… jisung!" yn moaned brokenly, the tears of overwhelming pleasure rolling down his face. every deep thrust made his toes curl, jisung's veiny cock dragging perfectly against his prostate and his warm walls. he was so close already, his body shaking and cock leaking thick strings steadily onto the sheets, untouched.

jisung reached around and wrapped his long fingers around yn's dripping cock, stroking him fast and tight while never slowing his hips. "gonna cum already? then make a mess for me slut. show me how much you love being my side bitch” the degradation pushed yn over the edge.

he came with a loud, broken cry, spilling all over jisung's fist and the bed, his hole clenching rhythmically around the cock inside him. jisung groaned at the overwhelming tightness, fucking him through it with even harder and rougher thrusts until he buried himself deep and came hard, cock pulsing and flooding yn’s guts with his thick cum.

they stayed locked together for a long minute, jisung's chest pressed against yn's back, both breathing heavily.

jisung’s phone lit up again on the nightstand, he glanced at the messages, then chuckled softly, pressing lazy kisses along yn's neck and the fresh bite marks, "they can wait", he murmured, voice still thick.

he rolled his hips slowly, still half-hard inside yn, churning the cum inside, "i'm not done with my toy… turn over. i want to see your face while i use you again", yn's heart swelled with that twisted, lovesick feeling as he obeyed, his legs wrapping around jisung's waist.

he gazed up at him with pure infatuation, lips parted, ready for whatever jisung wanted to give—more degradation, more rough fucking, more of being his filthy secret.

jisung smirked down at him, sliding back in with a wet sound, "look at that face. so gone for me".

yn smiled, causing a tear to rolled down his closed eyes, his flushed face lit up as if the most romantic thing has been said by the man in front of him. no matter what jisung gave him, he would receive it gratefully, this was what love means for him …

jisung spoke one more time, ‘‘smiling’’ while looking at the wrecked man under him, wiping the tear with his rough hand.

"good boy".

and yn melted all over again.

[untitlzd]

world class sin : 2 neon palm trees

sim jaeyun, park sunghoon, park jongseong x male reader.

The concept arrives with moodboards of motels, guns, and neon, turning their debut into a visual fever dream. Jay sees confusion. Jake fights the feelings. Sunghoon waits in the dark. When Y/n slips out of his room past midnight, he finds Sunghoon in a compromised moment and does the only thing he knows how: he helps. Y/n doesn’t pull away.

warnings: idol!reader, objectification, noncon(?), voyeurism, possessiveness, psychological tension, industry power dynamics, masturbation, emotional manipulation, subtle gaslighting, obsessive behavior, celebrity exploitation, toxic dorm dynamics, dark themes of identity loss, performance vs. reality, aestheticization of grief and desire, morally gray characters, elitism within the industry, unresolved jealousy, subtle yandere behavior, inspired by The Idol and Anora.

By the time the creative team settled, the dorm already had that strained, in-between feeling it always got before something changed. Not quiet exactly — the refrigerator still hummed, someone’s charger still blinked beside the couch, a half-finished drink sat sweating onto the coffee table — but suspended. The kind of stillness that didn’t feel peaceful so much as expectant. The reality crew hadn’t set up anything dramatic for it. No heavy lighting, no slate, no loud countdown. Just one handheld camera drifting between faces and one fixed lens angled loosely from the corner of the living room to catch whatever happened naturally. A “reaction moment,” the producer had called it earlier. Something candid for the episode. The boys finding out the final debut concept in real time. The audience seeing their first impressions. Soft behind-the-scenes content, on paper. But nothing in the room felt soft.

The creative director came in first with her laptop tucked under one arm and a thick stack of reference printouts pressed to her chest. Behind her were the two people the managers had been whispering about all afternoon — the film director and his producer, both dressed too simply and too expensively, both carrying themselves with the kind of confidence that came from already being obeyed. They weren’t idol people. That was obvious immediately. They didn’t walk into the dorm looking around with polite curiosity or performative excitement. They looked at the space the way people look at a location they’re already trying to strip down in their heads. The reality cameraman shifted slightly, adjusting his grip so he could catch the boys’ faces as well as the newcomers, and the atmosphere tightened by another degree.

The creative director didn’t bother with any long preamble. She dropped the printouts across the coffee table and let some of them slide onto the floor, image over image, all of it building into one dense visual field before she even opened the laptop. The board wasn’t built from anything personal. No test shots. No old trainee photos. No mockups with their faces pasted in. It was all strangers. Anonymous bodies, anonymous nights, anonymous moments pulled from editorials, old camcorder stills, documentary fragments, low-resolution nightlife photography, fashion tears, surveillance-style screenshots, film references stripped down to color and texture and posture. And even before she started talking, the mood of it was immediate — hot, reckless, gaudy, humid in a way that made your skin feel sticky just looking at it. Motel balconies lit electric pink against a violet sky. Girls in bikinis and ski masks holding drinks and handguns like both were accessories. Boys with bleached hair and smeared glitter kneeling in a church pew under blue stained-glass light. Three teenagers in candy-colored balaclavas laughing in the backseat of a convertible with fistfuls of damp bills. A drained pool covered in graffiti, bodies sprawled at the bottom of it like they’d decided not to leave. Fluorescent convenience store aisles at 3 a.m., all the colors too bright and too dead at once. Wet pavement glowing under palm-tree shadows. Glitter mixed into sunburn. Cross necklaces resting against chlorine-slick skin. Gold grills. motel ice buckets. cheap champagne. fake innocence. real danger. Every image carried the same feeling — youth with too much freedom and no instinct for consequence, beauty made louder by bad decisions, criminality made seductive by heat and light.

The creative director opened the laptop and let a loop of silent reference clips play while she spoke — not polished footage, just fragments. Grainy phone video of girls dancing barefoot on a motel bed while someone off-screen counted cash. A strip mall parking lot filmed from inside a car, all sodium-orange light and liquor store neon. Four bodies waist-deep in a pool at night, faces blurred by bad focus, the water lit an impossible chemical blue. Someone in angel wings and a thong walking through a convenience store with a pink lighter and no expression. A prayer circle in a bathroom with glitter, smoke, and a pistol left on the sink beside a tube of lip gloss. It was tacky and gorgeous and vaguely criminal in the exact way it meant to be. The reality camera stayed on the boys as much as it stayed on the screen — catching whoever looked longest, whoever looked away first, whoever tried not to react and failed.

Then the creative director finally spoke, standing over the table with one hand braced on the edge of it, her voice calm in that unnerving way people get when they’re saying something they know has already been approved. “Okay,” she said. “So. What you’re reacting to right now is the final shape of the debut era. And before I get into what the visual language actually is, you need to understand where it came from.” She gestured slightly toward the man and woman behind her. “They came to the company. Not the other way around. They’d seen early material, heard the direction we were moving in, and what they wanted was very specific. They didn’t want a normal debut film. They didn’t want polished mythology, or a performance cut with pretty inserts, or a safe little cinematic intro that still behaves like idol content. They wanted to reproduce a feeling.”

She let that word sit there for a second before continuing, and when she did, she clicked to another board — this one even more saturated, more vulgar, more feverish. “Not reference it. Reproduce it. The sensation of one very particular kind of American excess. Youth in a place that feels fake and holy and rotten all at once. Tourist paradise turned criminal playground. Sunburnt skin, motel sheets, liquor-store neon, stolen money, pool water, strip-mall Christianity, petty violence, fake luxury, no sleep, too much heat. The feeling that everyone is too young for what they’re doing and too gone to care.” Another image flashed across the screen: a group of girls in white bikinis and pink ski masks pointing finger-guns at the camera while fireworks went off behind them. “The key isn’t nostalgia,” she said. “It’s intoxication. It’s delusion. It’s the seduction of bad choices when the whole world looks bright enough to forgive them.”

No one interrupted her. The fixed camera in the corner kept blinking red. The handheld one caught little things — someone’s jaw tightening, someone shifting in their seat, someone staring too hard at the board like maybe if they kept looking long enough it would become less real. The creative director continued anyway, talking over the quiet hum of the dorm the way people do when they’re used to being listened to. “The story structure is loose, but the emotional structure is not. It follows the logic of a spring-break fantasy mutating into something darker. Escape first. Then indulgence. Then reinvention. Then crime. Then devotion. Then collapse. It’s not linear in a clean way, but that arc is there under everything. The world starts out glittery and stupid and playful — all cheap paradise. Then it gets more feverish. More intimate. More dangerous. The party and the threat become the same thing. Freedom starts looking a lot like possession. The group stops reading like a team and starts reading like a closed system. A little cultish. A little doomed. Very watched.”

She crouched then, picking up one of the larger printouts from the floor and holding it up. It was a motel room washed in blue and pink neon, the kind of room that looked both filthy and cinematic, with cash scattered over the bedspread and someone’s tan legs hanging off the edge of the mattress. “This,” she said, “is the emotional baseline. Not literally this room. Not literally this styling. But this temperature. We want everything to feel humid, overlit, slightly unreal. Like you can smell chlorine and sugar and stale air-conditioning through the screen.” She reached for another — a church interior with girls in tiny pastel dresses and rhinestone cross necklaces standing under stained glass like they were about to either confess or commit a felony. “And this is the tension. Sacred and trashy at the same time. Seduction and innocence in the same frame. Sweetness with rot underneath it.” Then another — masked figures on scooters under boardwalk lights, carrying water guns and one real gun, the whole image so unserious it became threatening. “And this is the rhythm. Play acting sliding into something real.”

When she straightened, her tone sharpened just slightly, less descriptive now, more practical. “The director’s pitch to the company was that this group already contains the emotional material for this kind of world. Tension. Silence. Possessiveness. Performance. The feeling that everybody in the room wants something and no one is saying it directly. So instead of forcing a conventional concept onto you, we’re building a world that amplifies what’s already there.” She glanced at the filmmaker, then back at the group. “That’s why this isn’t being treated like a standard music video. It’s a visual album. A full visual narrative. The songs are chapters inside one long fever dream. We’re not centering clean choreography and then decorating around it. We’re centering atmosphere, fixation, and escalation.”

She clicked once more, and the board shifted into what looked more like structure than inspiration: annotated reference stills, color maps, fragments of wardrobe notes, texture studies, scribbled words in the margins — lacquered skin, fake tan, wet heat, boardwalk glitter, motel baptism, pink violence, devotional trash, Florida noir. “The opening section is all false freedom,” she said. “Sun, skin, money, reckless fun, this idea of youth as something endless and untouchable. The middle gets stranger — more saturated, more obsessive, more enclosed. Nights get longer. Rooms get smaller. The images get closer to the body. By the end, the world should feel almost hallucinatory. Like the fantasy got so intense it started eating itself.”

The producer behind her finally spoke then, but only briefly, her voice smoother, more pragmatic. “The company said yes because nobody else in your lane is doing this at debut. They don’t want safe. They don’t want expected. They want something that feels imported from another genre entirely and still commercially lethal.” She folded her arms. “So locations are being locked. Styling is being rebuilt. The shoot structure is being changed. And from this point on, every piece of behind-the-scenes content, every dorm beat, every practice clip, every reaction — all of it feeds this world.”

The creative director nodded and closed the laptop halfway, but didn’t shut it fully, as if the concept was still breathing on the screen between them. “That’s why the reality camera is here,” she said, glancing briefly toward the handheld operator, acknowledging the obvious without making it awkward. “This isn’t the official reveal film. This is your reaction material. The audience will eventually see pieces of this through you — how you take it in, how you respond to it, how the temperature in the room changes. That matters. Because the whole point is that this era doesn’t start on set. It starts here. In the dorm. Before the styling, before the locations, before the final choreography. It starts the second you understand what world you’re being asked to live in.”

She looked down at the spread of images one last time, then back up at them, and her next line came out quieter than the rest. “You’re not debuting into a fantasy of success,” she said. “You’re debuting into a fantasy of excess. There’s a difference. Success is clean. Excess is memorable.”

The dorm went still after that. Not silent exactly — the fixed camera still hummed softly, someone in the hallway shifted their weight, the air conditioner kicked on with a low mechanical breath — but still in the way a room gets when something irreversible has just been placed inside it. The moodboard remained scattered across the coffee table and floor like evidence from a future crime scene: hot pinks and chlorine blues and money and bodies and heat and religion and danger, all the colors of a paradise already starting to rot. And the reality camera kept recording, patient and unblinking, catching whatever happened next — not the concept itself, but the moment it settled into them.

The room held its breath for a beat too long after the creative director stopped speaking. The moodboard still glowed from the laptop screen, all that neon and chlorine and skin and sin bleeding color into the dim afternoon light of the dorm, and the printed references scattered across the coffee table and floor looked less like inspiration now and more like evidence — like someone had reached into a fever dream and pulled out handfuls of it and dropped them here, in the middle of their living room, between the half-finished drinks and the charger cables and the socks someone had kicked off near the couch. The silence wasn't empty. It was thick. Loaded. The kind of quiet that happens when people are processing something too large to respond to immediately and also very aware that they are being filmed while they do it.

Jay was the first to move, though move was generous — it was more of a shift, a slight straightening of his spine against the back of the couch, his jaw doing that thing it did when he was thinking hard and didn't want anyone to know what direction the thought was going. His eyes stayed on the screen for another second, tracking over the images still rotating in the slow loop the creative director had left playing: a girl in a white bikini and a pink ski mask laughing with her head thrown back in a convertible, cash fanned out in her lap like a bouquet; a boy with smeared eyeliner kneeling in a fluorescent-lit bathroom with a rosary wrapped around his knuckles and a cigarette burning between his fingers; a motel pool at night so saturated with chemical blue light that the water looked radioactive, bodies floating in it face-up like saints or corpses. Jay blinked once, slowly, and then he smiled — not a real smile, not the kind that touched anything behind his eyes, but the kind he wore when he was being watched and needed to look like he was handling something well. The camera caught it. The camera caught everything.

"Okay," Jay said, his voice measured, almost too even, the tone of someone choosing every word like it was a chess move. "So this is… bigger than I expected." He let out a breath that was almost a laugh, controlled, performative, the kind of exhale that said I'm impressed but also I'm not going to let you see how much this is affecting me. "I mean — when they said visual album, I thought, okay, maybe something more cinematic than usual, maybe some narrative elements, maybe a longer runtime. But this is — " He gestured loosely toward the coffee table, toward the spread of images still lying there in overlapping chaos: the angel wings dragging on wet concrete, the convenience store aisle lit like a crime scene, the church pews full of girls in rhinestone crosses and tiny dresses. "This is a whole world. This is a whole… thing." He nodded slowly, like he was convincing himself as much as the camera. "I respect it. I respect the ambition. It's not safe. It's not what anyone's going to expect from a debut. And that's — yeah. That's the point, I guess."

He didn't say more than that. He leaned back slightly, one arm draped over the back of the couch, his posture deliberately relaxed in a way that didn't quite match the tension still visible in the line of his shoulders. The creative director watched him with the neutral expression of someone cataloging a response rather than reacting to it. The handheld camera drifted slightly, adjusting its angle, and landed next on Jake.

Jake hadn't moved much since the presentation started. He was sitting on the floor near the edge of the coffee table, one knee drawn up, his back against the base of the couch, and his face had gone through something during the moodboard reveal — a series of micro-expressions too fast and too layered to fully read, cycling through surprise and confusion and something darker, something that looked almost like recognition. Like he had seen pieces of this world before, maybe in his own head, maybe in the parts of himself he didn't show on camera, and now it was being projected in front of him in glossy high-resolution fragments and he didn't know whether to feel validated or exposed. His eyes kept returning to one image in particular — a motel room shot from above, the bedspread a mess of tangled limbs and crumpled cash and cheap gold jewelry, the light coming from a neon sign outside the window and staining everything the color of a bruise. He stared at it like he was trying to memorize it. Or maybe like he was trying to figure out why it made him feel something he didn't want to name.

When he realized the camera had shifted to him, he blinked and looked up, and the expression that crossed his face was a quick, almost involuntary rearrangement — the mask sliding back into place, the performance rebooting. He smiled, but it was a strange smile, caught somewhere between genuine excitement and something more complicated. "This is insane," he said, and his voice came out a little breathier than usual, a little less controlled. "Like — in a good way. I think. I mean — " He laughed, short and sharp, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that looked almost nervous. "I've never seen a debut concept that looks like this. It's not pop. It's not — I don't know what it is. It's like a movie. It's like something you'd see at a film festival and then talk about for weeks because you couldn't figure out if it was genius or unhinged." He glanced toward the creative director, then back at the camera, his smile widening into something that was trying very hard to look confident. "I'm into it. I think. I mean — I'm definitely not going to forget it. That's for sure."

But there was something underneath the enthusiasm, something the camera might catch if the editor knew where to look. A flicker in his eyes when they passed over certain images — the bodies in the pool, the masks, the weapons styled like accessories. A tension in his jaw that didn't quite match the easy grin. Jake was good at performing comfort, but this had unsettled something in him, and it showed in the small places: the way his fingers kept tapping against his knee, the way his gaze kept drifting back to the moodboard like he couldn't help himself, the way his laugh came a half-second too late to be fully spontaneous. He was excited. But he was also something else. Something he wasn't going to say on camera.

Sunghoon hadn't spoken yet. He was sitting at the far end of the couch, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, his posture so controlled it looked almost architectural. His face was the hardest to read — not because he was hiding something, but because he had long ago perfected the art of showing exactly as much as he wanted to show and nothing more. The moodboard played across his features like light on water: present, visible, but impossible to hold onto. He watched the images cycle through the loop without reacting visibly, his eyes tracking from frame to frame with the detached precision of someone studying technique rather than absorbing content. The handheld camera moved to him eventually, and he let it sit there for a moment before he acknowledged it, his gaze shifting from the screen to the lens with a slowness that felt deliberate.

"It's cohesive," he said finally, his voice flat and measured, giving nothing away. "That's the first thing I noticed. It's not just random references thrown together — there's a language to it. A grammar. The colors talk to each other. The textures repeat. The mood stays consistent even when the content shifts." He tilted his head slightly, a gesture so subtle it almost didn't register, but it carried something — a flicker of genuine interest beneath the careful neutrality. "It's rare to see a concept this… committed. Most debuts hedge their bets. They try to appeal to everyone, so they end up feeling like nothing. This feels like something. Whether it works or not — " He paused, and for a fraction of a second, something almost like a smile ghosted across his mouth before disappearing. "That's a different question. But it's not boring. It's not safe. And I respect that."

He didn't elaborate. He didn't offer personal feelings or performative enthusiasm. He just stated his observations like facts and let them sit there, clinical and precise. But the creative director was watching him with something like satisfaction, and the producer beside her made a small note on her phone. Sunghoon's response was exactly what they wanted from him — controlled, intelligent, subtly appreciative without being sycophantic. He was playing his role perfectly. And he knew it.

The room shifted then, the attention redirecting itself naturally, inevitably, toward the one person who hadn't spoken yet. The handheld camera panned slowly, almost reluctantly, toward the other end of the couch, where Y/n had been sitting quietly through the entire presentation. He was folded into himself in that way he had — knees drawn up slightly, shoulders curved inward, hands tucked between his thighs like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. His oversized hoodie swallowed most of his frame, the sleeves pulled down over his fingers, the neckline slipping off one shoulder in a way that looked accidental but somehow still drew the eye. His face was half-turned toward the laptop screen, and the glow from the moodboard painted his features in shifting colors — pink, blue, gold, pink again — making him look less like a person and more like a projection of one. He hadn't reacted visibly during any of it. Not the motel rooms or the pool water or the masks or the weapons or the religious imagery or the bodies tangled in cash and cheap silk. He just watched, quiet and still, his expression so neutral it was almost impossible to tell if he was processing or dissociating.

When the camera settled on him, he didn't immediately notice. His eyes were still on the screen, tracking the slow loop of images with something that might have been focus or might have been distance — it was hard to tell with him. The creative director said his name, gently, the way you might say someone's name to pull them back from somewhere far away, and Y/n blinked once before turning his head toward her. The movement was slow, almost liquid, and when his eyes finally met the camera lens, there was a beat of stillness so complete it felt like the room had stopped breathing. Then he smiled.

It wasn't a big smile. It wasn't performative or exaggerated or trying to sell anything. It was small and soft and a little uncertain, the kind of smile someone gives when they're not sure what's expected of them but they want to cooperate anyway. "It's beautiful," he said, and his voice came out quieter than the others, almost gentle, like he was talking about something fragile instead of a concept built on neon violence and chlorinated sin. "The colors especially. And the — the way it moves. Like it's all connected, even when the images are different. Like it's telling one story underneath all the separate pieces."

He paused, and his gaze drifted back toward the moodboard, toward a still of a girl in angel wings walking barefoot through a convenience store at 4 a.m., her face lit by the refrigerator case glow, her expression so blank it could have meant anything. "I don't know if I understand all of it yet," Y/n continued, his voice still soft, still careful. "But it feels… honest. In a strange way. Like it's not pretending to be something clean when it's not. Like it knows what it is and it's okay with that." He looked back at the camera, and there was something in his eyes then — not sadness exactly, but something adjacent to it. Something that had been there before the moodboard and would be there after. "I think that's rare. To be honest about what you are. Even if what you are is a little… yeah."

The room went quiet again after that. The creative director didn't push for more. She just let the moment sit, let the camera linger on Y/n's face for a beat longer than necessary, catching the way the neon light from the screen painted shadows under his eyes and made his skin look almost translucent. There was something about the way he had responded — the softness of it, the vulnerability of it — that felt different from the others. Jay had been strategic. Jake had been enthusiastic but guarded. Sunghoon had been analytical. But Y/n had been something else entirely. He had looked at a world built on excess and decay and recklessness and called it honest. He had seen the rot and found something like beauty in it. And the camera had caught all of it — the quiet voice, the uncertain smile, the eyes that seemed to hold more than they let out. The editor would use that footage. The company would use it. The audience would see a boy who looked at darkness and didn't flinch. And they would want to know why. They would want to know what he had seen before. What he had survived. What he was hiding behind that gentle, damaged stillness. They would want to save him. Or ruin him. Or both.

The creative director finally closed the laptop fully, the click of it cutting through the quiet like a period at the end of a sentence. The moodboard vanished, leaving only the printed references scattered across the table and floor — all that heat and neon and skin now static, frozen, no longer moving but still radiating something. "Okay," she said, her voice shifting back into practical mode. "That's the direction. That's the world. From here, we start building." 

The moment the cameras powered down, the room exhaled.

It was a subtle shift at first — the handheld operator lowering his equipment with a soft grunt, the fixed lens in the corner finally going dark, the red blinking light that had been a constant presence for weeks now suddenly absent. The creative director exchanged a few murmured words with the film director and producer, their conversation too low to catch, and then the three of them gathered their materials with the efficient movements of people who had already gotten what they came for. The PA who had spread the printed references across the floor began collecting them in reverse, stacking the images of motel pools and neon churches and masked people back into a neat pile that somehow looked less dangerous when it wasn't sprawling across their living space. Within twenty minutes, the crew had filtered out through the front door in ones and twos — a camera case here, a lighting rig there, polite nods and vague promises to send tomorrow's schedule by midnight. The managers lingered longest, exchanging glances with each other that carried the weight of conversations they weren't having in front of the group, and then they too disappeared into the hallway, leaving behind only the faint smell of equipment and the heavier smell of something having changed.

The dorm felt strange with everyone gone. Not empty exactly — they were still there, the four of them, arranged in roughly the same positions they'd held during the presentation — but hollow in a way that made the silence feel louder than it should have been. The coffee table still held the ghost of the moodboard: a few stray printouts the PA had missed, a ring of condensation from someone's glass sitting right on top of a photograph of a girl in a white bikini pressing a pastel-pink gun to her own temple like she was checking her reflection in it. The laptop was gone. The camera was gone. The performance was over. And now they were just four people sitting in a room that didn't feel like theirs anymore, trying to figure out what to say to each other without an audience.

Jay was the first to move. He let out a breath — not a sigh exactly, but something heavier, something that had been held in for too long — and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands over his face like he was trying to wipe away the last hour. When his hands dropped, his expression was different than it had been on camera. Harder. More honest. The carefully measured enthusiasm was gone, replaced by something rawer, something that looked a lot like exhaustion mixed with irritation mixed with something else he probably couldn't name himself.

"So," he said, and his voice came out flat, stripped of the performance polish. "That was a lot."

No one responded immediately. The words just hung there, obvious and insufficient, filling the space without really addressing it. Jake shifted on the floor, drawing his other knee up so he was sitting cross-legged now, his back still against the base of the couch. Sunghoon remained perfectly still on his end of the sofa, one arm stretched along the back of it, his fingers drumming a slow, almost imperceptible rhythm against the fabric. Y/n hadn't moved at all since the cameras cut — still curled into himself, still half-swallowed by his hoodie, still looking at the space where the laptop had been like he could still see the images playing there.

Jake broke the silence next, and when he spoke, his voice sounded different too — less breathless, less enthusiastic, more like someone thinking out loud than someone trying to be quotable. "I don't know what I expected," he said slowly, his eyes fixed on the stray printout still sitting on the coffee table, the one with the girl and the pink gun. "But it wasn't that. It wasn't — " He gestured vaguely, a frustrated motion that didn't land on anything specific. "I thought visual album meant like, aesthetic. Pretty shots. Maybe some narrative stuff to connect the tracks. But that was — " He stopped, searching for the word, not finding it. "That was a whole ideology. That was a whole worldview. That was — I don't know. It felt like they were showing us a religion and asking if we wanted to convert."

Jay snorted, a humorless sound. "They're not asking," he said. "That's the thing. Did you hear how she talked? 'The company said yes.' Past tense. 'Locations are being locked.' Present tense. 'Everything from now on feeds this world.' This isn't a pitch. This isn't a discussion. This is already happening. They came here to show us what we're going to be, not to ask if we wanted it."

The words landed with a weight that pressed the silence even flatter. Sunghoon's fingers stopped their drumming. Jake's jaw tightened. Y/n's gaze flickered, just slightly, like something had shifted behind his eyes.

"Did you notice," Sunghoon said quietly, and his voice was strange — not angry, not upset, just very, very controlled in a way that meant he was working hard to keep it that way, "how much of it was about bodies? Not faces. Bodies. Skin. Sweat. Tan lines. That's what the whole board was. Flesh in different contexts. Flesh in pools. Flesh in motel rooms. Flesh in churches. It wasn't about music. It wasn't even really about performance. It was about — " He paused, and the pause was long enough to feel intentional. "Consumption. It was about making something people want to consume. And the something is us."

Jake looked at him sharply. "You think it's exploitative."

"I think it's honest about being exploitative," Sunghoon corrected, his tone still flat. "Which is different. And maybe worse, because it means they know exactly what they're doing and they've decided it's worth it."

Jay laughed, but it wasn't a real laugh. It was the sound of something uncomfortable being forced out through teeth. "Of course they think it's worth it. We're the ones they're selling, not the ones they're buying. Our comfort isn't a factor. Our opinions aren't a factor. The only factor is whether the product moves, and they've clearly decided this is the packaging that makes it move."

"But do you like it?" Jake asked suddenly, turning to look at Jay directly. "Forget whether it's happening or not. Forget the business side. Just — as a thing. As an idea. As a world. Do you like it?"

Jay held his gaze for a long moment, and something complicated moved across his face — something that wasn't quite anger and wasn't quite excitement and wasn't quite disgust. "I don't know," he admitted finally, and the honesty of it seemed to cost him something. "Parts of it, maybe. The ambition. The fact that it doesn't look like anything else. The fact that it's going to make people uncomfortable, which means it's going to make people pay attention." He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that looked almost vulnerable on him. "But I also feel like — like we're being fitted for costumes we didn't choose. Like someone else already decided what story we're telling and now we just have to figure out how to live inside it."

"Maybe that's always what this industry is," Jake said quietly. "Maybe we were always going to be wearing costumes we didn't choose. This is just a more honest costume. A more — obvious one."

"That doesn't make it better," Jay said.

"No," Jake agreed. "But it might make it easier. In a weird way. If you know what the game is, you can figure out how to play it."

Sunghoon made a soft sound, something between acknowledgment and disagreement. "Or you can figure out how to get played by it. Because the thing about a game this visible is that everyone can see you losing."

The conversation lapsed into another silence, this one heavier than the last. Outside, the light was starting to deepen toward evening, the gold going amber, the shadows in the dorm stretching longer. Someone should probably turn on a lamp. Someone should probably start thinking about dinner. Someone should probably say something normal to break the tension. But no one moved. They just sat there, four people in a room that didn't feel like home anymore, processing something too big to fit into small talk.

And then, very quietly, Y/n spoke.

He hadn't said anything since the cameras cut. He'd been so still and so silent that it would have been easy to forget he was there at all, folded into the corner of the couch like a piece of furniture that had always been there. But now his voice cut through the quiet, soft and certain in that strange way of his — not loud, not assertive, but somehow impossible to ignore.

"I like it."

The others turned to look at him. His eyes were still fixed on the coffee table, on the stray printout with the girl and the gun, but his expression wasn't blank anymore. There was something moving in it — something complicated and hard to read, like watching weather change through a window.

"I know that's not — I know it sounds strange," he continued, his voice still quiet, still careful, like he was picking his way through something fragile. "And I know it's about consumption. I know it's about making people want things. I know it's designed to be seductive in a way that's probably manipulative. But — " He paused, and his fingers curled tighter around the hem of his hoodie sleeve. "I don't think that makes it not beautiful. I think maybe that's what makes it beautiful. The honesty of it. The fact that it's not pretending to be innocent when it's not."

He looked up then, finally, and his eyes moved across the room — landing on Sunghoon first, then Jake, then Jay. His gaze was steady, but there was something underneath it that trembled very slightly, like a surface tension about to break.

"Everything in this industry is about consumption," he said. "Everything is about making people want things they can't have. About making them feel like they need something, and then selling it to them in pieces. This concept is just — more visible about it. More upfront. It's saying: this is what we are. This is what you're buying. And I think — " His voice wavered, just a little, before steadying again. "I think there's something almost kind about that. About not lying. About showing the machinery instead of hiding it."

Jake stared at him. "You think it's kind that they're going to dress us up like motel fantasies and film us like we're for sale?"

Y/n's mouth curved, just slightly — not quite a smile, but something in the family of one. "I think everything was always for sale," he said. "I think we were always the product. This is just — a more interesting packaging. A more honest one." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice had dropped even quieter, almost like he was talking to himself. "And I think — I think I'd rather be consumed by something beautiful than something boring. If I have to be consumed at all."

The room went still again. But it was a different kind of stillness now — charged with something, heated by something. Jake was staring at Y/n with an expression that couldn't decide if it was fascination or concern. Sunghoon's carefully neutral mask had cracked slightly, something sharper showing through. And Jay — Jay was looking at Y/n like he was seeing him for the first time. Like all the irritation and resentment and complicated want that had been building for weeks had suddenly found a new shape, a new target, a new reason to exist.

Because Y/n wasn't just accepting the concept. He was welcoming it. He was opening the door to the fantasy and stepping inside willingly, and he was doing it with those soft, damaged eyes that made everything he said sound like a confession instead of a statement.

And for the first time since the creative director had opened her laptop, Jay understood exactly why the company had built this whole world around him.

Not because Y/n was the most talented.

Not because he was the most beautiful — though he was, in that strange, unsettling way of his.

But because Y/n already knew what it felt like to be consumed. He'd been living inside that knowledge since before any of them met him. And instead of fighting it, he'd learned to find it beautiful.

That was the product.

That was what they were selling.

Not the costumes or the concept or the chlorine-blue motel pools.

And the worst part — the part Jay couldn't stop thinking about even as the conversation drifted toward safer topics and someone finally got up to turn on a light and order food — was that Jay wanted to buy it too. The Los Angeles night didn’t so much fall as it did settle like a heavy, smoggy blanket over the dorm. Outside the windows, the sky was that bruised, cinematic purple unique to the city—a hazy cocktail of exhaust, ocean salt, and the neon glare of Sunset Boulevard bleeding into the clouds. Somewhere distant, the rhythmic thumping of a helicopter blade cut through the air, and the low, constant hum of the 405 freeway sounded like a long, drawn-out sigh.

Inside, the room was thick with the residue of the day. The creative director had left, the film crew had packed up their rigs, and the managers had retreated to their own phones in the hallway, leaving the four of them alone in the half-light. 

Jay had disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower hissing against the tiles like a demand for silence. Sunghoon had stood up minutes ago, his movements cold and architectural, not saying a word before he slipped into his room, his footsteps heavy with a frustration he wouldn't name. That left the two of them.

Y/n was still on the sofa, looking small against the cushions. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, the oversized hoodie he’d been wearing all day finally slipping down, revealing a shoulder that looked too pale, too smooth for the world he was about to enter. He wasn’t looking at the door or the cameras; he was just staring at a stray photo on the floor—a shot of a boy’s hands tied loosely with a silk ribbon.

He didn’t look upset by the concept. He didn't look like he wanted to fight the executives who had decided his "marketable sadness" was the perfect anchor for a visual album built on the aesthetics of a beautiful disaster. There was a terrifying, quiet compliance in the way he sat. He looked like something waiting to be picked up. Something waiting to be used.

"Y/n," Jake said, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel. "You should probably go to bed. Early call tomorrow."

Y/n blinked, his long, heavy lashes fluttering slowly. He turned his head toward Jake, and for a second, Jake felt that familiar, sickening lurch in his chest. It was the look—that wide-eyed, dazed innocence that wasn't a choice, but a condition. It wasn't that Y/n was trying to be provocative; it was that he was so fundamentally soft that it made the air around him feel violent. He looked like he’d been born to be broken, a blank, pretty canvas that practically begged for someone to leave a mark.

"Okay," Y/n whispered. He stood up, his movements languid and dazed, as if he were perpetually waking up from a dream. The hem of his hoodie brushed the middle of his thighs, and as he walked past Jake toward their shared room, he didn't look away. He didn't offer anything. He just… was. A soft, breathing target.

Jake followed a minute later, his heart hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against his ribs.

The bedroom was dark, save for the neon glow of the L.A. streetlights filtering through the cheap plastic blinds. The light cut across the room in sharp, horizontal slats, painting the bed in stripes of blue and shadow. Y/n was already there, sitting on the edge of the mattress, pulling the hoodie over his head.

He didn't rush. He didn't turn his back. He just lifted his arms, and the thin, white tank top underneath rode up, exposing the delicate, pale curve of his waist. When the hoodie dropped, he was just there—a vision of fragile bones and soft skin in the amber light. He looked like a secret. He looked like something you’d find in a motel room at 3:00 AM and never tell a soul about.

He crawled into the bed, his movements shy, tucking himself under the sheets with his back to Jake’s side. He didn't take up space. He didn't demand attention. He just settled into the mattress like he was waiting for the world to happen to him.

Jake stripped off his shirt, the air in the room feeling far too hot, far too small. He climbed into the other side, the springs creaking under his weight. The space between them was barely a foot, but it felt like a canyon filled with static. Jake could smell him—the laundry detergent provided by the company, a hint of something like vanilla, and the warmth of clean skin.

"Do you understand what they're going to do?" Jake asked, his voice low, vibrating in the narrow space between their pillows. He was staring at the back of Y/n’s head, at the dark, messy hair resting against the white linen. "The concept. The visual album. They're going to make you look.... They're going to make everyone want to touch you, Y/n."

Y/n shifted, turning slowly onto his side to face Jake. The amber light caught in the corner of his eye, making the perpetual glaze there look like unshed tears. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't smirking. He just looked up at Jake with that devastating, quiet honesty.

"I know," Y/n said. His voice was a soft, airy thing. "The creative director said I have a 'ruined' quality. She said people will want to save me."

Jake’s jaw tightened. "It’s not about saving you, Y/n. It’s about the look of it. It’s about making you a product. They want to sexualize that... that quiet thing you have. They want to turn your silence into an invitation."

Y/n didn't flinch. He didn't look offended or scared. He just lay there, his hands tucked under his cheek, looking at Jake with an innocence that was so profound it felt like a provocation. He didn't seem to understand that he should be angry. He didn't seem to have the instinct to protect himself.

"I don't mind," Y/n whispered, and the words felt like a physical blow to Jake’s chest. "If it helps the group. If it’s what I’m for... then it’s okay. 

Jake’s breath hitched. The heat in his stomach flared into something sharp and agonizing. It was the way Y/n said it—so calmly, so shyly, as if his own body were just a piece of equipment he was lending to the company. He wasn't "dirty." He wasn't offering himself like a pro. He was just a boy who had been told his value was in his fragility, and he had accepted it with a soft, heartbreaking "yes."

He was the ultimate prey. The kind of boy who would let you ruin him and then look at you with those same glassy eyes, wondering if he’d done a good job.

"You're too quiet," Jake breathed, his hand twitching under the covers. He wanted to reach out. He wanted to wrap his fingers around Y/n’s wrist and feel how small it was. He wanted to tell him to run, to fight, to scream—but he also wanted to be the one the camera was filming when Y/n finally broke.

"I'm just tired," Y/n murmured, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. He didn't pull the covers up to hide his collarbones. He didn't turn away. He just lay there in the low llight, a soft, beautiful sacrifice waiting for the morning to come and the cameras to start rolling.

Jake realized then that the company wasn't just building a concept. They were building a cage. And Y/n was already inside it, sitting quietly in the center, waiting for someone to turn the key.

Jake looked at Y/n’s parted lips, at the soft pulse in his neck, and felt a wave of possessive, dark hunger that made him sick. If the world was going to watch Y/n be ruined, Jake was going to make sure he was the one standing closest.

Outside, the L.A. night hummed on, indifferent to the slow, quiet breaking of the boys in the room. Jake stared at the ceiling until the amber light turned to grey, his hand resting inches away from Y/n’s skin, never quite touching, but never letting go.

The neon digits on the microwave flickered 3:12 AM, casting a sharp, radioactive green glow across the kitchen tiles.

Y/n couldn't stay in the bedroom. The air there was too thick, saturated with the heavy, rhythmic sound of Jake’s breathing and the lingering scent of heat and unsaid things. He’d slipped out from under the duvet like a ghost, his bare feet making no sound as he padded down the hallway. He was dressed only in a thin, ribbed white tank top and those soft jersey shorts that sat dangerously low on his hip bones, the fabric clinging to his skin in the humid Los Angeles night. He didn't turn on a single light. He didn't need to. The city outside provided enough of a sickly, cinematic glow—a mixture of orange streetlights and the blue-white hum of the billboard across the street—to turn the living room into a landscape of silver and deep, bruised shadows.

He rounded the corner, intending to just sit by the window and watch the helicopters circle the Hollywood Hills, but he froze.

The living room wasn't empty. Sunghoon was there, sprawled back on the leather sofa, but he wasn't sleeping. His head was thrown back against the cushions, his throat arched so sharply the tendons were straining like wire. His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clamped in a jagged line of pure, agonizing concentration. One hand was white-knuckled, gripping the armrest so hard the leather groaned, and the other was buried deep inside his unzipped sweatpants. He was moving with a frantic, rhythmic violence, his hips jerking up off the cushions in a desperate search for friction. The sound was the worst part—the wet, sliding friction of skin on skin and the hitching, broken gasps of a boy who had been pushed past his limit in the dark.

Y/n’s breath caught, a tiny, soft hitch that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.

Sunghoon’s eyes snapped open. They were dark, the pupils so blown they were almost entirely black, shimmering with a glazed, predatory intensity. He didn't stop. He didn't pull his hand away or scramble to cover himself. He just froze mid-stroke, his chest heaving, his cock thick and straining in his own grip, glistening with pre-cum in the dim city light. He stared at Y/n standing there—pale, soft-shouldered, and blinking with that dazed, ruined innocence that made Sunghoon’s stomach do a slow, sick flip. The amber light from the window caught the slope of Y/n’s waist where the tank top had ridden up, and the sight of that soft, vulnerable skin seemed to snap something inside Sunghoon’s head.

"Come here," Sunghoon rasped, his voice a jagged whisper that vibrated through the floorboards.

Y/n didn't move at first. He just stared at Sunghoon’s hand, at the way his fingers were curled around his own length, at the raw hunger in Sunghoon’s face. He felt that familiar, heavy compliance wash over him—that feeling that he was a thing meant to be used, a vessel meant to be filled. He padded across the floor, his knees feeling like water, until he was standing right at the edge of the couch, his bare thighs inches from Sunghoon’s spread legs.

"You've been walking around like this all night, haven't you?" Sunghoon whispered, his hand finally slowing, but not stopping. He reached out with his free hand and hooked a finger into the waistband of Y/n’s shorts, tugging him closer until Y/n’s stomach was brushing against Sunghoon’s hot, damp forehead. "Looking like this. Smelling like this. Driving us all fucking insane while you act like you don't even know what you're doing."

"I... I just couldn't sleep," Y/n whispered, his voice trembling as he looked down at Sunghoon.

Sunghoon let out a low, bitter sound that was half-laugh, half-groan. He let go of his own cock, his hand coming up to wrap around Y/n’s wrist, pulling his hand down. His skin was burning, slick with his own sweat. He guided Y/n’s hand into the opening of his sweatpants, forcing Y/n’s fingers to curl around the hot, pulsing weight of him. Y/n flinched at the contact—at the sheer size of him, the way the skin felt like velvet over iron—but he didn't pull away. He never pulled away.

"Help me," Sunghoon breathed, his eyes locking onto Y/n’s with a terrifying, possessive focus. "Finish it. You're the one who put me here. You're the one I've been picturing in the dark. Now do it."

Y/n’s fingers trembled as they closed around Sunghoon’s cock. He was so shy, his movements tentative and dazed, which only seemed to drive Sunghoon deeper into a frenzy. Sunghoon’s hand stayed over Y/n’s, guiding the rhythm, forcing him to squeeze tighter, to move faster. Sunghoon’s head fell back again, a long, broken moan escaping his lips as he felt Y/n’s soft, cool palm sliding over his heat.

"God, Y/n," Sunghoon choked out, his hips beginning to roll, thrusting up into Y/n’s hand. "You're so soft. You're so fucking soft. I want to ruin you. I want to mark every inch of you so the cameras can't see anything but me."

He reached up with his other hand, grabbing the back of Y/n’s neck and pulling him down until their faces were inches apart. He didn't kiss him; he just breathed Y/n’s air, his eyes searching Y/n’s dazed, glassy ones. He wanted to see the exact moment Y/n realized what he was doing. He wanted to see the corruption of that innocence in real-time.

"Faster," Sunghoon commanded, his voice a low growl of command.

Y/n obeyed, his hand moving in a frantic, sliding rhythm that made Sunghoon’s body go taut as a bowstring. The leather of the couch creaked under them, the only sound in the room besides their ragged breathing. Sunghoon’s grip on Y/n’s neck tightened, his thumb pressing into the soft skin of his throat as he felt the climax beginning to roar up through his spine.

"Don't look away," Sunghoon hissed, his eyes wide and dark. "Look at me, whore. Watch what you do to me."

With a final, violent thrust of his hips, Sunghoon’s body jerked, his entire frame shuddering as he came, thick and hot, over his own stomach and Y/n’s trembling hand. He let out a long, wrecked sound that was almost a sob, his forehead dropping onto Y/n’s shoulder as the aftershocks racked him. He stayed like that for a long time, his breath hot against Y/n’s skin, his hand still clamped firmly on the back of Y/n’s neck, refusing to let him move.

The city glowed outside, indifferent and bright, but inside the dark living room, the air was heavy with the scent of sex. Sunghoon didn't let go. He just pulled Y/n closer into the mess, his heart hammering against Y/n’s chest, silently claiming the softness he had just used to break himself.

The silence in the room was heavy, thick with the smell of sweat and the sharp, cloying scent of Sunghoon’s cum. Outside, a helicopter’s spotlight swept briefly across the ceiling, a pale blade of light that illuminated the mess on Sunghoon’s stomach and the way Y/n’s hand was still trembling, slick and glistening in the dark.

Sunghoon didn't move to clean himself. He stayed slumped back against the leather, his chest heaving as he fought to bring his breathing under control. His hand was still clamped firmly on the back of Y/n’s neck, his fingers buried in the dark, messy curls, keeping him close. The predatory glaze hadn't left Sunghoon’s eyes; if anything, the climax had only made him look more territorial, more consumed by the soft, dazed boy standing between his knees. He looked at Y/n—at the way he stood there, chest heaving, his mouth slightly parted in a silent, confused exhale—and felt a fresh wave of possessive heat.

“Look at it,” Sunghoon rasped, his voice low and jagged, barely a whisper meant for the space between them. He nudged Y/n’s hand, the one coated in the hot, sticky evidence of his climax. “Look at what you made me do.”

Y/n’s gaze dropped. He looked down at the mess on Sunghoon’s skin, then back up at Sunghoon’s face. He didn't look disgusted. He didn't look like he wanted to run. He just looked dazed, his eyes glassy and wide, that terrifying innocence making him look like he was waiting for the next instruction. He was so pliable, so ready to be whatever Sunghoon needed him to be in the dark.

Sunghoon’s grip on Y/n’s neck tightened, pulling him down an inch closer. “You’re so good at taking care of me, aren't you? So quiet. So shy.” Sunghoon’s thumb traced the line of Y/n’s jaw, his eyes dropping to Y/n’s mouth. A dark, cruel thought flickered behind his eyes—a need to see just how far this compliance went, to see if he could truly stain the purity that everyone else in the agency was so obsessed with.

“Don’t let it go to waste,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice vibrating with a dark, commanding edge. He leaned forward, his forehead nearly touching Y/n’s. “Be a good bitch… Lick it. Lick it all clean, Y/n. Every drop.”

Y/n’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He looked at the wetness on Sunghoon’s stomach, then back at those dark, demanding eyes. He felt the weight of Sunghoon’s hand on his neck, the silent pressure of the Los Angeles night pressing in on them. He was a boy born to be ruined, and Sunghoon was offering him the chance to start.

Slowly, Y/n sank to his knees between Sunghoon’s spread legs. His movements were hesitant, shy, his bare knees meeting the cool floor with a soft thud. He didn't look away from Sunghoon’s face as he leaned in. Sunghoon let out a low, shuddering breath, his fingers clenching in Y/n’s hair as he watched the boy’s head dip.

When Y/n’s tongue finally met Sunghoon’s skin, it was soft and tentative, but the effect was electric. Sunghoon’s eyes squeezed shut, a broken, guttural groan escaping his throat as he felt the warm, wet heat of Y/n’s mouth against his stomach. He tasted like salt and sweat and the raw, heavy reality of what they were doing in the dark while the others slept.

“That’s it,” Sunghoon choked out, his hand in Y/n’s hair guiding him, pushing him to be thorough. “Get all of it. Don't leave a trace.”

He watched with a sick, possessive fascination as Y/n obeyed, his head moving in the silver city light, his dazed innocence being consumed by the very act of cleaning Sunghoon’s filth. It was the most beautiful thing Sunghoon had ever seen—the corruption of a boy who didn't even know how to fight back.

By the time Y/n sat back on his heels, his lips were damp and his eyes were wider than ever, looking up at Sunghoon with a terrifyingly pure devotion. Sunghoon reached out, cupping Y/n’s face with both hands, his thumbs dragging over Y/n’s wet lips.

“Good boy,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice thick with a new kind of hunger. “You’re mine now. Do you hear me? Before the cameras, before the fans... you’re mine.”

Y/n just nodded, a soft, dazed movement, letting Sunghoon claim him in the dark living room, the sirens of Sunset Boulevard wailing in the distance like a choir for the ruined. The air in the living room was stagnant, smelling of salt and the heavy, humid residue of what had just happened. Y/n stayed on his knees for a long moment, his chest rising and falling in shallow, jagged hitches. The city light caught the dampness on his lower lip, making him look like something fragile that had been caught in a storm. He didn't move to wipe his mouth. He didn't pull away from the heat radiating off Sunghoon’s thighs. He just looked up, his eyes glassy and wide, searching Sunghoon’s face with a devastating, quiet sincerity.

"Are you satisfied?" Y/n whispered.

The question was so soft, so devoid of any edge or irony, that it made Sunghoon’s pulse jump. It wasn't the question of a lover; it was the question of a thing that had been used and wanted to know if it had performed its function. It was the purest form of the ruin Sunghoon was so obsessed with—the idea that Y/n could be completely debased and still look at him with that same dazed, angelic devotion.

Sunghoon’s hand, still tangled in the dark curls at the nape of Y/n’s neck, softened. He looked down at the boy at his feet—this soft, pale creature who had just licked him clean in the dark—and felt a wave of protectiveness so sharp it bordered on violent. He wanted to keep him here. He wanted to hide him from the cameras, from Jake, from the world that was about to try and take pieces of him.

He leaned forward, his shadow swallowing Y/n’s face. Instead of the rough command of before, Sunghoon reached out with his other hand and gently tilted Y/n’s chin up. He pressed a kiss to Y/n’s forehead, then shifted, his lips ghosting over Y/n’s closed eyelids before finally landing on his mouth.

It wasn't a deep kiss. It was short, soft, and tasted of salt, but it carried the weight of a brand. It was the kind of kiss you gave something you’d finally admitted you owned.

"Yes," Sunghoon murmured against Y/n’s lips, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "I'm satisfied."

He pulled back just enough to look into Y/n’s dazed eyes, his thumb tracing the soft line of his jaw. Sunghoon’s expression was no longer predatory, but it remained intensely possessive. He saw the way Y/n’s body was trembling, the way his bare shoulders looked cold in the artificial light of the L.A. skyline.

"Go back to bed," Sunghoon said, his voice dropping into a gentle but firm command. "Or stay here on the couch with me. Whatever you want. But you need to sleep."

Y/n blinked, his mind clearly still foggy, still caught in the orbit of Sunghoon’s gravity. He looked at the couch, then back toward the dark hallway leading to the room he shared with Jake. The thought of going back there—back to the heavy, silent heat of Jake’s presence—felt impossible.

"I'll stay," Y/n whispered.

Sunghoon didn't say a word. He simply shifted, making space on the leather cushions, and pulled Y/n up. He guided him until Y/n was tucked against his side, his head resting on Sunghoon’s chest, his small frame almost entirely hidden by the curve of Sunghoon’s arm. Sunghoon pulled a discarded throw blanket over them both, his hand resting on Y/n’s hip, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the thin fabric of Y/n’s shorts.

The city hummed outside, the helicopters circled the dark hills, and the neon signs of Sunset Boulevard flickered on. Inside the dorm, the silence returned, but it was different now. It was shared.

Y/n closed his eyes, his breathing finally evening out as he listened to the steady, powerful thud of Sunghoon’s heart beneath his ear. He felt safe, and he felt ruined, and in his dazed mind, those two things were starting to feel exactly the same. Sunghoon stayed awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, his grip on Y/n never loosening, watching over the boy he had claimed in the dark.

The visual album would start tomorrow. The world would get its chance to look. But Sunghoon knew, as he felt Y/n drift off to sleep against him, that he had already won a piece of the only part of the fantasy that mattered.

author’s note: hey guys! did y'all miss me? i’m so, so sorry for being away for so long. i know i kind of disappeared, and i hate that i left you hanging. the truth is, i was going through some pretty heavy things in my personal life... it was a lot to handle, and i needed to step back to breathe for a bit. but even when i wasn't posting, i was always here in the background, watching how you guys kept appreciating my work, keeping the story alive. seriously... i can’t even explain how grateful i am. seeing your comments and reblogs pop up on my notifications while i was dealing with everything? it genuinely meant the world to me. thank you so much! i love each and every one of you. i’m not making any crazy promises because life is unpredictable, but i promise to give my best to be active from now on. i’ve missed this so much. and also... please forgive me if this chapter of world class sin feels a little off or rusty. i haven't written in a long time, and i feel like i might’ve lost my touch a little bit while i was away. i was actually really nervous to post this, so please be gentle with me >.< but i really hope you guys enjoy it regardless! it feels so good to be back writing for you all. thank you for sticking by me even when i was quiet. please take care of yourselves, okay? i love you! — luke

this work was originally written in portuguese and manually translated into english.

[star-suh]

hi i'm the person who requested the most recent jisung fic you posted! thank you so much for it! i was excited when i saw it today. and it was so good! i feel like you really did the request justice. i love how you showed yn's infatuation with jisung, especially with that part at the end. the fact that you included that part where jisung turned yn over made me so excited! that ending section really made things complete. i honestly think this was your best writing yet! and i feel like you really understood my request. thank you so much again, i've already reread the story a few times!

this is so sweet, thank youuu 🥹 this made me happy ngl

as soon as i saw infatuation + degradation i thought it would fit an unhealthy relationship so i'm glad you like it and that it was what you wanted <3

[star-suh]

CRUMBled

Park Jisung x Male Reader

cw: jisung has a partner, cheating, degradation, not a healthy relationship between reader and jisung.

—

jisung's phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand, the screen glowing with his parrner’s name for the third time that hour and he didn't even glanced at it.

his tall frame towered over yn and his fingers twisting tight in his hair as he fucked into that warm, eager mouth with lazy, deep strokes, "fuck yeah~ that's it" jisung groaned, his voice husky and low, "look at you... on your knees like a desperate whore the second i text you. my partner thinks i'm at practice right now" he chuckled, “you're already drooling all over my cock… so pathetic", yn's eyes watered with every thrust of that fat cock entering his tight throat. yn’s eyes shone with pure adoration as he stared up at jisung, he was completely infatuated and obsessed with every rough touch jisung gave him, every cruel word jisung tells him.

the way jisung used him like this—sneaking away from his picture-perfect life just to ruin him—that made yn's heart race and his cock throb painfully in his boxers. he moaned loudly around the thick length stretching his throat, sucking harder, his tongue pressing against the underside as spit ran down his chin, slicking the whole shaft.

jisung laughed darkly, his hips snapping forward to bury himself deeper, "choke on it, baby. that's all you're good for. my cocksleeve".

he pushed the bottom all the way down his lenght, making him deepthroat him and locking his thighs around his neck. the top moaned loud, throwing his head back in ecstasy, laughing, “running here like a bitch in heat just to get fucked and discarded, can't believe my dick is that good…" yn whimpered in agreement, the degradation sending sparks straight to his dick. he hollowed his cheeks, taking jisung to the base again, until his nose pressed against his pelvis, holding there as long as he could. the humiliation felt so good. he loved being jisung's dirty little secret, loved knowing he got the parts of jisung that his partner never saw.

after a few more brutal thrusts, jisung pulled out with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting yn's swollen lips to his glistening cock. he yanked yn up by the hair and shoved him face-down onto the bed, "ass up” jisung commanded, his voice rough with lust.

he slapped yn's ass hard, the sharp sound echoing as a red handprint appeared on his skin, yn obeyed instantly, arching his back deeply, his knees spreading wide, showing his twitching hole, anticipating for the fat cock to wreck him open.

jisung spat directly onto his hole, watching it drip down before pushing two long fingers inside without warning. he scissored them roughly, curling and stretching, feeling every inch of that warm inside. "so fucking loose already. you been playing with yourself all day thinking about me?” the top growled, "fingering this slutty hole while you moaned my name?... needy cockslut”.

" yes—fuck, jisung… please…" yn gasped into the pillow, his face and neck flushed and covered in sweat already, pushing back onto the fingers desperately. his voice was already wrecked, "i need you... only you". jisung added a third finger, pumping them fast and mean, hitting that spot that made yn see stars.

“only me?... good”, he pulled his fingers out, lined up his thick cock, and slammed in balls-deep in one powerful thrust.

yn cried out, his body jolting forward as jisung immediately started a punishing rhythm. the sound of skin slapping skin filled the room. jisung's big hands gripped yn's waist hard enough to leave bruises, pulling him back onto every thrust, "take it. take every fucking inch like the whore you are", jisung growled, anger laced on his words. leaning over yn's back, he bit down on his shoulder, then licked the mark.

one hand fisted yn's hair again, yanking his head back so jisung could growl right against his ear, "my partner could never handle me like this. they'd cry", the thrusts becoming rougher and rougher, “but you? you fucking live for it, cock-addicted bitch".

"i'm your dirty bitch—hngh…—fuck… jisung!" yn moaned brokenly, the tears of overwhelming pleasure rolling down his face. every deep thrust made his toes curl, jisung's veiny cock dragging perfectly against his prostate and his warm walls. he was so close already, his body shaking and cock leaking thick strings steadily onto the sheets, untouched.

jisung reached around and wrapped his long fingers around yn's dripping cock, stroking him fast and tight while never slowing his hips. "gonna cum already? then make a mess for me slut. show me how much you love being my side bitch” the degradation pushed yn over the edge.

he came with a loud, broken cry, spilling all over jisung's fist and the bed, his hole clenching rhythmically around the cock inside him. jisung groaned at the overwhelming tightness, fucking him through it with even harder and rougher thrusts until he buried himself deep and came hard, cock pulsing and flooding yn’s guts with his thick cum.

they stayed locked together for a long minute, jisung's chest pressed against yn's back, both breathing heavily.

jisung’s phone lit up again on the nightstand, he glanced at the messages, then chuckled softly, pressing lazy kisses along yn's neck and the fresh bite marks, "they can wait", he murmured, voice still thick.

he rolled his hips slowly, still half-hard inside yn, churning the cum inside, "i'm not done with my toy… turn over. i want to see your face while i use you again", yn's heart swelled with that twisted, lovesick feeling as he obeyed, his legs wrapping around jisung's waist.

he gazed up at him with pure infatuation, lips parted, ready for whatever jisung wanted to give—more degradation, more rough fucking, more of being his filthy secret.

jisung smirked down at him, sliding back in with a wet sound, "look at that face. so gone for me".

yn smiled, causing a tear to rolled down his closed eyes, his flushed face lit up as if the most romantic thing has been said by the man in front of him. no matter what jisung gave him, he would receive it gratefully, this was what love means for him …

jisung spoke one more time, ‘‘smiling’’ while looking at the wrecked man under him, wiping the tear with his rough hand.

"good boy".

and yn melted all over again.

[star-suh]

enhypen ot7 sharing 8th male member smut

sorry, i only write for jay, jake, heeseung and sunghoon

[star-suh]

hi! i have an idea for a request. what about something with nct's jisung, where he's cheating on his current partner because he likes hooking up with the reader? and he's a little degrading to the reader but reader is like, infatuated with him. thank you so much!

your request is readyyy

[star-suh]

smoke free

johnny Suh x Male Reader

cw: power play, dub con.

—

the night air was thick and tense, yn leaned against the brick wall of the university’s courtyard, a secret place he always goes to smoke the nervousness away, the faint glow of the cigarette illuminating his face when he put it in his mouth. his oversized hoodie hung loosely over his frame, protecting him from the cold night.

tonight he was restless, worried about his exams, did he do good or bad?. anxiety was killing him so he did what he knows best, smoke.

the campus felt quiet, sometimes the passing cars disturbed the silent night or the rustle of leaves when the wind blew them. smoking on campus was strictly forbidden, but yn didn’t care tho, rules are for boring people. and he's not boring. the light of a flashlight cut through the darkness, shining over his face, blind him completely, he was like a deer in headlights.

“hey!! you know you can’t smoke here” a deep voice spoke, laced with authoritarianism. yn froze in place, the cigarette dangling between his fingers. his heart banged against his ribcage as he squinted against the light, barely making out the silhouette of a man approaching.

as the figure stepped closer, yn’s breath caught. the officer was tall, his dark hair neatly styled, his uniform fitting tight over his body, he was handsome, like a model. his badge shines under the streetlight along with his name tag that readd: J. Suh.

“officer, i-uh, i didn’t know-” yn stuttered, dropping the cigarette quickly and crushing it under his sneaker. “shut it” johnny cut him off, his voice low and commanding. he stepped into yn’s space, so close that yn could smell the faint scent of his cologne. johnny’s eyes scanned him over, “you’re on the university property and smoking’s a violation. where's your id?”.

yn’s hands went quickly toward his pockets, pulling out his student id with trembling hands. johnny took it, his fingers brushing yn’s briefly. the officer’s gaze moved between the id and yn’s face, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “yn, huh?” johnny’s tone was sarcastic and mocking, but there was something else there, something... perverse.

he pocketed the id and gestured with his head toward the nearby alley that bordered the courtyard, “step over here. we’re gonna have a little talk”, yn obeyed, his sneakers scrapping against the pavement as he followed. the alley was narrow, dark thanks to the shadows casted by the towering buildings on either side, here it feels different, like in here johnny’s authority was absolute, he rules in this place.

the officer stopped, turning to face him, his broad big frame blocking the only exit, “you know i could write you up for this” johnny said, crossing his arms, his biceps visibly bulging and the uniform strain against them. yn’s mouth went dry, “i-uh" he was cut off, “trespassing, smoking, public disturbance, whatever. you’d be looking at a fine, a suspension maybe. but…” he pauses, his smirk widening. “i’m feeling generous tonight. wanna make this easier on yourself?”. yn swallowed hard, his pulse racing, his adrenaline going wild. “what… what do you mean?”.

johnny stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whispered sexy tone. “i mean, you’re gonna learn a lesson, boy. one you won’t forget". he reached for his belt, but instead of his citation book, he unhooked a pair of handcuffs, “turn around. hands behind your back” yn’s eyes widened, but something in johnny’s eyes was dark and so commanding that it made him just comply.

he turned around, his heart didn't stop pounding, as johnny snapped the cuffs around his wrists, the cold steel coming into contact with his skin. the officer’s hands lingered, strong and deliberate, as he pressed himself closer, his breath hot against yn’s ear, “you’re under my control now", johnny murmured, his lips brushing the back of yn’s ear, “and you’re gonna take your punishment like a good boy. ok?”, before yn could process the words and say anything, johnny pushed him against the alley wall, his cheek pressed against the bricks.

the officer’s hands were everywhere, he yanked down yn’s jeans with a roughness that made the other gasp—the cool night air hit his exposed skin, he shivered—johnny dropped to his knees, yn’s breath hitched as he felt the officer’s rough hands spread him open. “fuck” johnny growled, his voice laced with lust, “you smell so damn good”, he says as he buried his face between yn’s cheeks, inhaling deeply, a low groan rumbling in his throat.

he was being filthy with his actions, yn’s knees buckled as johnny’s tongue keep licking relentlessly, leaving it all wet and slick—circling and probing with his tongue with a hunger like he was starving—yn moaned, the sound echoing in the alley, his hands useless behind him.

johnny’s mouth was merciless, devouring him with messily. the officer’s fingers joined seconds later, teasing and stretching the bottom’s hole, each movement being deliberate to make the other go wild.

“you like that, don’t you?” johnny teased, his voice muffled but still dominant, “bet you’ve never been taken like this”.

“n-no” yn gasped, arching his back, the pleasure overwhelming him and knowing that they were in public… the mere idea that anyone could walk by… it only heightened the thrill of it.

johnny’s control was absolute, his every touch a reminder of who was in charge. johnny stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. he unzipped his uniform pants, freeing his lenght, and yn’s breath caught at the sight. johnny was big, “you’re gonna take it… all of it” johnny said, not as a question but a fact that he is going to make him engulf it all.

“and you’re gonna thank me when i’m done, are we clear?”, he didn’t wait for a response tho, he quickly pressed himself against yn, guiding himself with one hand while the other gripped yn’s hip, hard enough to bruise.

the stretch was intense, the mix of pain and pleasure making the student see stars. johnny didn’t hold back, his thrusts became rough and unrelenting, each one driving yn harder against the wall. the cuffs rattled with every movement, “fuck, you’re tight” johnny grunted, his pace brutal and his hands roaming over yn’s body, gripping bruisingly and choking the other.

he leaned in, biting at yn’s neck, leaving marks there, “you’re mine tonight.don’t forget it”, yn could barely think now, he can't even speak, his mind reduced to a mush, just thinking about the heat of johnny’s body and cock.

the relentless rhythm, and the filthy words whispered in his ear, the alley, the risk of getting caught, the dominance—it was too much for yn, his leaking dick staining the wall of precum and some of it sticking to his leg, connecting it with his dick head with strands of precum—he came undone with a broken moan, his body shaking as waves of pleasure crashed over him. johnny minutes later, as his grip tightened, spilled his cum inside yn with a low, guttural groan, with every spurt of cum he buried his cock deeper and deeper, “take it all" he growled “it's gonna be so deep you're next hookup might be able to taste it too when he fucks you".

for a moment, they stayed there, panting, then johnny pulled back, shaking his cock and then zipping himself up and fixing his uniform so casually like he was an expert on this. he uncuffed yn and tossed the handcuffs back onto his belt, “you’re gonna throw out those cigarettes” johnny said, his tone leaving no room for argument, “and if i catch you again, i won’t be as nice as tonight”, he handed back yn’s id, his fingers lingering just a moment too long.

yn nodded, still cockdrunk, “i… i won’t. i promise”, johnny smirked, giving him one last praise “good boy". with that, he turned and walked back into the night, leaving yn alone in the alley, his jeans still half-down and his heart racing. he quickly pulled everything up as he started to feel the coldness of the night, already missing the heat of johnny's body, all while a thought crossed his mind.

…should he smoke again?

[star-suh]

smoke free

johnny Suh x Male Reader

cw: power play, dub con.

—

the night air was thick and tense, yn leaned against the brick wall of the university’s courtyard, a secret place he always goes to smoke the nervousness away, the faint glow of the cigarette illuminating his face when he put it in his mouth. his oversized hoodie hung loosely over his frame, protecting him from the cold night.

tonight he was restless, worried about his exams, did he do good or bad?. anxiety was killing him so he did what he knows best, smoke.

the campus felt quiet, sometimes the passing cars disturbed the silent night or the rustle of leaves when the wind blew them. smoking on campus was strictly forbidden, but yn didn’t care tho, rules are for boring people. and he's not boring. the light of a flashlight cut through the darkness, shining over his face, blind him completely, he was like a deer in headlights.

“hey!! you know you can’t smoke here” a deep voice spoke, laced with authoritarianism. yn froze in place, the cigarette dangling between his fingers. his heart banged against his ribcage as he squinted against the light, barely making out the silhouette of a man approaching.

as the figure stepped closer, yn’s breath caught. the officer was tall, his dark hair neatly styled, his uniform fitting tight over his body, he was handsome, like a model. his badge shines under the streetlight along with his name tag that readd: J. Suh.

“officer, i-uh, i didn’t know-” yn stuttered, dropping the cigarette quickly and crushing it under his sneaker. “shut it” johnny cut him off, his voice low and commanding. he stepped into yn’s space, so close that yn could smell the faint scent of his cologne. johnny’s eyes scanned him over, “you’re on the university property and smoking’s a violation. where's your id?”.

yn’s hands went quickly toward his pockets, pulling out his student id with trembling hands. johnny took it, his fingers brushing yn’s briefly. the officer’s gaze moved between the id and yn’s face, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “yn, huh?” johnny’s tone was sarcastic and mocking, but there was something else there, something... perverse.

he pocketed the id and gestured with his head toward the nearby alley that bordered the courtyard, “step over here. we’re gonna have a little talk”, yn obeyed, his sneakers scrapping against the pavement as he followed. the alley was narrow, dark thanks to the shadows casted by the towering buildings on either side, here it feels different, like in here johnny’s authority was absolute, he rules in this place.

the officer stopped, turning to face him, his broad big frame blocking the only exit, “you know i could write you up for this” johnny said, crossing his arms, his biceps visibly bulging and the uniform strain against them. yn’s mouth went dry, “i-uh" he was cut off, “trespassing, smoking, public disturbance, whatever. you’d be looking at a fine, a suspension maybe. but…” he pauses, his smirk widening. “i’m feeling generous tonight. wanna make this easier on yourself?”. yn swallowed hard, his pulse racing, his adrenaline going wild. “what… what do you mean?”.

johnny stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whispered sexy tone. “i mean, you’re gonna learn a lesson, boy. one you won’t forget". he reached for his belt, but instead of his citation book, he unhooked a pair of handcuffs, “turn around. hands behind your back” yn’s eyes widened, but something in johnny’s eyes was dark and so commanding that it made him just comply.

he turned around, his heart didn't stop pounding, as johnny snapped the cuffs around his wrists, the cold steel coming into contact with his skin. the officer’s hands lingered, strong and deliberate, as he pressed himself closer, his breath hot against yn’s ear, “you’re under my control now", johnny murmured, his lips brushing the back of yn’s ear, “and you’re gonna take your punishment like a good boy. ok?”, before yn could process the words and say anything, johnny pushed him against the alley wall, his cheek pressed against the bricks.

the officer’s hands were everywhere, he yanked down yn’s jeans with a roughness that made the other gasp—the cool night air hit his exposed skin, he shivered—johnny dropped to his knees, yn’s breath hitched as he felt the officer’s rough hands spread him open. “fuck” johnny growled, his voice laced with lust, “you smell so damn good”, he says as he buried his face between yn’s cheeks, inhaling deeply, a low groan rumbling in his throat.

he was being filthy with his actions, yn’s knees buckled as johnny’s tongue keep licking relentlessly, leaving it all wet and slick—circling and probing with his tongue with a hunger like he was starving—yn moaned, the sound echoing in the alley, his hands useless behind him.

johnny’s mouth was merciless, devouring him with messily. the officer’s fingers joined seconds later, teasing and stretching the bottom’s hole, each movement being deliberate to make the other go wild.

“you like that, don’t you?” johnny teased, his voice muffled but still dominant, “bet you’ve never been taken like this”.

“n-no” yn gasped, arching his back, the pleasure overwhelming him and knowing that they were in public… the mere idea that anyone could walk by… it only heightened the thrill of it.

johnny’s control was absolute, his every touch a reminder of who was in charge. johnny stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. he unzipped his uniform pants, freeing his lenght, and yn’s breath caught at the sight. johnny was big, “you’re gonna take it… all of it” johnny said, not as a question but a fact that he is going to make him engulf it all.

“and you’re gonna thank me when i’m done, are we clear?”, he didn’t wait for a response tho, he quickly pressed himself against yn, guiding himself with one hand while the other gripped yn’s hip, hard enough to bruise.

the stretch was intense, the mix of pain and pleasure making the student see stars. johnny didn’t hold back, his thrusts became rough and unrelenting, each one driving yn harder against the wall. the cuffs rattled with every movement, “fuck, you’re tight” johnny grunted, his pace brutal and his hands roaming over yn’s body, gripping bruisingly and choking the other.

he leaned in, biting at yn’s neck, leaving marks there, “you’re mine tonight.don’t forget it”, yn could barely think now, he can't even speak, his mind reduced to a mush, just thinking about the heat of johnny’s body and cock.

the relentless rhythm, and the filthy words whispered in his ear, the alley, the risk of getting caught, the dominance—it was too much for yn, his leaking dick staining the wall of precum and some of it sticking to his leg, connecting it with his dick head with strands of precum—he came undone with a broken moan, his body shaking as waves of pleasure crashed over him. johnny minutes later, as his grip tightened, spilled his cum inside yn with a low, guttural groan, with every spurt of cum he buried his cock deeper and deeper, “take it all" he growled “it's gonna be so deep you're next hookup might be able to taste it too when he fucks you".

for a moment, they stayed there, panting, then johnny pulled back, shaking his cock and then zipping himself up and fixing his uniform so casually like he was an expert on this. he uncuffed yn and tossed the handcuffs back onto his belt, “you’re gonna throw out those cigarettes” johnny said, his tone leaving no room for argument, “and if i catch you again, i won’t be as nice as tonight”, he handed back yn’s id, his fingers lingering just a moment too long.

yn nodded, still cockdrunk, “i… i won’t. i promise”, johnny smirked, giving him one last praise “good boy". with that, he turned and walked back into the night, leaving yn alone in the alley, his jeans still half-down and his heart racing. he quickly pulled everything up as he started to feel the coldness of the night, already missing the heat of johnny's body, all while a thought crossed his mind.

…should he smoke again?

[star-suh]

Can you please create like a guard/police man, johnny, and college student Y/N, getting caught smoking on their school/any public places. Then johnny will punish y/n so good, he promised he will never smoke again

it's done

[star-suh]

Hi!! We need more Johnny Suh fanfics plsss

okayyy gonna post one

[star-suh]

Whispered Secrets

Jackson Wang x Male Reader

cw: jackson is 45 and has a son called luke, blackmailing, cheating, revenge sex, daddy kink, use of the f slur, bullying.

—

yn was laying in bed late at night, scrolling through grindr on his phone, the light emanating of it making his face glow in the dark bedroom. he was twenty three now, out of that hell of a high school, but the anger was still there sometimes. he swiped right on a profile that made his cock twitch, the guy was thirty five, built like a god, a faceless shirtless mirror pic in the gym showing off his defined abs and that sexy v-line visible through his low slung sweatpants.

his name is jackson, bio said “looking for some secret fun, no strings attached, love a tight hole that can take it rough”. “secret fun" yn murmured, that told him everything he needed to know.

they matched fast. jackson messaged first. " hey cutie. that ass in your pic looks like it needs a good pounding”. yn bit his lip and chuckled, then typed back, “yeah? you think you can handle me old man?”. the chat quickly become full of horny words and dick pics. jackson sent a thick veiny cock shot that made yn’s mouth water, it was laying on a table, fully rock hard, so veiny and thick and a pretty pink tip.

they set up a date for the next night at jackson’s apartment. “come over at nine, door will be unlocked, just walk in and get on your knees". that night yn jerked off twice thinking about it. he texted jackson back, “see you tonight daddy", at nine o’clock yn stood outside the apartment door, his heart hammering against his ribs and his cock already half hard in his jeans. he pushed it open, the place was expensive, the city lights glowing against the huge windows. yn wandered around the living room until something caught his attention.

a picture. a picture with a teenage boy with the same sharp jaw, the same cocky smirk of certain fucker, luke. yn’s stomach dropped, luke wang—his high school bully, the same luke who made his life hell for two years straight—the flashback hit him hard, memories flooded back. during freshman year, yn had just come out quietly to a couple of friends but word spread quickly on the classroom. luke and his friends cornered him in the locker room after pe classes, they shoved him against the cold metal lockers. luke laughed in his face, “look at this little fag getting hard just from us looking at him”. they yanked his shorts down in front of everyone, pointing at his half hard dick. they called him pathetic, useless, a cocksucking loser who’d never get laid and other shameful words. every day after that it got worse to the point of becoming physical in some occasions. luke always smirked like he owned the world, dad’s money, dad’s connections, he believed he was a untouchable motherfucker. yn transferred schools during senior year just to breathe again, to feel relieved and away of all those problems. finally some peace for him and his heart, he can finally rest and try to heal all those wounds. maybe some day be happy… right?

now here he was, matched with luke’s dad on a gay dating app, who would've thought?.

revenge, the word crossed his mind repeatedly. fuck luke’s dad, ruin the man who raised that piece of shit. make him pay for everything his son did. maybe… just maybe, that's the only thing he needs to heal completely, to let go of that awful past…

yn’s cock throbbed at the thought, he knew it was fucked up, but the heat in his belly won.

jackson stepped out of the kitchen in nothing but those gray sweatpants, his bare chest glistening with sweat, he was working out, that same thick cock outline pressing heavy against the fabric, he wasn't wearing any underwear under it. “took you long enough, pretty boy” jackson growled, his voice deep and low.

yn didn’t waste time. he closed the door, dropped to his knees right there in the entry and yanked the sweatpants down, the fat dick sprang out, heavy and already leaking.

he spit on it, messy strings dripping down yn’s chin every time the dick went out his mouth, then is swallowed half in one go, choking himself with it. jackson groaned in pleasure, his hand fisting yn’s hair, “fuck, that mouth is so greedy. you been thinking about this all day?”, yn moaned with every slurp, he pulled off, the spit running down his chin, then he looked up with watery glassy eyes, “you have no idea whose hole you’re about to wreck”, he smirked and didn’t explain anything, he just dove back in, sucking sloppyly and loud, his tongue swirling the head and the spit bubbling and leaking at the corners of his lips.

jackson fucked his face slow at first, then harder and faster, his balls slapping yn’s chin and making the drool pouring down yn’s neck onto his shirt, staining it.

they barely made it to the bedroom. jackson discarded yn’s clothes off, like an impatient hungry beast, he threw him face down on the king bed with his ass up. he spreaded those cheeks wide, spit a thick glob right on yn’s hole and watched it drip. “looks do fucking tight, bet no one has ruined this pretty boy pussy yet”. his tongue followed the trail left by the glob of spit, it was hot and wet, licking broad stripes and then pushing inside of the rim, eating yn out like he was starving.

yn moaned loud, pushing his ass back, his fingers gripping the sheets until his knuckles turned white. jackson added two fingers and moved them fast, doing a rough scissor motion, spitting more to keep it slick, “please daddy… fuck me” yn gasped, the word daddy making the other hornier.

jackson flipped yn onto his back, hooked his legs over his shoulders, then lined up his thick cock and slammed in balls deep in one thrust. yn screamed, his eyes rolling back, the stretch burning feeling so good. jackson didn’t go slow, he pounded hard, the sweat dripping from his chest onto yn’s stomach.

the bed started rocking, jackson's balls slapped loud on yn’s ass with every thrust. “take it, take daddy’s cock like the slut you are” jackson grunted, leaning down to spit directly into yn’s open mouth. the bottom swallowed it greedily, then grabbed jackson by his neck and pulled him down for a messy, sloppy kiss.

jackson bit yn’s lip hard enough to draw a whimper out of him, then railed him deeper, making sure every inch is inside of the other. sweat poured off both of them, soaking the sheets under them, the room smelling like musk and sex, yn’s cock bouncing at the rhythm of jackson's thrusts, leaking all over his own stomach. jackson flipped him again, this time with his ass up, shoving his face into the pillow, with one hand choking the back of yn’s neck and the other slapping his ass bright red.

“gonna fill this hole up, breed you like the cumdump you are” yn pushed back, moaning, “yes daddy, cum inside me”.

knowing this was luke’s dad destroying his hole, the same bloodline that used to humiliate him now making him feel like a god, who would've thought after all that humiliation he would now be worshipped.

jackson pulled out suddenly, flipping yn onto his back again. he straddled his chest and shoved the wet cock down his throat, mercilessly. yn gagged, tears forming on the corners of his eyes, spit bubbled while he sucked like his life depended on it. jackson face fucked him hard, then pulled out and shot the first thick ropes across yn’s face, painting his lips and tongue in white. yn licked it up and moaned “more, give me more… daddy”, jackson jerked the rest onto yn’s tongue and slapped his tip on it, then pushed back in to let him suck the last drops that seeped out of the slit.

but the top wasn’t done. jackson opened yn’s legs wide and slammed back inside the cum-slick hole. he fucked using his own load as lube, making creamy sounds that filled the room. yn couldn't hold it anymore so his cock exploded untouched, shooting ropes across his chest and torso, but jackson didn't stopped, he kept going, going for a second round.

they continued for hours, like they were sex deprived for so long. jackson fucked him in every position: missionary, doggy, riding, etc., occasionally jackson would shove his fingers in alongside his cock, to stretching yn wider. jackson came again deep inside, pulling out to watch it seep out of the railed hole, then pushed it back in with his fingers. finally jackson collapsed on top of yn, both panting, tired, bodies marked and flushed.

jackson kissed yn slow and deep, savouring every bit of it. yn smiled against his mouth, whispering, “thanks for the best fuck of my life”. he has luke's dad in the palm of his hand, if this hookup comes out to the light it will probably ruin their perfect image.

the morning after the hookup, yn woke up sore, he stretched in his bed, then stayed there, staring at the ceiling while a million things happened in his head. fucking luke’s dad once wasn’t enough. it felt… good—it was incredible—but he wanted something more, something that would actually hurt luke’s perfect little life the way luke’s cruelty has hurt yn for years.

he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and saw jackson’s message “last night was insane. round two?”, yn smirked and typed back “sure daddy. but first i need to tell you something”, he then sent a second message, “meet me for coffee tomorrow?”. jackson replied almost instantly “yeah. tell me where”.

yn spent the rest of the day plotting his revenge. he didn’t want to just expose the him and watch mrs. wang cry, that was too… silly? too common.

he wanted a big scandal, something messy and public, something that would make luke see his untouchable family name dragged through filth. he remembered luke bragging back in high school about his mom being some high-profile executive, the kind who curated the perfect images for politicians and celebrities. yn could get proofs—texts, photos, perhaps even a video of jackson cheating—and when he leaked it strategically…

he could see the divorce headlines or luke’s fucking face. but he wasn’t stupid, he needed jackson hooked deeper first, addicted to him, so desperate that he keeps coming back even after the truth came out.

so he decided: more sex, make that cheating man obsessed, make him beg for his hole, then when the moment was right, yn would confess everything, watching his revenge finally accomplished.

they met at a quiet cafe, two blocks from jackson’s apartment. jackson walked in, he spotted yn and his eyes zeroed on him instantly. he slid into the booth across from him, yn leaned forward with a low voice,“last night was just the start. i want more. a lot more. but there’s something you should know first”. jackson raised an eyebrow, curious, “tell me”.

yn licked his lips, “i know who you are… i know your son. luke. he used to make my life hell in high school” he paused and swallowed, “he bullied me until i transferred schools. called me fag, humiliated me in front of everyone. i hated him… i still do” jackson’s face went still, he didn’t speak for what it seems like eternity but then he said “and you matched with me… on purpose?” to which yn nodded.

“at first it was revenge. fuck the dad of the guy who fucked my life up. but then you… you fucked me so good i-i decided i wanted to keep going”, he continued confessing, “and then i’ll tell your wife everything. send her the proofs of the affair. your perfect family cracking open, maybe she leaves you or not, we all know you rich people only care about image”, he paused again and took a sip of his drink, “maybe luke finally feels a fraction of what i felt”.

jackson stared, clenching his jaw. yn waited for anger, for him to storm out or even threatening him but instead jackson leaned in “you’re playing a dangerous game”, he said.“i know. but that makes it hot” yn replied in a whispered tone, cockily—jackson’s hand slid under the table and gripped yn’s thigh hard, “you think you can ruin me and i’ll just let you do it?”, yn chuckled, “i think you’ll let me because this…” yn reached under the table too and palmed the thick bulge in jackson’s pants, “this gets harder every time i talk about it”, jackson exhaled sharp through his nose, “fuck it, let’s get out of here”.

they barely made it back to the apartment. jackson quickly discarded his clothes and yn’s, shoved the other against the hallway wall, spat on his fingers and shoved them in without warning. yn gasped, his head hitting softly the wall. jackson growled, pumping them rough, curling the fingers to hit that sweet spot.

“thinking you can blackmail me with this tight pussy”, he said, every word laced with anger that he channelled to his fingers, obliterating the other's ass merely with his digits. “it’s not blackmail” yn panted, grinding back on the fingers. “just… motivation… for more. keep fucking me like this and maybe i will delete the screenshots i’m gonna take later”. jackson laughed, pulling his fingers out and replaced them with his cock in one hard thrust.

yn cried out due to the stretch sensation, his nails scratching the wall. jackson fucked him there, standing, fast and mean with no mercy, one hand clamped over yn’s mouth to muffle his moans while the other yanked his hair back so his neck is exposed and he can bite it, “gonna mark you up, little whore”, jackson muttered.

“let luke see those bruises and make him wonder who wrecked his high school bitch”, yn came hard without being touched, spurting cum against the wall, his legs shaking while riding his high. jackson didn’t stop tho, he just kept pounding through the clench of the bottom’s hole, grunting like an animal. “that’s it, cum on daddy’s cock”.

they finally made it to the bedroom. jackson threw yn onto the mattress face down, climbed over him and pinned his wrists above his head with his big veiny hand. he fucked him slow now, his hips making a slow and sensual pace that drove yn crazy, letting yn feel every inch of that cock dragging out and slamming back in his used hole.

jackson kissed him messily, it's something normal in them now, their tongues sliding through the mess of saliva. yn swallowed it, moaned into it. jackson pulled out, flipped yn onto his back and went back in, he watched his own cock disappear into that slick, puffy hole over and over, enjoying the view and sensation, “look at your puffy pussy, i’m gonna make you walk out of here dripping so much of cum you’d stain your jeans”. he jerked yn off, matching the pace of his hand with his thrusts, his thumb smearing precum over the head, making yn arch his back, “daddy, fuck—cum in me again, fucking breed me more”. jackson slammed deep until he finally orgasmed, thick ropes flooded yn’s insides until it squelched with every small movement.

he stayed there, buried and grinding slow, pushing his seed deeper. minutes later he pulled out slow to watch the creamy load ooze out. he scooped some with two fingers and fed it to yn, yn sucked them clean, his eyes always locked on jackson’s, “good boy” jackson murmured, maintaining the eye contact, “ride me?, show me how bad you want to ruin me”, yn climbed on top, straddled him and sank down slow without hesitation until he bottomed out.

he rolled his hips, grinding, then started bouncing, his ass slapping against jackson’s thighs, jackson gripped yn’s waist to help slam him down harder and faster, hungry to feel those velvet walls wrapped around his thick lenght. yn’s cock bounced, leaking and smearing sticky trails across jackson’s abs.

jackson sucked on yn’s tongue like he was starving and bit his bottom lip. yn kept milking every inch, “you make me feel so good. i’m gonna cum again baby”. yn gasped against jackson’s mouth, “i feel so full” he moaned. “take daddy’s load” he says as he came with a guttural groan, pumping another thick round deep. yn’s orgasmed too, shooting ropes across Jackson's body and chin.

they both collapsed next to each other, panting.“you’re not getting rid of me that easy” jackson spoke, kissing yn’s sweaty temple and hugging him smaller frame.

“ruin me all you want. just keep letting me wreck this ass”.

yn smiled, lazy and satisfied, already thinking about the chaos he can unfold. but for now, he just nuzzles himself next to jackson like a cat.

“deal, daddy”.

[star-suh]

If Jackson’s 35 and y/n’s is 23, then they have just a 12-year age difference…

you're right, my math isn't mathing he should've be 45

[star-suh]

shameless plug but i made a kofi page in case y'all can/want/gaf about tipping me 😛

it's not something you have to do remember, only if you can and want to or if you're a sugar daddy/jk.

[star-suh]

Whispered Secrets

Jackson Wang x Male Reader

cw: jackson is 45 and has a son called luke, blackmailing, cheating, revenge sex, daddy kink, use of the f slur, bullying.

—

yn was laying in bed late at night, scrolling through grindr on his phone, the light emanating of it making his face glow in the dark bedroom. he was twenty three now, out of that hell of a high school, but the anger was still there sometimes. he swiped right on a profile that made his cock twitch, the guy was thirty five, built like a god, a faceless shirtless mirror pic in the gym showing off his defined abs and that sexy v-line visible through his low slung sweatpants.

his name is jackson, bio said “looking for some secret fun, no strings attached, love a tight hole that can take it rough”. “secret fun" yn murmured, that told him everything he needed to know.

they matched fast. jackson messaged first. " hey cutie. that ass in your pic looks like it needs a good pounding”. yn bit his lip and chuckled, then typed back, “yeah? you think you can handle me old man?”. the chat quickly become full of horny words and dick pics. jackson sent a thick veiny cock shot that made yn’s mouth water, it was laying on a table, fully rock hard, so veiny and thick and a pretty pink tip.

they set up a date for the next night at jackson’s apartment. “come over at nine, door will be unlocked, just walk in and get on your knees". that night yn jerked off twice thinking about it. he texted jackson back, “see you tonight daddy", at nine o’clock yn stood outside the apartment door, his heart hammering against his ribs and his cock already half hard in his jeans. he pushed it open, the place was expensive, the city lights glowing against the huge windows. yn wandered around the living room until something caught his attention.

a picture. a picture with a teenage boy with the same sharp jaw, the same cocky smirk of certain fucker, luke. yn’s stomach dropped, luke wang—his high school bully, the same luke who made his life hell for two years straight—the flashback hit him hard, memories flooded back. during freshman year, yn had just come out quietly to a couple of friends but word spread quickly on the classroom. luke and his friends cornered him in the locker room after pe classes, they shoved him against the cold metal lockers. luke laughed in his face, “look at this little fag getting hard just from us looking at him”. they yanked his shorts down in front of everyone, pointing at his half hard dick. they called him pathetic, useless, a cocksucking loser who’d never get laid and other shameful words. every day after that it got worse to the point of becoming physical in some occasions. luke always smirked like he owned the world, dad’s money, dad’s connections, he believed he was a untouchable motherfucker. yn transferred schools during senior year just to breathe again, to feel relieved and away of all those problems. finally some peace for him and his heart, he can finally rest and try to heal all those wounds. maybe some day be happy… right?

now here he was, matched with luke’s dad on a gay dating app, who would've thought?.

revenge, the word crossed his mind repeatedly. fuck luke’s dad, ruin the man who raised that piece of shit. make him pay for everything his son did. maybe… just maybe, that's the only thing he needs to heal completely, to let go of that awful past…

yn’s cock throbbed at the thought, he knew it was fucked up, but the heat in his belly won.

jackson stepped out of the kitchen in nothing but those gray sweatpants, his bare chest glistening with sweat, he was working out, that same thick cock outline pressing heavy against the fabric, he wasn't wearing any underwear under it. “took you long enough, pretty boy” jackson growled, his voice deep and low.

yn didn’t waste time. he closed the door, dropped to his knees right there in the entry and yanked the sweatpants down, the fat dick sprang out, heavy and already leaking.

he spit on it, messy strings dripping down yn’s chin every time the dick went out his mouth, then is swallowed half in one go, choking himself with it. jackson groaned in pleasure, his hand fisting yn’s hair, “fuck, that mouth is so greedy. you been thinking about this all day?”, yn moaned with every slurp, he pulled off, the spit running down his chin, then he looked up with watery glassy eyes, “you have no idea whose hole you’re about to wreck”, he smirked and didn’t explain anything, he just dove back in, sucking sloppyly and loud, his tongue swirling the head and the spit bubbling and leaking at the corners of his lips.

jackson fucked his face slow at first, then harder and faster, his balls slapping yn’s chin and making the drool pouring down yn’s neck onto his shirt, staining it.

they barely made it to the bedroom. jackson discarded yn’s clothes off, like an impatient hungry beast, he threw him face down on the king bed with his ass up. he spreaded those cheeks wide, spit a thick glob right on yn’s hole and watched it drip. “looks do fucking tight, bet no one has ruined this pretty boy pussy yet”. his tongue followed the trail left by the glob of spit, it was hot and wet, licking broad stripes and then pushing inside of the rim, eating yn out like he was starving.

yn moaned loud, pushing his ass back, his fingers gripping the sheets until his knuckles turned white. jackson added two fingers and moved them fast, doing a rough scissor motion, spitting more to keep it slick, “please daddy… fuck me” yn gasped, the word daddy making the other hornier.

jackson flipped yn onto his back, hooked his legs over his shoulders, then lined up his thick cock and slammed in balls deep in one thrust. yn screamed, his eyes rolling back, the stretch burning feeling so good. jackson didn’t go slow, he pounded hard, the sweat dripping from his chest onto yn’s stomach.

the bed started rocking, jackson's balls slapped loud on yn’s ass with every thrust. “take it, take daddy’s cock like the slut you are” jackson grunted, leaning down to spit directly into yn’s open mouth. the bottom swallowed it greedily, then grabbed jackson by his neck and pulled him down for a messy, sloppy kiss.

jackson bit yn’s lip hard enough to draw a whimper out of him, then railed him deeper, making sure every inch is inside of the other. sweat poured off both of them, soaking the sheets under them, the room smelling like musk and sex, yn’s cock bouncing at the rhythm of jackson's thrusts, leaking all over his own stomach. jackson flipped him again, this time with his ass up, shoving his face into the pillow, with one hand choking the back of yn’s neck and the other slapping his ass bright red.

“gonna fill this hole up, breed you like the cumdump you are” yn pushed back, moaning, “yes daddy, cum inside me”.

knowing this was luke’s dad destroying his hole, the same bloodline that used to humiliate him now making him feel like a god, who would've thought after all that humiliation he would now be worshipped.

jackson pulled out suddenly, flipping yn onto his back again. he straddled his chest and shoved the wet cock down his throat, mercilessly. yn gagged, tears forming on the corners of his eyes, spit bubbled while he sucked like his life depended on it. jackson face fucked him hard, then pulled out and shot the first thick ropes across yn’s face, painting his lips and tongue in white. yn licked it up and moaned “more, give me more… daddy”, jackson jerked the rest onto yn’s tongue and slapped his tip on it, then pushed back in to let him suck the last drops that seeped out of the slit.

but the top wasn’t done. jackson opened yn’s legs wide and slammed back inside the cum-slick hole. he fucked using his own load as lube, making creamy sounds that filled the room. yn couldn't hold it anymore so his cock exploded untouched, shooting ropes across his chest and torso, but jackson didn't stopped, he kept going, going for a second round.

they continued for hours, like they were sex deprived for so long. jackson fucked him in every position: missionary, doggy, riding, etc., occasionally jackson would shove his fingers in alongside his cock, to stretching yn wider. jackson came again deep inside, pulling out to watch it seep out of the railed hole, then pushed it back in with his fingers. finally jackson collapsed on top of yn, both panting, tired, bodies marked and flushed.

jackson kissed yn slow and deep, savouring every bit of it. yn smiled against his mouth, whispering, “thanks for the best fuck of my life”. he has luke's dad in the palm of his hand, if this hookup comes out to the light it will probably ruin their perfect image.

the morning after the hookup, yn woke up sore, he stretched in his bed, then stayed there, staring at the ceiling while a million things happened in his head. fucking luke’s dad once wasn’t enough. it felt… good—it was incredible—but he wanted something more, something that would actually hurt luke’s perfect little life the way luke’s cruelty has hurt yn for years.

he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and saw jackson’s message “last night was insane. round two?”, yn smirked and typed back “sure daddy. but first i need to tell you something”, he then sent a second message, “meet me for coffee tomorrow?”. jackson replied almost instantly “yeah. tell me where”.

yn spent the rest of the day plotting his revenge. he didn’t want to just expose the him and watch mrs. wang cry, that was too… silly? too common.

he wanted a big scandal, something messy and public, something that would make luke see his untouchable family name dragged through filth. he remembered luke bragging back in high school about his mom being some high-profile executive, the kind who curated the perfect images for politicians and celebrities. yn could get proofs—texts, photos, perhaps even a video of jackson cheating—and when he leaked it strategically…

he could see the divorce headlines or luke’s fucking face. but he wasn’t stupid, he needed jackson hooked deeper first, addicted to him, so desperate that he keeps coming back even after the truth came out.

so he decided: more sex, make that cheating man obsessed, make him beg for his hole, then when the moment was right, yn would confess everything, watching his revenge finally accomplished.

they met at a quiet cafe, two blocks from jackson’s apartment. jackson walked in, he spotted yn and his eyes zeroed on him instantly. he slid into the booth across from him, yn leaned forward with a low voice,“last night was just the start. i want more. a lot more. but there’s something you should know first”. jackson raised an eyebrow, curious, “tell me”.

yn licked his lips, “i know who you are… i know your son. luke. he used to make my life hell in high school” he paused and swallowed, “he bullied me until i transferred schools. called me fag, humiliated me in front of everyone. i hated him… i still do” jackson’s face went still, he didn’t speak for what it seems like eternity but then he said “and you matched with me… on purpose?” to which yn nodded.

“at first it was revenge. fuck the dad of the guy who fucked my life up. but then you… you fucked me so good i-i decided i wanted to keep going”, he continued confessing, “and then i’ll tell your wife everything. send her the proofs of the affair. your perfect family cracking open, maybe she leaves you or not, we all know you rich people only care about image”, he paused again and took a sip of his drink, “maybe luke finally feels a fraction of what i felt”.

jackson stared, clenching his jaw. yn waited for anger, for him to storm out or even threatening him but instead jackson leaned in “you’re playing a dangerous game”, he said.“i know. but that makes it hot” yn replied in a whispered tone, cockily—jackson’s hand slid under the table and gripped yn’s thigh hard, “you think you can ruin me and i’ll just let you do it?”, yn chuckled, “i think you’ll let me because this…” yn reached under the table too and palmed the thick bulge in jackson’s pants, “this gets harder every time i talk about it”, jackson exhaled sharp through his nose, “fuck it, let’s get out of here”.

they barely made it back to the apartment. jackson quickly discarded his clothes and yn’s, shoved the other against the hallway wall, spat on his fingers and shoved them in without warning. yn gasped, his head hitting softly the wall. jackson growled, pumping them rough, curling the fingers to hit that sweet spot.

“thinking you can blackmail me with this tight pussy”, he said, every word laced with anger that he channelled to his fingers, obliterating the other's ass merely with his digits. “it’s not blackmail” yn panted, grinding back on the fingers. “just… motivation… for more. keep fucking me like this and maybe i will delete the screenshots i’m gonna take later”. jackson laughed, pulling his fingers out and replaced them with his cock in one hard thrust.

yn cried out due to the stretch sensation, his nails scratching the wall. jackson fucked him there, standing, fast and mean with no mercy, one hand clamped over yn’s mouth to muffle his moans while the other yanked his hair back so his neck is exposed and he can bite it, “gonna mark you up, little whore”, jackson muttered.

“let luke see those bruises and make him wonder who wrecked his high school bitch”, yn came hard without being touched, spurting cum against the wall, his legs shaking while riding his high. jackson didn’t stop tho, he just kept pounding through the clench of the bottom’s hole, grunting like an animal. “that’s it, cum on daddy’s cock”.

they finally made it to the bedroom. jackson threw yn onto the mattress face down, climbed over him and pinned his wrists above his head with his big veiny hand. he fucked him slow now, his hips making a slow and sensual pace that drove yn crazy, letting yn feel every inch of that cock dragging out and slamming back in his used hole.

jackson kissed him messily, it's something normal in them now, their tongues sliding through the mess of saliva. yn swallowed it, moaned into it. jackson pulled out, flipped yn onto his back and went back in, he watched his own cock disappear into that slick, puffy hole over and over, enjoying the view and sensation, “look at your puffy pussy, i’m gonna make you walk out of here dripping so much of cum you’d stain your jeans”. he jerked yn off, matching the pace of his hand with his thrusts, his thumb smearing precum over the head, making yn arch his back, “daddy, fuck—cum in me again, fucking breed me more”. jackson slammed deep until he finally orgasmed, thick ropes flooded yn’s insides until it squelched with every small movement.

he stayed there, buried and grinding slow, pushing his seed deeper. minutes later he pulled out slow to watch the creamy load ooze out. he scooped some with two fingers and fed it to yn, yn sucked them clean, his eyes always locked on jackson’s, “good boy” jackson murmured, maintaining the eye contact, “ride me?, show me how bad you want to ruin me”, yn climbed on top, straddled him and sank down slow without hesitation until he bottomed out.

he rolled his hips, grinding, then started bouncing, his ass slapping against jackson’s thighs, jackson gripped yn’s waist to help slam him down harder and faster, hungry to feel those velvet walls wrapped around his thick lenght. yn’s cock bounced, leaking and smearing sticky trails across jackson’s abs.

jackson sucked on yn’s tongue like he was starving and bit his bottom lip. yn kept milking every inch, “you make me feel so good. i’m gonna cum again baby”. yn gasped against jackson’s mouth, “i feel so full” he moaned. “take daddy’s load” he says as he came with a guttural groan, pumping another thick round deep. yn’s orgasmed too, shooting ropes across Jackson's body and chin.

they both collapsed next to each other, panting.“you’re not getting rid of me that easy” jackson spoke, kissing yn’s sweaty temple and hugging him smaller frame.

“ruin me all you want. just keep letting me wreck this ass”.

yn smiled, lazy and satisfied, already thinking about the chaos he can unfold. but for now, he just nuzzles himself next to jackson like a cat.

“deal, daddy”.