💨‧₊˚.° 11:58 p.m. (m) — choi yeonjun & kang taehyun
genre: smսt, threesome, doms!fratboys!taejun, sub!fem!reader, friends to ???, high sex + car sex = 😵💫
wc: 4.9k (someone sedate me pls)
becoming friends with frat boys was never part of your plan for college.
alas, here you are, two of them basically surgically attached to your hip. your first semester of junior year has been full of surprises thus far, your blooming friendship with yeonjun and taehyun being the most significant one; what started out as partners for a project has transformed into a close friendship with the two guys, and your new norm now consists of grabbing starbucks together before heading to class, hitting the gym with either one or both of them in tow, and — for better or for worse — attending their frat’s infamous parties every weekend.
and lucky you: you’ve just arrived at one.
as you climb the steps of tau chi tau’s gigantic house, you spot the bright blond hair of one of the pledges on door duty — your favorite pledge, actually.
“sunoo!” you greet, tackling him into a hug as soon as you reach him. he reciprocates easily, his lips curling into a small smile before he’s pulling away.
“you’re late,” he teases. “your boyfriends are already high off their asses.”
you scoff, nudging his shoulder with a closed fist. “first of all, they’re not my boyfriends. second of all, they knew i wasn’t gonna be here for a while, and i promised i’d be their d.d. tonight, so,” you shrug. he rolls his eyes playfully, but opens the door for you anyway.
“yeah, yeah, whatever. they should be in the basement,” he says, gesturing for you to go inside. “just be careful, it reeks down there.”
you laugh. “thanks, dude.”
as the front door shuts behind you, you take in the state of the house. the air is hot and humid against your skin, your shoes getting stuck on the floor that is covered with liquids you’d rather not identify. some rap song pounds in your ears, and you nod your head along to the beat as you slip between a small space between two groups, finally reaching the door that leads down to the basement. the moment you swing it open, the potent stench of weed bombards your senses. your nose scrunches up — sunoo wasn’t wrong.
in vain, you wave your hand in front of your face as you make your descent. the haze floating in the air grows a bit thicker the further that you go, your only goal now being to get them out of here before you start feeling the effects as well. you eventually have to drive, for christ’s sake, and you’re not looking to get a dui anytime soon. with one last step, you make it to the bottom of the staircase. the music is quieter down here, but the smell is far worse than upstairs. a familiar laugh pulls your attention to the couch facing away from you, two very familiar heads of hair catching your attention. as you sneak up behind them, you press your index finger against your lips, silently telling beomgyu — who sits on the couch opposite to them — to keep quiet. he simply smirks at you.
“y/n’s here,” he calls. annoyed, you flip him the bird and send him a scalding glare before leaning over the back of the couch, your scowl quickly being replaced by a grin. two pairs of red-rimmed eyes find yours, widening in tandem when they register that you are, in fact, there.
“my baby!” yeonjun cries, his hands reaching up to pull you down towards him. his lips meet your forehead, pressing an aggressive kiss there, palms squishing your cheeks to hold you in place. you struggle to pull away from his grip, ignoring his pout and insistent grabby hands once you do. you sate him by linking your fingers with his.
“you’re later than usual,” taehyun comments from next to him, a smile permanently etched on his lips, the sight a testament to his inebriated state. unlike yeonjun, he doesn’t move to touch you, perfectly content with watching.
“i literally told you earlier that i had a paper due at twelve,” you remind him, removing your hands from yeonjun’s as you round the side of the couch, aiming to sit on the arm of it. that is, until yeonjun pulls you between them so that you rest on his left thigh and taehyun’s right. yeonjun wraps an arm around your waist, while taehyun rests a hand on your upper thigh. you try your best not to squirm. they’re your friends, but you’re not fucking blind.
“you could’ve asked me for help,” taehyun murmurs close to your ear, squeezing the meat of your thigh. his warm breath tickles the side of your neck, and you gulp. directly across from you, beomgyu meets your flustered gaze, an amused eyebrow raised as he sinks further into the couch. you tear your eyes away from him to focus on your fingers twiddling in your lap.
“i-i didn’t wanna bother you,” you admit, and he emits a giggle. the hand not sitting on your thigh reaches over to pinch your cheek.
“you’re so cute,” he coos, and for some reason, the praise goes straight to your center. “i wouldn’t’ve minded.”
okay, time to go. you don’t think you can handle any more of their pda, and you’re starting to feel a bit weird after inhaling all of that smoke. if you want to get to their apartment, you need to leave right now. standing, you stretch your limbs in a poor attempt to rid them of their shakiness.
“time to go,” you voice, turning to face them. their eyes are dark and hooded as they look up at you. you falter a bit, stumbling when yeonjun rapidly leans forward and gathers you in his arms again.
“but i don’t wannaaaa!” yeonjun whines, pulling you back onto the couch and straight onto his lap, his grip around your waist tightening enough that you’re pulled against his chest. “ten more minutes!”
sighing, you wiggle in his grasp, to no avail. you look over at taehyun for help, only to find him laughing at the sight. then, an idea pops into your mind, something that you know will appeal to both of them.
you turn your head towards yeonjun. “what if i take you to mcdonald’s?”
that gets them going. after one last odd look and crude gesture from beomgyu, you guide them out of the house and into yeonjun’s car. taehyun rides shotgun, while yeonjun mumbles in the back about how that’s unfair treatment — it’s his car, after all. despite yeonjun’s initial complaints, the drive over to the closest mcdonald’s is filled with loud, off-key singing from yeonjun and hysterical giggles from taehyun. it makes your eyes roll, but a tiny grin pulls at your lips all the while.
“you’re lucky i love you guys,” you mumble, pulling into a spot in the parking lot after giving the drive-through worker the largest order that they have probably ever received, digging into your mcflurry as they silently inhale their burgers, fries, and their own mcflurrys. the pace at which they eat both impresses and terrifies you.
as soon as all three of you have finished, you begin the drive over to their place. you assume that they will let you stay over given how late it is, and it’s not as if they’ve ever minded before. after a few minutes, you realize how oddly quiet they’re being, and you look over to find taehyun staring at you, eyes unblinking and full of an emotion you can’t quite place. you whip your head back to the road — until you hear a sharp shink from the back. looking through the rearview mirror, you find yeonjun’s lighter poised to a brand new joint that rests between his plush lips, the flame bright and inching closer and closer to the paper.
“dude, you are not about to hotbox this car,” you groan. “put the fucking lighter down.”
“it’s my car. i can do whatever i want,” he mumbles in defiance, the lighter moving precariously closer again and illuminating his face in the dark backseat. you swing an arm between the two front seats in a poor attempt to grab the lighter. a hand moving to your thigh — taehyun’s hand — and squeezing nearly causes you to swerve the car before you gain control again.
you glance over at the boy next to you as his fingers trail up and down your inner thigh, panic lacing your pupils, but you are distracted once again when the flame in your peripherals returns. “yeonjun, i swear to god—”
“don’t you want some?” taehyun interrupts, his hand stilling on a patch of skin high on your thigh, dangerously close to your center. “you worked hard today, you should let loose.”
you do. you really, really do. the stress built up in your muscles has become almost overbearing, and you’d think that it would be gone after your paper was out of the way, but no. honestly, all you want to do right now is relax, and taehyun’s offer is more than tempting — but you also don’t want to crash yeonjun’s car. at the same time, you are within walking distance to their apartment, so maybe…
“fine. just— just let me park first,” you concede, pulling into the nearest empty parking lot, parking in the dark back corner and subsequently cutting the headlights. twisting in your seat, you find yeonjun already prepared with an old pill bottle full of pre-rolled joints. an insane amount of them, actually. you snatch one and place it between your lips, reaching for the lighter in yeonjun’s other hand, only for him to pull it away.
“nuh-uh,” he drawls with a lazy smirk. “c’mere.”
in curiosity, you lean forward, wondering what, exactly, his game is. he sets the bottle down, and his fingers reach up to grip your chin, fingertips lightly digging into the skin as he brings the lighter up and lights the joint for you. your stomach flips, your thighs automatically closing around taehyun’s hand. wrenching your face away, you turn towards the front again, heart racing in your chest as you take your first hit. then another. you block out the other two as you allow your high to take over. you don’t notice taehyun’s grip on you slip away.
over the course of what you think is a few minutes, your body begins to relax into the seat, head thrown back against the headrest as your brain fogs up. blurry eyes stare up at the gray ceiling. you eventually register just how hot it is, then notice the sheer amount of smoke that’s floating past your vision. a finger pokes your cheek, and you follow the hand back to taehyun. you smile subconsciously.
“such a lightweight, so cute,” he says, tapping his finger against your cheek again. you notice that he doesn’t have a joint of his own. “gimme a hit.”
“get your own,” you reply with a defiant hum, cheeks warming as you jokingly shield your joint with your body. he sighs.
“c’mon, i just wanna try something. you trust me, right?” he murmurs. blinking hard, it takes you a moment to send him a lethargic nod. he peels the joint from your fingers with ease. “come closer.”
you obey, leaning over until mere inches separate your faces. he grabs you by the collar of your t-shirt, urging you to come closer. his eyes flit to your lips before they meet your gaze again — as if the weed wasn’t enough, this whole situation is rendering you even dizzier.
silently, he pushes a thumb against your lips, pressing forward to part them. your mouth immediately accommodates the digit, and it presses against your tongue for a moment before dragging down to your bottom lip, your saliva mixing with your lipgloss. something quiet and pathetic sounds from your throat, your breath stuttering in your chest when he bites down on his own lip, his big, wide eyes far from innocent as he stares at you.
“keep it open,” he quietly orders, voice low and demanding, before he removes his thumb completely. you sit there, mouth agape like a fish out of water while he places your joint to his lips and inhales deeply. the seam of his lips closes immediately. then, he leans in, his lips mere millimeters away from yours. he holds your gaze as he opens his mouth and blows the smoke into your mouth, and you inhale it with a shaky breath. it travels down your throat and deep into your lungs, but the heat that spreads through your body isn’t from the smoke — no, it’s something overwhelmingly feverish. needy, wanton.
the moment your eyes flutter close, taehyun’s lips are on yours, the taste of him sweet from the ice cream he ate earlier. the smoke you exhale passes between your parted mouths, drifting out into the cabin of the car. he feels around for the cupholder, then for his soda, using a single hand to pop open the lid before he’s dunking the lit blunt into the liquid, the movement of his lips unwavering all the while. he wastes no time in curling his palm around the nape of your neck, pulling you closer as he devours you whole.
“holy fuck,” you vaguely hear yeonjun gasp, too far gone in the sensation of the languid, saliva-slicked kiss. it feels as if you are floating on top of a cloud, and you move to grab at his bicep to ground yourself. taehyun slips his tongue past your lips, curling the muscle around your own and immediately establishing his power over you. whining into his mouth, you attempt to pull away, only for yeonjun to cup your face and take over the kiss. taehyun’s hand slides down your neck and to one of your covered breasts, groping the soft mound of flesh over the fabric of your t-shirt. you moan into yeonjun’s mouth.
gentle hands pull you over the center console and into the back, yet yeonjun doesn’t break the kiss as he gathers you in his lap, your trembling thighs straddling his hips. you feel his cock press directly into your center when presses you down by your hips. your arms throw themselves around his neck, your lips slotting against his like a matching puzzle piece. the car rocks when taehyun slinks to the back as well, but yeonjun refuses to share you, hips angling upwards to grind his boner harder against your panty-clad core.
“quit hogging her, you asshole,” taehyun growls from next to you, flipping your skirt up in the process to reveal your lacy panties to their eyes. the man next to you caresses the swell of your ass before landing a light smack. you jolt on top of yeonjun with a pathetic squeak, and his hand comes down again. in stark contrast to his actions, his tone is kind, perhaps a bit condescending, as he addresses you, “ooh, that feels good, doesn’t it? our baby likes to be spanked?”
their baby? something warm fills your veins at that, a quiet whimper muffled by yeonjun’s mouth. with the thin fabric of your panties embarrassingly sticking to your folds, you tear your lips away from yeonjun’s to hide your face in his chest, unable to face either of them. however, the rhythm of your hips does not falter. yeonjun forces you to look at taehyun with a firm grip that squishes your cheeks together, your lip puckering involuntarily.
“answer him.” his warm breath fans over your ear as he speaks. a shiver racks your body despite the feverish heat surging through your body. knowing your voice will betray you, you opt for a shaky nod.
taehyun’s gaze burns into your own, the blunt, rounded edges sharpened by lust. his dark pupils are the only thing that you can see in full clarity, the rest a foggy blur. “use your words.”
“yes,” you mumble, eyes screwed shut and your cheeks hotter than they’ve ever felt before. the feeling has spread down to your neck, your chest, the epicenter settling in your lower stomach. it festers there and tears at your insides like a feral beast and all you can think about is them — them using you, them fucking you. your breathing grows heavier before you feel a tap to your cheek, the skin stinging at the contact.
“open your eyes, baby.”
you’re not sure who says it, but either way, you submit. eyelids fluttering open, you find both of them peering at you like two wolves stalking a soft, wide-eyed little lamb. your tongue feels like sandpaper in your mouth when they exchange scheming looks, their hands all over you as they maneuver your body as if you’re a doll. when did they plan this? how did you not notice their soft murmurs?
you end up sitting between them, legs spread wide with one leg thrown over each of their laps. taehyun aims his focus towards your breasts, shoving your t-shirt up and yanking your bra down with little care, a hand tweaking one of your tits as the other curls itself in your hair and yanking your head back against the headrest. you cry at the sensation of his lips mouthing at your neck and his fingers pulling and groping your sensitive flesh. on the other side of you, yeonjun wastes no time in attempting to divert your attention back to him. shifting your panties to the side, he caresses your folds before dipping down to your entrance and groaning.
“oh my god, you’re fucking soaked,” he groans as he gathers your wetness on his fingertips. “tae, you gotta feel her.”
said man’s hand leaves your breast, reaching down to join yeonjun’s at your center. a light brush over your clit causes your hips to twitch before he’s reaching down to swipe your entrance and—
“shit, you’re right,” taehyun breathes against your neck. “that’s so hot.”
without speaking, they begin to work in tandem as they pick you apart. a quiet, barely there voice in the back of your mind wonders if they’ve done this before, but that thought is quickly shooed away once two of yeonjun’s long fingers slide into your needy hole to the knuckle, the delicious stretch of your walls causing you to keen. your spine arches off of the seat when he begins to slide them in and out, curling up and grinding into that sensitive little spot inside you that you can never quite hit. meanwhile, taehyun ghosts a finger over your clit that aches for stimulation, his free hand digging into your thigh to keep you spread wide for them, your leg twitching in his grasp. he circles the sensitive bud as yeonjun adds a third finger to the mix, his movements growing faster as he feels your walls relax around his digits. taehyun ducks his head down to your breast, wrapping his lips around your nipple, his teeth scraping lightly against it. crying out, you plead for them to keep going.
“such a tight little pussy,” yeonjun rambles directly into your ear, and you clench around his fingers. he nibbles at your earlobe before he continues, voice deep and growly and too much. fuck, it’s too much. “you look s’sexy right now, y’know that? so fuckin’ pretty. gonna make sure you can’t think about anything but us— gonna fuck you so dumb, baby. haven't even had our cocks ‘n you’re already losing it. s’cute.”
with how wound up you are already, it doesn’t take long for the heat building in your stomach to bubble over, the overwhelming sensations all over your body coaxing you through your intense orgasm, waves a pleasure wracking your trembling body, your release coating yeonjun’s fingers while taehyun leans up to capture your lips. your whimpers are muffled by his mouth. the pleasure seems to have no beginning nor end, dizzying and causing your mind to drift somewhere far away, barely able to reciprocate the kiss. neither of them stop their ministrations until you’re pawing at their hands with a pitiful whine, your words staccato and incoherent.
you sit there, chest heaving and your clothes disheveled, barely able to comprehend the way the two boys argue over who should have you first. hands fly in front of your vision, a closed fist versus a flat hand, and though you can barely see through the smoke floating through the air and your terribly cloudy vision, you recognize that they’re playing a petty game of rock-paper-scissors. a dopey giggle shakes your body as you throw your head back against the back seat. they share a concerned glance.
“y/n? can you look at me?” taehyun carefully asks. your empty-headed grin remains on your face while you turn to face him, humming in half-baked acknowledgment. he frowns, a hand coming up to cup your face as he takes in your red-rimmed, glazed over eyes. he peers around you towards yeonjun. “i don’t know if she can take more, jun.”
the words sober you up slightly, your grin dropping. “n-no! wan’ more, wan’ your cocks,” you ramble. “need them, please.”
“you heard her. she needs us,” yeonjun muses, already reaching for your loose limbs. “‘n i won, so c’mere, baby.”
yeonjun gathers you into his lap like earlier. this time, however, you feel his tip pressing at your fluttering entrance, an arm around your waist to hold you up. he looks up at you with a smirk. “ready, baby?”
you nod, and he wastes no time to begin slowly pushing your hips down. the flared, leaky head of his cock breaches your entrance. you whine, walls fluttering around him already as he moans. the rest of him presses into you inch by inch. it seems as if you can feel him everywhere — in your stomach, in your throat, the length of his cock almost too much for you to handle. the tip curves perfectly against your, his shaft grinding against your g-spot as he gently rocks his hips, allowing you to adjust to the overwhelming stretch. your whines grow pitchier as he finds his rhythm, hands on your waist as he bounces you up and down on his cock. he curses under his breath, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. he watches you with his tongue between his teeth, lips curled into something cruel and patronizing.
“feelin’ good, pretty?” he breathes, eyes rolling back into his skull as he begins to snap his hips to meet your own. the slap of skin grows louder, echoing throughout the car along with each of your moans and whines. your eyelids flutter, speechless, a cry tearing from your throat when he swipes a thumb over your slick clit, your walls tightening further around him. he doesn’t seem to mind your lack of response, and with a string of curses, he slams you down harder, lips clashing with yours as both of you chase your highs. desperation coats your tongues as he bites down on your bottom lip, pulling it back as you whine, clinging to him desperately, nails biting his skin and leaving deep half-moons in their wake. the slight sting of pain spurs him on, pulling away to spew filthy words into your ear.
“gonna fuckin’ cum deep inside you— ohh fuck, you seem to want that, hm? t-tightened so much around me. you need my cum, don’t you? say you need it,” he demands, holding your face close to his, dark pupils searing into your skin. a light slap to your cheek wakes you up a little. “c’mon— shit. say it or i won’t give it to you.”
“n-need it!” you unabashedly sob, feeling your high hit you. “please, jjunie, cum in me. pleasepleasepleaseplease—”
a deep groan cuts your pleas off, a warmth that floods your walls following close behind. he paints your insides white as he whimpers against your neck, hips twitching as he fucks it further into your hole. you quiver on top of him, holding him close with your arms slung around his neck, nearly in tears at how amazing it feels, sweat clinging to your skin and sticking to your shirt. it takes you much longer to come down this time, your body twitching erratically as the aftershocks continue to roll through your body.
“jesus christ,” taehyun mutters next to you, and you remove your face from yeonjun’s violet hair to look over at him. his cock lays heavy in his hand, veins bulging as he strokes up and down, pausing at the top to swipe the bead of precum at the tip and smear it over the angry head. the sight causes your mouth to water. the urge to feel him against your tongue is almost too much for you to bear. sliding off of yeonjun with a whine and sore legs, you go to lean down for a taste — before taehyun stops you with a firm hand.
“what do you think you’re doing?” he asks, jaw set as he leers over you.
“i-i just wanted to—”
“nuh-uh, baby. you don’t just get to do what you want. jun and i are in charge here,” he says, squeezing your jaw roughly. “now, get on your back. head on jun’s lap.”
silently, you do just that, finding yeonjun’s dick already rock hard again right near your face. your juices mixed with his cum gives his lengthy cock a light sheen in the low light, but your attention is soon pulled back to taehyun when he wraps his legs around his waist. towering above you, he guides his head along your slick folds, smearing the remnants of your and yeonjun’s last orgasm along himself. he taps it against your clit, chuckling when your hips jump.
“such a sensitive little thing,” he coos. taehyun doesn’t warn you as he guides his cock to your entrance and pushes his hips forward in one fluid motion, burying himself to the hilt in seconds. the feeling of his cock inside you is far different than yeonjun’s; taehyun’s is a little shorter, but much thicker, the stretch of your hole borderline painful.
“h-holy fuck, you’re tight,” he gasps, voice sharp as he tries to hold himself together, resting there for a moment as he allows you to adjust to the sudden intrusion. the moment your hips start to grind against him, his jaw ticks, rolling his hips into you as he watches your brows furrow and mouth fall open into an ‘o.’ hands grip your waist as his thrusts quickly sharpen, harder and deeper and cruel. you blink up at him, whining. smoke hangs around his head like a halo, but the cruel snap of his hips is far from holy.
diverting your gaze away, yeonjun poises his tip at your lips for you to suckle, breathing shaky as your soft tongue delivers kitten licks to the head. just as he curls a hand in your hair, you slip your tongue into the small slit at the very top as your moans vibrate against him, reveling in how he hisses at the feeling, his thighs flexing beneath your head. your dopey smile returns, eyes rolling back as taehyun continues his hard thrusts, quiet grunts falling from his lips as angles his hips upward in an attempt to get your gaze back on him. it works, your eyes widening adorably as he presses his cock right against your g-spot. his teeth graze his bottom lip, biting down hard when he feels you clench around him, a direct result of yeonjun tweaking one of your puffy nipples.
taehyun is quiet as he fucks you, only quiet curses coming from him as he uses your body to chase his orgasm. a hand slides up your stomach to wrap loosely around your throat. he barely puts any pressure, but it’s enough to send you reeling, a third high, weaker in magnitude washing over you. after the amount of teasing he put himself through earlier, taehyun isn’t far behind, fingers slightly tightening against your neck as he thrusts into you quicker, coaxing you through your orgasm as his own finally hits him. his moans are high-pitched and whiny as he spills inside you, his cum mixing with yours and yeonjun’s, sticky and hot and satisfying. yeonjun cums against your lips immediately after, forcing you to take his tip into your mouth to taste him. you greedily swallow his release, allowing him to gather the escaped liquid with his fingers and shove it against your tongue.
pulling out, taehyun watches as the thick, white liquid spills from your hole and onto yeonjun’s leather seats. he gulps, pushing it back into you with thin, lithe fingers as you barely react, brain practically rendered mush.
“that was…wow,” yeonjun mumbles, caressing your cheek as your eyelids flicker closed. taehyun hums in agreement as he fixes your clothes back into their proper place. lethargic and dumb and feeling so, so warm and full, you drift off into quiet, bleary dreams. their voices seem far away now, their tones faintly worried at your state. a cool feeling washes over your body, causing you to shiver, eyes blinking open for a moment to find the windows now rolled down, airing out the smoke. the cool air feels fresh in your lungs; you’re grateful for it. you close your eyes again, finally passing out for good.
none of you are sure where this situation will lead when you wake…but you suppose you’ll just have to cross that bridge when you get to it.
genre: smut, strangers to ???, mind reader/telepathist!beomgyu, funeral home employee!beomgyu (it's for the plot ok???)
wc: 11.7k
synopsis: most people would abhor a packed subway car — but beomgyu, telepathist extraordinaire, relishes in it. with a career in the funeral business, he finds his morning commute to be the only thing that keeps him relatively sane. reading the mundane thoughts of mundane people maintains his tether to his humanity, but when he goes to read your mind...oh, things get a whole lot more interesting.
warnings: mdni!! 18+ only, ageless blogs dni!!!, mentions of dead bodies, embalming, and funerals (though not very descriptive — it's only bc of gyu's profession), reader is a freak that listens to nsfw audios on her way to work!, gyu is a perv so it's a match made in heaven (hell?), gyu's honestly a little strange + obsessive in this...anyways, dom!gyu, sub!mc, solo male masturbation, on my big cock beomgyu agenda, very brief mentions of daddy/sir/master kinks, explicit consent is given before anything happens bc consent is sexy <3, mind manipulation (he makes it feel like he's touching her), exhibitionism in a way (it will all make sense, trust 🙏), degradation, praise, pseudo-fingering (idk how to explain it, f receiving), gyu calls mc: pretty girl, sweetheart, slut, whore, princess, mc calls gyu sir like once...whew! that was a lot, lmk if i should add anything!
note: you know i have a terrible bout of brainrot when the warnings are all nsfw related...yeah. Yeah. *presses post and runs away*
☆ playlist ☆
masterlist
beomgyu’s commute to work is, by all means, uneventful.
the train is packed as per usual, filled to the brim with businessmen and office workers and other miscellaneous passengers on their way to whatever the hell their destination is. like most days, he finds himself towards the middle of the passenger car, snatching a rare open seat between a stone-faced man adorned in a suit — his head buried in a newspaper — and a slumped over college student nursing a cup of coffee. the poor kid almost looks like death itself, sporting dark under eyes, rumpled clothes, and a prominent slouch to his spine. not that beomgyu could really blame him; he remembers how easily college living (if you could call it living) can chip away at a person’s mental well-being.
people-watching like this is what keeps him sane, he thinks. being surrounded by corpses all day, every day is more than draining — it sucks the soul out of him, really, being the only person on shift most of the time that he’s working, having to embalm and clean and pretty up all those cold, gray bodies so that their loved ones can say one last goodbye. it’s quiet in their minds and it’s all too quiet in the funeral home, the only sounds being the clanking of the embalming tools he’s been trained to use, his footsteps echoing down the tiled halls, his sighs of contempt when something small goes wrong — yet the living, breathing, warm people on the train provide a sense of normalcy, something to look forward to every day. to hear their thoughts, as prosaic as they are, has become a sort of saving grace from the lifeless, cold building that he finds himself in five out of the seven days of the week. honestly, if he can maintain a little bit of his humanity via strangers among the subway, even if it’s just by hearing their thoughts, then he’ll take what he can get.
yeah, that’s the thing: beomgyu is a mind-reader, a pretty talented one at that. not that anyone knew, of course — he wouldn’t risk the government finding out. beomgyu is not usually one for promises, but he has promised himself one thing: there’s no way in hell that he will ever become one of the government’s sick little science experiments, even if his life ever hits rock bottom. he has no idea how his powers work — just that they do, and he would like to keep it that way. it’s bad enough that he doesn’t know where he got such abilities; his parents never mentioned anything about it and only ever grew worried whenever he read back their thoughts to them, so obviously the existence of his powers is some statistical anomaly in the universe. normal people can’t read others’ minds. he was forced to learn that at a very young age in order to keep himself safe.
“how do you know that?” he remembers his mother’s alarmed tone when he first did it unknowingly, repeating back her own thoughts to her without realizing that’s what he had done. he was maybe six at the time — innocent, curious, plagued by voices in his head that he didn’t quite understand. those voices weren’t his. rather, they were his friends’, his family’s, his dentist’s and his doctor’s and his soccer coach’s voices that ricocheted about his mind uncontrollably;it was overwhelming for the young boy’s mind. the day he first admitted that he could hear them was the first day he heard his parents argue, their yelling from downstairs colliding with their internal voices in beomgyu’s mind, their terribly poignant concern for him and this development louder than any of the venomous words that they spat at each other in the living room. all he remembers from that day was himself crying, unable to block out anything that they thought, let alone his own thoughts. too much for his young mind to handle.
he heard their fear when they took him to the doctor for the first time of many, their heartache when the doctor came back and said that he might have psychosis, but more testing was needed. he heard how they started to deny it — their little boy couldn’t have that, could he? no, no he couldn’t. there’s no way he could.
although beomgyu was young at the time, guilt ate at him. he was the one hurting his parents, he was the one making them worry. despite his official diagnosis when he was seven, something inside him knew that the doctors were wrong. those voices weren’t just the result of the machinations of his mind at work — they were voices of the people he knew, strangers who passed him on the street. what they said wasn’t evil, it wasn’t out of the ordinary. usually, it was quite mundane. at some point, he started to practice with it, trying focus on one certain voice out of the buzzing hive in his mind, blocking out the others, switching and focusing and blocking out until the action was as natural as breathing. it took him about five years before he reached that point, and after nearly two decades of living with his abilities, he’s gotten quite used to it. his mind is usually quiet — besides his own stream of consciousness — unless he allows others in. or, rather, they allow him in, which they always do. he sees it like a set of doors; open one, and you can hear that one person’s thoughts. close it, and he no longer hears them. and none of them are ever locked since no one expects to their thoughts to be read, which simply makes his life that much easier.
if he’s being honest, he didn’t used to read minds as often as he does now, but there isn’t much he can do about that now lest he go insane. beomgyu could admit that his habit was a little creepy…okay scratch that, extremely fucking creepy. these people had no idea that their minds were being infiltrated, their mental walls bypassed and their privacy violated like a computer infected with a malicious virus. it’s borderline depraved, how nonchalantly he robs these strangers of their utmost privacy, sometimes of their deepest, darkest secrets that they would never want anyone to find out about. he could sequester quite a bit of money out of some of these people, now that he thinks about it.
and sure, that may sound immoral, but beomgyu has never considered himself to be of particularly virtuous character.
without a second thought, beomgyu taps into the mind of the kid next to him. he’s thinking about how he’s failing his statistics class because he just bombed his midterm. no, now his mind is full of what he’s going to eat after his 8 a.m. class. he shifts his focus on the businessman to his right. stocks, his cheating wife, how he’s considering leaving with his mistress in the coming days…
”what a prick,” beomgyu thinks to himself, smirking a bit. just a few more stops until he gets off, now.
he pulls his phone from his jacket pocket, scrolling aimlessly just to keep his eyes busy. sitting on the opposite side of the college student, an elderly lady walks herself through the stew that she’s going to make for her grandchildren tonight, excitement coloring her words. it’s cute — he loves hearing things like that. wholesome thoughts are not easy to come by nowadays, given the state of the world. exhibit a: a teenager standing on the other side of the train car worries himself into a frenzy over whether the girl that he has a crush on likes him back. exhibit b: a middle aged man contemplates if he should quit his job. for a second, beomgyu thinks that he might be in the same boat as him, before realizing that he has nothing else to fall back on — exhibit c. he could keep going.
a clear, robotic voice overhead announces the subway’s arrival to the next station — his station. sighing, he sits up a little taller, slipping his phone into the pocket of his slacks. a vague sense of dread weighs down his shoulders, knowing that he has a service to set up for the moment he clocks in.
he’s not looking forward to today, and yet the train still slows to a stop, the doors still slide open, and he still grabs his work briefcase from the spot between his feet. like clockwork, beomgyu maneuvers through the crowd, out the doors, and climbs the stairs up to the chilly streets of seoul.
decompressing after a slow-moving shift can take beomgyu’s night in many directions. sometimes, he simply returns home and hops into bed after a long, scalding hot shower that removes the invisible layer of grime that lays heavy on his skin. other times — typically on fridays — he’ll stop by a bar and catch up with his friends, occasionally leaving with a woman hanging off of his arm if he drinks enough to lower his inhibitions. more often than not, however, his excursions at the underground bar that taehyun is partial to end in him stumbling home alone and waking up the next morning with a raging headache. nursing a hangover alone, eating breakfast alone, bathing alone…he has never really become acclimated to it. the monster that festers inside beomgyu’s chest craves for love, for connection, for somebody to hold when the nights are too dark and his thoughts match the shade of the sky. the lack of connection is slowly getting to him. is this what insanity feels like? he wouldn’t know, nor would he like to find out. he’s sane. he’s perfectly sane.
beomgyu understands that his profession can be off-putting to potential lovers, but it’s not as if he had much of a choice in the matter — not when his one shot at the career of his dreams crumbled below his feet when the company filed bankruptcy, sending him tumbling back down to earth, to the reality that his college degree meant little to nothing to the vast majority of employers nowadays. though he applied to dozens of jobs, the only one he ever heard back from was from the listing titled “mortuary assistant,” and in desperation, he accepted the position without much thought. maybe if he had tried a little harder to find a different company where he could apply his skills, maybe if he had pushed himself to make connections in the industry when he had the resources to do so, maybe if he had pursued music production a little harder, had not given up so readily when things grew difficult…maybe things would be different.
beomgyu often thinks about the maybes.
this particular night, he finds himself leaned over a bar counter, a glass of amber-hued beer in hand. he half-listens to yeonjun’s slurred account of his dance crew’s latest win while he stares down at the mahogany tabletop. some condensation has gathered on the wood, and he swipes a finger through it. a slap to his shoulder brings his focus back to his surroundings.
“gyu, dude, y’should totally try out,’’ yeonjun pitches as he sloppily swings an arm over beomgyu’s shoulders. “get out of that. that—” he stumbles over his words for a moment, expression warping into a confused grimace. “that gross ass dead people building.”
beomgyu exhales a laugh as yeonjun’s head lolls against his shoulder, quietly whining about how his head hurts. while yeonjun is substantially gone already, beomgyu is only on his second beer. scanning the spacious, dim-lit room, he shakes his head. it’s times like these where he does not feel the need to slip into people’s minds — being surrounded by his friends is enough. “nah, man. i don’t think i could keep up. it’s been a while.”
“sure y’could! you’re like th’second best dancer here!” yeonjun says as his torso slumps down against the table. the bartender eyes him from further down the bar top with concern, but beomgyu sates the employee with an apologetic smile, ensuring that he turns away before setting his attention back on his friend.
beomgyu scoffs. “and i’m assuming you’re the first best?”
“uh, obviously. i literally run th’thing,” yeonjun retorts as he glares at him with a single eye open, an ear now resting on top of his crossed arms on the counter.
“yeonjun’s right,” taehyun butts in from the other side of yeonjun’s collapsed body. though his glazed over eyes give away his inebriated state, taehyun’s tolerance tends to lean much higher than yeonjun’s; this fact is confirmed by the crystal clear enunciation of his words as he continues, “you’ve been acting differently ever since you started working there. it wouldn’t hurt to try something new.”
great, even his friends have noticed. exhaling deeply, beomgyu nods.
“yeah, i’ll think about it.”
as the conversation meanders off into other topics, beomgyu sinks back into his own little world. curse taehyun and his acute perceptiveness. he knows that he’s been acting off, but maybe his friends are right; he once dreamed of being a choreographer, back when he was a teen, before he discovered his love for music production. perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to try.
unintentionally, he meets the gaze of a girl sitting at a booth with her friends. he quickly averts his gaze, and by the time he looks back up, she has been roped into what seems like a shot-taking contest. six other girls circle the table, one joining the first girl in taking rapid-fire shots, four others egging them on, and one laser-focused on her phone, occasionally sipping water through a straw. from what he can gather, she’s likely the group’s designated driver — though it seems her role has morphed into more of a babysitter. she’s pretty, he’ll admit. just his type. if he was on his third or fourth beer, he’d probably be over there trying to strike up a conversation with her, rather than any of her drunk friends.
as she looks up and throws a cursory glance around the bar, she catches him staring, her kohl-lined eyes meeting his own. an eyebrow raises as her gloss-coated lips twist, as if to say “don’t even try it.”
oh, how terribly he wishes to slip into her mind and let her know that he has no intention to.
the ear-piercing screech of yeonjun’s barstool to his right tears his gaze away from her. yeonjun now stands, one arm around taehyun and the other around soobin, the latter sporting a borderline disgusted grimace directed at the older boy hanging off of him while kai simply stands behind the trio of men. yeonjun’s head hangs low below his shoulders, chin nearly touching his chest, as he emits a pathetic groan. at least he’s not puking this time.
“we’re about to go grab some food. this one,” taehyun’s head nods to yeonjun’s sagging frame. “definitely needs it. you coming?”
unwilling to allow the night to end quite yet, beomgyu hums, quickly pays his tab, and allows the brief, silent encounter with the woman to fade away into the back of his mind.
the rest of the weekend passes without fanfare, and monday returns to rear its ugly head once again. monday is beomgyu’s least favorite day of the week; it brings a raging headache from his 5 a.m. alarm, a bone-deep fatigue that lingers for the rest of the day. it brings grumpy commuters whose knees and elbows uncomfortably bump against his own. it brings people who think that he should give up his seat, and silently tell him so with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows. how selfish, they all think whenever he actually bothers to read their thoughts. what a fucking dick, some of them even snarl within the so-called impenetrable walls of their minds, walls he so easily breaks down. he levels those ones with a half-awake glare, pupils gloomy and lifeless. internally, their uneasy reactions make him want to laugh, hysterically cackle in their faces because wow, is he really that scary? he shouldn’t be, but maybe the dark under eyes are doing something for him.
surprisingly, the subway car he frequents is less crowded than usual. not as many people stand in front of him, and he’s actually able to see directly across the car for the first time in a while. doors shut, and he’s left to look around at the regulars and the new patrons that often don’t show up again. they’re easily less interesting than the regulars. really, what can he say? the daily life updates satisfy his nosy tendencies.
still, he hates mondays. mondays suck. mondays make him want to crawl into a hole and eventually join the bodies at his workplace. they bring out the worst in his mind. all they do is remind him of the neverending cycle that he has trapped himself in — wake up, work, go to sleep, and do it all over again the next day.
mondays bring a lot of things he fundamentally dislikes, but this particular monday also brings you.
it’s split-second eye contact. nothing more, nothing less. your eyes grow wide, your lips parting just the slightest bit in surprise. though he has not invaded your mind (yet), he can already tell what you are thinking. fuck, he isn’t blind — he knows that he is handsome.
your eyes shoot downward, your head hanging low with your phone clenched between your fingers. one of his eyebrows raises while a small smirk plays on his lips — you’re new, and even better, you’re cute. his dark, seemingly bored gaze trails over to the earbuds nestled in your ears, then to your crossed legs. you glance up at him again, eyes blowing wide again as your thighs press together just enough for him to notice the movement. his own eyes narrow slightly, evaluating the sight.
you seem...interesting. prim, proper, sitting in a modest-length skirt and a plain blouse and coat that paint you as an unassuming character, just another random person in this sardine can of a train car. yet there’s this glint in your eyes that tells him there is so, so much more to you than what meets the eye — that the innocent, put-together little front that you display to the world is a complete and utter lie. it’s intriguing. new patrons come and go from this particular subway car every day, but you and your fresh face have caught his interest — and so has your odd behavior.
then, without warning, realization punches him square in the gut.
you were there the other night, with those girls at the bar. the one sitting at the end of the table with the small glass of water as you scrolled through your phone. the one who shot a piercing glare at him as you looked out for your inebriated friends. your current behavior is a far cry from the strong front he first encountered that night, small and oh-so meek and lacking the sharp, piercing edge to your gaze that initially piqued his interest in you. the change, for some reason, intrigues him more. what happened to that feisty glare, that confident air to your posture? he wants to know why you seem so meek, so he taps in to your mind and—
“you’re my dumb little slut, aren’t you? fuckin’ say it—”
beomgyu flinches in his seat, the door to your mind slamming shut as he sits there in shock. did he really just hear that? are you listening to fucking porn on the subway? what the fuck?
he’s never had this happen to him before. he’s accidentally stumbled upon the occasional horny thought before, sure, but listening to porn on the subway? that’s a new one. he decides to give you another glance; your lips are pressed together now, eyes pointed towards the floor as you further shrink into yourself. fuck, you’re so cute, but now he knows you’re also awfully perverted — and for some reason, he feels himself getting hard in his trousers at the thought of entering your mind again.
he should do something about this little development, shouldn’t he?
yeah, he thinks that he should. a sick sort of curiosity wins over the more logical side of his brain, the side that tells him that he should feel guilty for even thinking about what he’s about to do. he can’t, can he? no, he can — he wants to, he really fucking wants to. opportunities like this don’t just present themselves on a silver platter like this on the regular. if he doesn’t take this chance, then he’d be an absolute fool.
the subway slows to a stop, the weirdly cheery, robotic voice calling out another stop. not his, thank god. he takes this opportunity to open that pesky little door to your mind again, now fully expecting the depravity echoing in your brain — and rather than do anything drastic too quickly, he simply sits there and listens. he listens through an entire audio alongside you, ignoring the twitch of his cock as he listens to the woman be degraded and praised, in missionary and in doggy, her moans mixing with the man's in a cacophony of pleasure — he loves the way you jump when the sound of a hand striking flesh sounds through your mind. your fleeting sigh of “god, i wish that were me,” causes him to bite his lip. you like being treated like a slut, huh? like a stupid little whore only made to take cock? that’s music to his ears, really — because he likes treating girls like that too.
as sick and disgusting as it is, he continues to listen as if mindlessly tuning in to a podcast, subtly adjusting himself in his pants as he fights off a raging boner. he wants to be the one to do those things to you. he wants to make you scream and sob and beg for mercy as he completely ravages your body, fuck you until you’re brainless, perfect little slut for him. you’d love that, according to the audios you consume for the remainder of his commute — to be fucked so hard you legs give out from under you, to be owned, fully and completely. he likes that sound of that as well.
a few minutes into the second audio, you take another glance at him, eyes squeezing shut right away once you catch his gaze — and suddenly, your thoughts are full of him. he’s encountered countless strangers who can perfectly visualize their streams of consciousness, and you seem to be yet another one of them. images of you on your knees between his thighs and sucking his cock in the middle of this subway car flood his own mind, switching to one of him fucking you from behind against the wall while everyone else watches, then to him finger fucking you with a hand around your throat…what the fuck. what the fuck? how do you just do that? how do you think of such terribly shameless things while looking so pretty and demure, as if you’re a shy little thing rather than some fucking whore? he shifts his briefcase over his lap again. fuck, he’s so hard it’s starting to hurt. shit, fuck.
he should be appalled by you, but fiery, ardent lust is the sole emotion that floods his veins. would it be a bad idea to talk to you? no, you want it. you want it so fucking bad. just look at your mind — and he can make all your dirty little fantasies come true, if you would let him.
just as he’s about to actually do something about you, the subway slows to a stop once again, the same cheery voice announcing his stop. god dammit. pushing himself up to his feet, he finds that you’re doing the same, wide eyes flitting around nervously as you move towards the door and stop nearly right next to him, those earbuds that hide your biggest secret in plain sight still stuck in your ears. he can still hear those degrading words and moans and slapping sounds that still echo through your mind, loud and clear as if those white earbuds are sitting snug in his own ears.
the doors slide open, and soon enough, he loses sight of you in the surging crowd. stepping out of the subway, he looks around once, twice. you have completely disappeared; nowhere to be found, your mind has grown too far from his own for him to locate nor access, the tether between the two of you frayed to the point of snapping in half. with a brief purse of his lips, he sets off up the stairs. it’s fine, there’s always another day. it’s fine, he tells himself over and over again. there’s nothing he could have done in such a short time, anyway.
the sun sits high in the sky today, but the bone-chilling air cuts through his puffy coat like tiny needles puncturing his skin, or millions of scalpels slicing open flesh nearly to the bone, cold and sterile and far from comforting. autumn shouldn’t be this cold, and his slightly soured mood isn’t helping his case right now. he should have done something back there, he should’ve opened up the channel between the two of you and taken the plunge. it wouldn’t have hurt to try, but no. no, he let that opportunity go like every other one he’s had in his life. with his jaw set, he promises himself that it won’t happen again. it won’t, because if he keeps living like this — allowing all these opportunities slip through his fingers like grains of sand — he’ll never be able to forgive himself.
and honestly, beomgyu is no clairvoyant, and he should brush off the tickle in his brain as a stupid, naive hunch…but he has a compelling feeling that he’ll be seeing you again tomorrow.
when beomgyu returns home, the sun slowly sinking towards the horizon, he doesn’t unwind like he usually does. today’s shift was a slow one, with no bodies to preen and primp and no services to set up for, so most of his time was taken up with cleaning, filing documents, and sitting around aimlessly. no matter how much he tried to fend them off, thoughts of you bounced around in his brain for the entire eight hours he was on shift. fuck, he doesn’t even know your name, much less anything else about you, yet he wishes he could travel back in time and redo this morning all over again. he’s not sure how it would have panned out, exactly, but he has a few tricks up his sleeve that would’ve made it exciting.
he shakes his head. the current moment presents much more pressing matters than ruminating on this morning’s terrible decisions; the strain in his trousers proves to be a pertinent issue, a tent formed in the black fabric and aching to be touched. now that the public eye no longer holds his gaze, his apartment door locked shut behind him, he allows himself to give in to his most base instincts. a hand comes down to cup his hardness as he imagines his fingers as yours, you on your knees below him, those adorably wide eyes staring up at him in desperation. you’d wait for permission, right? you’d beg so prettily like a good little slut should? fuck yeah, you would. you’d be good, you’d take what he would give you — and you would love it.
groaning, he crashes onto his couch, head throwing back against the back cushion as he gropes his cock harder. he’s forgone slipping off his dress shoes and has barely even slipped his coat off before he’s giving in to the pulsing ache in his groin that’s nearly unbearable, the white hot need swirling in his stomach that demands his immediate attention. his belt quickly unbuckled and his trousers pulled halfway down his thighs, he slips his cock from his boxers, gasping at how sensitive he has become.
“oh fuck,” he breathes out into the quiet air, a shuddered sigh following when his thumb swipes over the angry red head, the bead of precum that has gathered there spreading across his skin. he brings his hand up to his lips, gathering some spit beneath his tongue before letting in loll into his palm. bringing it back down, he drags his hand up and down his shaft, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as pleasure rushes through his veins. he pumps his cock steadily, hips rolling up into his hand as if fucking your throat. eyes fluttering closed, his free hand grips the couch, fingernails digging into the worn leather and leaving half-moon indents in their wake. “fuck. god, fuck.”
would you be able to take him? he’s been told he’s big, most women barely able to take him even after extensive prep. he imagines how you’d keen as he enters you, your back arching so prettily and your walls stretching to their limits to accommodate his size. how you’d choke and gag on his cock if he decided to use your throat, tears streaming down your cheeks as you peer up at him pathetically, fingers digging into your thighs as you resist the urge to touch yourself. would you like to be slapped around a little, punished with spankings and little taps to your cheek?
“focus,” he mumbles to no one. to you. “focus, slut. be good for me.”
he’s delirious at this point, has dived so deep into his fantasies that he barely registers that he’s fucking his fist and not your mouth or sweet little cunt. that doesn’t stop his fingers from tightening their grip, squeezing the head before gliding back down again, then back up, the rhythm of his hips growing frenzied as his high inches closer. his free hand smooths up his stomach, taking his button-up with it as he clenches it with desperate fingers. he bites down on the fabric, pumping himself once, twice, three times before his high hits him, his cum spurting out in staccato ribbons. he’s making a mess, but he can’t bring himself to care when this is the best orgasm he’s had in months. the shirt falls from his mouth as he moans unabashedly.
“take it,” he groans, his hips canting upward. “fuckin’— fuckin’ take it. shit. such a perfect little whore for me.”
he cums and he cums, spilling all over himself until he’s milked dry. eyes closed, his contracted muscles melt into the couch, hot pants replacing his moans and groans. a few minutes pass before he fully comes down from his headspace and returns back to earth, only for him to realize just how much he came, staining his clothes and coating his skin in creamy white. he blinks.
reality crashes down on his head.
he just…jerked off to you. he just came so hard he saw stars just from the mere thought of you. oh, he’s in deeper than he first thought. too deep, too quickly, he can barely breathe.
“fuck,” beomgyu murmurs as he stares down at his cum-covered abdomen, his sticky hand. “fuck.”
beomgyu was right: you do come back the next day. and the next. and the next.
over the remainder of the work week, he watches you — well, more so listens to you, but he can’t deny himself the little glimpses he allows himself to take, drinking in how you worry your bottom lip, how the muscles in your throat contract each time you gulp. the poker face that you don crumbles oh so easily whenever he meets your stray gaze. it’s exhilarating, knowing the power he, a complete stranger, has over you. your microscopic slips in expression remain undetected to the rest of the passengers, but he sees every single one. they’re a perfectly entertaining backdrop for your explicit musings.
he knows he could approach you like a normal human being would, but where’s the fun in that? he’s not quite a normal person in his own right, anyway. instead, he’s decided to keep you in his sights, learning what exactly you enjoy, what you like to hear, preparing for the day where he again gathers the courage to toy with you within the walls of your mind. he’s in deep, and at this point, he’s accepted it if only to justify his sadistic obsession with you. actually, on second thought, he wouldn’t quite call it an obsession, perhaps a morbid curiosity more than anything. yeah, that’s all it can be.
it’s almost as if the universe has sent him a little present in the form of you, an apology for the trials and tribulations that whatever is above has rained down on him this past year or so. of course he’s going to savor it. who wouldn’t? so he sticks to his plan, and keeps watching you, listening to you, observing you, identifying your little quirks and deepest, darkest desires. they’ll be quite useful later, he’s sure.
over his…research period, he’s found out a lot about you. you like to be bullied, to be called a slut, a whore, but you also enjoy a little praise mixed in: good slut, good whore, pretty girl is so obedient for sir, for daddy, for master. you’re also not too picky in what you listen to, as long as it contains a male dominant in some capacity. couple’s content, threesomes, gangbangs are all on the table, as are solo audios that usually have some sort of plot to them — coworkers to lovers' first date that ends in sex? check. hot librarian who fucks over a table you after closing? that too. he could go on about what he’s heard in just the solo audios you consume, but even that list would be exhaustive.
by the time friday rolls around, he doesn’t even have to try to search for your mind; call him crazy, but it’s almost as if you, on some subconscious level, know that he wants in and are more than willing to let him. as if you keep the door cracked open just for him.
at least, he likes to think that you do.
staying close, but not too close, to you proves to be difficult today. fridays bring with them a surge of new faces that crowd the subway car, which is generally quite annoying, but at the moment, he also finds it to be frustrating. no seats are open when he boards, he can’t even see you through the dense crowd, but you’re there. your mind is there, open and waiting for him to enter.
though he won’t be able to see your cute little reactions, he steps through that mental threshold.
“it’s okay, baby. shh, don’t cry, you can cum. cum for me, just let go,” a gentle voice coos. aw, you must be having a rough morning, how sad. the only other day you listened to these kinds of audios, you looked absolutely miserable, the corners of your lips pulled down and a deep, pathetic furrow to your brows — it was wednesday, that’s right. two days ago, when you seemed frazzled and completely out of it. a little digging resulted in him learning that you had spilled your coffee all over the concrete on the way here, you thought your hair didn’t look right (even though, to him, it did, it looked perfect — he wished he could’ve told you that), and worst of all, your boss emailed you late the previous night to admonish you for your performance, demanding a meeting first thing that morning.
still, he wishes he could take care of your boss, eliminate that weight off of your shoulders. if it were up to him, your boss would be sitting in the morgue at his place of work, gray and comatose and unable to admonish you for things that beomgyu is sure you had no control over. because that’s how offices work, right? sink or swim, big fish eat the little ones, blaming those below them for everything they should be taking responsibility for. your boss has to be one of those. he was pig-nosed and donning a constant sneer when you pictured the verbal berating you’d be getting once you got to your workplace.
that day, he found himself thinking about how he’s become pretty talented with a scalpel.
“good girl. doing so well for me, pretty girl,” the same voice soothes, soft cries and sniffles from the submissive mixing with the gentle words. he could treat you all sweet too. he could be anything you want, if only you knew him.
he wants you to know him — needs you to, really.
there’s no clear cut reason for your current sour mood, your thoughts too jumbled together for him to properly decipher. are you picking apart your appearance? did you wake up late? is this all because of your boss again? he might just kill the bastard if that’s the case…if only he could approach you, tell you that everything will be okay, but he doesn’t want to knock down the house of cards he’s spent such precious time building over the course of the week. you’re too special for that. it’s the very reason why he tries to blend into the crowd, why he tries to keep eye contact to a minimum. the last thing he needs is for you to run away from him when you’re one of the only things holding him together.
when the car slows to his and your stop, disappointment nips at the space between his eyebrows. he didn’t even get to see you today, and the end of the work week means that he won’t be seeing you for two entire days. sighing, he falls into his typical routine: move towards the doors, wait for them to open, and follow the other exiting passengers out. where could you be? you’re still here, he knows that much since he’s still connected to you, still hears those soft words and moans, but where the fuck are you? you, as in your body. that you.
with a single cursory glance around, he swears he catches a glimpse of your figure before the crowd swallows you whole. as he’s shoved towards the stairs by the crowd, his chest grows heavy.
friday has just begun, but monday couldn’t come any faster.
“so, are you gonna try out?”
yeonjun is far more sober compared to last friday night, his eyes lacking that fatigued droop they always get whenever he’s had too much. beomgyu tears his glazed-over gaze away from the television screen to look at the yeonjun, sinking further into the couch below him. he points to himself. “me?”
yeonjun rolls his eyes, a knee swinging over the arm of the armchair he sits in. “who the fuck else would i be talking to?”
scoffing, beomgyu shoots him a glare. “i don’t know, man. y’don’t have to be a dick about it.”
the open bottle of beer in beomgyu’s hand chills his fingertips, so he switches it to his other hand before taking another sip. meanwhile, soobin plops down next to him with an already open bag of chips, offering some to him. he shakes his head, and soobin shrugs, beginning to munch on them by himself.
“i’m serious though,” yeonjun continues. “you should really try out. there’s not much to it, just dance to one song and you’re done. i’d probably pass you even if you sucked.”
“that’s nepotism,” taehyun chimes in from the floor, eyes trained on the screen as he shoots a player down in the game him and kai are currently obsessed with. the sound of gunfire fills the living room of soobin and yeonjun’s apartment, the murmurs of the two boys a low drone beneath it as they figure out their best strategy to win.
he almost wishes he lived here with soobin and yeonjun, or with the other two. yeonjun and soobin, taehyun and kai — only beomgyu lives alone. alone doesn’t necessarily mean lonely, but in beomgyu’s case, it does. maybe that’s why he’s latched onto you so hard: to cure his loneliness. he swats that thought away like one would a pesky mosquito. he hasn’t latched onto you, he admonishes himself, he’s simply curious. yeah, curious.
just a little innocent curiosity.
disregarding taehyun’s comment, yeonjun raises an eyebrow towards beomgyu. “i know i was drunk when i said that shit last week, but you really have been acting weird since you started at that job. we’ve all noticed.”
“yeah, it’s like you’ve gotten more reserved, or something,” soobin says, words muffled by his chewing. beomgyu grimaces, shifting closer to the arm of the couch.
“you’re the most introverted one here, you can’t say shit,” kai snorts. soobin throws a chip at his head.
“anyway,” yeonjun butts in with a scalding glare before an argument can begin. soobin and kai blanch, mouths closing. “we’re just…concerned about you.”
“is this some kind of intervention?” beomgyu laughs, disbelief apparent in his tone. he’s fine. he has you now.
“no, we just want you to know that there’s other things you could do that would make you happier than work at a fucking funeral home,” taehyun says, eyes still not straying from the tv.
“like joining my dance crew,” yeonjun tacks on.
beomgyu sighs. they’re kind of right, if he’s being honest with himself, but is he ready to put himself out there again? is he ready to face the potential of rejection, of failure? he’s had his life fall apart in front of his eyes once already, what if it happens again?
“...i guess.”
“c’mon.” yeonjun shifts around until he’s leaning on his elbows, focus solely on beomgyu. “tryouts are next saturday. i know how fast you can learn choreography. hell, you could probably learn something in a couple hours and be fine.”
“honestly, you’ll never know if you don’t try,” soobin chimes in. “it might end in something good.”
“yeah,” beomgyu says before taking another large swig of beer. “yeah, i know.”
and so another weekend passes, and monday returns once again.
soobin’s brief, sage advice plays through his mind again and again. although he understands that soobin meant for it to apply to his current career situation, beomgyu has adopted it for his situation with you instead. he should try, he’s going to try, eventually.
it might end in something good, he tells himself over and over again. he has to try.
mondays are a bit less excruciating now that you’re around. he has only known you for a week, but it’s been long enough to know that you make his day-to-day routine bearable — hell, he’ll stay at his terrible job as long as you keep showing up each morning. the day that you don’t will be the nail in his coffin — he chuckles at his stupid joke. yeonjun is rubbing off on him too much.
the sky is overcast today, and endless expanse of gray that contrasts the warmth of the changing leaves that line the sidewalk. it might rain soon, he surmises, but he hopes that it won’t. he’s forgone an umbrella today. digging his hands further into his coat pockets, he ducks into the subway station, descending the stairs and weaving through the crowd until he finds his usual platform. when he gets there, you’ve already arrived, ears vacant of those white earbuds, but it’s not a foreign sight to him. you typically put them in once you sit down. the fact that you get on and get off at the same stop as him…he almost likes to think of all of this as fate.
maybe the universe really is trying to apologize.
the subway arrives at the platform a few minutes later — minutes in which he tries not to stare at you. he’s not a creep, he swears that he’s not. he’s not a creep, he’s not a creep — he repeats this to himself as he follows behind you into the subway car the two of you frequent, he finds a seat across from you a few feet to your left. he can’t be too obvious.
and most importantly, he’s not a creep.
you dig around in your bag. ah, here come those infamous earbuds, he’s sure of it — but then they don’t, and then the digging through your bag grows a degree more frantic, your lips parting as you continue shoving whatever is in there aside in search of your most precious possession.
you feel like crying as panic surges through your veins. oh god, you forgot them. how could you have forgotten them? what are you going to do now?
beomgyu decides to tap into your mind in that moment, finding you in an unbelievably frazzled state. his heart clenches in his chest, he wishes he could help somehow…
wait. he could…oh my god, he could. no, that’s sick, he’s not a creep — well, no, he could. he definitely fucking could, and you’d probably end up liking it…
he could be your temporary replacement for today — no, he could become your constant source, the one you need to get through the day. he could become your audios. he wants to. they’d be far more…interactive, if he did, after all. you’d love what he could do to your pretty fucking body just with access to your mind. reading thoughts isn’t the only thing he can do — and soobin’s right: he’ll never know if he doesn’t try. how could he sit here any longer and not give in to his burning desire to ravage you? you know what? fuck it. this is the perfect opportunity, served up once again on a silver platter, waiting for him to take. he’s not going to let it slip away again — and oh, you just look so devastated right now, how terrible would he be if he didn’t help you?
in a split-second moment, beomgyu decides that today is the day. deep breath. focus. okay, he can do this. one, two, three…
“hello, pretty girl.”
you flinch before you look up and around, only to find no one is looking at you — well, he is, but through his peripherals. wouldn’t want to get caught, would he? suppressing a smirk at your reaction, he shifts in his seat.
“was someone just talking to me?” you ask yourself, brows furrowing as your eyes continue to dart around. your hand comes up to your ear to see if you accidentally remembered your earbuds, your frown deepening when you register that they are, indeed, not in your ears. glancing around again, your eyes skirt over his form. he shivers at the thought of what’s to come, biting his lip as he avoids your gaze. “is this some sort of prank?”
“calm down, sweetheart, this isn’t a prank. now, stop looking around, you’re the only one who heard me.”
your brain flits from thought to thought so quick he can barely keep up, the volume of them rising as you panic. your fingers clench the strap of your purse as if to ground yourself. “am i hallucinating right now? what the fuck? this has to be a prank. should i go to the doctor’s? no, my boss would kill me if i called out, but fuck, i should really go if i’m hearing things—”
beomgyu chuckles, the sound echoing through your mind as well. freezing, your muscles lock up as you look around again. your distressed stream of consciousness stops for a moment, before resuming at a much more rapid pace. “what the fuck, i need to call out right now, where’s my phone—”
sighing, he leans back into his seat and closes his eyes. so cute, how easily you spiral. “quiet that pretty little head of yours, pretty girl. you’re not hallucinating, this is all real. very real.”
a few moments pass before your internal freakout quiets down. for once, silence fills your mind…and rather than him break it, it’s you: “someone’s…talking to me through my mind? this is real?”
“such a smart girl. you figured it out so quickly,” beomgyu taunts, resisting the urge to coo again. adrenaline rushes through his veins, urging him to continue. you need him. he can make you happy. he just needs to hear you say it.
your thighs press together at the praise, fingers digging into the trousers you had chosen to wear. you shouldn’t be feeling like this. this is strange, terribly strange, and even a little frightening, now that you are aware that someone — that a complete stranger, at that — has full reign over your conscious. yet, at the same time, you’re curious to see how this will play out.
“and you can speak to me, too, if you focus hard enough…” his voice trails off. okay, you can do that. allowing your eyelids to flutter shut, you begin to breathe deeply until even the mechanical noises of the subway and the murmurs of passengers vacate your senses. mind empty, you exhale a shaky breath. focus. stay focused.
“hmm, impressive. you’re a natural at this.” god, he needs to quit praising you like that with his deep voice. by the way he laughs, you know he heard that too. fuck.
“who are you and why the fuck are you in my brain?” you decide to ask. straight to the point, no fluff to it, it’s reminiscent of your attitude at the bar where he first laid eyes upon you. this is the wall you put up towards strangers and any other threat to your life, but little do you know, beomgyu’s breached that wall already. this is just a little front. “answer me, you fucking asshole—”
“woah, woah, watch the language. why would i tell you who i am? it’s much more exciting this way, don’t you think?” the smile in his voice is unmistakable, but he purses his lips to keep them from curling upward.
you start to gnaw on your bottom lip, biting hard enough for pain to bloom across your nerve endings. this is stranger you’re talking to right now, a stranger who you’re talking to through your fucking thoughts. this is weird. you never signed up for this. “get the hell out of my mind before— before i—”
“before you what? can’t kick me out, you don’t know how to do that, pretty girl.”
fuck, he’s right — wait, if he’s in your mind right now, can he also control it? is he going to hurt you? is he going to make you his puppet and go on a murder spree? is he in this car with you, or somewhere else? what if…what if…
beomgyu can almost feel your panic swelling in his own chest. fuck, he needs to put a stop to your spiraling before it gets out of control. if you freak out now, then all of his work over the past week will be for naught. after all, he’s not going to do anything without your permission. the last thing he wishes to do is scare you off completely before he can have his fun. with great urgency, he cuts off your ramblings, “hey, now, relax for me, princess. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m as human as you are, just a bit…different, i guess. and i am in the same car as you right now.”
rather than respond, you look around again, eyeing every single man around you with suspicion, even him. he stares at the floor, maintaining what he hopes to be a neutral, borderline bored, expression. he needs to keep it together. he’s gotten this far, he can’t ruin this. “looking around again, huh? if i were that easy to spot, then this game wouldn’t be very fun, would it?”
“game? fucking with my mind is a game to you?”
the corners of his lips twitch up before he’s forcing them back down. this is it, the moment he has been waiting oh so patiently for. keep it together.
“well, not really — i actually have a proposition for you, if you’d hear me out.”
scoffing, you urge him along. “just get on with it.”
“so impatient. that’s okay. i can work with that,” he smirks. “i know what you listen to every morning, you know.”
your heart drops to your stomach. he what? oh god, you think you’re going to be sick. your arms wrap around your stomach, squeezing hard. this is bad, this is really fucking bad. “do you want money, or something? are— are you trying to blackmail me right now? i’ll have you know, i’m actually kinda broke right now. i really don’t wanna end up homeless, can you just. pick someone else to fuck with? there’s like twelve different businessmen in this car, i’m sure they’re rich and corrupt—”
beomgyu’s brows raise imperceptibly. jesus, are you always this flighty? “woah, chill. i’m not here to judge you — or blackmail you, for that matter. i’m not evil. aw, don’t look all shameful now. i told you i’m not here to judge — i actually wanna help you, if you’d let me.”
“help me?” you dumbly echo. “help me how?”
“well,” he starts. “i noticed you forgot your earbuds today, and you just looked so sad and lost without them. how else are you going to get through your commute? and then i thought maybe i could do something about that. y’know, help you out, get you through the morning.”
“so you invaded my privacy just to tell me that you wanna dirty talk to me for the rest of my commute? is that what you mean? ‘cause if so, that’s pretty weird,” you reply, though your stray thoughts that dart around tell him that you’re actually considering his offer — it’s tempting, isn’t it? to give in, to let his deep voice get you all squirmy and needy, knowing he could be anyone in this subway car. still, your words make him laugh, because of course you’re deflecting right now. it’s okay, he hasn’t given you the full story quite yet.
“that’s only part of my offer, princess,” he starts. “i can read minds, yes, but i can also do…other things.”
oh, you’re really considering it now. maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let him. his voice is nice, and maybe, just maybe, it’s kind of making you horny. after a deep, long breath, you gulp once, then, with curiosity dripping from your tone, you ask, “...like what?”
jackpot.
beomgyu’s high on a mix of adrenaline and dopamine, utterly giddy because he’s got you right where he wants you, where he needs you. he’s played his cards just right, shoved your worries to the side and drew out your curiosity enough that you’ve taken his bait. perfect, oh, this is perfect. he knew you’d be good for him.
“it would be much easier for me to show you.”
“then show me,” you immediately reply, heat flooding your cheeks at the sheer desperation in your voice. god, calm down. he hasn’t even done anything yet.
chuckling at your internal conflict, he decides not to comment. “tell me if you don’t like something. i’ll stop.” he watches as you slightly nod to yourself, a soft “okay,” echoing through your head and into his — thus, he sets his plan into action.
something warm caresses your calf, but when you look down, there’s nothing there. your eyes widen — was that a hand? it definitely felt like one, the way it creeped up the back of your leg, calloused fingertips pressing into your skin. a shiver races down your spine. that had to have been him.
“it was,” he confirms, then his voice is growing impossibly deeper, adopting that gruff edge that you love so much. “you want more, princess? i can give you more.”
another phantom hand skirts over your waist, dragging down over your hips to your right thigh, just to stop there. biting your bottom lip, you nod, hoping that whoever is in your head right now sees it, wherever he is. the hand moves to your inner thigh; despite how tightly pressed together they are, it skirts over your skin with ease, seemingly beneath your trousers. “i need words, pretty girl, or i might just stop right now. and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
no, you wouldn’t, not at this point. the unbearable ache currently building in your core makes you want to cry; you haven’t felt this level of desperation in a while, and you need to be touched. you need it so fucking bad.
“please.” the single word comes out meek, quiet. shame flushes your face, a fiery heat that spreads up to your ears and down your neck.
you hear the way his breath shudders, causing your own hitch. “fuck, you’re so cute, but i need more than that. beg. beg for me to touch you.”
his voice — fuck, his voice is so deep, so dark and wanton. you wonder what he sounds like when he’s moaning, how he would sound if he fucked you, pounded you into the mattress so hard you saw stars. the image of a faceless stranger fucking you from behind, your back arched behind you and your face buried in the sheets, as he holds your wrists behind your back flits across the big screen of your mind. you shake it away, but the man in your head is already tutting. “use your words, sweetheart, not pictures — though i’d love to do that to you too. you’ve got quite the imagination on you.”
beomgyu’s cock twitches in his boxers as you whine, frantic pleas bubbling up from the deepest, darkest recesses of your mind once he takes the sensation of his hand away from your thigh. you sound halfway dumb already, begging for his hands, his cock, his tongue — anything. you’ll take anything just, “please, sir. please touch me. need you to touch me so bad.”
you don’t even know who he is, yet you’re being so obedient, calling him sir, begging so sweetly for him — it’s like you’re begging straight into his ear. his heart swells at the thought, as does his cock. you sound so pretty, but he finds himself wishing he could hear these words come from your lips instead.
“yeah? my little slut needs more?” he prods, laughing meanly when you whimper out a yes. “aw, ‘course she does. desperate whores always need more, don’t they? so greedy.”
you have to swallow down a whimper at that, focusing so intently on keeping quiet that your nails have dug into your palms deep enough to almost break skin. the pain seems to help keep you grounded — that is, until you feel the sting of a palm against your backside. you flinch in your seat, gasping sharply. the man sitting next to you glances over, but you only hang your head and shrink into yourself. he looks away.
“focus, whore. you’re drawing too much attention to yourself.”
two hands are touching you now. one cupping your pussy, the other wrapped around your throat, pressing into the sides of your neck so you start to grow dizzy. the hand on your throat releases its grip to slide down to your chest, circling around one of your nipples before a thumb swipes over the pebbled flesh. your back arches off of your seat when the sensation morphs into that of lips, plush warmth enveloping your tit before the sharp bite of teeth interrupts. you inhale a shaky breath from your nose as lips return to soothe the sting. despite the hard press of your thighs, the hand on your pussy drags up and down your folds, dipping down to your entrance before dragging up to your clit. a tiny squeak sneaks up your throat before you’re masking it with a cough.
“aren’t you just a sensitive little thing? so wet too,” he coos, shifting his briefcase over his lap to gain some semblance of friction. his fingertips tingle as if your wetness coats them right now. fuck, he’s hard. if it were up to him, you’d be taking his cock right now, moaning so prettily as he presses you up against the wall and fucks up into you, your legs giving out from under you because he’s just making you feel so good, isn’t he? never mind that, he has a job to do. “how about i just…”
two lithe fingers breach your walls while a thumb continues to slowly circle your clit, barely brushing over the sensitive bundle of nerves. you feel like you’re going insane, trying your best to hold still as his fingers begin to move inside you, curling up into your walls. searching, he’s searching for that spot inside you that will get you crying—
then he finds it.
your knee jerks up, your legs falling open slightly before you’re pressing them closed again as he abuses it over and over again, crooking his fingers just right to find it with each thrust. your hips roll up into the sensation, stilling as soon as you realize that you’re squirming too much, being too obvious. people are starting to stare, calm down. calm the fuck down.
god, you don’t think you can. it’s too difficult to keep still with the way he’s finger-fucking you right now. with the way there’s lips suddenly circling your clit, sucking the pearl in so that his tongue can play with it. little kitten licks that make you want to scream and cry and beg for mercy because you don’t know if you can keep up this front of normalcy with the way he’s touching you.
it’s like he’s speaking directly into your ear right now, warm breath fanning over your earlobe, your cheek. “wanna see you fall apart, wanna see you lose it in front of all of these people, baby. bet you wanna cum right now, yeah? just wanna feel good, don’t even care if you quake and cry in public? you’re that fucking desperate for it?”
you nod to yourself, eyes squeezing shut. you’re so close. oh god, you’re going to cum. you’re going to cum like a brainless whore in the middle of a fucking subway car. you’re sick. you’re fucking sick for enjoying this.
you’re just as bad as him, beomgyu decides. he knew you’d like what he could give you, he knew you needed him. it was just a matter of time before you realized that fact. that’s okay, because he needs you just as badly. it’s a carnal need, white hot in the center of his stomach — fuck, he’s obsessed with you. he wants you to be his forever.
and beomgyu knows you’re close, but he’s not quite ready to give you what you want.
“please, oh god. please let me cum. fuckfuckfuck— no, please don’t stop!” you cry as he slows the pace of his fingers. “please no, ‘m so close! no no no—”
“you drive me crazy, it’s only fair if i return the favor. makes it more fun.” ripping the sensation away from you completely, he watches you bottom lip tremble as you blink back tears, your body melting into your seat as the pleasure fades away. “now, now, don’t cry, sweetheart. i have something even better for you.”
a few seconds pass before something breaches your entrance, your walls stretching to their limit, yet the sting of pain never arrives. filled to the brim, you throw your head back against the window behind you. to others, you seem to just be resting your eyes, but the way your mouth falls open is not lost on beomgyu. he knows you can feel him everywhere, knows you can feel the way the head of his cock nearly touches your cervix, how it presses into every single sensitive spot inside you. he knows he’s big, but you take it like a champ, your hips grinding down into the seat, as if to bring him deeper inside you. what a little whore, his little whore.
“y’feel that, pretty girl? feel my big fucking cock inside you?” he asks as your chest heaves, a feeble attempt in holding yourself together. “calm down, now. i’m gonna start moving, okay?”
he doesn’t wait for your response before he’s spoon-feeding you the sensation of his cock pulling out until nothing but his cockhead remains within your walls. a few seconds pass, then your begging returns. tearful, this time, fucking pathetic. he basks in the power that rushes through his entire being. you need him. you need him in order to feel good, and he loves that you do. he brings a hand down to adjust himself in his pants, hissing quietly at the ache that the action brings. he needs to fuck you right now. physically fuck you, none of this thought manipulation bullshit — but no, he has to be patient. he can be patient as long as it’s you.
the subway is slowing down again, and he comes to the gross realization that he only has a few minutes before both of you must depart. dammit, he has to make this quick.
meanwhile, you’re already halfway to your high just at the mere feeling of him inside you. as soon as his cock begins to move again, you’re choking back moans, head hanging low as your muscles tense and your hands press into your lap. you can feel him in your throat each time he thrusts back in, his thrusts growing faster and faster until he’s pounding into you.
“fuck fuck fuckkkkk!” you wail, encouraging him to continue. in reality, your walls clench around nothing, but your mind paints a different picture. you almost beg for him to cum inside, but you cant find the words, too fucked out to think about anything else but the knot in your stomach that grows tighter with each passing second. “fuck, please. please, fuck i’m, nghh—”
imaginary fingers swipe across your clit, and you’re a goner.
thighs quaking, your release coats your panties, walls fluttering, but the movement of his cock doesn’t stop until you’re begging for mercy. beomgyu almost cums in his pants at the depraved wails you emit, half-baked sentences pleading for him to “s-slow down, please. i can’t, no, i can’t — shit!”
finally — finally — he grants you reprieve from the onslaught of pleasure. your body slumps into your seat, your eyes shut as you begin to float back down to earth. the clack-clack-clack of the subway slows until it stops completely. the usual robotic voice announces his stop, but you seem so out of it that you don’t even register that you need to get off.
“good job, baby. you put on quite the show for me,” he praises as he rises to his feet. luckily, he decided on wearing a longer coat today which he uses to cover up his raging hard-on. this has to be fate.
no response. with an excited gleam in his eye, he disconnects from your mind and moves towards you. looming above you, he drinks in the beads of sweat that have formed along your hairline, the wrinkles in your trousers where you gripped the fabric a wee bit too hard, your dreamy eyes and how they blink down at his black loafers before raising to meet his own. concern has painted itself across his features, his head tilting as he holds your bleary gaze.
“are you alright, miss? you look a bit ill.”
you blink once. twice. god, how are you so cute even after getting fucked so hard? he can barely control himself from blurting out who he is.
“what—what stop is this?” you ask him, eyes wide and red-rimmed from your earlier tears. he tells you, and he watches those same eyes widen. “oh shit, this is my stop!”
attempting to stand, you stumble straight into his chest. he catches you with gentle hands before he’s helping you steady yourself. your legs tremble like those of a newborn fawn, sexy yet terribly adorable. he gulps at the image of you unable to walk, legs so sore that you’re forced to let him dote on you, that forms inside his mind. later. that can come later, don’t get too hasty.
“oh, you’re a bit shaky there,” he murmurs, a hand curling around you elbow when you stumble again. “are you sure you’re alright?”
“i’m f-fine, sorry for the trouble,” you reply with a polite, yet jittery, smile, stepping away from him. he wants to tell you to come closer again, he wants to smell your sweet perfume again, feel your warm skin beneath his fingertips.
but good things come to those who wait.
“no worries.” with a charming smile, he shuffles beside you, until the two of you have exited with the rest of the crowd. he catches your wrist before you can get too far, and you turn to face him once more. afterglow looks wonderful on you. “it looks like we’re getting off at the same stop today, so would you like me to walk with you until you’re feeling a bit better? i’m sure some fresh air will do you good.”
you pause for a moment, hesitating. have you seen him somewhere before? you feel like you have. “i…that would be great, actually. thank you.”
“of course,” he nods, holding back a smirk. he can’t help the words that escape him next.
“lead the way, then…pretty girl.”
the way you look back at him with alarmed realization — even a hint of fear — causes a grin to split open his lips. you begin to sputter as you back away, but he merely follows with light, casual steps. “w-what, who—who are you—”
his smile grows knife-sharp. the door opens — it always does.
“aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” he coos inside your mind, biting his lip as he watches your knees buckle. “who else could it be?”
taehyun as the nerd in your psychology class who gets hard watching you put on your lip gloss- 😳
AJKAKDKSKFJJWJFHS ADA. ADAAAAA. ok i am so sane i am so normal i am so sane and normal and AHHHH-
(MDNI!!!!)
taehyun sits across from you in lecture, glasses perched on high on his nose and always clothed in comfortable hoodies and jeans. his seat gives him a perfect view of you, the person who he's had a perverted little crush on since the very beginning of the semester. you're pretty, okay? smart too, always answering the professor's questions when you can and diligently taking notes every class without fail, the end of your pen placed primly between your parted lips.
those lips are fucking sinful, he thinks. they're plump and just oh so kissable, lip gloss never not applied — lip gloss that he's weirdly obsessed with. he likes watching it glint under the lights of the lecture hall whenever you speak, your voice a siren song in his ears as his cock twitches below the table he sits at. he wants to see that lip gloss smeared across your face while you're under him writhing with unadulterated pleasure. he wants to feel it the sticky liquid against his own lips, his neck, everywhere. what do you taste like? he bets you taste sweet, maybe like bubblegum or cotton candy or something fruity, if the pink color gracing your lips is anything to go by.
you're just about done answering the professor's question (something about freud, he isn't really paying attention at the moment) when your hand brandishes his favorite thing in the world: a tube full of that pink sticky stuff that he adores. with one last smile, your fingers untwist the tube and apply some more gloss to your lips, and taehyun's cock fully hardens below the table, a very obvious tent in his pants. fuck. right now, really?
yet he still can't bring himself to wrench his wanting gaze from your lips, taking in how they smack together a couple times and quirk into a small smile as you look at him — wait, you're looking at him. and down to his lap, and back up to his face.
oh. oh, no.
you're openly ogling his boner with a surprised, almost humored smile, eyes not leaving him as he shrinks into himself a little, his panicky hands shoving his hoodie over his lap. he's been caught, there's no way you don't think he's weird now. shit. squriming in his seat, he shoves his hood over his head, hunches over the table, and starts taking rapid notes, not looking back at you for the rest of the class.
although he tries his best to avoid you after class, you manage to catch him before he can leave his seat. with an air of confidence, you introduce yourself, your stray gaze passing over his lap. he gulps, offering his name, which causes you to smile. there goes that lip gloss again, shining, taunting him. he wants to cum on them, mix his white cum into that sheer pink — shit, stop thinking about that. think about freud. yeah, frued and his vomit-inducing contributions to psychology. yeah, perfect.
"hello?" you call, waving a hand in front of face. his eyes blink back into focus, finding yours again. "i asked if you wanna study together sometime?" you're biting your lip, looking hopeful. playful now, almost.
"yeah, that sounds great," he replies just as confidently, though every single drop is fake. inside, he's shaking like a leaf at the thought of the two of you alone together, how close you would be. so when you smile and give him your number, hitting him with a giddy, "bye, taehyun! see you thursday!" as you scurry off, he's left sitting there almost dumbfounded. his cock is still hard beneath his hoodie, but it seems as if everyone has vacated the lecture hall now, no sign of life anywhere. maybe, maybe...
he nearly moans aloud at the feeling of relief, his jeans quickly unzipped so he can grope himself harder. his eyes remain on the door as he continues. shit, he shouldn't be doing this. what if he gets caught? but it feels so fucking good, thinking about you and your pretty fucking lip gloss, imagining those lips around him as he fucks your throat. groaning, he whispers a curse out into the quiet air, a purr of your name. fuck, baby, feels so good.
too good. he really can't stop now, hand pumping his cock so fast that he fears his arm may cramp, messy precum everywhere — but he can risk being a bad student for once in his life, he thinks.
Hard thought - being so desperate for each other that you and Minho dry hump each other til you both cum in your pants
holy shit, anon (MDNI or you will be blocked, nsfw under the cut!)
one of minho's hands lays heavy against your hip as he holds himself above you, a forearm pressed into the couch cushion next to your head. lips meld against each other, want and need and lust mixing and creating a concoction that renders you both dizzy and craving more, more, more.
pressed flush against your clothed center, his boxer-clad cock grows harder and harder as hands tug at shirts and squeeze at bare skin. his fingers find your hips, sliding around to the globes of your ass and squeezing while he grinds you against him. you emit a breathy moan against his lips, a sigh of his name. the friction is addicting, the thin fabric of your panties rubbing against your clit. the fabric clings to your folds as you grow even wetter.
both of your movements grow increasingly desperate as the seconds tick by. he mouths and nips at your neck, his tongue not far behind to sooth the marred skin, groaning as you curl your fingers into his hair, tugging at the dark strands. his head removes itself from your neck so he is able to lock your gaze to his — and fuck, you're a sight to behold. furrowed brows, eyes snapped shut, swollen lips coated in spit, bitten oh so hard to muffle your cries. your oversized shirt is slipping from your shoulder, revealing the strap of your bra and the bare skin of your shoudler.
one hand remains on your ass, continuing to guide you against him, while the other reaches up to hold your chin. your eyes flutter open, only to avoid his gaze. with a deep, shuddering breath, he squeezes your chin.
"eyes on me," he orders, his voice deep and dark. visibly shivering above him, you obey. his umber eyes bear into yours, hypnotizing — and while you want to bury your head back into his chest and hide, you simply can't. he smirks at your slack-jawed expression. "such a good girl. shit, feels good?"
"y-yeah," you squeak out, panting now. you've drifted somewhere far away, lost in the pleasure he's so generously giving you. your vision goes fuzzy around the edges as his hand slides down to wrap around your throat, moaning at the sensation.
"yeah?" he asks, the lilt in his voice condescending. "you like my cock grinding into your pretty pussy, my hand around your throat? bet you're so wet already, hm? are you?"
with a rapid nod of your head and a whine, your eyes shut again, hips grinding down even faster. when they blink back open, you find his cocky demeanor has lessened, his head thrown back as he groans and curses under his breath.
"god. fuck, baby," he breathes, starting to thrust up into you to meet you halfway. you squeal at the sensation. "y'feel so good. gonna make me cum soon."
you scramble forward to kiss him, muffling your moans and his groans. your fingertips press into his shoulders as you feel your peak approaching. the rustle of clothes mix with the obscene sounds.
and then you're shoved straight over the edge.
you cry his name as your thighs quake, trying to close but being halted by his own. your lips leave his so your head can dive into his shirt, riding out the pleasure. minho ruts into you once, twice before his torso shudders beneath you. he hisses out a quiet "fuck" as his release stains his boxers.
slowly, the two of you come down, your face still buried into his chest. he can feel the heat radiating off of your cheeks when he cups them to bring you in for a gentle, slow kiss. the desperation that previously filled the air has all but dissipated, replaced by soft adoration — and slight embarrassment.
"that...was so fucking hot," he mumbles once he pulls away, a small smile curling at the corners of his mouth. "can't believe you made me cum in my pants."
you giggle despite your newfound fatigue. "i guess i just have that effect."
he pinches your waist. "brat."
that only make you laugh harder. shifting off of him, you stand on trembling legs. "shower?"
genre: smսt (minors/ageless blogs dni), angst for flavor, fluff, friends to lovers, alcohol consumption (so somewhat tipsy sex warning!!), this has more plot and is much longer than i initially expected but it is still very self-indulgent LOL
wc: 2.9k
“you should talk to him.”
the sound of beomgyu's voice a concerningly close distance from your ear causes you to flinch, a bit of the drink in your hand sloshing over the side of the can and onto the already sticky floor. tearing your eyes away from yeonjun, you meet beomgyu's half-lidded gaze; he's drunk, painfully so — and a drunk beomgyu means a considerably more irritating beomgyu.
“why are you over here?” you say, waving your drink around the dark corner of the living room that you staked claim on earlier in the night after chaewon had bailed on you. “shouldn’t you be, like, making out with someone by now?”
“well, you looked miserable, so i decided to be a good friend ‘n come check on you first,” he grins, stumbling when he tries to lean closer and bar you from staring at the man across the room. with a huff, you shove him away and help situate himself against the wall next to you.
“my hero,” you deadpan, blocking out whatever half-baked words beomgyu spews out next in favor of watching yeonjun, your lips pursing as he laughs along with the group of guys surrounding him.
you must admit, he looks...amazing tonight. a light grey tank top allows you a perfect view of his muscle-thickened arms. loose-fitting jeans lay low on his hips, and you catch a peak of his toned stomach and the band of his boxers when he lifts a hand to high-five someone. the self-assured smirk on his lips has not left since you first spotted him. it's almost infuriating; you wonder how he seems so okay, uncaring, after what happened, while your life has all but fallen apart without his presence. you never knew how losing a close friend — okay, a close friend who you have not-so-platonic feelings for — could be so harrowing. until now. the urge to cry and run away battles with the gnawing impulse to stomp up to him and yell straight into his stupid fucking face. you bite the inside of your cheek.
the boy next to you flicks your forehead. “quit staring like a creep and go to talk to him.”
“um, no. i’m pretty sure he hates me now,” you reply, finally looking over at him. “we haven’t talked since last week.”
“since the incident,” beomgyu adds, nodding sagely, before he takes another large swig of the suspiciously bright green liquid in his cup. slouching further against the wall, you shoot him a scalding glare. in response, he simply laughs, the sound squeaky and borderline grating, as leans his head against your shoulder.
it's quiet between the two of you for a few minutes, in which you stare at the small dents that have appeared on the can in your hand due to your unrelenting grip. you can feel the effects of the two drinks you have consumed beginning to kick in: your mind is a little less cluttered, your muscles releasing their built-up tension as warmth flows through your veins. you're still acutely aware of your surroundings — you are not as far-gone as beomgyu, that's for sure — but your situation does feel slightly less dire now that a bit of alcohol flows through your system.
“uh oh,” beomgyu mumbles over the music, leaning up to bring his mouth closer to your ear. “look who’s comin’ over.” glancing up, you find the very person you would rather not speak to making a beeline straight towards the two of you. the carefree expression he sported prior is long gone, replaced with furrowed brows and downturned lips.
you sober up immediately. panicking, you shove beomgyu off of you, ignoring the quiet “oof!” he emits as collides with the wall. he scoffs. “what’re you doin’?”
“leaving,” you mutter, ignoring the slight blur to your vision as you push through the crowd toward the dimly lit hallway that you know contains a bathroom.
without even turning around, you can tell that yeonjun is hot on your trail. you pray that the bathroom is unoccupied — and when you reach it, you luckily find that it is. slipping past the door as quickly as you can, aiming to slam the door and lock it, but a foot shoves it way past the jamb before you can fully execute your plan. you curse under your breath as yeonjun shoves his way inside, clicking the door shut behind him.
for a moment, you and him stare wordlessly at each other. in this light, you are able to see the light flush across his cheekbones from the alcohol, the dark roots of his hair that have grown out since you helped him dye it a couple weeks ago. being confronted by him in this manner makes both your heart ache and your blood boil.
“why are you here?” you spit, breaking the suffocating silence. his blank expression does not falter despite your venom-drenched tone. instead, he crosses his arms in front of him, his biceps bulging, and props himself against the wall across the counter that you presently lean on.
“why was beomgyu so close to you?” he does not answer your question, rather asks one of his own, a slight slur to his words. red tinges the edge of your vision at his blatant disregard of your query. it’s none of his business, not after what he did.
“i don’t think that really concerns you,” you decide to say. “why the fuck do you care, anyway?”
“you know why,” he prods, and the dull ache in your chest grows thorns, puncturing your lungs. your nails dig into your palms in an attempt to ground yourself. he seems to notice.
“no, actually i don’t, yeonjun.” yeonjun. it’s his name, but it is scathing coming from your lips. jjun, jjunie, anything but yeonjun. please. “please, enlighten me as to why you care if my friend is touching me.”
“because i want it to be me instead.”
the dam holding your feelings back explodes.
“you want it to be you, huh?” you laugh humorlessly. “you kiss me, eat me out, fall asleep next to me, then what? throw our it all in the trash? act like i don’t exist? real fucking funny, yeonjun. what a great way to treat one of your closest friends.”
he gapes at you, silent, while you wait for him to say something, anything. taking his lack of response as your cue to leave, you reach for the doorknob, only for his hand to envelop yours. his warm chest collides with your cheek, and his arms wrap around your waist. he buries his nose into the crown of your head.
“i’m sorry,” you hear him murmur, his arms curling around you tighter, and you can’t find it within yourself to break away from his grip. “i was so fucking terrified that you thought that what happened last night was a mistake. that i would lose you forever, i,” his breath stutters in his chest. you feel it against your skin. “i don’t want to lose you. you mean too much to me for that to happen.”
you push away from his chest, finding nothing but sincerity shining in his umber eyes. “why couldn’t you have just talked to me?” your next sentence tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. “don’t you know how long i’ve loved you?”
the gape of his mouth makes your heart race. you feel as if you have confessed something that you should not have. and yet you push forward. “yes, love. how could i ever possibly think that that was a mistake when it’s always ever been you?”
it takes him a few seconds to process your words, and you watch as his expression morphs from confused, to shocked, to...wait, is he smiling?
“can i kiss you?” he asks. the air vacates you lungs at the hopeful quirk of his lips. your resolve breaks and you allow a small nod. that’s all it takes for him to surge forward and his lips to envelope yours. it feels intrinsically different from the kisses you shared last week — no longer fueled by drunken lust and raging hormones, no teeth knocking against each other, and no sense of urgency. slow, soft, he takes his time in savoring the way you taste of your favorite lip balm mixed with the seltzer you had finished off before you tried to escape from him. gentle hands rub soothing circles against your waist while you pull him closer by wrapping your arms around his neck.
he pulls away. “i love you.” kiss. “i love you.” kiss. “i love you.”
the movement of your lips against each other grows increasingly aggressive as you continue. needy, wanting to feel each and every contour, savor every breath each other emits. he breaks away again to kiss down your neck. when you whine, the energy in the room shifts. silently, he urges you up onto the counter, your legs dangling off the edge as he slips his body between your thighs. he finds your lips once more. his hands rest upon your hips, squeezing every so often. this time, you're the one to stop him with a gentle push to his chest.
“wait,” you say as he whines and tries to pull you in again. your fingers splay across his broad chest. you nearly gulp at the sight before you’re shaking the thought away. “you’ve been drinking. i don’t want—”
“baby, i’m fine,” he interrupts. your heart flutters at the pet name. “i wanted to be able to talk to you tonight, so i had, maybe, three drinks? i’m tipsy at most — do i seem drunk? do you feel drunk? we can stop.”
“well, no, you don’t. and i drank less than you,” you admit. “i’d like to keep going...i’m just worried, um, after last time. i don’t want this to be another fluke.” your voice grows incredibly smaller as you speak, trailing off at the very end as you realize how stupid you must sound.
“baby, look at me,” he says, cupping your face. there’s a little haze in his gaze, but the sincerity in his pupils is as clear as day. you know that you look the exact same. “this will never, and i mean never, happen again. you’re mine, and i am yours. if you think i was attached to your hip before, you’re never gonna get rid of me now.”
you giggle at his joking tone, your body the lightest it’s been all night, and you reach down to guide his hands to your thighs. “then make me feel good, jjunie.”
his goofy smile turns sharp at the edges at your words, his fingers digging into your flesh as he leans down to nip and suck at the skin of your neck, your collarbones, his lips trailing down to the valley of your breasts. hands slide underneath your shirt, and you tug at his hair as he slips it off of you, making quick work of your bra. he guides the straps down your arms and off completely, leaving you bare from the waist up. he stares in awe, capturing your hands before you can cover yourself.
“so fucking pretty,” he mumbles, pressing a gentle peck against your wrist. “wanna make you feel good forever.”
“that’s a long time— oh, fuck!” you cut yourself off when his plush lips wrap around one of your nipples, playing with the bud as it pebbles beneath his tongue. he hums, and shockwaves travel straight down to your core. he switches to the other tit, his thumb circling the one that he left.
“jjun,” you moan despite his unrelenting ministrations to your breasts. “fuck me, please.”
he stands up at his full height, peering down at your desperate, needy expression with slight amusement. “yeah? you want my cock?”
“so bad,” you whisper, kiss bruised lips smeared with lipstick and spit. “please?”
he groans. “you drive me crazy.”
he falls to his knees in front of you, helping you remove your shorts and panties. a shaky exhale falls from his mouth when he sees just how soaked you are. a finger slides through your folds, collecting your wetness before bringing to his tongue. he visibly shudders.
“know you want me to fuck you, but i need to taste you first,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you before he dives in with an enthusiasm that is akin to whenever he dances, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking, hands holding open your thighs as you whimper and try to close them around his head. he’s desperate to make you cum, to bring you a level of pleasure that you’ve never experienced before. it doesn’t take you long to fall over the edge, but he does not let up until you begin to push his head away from your center.
“okay, okay,” he laughs as he stands again, taking his tank top off in the process. you gape at the sight, the hard planes of his chest, his defined biceps. it makes you wonder just how strong he is, how he could throw you around and have his way with you — another time. another time.
you reach down to palm him through his jeans, eliciting a whine from him. unbuttoning and unzipping, he helps your shove both his jeans and boxers down until his pretty, pink-tipped cock slaps against his abdomen, achingly hard and sensitive. your fingers immediately wrap around it and begin to stroke up and down, thumb collecting the precum that has collected at the tip. he bucks in your hand once before he's grabbing your hand.
condom?” he asks, and you shake your head, telling him about your birth control. he makes sure with you once again before he leans in to kiss you again, the head of his cock sliding through your folds, sliding against your throbbing clit. finally — finally — he lines up with your soaked entrance. “ready, love?”
humming, you roll your hips forward, and he hisses out a quiet "so impatient," before his hips slowly push forward, stretching your walls as you adjust to the intrusion. both of you moan at the feeling, hands flying everywhere to feel each other. he takes it slow at first, the rolling of his hips into you rhythmic and gentle — but you crave more, need him to fuck you like he means it, to take all that you're giving him and returning just as much to you.
“faster, harder, jjunie,” you pant against his lips. “wanna feel you deeper.”
“god, fuck,” he curses, your dirty words spurring him on. “don’t fuckin’, ngh, talk like that. gonna make me cum.”
his gaze grows hazy as he thrusts into you, your own eyes glazed over, both of you overwhelmed by the sensation of your walls snugly wrapped around him and him stretching you so perfectly. the pretty flush that was once contained to his cheeks has spread out across the rest of his face and down his neck, locks of his dusty rose-orange hair sticking to his forehead. you cup his cheeks and bring your foreheads together. he watches as your eyes roll back into your head after a certain thrust, so he angles his hips to press into that spot again. and again. and again. your cute little whines and moans of his name motivate him to maintain that pace.
“yeah? right there?” he queries, already knowing the answer. “so fucking cute, baby. this pussy was made for me, hm? all mine?”
“a-all yours!” you parrot, the words feeding into your dizzy state. the tendrils of an orgasm begin to wrap around you, your legs beginning to quake. you reach down to play with your clit. desperation laces your next words. “gonna cum, jjunie! please make me cum!”
he's groaning at the sight of you falling apart when your second high of the night hits. a string of curses tumbles from his mouth as his thrusts grow sloppy, his hips slapping hard against the inside of your thighs. he thrusts once, twice more before he spills inside you with a high-pitched whine, burying his head in the junction between your neck and shoulder as he holds you close to him.
“my baby,” he whispers tenderly with a quick peck to your lips when you finally come down. you chase his lips for a longer one, and he concedes easily to your silent demand. you’re smiling like fools at each other as you pull away. “never gonna let you go.”
“my jjunie,” you coo back, holding his face between your palms. you lean in to capture his lips again when a knock startles both of you. you scramble for your crumpled clothes on the floor — until you realize exactly who it is on the other side.
“are the two of you done fucking?” beomgyu’s distinct voice calls. “i need to puke.”
“way to ruin the moment,” yeonjun grumbles, and you chuckle, wiping off the stray lipstick on your face before you’re turning to him, legs still a bit shaky.
“i guess we should help him?” you say.
squeezing your waist, he pulls you closer with a sly grin. “nah, he can manage. i have my lovely little girlfriend to take care of.”
OH FUCK. OKAY! i think all of them would be shocked in some capacity hmm let's get into it (rest of the members under the cut!)
yeonjun would find it when the two of you are still just friends, videos of you fucking open your pretty pussy with dildos that almost look too big for you to take. he subscribes before he even realizes it's you, mostly because you only ever posted things from the waist down, but one day you get bold and post a full body shot. your face is out of frame, but he could recognize that chain around your neck anywhere, the friendship necklace he gifted you all those years ago, dangling so prettily between your breasts as you ride a ridged dildo til your legs are quaking. it's in that moment that he realizes that he's been jerking off to you for months, imagining your pussy wrapped around his cock when he so desperately needs to get off, and god, he wants to fuck you so badly now, make you his. guilt begins to eat at him as he continues to stroke his aching cock to the video, your moans growing louder and more ruined — but when he hears you whisper his name, barely there if you weren't truly listening, he immediately spills all over his hand. fuck. fuck, you think about him when you're doing this — and suddenly the guilt inside him vanishes. you're his, and he's gonna show you the next time you come over
soobin would accidentally walk in on you filming yourself one day when he quietly entered your apartment since you gave him a spare key. poor baby, he'd immediately begin to apologize, slapping his hands over his eyes as he rushes to leave, but your pitchy whine of his name makes him pause. with his back facing you, he asks what you need, his cock growing painfully hard as you beg him to help you, that the small dildo that you're fucking yourself with isn't enough. "please soobin," you whine. "need you so bad." and fuck, okay, soobin's not gonna pass this opportunity up, not when he's been crushing on you for months now. he climbs into your bed, towering over you with cheeks as red as rubies, feeling as if he's dreaming — until the blinking red light from your camera catches his eye. he glances over at it, and you hurriedly explain what you do as a side hustle, scrambling to go to turn it off, but his big, strong hands stop you. looking back at him, you find his eyes have darkened, his presence looming over you as he tells you to keep it on. the next day, your highest tier subscribers get a video of soobin's head between your legs, hair covering his eyes as the obscene, wet noises of his tongue playing with your clit mix with your breathy moans
beomgyu (who's your roommate) would, similar to soobin, stumble upon you fingering yourself in front of a camera — but he'd go about it in a completely different way. he's such an icky, closeted perv, watching you through the crack in your barely open door as you fall over the edge, hiccupy sobs pouring from your lips as you overstimulate yourself. his cock twitches in his pants, and he takes no time shoving a hand beneath his boxers, stroking his cock at the same rhythm as the fingers plunging in and out of your walls, the sloppy sounds of your pussy pushing him towards release faster than he expected. it becomes routine, coming home quietly on days he knows that you film just to watch you — but you're not stupid, no, you know that he's been watching you...and so you leave your door open a little wider the next time, inviting him in and asking if he liked seeing all your content for free, asking him how he's gonna repay you...and when he takes the camera from your tripod, spreads your legs wide, and shoves his boxers to down to reveal his aching, red-tipped cock, you bite your lip and demand that he puts it in already. he becomes your personal cameraman as he fucks you, grunting out how his cock must be so much better than your smaller fingers, filming your fucked out expression as you beg for him to cum inside
you would ask taehyun what he thinks about onlyfans when your relationship with him starts to grow more serious, looking to gauge his reaction. he's smart, though; you should've known he would figure it out right after you ask him. "are you trying to tell me you have one?" he would ask with an eyebrow raised, and you lowkey freak out and say that it's just a hypothetical question. just from your reaction alone, it's so obvious that you do. while taehyun might be a little jealous, he's a lot more turned on at the thought, ordering you to come sit in his lap while he tells you that he doesn't mind if you do have one — he knows you'll always be loyal, after all. he trusts you. he asks questions about it, and as you tell him what kind of content you film, face growing hotter, you feel his cock harden beneath you, and then his hands begin to guide your hips over him. you stutter through your sentence when he bucks his hips up to grind his boner into your covered pussy, gasping as his motions grow more brazen. it ends with you dry humping him on your couch, exchanging slow, spit-slicked kisses until the both of you cum in your pants. a hand travels up to your throat before you can even catch your breath, his voice deep as he asks if you think your subscribers would like couple's content
kai is not as innocent as he seems, getting off to videos of women humping cute lil stuffies until they orgasm, clips of them playing with their tits until they're swollen and achy, one little touch can set them off...god, they're so hot, but all he can think about is you whenever he watches them, his cute, bubbly best friend. imagine his surprise when he finds your onlyfans one day — and that's the exact content you produce. the first video of you he stumbles upon is one of you playing with your clit at first, before you're sitting up on your knees and placing a stuffie between your legs and. wait. holy. fucking. shit. that's the one he gifted you last week. the one he sprayed with his cologne because you've told him how much you love it. kai's cock twitches at the sight, gulping as you begin to moan and whine, hips moving faster against the soft material until you're crying, whispering that it's too much. he nearly cums untouched as you quake above the toy, toppling over the edge as your torso collapses into the bed, but you don't stop. not until you've cum three times just with his little gift. he's slack jawed, drool pooling under his tongue at the tantalizing sight of you spreading your lower lips to show the camera the sticky mess between your thighs. he subscribes immediately, hoping that you don't recognize his user, pengning02. with plans to hang out with you later that night, he's anxious the rest of the day — but when your hangout ends with your pussy smothering his face and your tongue dragging along his cock, kai realizes that maybe, just maybe, you need him just as badly as he needs you
dom!tutor!yn x sub!stoner!cocky!beomgyu who doesn't even care abt college, only wants to get in yns pants
ada. you just kinda got a lil fic out of me with this one so i made it pretty n aesthetic (might have to make this an actual fic, like. a Long one bc this concept is doing smth to me....) honestly, this turned into more of a switch!beomgyu x femdom!reader thing so i apologize for that,, HOWEVER, he is submissive for most of this <3
wc: 1.8k
(MDNI!!!!!!! and please stop asking for a part 2)
beomgyu couldn’t give less of a shit about college. his parents are rich — they could buy his degree if he asked them to — so what the fuck is he doing? why is he not in his dorm right now getting high off his ass? why is he here, sitting in this musty study room in the library? for him, that’s easy to answer: it’s all because of you, the pretty thing that he’s roped into being his physics tutor.
you’re currently trying to explain a law made by some dude named ohm and all he can really think about is how nice your lips would look around his cock, how your pretty fingers that are playing with your pencil would press so perfectly into his thighs as he thrusts into your mouth, tears welling in your eyes as he uses you to his heart’s content. you’re a cute little thing, aren’t you? a bit quiet in class, kinda submissive as far as he can tell — and all he wants to do is bend you over this desk and fuck you ‘til you’re crying for him to stop.
with half-hazy eyes from the joint he snuck a couple huffs from before this study session started and a stupid smirk, he places a hand on your thigh and watches you pause, brows furrowing as he trails it up a bit higher and squeezes the soft flesh under the hem of your shorts. your nose scrunches up as you move your attention from your notebook to him. with a scalding glare, you hiss, “the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
woah. did that just come out of your mouth? for some reason, the words only make his shit-eating grin grow wider, and he squeezes your thigh again. “nothin’. something wrong, sweetheart?”
you stare at him for a moment, gaze cold and calculating, nothing like the wide-eyed look you wear on a normal basis. all he can think about is how fucked he is as soon as he feels you wrench his hand from your thigh and slam it onto the table. he yelps at the pain that radiates through his fingers, rubbing them as he looks at you like a wounded puppy. your lips purse. “i know your stupid game, beomgyu. either let me tutor you, or get the fuck out.”
“jesus,” he sighs, hands shooting up defensively. “fine, whatever. do your worst, i guess.”
beomgyu can’t deny the twitch in his cock at your cruel words. you’re more feisty than he thought; maybe he’d let you take the lead, if you even let him get in your pants in the first place. he was wrong, you seem like the type who’d want control. of course you did. you’ve never fallen at his feet like some of the other girls in your class, the ones who know he’s rich and good in bed and friends with the best plugs on this godforsaken campus. you’ve never wanted anything to do with him; your sore lack of interest just made him want you more, so to let you shut down his attempts to fuck you right here, right now? nah, not fucking happening.
so after a bit of actual studying to appease you, his hand sneaks onto your thigh once again—
oh, he’s hit the jackpot.
you’re standing up now, hand gripping his chin so hard that it hurts. the tick in your jaw is enough to indicate that he’s really pissed you off, a fire surging behind your irises as you glower down at him. he’s leaned back into his seat because you’ve leaned in so close, caging him in — and fuck, does he like it. he’s never had someone be so mean to him. they’ve always let him take the lead, let him use them, but you? you have different plans, it seems.
“what did i say?” your tone is sharp, dangerous. the air around him suffocates his lungs, yet he smiles. he likes this game.
“to let you tutor me, and i was, so what’s your problem?” he shrugs as if you don’t look like you’re about to incinerate him with your gaze right now. your head tilts as soon as you glance down at the hard-on in his lap, that unimpressed, calculating glint returning to your eyes. suddenly, you let him go, shoving him backwards into his seat as you resume your own. you look down at his lap again.
“y’know what? fine. i’ll make you a deal: i’m gonna jerk you off as you do this problem set. if you complete it, i’ll let you cum.”
oh. oh wow. did he hear that properly? you’re gonna jerk him off? he feels a little dizzy because honestly, this is just the first step to getting you to give in to him, to lose control and ride him until he’s a drooling mess for you, ‘cause god, you’d love to him like that, wouldn’t you? he can tell that you would. so—
he gives you another one of his trademark cocky smirks, and says, “yeah, sure. i’ll get it done in no time.”
and beomgyu tries. he tries so hard to focus, but he does not, in the end, get it done in no time. it’s been thirty minutes, and all he’s gotten done is two out of the ten problems that you’ve been assigned to complete by tomorrow. how can he with your hand stroking up and down his cock so slow that he wants to cry? whenever he stops working to try and thrust into your hand, gain any semblance of pleasure, you remove it. he can’t fucking win.
“do the problem,” you command, leaning against the desk with the most bored expression ever painted on your face, as if you’re not jerking him off beneath the desk right now. as if you don’t even want to be here. “you have an hour to finish these, y’know. i can’t stay here all night with your dumbass. i have better shit to do.”
his hips twitch up. fuck. fuck. he needs you to degrade him more. you sound so pretty doing it.
“c’mon,” he whines. “can’t you just let me cum? i’m never gonna get this shit in an hour.”
“sounds like a you problem.” and you go back to stroking him, thumb teasing the flushed red tip and spreading his precum all over, further lubricating your hand to make your movements smoother. he gets back to work, trying his best to ignore how fucking good it feels to be edged like this. to get so close, only for it to be torn away from him. by problem seven, he’s sniffling and whimpering for you to let him cum, “please let me cum. please? wanna fuck you so bad. wanna feel you pussy around me, fuck.”
all you do is give him a mean-spirited laugh. “you really think i’m gonna give in and let you fuck me? y’probably thought i was some submissive little bitch at first, didn’t you? well, you thought wrong — so either solve these fucking problems, or else i’m not letting you cum. and you’re sure as hell not getting to fuck me. you’re more stupid than i thought. how pathetic.”
he could cum right now, but he thinks you might kill him if he did. so he struggles through problem eight. and nine. and ten — and finally, finally he’s finished. finally, you start to pump him as fast you can, whispering mean little names in his ear, calling him a stupid little bitch for thinking you’d be that easy, a fucking idiot for even trying. twisting your wrist, you lean over with your other hand to squeeze his balls, manicured nails biting into the sensitive flesh and—
he spills all over your hand with a pathetic whine, his whimpers loud enough for you to slap a hand over his mouth and whispering to keep fucking quiet, or do you want to be caught? he doesn’t care though, it feels too good to let go after being tortured for so long, his cum spurting all over his shirt and jeans and all over your hand.
when he’s finally done, he feels you wipe your hand on his shirt, mumbling how disgusting he is as you grab some hand sanitizer, apply it, and start to pack up. wait, you’re leaving now? he doesn’t get to fuck you?
“where are you going?” he questions, watching as you slip your calculator into your bag, not even sparing a glance at his ruined state.
“home,” you bluntly reply. “like i said, there’s no way in hell i’m letting you fuck me. and i’m not tutoring you anymore. find someone else.”
okay, that’s enough to get him panicked. “what? but you’re the only one who agreed to do it!”
“you think i care? go to the professor, then.”
“wait,” he says. grabbing the sleeve of your jacket before you can walk out. you turn, judgment apparent in the way you scan over his cum-covered clothes. despite that, he pushes on, “aren’t you at least a little turned on? why don’t you let me help you?”
“as if,” you scoff, even though yes, you’re really fucking turned on and wanna ride him until he’s an overstimulated mess right now. you’ve never had a boy bow to you as easily as him, and you enjoyed it more than you’d like to admit, but at the same time, this is beomgyu you’re talking about. he’s terrible news, and wouldn’t be a good influence on your academics. you try to pull away and head towards the door. “i’m out of here.”
“liar,” he accuses, pulling you backwards. “you have to be a least a little turned on. c’mon, i know you want to fuck me, wanna see me all stupid for you. you seem like the type to like that.”
he’s stupid and cocky and infuriating, but he’s also right. you want to tie him up and use him for hours. you want to watch his pretty rich boy face twist up and turn red as he starts to sob and whine for you to stop. you want to see him brainless and pliant and willing to do anything you ask. staring at him, your mind feeds you scenarios of his fucked-out face, sweat rolling down his temple and mixing with his tears. with a deep breath, you wrench your wrist from his grip and fully turn towards him.
you’ve made your decision.
“fine,” you say. “i’ll make you another deal: get a 90 on the exam next week, and maybe i’ll let you.”
there’s no way he can do that, can he? it sounds impossible in his mind given his track record of 20s and a 15 percent on the last exam — but he finds himself nodding anyway. he has to do this, he's desperate enough.
genre: nsfw so mdni, boyfriend!yeonjun, switch!yeonjun, plane sex 😵💫
wc: 1.6k
part 2
your left leg is shaking.
at the moment, you should be fast asleep, basking in the comfort (and astonishing amount of leg room) that a first class airline seat could provide. however, you remain wide awake, not an inkling of fatigue in sight. you have exhausted nearly all options of distraction, leaving you to pick at your nails and stare off into space, thoughts racing through your head at the speed of light.
and it's all your boyfriend’s fault — him, and his fucking tank top.
you would usually be fine — you have always adored yeonjun's fashion sense — but it isn't just a normal tank top; no, it clings to his lithe body, the dark fabric defining his pecs and accentuating his pretty little waist. the lack of sleeves only serve to make things worse for you, the well-developed muscles of his biceps flexing as he shifts his position in his seat next to you. you didn't even know he was wearing it until he took off his denim jacket to go through tsa. that was more than four hours ago, yet you still feel a little hot under the collar.
a deep, quiet groan meets your ears, a small sigh following moments after as yeonjun stretches, arching his back before slumping back against his seat. now awakened from his small nap, you notice from your peripherals how he focuses on your quaking leg, but you flinch anyway when his hand moves to squeeze the meat of your thigh. your leg stills. swiveling your head, you meet his lethargic gaze, a glint of concern shining through the fatigue.
“you okay, baby?” the words rumble from deep within his chest, voice drenched in molasses, slow and smooth and oh so sweet to your ears. the sound ignites a carnal fire in your stomach. your mind sings a siren song to give into your desires, to just do something about them, already. instead, you nod with a hushed hum, sending him a small, tight-lipped smile that you hope he can’t see through. he grins, surging forward to press a quick peck to your lips before settling down to busy himself with his phone. you sigh in relief as his hand removes itself from your thigh.
you feel as if you are about to implode as you scan the dim cabin, lights off so as to allow passengers to sleep through the long flight. the two people sitting across the aisle are doing just that, sound asleep, their heads leaned back against their seats. with another cursory glance around, you find that most people are sleeping; the only person who is awake around you is a businessman one row behind you, though he wears chunky headphones that you assume are noise canceling.
conflict brews within you. sure, you and yeonjun have talked about exploring exhibitionism, and both of you have voiced your inclination for it — but you're unsure if this is the right place to test out this shared desire. something about the close proximity of the other passengers is a little nerve-wracking, but in a way, the idea of ruining your boyfriend while surrounded by others causes adrenaline to race through your veins. even then, if yeonjun decides that he does not want to, then he could simply use your mutual safeword and all would be over.
making your decision, you slip your hand underneath the jacket on his lap and place it on top of his knee, squeezing lightly. he pauses for a moment, tilting his head, but ultimately goes back to his phone, likely playing some game. you remain in that same position for a few minutes, rubbing your thumb against the smooth skin. slowly, you trail your hand up further and further, stopping only once it rests against his sensitive inner thigh. pinky swiping back and forth, you feel him squirm away your touch, and you grip a little harder. yeonjun's soft lips part slightly, eyes round and wide as he peeks over at you.
“baby,” he whispers, trying not to whine as you glide your hand up a little more, dangerously close to his his hardening cock. he gasps when one of your fingers tickles the seam of his shorts, hands gripping the tanned leather of the armrests with whitened knuckles. “baby, what—”
“shhh, jjunie. be a good boy for me, yeah?” you coo, voice hushed as you lean closer, warm breath curling around his ear.
he shivers, biting his lips as you palm his now fully erect dick over his clothes. you check in with him quietly, asking if this is alright, and he nods, sliding down his seat to allow you better access. you grin.
still hidden by the jacket on his lap, you shove your hand underneath the waistband of his shorts and boxers, curling your hand around him. he jumps in his seat at the sensation of you finally touching him where he needs you most, and you pause, shooting him a raised eyebrow before you look around. everyone is still asleep, or, at least, too preoccupied to notice what is transpiring just below their noses.
turning back to him, you whisper praises as you begin to pump his aching cock, thumb dipping into the slit of his head to spread the precum that's gathered there. your hand takes up a leisurely pace, slowly slicking up as he leaks even more precum. trailing your eyes up to his face, you find a beautiful sight: brows furrowed, eyes squeezed shut, and his bottom lip bitten to absolute hell to muffle his desperate pants. a little squeak eacapes him when you squeeze a bit harder, increasing your pace.
“quiet, baby, or do you wanna get caught?” you question with a challenging smirk. while he responds with a rapid shake of his head, you feel his cock twitch against your palm. you shake your head, movements growing more rapid, as mock dissapointment laces your tone. “don’t lie to me. i bet you’d love to have this whole plane watch as i touch you, hm? ‘m sure you’d love the attention.”
“n-no, only want your, your attention,” he stutters, breathing heavily through his nose. the muscles in his abdomen contract as you continue, squriming more in his seat. his face is now buried in his hands, his face splattered with fiery crimson that you can easily pick out despite the low light. his hips thrust up into your hand, the jacket that once protected his dignity now discarded on the floor.
“aw, that’s sweet,” you say with a sharp grin. he arches his back further as you focus on his swollen, angry tip for a few seconds. “but i don’t believe you.”
faster, faster, faster, you can't find it in yourself to care as the wet sounds of you stroking him grow louder, mixing with the white noise of the plane. sweat lines his brow, head burrowed against the back of the seat as one hand claws at your arm. his arms are flexed, muscles straining against his skin. you think he's close to tears with how hard he's trying not to moan, biting into the flesh of his other palm. you drink him in with a hungry gaze; you want him — no, need him to cum for you, need to see him lose it with all these people around you.
“gonna cum, pretty boy?” you sigh into his ear, biting his lobe for a moment. he nods, whispering ‘yes’ and ‘please’ in rapid succession. “that’s it. cum for me, baby.”
you giggle softly as he registers your permission, his eyes widening, and without even checking for wandering eyes, you lean down to wrap your lips around the head of his cock.
that does the trick. his cum spurts in hot ribbons into your mouth, the salty taste coating your tastebuds as you continue to pump him. suddenly, a hand is tangled into your hair, pushing your head down and thrusting up so that you take him further into your mouth, more and more until he's hitting the back of your throat. you inhale sharply in surprise, listening to him choke on the whimper he manages to keep in, swallowing his cum as he pulls you back up to his tip.
you stay there for a few seconds before you push yourself off of his lap, but the sight you are met with is a shocking one.
what you find are stern eyes and downturned lips. gone is the submissive, pliant jjunie from a few seconds ago. now, he's serious, fox-like eyes narrowed as he nearly leers over you. he's angry, you realize. the sudden change makes your head spin.
his fingers grip your chin like a vice as he brings his face closer to yours. you gulp. you're unsure where this switch in behavior stemmed from, but if the way your thighs clench together is anything to go by, you definitely welcome it.
“you like embarrassing me? ‘s it fun for you?”
“n-no,” you stutter. you’ve lost, any semblance of control you had over this situation dissipating into the air as the seconds tick by.
the tables are turning, and you are unsure if you are ready for whatever he has planned.
“get the fuck up, and go to the bathroom. now.”
you nod as you unbuckle your seatbelt, watching him tuck himself back into his shorts. standing on shaking legs, you obediently make your way down the aisle to the bathroom, the heavy footsteps of your boyfriend following behind you a hair-raising reminder of your impending fate.
