( syn. ) juhoon knows how to keep a secret. his only exception? how down bad he is for his favourite niche pop star 🤨🤨
( tags ) smau ⋆ fanboy&&idol ! juhoon x girlset’s 5th mem. ! reader ⋆ featuring members of CORTIS && GIRLSET ⋆ crack ⋆ fluff ⋆ includes swearing
#🫖: it’s so easy to write martin as embarrassingly in love we must get juhoon onto this agenda too 😛 also girlset has like 3 songs so i had to help them out a bit 💀💀
synopsis ; if there was one thing san loved most, it would be just how needy you got for him and the sweet little pleas that would leave your lips.
pairing(s) ; bf!san x f!reader
☆ ── wc. ; 0.8k
☆ ── genre ; smut
☆ ── tw. ; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, teasing, kissing, unprotected sex, dom!san x sub!reader, petnames, a tinge biting/marking, a pinch of spanking, some manhandling, rough sex, implications of multiple rounds, lmk if I missed anything!!
☆ ── notes ; two drabbles in one night hehe, just thoughts being thunk :3 this is also especially for my love @sangis-puppy (you know you wanna read it babes)
⏤͟͟͞͞ JOIN THE TAGLIST ── MASTERLIST NAVI ── MAIN NAVI
You and San are in the middle of a heated make-out session in your shared bedroom, and clothes are sprawled all around the room haphazardly. Neither of you cares, though, too worried about the feeling of each other's warm skin against the other. San had his hands underneath your underwear, squeezing the flesh of your ass, eliciting a small moan from your lips, giving him the chance to slip his tongue inside your mouth. You so easily became lost in his taste that your mind was starting to get foggy. The only thoughts occupying it were your boyfriend and how good he felt against you.
San chuckled against your open mouth as you rocked your hips against his, seeking any kind of friction you could. He let you seek out your pleasure for a few moments, relishing in the sound of your soft whimpers. Then his grip on your back end tightened, halting your movements and causing you to pout.
"Are you that desperate already, princess?" He leaned forward, leaving a trail of kisses down your jaw until he reached your ear. "I haven't even done anything yet."
"San..." You whined again, trying your best to fight against his tight hold, but it was pointless; he was far too strong.
"You gotta use your words, baby; what do you want?" He asked as his lips left, searing kisses down the side of your neck, causing your eyes to flutter at the sensation. When you didn't answer him, he pulled away to take in your already fuck-out expression, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips.
Realizing that he had stopped, you allowed your eyes to open, meeting his hooded gaze. The intensity of his gaze was enough to leave goosebumps all over your skin and heat pooling in the pit of your stomach. You once again tried to move against his hold, but just like all of your previous attempts, it ended in failure.
The smirk then fell from San's lips, and his grip got unbelievably tighter. It was tight enough that you were sure that bruises in the shape of his fingers would be embedded in your skin the next day, but the pain only made your desperation grow.
"I said use your words, princess; only good girls get what they want, right?" He growled, his upper lip pulling back just far enough to reveal his pointed canines that you love so much.
You let out a pathetic cry when his hand came down, landing a harsh smack on your ass cheek. Tears started to pool on your waterline as you looked at your boyfriend with a pleading expression, an expression that San would kill to see every day. Then the words started to tumble from your lips.
"Sannie, please just fuck me. I'll be good, just fuck me, I want your cock so bad." The pleas fell from your lips like a testimony, and San couldn't help but smirk once more, satisfied with your answer.
"Then don't let me stop you. Take whatever it is you want, babydoll." His tone was teasing as he leaned back slightly, taking in your perplexed expression.
Then, within seconds, your needy eyes had come back, and you were scooting down your boyfriend's legs, far enough to pull his boxers down, allowing his hard cock to spring free. Your mouth started to water at the sight of the angry red tip, watching the little beads of precum dribbling down the side before getting caught on the vines.
However, your need to have your pussy filled rather than your mouth was much, much stronger. So you stood on your knees before moving your underwear to the side, far too gone to bother taking them off. San watched as you slowly sank yourself down onto his dick until he was fully trapped inside of your heat, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning at how tightly you were squeezing him.
"Fuck Sannie...." You whined out, hands gripping his biceps to try to stabilize yourself.
San then sat up straighter, causing him to push even further into you, which in turn caused a loud moan to fall from your parted lips. His hands then found your hips as you started to rock yourself against him, eyes rolling back at the feeling of his cock rubbing your velvet walls just right. So much so that your ability to think straight was completely thrown out the window, carried away by the wind.
"Oh, is my poor baby already fucked stupid?" He chuckled as he latched his lips onto your collarbone, sucking deep purple marks along your skin, listening to all of your little noises. "Don't worry, princess, I'll take care of you."
Then, within the blink of an eye, he had your back pressed against the mattress, hands pinned above your head as he pounded into your needy hole without an ounce of mercy. Not stopping until he was completely drained dry, and you were on the verge of passing out, stars dancing across your vision when your nth orgasm hit you just as San finished.
“Yo, I got the goods.” Wooyoung said, holding up the convenience store grocery bag high in the air.
“They had the chips I wanted?” You asked, reaching out your hand and flexing your fingers impatiently for the bag.
“Yep, and your drink. You owe me $6 by the way.” He said, dumping the remainder of the contents in the bag onto your coffee table.
“I’ll buy you a burger or something next week.”
“Deal.” He said, sitting next to you on the couch and kicking his feet up. You skimmed over the snack stash, trying to find anything in his snack choices you wanted to steal a bite of and your eyes landed on a candy bar you had never seen before. The packaging was different, and the brand name was one you couldn’t recognize.
“What is that?” You asked him, pointing to it.
“It’s chocolate. The cashier guy told me it’s something called an aphrodisiac candy bar? The dude was trying to upsell me really hard. I think he was trying to get rid of his inventory of it. They only have it behind the register so, I bought it.” He shrugged and picked it up, reading the ingredients list printed on the back.
“Aphrodisiac? You mean, it’s supposed to make you horny? Why the fuck would you buy that and bring it over here?” You smacked him on the arm and made him wince.
“Ouch! Damn, chill. That shit is all fake. There’s just good-ole sugar and fat in this. I just felt bad for the dude and bought it. You know I go there every single week before our movie nights. I got a soft spot for the old guy!” Wooyoung did his best to plea his case which you truthfully believed. And, to be fair, he was being honest. “It’s just a regular chocolate bar with some fake gimmick to make you pay like $10 for it.”
“You paid $10 for this thing?!”
“I told you I felt bad for the dude!” He groaned, unwrapping the paper around the candy and breaking the bar in half, handing you one of the two pieces. “Here, just help me eat this thing and turn on the movie.”
“Are you sure?” You said, still a bit wary and he groaned in irritation.
“Eat it or don’t. I’m starting the movie.” Wooyoung told you, taking a large bite out of his side and pressing ‘play.’ You shrugged and did the same, enjoying each bite and focusing on the film.
——————————————
The movie you chose was one you both had watched a million times over. You both made commentary about the movie like you usually did and just enjoyed each other’s company.
Midway through the film the two main characters started having sex in a scene you’d both watched multiple times before. However, something felt different this time. You felt yourself start to tingle a get a tiny bit wet as the scene got more and more heated, the feeling intensifying as the scene continued. It did not take long until you found yourself shifting uncomfortably in your seat, completely soaked and throbbing.
‘Oh my god, the chocolate.’
“I uh, gotta go to the bathroom.” You said, slightly panicked and too afraid to look over at Wooyoung. You stood up and b-lined to the restroom, locking the door behind you.
You pulled down your sweatpants and panties and examined yourself. You gasped softly out loud, taken aback by how puffy and engorged your labia and clit looked. Your pussy soaking wet, leaving a trail of arousal on your panties. Thanks to your thick sweats, that was easy to hide. What wasn’t, was your hard and engorged nipples that were now peeking straight through your pajama camisole.
“Dammit.” You whispered to yourself, using your fingers to try and push the hard nubs down into themselves over the shirt. However, instead, the stimulation only made the situation worse. You felt a bolt of electricity shoot straight to your clit, making it pulse. Your knees buckled and you had to find it deep inside to pull your hands away from your chest and not continue. If you were in here too long, Wooyoung may know something was up.
You quickly pulled your pants back up and straightened yourself, making sure you looked as normal as possible. Quickly splashing some cold water on your face and neck in a weak attempt to bring your temperature down. You took a deep breath before going back out, not realizing Wooyoung was having a crisis of his own.
“God, what the fuck?” He hissed to himself when you had closed the bathroom door behind you. He uncrossed his legs he was squeezing together uncomfortably hard in a desperate attempt to hide his growing, uncontrollable, erection. His sizable length pressed up through his pants as if it was fighting to get out. He adjusted himself a bit, tucking himself into the waistband of his boxers which helped a little bit but didn’t help the throbbing desire that wouldn’t subside.
Wooyoung knew he was in trouble. He really didn’t think that fucking chocolate bar was legit. How could a chocolate bar make you horny? And to this extent? All he had to do was make it through the movie and get home to jerk off and everything would be fine. He repositioned himself on the couch to try and look casual when he heard you come out of the bathroom. He refused to look away from the tv, not wanting to risk giving himself away by looking guilty.
You sat back down next to him and swore you could hear how wet you were when settled into the cushion. Both of you were face forward, eyes to the tv, trying to ignore the throbbing between each of your thighs. Every once in a while you would shift around, making Wooyoung’s eyes shift over in your direction. He noticed you were bouncing your leg anxiously and biting the inside of your cheek.
“Are you okay?” He asked, concerned.
“Huh? Oh! Um, yeah. I’m great.” You answered a bit too chipper, making his eyebrow raise in curiosity. He wanted to pry but wasn’t in a position to entertain any banter at the moment so he let it go. You found his reaction, or lack-there-of, strange. Normally any time Wooyoung spoke to you it was to make fun of you or give you a hard time. You peered over at him and saw his knuckles white with how hard he was clenching his fists, jaw tight. Completely tense.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why are you asking me that?” He snapped, sounding annoyed.
“Damn, sorry I asked.” You rolled your eyes. “Asshole.”
“You’re talking through the whole movie and I’m the asshole?”
“We’ve seen this movie 100 times what does it fucking matter?” You whipped your head towards him in anger. “And you’re one to talk. You normally never shut the hell up.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe I want to shut the hell up tonight. Is that okay with you?”
“Fine.” You rolled your eyes. Now horny and annoyed. “By the way, you spilled your drink or something on you. You have a stain.”
“What?” Wooyoung looked down and saw a quarter-size spot of wetness on his crotch which made him stand up in a panic, not thinking about what his seated position was helping him conceal. When he stood up it was very clear to you that the wet spot was not one made from a drink and that he was very, VERY, hard. “Shit- um, sorry-“
“Oh.” Was all you could manage to say, realizing he was in the same predicament as you were.
Wooyoung sat back down with his cheeks burning red. He pushed his hair back with one hand and nervously cleared his throat before finally speaking.
“I uh, guess the chocolate kinda works.”
“Yeah, it kinda does.” You admitted shyly. He looked over at you and laughed a little.
“Wait, it worked for you too?”
“Yeah, I’m kinda going insane right now.” You huffed. You both sat in silence for a second not knowing what to say and then, you smacked his arm.
“Ouch! What the fuck?” He yelled, grabbing his arm.
“You’re such an idiot for buying this shit!” You groaned.
“You didn’t have to eat it!”
“Yeah, but I did because YOU told me it wouldn’t work and now here we are.”
“Well..” he sighed. “Do you have anyone you can text to come over? Take care of business?”
“No.” You scoffed. “I don’t have a roster like you.”
“Please.” He rolled his eyes. “Half my roster has me blocked at this point. So it looks like we’re both equally fucked. And not in the way we need.”
“So now what?”
“I guess.. we have to masturbate?” He shrugged.
“I guess so.”
Wooyoung suddenly started pulling his pants off of himself which made you panic, frantically waving your hands in front of him.
“What are you doing?!”
“What the fuck do you think I’m doing? Did we not just say we were going to masturbate?” He sounded as equally shocked.
“I didn’t think you meant TOGETHER?”
“I mean, at this point why not? We both know we’re horny as fuck. Might as well just get this over with real quick. I don’t want to drive all the way home to jerk off. It’s too early.” He argued. “Plus, we’ve been friends for how long? This shouldn’t be a big deal at all. We’ve made out while drunk this is literally, like, the next step.”
You thought for a while about his proposition and it didn’t take too long to come to a consensus that he was correct. Of course, the throbbing in your panties definitely influenced your quick decision. You were too horny and too desperate to get off at this point to care about potential awkwardness. You just really wanted to get off.
“Okay. But we never talk about this again. Got it?” You said, hissing through your teeth to sound serious.
“Yeah, yeah. Got it. Can we jerk off now?” He asked. You nodded and Wooyoung proceeded in taking off his pants and boxers with one swift movement, his large cock springing out of his pants instantly. It was almost purple from how hard it was, head leaking precum down the shaft. Wooyoung winced from the cool air in your apartment hitting his warm sensitive skin. He also lifted his shirt off over his head, tossing it onto the floor.
You had seen your best friend shirtless but, never naked below the belt. Your eyes almost bulging from your head when you took in the sheer size of him.
“Well, are you going to get naked too or are you going to just sit there and stare at my cock like a weirdo?”
“Oh, um-“ you stuttered, shaking your head for a moment then stripped down naked yourself. Your swollen breasts and hard nipples were the first thing Wooyoung noticed, followed by your puffy and engorged pussy.
“Holy shit, I think I just saw your pussy throb.” He gasped, almost drooling. He was completely enticed by how it looked. Soaking wet and delicate.
“Shut up.” You mumbled. “Can we get this over with?”
Wooyoung nodded and took a deep breath, taking his hand and shamelessly wrapping it around his cock. He sucked in a harsh breath when he made contact with his sensitive appendage, then slowly started to move his fist up and down. You watched him as he did this, wondering how he made such an awkward situation so hot.
“Don’t make me do this alone.” Wooyoung said, his voice husky and deep. You swallowed deeply and then hesitantly brought your hands to your chest and started to massage your breasts. You took your soft mounds in your hands and squeezed them gently, feeling how much fuller they felt than normal, then used your fingertips to rub circles around your almost painfully hard nipples. They were so sensitive to the touch that an involuntary whimper slipped through your lips.
“Sorry!” You gasped, slapping your hand over your mouth in shock. You typically thought playing with your nipples felt good but never that good. Not good enough to make you moan.
“God, don’t apologize.” Wooyoung groaned, his hand slightly moving faster. “It’s.. it’s hot.”
You felt your cheeks get warm at your best friend’s confession. Before you lost your nerve, you continued, bringing your fingers back to your nipples and pulling at them lightly. The sensation making you rotate your hips as you yearned for more relief down below. While keeping one hand focusing on your nipples, you brought the other down between your thighs. Your fingers were coated instantly with a shocking amount of wetness that made it effortlessly easy to rub circles around your swollen clit.
“Fuck..” you whimpered, hips bucking up into your hands, pressing into it hard. You peered over at Wooyoung and found him watching you play with your pussy, eyes following every circle your fingers rubbed into yourself. His hand now jerking himself off furiously, precum dripping down his swollen cock head and his breath coming out in jagged, broken, huffs. You already felt close to release due to the pure erotic nature of the situation. Your hand naturally going faster as you chased your high, your thighs opening up as wide as they could go.
“Holy shit.” Wooyoung groaned, eyes rolling back into his head when he saw you spread out even more. You brought your other hand down from your breast and placed it down between your thighs, pointing two fingers down towards your entrance and teasing it with your fingerings. Your fingers rubbing your clit didn’t stop and only got faster as you raced to your orgasm.
“Oh my god-“ you gasped, your breath catching in your throat. You pushed your fingers into your cunt, only managing to get just the tips into yourself before you started to cum. You pushed your fingers into yourself regardless as your pussy convulsed around them. Your back arched off the couch and head was thrown back in ecstasy while Wooyoung watched in awe. The sight before him making his climax flow over his knuckles as his body jerked in the same release.
You looked over at just the right time to see him release his orgasm. His eyes were glossy and low as he watched you, lip between his teeth that did nothing to keep his grunts inside, and his chest was glossy with sweat that glistened in the dim light. He was fucking beautiful. The veins in his arms bulging as he worked his still-erect cock.
“Fuck, I’m still fucking horny.” Wooyoung groaned. He finally let go of his dick, using his discarded shirt to wipe away his mess. His cock was still rock hard and, to be honest with yourself, you were still throbbing. This chocolate was ruthless.
“Me too.”
Wooyoung bit the inside of his cheek and watched you nervously for a moment, a bit nervous. He looked lost in thought but also like he had something on his mind he was hesitating to share.
“What?” You asked, nervous now.
“What if, just this one time, we.. you know..”
Your heart started to race but you weren’t sure if it was in excitement or anxiety.
“Wooyoung, are you being serious?”
“It’s just this one time. It’s only because of this fucking candy bar. And we never have to talk about it ever again.” He said, his tone almost pleading. “And I just really, REALLY, want to eat your pussy right now.”
“Wooyoung!” You giggled, covering your mouth in shock at your best friend’s lust. You should slap him. Normally you would. But, you had to be honest with yourself. You definitely wanted to fuck him in this moment, too.
“Please. Let’s fuck. PLEAAASE.”
“Just this once.” You told him, grabbing his face in your hands to focus him. “And we never tell anybody about this.”
“Deal.”
Wooyoung kissed you deeply before laying you down on your couch, trailing his lips down to your neck. He would switch from kisses to light nips of his teeth on the soft spots of your throat that raised goosebumps on your skin and went lower and lower, stopping briefly to suck on your still-swollen nipples. His tongue twirled around them like a tease, eliciting soft gasps from your lips. He chucked in satisfaction from your reaction then continued his decent down to where both of you wanted him to be the most.
Wooyoung hoisted your knees to rest on his shoulders and hooked his arms around your thighs, holding you secure to him. Wanting to make sure you couldn’t pull away. He looked up at you, and watched your reaction as he finally lowered his mouth and licked a long lap of his tongue through your engorged folds. When he saw your eyes flutter and roll back into your head, he smirked, before completely diving in and devouring you.
Wooyoung was an expert at eating pussy. You had known he was experienced in bed, having heard of his extensive body count, but never had experienced his skills first hand. You suddenly realized why so many girls had gone crazy after he had moved onto the next.
“Fuck Wooyoung.. what the fuck?” You moaned, looking down at him in complete shock. You found him still watching you. His lips wrapped around your swollen clit, sucking on it lightly in-between taking long licks. You reached down and wrapped your hand in his hair, pushing him even deeper into you which made him moan as he lapped at your clit. You grinded your hips against his face, riding it, feeling his tongue, nose, and chin pushed up against you. You both locked eyes as you continued to grind on his face, Wooyoung moaning into you in pleasure as he allowed you to use him how you needed. You felt that familiar pressure build between your thighs once again and you knew it was only a matter of time before you came again.
“Fuck, Woo. I’m- I’m gonna cum.” You whimpered, your hips moving a bit quicker. Wooyoung’s fingers dug into the soft skin of your thighs as he let you use his mouth, your soaked cunt sliding against his tongue in desperation.
He knew it was time to go in for the kill.
He wrapped his lips around your clit one last time and started to suck on it, his tongue lapping at it simultaneously. Both of the stimulations sending you over the edge, screaming as you came. Your knees locking around Wooyoung’s head in a vice grip while you writhed on the couch.
“Oh my god, stop!” You pushed his head away from you, gasping for air. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Maybe.” He was gasping as well, mouth and chin glistening in your orgasm. “You just tasted so fucking good.”
“Oh my god, shut up.” You felt yourself get shy, but you couldn’t help but smile.
“You fucking loved that. Don’t pretend like you didn’t.” He said, reaching down to help you sit upright.
“Yeah, whatever. You’re pretty good at that.”
“Thanks. Now, do me a favor and ride me.” Wooyoung requested and, after the service he just provided, you were more than willing to oblige. You straddled him, reaching behind you to grab his thick length to line him up to your entrance. You had to ease him in slowly, his girth stretching you as you lowered yourself down onto him. Once he was fully inside of you, you rested your face into the crook of his neck for a while, allowing yourself to adjust to his size.
“Are you alright?” He asked you, his arms wrapping themselves around your waist.
“Yes.” You were a bit breathless. “You’re just.. fuck, Wooyoung. You’re big.” Wooyoung chuckled, his laugh jolting his body inside of you in a way that made your toes curl slightly.
“I’ll take good care of you, don’t worry.” He whispered in your ear, making goosebumps raise on your arms. “I’ll make you feel so good, baby.”
‘Baby.’ He hadn’t dared called you that yet. You two were already pushing boundaries as it was having sex as friends but it was clear he was ready to throw all that out the window to ensure you both enjoyed this experience with no restraints. You could do mental somersaults trying to unpack the conflicting feelings you had about all of this but right now, all you wanted to do was focus on how GOOD he felt. And how much you wanted him. You would do all the hard stuff later.
Rolling your hips up and back down onto him, you started to slide yourself up and down his cock. Wooyoung helped you by gripping your ass and pulling you towards him each time you rocked forward and pushing you back down onto him when you rolled back down, making you feel his cock deep inside of you. The way he filled you up made your entire body feel warm, your cheeks burning in pleasure that made your lips tingle.
“Does my cock feel good inside of you?” Wooyoung asked you seductively, his lips pressing a kiss onto your neck while you rode him. You felt shy and didn’t answer, but down below you tightened around him which he noticed.
“I asked you a question, baby.”
“Wooyoung, please-“
“Don’t overthink this.” He told you, kissing down your neck to your shoulder. “Remember, this is to make each other feel good and get each other off. So, don’t feel weird about saying naughty things to me, alright? I like it.”
You nodded and he gripped your ass a bit harder, using one of his hands to smack it sharply on one of your cheeks. You moaned in pleasure, loving the roughness, and started riding him a bit faster.
“Let me ask you again. Does my cock feel good inside of you?”
“Yes, baby.” You said, your voice a whimpering mess. “So fucking good.”
“That’s right. Of course you fucking like it.” He smacked his hand on your ass once again. “Such a good girl.”
You bounced on his cock in desperation, over and over. Each time you landed back down on his thick length a pathetic whimper slipped through your pouted lips that became music to Wooyoung’s ears. He continued to coo filthy words to you, loving how each syllable made you tighten around him even more than you already were.
“Do you like it when I talk dirty to you?” He grunted in your ear, hips bucking up inside of you from below. “Like when I tell you you’re being a good girl for me?”
“Fuck!” You cried out, desperately rolling your hips in a messy and out-of-rhythm pattern as you got closer and closer to an orgasm. “Yes! Fuck, I love it!”
“Yeah? You’re gonna cum all over my cock for me?” He whined into your ear, grabbing your ass and thrusting his hips up into you hard over and over.
“Fuck!” You screamed, throwing your head back as you took him under you. After a few more strokes up inside, you started to cream around his thick cock, your body convulsing almost violently as you came. He wrapped his arms around you in a vice grip and held you against his chest as you orgasmed, feeling your pussy throb around his still-hard cock.
“Good job, baby girl. That’s it. Fuuuuck.” He praised you, loving how your pussy felt when it came around him. When you finally caught your breath, you sat up in his lap.
“I hope you have more in you.” Wooyoung told you, kissing you on your shoulder delicately.
“Fuck yeah I do.” You said, grabbing his hair roughly and pulling him to your mouth in a feverish kiss. He matched your passion quickly, biting your lip and pulling on it between his teeth. You moaned loudly into his mouth before he pushed his tongue into yours. You held each other so close as you made out it was if you would morph into one person. Bodies meshing together into one. Finally, he needed more.
“Get on your knees for me, ass in the air.” He whispered to you seductively, his making chills run down your spine.
You got on your knees and kneeled forward, your face pressed into the couch in the doggy position. Wooyoung positioned himself behind you, teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock, rubbing it up and down your folds to collect your arousal on his throbbing head. He pushed into your dripping cunt with ease, your pussy begging to be filled by his cock once again, eagerly forming to his size this time. He slid in all the way, his pelvis meeting your ass as he nestled down inside of you.
“Fuck, Wooyoung… your cock…” you trailed off.
“I know.” He said, and you didn’t have to look back at him to know he had a cocky grin plastered on his face.
He gripped your hips, his fingers pressed into the soft skin of your thighs firmly, and held you in place. Suddenly, he pulled back and snapped himself forward, slamming his cock into your pussy, and repeating the motion over and over. Your mouth fell open and you moaned deeply into the couch, taken aback by the pleasure of the rough thrusts. His motions started out slow but quickly picked up in pace, the sounds of his thrusts becoming quick slapping motions that filled the room, pairing with your moans nicely.
To make it even more intense, Wooyoung reached down and grabbed your arms, pinning them behind your back and using them to help him thrust into you. The new position made you completely vulnerable to him and left you in his control, submitted.
“You’re taking me so well.” He grunted as he continued to fuck roughly into your throbbing cunt. “Your pussy feels so fucking good.”
“Please fuck me harder!” You begged him, wanting even more. “I want more. Give me more daddy.” The filthy pet-name slipping out without a second thought.
“Daddy, huh?” Wooyoung smirked in surprise, not realizing how dirty his best friend could get. “You want daddy to give it to you harder?”
He leaned down over you and pinned your stomach down against the cushions, using his hand to grip the back of your neck and push you down into the plush couch. You couldn’t move, Wooyoung’s body weight holding you down as he thrusted into you ruthlessly. Your pussy contracting around his thick cock as it effortlessly slid in and out, your arousal making a mess on the cotton of the cushions.
“Is this what you wanted? Hmm?” He said in-between thrusts. “To be fucked into the couch?”
“Fuck-yes! Yes, daddy!” You cried in pure satisfaction.
“You’re going to cum on daddy’s cock again?”
“Yes! Please, please, please-“
Wooyoung suddenly stopped and pulled out of you, his weight releasing your body. You turned confused, afraid you had done something to offend him. Wooyoung however was not offended. Instead, determined to change things up. He grabbed your legs and flipped you onto your back, gripping onto your knees and pressing them back onto your chest.
“I want to look at you while you cum.” He told you, slipping his cock back inside. He placed his forehead against yours and looked at you deep in your eyes while he dragged deep stroked in and out of you. His long cock pulled pornographic whimpers from your throat that shocked even yourself, not knowing you could make such erotic noises. You couldn’t help it. You didn’t know at this point if it was the chocolate or just simply Wooyoung but you had never been fucked like this before. Never felt this amazing before.
“Woo, it feels so good..” you said, sounding almost as if you could cry. Your thighs you had wrapped around his waist started to tremble and Wooyoung was closing in on his climax as well.
“You feel fucking amazing.” He told you, slamming into you a bit harder but keeping his strokes precise. “I want you to cum with me. I’m almost there, baby.”
He placed his thumb on your swollen clit and started to rub quick circles that made your eyes flutter and lets clamp around him. It was only a matter of time now. He could feel you pulse around his cock as your walls tightened around him.
“Fuck baby, I can feel how close you are. Are you gonna cum?” He whimpered to you, his cocky demeanor now softening as he got closer to his own release. “Come on baby, cum with me. Give it to me. I need to feel it. Please.”
His whining and his thumb on your clit sent you into your final climax, your orgasm gushing out of you and onto his cock. Wooyoung came as you convulsed around his thick length, squirting around him in spectacular fashion.
“Holy shit- fuck!” He cursed loudly, slamming into you a few times as he emptied into you. Your body shuttering as your orgasm subsided, completely spent. Wooyoung pulled out of you gently and went to find a towel to clean both of you up. You laid there for a moment out of breath, coming to terms with what you two had just done together.
“I didn’t know you could squirt.” Wooyoung said in shock.
“Sometimes.” You shrugged. “It doesn’t happen that much.”
“Of course I could get you to do it.” He smirked, proud of himself. You rolled your eyes and snatched the towel from out of his hand to wipe yourself of sweat and other liquids.
“Did you at least enjoy it?” Wooyoung asked you, suddenly sounding serious.
“What?”
“I mean, do you regret it?” He shrugged. “Are you okay with what happened?”
“Oh.” You felt shocked and thought about it for a moment. “Actually.. I think it was the best sex I’ve ever had.”
“Really?!” He said, a huge smile spreading across his face.
“Do NOT let that go to your head. But, yes.” You sighed. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Fuck yeah. I didn’t know you could fuck like that.”
You smacked him on the arm which made him laugh.
Both of you cleaned up and got dressed. You decided to take a trip across the street to the convenience store where Wooyoung had gone before he had come over for more snacks.
The moment you both got up to the counter, the old man at the register smiled at you with a knowing look. You felt your cheeks get hot, remembering he was the one who sold Wooyoung the chocolate bar.
“Anything else for you two?”
Wooyoung looked over at you and you looked at him. There was a long pause and, without even speaking, a silent decision was made.
“Can we get two more of those special chocolate bars, please?”
——————————————
Can you tell writing bestie Wooyoung is my favorite? I hope yall enjoyed!
summary: what were you thinking, visiting the dorm without letting your own boyfriend know you were coming? the worst part?—it wasn’t even to see him.
pairing: meandom hongjoong/fem reader
wc: 2.3k
tags: pov second person, smuuut, like literally just straight smut, spanking, fingering, crying, size kink, hongjoong is mean and jealous ok!!, etc.
[minors beware]
a/n note: yeah let’s just say this was kinda self indulgent alright
series+oneshots m.list
“come over here.” hongjoong commands, signalling for you to take a seat on his thigh. “and make sure that door is locked.”
you amble over to him from your place in his doorway, making sure the lock clicks shut behind you and taking a comfortable seat on one of his spread legs.
“what was that?”
“what was what?” you ask dumbly, shifting uncomfortably on his thigh and bringing your hands together.
“what was that with jongho?” he replies curtly, tone flat.
“what do you mean joongie?”
he lets out a bitter laugh, one you know means he isn’t joking right now. “i mean,” his tone is sharp now. “what the fuck were you doing in our dorm without letting me know?”
“we were just hanging out!” you reply, throwing your hands out in front of you. “he asked me if i wanted to see his cd collection so i said yes!”
hongjoong lets out another small chuckle, his hands finding his eyes and rubbing.
“you think i’m an idiot?”
“what?”
“do you—“ he starts, and you feel his thigh flex underneath you. “think i am an idiot?”
you feel smaller beneath his words, your fingers wringing together nervously as you keep your gaze low.
“i don’t kno—“
“bend over.”
you look at him with shock in your eyes, but his gaze is piercing. his face is void of any emotion but if you had to guess based off his tone, he was not happy with you in the slightest.
you carefully shuffle off his thigh, and he turns his chair in silence to accommodate you. now, you’re braced with your hips hinged against that same thigh, with your other half balancing on his other leg for support. your feet dangle just off the floor, hanging limply off his legs like a rag doll.
he brushes his fingers against your skirt, feeling the outline of your bottom before slowly peeling the skirt upwards.
“this skirt?” he starts, breath barely hitching when he catches sight of your panties underneath. “for him?”
“no joong” you breathe out, voice smaller than you’d intended.
he chuckles again, this time scarier—because you can’t tell the intention behind it.
“wearing a skirt to my dorm to see my friend” he says, yet there’s no amusement behind his words. “you think i couldn’t hear you giggling from behind that door?”
you’re unsure of what to say, so you go with the safe answer. “n—no joong”
smack
a mercilessly strike against your ass sends tingles shooting up your spine, body immediately jolting forward in his hold as a small yelp leaves your lips.
his other hand presses your back down, and you have no choice but to stay arched on his lap, small hands holding onto the fabric of his joggers.
“what else did you do in there?” he asks, his voice the same monotone. “you couldn’t tell me you were paying us a visit huh?”
this time, you shake your head, afraid that any answer would be wrong in his eyes.
smack
another hard slap against your ass makes you cry out, fingers tightening in the fabric of his joggers. the sting makes tears brim at the corners of your eyes, the sight in front of you a mess of cords and producer tools.
he stills his hand on your cheeks, rubbing softly at the red blooming in place. he eyes the way your cunt quivers beneath your lace panties, taking a finger and rubbing featherlight at it.
this draws a syrupy sweet whimper out of you, hips wiggling in place as you chase the sick friction of his touch.
smack
your body thrashes, small legs kicking helplessly.
“that’s for squirming.”
smack
“that’s for not telling me what happened in his room.”
by now, tears roll down the side of your face, falling messily on the floor beneath you.
“didn’t do anything joongie” you start, the words sounding more and more strained from your downwards position on his lap.
smack
a broken moan leaves your lips, arms immediately moving to try and escape the position he has you held down in.
“liar.” hongjoong grits out, his hand on your back tightening and pressing down harder. “what did you dress all slutty for? so you could look at his cd collection?” he rubs at your buttocks, temporarily soothing the burning sting.
it takes you a few beats too long to answer.
smack
you cry out, “n—no joongie! no.” you writhe in his grip, burying your face in his joggers and muffling the pathetic tears of pain.
“then what for?” he moves his fingers to your clothed pussy now, brushing each one along your damp panties and drawing a muffled whimper from your lips.
you’re scared he won’t like any answer you come up with, so you stay quiet and cry silently, let tears soak into his pants.
his hand finds your hair and yanks you up by your scalp in no time, taking a moment to assess your tear stained face. you finally make eye contact with him for what feels like the first time that night, and his eyes are dark, far away.
“what. for?” he asks gruffly, his fingers on your entrance stilling.
you sniffle, “just wanted to look nice” though your words sound more like a question than an answer.
smack
“dumb slut.” he spits, letting go of your hair and dropping you back into his lap, just in time for you to whine and tighten your fingers against his thigh again.
“you need to be taught,”
smack
you squirm in his hold, his large hand pressing down on your back yet again.
“some proper manners.”
smack
each slap rings out like a gunshot in his studio, your cries no doubt going unheard due to the soundproof walls.
“even when i have you bent over like this,” hongjoong leans over to eye your now soaked panties. “you like being treated like a slut don’t you?”
you keep the bottom half of your face buried in his joggers, not looking up at the man in question. you shake your head no twice.
smack
he clicks his tongue. “such a liar.”
smack
he hits you with a particularly hard slap, one that makes you jolt violently as a loud moan tumbles from your lips. your hips shake on his thigh, legs kicking ever so slightly.
“h—hurts joongie…” you mumble out, mind a mess of arousal and pain. “it hurts…”
“yeah?” he squeezes harshly, yet it still feels soothing compared to the stinging slaps.
smack
this time, your hand flies to his on instinct, trying to grab hold of his wrists or make him stop, anything to momentarily pause the assault on your behind.
hongjoong catches your flailing wrist with his free hand, lacing his fingers with yours and keeping your elbow flat against your back.
smack
you squirm, a helpless sound escaping you.
“hands to yourself.”
you nod sadly into his leg, tears slowly tracking down the side of your face.
smack
“tell me what happened with jongho”
the name itself angers hongjoong enough, his hand coming down mercilessly on your red ass.
smack
smack
smack
you let out pained whimpers, legs kicking uncontrollably as you try to shift forward.
“n—nothing happened joong—“
smack
you yelp, feeling electricity course through every nerve on your lower half. “nothing joongie—nothing i promise—“
smack
“nothing?” he repeats back to you. he runs his hands back and forth over your ruined ass, feeling the heated skin under his fingertips. you can barely feel the motion yourself, already going numb from how much and how hard he’d been slapping you. “a skirt with only these panties is nothing?”
“i swear nothing happened, i promise!” you cry out, feeling the incoming slap from him. instead, his fingers move to your clothed cunt, feeling your sopping arousal through the lace and rubbing gently at your entrance. you clench around nothing, trying not to wriggle in his hold.
he does the unexpected, and pulls your panties higher, making the fabric press uncomfortably tight against your pussy.
“ow—! joongie i—“ you start, clawing at his leg though it leaves him unbothered. you feel his fingers tighten around your interlaced ones. “it hurts joong—“ you whimper out.
“it’s supposed to” he says, very matter-of-factly. “it’s not supposed to get you soaked like the fucking slut you are.”
that silences you for now, dropping your face back into his leg and arching your back to accommodate the new feeling.
smack
you yelp again, body jolting all the more violently. you feel your face turn a deep shade of red, trying to stop the tears from coming and the tightness in your chest from bursting.
“m’sorry joong” you mumble, words muffled by the fabric of his pants.
hongjoong hums, taking your apology into account.
smack
smack
smack
you need to come up for air and let broken cries out, each slap as hard as he needed you to remember and learn your lesson. your body writhes despite the hold he has on you, back arching impossibly further down and trying to free your hips from the position. you thrash your legs and kick against his calf, but he doesn’t bat an eyelash, letting you squirm but not letting you free.
“i told you not to move.” he huffs out, squeezing and kneading at your sore ass.
“sorry joongie” you whine out, voice smaller than before. you let out a couple sniffles.
“my bad girl” he hums, carding a his free hand through your messy hair. his hand runs up the side of your body, pausing to leave a tight squeeze on your thin waist before moving to your hips.
smack
you let out another strangled cry, clenching your bottom and gripping at his thigh. splattered tears are gathered nearly on the floor beneath you, another one hitting it with a sickly plop.
“you gonna start behaving now?” hongjoong asks, one hand gripping hard at your hips and the other rubbing at your heat.
“gonna listen—“ you babble out, sucking in a sharp inhale. “gonna listen to you joongie”
smack
“good.” he says, emotionless as his fingers prod at your entrance through your panties. “sluts like you need to be taught lessons, don’t they?”
you quickly nod, bracing yourself for impact.
you feel him peel your panties off, torturously slow, making you whimper when you’re fully exposed to the cool air of his studio.
smack
it somehow feels worse with your panties pulled messily beneath your bottom, your hole quickly clenching around nothing as you moan sultrily into his joggers.
smack
smack
smack
he pulls your head up just as the sharp series of slaps end, gauging your gasping form and fucked out eyes.
you sniffle, looking up at him with glassy eyes.
“had enough?” he cocks his head at you, fingers circling your soaked entrance again.
you nod frantically, a small sob escaping your pouted lips.
and that’s when you feel a slender finger push into you, drawing a syrupy sweet gasp from your lips.
“yeah?” hongjoong taunts, hand still tangled in your hair. “look at how well this pussy is taking my fingers.”
you whine when he slips in another, swinging your little legs and kicking ever so slightly against him.
“so greedy”
he drops your head back down, the same hand patting softly at your back and stroking gently down your waist.
he pushes his fingers in and out, watching every lewd reaction he pulls from your shaking form. your hips buck back into his fingers, hands clenching around his thigh.
he hums, sneakily adding in a third finger, and you feel your walls stretch around them.
“joong!” you cry, burying your face his joggers.
“you can take it.” he says, tone flat again. he continues fucking you at a steady rhythm, his fingers curling up every so often to push against that spongey spot inside you.
you start kicking when the knot in your tummy feels too hot, trying to wriggle free from his hold—but his other hand is firm around on your hips.
his fingers curl in and out, in and out, drawing moans from your swollen lips. each thrust inside has your gummy walls squeezing around him, body shaking as hongjoong relishes in your reactions.
he pulls his arousal costed fingers out, examining them for a quick moment as your body relaxes just the tiniest bit.
and not long after, his fingers find your puffy clit, rubbing harshly with the wetness he’d already gathered.
“joongie—“ you whine out, body trembling and squirming. you hear the strained squeaking of his chair but you don’t manage to move an inch in his grip. “t—too much…”
“too much?” hongjoong repeats back, his tone all fire and heat.
smack
a wet slap lands right across your pussy, your body thrashing as you push forward and let out another sob.
his fingers find your hole again, easily slipping inside the soaking heat.
“but dressing slutty wasn’t too much?”
his fingers thrust feverishly fast into you, and you have no choice but to bite down on the fabric of his joggers to stay quiet.
“seeing my friend without telling me wasn’t too much?”
“s—stop joong—!” you sob into his joggers, feeling that familiar sensation deep in your tummy.
“hm?” he mocks, fingers unrelenting.
you can’t even speak, only let out strained cries as you feel your peak come closer and closer.
“yeah?” he teases, curling his fingers upwards and continuing that motion particularly harder. “gonna finish on my fingers like a needy slut?”
you frantically nod into his thigh, higher pitched whimpers and breathy exhales escaping your lips. you push your hips back into his touch, making his fingers curl against a part of you that was reserved for only him.
all you see is black for a couple of moments, before realizing your orgasm came through like a tidal wave. every inch of your body shakes like a leaf as cum leaks out of your entrance, his fingers coming to a slow and gently fucking you through it.
you let out soft pants mixed with whines, tears finally coming to a slow as you stay unravelled on his fingers.
hongjoong doesn’t say anything for a couple of moments, letting your body calm down and stroking your back gently with his free hand.
after a couple of beats, he softly pushes hair from your back to your shoulder, carefully pushing it aside and out of the way.
you tilt your head sideways to look at him, your red cheek sitting mushed against his meaty thigh.
“so fucked out…” he murmurs, finally pulling his fingers out of you and drawing a small whine from you.
he rests his wet fingers on your ass, squeezing hard at the sore red skin.
── established relationship, hard dom!hongjoong x fem!reader
“The hotel room is too quiet for how hard Hongjoong is fucking you.”
You thought you could handle him, but Hongjoong isn’t interested in making love tonight. He wants to break you down until you are nothing but a weeping, shaking mess in his hands. He has rules—be still, be quiet, don’t cum—and he is going to make sure you fail every single one of them just so he can punish you for it.
Genre: heavy smut, porn without plot
Trigger Warnings: explicit sexual content (mdni!), daddy kink (heavy), degradation & name calling (useless, pathetic, toy, slut, hole, sleeve), rough sex: (hair pulling, biting, bruising, aggressive thrusting), oral fixation (fingers in mouth, gagging, drooling), denial, edging, impact play (spanking, slapping), objectification, dacryphilia, exhibitionism (sex against a floor-to-ceiling window), body fluids (spit, tears, sperm on face/throat), multiple orgasms, overstimulation (reader says it hurts), brat taming, mild breath play, cock warming, squirting, breeding kink, creampie, traffic light system, breast play, deep subspace, reader’s fucked stupid, aftercare???
WC: 17.7k
Mon’s Note: i honestly don’t know what happened here. title is “empty headed” because that is literally me after writing this. no thoughts. head empty.
The hotel room is too quiet for how hard Hongjoong’s fucking you.
“Da‑daddy,” you moan as he pounds into you, your arms pinned tight behind your back in one of his hands.
“Fu—fuck.” Your own sounds fill the space along with the wet slap of skin, the headboard’s dull knock against the wall, the drag of sheets burning your knees. You’re clenching around him each time he hits that spot, lights blurring at the edges. Your thighs shake, your mouth stays open, wrecked sound spilling out with every thrust.
Hongjoong adjusts your hips the barest inch and the angle turns ruthless. The stretch sharpens and the friction is obscene. You swear. His breath ghosts your ear, calm where everything else is chaos.
“That’s it. Fucking take it.” His rings are cold against your wrists where he pins them, a bite that makes you clench harder.
“Fuck Joong—”
He stops. The shift is sudden—your body still clenching around his dick, desperate for friction that’s no longer there. His hand fists in your hair and jerks you up hard, arching your spine until your back meets his chest. One arm locks around your waist, ribs pressed to his forearm. The other grips your jaw, fingers pressing into the hinge until your mouth falls open.
You can feel his pulse against your cheek.
You can feel your own everywhere.
“What did you just call me?” His voice is low, dangerous, a heat against your ear. You feel it more than hear it, vibrating through your ribs where he’s got you pinned. The air is hot and thin.
Your breath comes shallow, uneven. “I—”
“Say it again.” Hongjoong’s hips shift, just enough to make you gasp, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give you what you need. His thumb drags across your bottom lip, smearing spit at the corner. “Go on.”
You swallow. Your pulse hammers against his palm. “Da—”
He tsks, the sound soft and cutting. His grip tightens on your jaw until your eyes sting. “Wrong answer.” His thumb pushes your chin up.
His hand slides from your jaw to your throat, not squeezing yet. “You know better.” The words are barely above a whisper, but they land heavy. He pulls out almost completely, the drag lighting every nerve, then slams back in without warning.
Your body jerks forward with the force, a broken cry tearing from your throat. The slap of skin is sharp. The mattress stutters under your knees, the headboard slams again.
“Daddy—” The word comes out garbled, desperate, exactly what he wanted to hear.
“Good girl.” His grip on your throat softens, becomes almost tender. “Again.”
“Daddy,” you gasp, the word punched out of you with another sharp thrust. Your fingers curl uselessly in his grip, your whole body wound so tight you think you might shatter. “Please—addy, I need—” Your own spit threads from your mouth to his thumb where it drags your lip and you taste metal from your bitten tongue.
Hongjoong’s laugh is dark, satisfied. “Need what, love?” The hand on your throat slides down to palm your breast, rolling your nipple between two knuckles until heat spikes. He pinches it and the pain blooms sweet and mean. “Use your words.” His breath hits damp hair stuck to your temple.
You moan uselessly, the sound ragged and broken. Words won’t come—just desperate, incoherent noise that makes him groan against your ear.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, satisfaction dripping from every word. Your knees skid an inch on the sheet and his hand leaves your breast to clamps your hip and hauls you back so you feel the blunt head punch deep again. He holds you exactly where he wants you as he starts thrusting deep inside you. “Can’t even speak anymore, can you?”
You shake your head frantically, or try to—his hold on you barely allows the movement. Everything’s gone white‑hot and overwhelming, your body trembling in his arms as he takes you apart piece by piece. Your mascara is a damp smear at your lashes; a tear salt‑burns the corner of your mouth where it meets his thumb.
“Mmpf—please—” The words break on a sob as the tension coils impossibly tighter, your walls fluttering around him. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably. The mattress squeals. Hongjoong groans when your cunt strangles him, like the sound is dragged from somewhere he doesn’t show anyone.
“I’ve been a good girl, Daddy, please—” Your voice breaks on the words, desperate and pleading. “Please let me—fuc—k—let me cum, I need—”
“Not yet. Listen to yourself—messy little thing, slobbering on my hand and still trying to think you get a say.” His pace doesn’t falter, each thrust hitting that devastating spot that has your vision blurring. He changes nothing just to prove he controls everything. “You’ll cum when I say.”
“Daddy—” It’s a sob more than a word, your body trembling violently as you fight against the edge. “Please, I can’t—I can’t hold it—”
“Yes, you can. You’re a hole when I tell you to be a hole.” His lips brush your ear, voice dropping lower, amused and cruel. “Be useful.” His teeth take the soft flesh of your shoulder, a quick bite that stings and his tongue soothes, then he bites again, harder.
A broken whimper tears from your throat as tears prick at your eyes. “Yes—yes, I’ll wait—fuck—please—” The word breaks because he drives in meaner, holding you down with his forearm across your ribs until your breaths come shallow and quick.
“That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? Taking.” The room narrows to the slick drag and the hot thud of him and the damp heat where your bodies meet. “Just a wet little thing I wreck.”
Your eyes sting, vision blurring as the first tear slips free. It tracks hot down your cheek, and Hongjoong’s rhythm stutters for just a beat like he’s savouring it. His grip on your jaw shifts, thumb catching the wetness before it falls to the sheet.
“Look at you,” he breathes, hungry. “Crying because you can’t keep up. Cock‑drunk already and I’m not even trying.” He drags the tear across your cheekbone, reverent and mean at once. “So fucking pretty when you beg with your eyes.” He licks the salt from his thumb, eyes fixed on your wrecked mouth. “Open that useless mouth and try again.”
Another tear follows, then another. A sob catches as he drives deeper. His groan vibrates against your spine. “Pathetic,” he murmurs, almost fond.
Hongjoong’s hand moves from your jaw to cup your face, fingers gentle even as his hips maintain their brutal pace. “Let me see what a mess you are.” He turns your face just enough to catch the tear‑tracks in the low light, pupils blown. “Crying so pretty on Daddy’s cock.”
The praise and the cruelty braid together and break something in you. “Please—” Your voice frays to a thread.
“So good for me,” he says, and then ruins it: “Good for nothing but this.” He catches another tear with his thumb. “My perfect little toy.” His palm slides down your belly, heat making your muscles jump. “Say it.”
“T—toy,” you gasp, shame and want tangling.
“Show Daddy how pretty you look when you break.” He hooks two fingers in the corner of your mouth, yanking it open so spit strings glitter from your lip. “There. Pretty mouth.”
His thumb presses your bottom lip then pushes past. Two fingers follow, flattening your tongue until drool pools at the corners of your mouth. “Keep it open,” he orders, voice rough. “Show me that useless tongue.”
You do, jaw slack, spit threading down your chin while he fucks you deep. He presses farther, taps the back of your throat until your eyes glass. The first gag catches wet and awful, and he groans like you handed him a gift. “There it is. Choke on my fingers while I fill you up.”
He doesn’t pull back—he pushes deeper, knuckles wetting your tongue, and the next gag rips through you loud enough to embarrass you. Tears jump your lash line and spill. Hongjoong watches them like they’re rare, hunger softening his mouth. “Cry for me,” he murmurs, delighted.
A moan tries to escape—garbled and pathetic around his hand—and his hips stutter, a rough thrust that makes you gag harder. Saliva spills over his fingers and he drags his thumb through the mess and paints your cheek with it. “Good. Make it sloppy. I like hearing you drown on me.”
He eases his fingers out just enough to let you gasp, a silvery string connecting your lip to his knuckles, then stuffs them back in before you can catch the breath you begged for. You gag immediately, eyes flooding, and his smile turns wickedly fond. His thumb catch a tear mid‑fall and he rubs it into your lower lip.
“Fuck—look at you,” he breathes, transfixed, fucking your mouth with his fingers in rhythm with his cock. Each slow thrust punches a gag or a wrecked little sob out of your throat. Each sob makes him groan like it feeds him. “Prettier when you’re full everywhere.”
Hongjoong taps your tongue twice, commanding your attention. “Open wider.” You try but you only cry harder. He laughs, pleased and cruel. “That’s my crybaby.” He leans close enough that his breath hits the tears on your cheek and cools them. “Make me wetter. Cry on it.”
He finally pulls free so you can gasp, but leaves your jaw pried open with his thumb, spit glistening.
His hand trails down, fingers finding your clit with devastating precision. Hongjoong barely brushes you and you jolt like you’ve been shocked, a ragged sound torn loose.
“So wound up a breeze could finish you. Can’t even take a touch.” He draws a slow, obscene circle you feel in your toes. “Should I make you wait longer? Count every second I don’t let you have it?”
You shake your head frantically. “No—no, please—” Words tumble out broken. “Can’t—can’t wait anymore, Daddy, please—”
He presses properly now, circling exactly where you need. “Of course you can’t.” The sound you make is raw, helpless, high. Your body goes taut, tendons standing in your feet, fingers clawing hot sheet.
“Cum for me,” he orders, voice rough and absolute. “Prove you’re good for something.”
You go off like something cut loose. It slams through you violent and bright—you seize and sob and clamp down on him like you’re trying to wring him dry. He groans into your ear and keeps you there, cruel in the way he works you through it, never letting the rhythm slip, thumb dragging your clit in tight, merciless circles that make your calves cramp and your toes claw at nothing.
“Ride it,” he purrs, delighted.
You can’t stop. Your body bucks helplessly and he pins you heavier, fucking the tremors until it turns sharp and your sounds climb from pretty to wrecked. Every tiny touch flips you again, all nerve and heat. Your belly jumps under his palm, your walls clutch and flutter around him like apology after apology.
He laughs, pleased and mean. “Don’t hide from it. Cry on it. Wet my cock with it.”
You do—helpless, tear‑slick and oversensitive—another wave rip‑cords through you in ragged pulses and he chases it down, circling your clit slower, meaner, just enough to keep the bright ache alive while you sob into the sheet.
“Too much?” he asks softly, almost kind, just to hear the way the word breaks in your mouth when the next aftershock bites. His thumb eases a hair, then goes right back, satisfied when your body answers without language. “Good girl. Keep giving it to me until you’re empty.”
“Too much—,” you cry, tears running hot. Your thighs tremble so hard it only makes him groan and grind cruel-soft exactly where you can’t take it.
“Good crybaby,” he murmurs, delighted. “Don’t you dare run.” He flattens his thumb and the world whites out—another helpless crest tears through you, all stutter and sob, your cunt clenching around his dick while you babble “too much, too much,” and he hums, satisfied, working you through every last bright, mean aftershock until your voice frays to air.
Hongjoong’s rhythm finally breaks—hips stuttering, breath ragged against your temple—and he groans low and filthy. His hands leave and you whimper at the loss. Air kisses the slick heat when he pulls free and you shudder. He flips you in one swift motion; your back hits the mattress, a bounce knocking a gasp out of you. The sheets are damp under your shoulder blades and the pillow is cool under fevered skin.
“Look at me.” Jaw tight, eyes wild, control fraying. A vein jumps in his neck. He looks like sin and victory.
“Hands above your head.” You obey, wrists crossing. “Don’t move.” His palm pins your wrists; the heel of it grinds the bones together until you whine. The other drops to his cock and works himself once, twice, your slick shines on his length.
“Eyes on me.”
“Fuck—” The word breaks as his release lashes hot across your stomach and chest. Cum splashes your throat, a line streaks your collarbone. He doesn’t look away from your face while he watches it drip. Ragged breath. Shuddering shoulders.
He drags two fingers through the mess and paints your lips with it, slow. He pushes his fingers past your tongue. “Suck it up like a good little slut.” You do, cheeks hollowing, and he hums approval when you gag around his knuckles then he pulls free with a wet pop.
Hongjoong smears the rest of his cum across your cheek and jaw, then rubs what’s left into your throat.
“Hands stay.” Your wrists ache deliciously. His palm presses your sternum, shortening your breath; he lifts it just enough to give you air, like charity. Then he kisses you deep, filthy, tasting salt and himself on your tongue. He palms the back of your thigh and hikes it high to his hip. “Round two,” he says like a sentence.
“No—no—” Your thighs slam shut on instinct, trembling violently. Oversensitive doesn’t begin to cover it—every nerve ending feels raw, exposed, like touching a live wire. Your knees knock together as you try to curl away, breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
Hongjoong’s hand catches your knee before you can fully close yourself off. His grip is firm but he doesn’t force—not yet. He watches you shake apart, eyes dark and assessing.
“Too much?” The question sounds almost curious, like he’s cataloging your limits for future reference.
“I can’t—” Your voice breaks on a sob. “Please, I need—just a minute—”
His thumb traces idle circles on your kneecap, a mockery of gentleness while your body still trembles from the aftershocks. “That’s not how this works, love.” He leans down, lips brushing your temple. “You don’t get to decide when we’re done.”
His hand slides up your thigh, not forcing your legs open yet, just resting there with casual ownership. “You know how we end things.” It’s not a question. His eyebrow arches, that familiar challenge, and your stomach drops because you do know. You know exactly what he’s waiting for.
The word sits on your tongue—red. Simple. Final. It would stop everything.
But it won’t come.
“No?” His thumb strokes once, twice, maddeningly gentle against your feverish skin. “Then I’ll make it easy for you.” His voice drops, taking on that edge that makes your pulse stutter. “Three seconds. Say it or I’m not stopping.”
Your breath catches. Every nerve ending screams that you can’t, that you’re too wrecked, too sensitive, too much—
“One.”
The word is right there. Red. Your lips part.
“Two.”
His fingers trail higher, barely a whisper of touch, and you tremble. Your mouth stays open, empty.
“Three.” He waits one more heartbeat, eyes locked on yours, searching. When nothing comes—when you just stare back at him, panting and wrecked and silent—something shifts in his expression. Satisfaction, dark and absolute. “That’s what I thought.”
“Let daddy in.”
Your thighs fall open slowly, a surrender that feels like defeat and relief tangled together. He drags the blunt head through your slick and slaps it against your clit—wet, obscene—once, twice, just to watch your whole body jump. When he pushes in—slow, deliberate, watching every micro-expression that crosses your face—the oversensitivity makes you keen, a broken sound that's half-sob, half-moan.
“Good girl,” Hongjoong murmurs, and doesn’t move. He stays buried to the hilt, making you feel every inch, every slow pulse. Your walls flutter around him and he hisses through his teeth. “Still.”
“Daddy—” You twitch, trying to adjust to the obscene fullness, and his hand clamps your hip hard enough to bruise.
“I said still.” His voice is steel. He shifts a mean millimeter deeper, a promise you’re going to hate loving. “You said you ‘can’t’ anymore? Cute.” He settles like a stake driven into the earth. “Then be useful.” Hongjoong’s hand lifts your thigh and hooks your knee higher, forcing the angle open until the stretch sits deep and electric. “Keep Daddy’s dick warm,” he says, bored and cruel.
Heat licks up your spine. Hongjoong doesn’t thrust. He doesn’t have to. You try to breathe around it. He shifts another millimeter—just a cruel reminder of his thickness—and the sound that leaks out of you is humiliating.
You twitch—instinct, pathetic—and his cock slides against a nerve that makes your whole body jolt. You try to chase it, hips rolling a greedy inch before you can stop yourself.
“Did I say you could move?” His voice cuts through the haze, razor-clean. His palm slams your hip back to the mattress, pinning you flat with bruising force. “Greedy little sleeve. One rule. You can’t even manage one.”
A wrecked whimper leaks out. The stillness is torture—every ridge, every vein, the obscene stretch of him pulsing inside you while your body screams to grind, to rub, to take. Your thighs tremble. Your toes curl like you’re trying to scratch at the air.
“Please—” you gasp, voice shaking. “I need—”
“You need?” He laughs, low and mean. “You need to learn to take what you’ve given.” His fingers dig into your hip, owning the flesh. “Move again and I pull out. I leave you empty and leaking with your little hole clenched around nothing. Is that what you want?”
“N—no, Daddy, please—”
“Then be fucking still.” He settles a breath deeper, a hateful inch that makes you sob, and holds you there like a knife sheathed to the hilt. “Keep me warm like I told you.” His mouth brushes your ear, the smile audible. “Stop acting like a desperate slut who can’t control herself.”
You feel the words burn through you; your walls flutter helplessly around him. You can’t stop the tiny drag of your hips—barely there, shameful—and he feels it immediately.
“Ah‑ah.” He smiles against your cheek.
“Please—” It scrapes out of you, ragged.
“Please what.” Flat as a verdict. “Use your stupid mouth.” His thumb strokes your jaw, mock‑gentle.
Your body shakes with effort. Your calves cramp. “Please—” The word fractures before it can form, dissolving into a sound that’s barely human—just need and surrender wrapped in breath.
The fullness skates the edge of too much; oversensitivity turns every slow beat into bright heat. Hongjoong only watches, pleased and dark, while you struggle to hold still around him. A whimper leaves you, broken and desperate.
“Quiet,” he says, almost bored. “Toys don’t whine.” He shifts deeper just to hear the noise you make. “Hands flat. Eyes open. Count your breaths if you need to. Don’t twitch.”
You count breaths because he told you to and lose the thread at eight, at nine, at nothing, because your body betrays you—tiny flutters you can’t control. Each one earns you a hum against your temple, a lazy squeeze at your throat that says he felt it.
“Pathetic,” he croons finally, sounding pleased.
“Daddy—” slips out again, ruined.
“What do you think you’re going to ask for? You’re full. You’re not getting more. You’re keeping me.”
“Please—”
“Please what?” His voice goes flat. “No babbling, no noise. Full sentence. Ask to be used.”
Shame burns hot. “Please use me, Daddy.”
“Mhm.” He rewards you with a single, slow grind that rolls through you like thunder, then stops dead. “Ask better.”
Your throat tightens. The words stick—humiliating—but his silence is worse, patient and hungry, like he has all night to watch you crack. “Please use me however you want, Daddy,” you whisper, voice breaking. “I’m yours—I’m just—please, I need you to—”
“Need me to what?” His thumb traces your bottom lip, almost tender in a way that makes you want to sob. “Say it clear or I’ll sit inside you and watch you shake until morning.”
“Please fuck me,” you gasp, shame scorching every syllable. “Please—use me like the toy I am. I can’t—Daddy, wreck me, please—”
“There it is.” His smile cuts wicked against your jaw. “See? Useless little mouth can learn.” He drags out of you slow—obscenely slow—until only the tip sits at your entrance. The loss rips a whimper out of you. “Since you asked nicely.”
He slams back in with no warning. Your toes curl hard enough to hurt. Your nails bite your palms. You don’t move. You don’t dare.
“Better,” he decides, and finally gives you motion—small, shallow, nothing like mercy. Short, ruthless strokes that never leave you, just rock deep enough to make your breath hitch on every one. “Count them.”
“One,” you whisper. “Two.” By four your voice shakes. By seven it thins to air. By ten you’ve lost the number and he has to murmur it for you against your mouth, amused.
“Ten,” he says, and nips your bottom lip. “Hopeless little counter.” He pulls out to the edge again and you whine without meaning to. He catches your chin hard. “What did I say about whining?”
“Toys don’t whine,” you breathe, panicked and obedient.
“That’s right.” He slides back in, the stretch a bright, tearing relief, and sets a new pace that is nothing like earlier—just deep and slow and devastating, like he’s proving he can keep you here forever.
You feel it rising again—desperation clawing up your throat, that helpless way your body starts chasing friction on its own. Your hips twitch forward, greedy without permission. His fingers bite down instantly.
“Stop.” Ice-cold.
But you don’t. You can’t. You’re wrecked and stupid with need, and your body rolls again—small, hungry little pulses that betray every order he’s given you. A whine slips out, high and broken.
“Daddy, please—I can’t—I need more, please—”
“You can’t?” His voice drops to something dangerous. “Or you won’t?”
“I can’t—” Another whimper. Your hips buck again, chasing the friction he’s withholding, and the sound that leaves you is pathetic. “Please, Daddy, I need—need you to move, need it harder, need—”
He goes dead still inside you. The absence of movement is worse than any punishment.
“Greedy little thing,” he says, tone flat with disappointment. “I give you my cock to keep warm and you can’t even manage that without turning into a whining, desperate mess.”
“I’m sorry—” You’re babbling now, words tripping over themselves. “I’m sorry, Daddy, please—just—please fuck me, I’ll be good—”
“You’ll be good?” He laughs—sharp, cruel, joyless. “You’re not being good now. You’re being a greedy slut who can’t follow a single fucking instruction.” His hand slides from your hip to your throat—fingers wrapping lightly. Your pulse hammers against his palm. “I don’t like you like this.”
It hits like a slap. Shame floods hot and immediate, and still your body trembles, still clenching around him, still needing.
“Please—”
“Please what? Please keep giving you what you clearly can’t handle?” He shifts just enough to make you whine, then stops again. “You’re not ready for more. You can’t even take what I’ve already given you without falling apart.”
“I can—I can take it—” Your voice breaks on a sob.
“No.” Firm. Final. “You can’t. Look at you. Shaking and whining and begging like you forgot how to be still.” His thumb strokes your throat once—almost gentle, which makes it worse. “I told you to be useful. Instead you’re being pathetic.”
The disappointment punches something open in your chest. You force yourself still—every muscle screaming—swallowing the whine clawing up your tongue. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, small and wrecked. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
He watches you for a long, measuring beat. Then, slowly, he withdraws completely. The emptiness is a knife.
“Daddy—no—please—”
“Quiet.” The word drops like a brick. He stays out of you, cock wet against your slit, heat without mercy. “You want more when you can’t even fucking hold still?” His laugh is flat and ugly.
Your chest hitches. “Daddy, I—”
“Don’t talk.” He drags the swollen head through your slick once, slow, and you gasp like a drowning thing. The emptiness screams. “You don’t get my cock. You get consequence.”
“Do you want Daddy to go find himself another hole?” His words hit like acid, eating under your skin. “A quiet one. An obedient sleeve that doesn’t twitch, doesn’t whine, doesn’t make me repeat myself like I’m training a puppy.”
“No—” It tears out of you, small and panicked. “No, Daddy, please—”
“No?” Hongjoong sounds almost curious, like he’s already halfway out the door. “Because you’re not acting like you want to keep me. You’re acting like a spoiled toy that forgot what it’s for.”
“I do—I want to keep you—” Your voice breaks. “Please don’t—I’ll be good, I promise—”
“You promised to stay still five fucking minutes ago and look where that got us.” His thumb drags across your bottom lip, cruelly tender. “Maybe I should find a hole that knows how to listen. One that doesn’t babble, doesn’t beg, and doesn’t forget every rule the second it gets full.”
The image scalds—him leaving you empty and shaking while he goes somewhere else—and the sob that rips free is ugly.
“Please, Daddy—please—I’ll do better, I swear—don’t leave, please don’t, I need you—”
“Need me?” His voice goes flat. “You need to learn to fucking behave.” He drags the head of his cock on your swollen clit like a threat and your body jerks up desperately. “See? Even now you can’t stay still.”
“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—” Tears slip hot into your hair. “I’ll be good, I promise, please just—stay—”
“One. More. Chance.” Soft and lethal. “You twitch, you whine, you breathe wrong—and I’m done with you tonight. I’ll go find that quiet hole, and you can hump the sheet and think about why I left.”
The burn in your eyes sharpens.
“Say the rule.”
You swallow. “Keep—keep you warm.”
“At a minimum.” He taps the head against your clit again—light, mean—once. Your twitch and his hand locks your pelvis to the mattress with bruising pressure. “And you couldn’t even fucking do that.”
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, shaking.
“I don’t want sorry. I want silent, still, useful.” He lays the fat tip at your entrance and holds it there. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to keep me right here and not twitch. You breathe wrong, we reset. You beg wrong, we reset. You whine, you don’t get me at all.”
“Daddy—”
“Start.” His thumb presses your throat, not choking, just owning. “Five breaths.”
You count, voice wrecked and tiny. One. Two. Your body claws for friction and he hears the minuscule drag in your hips like it’s a confession.
“Reset,” he says, bored. The head lifts off you. The loss is a knife. He sets it back and you whine before you can strangle it.
“Reset.” He smiles without warmth.
Shame burns through you. “Please—” You bite it off and force your lungs to move. One. Two. Three. At four he ghosts the head forward—no entry, just stretch on the skin—and you hiccup a sound you barely recognise.
“Reset,” he repeats, almost amused now. “We’d be done by now if you weren’t such a needy fuckup.”
“I can do it.”
“Doubt it.” He pats your cheek condescendingly. “But try again.”
You count, lips trembling. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
He stares down at you, unimpressed. “Now thank me for not fucking you.”
The sentence scrapes your throat raw. “Thank you for not fucking me, Daddy.”
He hums, pleased—and disappointed anyway. “Again, like you mean it.”
“Thank you for not fucking me,” you rush the words out, “For making me still. For making me useful.”
“Finally.” The head presses, a murderous inch, then stops dead inside—no thrust, just fullness that feels like a verdict. You choke on a sound; his fingers tighten on your jaw.
“Now you hold me there and you don’t move,” he says, low and lethal.
Your body locks into place, every muscle screaming against the stillness. The stretch sits there—barely inside, not enough, too much—and he doesn't move. Just watches you shake around that single cruel inch, his expression flat and clinical, like he's studying how long it takes before you break again.
He watches your thighs quiver around that single inch like he’s timing a lab experiment. “Three breaths,” he says, voice clinical. “Earn another inch.”
You breathe. One. Two. On three your belly flutters; he feels it. The head slides in a second inch and stops dead. You whimper through your teeth.
“Again. Three.”
You make it, barely—every nerve screaming—and he feeds you another inch like he’s measuring with a ruler. “See?” he murmurs, disappointed anyway. “When you shut up and follow orders you almost pass for useful.”
“Daddy—”
His palm covers your mouth, not to mute, to own.
He waits, indifferent to the shake, then seats the rest in a slow, inevitable push and locks your hips to the mattress. Utterly full. Utterly still.
“There.” His fingers tap your jaw, condescending. “Now ask me for nothing.”
You swallow hard, nod against his palm because language might ruin you. He smiles—cold, pleased—and starts the smallest motion imaginable, a cruel internal drag that never lets you chase. Your body tries anyway. He feels the microscopic reach.
“Aaand there she is,” he sighs, disgusted.
“On your fucking knees,” he says, voice flat and final. “Ass up.”
He pulls out completely—the emptiness is brutal—and you scramble to obey, limbs clumsy with need. Your knees hit the mattress, your chest drops, and you arch your back the way he likes, presenting yourself like an apology.
“Higher.” His palm cracks across your ass—sharp, unforgiving—and you gasp, lifting until your spine curves obscene. “There. Now stay exactly like that and think about why you're here instead of full of my cock.”
The air feels too cold on your exposed cunt. You hear him move behind you, deliberate and unhurried, and the anticipation is its own kind of torture. His hand smooths over the curve of your ass once—almost tender—then his palm comes down again, harder. The sound cracks through the room.
“Count.”
“One,” you breathe, shaking.
Another, lower—right on the tender hinge where ass meets thigh. You jerk, then wrench yourself back into place.
“Two—”
“Louder. Like you fucking mean it.”
The next lands before your mouth can catch up. You yelp. “Three!”
“Better.” He pauses, fingers trailing through the slick mess between your thighs, not giving you anything, just reminding you what you're not getting. The touch is featherlight—clinical, almost—and it makes you ache harder than if he'd pressed down with intent. Your clit throbs where his knuckles barely graze it, swollen and desperate, and the emptiness inside you feels like a wound. Every nerve ending screams for more.
“Why are you here?”
“Because I couldn’t stay still—couldn’t—”
“Because you’re greedy.” The slap is vicious and precise. “Four.”
“Four,” you sob.
“Because you take what I give you and immediately beg for more like it’s not enough.” His hand comes down again, twice in quick succession, and you lose count, scrambling to catch up.
“Five—six—“
“Pathetic.” He sounds disgusted and pleased at the same time. His knuckles skim the burn, then slide meanly through your slick, circle your clit once and abandon it like a test you failed. The touch makes you clench around nothing, empty and aching, every nerve ending screaming for more pressure, more contact, more of him. The abandonment feels like a punishment you can’t name—your body chasing something he’s already taken away. “Still dripping. Still desperate. Still not listening.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy—”
“You will be.” His fist knots in your hair, yanking your face off the sheet. “We keep going until your body remembers how to obey. You twitch or gasp wrong, we reset to one.”
The next strike lands; you choke the whimper into your teeth and hold. “Seven!”
“Let’s see you make it to ten without falling apart.”
Eight snaps high on the curve; nine brutal on the sit spot. You bite the inside of your cheek until you taste iron and force the numbers out steady—“Eight. Nine.”—and you don’t move.
Ten comes down perfect, right where it hurts prettiest.
“Ten.” Your voice is raw but even. Silence drops heavy around it.
“Look at that,” he murmurs, palm smoothing over the heat, reverent like he’s polishing his work. “Directions aren’t complicated when you’re not busy failing.”
His fingers trace the marks he’s left, then slide lower, through the slick mess between your thighs. You bite down hard on your lip to keep from making a sound, from pushing back into his touch.
“Don’t you dare chase,” he says softly.
You lock your hips but Hongjoong rewards you with nothing. Then—finally, cruelly—one slow circle on your clit that makes your calves charlie-horse and your lungs forget.
You wait. You hold perfectly still, thighs shaking, breathing shallow through your nose. You wait for the praise—for him to tell you you’re good, that you’ve finally done it right, that you’ve earned something. The silence stretches. His thumb stays maddeningly light, circling without pressure, and the words don't come.
They’re not coming.
The realisation settles cold in your chest even as heat coils tighter in your belly. He’s not going to give it to you.
“Please,” you whisper, a thread. “Please tell me I did good.”
Hongjoong’s hand stills. The silence stretches, and you feel the weight of his gaze on you.
“Ask properly.”
You swallow hard, forcing the words out even as shame and need tangle in your chest. “Please, Daddy. Please tell me I’m good. I need to hear it. I need to know I did well.”
His thumb resumes—tight, deliberate circles that you meet with perfect stillness because you want the words more than air. “You want praise?” he asks, almost curious. “After the shitshow you put on?”
“I made it to ten,” you rasp. “I stayed still. I didn’t move.”
“You finally did what you were told,” he concedes. Pressure sharpens and every muscle in you locks so you don’t grind into it. “Miracles.”
“Please,” you breathe. “Please, Daddy—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Hongjoong says, voice flat. His thumb stops mid-circle and lifts off entirely. “I didn’t ask for begging. I asked for obedience.”
The loss of contact is devastating. You bite back a whimper, holding position even as your thighs shake.
“You think making it to ten earns you anything?” He sounds almost bored now, disgusted. “That’s the bare minimum of not being completely fucking useless.”
Your eyes burn. You keep your face pressed to the sheet, don’t move, don’t speak.
“You want praise for doing what you should’ve done the first time?” His hand comes down once more on your ass. “For finally shutting up and following a simple fucking instruction?”
Silence. You don’t answer because he didn’t ask a question you’re allowed to respond to.
“That’s what I thought.” His fingers trail back between your thighs, maddeningly light, and you hold so still you forget to breathe. “You don’t get praise for meeting expectations. You get my cock when you exceed them.” His voice drops, cruel and clinical. “And you? You’re so far below the bar I’d need a fucking shovel to find where you started. You think ten slaps and some tears make you special? You’re not even average. You’re just finally less of a disappointment than you were five minutes ago.”
His fist knots in your hair again and yanks you upright—sharp, brutal—until your spine arcs and your knees scream against the mattress. Your scalp burns; your throat opens on a gasp you can’t swallow back.
“Look at me.” His voice is low, final. You force your eyes open, vision blurred, and meet his gaze. It’s flat. Clinical. Like he’s deciding whether you’re worth the effort.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” He tightens his grip until tears spring hot and immediate. “Attention. Validation. My fucking time.”
You can’t nod—his hold won’t let you—so you whisper it, wrecked. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Then stop fucking wasting it.” He drags you closer by the hair, your body folding backward, chest exposed, throat vulnerable. “Stop begging for praise you haven’t earned. Stop moving when I tell you to be still. Stop acting like you don’t know exactly what I expect from you.”
He releases your hair and you collapse forward, gasping. Before you can catch your breath, his hands are on your hips, hauling you upright and off the bed entirely. Your legs don’t work right—numb and shaking—but Hongjoong doesn't care, dragging you across the room until your palms hit cold glass.
“Hands flat,” he orders, positioning you facing the window. The city glitters below, oblivious. “Don’t you fucking move them.”
You press your palms to the glass, the chill biting into your overheated skin. The window is floor-to-ceiling, and you’re on the twentieth floor—exposed, visible if anyone bothered to look up. The thought makes your stomach drop.
“Daddy—“ you start, voice thin with panic.
“I don’t remember asking you to speak.” His hand lands between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest forward until your breasts press flat against the glass. The cold shocks through you, nipples hardening instantly, and you gasp at the contrast. “You wanted my attention? Congratulations. Now everyone down there gets a front-row seat to what happens when you finally shut the fuck up and do what you’re told.”
His breath is hot against your ear as he leans in closer, caging you against the window. “Look at them. All those people going about their boring little lives, and if even one of them glanced up right now, they’d see you—spread out, dripping, desperate. They’d see exactly what kind of slut you are. The kind who begs for cock pressed against a window twenty floors up.”
He grinds his hips forward slightly, not entering yet, just letting you feel the threat of it. “Think about it. Some guy walking his dog. Some woman coming home from work. And there you are—tits against the glass, ass out, waiting to be fucked like you’re on display. Like you’re a show I’m putting on for the whole goddamn city.”
He kicks your feet apart, wider than stable, until you’re on display—open, vulnerable. His hand trails down your spine, over the burning marks on your ass, then lower.
“Stay exactly like this,” he says, voice deadly calm. “Hands on the glass. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound."
You feel him line up behind you, the blunt pressure of his cock against your entrance. Your breath fogs the window. Every instinct screams to push back, to take what you need, but you lock your muscles and hold.
“Everyone can see you,” he says, breath hot against your ear as he leans over you, caging you between his body and the glass. “See how desperate you are.”
The angle is punishing. He bottoms out so deep you feel it in your throat then he pulls to the edge and shoves back in in one rude stroke. Your gasp splashes white on the glass. Hongjoong watches it bloom and fade and times the next thrust to erase it. He does not tease. He does not test. He just takes—hips snapping in a pace with no mercy—each impact a proof that your body belongs exactly where he’s putting it. When your thighs start to shake he only tightens his hand at your hip, grinding you into the glass so the cold bites your nipples and the heat bites everywhere else
Your reflection stares back at you—fucked out, wrecked, mouth open on silent gasps you’re not allowed to voice.
“This is what you needed,” he continues, rhythm brutal and unrelenting. “Not praise. Not softness. Just someone to put you exactly where you belong and fuck the desperation out of you until you remember how to behave.”
Your legs are shaking so hard you can barely stand, but his grip on your hips is iron, holding you in place, keeping you upright and on display as he uses you against the window.
You’re e so full. The stretch is devastating—not painful, but so complete it rewires every nerve ending, makes you hyperaware of every inch of him inside you. Your body clenches reflexively, trying to adjust, and the friction makes your breath stutter. He’s so deep you feel it in your stomach, a pressure that borders on too much but somehow isn’t enough.
The heat of him is overwhelming. You can feel every throb, every shift of his hips, the way he fills every space until there’s nothing left but him. Your walls flutter around his length, trying to accommodate, trying to hold on, and the sensation makes your head spin.
You feel owned. Claimed. Like your body was made specifically for this—for him to fill and use and shape however he wants. The thought makes you clench again, and you hear his breath catch behind you.
Hongjoong’s hand clamps your hip and drags you back onto him while his mouth finds the slope where neck becomes shoulder. He bites—hard, deliberate—until your breath splinters on the glass, then sucks wickedly slow to pull the bruise up dark and pretty. “Mine,” he says into the mark, not for you, for the mirror of your face in the window.
Rings grind into your skin as his fingers hike your waist higher, leaving crescent dents along your side. He shifts his grip to your ass and you almost hiss—the flesh is still burning from before, hypersensitive—but he doesn’t care, squeezing until your skin crests his knuckles. Then he smacks the same handprint in place—once, twice, a third time—each impact landing on already-raw skin that makes you gasp sharp and broken into the glass.
His mouth trails lower, teeth scraping the curve where your shoulder meets your throat. He sucks hard enough to sting, working the skin until you feel the heat bloom under his lips. When he pulls back, you know there's a mark—dark and obvious, a claim you'll see tomorrow and every day after until it fades.
“Everyone’s going to know,” he murmurs against your skin, moving to a new spot. His teeth catch again, sharper this time, and you whimper before you can stop yourself. He doesn’t scold you for it. Instead, he hums, pleased, and works his way across your throat, your collarbone, the top of your shoulder—each love bite deliberate, territorial. His tongue soothes over the marks before his teeth return, and the contrast makes you dizzy. Your reflection in the glass shows the trail he’s leaving. A constellation of bruises that spell out exactly who you belong to.
“Prettier when you bruise,” he murmurs, and you feel him smile against your throat. He shoves your wrists wider on the glass, laces his fingers over yours so you can’t hide the way you shake, and fucks you harder—short, piston drives that press your chest flat and stamp the rhythm into your spine. Your breath paints messy halos on the pane. Hongjoong leans forward and bites your ear, low laugh ugly against your skin.
His mouth moves to the curve of your neck, lips dragging slow over the sensitive skin just below your ear. The gentleness is unexpected—devastating. Your body doesn’t know what to do with tender after brutal, and the contrast hits like a live wire. He kisses once, soft, then again lower, and your breath catches wrong in your chest.
“Daddy—“ you try to warn him, but it comes out broken.
“Quiet,” he murmurs against your throat, and kisses you again. His lips are warm, almost reverent as they trail down to your shoulder, and the rhythm of his hips never falters—still deep, still unrelenting, but now paired with this impossible softness that’s unraveling you faster than anything brutal ever could.
It builds wrong. Too fast. You weren’t ready for it—one second you’re holding on, the next you’re free-falling, your orgasm slamming into you without warning. Your whole body locks up, spine arcing away from the glass as the pleasure rips through you in violent, uncontrollable waves. He feels the clamp coming—a greedy, panicked grab—and rips out in one brutal drag.
The world snaps wrong. Heat turns to air, slick to cold, friction to nothing. Your cry out raw and too loud, fog exploding across the glass in a white star. Your thighs slam together on instinct and find only his palm, flat and merciless, forcing your knees wide again. Everything skids, your body still pitched for impact while the impact is gone, nerves misfiring, the ache in your belly pitching higher with nowhere to go. Your clit throbs, your calves seize, your nipples spark on the pane.
“Did I say you could cum, you filthy slut?” His voice is ice and venom.
”Please-” Your voice cracks into a ragged wail you can’t swallow. The sound embarrasses you even as it keeps coming-thin, high, animal-your chest scraping the glass as you shudder.
“Shut your fucking mouth.” Hongjoong’s hand clamps your jaw brutal and drags your open mouth to the window so you hear yourself against the pane-hot breath, pathetic little whimpers bouncing back. “Disgusting. Look at this mess.” Two fingers slide through the slick pouring out of you and slap your clit mean, the sting bright and metallic and your whole body jerks like a current ran through you. “Dripping like a bitch in heat. You’re fucking pathetic.”
He does it again-lighter, crueler-just enough to sharpen the ache and keep it blooming. “Greedy cunt couldn't wait, could she?” The cold on your front feels like punishment, the heat at your back feels like a dare. You can taste blood where you bit your tongue, you can feel his ring scrape your hip as he drags your pelvis higher and pins you there, open and empty and shaking. “Worthless little whore. Can’t follow one simple fucking rule.”
“Could’ve asked. Could’ve been good. But no-you had to be a desperate fucking cumslut,” he snarls at your reflection, voice dripping contempt. He paints your hipbone with your own slick like a stripe, degrading, then presses his thumb into the fresh bruise on your shoulder hard enough to make you gasp. “Now hold it and suffer.”
Your body argues in every language it has—fluttering, pleading squeezes at nothing, a pulse between your legs that hurts, a tremor you can’t stop—while he gives you exactly no motion where you need it and too much where you can’t take it. He bites the hinge of your jaw, sucks until colour swells up pretty and dark, and when your breath stutters toward that helpless climb again, he taps your clit once—just once—and the wave collapses with a sob that fogs the glass and runs. “Filthy fucking thing. This is what disobedient sluts get.”
Your body is betraying you—hips rolling in tiny, desperate circles even though he’s not inside you anymore, chasing friction that isn’t there. The orgasm he denied you earlier left everything raw and oversensitive, and now every nerve ending is screaming for release. Your clit throbs in time with your pulse, swollen and aching, and the emptiness inside you feels like a physical wound.
You can feel it building again—that terrible, inevitable climb. Your thighs are shaking so hard they might give out. Heat pools low in your belly, coiling tighter with each ragged breath. It’s different this time—sharper, more desperate, edged with something that feels dangerously close to panic because you know what happens if you fall over without permission.
“Daddy—please—” Your voice cracks on the plea. “I need—I can’t—”
The pressure builds and builds, your body pulled taut as a wire, every muscle locked in anticipation of a release you’re not allowed to have. You’re so close it hurts—that edge right there, shimmering just out of reach, and your body keeps reaching for it anyway, mindless and greedy and completely beyond your control.
His fingers barely touch your clit, just the ghost of pressure—and begin to circle with agonising slowness. Not enough to give relief, just enough to make everything worse. Each lazy pass sends sparks shooting through your nerves, stoking the fire instead of quenching it.
“You gonna try cumming again without permission?” His laugh is cruel against your ear, all sharp edges. His hand spreads over your throat, thumb under your jaw to keep your face to the window, forcing you to watch yourself fall apart. “Be still. Feel every second of what you don’t deserve. Feel it, you needy little whore.”
Your body doesn’t listen—can’t listen. The orgasm crashes through you anyway, ripping a broken cry from your throat as you clench and pulse around nothing. Your legs give out completely, only his grip on your throat keeping you upright against the glass as pleasure tears through you in waves you can’t control.
“Did I fucking say you could?” Hongjoong’s voice is ice.
Your vision blurs with tears—shame and oversensitivity and the cruel ache of cumming empty. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I couldn’t—”
“Pathetic.” He releases your throat and you crumple, legs buckling, but he catches you by the hips before you hit the floor.
Hongjoong peels you off the window by the back of your neck and walks you to the bed like he owns the hinge of every joint. The mattress hits the backs of your knees, he doesn’t guide you down so much as throw you, a bounce knocking a breathless sound out of you.
His hand cracks across your face—not hard enough to hurt, but sharp enough to snap your attention back to him. The sting blooms hot across your cheek, shocking you into stillness.
“Eyes on me,” he commands, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you dare look away.”
He slaps you again—same cheek, harder this time—and the sound that rips from your throat is pure, shameless need. A moan, broken and desperate, that makes his eyes go dark.
“Fuck,” he breathes, almost reverent. His thumb traces the reddened skin, the heat of it blooming under his touch. “You like that, don’t you?”
Before you can answer, he slaps you again—lighter this time, almost playful—and watches your pupils blow wide. “Yeah,” he confirms, reading your body like a book he’s memorised. “You fucking love it.”
He’s on you a second later—knee between yours, shoving them wide—hands mean on your hips as he lines up and drives in with one brutal stroke that punches the air out of you.
“Quiet,” he snaps, palm clamping over your mouth. “Swallow it.”
Your moan dies behind his hand, trapped in your throat where it burns. No easing, no rhythm—just slam, slam, slam—his pelvis clapping your thighs, the headboard starting to complain in hard little knocks that match your pulse. The angle is obscene with your hips tipped; each drag feels like he’s stripping you to the studs and hammering you back together wrong. Every sound you want to make gets caught behind his palm, building pressure in your chest until you’re choking on your own desperation.
“Look at me,” he grits. You do—eyes glassy—and it only makes him rougher. Heat builds thick and fast in your belly again, that off‑the‑cliff drop, the ache and burn at your clit. The sounds are wet and humiliating and loud, but your moans stay trapped—swallowed down like he ordered, leaving only the whimpers that leak through your nose and the desperate way you’re breathing against his palm.
Hongjoong’s close—you can feel it in the way his breathing saws, in the vicious set of his mouth, in the way his rhythm goes intent and ugly, grinding at the end of each thrust like he’s carving his name into the spot that makes you see static. His hand stays firm over your mouth, forcing you to take it in silence, to keep every wrecked sound locked inside where only you can feel how thoroughly he’s breaking you apart. You catch the first stutter in his hips and reach for him without thinking, greedy, pleading.
“Don’t.” The word is a snarl. He stuffs you full and holds there, cock thick and pulsing inside you, then drags out slow enough to scrape sparks and snaps back in hard enough to jolt your spine. “You don’t deserve Daddy’s cum.”
The sentence lands like a slap. Heat spikes behind your eyes; your body clenches around him in panicked apology.
“Please—” you manage against his palm, the word muffled and desperate.
“You need to learn.” Another slam—deep, punishing—and the next rolls through you like thunder, heavy grind at the end that drags a high, torn sound from your throat.
Your hands scramble for purchase on his shoulders, nails digging in, but he catches both wrists in one hand and pins them above your head. His other hand finally leaves your mouth.
“Please,” you sob, shameless now. “Please fill me—please let me have it—I’ll hold it—I’ll be good—”
He laughs—short, cruel—breath burning your cheek. “Will you?” His hand slides to your throat, thumb under your jaw to tilt your face up so he can watch you fall apart. “Say it properly.”
“Please, Daddy,” you gasp, voice breaking on the word. “Please cum inside me. I need it. I need you. I’ll keep it. I’ll—” Your voice knifes up because he grinds just right and the lights stipple again. “Please—I’ll be useful—please—”
His control frays; you feel it in the nasty little shiver that runs through him, in the way he clamps your hip like it’s the only thing stopping him from painting you from the inside. He bares his teeth, eyes sharp and dark. “Beg better.”
“Please—use me properly—mark me from the inside—please, Daddy—”
“Mhm.” The sound is a threat and a promise. He slams you deeper, deeper, harder—headboard knocking time, breath brutal at your ear—then rips out at the last second and fists himself once, twice, the wet slick of you shining his length while you wail.
“No—no, please—" The words tumble out desperate and broken. You reach for him with shaking hands, shameless now, all pride dissolved. “Please fill me up—mark me—use me—” You’re babbling, hips canting up obscenely, trying to tempt him back.
His eyes darken as he watches you fall apart, a cruel smirk playing at his lips. “Look at you,” he breathes, voice dripping with condescension. “Begging like a bitch in heat.” His fist keeps working himself, slow and deliberate, making you watch every stroke.
Your thighs spread wider without him asking, presenting yourself like an offering. “Please cum in me—I'm begging—I'll do anything—” Tears stream down your face, your voice cracking. “Need to feel you—need Daddy’s cum so bad—please don’t waste it—please use my hole.”
“Shut the fuck up.” His voice is dead calm, which makes it worse. “You think you deserve Daddy’s cum?" He laughs—short, cruel. “No. You’re going to lie there empty and watch me waste it. Watch what you don’t get to have.” His eyes are vicious, mouth twisted. “Pathetic little cumslut can’t even follow simple fucking rules. Open your eyes wider. I want you to see every drop you’re not getting.”
“Please, Daddy,” you sob, voice breaking on every word. “Please use your cumslut—please fuck me —I’ll be so good—I’ll take everything—please.”
You look at him—eyes glassed, mouth open, body clenching on nothing—while he edges himself cruelly, letting every half-breath of relief flash and die on his face. He squeezes himself hard, strangling the tremor, and lets the edge bleed away while you sob beneath him, trembling empty and open.
His hand fists in your hair, “What are you?"
“A slut,” you whimper, shame burning through you.
“A what?” He pulls harder, making you gasp.
“A pathetic slut—Daddy’s pathetic slut—”
“That’s right.” He releases your hair with a shove, letting your head fall back against the mattress. “And you love it,” he continues, voice dark with satisfaction. “Love being Daddy’s desperate fucktoy. Love being used and degraded and filled up like the greedy whore you are.”
“Yes,” you sob, because it’s true, because you can’t deny it when your body is still trembling with need.
“Tell me what you are.”
“I’m Daddy’s greedy whore,” you gasp out, shame and arousal twisting together. “I’m a desperate cumslut—I’m pathetic—I need you—”
“Fucking right you do.”
Then he flips you onto your stomach before you can process it, one hand shoving between your shoulder blades to pin you flat. The sheets are hot against your cheek, your breath trapped in the mattress.
“Stay down," Hongjoong orders, voice low and mean behind you. You feel him shift, feel the mattress dip as he repositions, and then his hands are on your hips, dragging them up, arching your back until you’re presented exactly how he wants you. You’re face-down, ass up, completely exposed with no way to see what he’s doing, no way to brace for what comes next. Your fingers twist in the sheets.
“Daddy—” you start, voice muffled.
“No,” he cuts you off. “You don’t get to look at me. You don’t get to see if I’m close. You just take what I give you and be grateful.”
He lines up and shoves in without warning, the angle deeper like this, meaner. Your cry gets swallowed by the pillow as he sets a brutal pace, hips slamming against your ass with each thrust. The sound is obscene—skin on skin, the wet slide of him inside you—and you can’t see any of it, can only feel and hear and drown in it.
“You’re lucky Daddy loves your hole,” he growls, and the words hit like a brand. His hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp crack echoing in the room. The sting blooms hot and immediate, and you whimper into the pillow.
“Lucky I don’t leave you empty and aching.” He punctuates it with another thrust, deeper, meaner, grinding at the end until you’re sobbing. “This greedy little cunt,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Always so desperate for me. Always begging so pretty.”
“Say it,” he demands. “Say you’re lucky.”
“I’m—I’m lucky,” you gasp out, voice wrecked and muffled. “I’m lucky Daddy loves my—”
“Louder.”
“I’m lucky Daddy loves my hole,” you sob, shame and arousal twisting together until you can’t tell them apart.
“That’s right.” His rhythm turns vicious, each thrust punching the words back into you. “Don’t you forget it.”
“Please, Daddy—please—I'll do anything—I'll be so good—please just fill me—please cum inside me—” You sob again, pushing back against him even though you know better, trying to take him deeper. His breath hitches and you chase it, sensing weakness.
His hand finds your clit immediately, two fingers pressing down with just enough pressure to make you jolt. “This what you needed?” he asks as he starts to rub tight, mean circles that have you gasping.
“Yes—fuck—yes, Daddy—” You can barely get the words out, your whole body arcing up into his touch. His fingers work your clit in ruthless little circles while he fucks into you, the dual sensation making your vision blur at the edges.
“Gonna make you cum on my cock this time,” he growls. “Gonna feel you squeeze me while you fall apart.” His fingers speed up, the pressure perfect and devastating, and you’re already so close you can taste it.
“Please—Daddy—I can't—” Your voice breaks, thighs shaking so hard you can barely hold yourself up. The pressure builds too fast, too much, coiling tight in your belly until it feels like something’s going to snap.
“You can,” he snarls, “You will. Show Daddy what a good little slut you are.”
The angle shifts just enough and suddenly you’re there again—past the point of holding back, past the point of control. Your orgasm slams through you with brutal force, and this time it’s different. Wetter. Your whole body locks up as you gush around him, soaking his cock, the sheets, making a mess you can’t stop even if you wanted to. The sound that rips from your throat is inhuman.
“Fuck—” Hongjoong chokes out, and his rhythm shatters. “Fuck—that’s it—” He feels you clenching and pulsing around him, feels the hot rush of your release, and it destroys him. Three more brutal thrusts and he’s gone, slamming deep and grinding as he finally, finally fills you. You feel every pulse, every throb as he empties himself inside you, his groan low and wrecked against your spine.
His hips stutter through the aftershocks, grinding shallow like he can’t bear to pull out yet. Your body is still twitching, still clenching around him in weak little aftershocks while his cum starts to leak out around where you’re joined. He stays buried deep, breathing hard against your shoulder blade.
“Good girl,” he finally murmurs, voice hoarse. “Such a good fucking girl for me.”
He doesn't pull out. Instead, his hips roll forward again, fucking his cum deeper into you, the obscene wet sound making you whimper. “One more,” he growls against your ear, his voice rough and commanding. “Give me one more.”
“Daddy—I can’t—” Your voice breaks, oversensitive and wrecked, every nerve ending screaming. It hurts—the drag of him inside you feels like fire, too much sensation on already brutalised nerves. You try to squirm away but his grip on your hips is iron.
“You can.” His hand slides back to your clit, fingers still slick, and starts those same ruthless circles. The first touch makes you sob—it’s too much, bordering on painful, your body trying to reject the stimulation. “You’re going to cum on my cock again with my cum inside you. Going to make a bigger mess.”
The sensation is overwhelming—too much, too sensitive—and it hurts. Each thrust feels like he’s grinding against raw nerves, the wet slide obscene and filthy but painful in its intensity. You can feel his cum leaking out around him, coating your thighs, but all you can focus on is how much your body is screaming at you to stop.
“Daddy—please—it hurts—” you sob, tears streaming down your face.
Hongjoong stills immediately. Completely. His fingers freeze on your clit, his hips lock in place, and the sudden absence of movement is almost jarring after the relentless intensity.
“Colour,” he demands, voice cutting through the haze with sharp clarity. “Give me your colour right now.”
You’re gasping, trying to process the question through the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.
“Green,” you manage to choke out between sobs.
“Don't lie to me.”
“Green,” you repeat, more firmly this time despite how wrecked your voice sounds. “Promise—it's green—just hurts—overwhelming— don’t stop”
“I know,” he murmur gently, his hips moving again. “I know it hurts, baby. Just breathe through it.”
You try to obey, gasping for air, and somewhere in the burning oversensitivity, something shifts. The pain doesn’t disappear, but it starts to blur at the edges, transmuting into something else. Your body adjusts to the intensity, and suddenly the hurt starts to feel good—sharp and bright and desperate.
“Feel that?” he asks, grinding deep. “Feel how full you are? That’s all Daddy’s cum, and you’re going to squeeze it out when you cum again.”
“Please—” The word comes out broken because you don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore. His fingers work your clit with practiced cruelty, and the oversensitivity that was making you sob is suddenly driving you higher. You can feel it building again—impossibly, devastatingly—your wrecked body finding another peak despite everything.
“That’s it,” he encourages, voice dark with satisfaction. “Knew you could take it. Feel you getting close again. Such a greedy little thing. Can’t get enough of daddy’s cock, can you?”
“No—no, I can't—” you gasp, pushing back against him mindlessly. The pressure builds impossibly fast, sharp and brutal and bright now instead of painful. Every nerve that was screaming in protest is now singing, driving you toward the edge with vicious intent.
“Come on,” Hongjoong growls, his fingers pressing harder, circling faster. “Give it to me. Show Daddy what a mess you can make.” His cock grinds deep, hitting that devastating angle. “Cum on Daddy’s cock right fucking now.”
Your body obeys before your mind catches up, the orgasm ripping through you with devastating force. You clench around him so hard it hurts, your walls spasming and tightening in a vice grip. The sound you make is broken and desperate, somewhere between a scream and a sob.
“Fuck—” Hongjoong chokes out, his rhythm faltering. “Fuck—you’re so tight—” His voice breaks on the last word because you’re squeezing him so hard he can barely move, your body milking him with each brutal pulse. “Gonna make me—fuck—”
He doesn’t get to finish the sentence. Your cunt clamps down on him one more time and it destroys him completely. He slams deep with a guttural groan, grinding against you as he cums again, harder this time, filling you even fuller. You feel every throb, every pulse as he empties himself inside you for the second time, his whole body shuddering against your back.
“That's my good girl,” he gasps out, voice wrecked. “Making such a pretty mess for Daddy. So fucking tight—milked it right out of me.”
You gush again—harder this time, wetter—your body wringing itself out around him in pulsing waves while his cum floods you. The release is so intense it borders on violent, liquid heat flooding between your legs, soaking everything. You feel it run down your thighs, hear it drip onto the already-ruined sheets, and the humiliation of it only makes you clench harder, forcing more of his release to leak out around where you’re joined.
“There it is,” Hongjoong breathes, reverent and filthy at once. “So fucking messy for me.” His hips keep grinding shallow, working you both through it, forcing every last drop out while you shake and sob beneath him. “Such a good little squirter. Making Daddy so proud.”
Your whole body goes limp, muscles giving out completely. You collapse face-first into the mattress, boneless and used, trembling with aftershocks. Hongjoong finally stills, cock still buried deep, and lets his weight settle against your back. His breathing is ragged against your neck.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your sweat-slick shoulder. “You did so fucking perfect, baby. Squeezed me so tight I couldn’t help it.”
You can’t move, can’t think, can barely breathe. The sheets beneath you are soaked—cum and your own release mixing in a cooling puddle. Hongjoong shifts slightly, cock still buried deep, and you whimper at the oversensitivity. You can feel how full you are, how much he’s filled you, and it leaks out in thick rivulets with even the smallest movement.
When he finally pulls out, the loss is immediate and devastating. You whine—high and broken—feeling unbearably empty after being so full. His cum starts to leak out in earnest now, thick and warm, dripping down your thighs in slow rivulets. The sensation makes you shudder.
“Shh,” Hongjoong soothes, his hand stroking down your spine. He shifts his weight, hands sliding under your shoulders as he carefully rolls you onto your back. Your body settles against the mattress, and you feel more of his cum leak out with the position change, thick and warm between your legs.
“There we go,” he murmurs, settling between your spread thighs. “Look how much Daddy filled you up. So much it can’t even stay inside.”
You whimper, hips twitching uselessly, body still trying to clench around nothing. The emptiness feels wrong after everything, like you’ve been carved hollow. More of his release spills out with each aftershock, and you can feel it cooling on your skin.
“So pretty like this,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “All fucked out and dripping. Made such a mess of you.” His thumb drags through the slickness, spreading it further, and you keen at the oversensitivity. “My perfect mess.”
You can’t form words, can only lie there trembling while he touches you with a gentleness that feels almost cruel after everything.
“Good girl,” he whispers, and the praise makes something warm bloom in your chest despite your exhaustion. Your body is wrecked, oversensitive, every nerve ending raw and singing. But when his fingers brush over your entrance again, gathering more of the mess he’s made, you find yourself pushing back into the touch despite the sensitivity.
“Oh?” Hongjoong’s voice lifts with surprise, his fingers stilling. His eyes darken as he watches you move against his hand—mindless, instinctive—seeking more despite everything. Despite being so thoroughly fucked out that coherent thought is impossible. “Still greedy for it, baby? Even with that pretty head all empty?”
You can't answer with words—don't even fully understand the question—but your body knows. Your hips roll weakly against his palm, chasing the touch with clumsy desperation. A soft whine spills from your lips, needy and thoughtless. Parts of you crave the continued touch. The emptiness feels worse than the sting.
“Greedy thing,” he murmurs, but there’s wonder in it now, not just teasing. His fingers slide through the mess again, more deliberately this time, and you whimper. “Even after I fucked you senseless. Even after you came so hard you soaked the sheets twice. You still want Daddy’s touch.”
“Puh—please,” you manage, the word barely forming through drool-slicked lips, voice completely destroyed and slurred beyond recognition.
Hongjoong’s expression shifts—something possessive and tender at once. “Okay, baby,” he soothes. “Daddy’s got you. Always got you.” His fingers circle your entrance gently now, gathering the cum that’s still leaking out and pushing it back inside with careful pressure. The sensation makes you gasp, oversensitive but good, filling that devastating emptiness just slightly.
“There,” he whispers. “Is that what you needed? To stay full?”
You nod frantically, pushing against his hand, and he obliges—two fingers sliding in deeper, keeping his release inside you. The stretch is almost too much on your abused walls, but it’s what you want. What you need.
“Such a good girl,” he praises softly. “Taking everything Daddy gives you and still asking for more.”
His fingers work slow and steady inside you, and something in your brain just... shuts off. The constant buzz of thoughts, the ability to form coherent words—it all dissolves into nothing but sensation. Your mouth falls open, soft moans spilling out with each gentle thrust of his fingers.
“There she goes,” Hongjoong murmurs, watching your expression go slack with satisfaction. “There’s my girl. Nothing left in that pretty head but how good Daddy makes you feel, huh?”
You can’t even nod properly, just a loose movement of your head, eyes unfocused and glassy. Another moan slips out, breathy and mindless. His fingers curl slightly and your hips twitch, but there’s no urgency to it—just your body responding on pure instinct while your mind floats somewhere far away.
“Look at you,” he says softly, almost reverent. “Fucked you so good you can’t even think anymore. Just my empty-headed baby now, aren’t you?”
“Mm,” is all you can manage, the sound quiet and blissed-out. Your eyes flutter, struggling to focus on his face. Everything feels distant and warm, your body heavy and pliant beneath his touch.
“That’s right,” Hongjoong coos, his free hand stroking your cheek. “Don’t need to think. Just need to feel. Just need to let Daddy take care of you.” His fingers maintain that slow, gentle rhythm, keeping you full, keeping you floating. “Such pretty sounds you’re making. Can’t even form words anymore, can you?”
You shake your head—barely—another soft moan falling from your parted lips. The oversensitivity has melted into something dreamlike, each movement of his fingers sending lazy waves of pleasure through your wrung-out body. There’s no edge to chase anymore, no building tension—just the mindless contentment of being touched, being full, being his.
“Perfect,” he whispers. “Absolutely perfect like this.”
His hand slides up from your hip, palm warm against your ribs as it travels higher. When he cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, you keen—high and broken. The sensitivity is different here, less raw but somehow more direct, each touch shooting straight through you.
“So responsive,” Hongjoong murmurs, watching your face as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. Your back arches weakly, pushing into the touch despite your exhaustion. “Even here. Every part of you is so fucking sensitive for me.”
His fingers inside you curl slightly in time with the pinch of his other hand on your nipple, and the dual sensation makes your eyes roll back. Another mindless moan falls from your lips, your body responding without thought, without control.
“That’s it,” he coos, switching to your other breast, palm kneading gently before his fingers find that peaked bud. “Just feel it, baby. Don’t think. Just let Daddy play with you.” He tugs slightly and you whimper, hips twitching against the fingers still buried inside you. “So pretty when you make those sounds.”
His touch alternates between gentle and firm—thumbs circling your nipples, palms pressing against the soft weight of your breasts, fingers occasionally pinching just hard enough to make you gasp. Each touch keeps you floating in that mindless space, pleasure washing over you in slow, lazy waves.
“Could play with these all day,” he murmurs, dipping his head to press a kiss to the curve of your breast. “Watch you fall apart from just this.” His tongue flicks out, circling your nipple before his lips close around it, and you gasp—the wet heat of his mouth making everything sharper, more intense.
Hongjoong sucks gently, tongue working the sensitive bud while his fingers continue their slow rhythm inside you. Your hands find his hair, holding on weakly, not pulling—just needing something to anchor you. When he grazes his teeth across your nipple, your whole body jolts, a strangled sound escaping you.
“Good girl,” he whispers against your skin. “Taking everything so well. My perfect, empty-headed doll.”
Your thighs shake harder now, trembling under his attention, muscles twitching with aftershocks that won’t stop. Each suck of his mouth, each curl of his fingers inside you makes them quiver more violently, until you can’t keep them still even if you tried.
“Joong,” you whimper, his name barely coherent, your voice destroyed and small. His mouth releases your nipple with a wet pop, switching to the other side, and the attention makes your back arch off the mattress weakly. “Can’t—too much—”
“Shh, I know, baby,” he soothes, releasing your breast to press kisses along your sternum. His fingers slow inside you, gentling their rhythm as your thighs continue to tremble uncontrollably. “But you’re doing so well for me. Just a little more, okay? Let me take care of you.”
You nod weakly, unable to do anything but submit, your body no longer your own—just something for him to play with, to care for, to keep floating in this mindless space. Your thighs won’t stop shaking, trembling against his sides as he settles between them again, and you can feel more of his cum leaking out despite his fingers still working to keep it inside.
“One more, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “Give Daddy one more and then I’ll let you rest.”
You manage to look at him through heavy-lidded eyes, vision blurred and unfocused. It takes effort to keep them open, each blink longer than the last. His face swims above you, features soft and concerned, and you can barely make out the dark intensity of his gaze.
“There you are,” he murmurs, his free hand cupping your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone. “Stay with me, baby. Just a little more. Can you do that for Daddy?”
You try to nod, but your head feels impossibly heavy, movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Another weak sound escapes you as his fingers curl inside you, and your eyes threaten to slip closed.
“Eyes on me,” Hongjoong coaxes gently, tapping your cheek to keep you present. “Want to see you when you fall apart one more time. Need to watch my baby come undone.”
It takes everything you have to keep your gaze on him, eyelids fluttering with the effort. His fingers work inside you with deliberate care, coaxing your body toward that edge one more time despite your exhaustion.
“That’s my good girl,” he praises softly. “Keep those pretty eyes on me.” His thumb finds your clit, circling with barely-there pressure, and your mouth falls open on a silent cry. “Almost there, baby.”
His hand moves from your face to slide two fingers past your parted lips. The touch is unexpected, gentle but insistent as they press against your tongue. Your eyes widen slightly, trying to focus on him through the haze.
“Suck,” Hongjoong commands softly, his voice dropping lower. “Show Daddy how good that mouth can be.”
You obey automatically, lips closing around his fingers, tongue working weakly against them. The taste is clean, just skin and the faint salt of sweat, and something about the act—the fullness in your mouth matching the fullness between your legs—makes you whimper around his fingers.
“Pretty,” he murmurs, watching your lips wrap around his digits with dark satisfaction. “Such a perfect mouth. Takes everything I give you so well.” His fingers inside you curl harder and you moan around the ones in your mouth, the sound muffled and desperate.
He pushes them deeper, making you gag slightly, and your eyes water as you struggle to accommodate them. “Shh, relax,” he soothes, easing back just enough. “Just like taking my cock. You can do it.” The comparison makes you clench around his other hand, and he groans. “Feel that? Your body knows what it wants.”
His thumb on your clit presses firmer now, circling with intent, and you keen around his fingers. Drool starts to leak from the corners of your mouth as you struggle to keep sucking, your jaw slack and uncoordinated. Everything is too much—the stretch in your mouth, the fullness between your legs, the relentless pressure on your clit.
“So messy,” Hongjoong says with satisfaction, watching the spit drip down your chin. “Can’t even keep it together anymore, can you? Just my brainless little toy.” He pulls his fingers from your mouth with a wet sound, dragging the saliva down your neck, your chest, leaving a glistening trail. “Open.”
You obey without thought, mouth falling open, tongue out. He leans down and spits directly onto your tongue, the act filthy and possessive, and you moan at the degradation of it. “Swallow,” he commands, and you do, throat working visibly.
“Good fucking girl,” he praises darkly. His fingers push back into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, keeping your mouth open and exposed.
Your hand moves without thought, fingers wrapping weakly around his wrist. You pull it down, guiding it to your throat, settling his palm against the vulnerable column of your neck. The request is silent but unmistakable.
Hongjoong’s eyes darken immediately, understanding flickering across his face. “Yeah?” he asks, voice dropping lower. “Want Daddy’s hand around your throat while he makes you come?”
You nod as much as you can with his hand there, a desperate whimper escaping you. His fingers curl around your neck—not squeezing yet, just holding, the weight of his palm a promise.
“Please,” you manage, the word barely a whisper, and that’s all he needs.
His hand tightens around your throat, pressure building slowly, controlled. Not enough to cut off your air completely—just enough to make each breath something you have to work for, something you have to earn. The restriction sends your body into overdrive, every nerve ending lighting up as his fingers inside you curl relentlessly and his thumb grinds against your clit.
“That’s it,” Hongjoong growls, watching your face flush darker as the oxygen thins. “Give it to me. Come for Daddy one more time.” His grip shifts slightly, thumb pressing against your pulse point, and he can feel your heartbeat racing beneath his palm. “Feel how hard your heart’s pounding for me? Your body knows who it belongs to.”
Your vision starts to blur at the edges, stars dancing across your sight as the pleasure builds impossibly higher. His fingers don’t let up, working you with practiced precision, and you’re teetering right on that edge—desperate for release but unable to tip over without his permission.
“So fucking beautiful like this,” he murmurs, voice rough with awe and desire. “Completely at my mercy. Taking everything I give you so perfectly.” His hand loosens slightly, letting oxygen rush back in, and the sudden clarity makes everything sharper. “You'’re doing so well, baby. So good for Daddy. Just let go—I’ve got you.”
The praise combined with the pressure returning to your throat is what breaks you. The orgasm hits different this time—slower, deeper, rolling through you like a wave pulling you under. Your mouth opens on a silent scream, no sound escaping with his hand locked around your throat, and the deprivation makes everything more intense.
“Perfect,” Hongjoong breathes, watching you fall apart beneath him. “That’s my perfect girl. Look at you—so beautiful when you come for me. Did so fucking well, baby.” His hand stays firm on your throat through every wave, controlling even this, drawing it out until you’re shaking uncontrollably.
When he finally releases your throat, you don’t even gasp for air. Your body just goes limp, every muscle surrendering at once. Your eyes slip closed despite trying to keep them on him, and the last thing you register is his voice—distant, concerned—calling your name.
“Baby? Hey—” Hongjoong’s hand immediately cups your face, patting your cheek gently. Your head lolls to the side, body completely unresponsive. You’re still breathing—he can see your chest rising and falling—but you’re utterly gone, consciousness slipping away into the exhaustion he’s wrung from you.
“Fuck,” he mutters, but there’s no panic in it. Just concern mixed with something like awe. He carefully withdraws his fingers from inside you, and you don’t even twitch at the loss. More cum leaks out onto the sheets, but you’re too far gone to notice or care.
He shifts immediately into caretaker mode, moving with practiced efficiency. His hand stays on your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone as he checks you over. Your pulse is steady under his fingers when he presses them to your throat—the same throat he was just restricting. Your breathing evens out into something deeper, more peaceful.
“Did so good,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Too good. Gave me everything.” There’s pride in his voice, but also guilt—he pushed you right to your absolute limit and over it.
He stays close, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, making sure you’re really okay. After a moment, he tries again, voice soft but insistent. “Hey. Baby, come on.” His hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing across your cheek. “Need you to wake up for me.”
You don’t respond, body still limp and unmoving. He sighs, shifting to sit beside you, one hand sliding to your shoulder to shake you gently. “Can’t let you sleep yet. We need to get you cleaned up first.”
Still nothing. Your breathing stays deep and even, completely out of it. Hongjoong’s expression softens, guilt flickering across his features again. He really wore you out this time.
“Okay,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “Guess we’re doing this the hard way.” He slides one arm under your shoulders, the other beneath your knees, lifting you carefully against his chest. Your head lolls against his shoulder, body pliant and unresisting.
He carries you toward the bathroom, your weight comfortable in his arms. “You’re going to be so mad at me later if I let you sleep like this,” he says quietly, nudging the bathroom door open with his foot. “All sticky and messy. You’ll complain for days.”
He sets you down carefully on the edge of the tub, one hand staying on your shoulder to keep you upright while he reaches for the faucet. Your head tips forward, chin nearly touching your chest, and he has to catch you before you slump completely.
“Baby,” he tries again, patting your cheek a bit more firmly. “Come on. Just need you awake enough for a bath. I’ll do everything else.” The water starts running, warm steam beginning to fill the small space as he tests the temperature.
Your eyelids flutter—barely, but it’s something. A soft, incoherent sound escapes you, and Hongjoong takes it as a victory.
“There you are,” he encourages, both hands cupping your face now, lifting your head. “Let’s get you in, okay?” He helps you into the tub, supporting your weight as he eases you down into the warm water. The heat envelops you immediately, and you let out a small, contented sigh.
He kneels beside the tub, one hand still steadying you, about to reach for the washcloth when your fingers weakly grasp at his wrist.
“With you,” you mumble, eyes still closed, the words barely coherent but unmistakable.
Hongjoong’s expression softens immediately, a quiet laugh escaping him. “Yeah? Want me to get in with you?” He doesn’t wait for another response—just climbs into the tub behind you, pulling you back against his chest. His arms wrap around you, steadying you in the water, and you let out a small, satisfied hum as you melt into his warmth.
“Stay still,” he murmurs against your skin, voice soft and gentle—so different from how he sounded minutes ago. His lips press to your shoulder, kissing over the marks he left there. Some are already darkening into bruises, others are just faint impressions of his teeth. He maps each one with careful attention, like he’s cataloging the evidence of what he did to you.
You lean back into him, boneless and pliant, letting him support your weight completely. The warm water laps around you both as he reaches for the washcloth, soaping it up with one hand while the other stays wrapped around your waist.
“You’re going to be so sore tomorrow,” he says quietly, dragging the cloth along your arms with gentle strokes. His lips find the curve of your neck, pressing soft kisses to the red marks his hand left on your throat. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“Don’t be,” you mumble, the words thick and drowsy. “Wanted it.”
He makes a soft sound—half laugh, half sigh—and kisses the bruise at the junction of your neck and shoulder, the one from his teeth. “I know you did. Doesn’t mean I can’t take care of you after.” The washcloth moves to your chest, your stomach, washing away the sweat and evidence of everything that happened.
His other hand comes up to tilt your head to the side, giving him better access to your neck. He kisses every mark there too, lips tender against the sensitive skin. “So pretty,” he whispers. “Even covered in bruises. Especially covered in bruises.”
You hum contentedly, eyes still closed, completely surrendered to his care. His hands are so gentle now—washing you clean, touching you like something precious. The contrast makes your chest ache in the best way.
“I love you,” you murmur, barely audible.
Hongjoong's hands still for just a moment before continuing their careful work. “I love you too,” he says against your shoulder, punctuating it with another kiss. “So much. Even when I’m mean to you.”
Especially when he’s mean to you, maybe—but that’s something you both understand without saying.
He brings the cloth to your inner thighs, cleaning away the evidence of your releases, his movements are especially gentle, aware of how sensitive you must be.
“Almost done,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to your shoulder. The washcloth moves down your legs, over your calves, taking his time to make sure he’s gotten everything. You feel yourself drifting again, lulled by the warmth of the water and his tender care.
When he’s finished, he sets the washcloth aside and just holds you for a moment, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, steady and reassuring.
Something stirs in your chest—gratitude, affection, love.
With effort, you turn your head slightly, just enough to press your lips to his cheek. It’s a soft kiss, lazy and uncoordinated, but full of feeling.
Hongjoong goes still, then lets out a breath that sounds almost like relief. His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer against him. “What was that for?” he asks quietly, though there’s a smile in his voice.
“Thank you.”
His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, turning to press his own kiss to your temple. “Don’t thank me for taking care of you,” he says softly. “That’s my job. Especially after I’ve wrecked you like that.” But his voice is warm, fond, and you can hear how much your simple gesture affected him.
You shift in his arms, turning more fully despite the exhaustion weighing down your limbs. The movement sends water sloshing gently against the sides of the tub, but Hongjoong adjusts easily, his hands sliding to your waist to help stabilise you as you face him.
His eyes meet yours—dark and searching, still carrying traces of the intensity from before but softened now with concern and affection. You lift one hand, fingers trembling slightly as they trace the line of his jaw, then cup his cheek.
“Hey,” he whispers, his own hand coming up to cover yours against his face. “You okay?”
Instead of answering, you lean in and kiss him. It’s slow and deep, nothing like the desperate, hungry kisses from earlier. This one is grateful, reverent—a thank you and an I love you and an I trust you all wrapped into one. Your lips move against his with deliberate tenderness, and you feel him sigh into it, his body relaxing as he kisses you back with equal softness.
His arms wrap around you properly now, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head while the other stays secure at your waist. He angles his head to deepen the kiss just slightly, still gentle but more present, more him. When you finally pull back, it’s only enough to rest your forehead against his, both of you breathing the same air.
You catch the softness in his expression—the way he’s looking at you like you’re something precious—and a small, teasing smile tugs at your lips despite your exhaustion. Your fingers trace lazy patterns on his chest.
“You know,” you murmur, voice still thick with exhaustion but laced with amusement, “for someone who just fucked me unconscious, you’re being awfully soft right now. What happened to the mean Joong from like ten minutes ago?”
Hongjoong’s eyes narrow slightly, though there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Are you complaining?”
“No,” you say, still trailing your fingers down his chest lazily. “You’re just being so sweet.”
His eyes narrow slightly, though there’s amusement flickering in them. “You want him back? Because I can arrange that.”
“Mm, no,” you hum, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I like this version too. All gentle and worried about me.” Your smile turns a little wicked. “It’s cute.”
“Cute,” he repeats flatly, though you can see the way his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile.
“Very cute,” you confirm, your fingers walking up his chest to tap against his collarbone. “Taking care of me, kissing all the marks you left, being so—” You pause, pretending to search for the word. “—domestic.”
Hongjoong’s hand slides up to catch your wrist, his grip firm but not rough. “You’re lucky you can barely move right now,” he says, voice low, “or I’d remind you exactly how un-cute I can be.”
You laugh—soft and breathless—and let yourself collapse back against his chest. “See? Cute. You’re threatening me while holding me in a bubble bath.”
He groans, but his arms wrap around you again, pulling you close. “You’re impossible,” he mutters against your hair, but there’s no heat in it. Just fondness, and maybe a little exasperation. His hand strokes down your back in slow, soothing motions. “Rest. You’ve earned the right to be a brat for a few minutes.”
“Only a few minutes?” you tease, already feeling yourself starting to drift again.
“We’ll see how long my patience lasts,” he replies, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. But his tone is warm, and you know he’s not actually annoyed. If anything, he sounds relieved that you’re coherent enough to give him a hard time.
You shift again, the water rippling around you as you turn to face him fully. His hair is damp, some strands clinging to his forehead, others pushed back haphazardly. His eyes are dark and deep, watching you with that same careful attention he always has, like you’re the only thing that matters.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs, close enough that your breaths mix. His thumb strokes your cheek like he’s checking you’re really here.
“Like what?” you ask while your fingers starts tracing idle circles on his chest.
His gaze narrows, suspicious. “Like you’re about to start something.”
You tilt your head, considering him with exaggerated seriousness. “Maybe I am.”
A quiet, disbelieving laugh slips out of him. “You can barely keep your eyes open.”
“And yet,” you say, letting your fingers trace his jaw again, feather-light, “you’re still watching me like you’re trying to figure out what I’m thinking.”
His hand closes around your wrist—not tight, not controlling. Just there. Grounding. Possessive in a way that doesn’t hurt.
“I don’t have to figure it out,” he says. “I know you.”
“Oh?” You lean in, just enough to brush your mouth against the corner of his—almost a kiss. Almost. You stop a heartbeat short, letting him feel the tease in the pause. “Then tell me.”
His eyes drop to your lips. “Don’t get cocky,” he warns, but the warning sounds thin, like it’s already losing.
You hum, pretending to think about it. “I’m not cocky.”
He gives you a look that says liar.
You meet it without flinching. “I’m just… curious.”
“About what?” he asks, voice low.
You press a soft kiss to his cheek, then his jaw, then the place under his ear where you know it makes him go quiet. You feel his breath hitch, and it makes you brave.
“About how long it takes,” you murmur against his skin, “before you stop being sweet and start being mean again.”
He exhales a laugh—one of those quiet ones that means he’s trying not to show how much you got to him. His hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb brushing your pulse. “You’re teasing me,” he says.
You blink slowly, innocent on purpose. “Am I?”
He leans in, close enough that his nose brushes yours. “You should rest.”
You let your smile widen, just a little. “Make me.”
His gaze drops, then returns to your eyes, darker now. “Careful.”
You press a final kiss to his lips—soft, brief, unhurried—then pull back before he can deepen it.
“Or what?” you whisper.
He looks at you for a long second, like he’s deciding how honest to be. Then he tucks you closer, forehead to yours, and his voice goes quieter.
“Or I’m going to stop pretending I’m patient.”
You sigh like you’re satisfied with that answer, and let your eyes fall closed, still smiling.
“Mm,” you hum. “There you are.”
His jaw ticks. You feel it more than see it—the subtle shift in his expression that says you’re walking a line.
“You’re pushing,” he says quietly.
“Am I?” you ask again, tone dripping with false innocence. Your fingers trail down his chest, nails dragging just lightly enough to make him inhale sharp. “I’m just sitting here. Being good.”
“You don’t know how to be good,” he mutters, but there’s heat creeping into his voice now, the kind that makes your pulse kick up.
You tilt your head, letting your smile turn sharper. “That’s not true. I was very good earlier. You said so yourself.”
His hand tightens on your waist—just enough to make you aware of it. “That was different.”
“How?” you challenge, leaning in until your lips brush his ear. “Because you were in charge?”
Hongjoong goes still. Dangerously still. The kind of stillness that means you’ve officially gotten under his skin.
“Baby,” he says, voice dropping into that low register that usually makes you shut up and listen. But right now, it just makes you bolder.
“What?” you ask sweetly, pulling back to look at him with wide, innocent eyes. “I’m just asking questions.”
His thumb presses into your hip—not hard, but deliberate. A warning. “You’re being a brat.”
“Me?” You press a hand to your chest in mock offence. “I would never.”
“Liar,” he says flatly.
You bite your lip to keep from grinning too wide. “Prove it.”
His eyes flash. “You really want to do this right now?”
“Do what?” you ask, all fake confusion as your fingers walk up his chest again, tracing the line of his collarbone. “I’m just sitting here in this nice bath you drew for me, being so grateful—”
“—being a pain in my ass,” he interrupts, but there’s a crack in his composure now. You can see it in the way his gaze drops to your mouth, then back up. In the way his grip on you shifts, like he’s deciding whether to pull you closer or push you away.
You lean in, close enough that your breath ghosts over his lips. “You love it,” you whisper.
He stares at you for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then, slowly, deliberately, he smiles—and it’s not the soft, fond smile. It’s the dangerous one. The one that means you’ve successfully woken up the version of him that doesn’t play nice.
“Okay,” he says simply. His hand slides up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “You want to be a brat? Go ahead. But don’t complain when I remind you what happens to brats who push too far.”
Your stomach flips—half anticipation, half genuine thrill. You should probably back down now. You’re exhausted, barely recovered, and you know he’s serious.
But instead, you smile back at him, just as sharp. “Promises, promises.”
His eyes narrow. “Last chance.”
You press a quick, teasing kiss to his lips—there and gone. “Make me stop.”
He exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s physically restraining himself. “You’re going to regret this.”
“Maybe,” you say, trailing your fingers down his chest again, slower this time. “But that sounds like a future me problem.”
Hongjoong’s eyes sharpen. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” you ask, innocent as a knife. “Use your words.”
His jaw ticks. For a second you can see the exact moment his patience runs out.
Then he moves.
His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, grip firm enough to make your breath catch. “You want me to use my words?” he says, voice dropping low and dangerous. “Fine. Stop teasing me before I forget I was trying to be gentle with you.”
You roll your eyes at him, the gesture slow and deliberate—practically daring him to do something about it.
His grip tightens fractionally. “Did you just—”
“What?” you interrupt, blinking up at him with exaggerated innocence. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You rolled your eyes at me.”
“Did I?” You tilt your head, playing dumb.
Hongjoong’s stare lingers, heavy and unimpressed, like he’s deciding how much patience you’re allowed to borrow before he takes it back with interest.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, almost thoughtful. “You did.”
Before you can respond, he shifts—slow, deliberate—until you’re pressed back against the edge of the tub, his body caging yours.
He kisses you then—deep and consuming, the kind that steals the air from your lungs and replaces it with heat. His hand tightens at the back of your neck, holding you, and you can’t do anything but take it. His mouth moves against yours like he’s proving a point, like he’s reminding you who’s in control here, and it works. God, it works.
When he finally pulls back, your eyes are half-closed, breath coming in short, uneven gasps. You feel dazed, unsteady, like the world tilted and forgot to right itself.
He’s watching you, and there’s that smirk—slow, satisfied, dangerous. “Is this what you wanted?” he asks, voice low and rough.
You nod, still catching your breath, unable to form words yet.
His smirk deepens. “Yeah,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip. “That’s what I thought.”
dom!yunho, dom!mingi x afab!sub!reader ⭑ tags: best friend!au ⭑ tw: corruption kink, size kink, dubcon, manipulation, subtle sub/dom space, somnophilia, praising, finger sucking, unprotected sex (pls use protection), creampie. lmk if i missed anything. don't like, don't read. ⭑ summary: you should've known better.
best friends!yunho and mingi love having you sit in between them.
whether you're on the subway, at the club or on the couch binge watching old hollywood movies. you just look so small and fragile with your cute glossy eyes and pouty lips, they can't help but feel the urge to protect and be close to you all the time. sometimes, they'll sneak their arms around your waist or slip their hands between your thighs, large palms gently caressing your bare skin, but that's only because the movie is scary and they want to help you relax. right?
when you've had one too many drinks at hongjoong's afterparties, yunho would beckon you to come over and sit on his lap. "y/n, c'mere." you'll snuggle up to him like a little kitten and lay your legs on mingi's as he absentmindedly fiddles with the straps of your heels, hooded eyes flitting from your lips to the curve of your breasts.
from afar, people are staring, whispering, but you don't care. because yunho and mingi always tells you "they don't know us, baby."
and you believe them. you believe them completely because best friends always tell the truth, right?
yunho and mingi are always there to catch you when you fall.
flat tire? calling yunho. "i'm on my way, angel." bad day? facetiming mingi. "talk to me, pretty girl." every time there's a minor inconvenience in your life, you're running straight to your favourite boys because they just know how to handle anything and everything with such ease and responsibility. problems fixed. cheque signed. "it's okay, angel, we got this."
no one loves you like yunho and mingi.
they love you so much.
so when mingi tells you to wear his t-shirt and only your panties to bed, you happily nod "okay!" with no second thoughts because he only wants you to feel comfortable when they cuddle you to sleep, right? that must be it.
i mean, you do this all the time; cuddling. it's a way for them to feel closer to you; 'bond' with you, as they put it.
you love cuddling sessions with yunho and mingi, they're always so gentle with you. your petite frame a perfect fit between their broad chests, legs the perfect length for mingi to slide his knee in between as he spoons you. your skin is so soft he could tear you open like a present but he wouldn't do that. no, not to his sweet girl. so instead, he snakes his arm under your shirt and pulls you into the warmth of his body so you can feel how much he loves you.
"mhm, so perfect for me," he whispers in your hair, fingers playing with the thin lace of your panties just above your hip bone. you smell like fresh cut roses. dreamlike. dewy.
"you like it when we touch you, angel?" yunho asks calmly, tracing his finger along your jaw and down your neck. face propped on his elbow, he watches with a gentle smile as you soften under his touch, nodding and purring at the affection you're receiving from both men.
"i like it, yuyu."
"you'll do anything for me and mingi, right, baby?"
"mhm, anything for yuyu and mingi," you slur, fatigue creeping up your spine.
you feel mingi smile against the nape of your neck.
something about the air feels tight and different tonight but you don't question it. you don't want to question it. especially when yunho stares at you with so much tenderness your heart's struggling to breathe. it's intoxicating; their scents—clean and musky like the faint trace of skin.
as the night unfolds, your eyes flutter shut as sleep takes over.
you love best friends!yunho and mingi. nothing in the world comes even close to the euphoria of being the centre of their worlds, the object of their adoration.
so when you wake up to soft pants in your ear and pulsating pain between your legs, will you still love them?
"f-fuck."
mingi's low groan snaps you out of your haze as you gradually slip back into your senses only to find your panties slid to the side and your best friend's hard dick inside your barely stretched-out cunt.
the sound of skin on skin cuts through the quiet of the room as mingi slams his hip into your ass at a pace so desperate, so rough it leaves you clawing at yunho's sweater with tears in your eyes, "y-yuyu? what's happening?"
yunho looks at you with eyes you've never seen on him before—chilling and dark with lust. he's quiet, eyes trailing the way your breasts bounce with every hard thrust forced upon you from behind. soft moans slip past your lips, melding with his best friend's strained groans and the squelchy sound of your sopping cunt.
you're sobbing. from pain or pleasure? you can't think. all you know is it feels ... so–
"told you she likes it," mingi chuckles, voice crazed and raspy, one hand sliding up to grab at your neck, firm and possessive. "yeah, you like that, baby?" he grabs your chin and presses a sloppy kiss on your lips, "good girl. such a good fucking girl. tell yunho you like being woken up to my dick inside you. go on."
"i– ngnhh– i like–" your mewls are cut off when mingi slips two fingers between your folds, toying at your clit like it belongs to him. like you belong to him.
"oh, my angel," yunho coos, caressing your cheek before slipping his thumb inside your mouth. "you're so naughty."
the way he said it made your chest wring in denial. you want to tell him 'no'—no, you didn't ask for this. but who are you to act like you're not enjoying it when you're a spluttering, dripping mess in your best friend's bed.
"shh, why're you crying?" his words are so sweet yet mockery drips from every syllable. "now, now, don't cry, my angel. be good for mingi."
yunho revels in the sight of your teary cheeks as your tongue laps around his thumb, drool leaking down your cheek and onto your pillow. god, you're fucking beautiful, he thinks, feeling his dick swell with every helpless whimper you make. he grabs your jaw and slips his tongue in your pretty little mouth, sucking at your bottom lip, and swallowing any confusion you're still harbouring, because you're not meant to have any.
the rules have been clear from the start; you belong to them. not their fault you're too gullible to see what's in front of you all this time.
"you said you'll do anything for us, remember?" yunho breaths.
"y-yes— nngh—" you whimper, feeling the knot tighten in your stomach. "mingi, i can't—"
you're close and mingi can sense it from the way you're clenching around him.
"fuck, fuck, fuck— cum for me, baby. that's it ... that's it."
it only takes you digging your nails in his hair and letting out a scream of his name for mingi to cum. he empties inside you and drops his head on the pillow, letting out a guttural groan against the back of your neck as you both come down from your high.
"such a good girl," yunho whispers, stroking your hair lovingly, "always so good for us."
snow miser!seonghwa x afab!reader x heat miser! hongjoong
⟢ a/n: plot takes place 100 years after The Year Without A Santa Claus is set (1918-1920 and present day / 2020's), but if you haven't seen the movie it shouldn't be a problem! i rushed this so bad but i wanted to challenge myself and see if i could write a whole one-shot in one day.
⟢ summary: all you want for Christmas is for it to snow in the south. but you need to be willing to... compromise with the Miser Brothers.
⟢ word count: 5k
⟢ warnings: MINORS RUN FOR THE HILLS | temperature play, soft dom seonghwa, hard dom hongjoong, multiple orgasms, pet names, arguing, oral (m & f receiving), dubcon kinda?
18+ THIS IS THE FINAL WARNING.
posted: 12.22.25
── ⋆⋅✴︎⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅❄︎⋅⋆ ──
whatever i touch, turns to snow in my clutch
whatever i touch, starts to melt in my clutch
── ⋆⋅✴︎⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅❄︎⋅⋆ ──
Southtown, U.S.A has not seen snow in a little more than one hundred years.
And such a thing hasn’t bothered you until recently. Twenty-something years of green Christmases without fail, all while listening to songs of falling white crystal, the chill in the air, and the need to stay warm all through it. That last part always annoyed you. You’d do anything to escape the heat, and here these singers were, a perfect Christmas at their disposal and they wanted to hide away from what you craved. You’d often curse at the thermostat, never going below sixty degrees Fahrenheit. Occasionally, perhaps just to torture yourself, you’d look up the newspaper archives of the town, going all the way back to the front page article that showcased the last time it had snowed here. The Holiday Year the townsfolk called it, though you don’t remember exactly why.
Needless to say, you wanted to experience everything the songs talked about. How a real Christmas should be spent, and what it should look like.
This year, you decide to do something about it.
For years, your family has passed down the story of your great grandfather, Ignatius Thistlewhite, and how he became part of the reason it had snowed that year. How it happened, who he met. Supposedly, it was Santa that appeared in the family dining room all those years ago, though you’re not sure you fully believe that. The whole story itself is a bit fantastical. Probably exaggerated as it was told to the younger generations as they came to spice up the story. But there was no denying of his name printed clearly in that same newspaper article. Front page, credited for his assistance in bringing snow to the town.
Your grandmother had told you the story countless times, every time you asked to hear it as a child.
“My father was only about your age when it happened,” she would say, pinching your cheek, which you’d endure so she wouldn’t feel bad. Then she’d launch into the details; the elves, the Santa encounter, the reindeer, Mrs. Claus, and then finally, the trip to see the Miser Brothers. One by one, cold and then hot. Their constant bickering, sharp tongues and icy charm. Somehow, they were able to convince those two hotheads to allow it to snow for just one day in the southern United States.
You just couldn’t remember how. Or even how to get to where the Brothers supposedly lived. There was nothing online about them, only pages of Jack Frost would come up whenever you searched for the Snow Miser, and a random brand of some sort of ‘smart thermostat’ or water heater would show up when you searched for Heat Miser. Khione, the Greek goddess of snow, and Hephaestus, the god of fire. Nothing of the Brother duo.
You close your laptop with a huff, chalking it all up to some family folktale. Overblown, exaggerated, and inherently false. A children’s tale the adults teased you with even now. Annoyed, and head aching from the hours staring at the bright laptop screen, you get up from your desk, stepping into your shoes. You need to clear your head. Start fresh. You hesitate before eventually grabbing a thin sweatshirt. The evening is approaching, and you know the route you want to take will cost an hour or two to return home from. You loop it around your arm, call out to your mom that you’re going for a walk, and are out the door.
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The path through the woods nearby your house is not familiar to you anymore. It has been many years since you’ve walked it, and since then, hurricanes with strong, tree-bending winds have cluttered and hidden certain parts of it, but you find that you navigate the obstacles easily enough. It’s when you decide to turn back, a little later than you initially planned on, that fear starts to set in. It’s far too dark to see the path anymore, and the trees block out the moonlight high above. You look up, trying to see past the branches and leaves to find the stars as a last resort. You think you can figure out which one the North Star is. There are two, each shining brighter than the rest, from what you can see. You need to place your faith in one to lead you home. Even then, you’re not even sure you live towards the north in the first place. You knew you shouldn’t have left your phone. In this day and age? Going without your phone is just asking for trouble. So much for a detox. Now you’re in danger of being stranded in the middle of the woods.
Speaking of which, the woods are eerily silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves overhead as the wind laces through them. No creatures stir, at least none that you can hear. You feel like the path is evading you on purpose now, though you’re sure you’ve seen this specific tree before, even though you can barely make out the details of it. So you continue to walk. Hoping against hope you’re heading home.
Suddenly, you hear your name.
It is called quietly through the thicket by an unfamiliar voice. Warm, and gentle. You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear it. You pause for only a moment, before realizing that this could be someone that was sent to find you. You turn around, and in the distance, see what appears to be a flashlight, glowing orange in the dark. Odd color, you think, but ultimately ignore it at the moment, breaking into a run towards the voice.
The more you run, the further the light seems to become. Like it’s teasing you, beckoning you further into the woods like a mirage in the desert. But this is your only hope. Past your fear, you do feel lucid, so you continue, calling out to whoever this man is for help as you run.
Then, the light disappears. You huff audibly, turning around to see where he had gone.
“Hello?” You call out, staying still and trying to quiet your panting breath to hear any kind of responding noise.
There’s nothing for a long, silent moment. You press your lips into a thin line as tears spring to your eyes. Scared, confused, exhausted, and honestly a little betrayed, you can’t help but cry out of frustration and fear. He had only led you further into the woods, far from the original path.
Then, the light returns, inches from your face. You scramble back once you realize that it’s not a flashlight creating the light at all.
It’s fire.
In the palm of a hand.
A small shriek escapes your throat in shock. It was nearly close enough to singe your hair. You try to see past the ball of fire, but the shadows only aid whoever this person is to remain hidden.
“Hello,” the same soft, unfamiliar voice says, seemingly in response to your earlier call to him. “I heard you wanted to see me.”
“I– I–?” You stammer, not knowing what the hell is going on.
The mystery man takes a step forward, into the light he projects, and you finally see him. Unnaturally vibrant red hair, dark, round eyes like coal, dressed in all black and maroon. He towers over you, looking down at you past his sharp nose.
“Well?” He asks, expectantly, “Are you gonna ask me for what you want?”
You take another small step backwards, bumping into a tree. “I– I want to go home.”
He smirks, the flame flickering and burning even brighter in his palm. The dark casts his face in demonic shadows, turning the grin into something far more sinister looking.
“No, I don’t think that’s it,” He teases, again stepping forward, crowding into your space. You can feel the heat of the flame intensify as it comes closer to your face. “You know, you’ve been rather rude to me lately.”
You blink. “Rude? We’ve only just met?”
“Yes, rude. Whining about the heat like a spoiled child. I give you beautiful days, comfortable weather, no icy roads that could harm you, and… I don’t bite.”
To say that you’re wildly confused would be an understatement. He huffs, starting to get annoyed and steps even closer, moving his palm off to the side so it doesn’t burn you.
“It’s rather rude to complain about the beautiful, green Christmases I give you each year and then think you can ask me for a favor.” He says, leveling you with his eyes.
Ah.
Now it clicks.
Your eyes widen and your jaw drops. This couldn’t be one of them. How did he know? He heard you, he said. Your mind races, thoughts scattering everywhere. Nothing about this could be real. You must’ve hit your head on a tree branch or something. Surely, this must be a dream, or some guy playing a joke on you.
So, you shove past him, trying to get away, only for the tree directly next to you to burst into flames instantaneously. You scream and dart off to the side, tripping over a fallen branch and landing on the forest floor.
“Don’t run from me, sweetheart.” He warns, the fire in his hand burning even hotter than before.
“Who are you? Really.” You try to sound tough, maybe even annoyed, but your voice comes out thin.
The man smirks, as if you’re the one playing games with him.
“Mr. Green Christmas himself. I am the sun, I am the heat that you despise. The miser of fire, at your service, sweetheart.”
There’s no way. And yet, as you watch the entire tree burn from just his touch, you slowly start to accept that this is real, and it’s happening to you.
“So, ask me. Go ahead.”
You hesitate, of course you do. So you decide to ask him about something he said earlier that caught your attention.
“You… you said that you don’t bite,” you begin quietly, looking up at him from the ground. “What did you mean?”
“He meant me.” Another voice from behind you chimes in. This one is even softer, like the wind.
You whip your head around to see who it is, only left gasping as the temperature drops several, if not tens of degrees in an instant. The heat miser fumes at the arrival of who you can only assume is the snow miser. Brilliant, long white hair that almost glows in the dark, frost that covers his hands, and he stands taller in stature than his step-brother. The forest floor freezes beneath you, as well as the trees he stands closest to. You’re caught between them both – fire and ice.
“Hello, dear,” he greets you, bowing slightly, only annoying his step-brother even more. “I heard you wanted to speak to me.”
You stay put on the ground, only moving to wrap your arms around yourself in a hug. This was the coldest temperature you’ve ever been in and your body isn’t used to it at all. You’re shivering in no time. It makes total sense now what the heat miser had meant.
Frostbite.
The first man you met notices and crouches next to you, quickly warming you up with just his presence.
“Go away, Seonghwa,” he growls, “why can’t you stay out of my business for once in your life?”
The second man, Seonghwa, grins like he just heard a joke. “Your business?” He laughs, “Obviously she needs to persuade me first.” With a roll of his wrist, snow begins to fall from his fingertips in a beautiful display of wintery magic – the kind you always dreamt of.
He watches your eyes widen in awe, watching the flakes fall and disappear as soon as they touch the ground. He knows you want to ask him to do it again, but he won’t.
Not unless you beg him to.
Seonghwa smirks at the disappointed look on your face once all the snowflakes are gone. “Go on, dear. You want me to make it snow here, don’t you?”
You nod, breathlessly. “Y-yes, I just wanted to a-ask if you could–”
“It’s my hemisphere,” the heat miser interrupts, ears turning red as his anger rises, “so you should be asking me, shouldn’t you, sweetheart?”
“Oh, be quiet, Hongjoong. Give the little icicle what she wants. Just one day, right, dear?”
You nod, looking between the two. As unpredictable as the weather. “Yes, just one day. Christmas. If it’s not too much to ask.”
Hongjoong, the heat miser, grows even hotter next to you. So much so that you have to scoot away, closer to Seonghwa to cool off. This only stokes that fire even more.
“Snow in the south…” he hisses each word with venom, “I’ve only allowed that to happen once, and all I got in return was one spring day at the north pole. Wouldn’t even grant me the chance of showing off my summers.”
Seonghwa sighs, “Because they were afraid you’d burn everything,” under his breath, but loud enough for Hongjoong to hear.
Smoke fills the air between you three, forcing you to cover your mouth and nose with your sleeve.
“Guys, please!” You cough, “Stop fighting. I’m sorry for… summoning you both, I just… want to know what a white Christmas is like.”
Hongjoong grumbles under his breath, still trying to simmer down, “Why don’t you just fuckin’ drive up north?”
You ignore him. “Look, can we just find a compromise or something?” Your voice softens, more insecure as you bow your head, “I really want this…”
The heat lessens its intensity, and the smoke clears. The two brothers look at each other for a moment, communicating everything without saying a single word aloud. A conversation you’re not privy to happening right above you. Hongjoong narrows his eyes at the older man, who rolls his own eyes in response, but succumbs to the younger man’s silent proposal with a passive wave of his hand.
“We can compromise,” Hongjoong says eventually, surprising you. “But you’re gonna have to do exactly what we say.”
“Think you can do that, dear?” Seonghwa asks, slowly trailing the back of his frosty hand up and down your arm, making direct eye contact with you. You know they’re not biologically related, but their eyes are so similar, round and dark, mischief glinting within both pairs.
Hesitantly, you nod once.
“We need words, sweetheart.” Hongjoong says, his black irises now burning low, like embers. He gently turns your face to look at him, his hand hot but painless against your skin. “Tell us that you’ll do exactly what we say.”
You swallow hard, watching the reflection of the fire dance in his eyes. Something tells you that maybe you’re about to make a deal with the devil. Or, in this case, two. Your body shivers from his intense, fiery gaze, as well as the shocking cold touch of his step-brother on the other side of you.
Somehow you trust that they won’t hurt you, but you also can’t be sure you’ll get home in one piece.
“I’ll… I’ll do exactly what you two say.”
Hongjoong grins wickedly. Golden and orange highlights shine bright in his hair in the fire light that you hadn’t noticed before. “Perfect.”
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Seonghwa relinquishes control over where to take you, much to Hongjoong’s delight. They agreed in their quiet conversation without you that you’d probably be more comfortable in Hongjoong’s castle, with the temperature your body is more used to. Seonghwa knows his powers won’t be as strong in that, to him, hellish heat. Forty degrees Fahrenheit was pushing it for him, bordering on too hot. Still, as the eldest, he lets the younger man have his fun.
You find yourself suddenly in black, satin sheets on a large four-poster bed. A roaring fire in a grand ebony fireplace off to the left, and lit candles hang high from the tall ceiling. The walls are painted black, meant to trap heat. Already, you start to fan yourself with your hand, beginning to sweat just from being in here for a good ten seconds max.
Hongjoong stands at the end of the bed, with Seonghwa off to the right, seated on the edge. His warm hands grab your ankles and pull you down the bed, slotting himself in between your legs. You gasp, trying to scramble away.
“Wh– what are you doing? Where are we?”
Hongjoong shushes you, hands toying with the hem of your shirt. “We’re compromising,” he smirks. You try to push his hands off of him, but Seonghwa gathers both of your wrists and pins them down above you.
“You want us to do something for you, you gotta do something for us, sweetheart. It’s only fair.” He reasons, holding your wrists in one hand while his other caresses your cheek, again with the back of his hand, and cooling your skin temporarily. You almost whine when he takes it away.
“For once,” Hongjoong says, “he’s right.”
Seonghwa rolls his eyes, but goes right back to focusing on you. Him being so close is helping the heat. He hums as he admires you up and down, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his plump bottom lip.
“Aren’t you hot under all those layers, dear? Need us to help you cool down?”
You whimper and nod once, feeling the sweat on your hairline as you do so.
Together, the two men discard every stitch of clothing from you, tossing the garments aside, somewhere in the room until you’re completely naked, lying before them. Seonghwa maneuvers himself behind you so that you’re lying against his chest, grateful for his presence there as the equivalent of a giant block of ice. You shyly try to close your legs, only to be blocked by Hongjoong’s body between them. Seonghwa busies himself by kissing your neck, making you shiver in a different way. A better way.
Hongjoong leans down, ghosting his lips up the middle of your chest, between your soft mounds. His breath is hot, heating your already feverish skin. He remains clothed, but you can feel something hard pressing against your center. A dull burn in your lower stomach awakens as you start to relax under their closeness and their contrasting touches. You can feel how wet they’ve made you already.
“So pretty,” he breathes, his hand starting to trail down your body, heading towards where you need him the most. He mocks your small gasp once he slips two fingers into your core without any warning or prep. You fight against Seonghwa’s hold on your wrists to no avail. As a warning, he sinks his teeth into your neck, his bite so cold that it almost burns. Then, as if nothing had happened, he licks over where he bit to soothe the irritated, nearly broken skin. In the summer, you would sometimes trail ice cubes across your skin in order to cool down – that’s what Seonghwa’s tongue feels like as he kisses your neck.
Hongjoong curls his fingers up, pressing against your g-spot effortlessly. You whine, squirming in Seonghwa’s hold. For what, exactly, you’re not sure. Luckily for you though, Hongjoong is much more impatient than his step-brother.
With one touch, his clothes seem to melt away, vanishing from his body entirely in mere seconds. Before you can even ask how that happened, he yanks you out of Seonghwa’s grip. He lays himself down on the bed and positions you to straddle him, already lining himself up with your entrance.
“You want something, you have to work for it.” He murmurs, loving the heat that he feels radiating off of you. The warmth of his hand on your waist relaxes you, as well as the soft kisses that Seonghwa presses to your shoulder. As Hongjoong helps ease you down, sheathing his cock inside of you, Seonghwa captures your lips in a proper kiss. You gasp into his mouth at the pressure of Hongjoong pushing in, feeling full even with just the tip of his cock inside. The heat in your stomach intensifies tenfold the further you sink down.
“Mmm, there we go, sweetheart. So wet and warm for me.” He praises, bucking his hips impatiently once you’re just an inch or two away from taking him fully. You cry out, the pleasure and pressure all too much with minimal prep.
“Don’t cry, dear. I’ll make up for his impatience soon.” Seonghwa whispers against your lips. You shiver, and just from his words are able to fully sink down onto Hongjoong’s length, much to the younger man’s delight. He fits so snugly inside, and you’re clenching around him so tight that it’s hard for you to move much, if at all.
That ounce of relaxation you felt vanishes once Hongjoong smacks your ass, making your skin there burn slightly.
“Work for it.” He instructs, “You want me to give up control of the south for a day, you better show me you deserve it.”
So you do. Promptly. You raise yourself as much as you can and drop back down with a loud whine. The more you ride him, the easier it gets as your pussy gets wetter and wetter around his length. Seonghwa moves your hair out of the way, draping it over one of your shoulders to press ice cold kisses down from the nape of your neck, to the middle of your spine. You shiver violently at the frigid temperature, chasing Hongjoong’s heat again to counteract it. The fire in the fireplace burns even brighter, like it’s feeding off of what’s happening in the room. Your thighs ache something terrible at the exertion, but you keep going.
And not only just because you want it to snow in Southtown.
You clench around his thick length, a high-pitched whine escaping your throat as an intense, hot wave of pleasure crashes into you. Hongjoong grabs your hips, forcing you to keep moving as you cum, intensifying the feeling even more. Your head tilts back and your mouth drops open as a second orgasm knocks into you sideways. You crumble instantly, whimpering pathetically.
But he’s not done.
He keeps fucking you until he comes three times, his energy and recovery time never wavering. You feel so spent and full, his cum leaking out of your pussy and pooling on the sheets below. But he asks you for one more. One more. You swallow, throat dry from all of your moaning and crying. Seonghwa, sensing your inner turmoil, wanting to say yes but needing further assistance first, is quick to place the back of his hand against your forehead to effectively cool you down. It’s so dizzying. You prop yourself up on your hands on either side of Hongjoong, Seonghwa’s hand following you down. As Hongjoong begins to move, fucking up into you at this new angle, you paw at Seonghwa’s pants that he still has on.
“Want you too,” you mumble, almost incoherent from the brutal pounding you’re receiving. He bites his lip, making quick work of his trousers and finally pulling his own cock out. Pale, with visible blue veins decorating it like vines crawling up a stone wall. Pearly white precum leaks from the pretty tip, inviting you to taste it.
Before you can do anything, he places two of his fingers on your tongue, bringing down the temperature a little so it’s more enjoyable for him. With his magic, he’s able to cool your tongue without freezing it over completely. To you, it feels like you’ve just let a popsicle or ice cream melt in your mouth.
After that, it doesn't take much convincing to wrap your mouth around him.
Seonghwa stiffens, the small amount of remaining warmth in your mouth slightly overwhelming at first. He keeps his hand on the back of your head, careful to not freeze you when he’s caught up in pleasure from your administrations. Hongjoong groans at the sight above him, watching Seonghwa’s cock create a slight bulge in your throat. The tension between them dissipates quickly once they’re both chasing their own highs. The only competition now is who can make you feel the best.
Hongjoong leans up to suck one of your nipples into his hot mouth, the heat around your sensitive peak making you shudder and clench around his cock even harder. You whine around Seonghwa’s and he almost busts right then and there, his grip on your hair tightening, now pushing you down to choke you on it. Your throat is warmer than he made your tongue, but it doesn’t deter him as he feels your throat constrict against his cock. You hit his thigh once, nails digging into the skin, but Hongjoong smacks your ass again as a warning.
Finally, Seonghwa releases you, but keeps the tip inside your mouth as he comes, hooking one of his fingers into your mouth to cool it down again. You realize why once he pulls out and kisses you, slipping his tongue into your mouth to taste himself.
Hongjoong grunts underneath you, fucking into you with fiery intensity, fueling the molten pleasure that’s been coiling within your lower stomach, and also comes, deep inside of you, buried to the hilt and making sure nothing leaks until he pulls out.
The two barely give you time to recover, flipping you onto your back and switching positions easily. Seonghwa slots himself between your legs this time, his icy touch calming the messy heat of your core. Hongjoong, on the other hand, lays next to you, taking his turn in kissing you. He thaws your mouth in no time, and interlocks your hand with his, keeping it pinned next to you against the pillows.
You almost headbutt him when you feel Seonghwa’s tongue lick a frigid stripe up the center of your core. Hongjoong pushes you back down with ease, and a flicker of jealousy behind his dark gaze.
“Take him, and we’ll give you what you want.” He promises, ghosting his lips against yours. You nod, accepting your final task and allow yourself to melt into him again.
Though you know you’re a mess, especially where Seonghwa is focusing, he doesn't say anything about it. Doesn’t mention how hot you are to the touch, nor about the mixture of cum, your juices and just a thin layer of sweat that covers your lower body. It’s his job to fix it, he tells himself. To cool you down, back to a proper level… if not maybe a few degrees under, purely to give himself the satisfaction.
“I’m gonna take my time with you.” He promises, snow-white hair falling into his eyes as he looks up at you through his long lashes. It’s not said aloud, but his quick glance towards Hongjoong says it clearly: unlike you.
Hongjoong scoffs and rolls his eyes. He focuses his attention on you, squeezing your hand and loving how he can feel you burning up from his proximity as well as the pleasure you’re feeling due to his step-brother.
Seonghwa is expertly skilled with his tongue. You could’ve guessed from how he kissed you, but this was a whole other level that you weren’t prepared for. He drinks you down like a refreshing cold drink, forgetting any and all manners or etiquette. His composed demeanor cracks a little as he indulges in your taste, never quite getting enough of it.
He doesn’t stop even when he’s sure you’re cleaned up, and after he makes you cum twice. The second time, he forces himself to pull away, calling his step-brother down with a curl of his finger. Hongjoong too finds it difficult to pull away from your lips, but loves what Seonghwa has in mind.
You’re far too hazy to realize what’s going on until they finally enact what they silently plotted.
Seonghwa’s frozen fingers suddenly push in and curl inside of you deep, while Hongjoong attacks your clit with his tongue, sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves into his warm mouth. The quadruple juxtaposition of temperatures nearly kills you. Your back arches and you scream at the overwhelming feeling. The coldness of Seonghwa’s fingers inside your warm core, and the heat of Hongjoong’s mouth thawing your clit, drives you insane. You cum embarrassingly quickly for them, eyes rolling back in your head and your voice breaking as you cry and moan for them.
"Please!" You wail, thrashing against the satin sheets as yet another orgasm begins to build and build. "I-it's t-too much!"
Seonghwa smirks at the younger man, who just laughs in response, like they're sharing an inside joke. One that has lasted centuries. The only thing they can agree on.
"That's what they all say."
── ⋆⋅✴︎⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅❄︎⋅⋆ ──
You don't know how you got home.
All you know is that you wake up in bed, sore, marked, and... thoroughly satisfied. It takes you a moment to realize the unnatural drop in temperature in your room. You sit up, looking around until you see your window, covered in frost. In an instant, you tear the covers off of you, in awe at the chilly floorboards beneath your feet, and race to the window.
A blanket of white covers the town as far as you can see from your house. You rub your arms to encourage your body heat to warm you up, noting that you're still wearing your thin sweatshirt from last night. Outside, you see kids running out in multiple layers of clothes, no proper snow gear in sight since they've never needed such a thing before, and rain boots. They dive into the snowbanks, pelt each other with snowballs and scavenge for stone eyes for their snowmen. You can't help but smile, excited to go out and play like a kid for the first time in years. From your bed, you hear your phone blowing up with texts, no doubt about the crazy shift in weather, how this is the first time they're seeing snow, wishing you a Merry, Snowy Christmas, etc.
You shove your hands in your pockets once the frigid air gets to be too much for you, only to find a crumpled piece of paper in there. You pull it out and read it with shaking hands.
gamechangershow
andulkaphoto
turnnoffyourmind
stormborns
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
theartofmadeline
tangentwithtanner
vaporwave
