“don’t you know jisung?”
pairing: idol! jisung x idol! reader
words: 9.6k
an: this is definitely longer than i had planned…oopsie? if you’ve been here for a while, you should know this is a concept i’ve been wanting to write for jisung :3 and i finally did it! have fun! <33 hey alexa play when did you get hot by sabrina carpenter and shoutout to rosé for her funny dating story — with love, c.
warnings: noona kink. down bad jisung. smut! fingering. sex while frozen plays in the background. jisung has a big dick! (you all should know that’s the only way i will ever write him)
synopsis [MUST READ]:
park jisung. synonym. dongsaeng. little brother. the same boy who debuted a year after you, wide-eyed and timid, singing about chewing gum and wobbling around on hoverboards.
in truth, he was only two years younger. practically nothing. but in south korea’s ridiculous age system, two years felt like five. enough to draw a line. enough to keep him safely, permanently filed away as just your dongsaeng. so when your friend, mark lee, bless his soul, invites you to the dream show 4, you didn’t think twice. you went expecting nostalgia, pride, maybe a fond smile at how much they’d grown. you never expected for the word noona to sound so dangerous, inviting, and utterly, unfairly…hot?
this wasn’t the jisung you remembered. this was someone taller, broader, shoulders filling out a stage like he’d always belonged there. his voice no longer cracked with youth. instead, it wrapped around the crowd with intention, confidence, hunger. and when his eyes found the camera — something shifted. almost like he was looking straight at you. inviting you. challenging you. those dark eyes focused and wicked.
sweet, innocent, cute jisung — your dongsaeng — was gone.
and park jisung. synonym. a man with purpose. is ready to win over his long-time crush. to prove, once and for all, that he was never just a little kid.
🎬
the bass is still pounding in your ears when you slip backstage. the hallway smells like sweat, metal and adrenaline. staff rush past with clipboards and water bottles, voices overlapping, laughter spilling loose now that another successful show is over.
the door to the dream’s waiting room is half open. inside, the boys are scattered — collapsed on couches, riding that euphoric post-concert high. mark is the first to notice you.
“bro, no way,” he grins, already pushing himself up, “you actually came!” there’s something a little too pleased in his grin as he pulls you into a hug.
“of course i came,” you say, “you practically guilt tripped me.” mark just hums, innocent in a way that absolutely is not. voices overlap — greetings, teasing, someone offering you a water bottle. and then—
“noona.”
it’s quiet. not shouted. not playful. just…said.
you turn and there he is — jisung. standing near the back, towel draped low around his neck, chest still rising from exertion. his stage outfit clings in a way that feels unfair, like its asking a question you don’t have a safe answer for. his hair is pushed back, exposing his forehead, his eyes darker than you remember.
you blink, disoriented. when did that happen?
he smiles when he sees you, soft, familiar, but there’s something else underneath it. something sharper. more aware. his gaze drags, unhurried, like he’s memorizing you.
“did you—” he stops, breath hitching for just a second, “did you like the show?”
“you were incredible,” you say, forcing a smile on your face, hoping the boys couldn’t hear your racing heartbeat.
“don’t you know,” haechan’s voice pops up, smug, “our little jisungie here is all grown up,” he teases, patting the maknae on the back. his words hang in the air, earning a few chuckles from the others.
jisung shoots him a glare, a flush creeping up his neck that he tries to hide by rubbing the towel over his damp hair.
“yeahhh,” jaemin chimes in, lounging against the arm of the couch with a mischievous glint in his eye, “he’s far from the boy who admitted he had a crush on you during that one interview,” he continues, eyes sparkling, looking around the room, “do you guys remember that? jisungie was soooo cute then,” he teases in his baby voice.
the boys all glance at each other, all recalling that time a couple of years ago when they were all asked about their “ideal types.” somehow, they tricked their youngest into giving a proper answer meanwhile they were naming people like stephen curry and justin bieber.
chenle smirks from his spot on the chair, “oh! i remember, ‘y/n sunbaenim is really really pretty,’” he mimics in a high-pitched voice, drawing out the words with exaggerated innocence that has renjun snickering beside him.
renjun nods enthusiastically, scrolling through his phone but glancing up with a grin, “and don’t forget how quiet he got every time we ran into each other in music shows. mark hyung had to snap him out of it more times than i can count,” he shoots mark a playful look, who’s trying, and failing, to keep a straight face.
mark laughs lightly but knowing, “hey, cut the kid some slack. crushes hit hard at that age,” he gives jisung a firm pat on the shoulder, the gesture supportive but his eyes flick to you with a subtle wink that speaks volumes.
jisung groans, burying his face in the towel for a second before peeking out, his cheeks still warm, “hyungs, seriously? can we not do this right now?” his voice is half-protest, half laughter, but when his gaze meets yours, there’s a spark there — defiant, almost challenging, like he’s daring you to add on to the teasing.
to figure out what happens if you do.
jeno saves him then, already heading toward the door, “alright, i think they’re calling us…for that…thing…we should go,” he says. talk about mr. captain obvious.
the group starts to move, gathering jackets and water bottles amidst murmurs of agreement. jaemin stands, stretching with a lazy grin, “great seeing you again. don’t be a stranger,” he nods at you before clapping jisung on the way out.
renjun and chenle follow, the older of the two tossing a soft, “take care” over his shoulder.
mark lingers for a moment, squeezing your arm gently, “thanks for coming, it means a lot.” then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind the last of them.
the room falls into a sudden, electric quiet, the distant hum of the backstage chaos muffled outside. you quip a brow, a smile growing on your face as you look at the boy who is now a couple feet taller than you.
“shouldn’t you go with them?”
“i’m sure they can manage a couple tiktoks without me,” he chuckles and you can’t help but notice how deep his voice actually is now.
“sorry about them,” he murmurs, a small smile tugging at his lips, “they never let anything go.”
you chuckle, stepping closer, proving to him yourself that you were not affected by his drastic glow up.
“sooo…you didn’t have a crush on me?,” you say, clearly teasing him as your eyes sparkled with mischief.
and god, he doesn’t know what annoys him more — that damn interview or the fact that you still look at him like he was a boy.
“noona,” he warns, a quiet heat in his voice.
you continue stepping towards him, refusing to back down, “i remember that interview,” you say, standing closer now, as you grabbed the towel hung around his neck, “and the boys were right…you were just the cutest thing in the world!”
you bring the towel up to his hair, ignoring the fact that you were on your tippy toes to reach him.
jisung’s breath hitches, his body going still under your touch as you ruffled the towel through his damp strands. his eyes never leave yours — dark, intense, pinning you in place, shifting the air.
he easily towers over you, the heat radiating from his skin mixing with the faint scent of his sweat and cologne, something woodsy and sharp that makes your pulse quicken despite yourself.
then he reached up, his hand wrapping around your wrist, holding you there, firm enough to feel the strength in his fingers.
“cute?” he echoes, his voice dropping lower, rougher. the word comes out laced with challenge, his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist in a slow, deliberate stroke that sends a jolt straight to you, “is that what you still think i am?”
you swallow, the playful tease in your chest twisting into something hotter, more urgent, as his grip tightens just a fraction. your fingers loosen on the towel, but you don’t step back, the proximity making your breasts brush against his chest with every shallow breath.
you want to reply, but it feels like the cat’s got your tongue, his stare pinning you in place, in a trance — all that’s left is the dark pools of his eyes, the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone, the warmth of his touch on your wrist. words dissolve before they can escape, lost in the heat.
then he steps closer, impossibly close now, bringing his head down to your level, “noona,” his eyes flick down to your lips. once. twice. “you okay?”
he’s teasing you. his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you, laced with quiet heat. his breath fans across your skin, warm and minty, sending shivers down your spine.
you can’t help but let your eyes dart down to his lips – full, slightly parted, glistening pink. they curve into a knowing smirk, his face inching closer and closer, the space between you shrinking to nothing, lips brushing the barest whisper against his, hearts pounding in unison, the pull magnetic and inevitable.
and then—
the door bursts open and his manager strides in, phone in hand, oblivious at first, “jisung-ah, we need to—oh.” the words trail off as he takes in the scenes, eyes widening.
you two spring apart quickly, the sudden separation like ripping velcro, your cheeks burning as you smooth down your shirt and step back toward the makeup table.
jisung clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, his ears flushing red, “hyung, yeah—i’ll be right there,” he mutters, voice steadier than he looks, shooting you a quick, loaded glance, promise and frustration tangled in his gaze.
his manager heads out the door without another word, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hallway.
jisung turns his attention back you.
and in three quick steps…
one.
two.
three.
he’s in front of you again, closing the distance with a quiet determination that makes your breath catch. his hand rises gently to your jaw, fingers warm and steady against your skin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. those dark eyes hold yours for a beat, soft yet unwavering and before you could process what’s happening, he leans in and kisses you — sweetly, tenderly, hotly?
his lips brush yours with careful pressure that blooms into something deeper, mouth moving against yours in a slow, lingering exploration that tasted of cherry chapstick and a hint of mint.
you kiss back for only a fraction of a second, your body igniting under the sudden touch, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. but he pulls away just as abrupt, his hand lingering on your jaw for a moment longer before sliding away, leaving your lips tingling and swollen.
a small, genuine smile curve in the corners of his lips — adoration, satisfaction, confidence — like he’s finally won a round in this game.
but you can tell he’s shy from the way his ears flush bright pink, betraying the flutter beneath his composed exterior.
“thanks for coming to the show, noona,” he murmurs, voice low and sincere, his eyes still locked on yours with that quiet promise. then he’s gone, striding out the door without looking back, the click of it shutting echoing in the empty room.
you’re left there, bewildered, leaning against the makeup table for support as your heart races wildly in your chest, pounding like a drum. the ghost of his kiss lingers on your lips, hot and sweet, your pulse quickening with the certainty that this is far from over.
🎬
“—and he just kissed me,” you say, recalling the events of yesterday, your voice a mix of disbelief and lingering thrill.
you’re in the dance studio with xian, one of your group members, the mirrors reflecting your exhausted but energized forms as you ran through the brand new choreography for your upcoming group comeback. sweat beads on your forehead and your muscles ache from the intense practice, but your mind is elsewhere – replaying that backstage moment on a loop.
“WHAT?!” xian’s eyes widen like saucers, her ponytail swinging as she turned to face you, water bottle nearly slipping from her grip, “what do you mean he kissed you?!”
“i mean he put his lips on my lips and he kissed me,” you shrug, the words tumbling out.
“what the hell?! park jisung?? little jisungie who couldn’t even look you in the eyes last year?” she leans in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, the rest of the group too busy chatting and stretching to pay attention.
“he’s not so little anymore…” you point out, still trying to comprehend it all — the memory of his large hand on your jaw, the way he tilted your head, fingertips on your pulse point — the kiss.
“he–he’s different now…he’s so….,” you trail off, biting your lip as you think of the right word to describe it.
“so….?” xian prompts, her eyebrows shooting up.
“hot?” you say finally, the voiced out admission slipping out with a flush creeping up your cheeks.
it’s true — jisung’s grown into a man. all lean muscle and quiet intensity. admitting it out loud makes your stomach flip, like butterflies turning into something hotter, more insistent
xian catches the shift in your expression and smirks, “isn’t their comeback next week too? we’ll probably be bumping into them all week,” she points out.
“and?” you shoot back, trying to sound casual even as your pulse quickens at the idea of seeing him again.
she arches a brow, her grin turning wicked, “and… what’re you gonna do about it? nothing? or are you gonna corner him in a hallway and show him who’s boss?”
the suggestion hits like a spark, igniting thoughts you hadn’t dared entertain. pretend it never happened? keep playing nonchalance? ghost him entirely and let the awkwardness fester? orrrr walk up to him, grab his collar, and steal back that kiss?
no. that’s insane. too risky. too real.
“no! of course not – are you out of your mind?” you blurt, heat rising to your face as you wave her off, “i’m just gonna let it slide. it’s probably nothing but that silly crush he’s had for ages…he needed to get it out of his system, that’s all.”
“sureee,” xian drawls, her tone dripping with skepticism as she bumps your shoulder playfully. you roll your eyes, but inside, doubt swirls like the beat of the next track starting up. the rest of the group calls you back to formation and you try to push all thoughts of jisung aside.
🎬
“fuck—,” you moan into his mouth, the word slipping out hot and desperate, earning a literal whine as his response, tongue moving in rhythm with yours, tasting you with a hunger that makes your head spin.
you were a huge. fat. liar.
doing “nothing” about it was completely thrown out the window the second you spotted him across the backstage halls. that tight black shirt molding to his lean torso like it was painted on, the subtle ripple of abs underneath pulling your gaze, the veins running down his arms. and god, those biceps — he had you hooked.
a double take became a triple until he caught you staring. his dark eyes met yours, sharp and heated, a faint flush creeping up his neck that only made him look more irresistible.
and now you were here — squeezed into this dim closet, tucked away from the bustle of the venue, shelves of old scripts and tangled cables pressing in. the door clicked shut and you were on him in an instant, your back hitting the wall as he crowds close, body pinning yours.
your fingers tangle in the nape of his neck, careful not to mess up his hair too much, tugging him down as you took back what he stole — kissing him hard, all teeth and tongue, swallowing his soft whimpers like they’re yours to claim.
“noona,” he breathes against your lips, voice cracking with need as his hands settle on your waist, pulling you closer, close enough so you could feel the outline in his pants.
“i—i’ve dreamt about this for so long. years. every time i saw you, i’d imagine…fuck, kissing you like this, touching you…please, please let me touch you,” his confession spills out in a rush, almost pathetic, his cheeks burning red even in the low light, ears flushed pink like the shy maknae he used to be.
the desperation, the begging, the wide eyes and flushed lips — it all just lights a fire in you. knowing he’s wanted you this badly, dreamed of you while you barely noticed, it fuels you.
you kiss him harder, savoring the way he melts into it, his mouth pliant and eager under yours.
“how about turning that dream into reality?” you murmur, nipping his bottom lip, your hand cupping his jaw to tilt his head just right, a smirk curling on your lips as you pull away for a second.
now — jisung was never religious. but in this moment, he looks like he’s just been handed the keys to his own personal heaven.
his eyes widen, breath hitching as he nods frantically, that boyish awe softening the edges of his hunger, “yes—please, please…i want to make you feel good,” he whispers, voice thick with reverence, like touching you is a privilege he’s been training his whole life for.
you guide his hand down, sliding it under the hem of your skirt, your thighs parting just enough to invite him in. his fingers brush your skin, tracing upward to the waistband of your tight safety shorts beneath.
he hesitates for a beat, eyes flicking up to yours in silent question. you nod, urging him on with a soft press of your hand over his. jisung slides his hand in until he reaches your panties, slipping beneath that lace too. his fingertips graze your slick folds, a soft gasp escaping you at the first contact. your tight shorts keeping his fingers closer, adding to the pressure.
you pull him back into the kiss, lips sealing over his to muffle the sound. he responds hungrily, tongue delving deep as his finger presses along your slit, the heat of his mouth mirroring the building warmth below. you rock against his hand instinctively, needing more, while the kiss turned sloppy and urgent, breaths mingling in hot pants between licks and sucks.
“like this?” he murmurs into your mouth, voice barely above a whisper as he pushes one finger inside your pussy with a careful thrust. the intrusion is slick and welcoming, your walls clenching around him as you nod against his lips.
“just like that, jisungie,” you breathe, the pet name slipping out soft and affectionate. his free hand cups your face, thumb stroking your cheek while his mouth claims yours again, the kiss deepening with every slide of his finger.
he groans quietly at the feel of you griping him, so wet and tight, “you feel so good, noona.” then he’s back, kissing you fercely, his finger fucking you deeper, curling to hit that spot that mkes your hips buck.
your body starts to respond more intensely, soft moans bubbling up from your throat, you feel yourself unraveling, turning pliant under his hand, knees weakening as the pleasure continued to build.
jisung notices it immediately — the way your breaths hitch sharper, your lips no longer catching up with his, your body melting against the wall, those quiet sounds escaping despite your efforts. it sparks something in him, confidence blooming in his eyes. his thrusts grow surer, fingers pressing deeper with purpose and he pulls back just enough to watch your face, drinking in every flicker of you losing control.
“oh god,” you gasp, the word barely out before another moan slips free, soft and needy. you have to bite down hard on your lower lip to stifle the next one, your head tipping back against the wall as your pussy clenches around his fingers.
god, the sight of you like this — putty in his hands, fighting to stay quiet — it was a dream come true.
but he’s greedy. and he wants to hear more, to coax every stifled sound from you in this cramped space where footsteps echo past the door every few seconds, voice murmuring in the hall.
he adds a second finger without asking, stretching you fuller, making your hips jerk as he pumps quicker, thumb circling your clit in firm, quick strokes. his mouth finds your neck instead, lips brushing against your skin, trailing kisses down the column of your throat, his ear attuned to the way your moans try to break free — muffled whimpers that vibrate against his tongue as he sucks lightly at your pulse point, nipping just enough to draw another gasp.
“jisung—ah,” you whisper-moan, the sound ragged and desperate, your hand fisting in his shirt, desperately trying to stay grounded as you bite your lip again, teeth sinking into trap the louder cry building in your chest.
people are right outside, the risk sharpening every sensation, but he doesn’t stop, encouraged by how you’re falling apart for him, your body trembling, walls fluttering tighter around his fingers.
“i love hearing you, noona,” he hums against your neck, voice low and round with his own arousal, fingers continuing to curl just right, driving you relentlessly toward the edge. another moan escapes, softer this time but no less intoxicating to him.
the coil snaps hard and fast — your pussy spasming around his fingers as you come undone, a choked cry muffled by your bitten lip, head thrown back, eyes shut in bliss, while waves of pleasure crash through you.
jisung holds you through it, his free hand gripping your hip to steady you as your legs threaten to give, his fingers still moving to draw out every pulse, his ears catching each stifled aftershock moan like a secret just for him, his eyes taking a mental screenshot.
“fuck, noona—that’s…that’s the hottest thing i’ve ever seen,” he swears, voice hoarse and reverent, meeting your dazed eyes. he keeps his fingers buried deep a moment longer before easing them out slowly, your pussy clenching one last time around the retreating digits, slick trailing in glistening strings.
without another word, jisung brings his hand up, eyes locked on yours with a mix of mischief and raw hunger — he slides his fingers into his mouth, tongue swirling deliberately to lick every drop of your cum clean, sucking them with soft, needy hum that vibrates through the air.
your eyes widen in surprise, heat flooding your cheeks at the bold move — filthy and uncharacteristically daring from the boy who’s still got that flush on his ears.
”what?” he murmurs around his fingers, popping them free, a shy grin tugging at his lips as he sees your reaction, “i had to clean them somehow.”
a laugh bubbles out of you, light and breathless, cutting through the tension. it’s infectious, easing the urgency into something warmer and you reach for the front of his shirt, fisiting the fabric to yank him close. your lips crash into his once again, tasting yourself faintly on his tongue as you kiss him deep and slow.
“when did you get so hot, huh, park jisung?” you whisper against his mouth, the words deliberate — no pet name, no jisungie, just his full name like he’s a man now, not the kid you’ve always teased.
and it pulls him completely under your spell. his breath stutters, eyes going wide and glassy, that confident facade cracking as he unravels right there, “i-i could…do more…if you want,” he stammers, hands clutching at your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.
“yeah?” you tease softly, arching a brow as you smooth his shirt back down your thumb brushing his collarbone.
he nods quickly, frantically, the motion so eager it’s almost comical, his cheeks burning brighter. it’s cute. that boyish enthusiasm peeking through the heat, making your chest tighten with affection.
“i do…want that,” you affirm, voice dropping low and sure. the air between you crackles with promise.
“my place,” he blurts faster than you expect, the words tumbling out in a rush, ”come to mine tonight?”
you quirk a brow, smirking at the slip — half-invitation, half-demand.
“are you asking or are you telling me?”
he swallows hard, forcing that confidence back into place, jaw setting as he meets your gaze head-on, “i’m telling you, noona. come to mine tonight.”
a smile curve your lips, genuine and approving, “the right choice. text me your address,” you instruct, leaning in for one final kiss, soft, lingering, a seal on the deal.
then you slip away, cracking the door just enough to peek out before darting into the hallway, heart pounding like you’ve just run a marathon, the ache between your thighs a lingering thrill.
xian’s lounging against the wall nearby, scrolling on her phone, but her head snaps up the second you emerge. her eyes narrow playfully, scanning your flushed face and slightly mussed hair, before she flashes a knowing thumbs-up, lips twitching in a suppressed grin.
you mouth a quick “shut up,” playing it cool, smoothing your expression into casual nonchalance. she just chuckles silently, falling into step beside you as you both weave through the backstage chaos toward the stage entrance for the ending segment.
the mc’s voice booms over the speakers, calling out the nominated artists for the week. you stand shoulder to shoulder with your group members, lights blinding as the cameras pan slowly, capturing every polished smile and wave, the sea of lightsticks waving in synchronized frenzy below.
jisung is a few people away, flanked by his members, his posture straight and idol-perfect, that practiced smile plastered on as he waves to fans with the same hand that was inside you just minutes ago.
you catch it — the subtle flick of his eyes toward you, that idol smile turning into a smirk only you know the meaning of. a secret heat simmering beneath the professional facade.
the applause thunders on, spotlights dancing and to everyone who was watching — you two were nothing but perfect idols.
🎬
your heart races with a mix of nerves and mischief, the baggy floral pants swishing around your legs, paired with a crisp white long-sleeve and topped by a sensible vest that screams ahjumma. you’d gone all out. even adding a curly wig and a sturdy handbag dangling from your shoulder like you’re off to the market.
as idols, relationships are “off-limits.” you just have to be good enough to hide it. and this get-up ensures just that. no prying eyes from fans, no suspicious glances, no whispered rumors.
you ring the doorbell. footsteps hurry closer and it creaks open. jisung’s there in gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a black shirt that clings to his lean chest, fresh from a shower with damp hair.
his eyes widen, gaze sweeping over you, from the vest to the ridiculous colorful pants, and he bursts out laughing, bending at the waist as if you just told him the funniest joke ever.
“noona,” he wheezes, clutching his stomach, “i’m into older women…but not this old,” his face is flushed, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he straightens up just enough to let you inside.
you enter his place, kicking off your flats with a grin, the cool apartment air hitting your skin.
“what? is this not doing it for you?” you tease, adjusting the wig with exaggerated flair and striking a pose, hands on hips like a scolding elder, “not activating your ahjumma kink?”
that sets him off again, his laughter booming as he leans against his shut door, “oh my god, noona stop— it’s too much.”
you match his laugh, reaching up to yank the wig free in one swift motion, tossing it at him like a playful challenge. it lands in his hands, the curly mess dangling from his fingers as your real hair tumbles down, framing your face perfectly.
his chuckles die out instantly, the sound fading into a sharp intake of breath. the air thickens charged with something heavier and he pushes off the door, closing the distance between you in two strides. his free hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw as he stares, eyes dark and intense.
“i can’t believe you’re actually here,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, the words laced with awe and hunger.
your hand slides up his arm and you tilt your head to meet his gaze, “hmm and now that you got me here, what do you suppose we do?” the teasing edge lingers in your tone, soft, inviting, as you lean in to brush your lips against his.
he smirks against your lips, before pulling away slightly, “we could watch a movie?”
“that’s it?”
“and we could make out a little,” he says, his hand dropping from your jaw to your waist.
“just a little?”
“or a lot,” he says, pulling you closer, fingers flexing like he’s already forgotten his own suggestion about movies.
for a second, you think he’s going to abandon the idea entirely, his lips hovering just above yours, breath ghosting over your skin.
and then.
he pulls back. clearing his throat like he needs to reset his brain, “c’mon, let’s watch that movie.”
there’s no way.
there’s actually no way you’ve gone through all of this to watch a movie.
but before you can protest, he takes your hand and leads you deeper into his apartment. you toss your handbag on the floor, following him into his living room. the t.v. is already on as he unpauses it. bright snow. dramatic orchestral music. you stare at the screen.
“is this–”
“don’t judge me,” he says quickly, dropping onto the couch, “it’s a classic.”
anna and elsa appear mid-argument, voices echoing through the speakers.
there’s no way he was going to fuck you while frozen plays in the background…right?
you turn slowly to look at him. he’s already settled in, one arm stretched along the back of the couch, looking absurdly domestic. comfortable. like this was the plan all along. you slowly sit beside him, hyperaware of everything — the heat radiating from him, the faint scent of his shampoo, the way his fingers absentmindedly tap against the couch cushion near your shoulder.
on screen, anna is dramatically belting something about love. your heart is pounding for an entirely different reason. you sneak a glance at him. he’s watching intently. actually watching. eyes focused. brows slightly knit. fully invested in the animation.
you narrow your eyes.
what kind of sick foreplay is this?
you are so insanely turned on right now. the memory of his fingers curling inside you replaying in your mind. and he’s just sitting there. calm. composed. watching.
is he serious?!?
you shift slightly, letting your knee brush his thigh. nothing. he doesn’t even look at you.
“wow,” he mutters, softly at the screen, “that song is so good.”
you stare at him.
you lean back, pretending to get comfortable, but really you’re eyeing him from the corner of your eye. the curve of his jaw. the way his lips part when he concentrates. the faint rise and fall of his chest. he senses it. without turning his head, he smirks.
“you’re staring.”
“i’m not.”
“you are,” he says calmly, still looking at the tv, “you’ve been starting at me for the past 45 seconds.”
your face heats. he was counting?
his arm slides down from the back of the couch to rest behind you, fingers grazing your shoulder lightly. barely there. it’s subtle. too subtle. your pulse jumps anyway.
“you’re evil,” you whisper.
“for watching a movie?”
“for pretending you’re not aware of what you’re doing.”
on screen, anna dramatically falls into han’s arms.
jisung leans closer to you, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip, “i’m very aware.” your breath catches.
“but,” he continues, “i also really like this part.”
you gape at him. he laughs softly, the sound low and teasing, before finally giving in just a little. his hand slides from your shoulder to your waist, thumb drawing lazy circles through the fabric of your shirt.
“i’ve waited years for this noona…i don’t want it to be over just yet,” he says quietly.
your eyes narrow, “are you implying that this is a one-time thing?”
he turns to look at you then.
finally.
“is it not? just noona granting her poor little dongsaeng’s pathetic wishes?”
the words hang between you, laced with that familiar mix of playfulness and something deeper, more vulnerable.
his eyes search yours, the t.v.’s glow casting flickering shadows across his face, making the moment feel even more intimate in the dim room.
you shift closer, “pathetic wishes?” you echo, voice low, eyebrows furrowed, “do you really think i would’ve gone through all that effort to be here if i didn’t want you?”
his hand at your waist tightens, pulling you flush against his side, “yeah?” he murmurs, his free hand capturing yours, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss against your knuckles. it’s sweet, almost boyish, but the heat in his gaze tells you he's anything but innocent.
“then tell me, noona. what do you want this to be?” the air thickens, charged with the unspoken promise of more.
you lean in, your lips brushing his ear as you whisper, “not a one-time thing. not if you keep looking at me like that.”
his ears flush pink, that telltale sign of his shyness peeking through the confidence he's built, and it only makes you bolder. you nip at his earlobe, feeling him shiver, his arm wrapping fully around you now, hand splaying across your lower back.
the movie drones on — kristoff and anna's banter filling the speakers — but jisung can no longer pretend to care.
he turns his head, capturing your mouth in a kiss, slower, deep, his tongue sliding against yours with deliberate strokes. you melt into it, your body arching toward him. his hand ventures lower, slipping under the hem of your shirt to trace the skin of your stomach.
“fuck this movie,” you breathe against his lips when you break for air, the words spilling out rough and demanding.
no more teasing, no more waiting.
you swing a leg over his lap in one fluid motion, straddling him fully, your knees sinking into the couch cushions on either side of his hips. his hands instinctively grip your thighs, but you grab his chin, tilting his face up to meet your eyes.
“eyes on me, jisung. only me.”
he swallows hard, pupils blown wide, but he nods, gaze locked on yours as you crash your mouth back to his. the kiss is messy this time, urgent — teeth clashing, tongues tangling, your fingers threading through his hair to pull him closer.
he groans into it, the vibration rumbling through your chest, his hips bucking up slightly to press his hardness against your core through the layers of fabric. you rock against him once, twice, savoring the friction, but you want more. control surges through you, hot and heady, as you dominate the rhythm of the kiss, nipping his lower lip until he whimpers softly.
his hands roam up your sides, fumbling with the buttons of your vest in haste. he shrugs it off your shoulders, letting it slide to the floor with a soft thud. you break the kiss just long enough to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it aside, leaving you in the white lacy bra you'd chosen specifically for this — for him. the delicate fabric clings to your curves, sheer enough to tease the outline of your nipples, already pebbled from his earlier touches.
jisung's breath stutters, his eyes raking over you like he's memorizing every inch.
“god, you're beautiful,” he rasps, voice thick with awe, before his mouth descends.
he presses open-mouthed kisses along your neck, sucking lightly at the pulse point, making you gasp, then trails lower to your collarbone, licking and nipping the sensitive skin there.
his hand slide up fingers hooking into the bra's cups, tugging them down without unhooking the straps. the lace bunches under your breasts, exposing them fully to the cool air of the room — and to him.
he doesn't hesitate, leaning in to capture one nipple between his lips, sucking hard while his tongue flicks over the peak. you arch into it, a sharp moan escaping as pleasure shoots straight to your pussy, making you clench around nothing.
he switches sides, lavishing the other tit with the same attention — suck, swirl, graze with his teeth — drawing out your whines. your hands clutch his shoulders, nails digging in as you grind down against his clothed cock, feeling it throb insistently through his sweatpants, the heat of him searing against your damp panties.
the friction isn't enough, you need to feel him, all of him. your fingers dip into the waistband of his sweats, shoving them down just enough to free his length. you wrap your hand around his cock, squeezing the thick base, and your eyes widen at the size — bigger than you'd imagined, hot and heavy in your palm, veins pulsing under your grip.
he bucks into your touch with a choked groan, his mouth popping off your breast to bury his face in your neck, panting hot breaths against your skin.
“fuck,” he whimpers, hips jerking as you stroke him slowly, thumb swiping over the slick tip.
he thrusts up into your hand, desperate now, his control fraying under your command, “please,” he murmurs against your mouth, one hand sliding down to grip your ass, “—want you so bad. been dreaming of this.”
you quicken your strokes, twisting your wrist at the head, watching his face contort in ecstasy — eyes squeezed shut, lips parted on a silent moan.
but you tap his cheek lightly, reminding him, “eyes on me, remember?”
he forces them open, locking onto yours, the vulnerability there making your heart — and your pussy — clench.
“good boy,” you whisper, leaning in to suck a mark into his jaw.
the tension builds, his cock leaking pre-cum over your fingers, your body aching to take him inside, but you draw it out just a little longer, savoring the power, the way he trembles beneath you.
the outside world, the movie — none of it matters. just this, just him, unraveling under your touch.
jisung’s chest heaves as you continue to pump him up and down, his cock slick with pre-cum, fingers digging into your hips as he fights control. but the strain shows in the way his jaw clenches.
you lean down, capturing his mouth in another bruising kiss, swallowing his moans while you start grinding your soaked core against his thigh. his hands immediately slide to the waistband of your floral pants, tugging it down.
“off,” he mutters, voice rough and commanding, the shyness giving way to raw hunger. you lift your hips just enough for him to yank them down, the fabric pooling at your knees befre he shoves them aside completely.
his gaze drops to your panties — matching white lace, sheer and clinging to your folds, the material darkened with how wet you are. a low growl rumbles from his throat as he stares — you really did plan all this out, coming to him in a matching set.
he still couldn’t believe it.
“fuck, noona…you’re soaking for me,” his hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider over his lap, thumbs brushing the edge of the lace. the sight undoes him — his cock twitching in your hand and he surges up, mouth latching onto your neck again, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, “so hot. can’t believe you’re here like this, all for me.”
his fingers hook into the sides of your panties and with a frustrated snarl, he rips them – the threads snapping as he tears the fabric apart.
cool air hits your exposed pussy, your slick folds bare and dripping onto his sweatpants. you gasp at the suddennes, the possessivness of it sending a fresh wave of heat through you, your clit pulisng with want.
“jisung–c-condom,” you say through breathy moans. his eyes flick to the side table drawer without pulling away from you, leaning over awkwardly with one arm still banded around your waist to keep you close, yanking the drawer open and snatching a foil. you watch, breath hitching as he tears it with his teeth, the latex unrolling down his thick shaft in quick, efficient strokes.
“and here i thought we really were just gonna watch frozen,” you tease, an amused smile on your lips.
jisung chuckles darkly, tossing the wrapper aside, “yeah, fuck that. i should’ve fucked you the moment you walked in the door,” he positions himself, dragging his head through your dripping slit, bumping your swollen clit, earning a light moan from you.
“bad jisung, making noona wait,” you retort, reaching down to line him at your entrance.
you don’t hesitate, sinking down slowly onto him. the stretch is immediate, intense — his cock splitting you open, walls stretching to accommodate every inch as you take him deeper.
“fuck, jisung–you’re so big,” you moan, the words spilling out as you bottomed out, your ass flush against his thighs, the fullness making your vision blur.
he groans, head falling back against the couch, hands clamping onto your waist like anchors. you start to move, rolling your hips in a slow grind at first, savoring the way he fills you completely, the drag of him against your walls sending sparks up your spine.
the movie is white noise now, drowned out by the wet sounds of your bodies connecting, your slick coating the latex as you ride him.
jisung’s eyes stay glued to where you’re joined, watching his length disappear into you over and over, his breaths coming in ragged pants. he thrusts up to meet you, the force jolting through you, but you set the pace, hands braced on his chest, nails digging into the firm muscle there.
sweat beads on his skin, his shirt clinging and you lean forward, capturing his lips in a messy kiss as you bounce harder. your clit grinds against his pelvis with each slide, pleasure coiling tight in your core, but the angle tires your thighs after a few minutes, your movements slowing just a fraction. he notices it immediately.
“i got you, noona,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice husky and laced with lust, “gonna make you feel good.”
he surges up, wrapping an arm around your back and flipping your positions in one fluid, powerful move. now you’re beneath him, legs splayed wide, his body caging yours as he settles between your thighs. the shift presses him even deeper, the new angle hitting that spot inside that makes you cry out, arching up to meet him.
he starts thrusting immediately, deep, measured strokes that have you seeing white, building that steady pressure in your core, his body pinning you down.
your fingers hook into the hem of his shirt, finally tugging it upward. he pauses mid-thrust, lifting his arms to help you yank it off over his head, revealing his bare chest.
your eyes drop immediately to his abs — defined ridges of muscle flexing with each breath. they’re sculpted, earned from endless hours of training and performance, and the sight hits you like a spark, making your pussy tighten around him involuntarily.
“when did you get these?” you murmur, voice breathy as you trail your nails down the planes of his stomach, feeling them contract under your touch. he fucks into you again, deep and slow, the motion making his abs tense further.
jisung smirks down at you, eyes hooded with lust, but there’s a playful glint there too, “always had them, you just weren’t looking,” he teases, his voice low and rough, punctuating the words with another measured thrust that has you gasping.
you roll your eyes at his cockiness, hooking a hand around his neck to pull him down, whispering “faster,” before crashing your lips onto his for another heated kiss.
he doesn’t hesitate, adjusting his grip on your hips and picking up the pace, his thrusts turning sharper, harder, slamming into you with a rhythm that rocks the couch beneath you, the friction intense, hitting deeper with every forceful drive.
jisung pulls back from the kiss after a moment, his focus shifting entirely to the motion of his hips, breaths coming in hot pants against your ear. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your skin as soft whines escape him — high and needy, mixing with deeper grunts each time he bottoms out.
“fuck, noona….so good,” he whimpers, voice cracking with the effort to hold back, his body trembling slightly above you. sweat drips from his brow onto your collarbone and you can feel the strain in him, the way his muscles lock as he fights his release, determined to push you over the edge first.
every thrust targets your pleasure, his hips angling just right to drag over your g-spot, the head of his cock nudging it relentlessly. your legs wrap tighter around his waist, heels digging into his back to urge him on, and the coil in your core winds impossibly tighter, heat building to a fever pitch.
jisung's whines grow more desperate by your ear, a mix of “please...cum for me” and breathless grunts.
his determination is clear — he wants to prove it, show you he's no longer the shy kid, but a man who can take care of you, make you shatter around him before he lets go.
your walls clench around him tighter, the slick heat building to an unbearable peak as his pace quickens even more, balls slapping against your ass with every forceful entry.
he leans in close, his mouth hot against your ear, breaths ragged and uneven, “c’mon noona... let go,” he murmurs between grunts, his voice strained with effort.
one hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing firm circles over the swollen nub, the added pressure pushing you right to the brink. your back arches off the couch, nails digging into his shoulders as the orgasm crashes over you, pussy fluttering wildly around his length, waves of ecstasy pulsing from your core outward. your juices flood his cock, soaking the condom and dripping down to the cushions below, thighs quivering from the intensity.
jisung groans deeply at the feel of you coming undone, his thrusts faltering for a split second as your tightness nearly undoes him. but he holds on, slowing just enough to ride out your climax, his fingers still teasing your clit lightly to draw it out longer.
“fuck, yes... so fucking hot,” he pants, watching your face contort in bliss, pride flashing in his eyes — he did it, made you shatter first.
as your tremors subside, leaving you boneless and gasping beneath him, jisung's restraint snaps. he picks up speed again, fucking into your oversensitive pussy with short, desperate strokes, chasing his own release, guttural moans escaping his lips, body tensing as he buries himself deep one last time. his cock throbs inside you, pulsing as he cums hard, filling the condom with hot spurts. he collapses forward slightly, forehead pressed to yours, hips jerking erratically until he's spent, a satisfied shudder running through him.
for a moment, you both stay like that, breaths mingling in the quiet room, the movie still playing in the background.
jisung lifts his head, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he brushes a strand of hair from your cheek, but it's clear he's beaming inside — his eyes crinkling at the corners, that boyish glow he can't quite hide, even as he tries to play it cool.
you're his dream girl, after all.
and the way his chest rises and falls a little too quickly gives him away.
“that was better than anything i could imagine,” he says softly, voice hoarse, before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.
“well, now you don’t have to imagine,” you say, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his back as you hold his gaze, the warmth in your chest making your words come out steady and sincere, “i was serious, you know? i don’t want this to be a one-time thing… unless that’s what you want.”
jisung's eyes search yours, that familiar flicker of surprise and something deeper — maybe hope — lighting up his features. he shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow while his other hand rests lightly on your hip, thumb stroking the skin there in slow, soothing motions.
he's trying so hard to act cooler, but the beaming smile tugs at his lips, his cheeks flushing just a bit as he fights to keep his excitement reined in.
“no,” he murmurs quickly, shaking his head as if the idea alone is ridiculous, “god, no. that's the last thing i want. i've been imagining this — us — for months. years. but hearing you say that...it makes it real.”
you smile, reaching up to tuck a damp strand of his hair behind his ear, your touch lingering as you pull him down for another kiss, this one deeper but still tender, tongues brushing lazily.
when you break apart, you whisper against his lips, “good. because i like you — like, really like you. so start believing it, okay?”
“i believe you,” he says, voice muffled but excited, almost shy, the beaming energy seeping through despite his efforts to tone it down.
he exhales a shaky laugh, burying his face in the curve of your neck for a second, his warm breath tickling your skin as he presses a series of soft kisses along your collarbone.
you tilt your head, a playful glint in your eye as your fingers trail up his arm, tracing the lean muscle there.
“now,” you murmur, voice low and teasing, laced with that warmth from before, “you want to show me what else you've imagined us doing?”
his reaction is instant — a smirk curls his mouth, slow and knowing, chasing away any remnants of shyness. those dark eyes heat up, locking onto yours with confidence.
without a word, he shifts, sliding his arms under you in one fluid motion, scooping you up bridal style like you weigh nothing. your legs dangle over his arm, and you can't help the surprised laugh that bubbles out as he stands, cradling you against his chest.
“bedroom,” he says simply, his voice a rough whisper against your ear, that smirk still playing on his lips
🎬
three days slips by in a blur of schedules and stolen texts — late-night messages that make you smile at your phone.
but today, the music show buzzes with energy, your group weaving through the backstage chaos, outfits sparkling under the lights. nct dream's here too, their laughter echoing from down the hall as you prepare for your silly mini segment with stray kids' bang chan.
it’s all lighthearted fun, the concept scripted — you batting your lashes, calling him “oppa” in that exaggerated, cute tone that has the crew chuckling.
chan plays along perfectly, his dimpled smile wide as he hands you a single red rose, the stem wrapped in ribbon.
“for a pretty girl,” he teases, voice warm and brotherly. you take it with a giggle, then link arms for the heart pose — your hands forming the shape together, faces close enough for the cameras to catch the playful spark.
back in nct dream’s dressing room, the t.v. flickers with the live feed, the boys sprawled on couches and chairs, half-watching between touch-ups and snacks.
jisung’s there, legs kicked out, but his posture stiffens the moment your face fills the screen. he watches you lean into chan, that soft oppa slipping from your lips like honey, and something sharp twists in his chest.
his jaw clenches, teeth grinding just enough to make the muscle jump, eyes narrowing into slits as chan passes the rose. the heart pose seals it — your smiles synced, bodies angled close — and jisung's fingers dig into the armrest, knuckles whitening.
chenle, scrolling on his phone beside him, catches the shift immediately. he snickers, nudging jisung's shoulder with his elbow, “make it more obvious, won't you?”
jisung doesn't even glance away from the screen, his gaze locked on you as the segment ends, “i don't know how you do this,” he mutters, voice low and edged with frustration, finally turning to chenle.
chenle’s eyebrows raised in mock innocence, “do what?”
“date an actress,” jisung shoots back, running a hand through his hair, “i’m literally gonna crash out and it’s just a segment.”
chenle bursts out laughing, shoulders shaking as he claps jisung on the back. he shrugs, nonchalant and grinning wide, “i'm just cooler and more mature than you, jisungie.”
🎬
the show pulses on, a relentless rhythm of spotlights and applause, the corridors buzz with hurried footsteps and muffled chatter, but you navigate them with purpose, heart racing from the high and the unresolved pull toward jisung.
he’s been a ghost all day, avoiding your gaze like it's a spotlight he can't afford.
from the corner, your fingers brush his wrist, light but insistent, pulling him quickly into the familiar dim closet without a word.
the door snicks shut, sealing out the world.
jisung's back meets the wall, his eyes snapping to yours, wide, caught off guard, “noona?” he says, voice a hushed rasp, surprise threading through the warmth.
“you haven't looked at me once this whole show,” you murmur, closing the gap until your bodies nearly touch. your voice dips lower, probing, “what's wrong?”
he shifts, gaze dropping to the scuffed floor, jaw clenching in that telltale way. the jealousy from the segment with chan simmers beneath his skin, a sharp twist in his gut from watching you laugh and pose, but he shoves it down deep.
that's kid stuff. and he’s a man. a mature man.
“nothing... just being careful,” he murmurs, forcing a casual shrug.
you see the sulk anyway — the downturned lips, the furrowed brow, the way his shoulders hunch just a fraction. it’s endearing, pulling a soft smile from you as you step in closer, your palm flattening against his chest to feel the rapid thump of his heart.
“you’re cute when you lie.”
his eyes lift then, dark and conflicted, holding yours for a beat too long before he sighs, “i—i’m not lying—the cameras, the fans... everyone’s watching. don't want to cause trouble for us. that's all.”
it’s a half-truth, delivered with a shrug that doesn't quite land, his body betraying him as it leans into your touch.
“try again,” you tease gently, fingers sliding up to cup his jaw, tilting his face so he can't hide, “is it the segment? chan oppa?”
his breath catches, a flicker of admission in the way his eyes narrow, but he nods slowly, the mature mask slipping.
“kinda,” he confesses, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper, his hand settling at your waist, thumb on your bare skin, “stupid, i know. it’s a segment. but seeing you call him that, smile like... like that…”
he pulls you flush against him, the confession hanging heavy but freeing, “i don't want to be the jealous kid. but fuck, i hate sharing even a second of your attention.”
the closet feels smaller now, the world outside fading as you lean in, lips brushing his ear, “you’re not,” you murmur, feeling him shiver, “you're the one i pulled in here. the one I can't stop thinking about.”
the admission hangs between you, raw and real, and you close the distance, lips grazing his in a feather-light touch that ignites everything. he responds instantly, hands framing your face, deepening the kiss.
the urgency builds but so do the voices echoing down the hall — staff calling for the next lineup, footsteps approaching — and he breaks away with a frustrated groan, forehead resting against yours, breathing ragged and uneven.
his eyes, dark with want but sparkling with that boyish hope, search yours.
“come to mine again tonight?” he whispers quietly, voice laced with plea, his thumb stroking your cheek in soft, adoring circles.
you shake your head, a playful glint in your eye as you bite your lip, “no.”
“no?” he pulls back slightly, confusion flickering across his flushed face, brows knitting together in the most adorable pout, his lower lip jutting out.
“you come to mine,” you say with a smile, voice teasing and inviting, your hand sliding down his chest to rest over his racing heart.
“i'll wait for you….in your best ahjussi outfit,” you wink, eyes dripping with that knowing mischief.
he laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest, a shy grin breaking through the sulk as he leans in closer, his ears turning an even brighter shade of pink.
“i’ll borrow a gray wig from the costume department,” he says, his voice light and playful, eyes crinkling, at the corners with pure delight, gummy smile and all.
you giggle, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips, soft and lingering, both of you smiling into it before the outside world swallows you both back into reality.
🎬