#doietopia

[doietopia]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ cry for me — l. haechan

pairing: lee haechan x f!reader  genre: smut content warnings: explicit, fingering, overstimulation, crying during sex, crying kink, basically tears makes him hard word count: ~1k  notes: i’m back hehe i’m sorry. i should write an apology letter longer than a few words or wtv but here’s this haechan fic instead

haechan’s favorite version of you is the one that’s coming undone. not the polished, pretty one who knows exactly how to tease him back. not the sharp tongued version with that little smirk he pretends to hate. no, he wants you frayed. breath stuttering. cheeks damp. voice cracked open and raw.

he gets off hardest when your eyes go glassy and your lashes clump together with tears.

tonight he’s got you on your back, wrists pinned above your head in one of his hands. the other is between your thighs, fingers buried inside you, dragging against that spot that makes your whole body jolt like you’ve been shocked. he’s barely moving now. just pressing, letting the heel of his palm grind into your clit while his fingers stay crooked and deep.

you’re shaking. “haechan—please—”

your voice splinters on his name and he groans low in his throat, hips twitching forward against nothing. he’s so hard it hurts, cock leaking against his stomach, flushed dark and twitching every time a new tear slips down your temple.

“look at you,” he murmurs, wrecked. “crying already and i haven’t even fucked you yet.”

you try to turn your face away but he catches your jaw, thumb smearing the wet streak across your cheekbone.

“nuh-uh,” he says softly. “eyes on me, baby.”

you obey because you’re too far gone to fight. your lips tremble. another tear rolls. he leans down and licks it from your skin, tongue flat and hot. the salt makes him shudder.

“fuck,” he breathes against your cheek. “you taste so good like this.”

his fingers flex inside you, just enough to make a sob tear out of your chest. your back arches, thighs trying to close, but he wedges his knee between them, forcing you open wider.

“keep them spread,” he says, almost gentle. “let me see how wet my crying girl is.”

you’re soaked. embarrassingly so. every time he pulls his fingers out even an inch, there’s a slick, filthy sound that makes his cock jump. he pushes back in deeper, curls harder, watches your mouth drop open on a broken moan.

more tears. he’s mesmerized.

“god,” you’re so pretty when you cry for me,” he rasps, grinding his palm against your clit in tight circles now, relentless. “makes me wanna ruin you worse.”

your hips buck uselessly. you’re babbling now, half pleas, half his name, all slurred and wet. he lets go of your wrists just so he can wrap that hand around your throat. your pulse slams against his palm like it’s trying to escape.

“haechan—i can’t—i’m gonna—”

“yeah you are,” he cuts you off, voice dark. “you’re gonna come crying. just how i like it.”

he speeds up, fingers fucking into you fast and deep, wet, obscene sounds filling the room. your thighs tremble violently. your hands claw at his shoulders, nails biting skin.

he speeds up, fingers fucking into you fast and deep now, wet squelching sounds filling the room. your thighs tremble violently, your hands scrabble at his shoulders, nails biting skin. and the tears tears stream freely now, can’t hold them back.

he stares so hard like he’s hypnotized.

“fuck—look at that,” he groans, hips rocking like he’s already inside you. “you’re dripping down my wrist, baby. crying so pretty for me.”

your sob breaks into a high, shattered cry when he grinds his palm down hard. your whole body locks up, back bowing, toes curling, thighs shaking. and then you’re coming, clenching so tight around his fingers he hisses through his teeth.

the tears keep falling while you shake it out. silent now, just streaming, mixing with the sweat rolling down your face.

he doesn’t stop there, he rubs you through it, keeps fucking you through the oversensitive ache until you’re whimpering, trying to twist away.

“no no no,” he coos, pinning your hip down with his free hand. “you don’t get to run. not when you look this fucking good.”

he pulls his fingers out slowly, watching the way your pussy flutters around nothing, slick clinging to his knuckles. he brings them to his mouth, sucks them clean while holding eye contact, tongue swirling, savoring every drop of your crying orgasm.

then he’s settling between your thighs, cock thick and so hard it’s purple at the tip, beaded with precum. he drags it through your folds, coats himself in you, nudges your swollen clit until you jolt and sob again.

“shh,” he whispers, almost tender. “just a little more, yeah? let me fuck you while you’re still crying.”

he pushes in, inch by torturous inch, watching your face the whole time. the way your brows pinch, lips part, fresh tears welling up as he stretches you open.

when he bottoms out he stays there, hips flush, letting you feel all of his length while you adjust. your walls flutter around him helplessly.

haechan leans down, mouth brushing your ear. “cry for me again,” he murmurs. “i wanna feel you soak my cock while you do it.”

then he starts moving, deep rolls of his hips, grinding against that spot inside you that makes your vision white out. every thrust knocks another sob loose. tears slide into your hairline. your hands fist the sheets so hard your knuckles bleach.

he’s panting now, forehead pressed to yours, watching every tear fall like it’s his personal porn.

“fuck—fuck—you’re so tight when you cry,” he chokes out. “like your pussy’s begging me to fill it up.”

you’re past words, just broken little cries and whimpers, body jerking every time he bottoms out. he speeds up, chasing it now, hips snapping harder, wet slap of skin on skin mixing with your sobs.

“gonna come inside,” he growls. “gonna come while you’re crying for me—fuck—look at me—”

your eyes flutter open, wet and dazed and pleading.

that’s what does it.

he slams in one last time, buries himself deep, and comes with a guttural moan, cock pulsing as he fills you, flooding you while he watches fresh tears spill down your cheeks.

he keeps rocking through it, shallow thrusts, milking every last drop while you tremble and hiccup beneath him.

when he finally stills, he doesn’t pull out. he just sinks his weight onto you, mouth finding the wet tracks on your face again, licking them clean, soft and greedy.

“so perfect,” he mumbles against your skin, voice hoarse. “my favorite thing in the world is making you cry like that. you’re still sniffling, chest heaving while haechan kisses the corner of your eye.

[doietopia]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ messy eater!haechan ㅤㅤ (+18, mdni)

he’s always been like this: messy. greedy. the kind of man who can’t eat slowly, who gets sauce on his lips and never wipes it off, who licks his fingers instead of using a napkin. you should have known it would translate to this.

because now, with your thighs trembling around his shoulders and his mouth buried between them. the taste of you is something he’s been craving for weeks and now that he’s had a drop, he can’t stop. his hands are firm on your hips, anchoring you to the edge of the bed, afraid you’ll slip away. and maybe you would, if you had the strength. if your body weren’t already unraveling under his mouth.

haechan moans into you, sharp and breathy as it’s him being touched. he whines when you twitch, when your breath catches, when your hand tangles in his hair. his mouth works without rhythm and hesitation, sometimes slow and indulgent, then suddenly fast, desperate, because he just can’t decide whether to savor you or devour you whole.

you look at him, and fuck… he’s gorgeous, even like this. maybe especially like this.

his lips are flushed, glistening, swollen from how long he’s been down there. his hair clings to his forehead, damp with sweat. brows drawn tight with a tension thick with focus and hunger. his jawline, usually so soft and clean, is now slick wet with your arousal and his spit, smeared across his chin, catching the light at the corners of his mouth. you see it trailing down his throat, glinting in the hollow there.

his tongue slides lower. a thick, wet stroke right into your cunt, and your whole body jolts. your spine arches off the bed, hands flying to the sheets, to his hair, to anything that might tether you to yourself. he groans against you, the sound reverberating through your skin like a low hum. it’s filthy. perfect.

his nose bumps your clit, teasing, nudging with a kind of casual precision that feels anything but accidental. the pressure is soft, rhythmic. warm from his breath. he pushes deeper, tongue fucking into you, not just a flick, or a taste, but deep, wet thrusts that make your hips grind into his face before you even realize. he drags back up, licks through your folds, flattens his tongue under your clit only to dip back inside, messier this time. and the slick sound of it, of you, fills the air, so obscene it borders on holy.

he shifts. nose pressing to your clit again, this time with purpose, this time harder, while his tongue stays buried inside your hole. your thighs tighten around his head. you try to push him away, quivering hands on his head, thighs clamping shut, too sensitive, too much, you whisper. but he only groans and his grip hardens, prying you open again, like he’s offended you’d even try to leave. 

he presses his tongue back in, slow this time, dragging it up through your slick, flicking over your clit with obscene ease. he licks like he’s cleaning a plate, unwilling to leave a single drop behind. one hand slips beneath your thigh to tilt your hips, the other splays over your stomach, pinning you there, holding you down as he already knows what’s coming. and when he adds his fingers, two of them, you cry out. he curls them inside you, unerringly, hitting that spot inside you that makes your legs jerk. without pause, he sucks your clit into his mouth and doesn’t let go, not until it’s pulsing against his tongue. 

his pace doesn’t slow, not when your thighs quake, not when your hands claw at the sheets, not when your body arches off the bed in one long, trembling line. he stays, mouth open, tongue heavy, lips smeared with everything you’ve given him. 

when he finally pulls back, after making you come three times in a row, he’s panting. his face is wrecked, cheeks flushed, chin wet, eyes glazed. totally drunk on you. a line of spit still connects his mouth to your cunt, and when he wipes it with the back of his hand, it only smears across his cheek.

you look at him, legs still shaking, breath shallow, and he just smiles.

a crooked, fucked-out smile, like he’s proud of the wreckage he’s made. but he doesn’t look satisfied. no. not even close. he watches you as if you owe him more, and he’s ready to dive back in just to feel you dripping down his chin again.

[doietopia]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ loud moaning!mark ㅤㅤ (+18, mdni)

he’s already breathing hard when you slide your hand down. his moans start soft, but they build with every second, low, needy, unfiltered. he hides his face in your neck like that’ll muffle the sounds, but it doesn’t.

you hear everything. the way his voice trembles, the way he gasps when your thumb brushes the tip, the way he curses under his breath like he’s about to fall apart.

the moment your fingers wrap around him, he moans. no warning, no hesitation, just this guttural sound that escapes his throat like it’s been trapped there forever.

“fuck—”

his hips jerk up, needy, desperate, he’s been waiting all day just to feel you. he can’t stop the sounds that leave him, deep, raw moans that grow louder with every stroke, every squeeze. he’s loud, almost embarrassingly so, but you don’t tell him to quiet down.

“you feel so fucking good,” he breathes, head falling back, lips parted. “please— don’t stop—”

he’s losing it, moaning without shame, the kind of sounds that make your skin burn and your thighs press together. every breath is laced with your name.

“i love it when you touch me like this,” he gasps, eyes fluttering shut. “i swear— i can’t think— i just want you.”

you lean in, lips brushing his jaw.

“then let me have you,” you whisper.

and the moan he lets out at that, loud, broken, aching, makes your whole body shiver. he’s so close, so open, so undone for you. all you did was touch him, and he’s already giving you everything.

[doietopia]

── ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ wearing lip gloss with nct wish (ot4)

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𝜗𝜚 ₊˚⊹ ⋆ sion

the couch beneath you is soft, but you sit perched on the edge, one leg draped lazily off the side, the other folded neatly beneath you. your fingers linger on the compact mirror you just closed, a faint click echoing slightly. the coconut gloss on your lips catches the light, a subtle shine that seems to invite him, and you can almost feel the weight of his gaze fixed on your lips as you press them together with a soft, satisfying pop.

sion doesn’t speak at first, but you can feel the shift in the air that tells you he’s thinking, that kind of slow, deliberate thought that comes just before mischief, and that quiet smile playing at his lips is enough to make your pulse stutter. “don’t even try,” you warn softly, letting your words hang between you.

he tilts his head a little. “try what?”

“getting closer,” you say, glance flicking toward him, the corner of his mouth curving into a teasing half-smile. “no kisses. i just put gloss on.”

he licks his lips, slow, deliberate, eyes never leaving yours. “so?”

“so, it’s sticky and you’ll hate it.” your words are soft, playful, but your chest tightens in anticipation.

he slides until he’s sitting closer, his fingers catches your face with a gentleness that contrasts the heat in his eyes.

“i don’t think you get it,” he says, gaze fixated on your mouth. a corner of his lips quirks up, the beginnings of trouble in his expression. “i like sticky.” one hand finds your knee, as the other strokes the curve of your jaw. when it grazes the corner of your mouth, you shiver, a small breath escaping you. “i like messy.”

you narrow your eyes, though your lips twitch with suppressed amusement. “you’re not serious.”

“oh, i am,” he murmurs, voice low, deliberate, almost tasting the words. before you can even pull back, his hand moves to cradle your chin, tilting your face up, and his lips descend onto yours.

his mouth is warm, insistent, moving with a slow, consuming pressure that makes your breath hitch. you feel the gloss melt between your lips, sticky and soft, and he doesn’t seem to mind, if anything, he deepens the kiss, savoring the texture, the taste. your hands rest at your sides, wanting to touch him but frozen by the delicious tension, your heart hammering in your chest.

when he finally pulls back, it’s only slightly, enough for you to see him: your gloss shimmering on his lips, his dark eyes glinting triumphantly. you blink, breathless, a little dazed, caught between amusement and desire.

he reaches up again, thumb brushing your bottom lip, tracing the gloss with a deliberate, teasing touch. “gonna reapply it?”

“maybe,” you whisper, voice a little shaky, feeling exposed and electrified all at once.

his mouth curls into something dangerously sharp, predatory yet tender. “don’t bother,” he murmurs, leaning in again, lips brushing yours with a heat that leaves no room for hesitation. “i’m taking it again anyway.”

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𝜗𝜚 ₊˚⊹ ⋆ riku

you’re lying on the floor beside him, your head propped up on one arm, absentmindedly scrolling through your phone while he flips through a manga. it’s quiet, until you shift onto your back and stretch, lips parting as you let out a little sigh. the faint shine of your cherry gloss catches the dim light, and suddenly, his page-turning slows.

you don’t need to look to know he’s staring. you feel it. the weight of it. he’s sitting way too close for someone who’s pretending to read, his shoulder nearly brushing yours, the heat of him just a little too tangible.

“no,” you say immediately as he starts leaning in. “nope. gloss.” your tone is playful but firm, warning him off.

riku freezes mid-lean, eyebrows knitting together. “what? why not?” he doesn’t even try to deny it.

“because i just put it on.” you lift your brows, letting a smirk twitch at the corner of your lips. “do you know how hard it is to reapply this stuff without a mirror?”

you roll your head to the side and catch him shamelessly propped up on one elbow now, chin in hand, eyes locked on your mouth like he’s studying it.

“don’t look at me like you’re about to do something stupid.”

a grin tugs at his lips, the kind that makes your stomach tighten. “depends on your definition of stupid.”

you narrow your eyes. “getting gloss all over yourself counts.”

he hums thoughtfully, like he’s actually considering it. “worth it.”

“baby—” you start, but he cuts you off with a soft laugh, already leaning closer. his hand finds the floor beside your head, holding him up as he hovers over you, his hair falling slightly into his eyes. and before you can react, his mouth is on yours. a loud, exaggerated, obnoxious, mwahhh, his grin spilling into the kiss.

your eyes fly open. “riku!”

he pulls back just enough to grin at you, shameless. “what?” he wipes the corner of his lips with his thumb, then sucks it clean, shameless as ever. “you taste too good to ignore,” he says simply, settling back down beside you like nothing happened, smug smile never leaving his face.

his lips brush your ear with a low, a tone that makes the hairs on your neck stand up. “i regret nothing.”

the words linger, sticky as your gloss, with the playful tension that makes your heart skip. even as you scold him with your eyes, your lips twitch against the urge to smile, laugh, and lean in for more.

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𝜗𝜚 ₊˚⊹ ⋆ yushi

you’re sitting cross legged on his bed, idly scrolling through your phone, the soft scent of your strawberry gloss still lingering in the air. your mouth shines under the dim yellow glow of the lamp, and it doesn’t take long for yushi to notice. the weight of his attention is settling like a warm pressure on your lips. it makes your chest tighten in the most distracting way.

“stop looking at me like that,” you murmur, voice casual, though your fingers fidget slightly with your phone. you don’t even glance up.

“i’m not looking at you,” he says, though his voice betrays the smile already forming on his lips.

he leans back on his hands, eyes drifting down again, lingering on your lips. his voice drops low, almost lazy, almost dangerous. “your mouth looks like candy.”

it’s not what he says, but how, so calm, so matter of fact, as if stating the obvious. like your lips were always meant to be noticed. heat rises behind your ears, spreading through your chest.

you roll your eyes, trying to play it cool. “don’t get any ideas. i just put it on.”

“so?” he blinks at you, amused and completely unbothered. “i don’t mind.”

“well, i do.” you close your compact mirror and wave it at him. “it’s sticky. and new. and expensive.”

he stays for a second, then moves. slowly, letting you have a moment to stop him. the mattress shifts under the weight of his movement as he crawls closer. your pulse quickens without even trying.

“you’re so dramatic,” he murmurs, one hand brushing your ankle as he leans in, fingers lingering like they’re testing limits. “it’s just a kiss.” his chest is close now, warm, the scent of him mingling with the faint sweetness of your gloss.

“you don’t kiss like it’s just a kiss.” your voice comes out softer than you meant, slightly breathless, lips twitching with a smile you can’t hide.

“sticky, messy, expensive,” he murmurs, eyes flicking from your lips to your gaze. “i don’t care.” and then he kisses you. warm, smooth, certain. his lips press against yours with slow, deliberate intensity, he doesn’t ask, doesn’t hesitate, just claims your mouth like strawberry it’s his favorite flavor. all gloss and heat, and you feel the pull in your stomach, the flutter in your chest. his hand slides from your ankle up to rest lightly on your hip, subtle but impossible to ignore. 

when he pulls back, just enough to catch his breath, a slick shine clings to his lips. your own mouth tingles from the heat and pressure, leaving you blinking up at him, cheeks pink, breath coming a little too fast.

“mmm… tastes so sweet,” he says, tongue brushing the corner of his mouth, eyes dark with amusement. “can i have another one?”

your fingers twitch, almost reaching for him, while your heart races with the delicious, thrilling knowledge that he’s fully aware of the effect he has on you.

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𝜗𝜚 ₊˚⊹ ⋆ jaehee

you catch him looking. not the casual kind of looking, either. his gaze is locked on your mouth, deliberate, unapologetic, and he isn’t even pretending to be subtle. his head tilts slightly, elbow propped on the table, the tiniest curve of a smile teasing at his lips, like he knows he’s been caught in the act and couldn’t care less.

you click your gloss shut, holding it up between you like a warning flag. “don’t even think about it,” you say, voice light but firm.

“think about what?” he asks, perfectly deadpan, and the contrast between his words and his smoldering gaze makes your pulse stutter.

“this,” you say, gesturing to your lips. “it’s peach flavored. not for sharing.”

he raises a brow, that teasing little quirk that always makes your stomach flip. the corners of his mouth twitch like he’s barely containing a smirk. “shame. peach’s my favorite,” he murmurs, voice low, almost possessive.

you narrow your eyes, leaning back slightly, though the tension between you is almost physical. “well, too bad. i’m not smudging it just because you can’t control yourself.”

he leans in ever so slightly, elbows resting on his knees now, eyes darkening with deliberate intent. his voice softens, almost a whisper. “who says i can’t control myself?”

you hum, arching a brow, teasing but heart already thudding. “your eyes are saying it.”

“then stop looking at my eyes,” he counters smoothly, voice rich with quiet amusement, almost challenging you.

you blink, caught off guard, and he notices. that glint in his gaze sharpens, warms, promising mischief, slow and inevitable. your breath catches without meaning to, the tiny shift of his body closer making your skin tingle.

he doesn’t kiss you then. not yet. he just leans back, smug, silent, letting the moment stretch and thrum between you like electricity. his fingers drumming lightly on his knee, the subtle scent of him lingering in the air, the curve of his lips almost daring you to move closer, it’s enough to make your pulse race.

but later, when your laughter catches you mid lean, when you’ve forgotten to reapply and your gloss has dulled slightly, when you lean toward him without thinking, that’s when he moves. slow at first, letting his presence surround you, then sure, decisive, claiming your lips with warmth and the faint sweetness of peach still clinging there. the kiss is soft, deliberate, full of that quiet confidence that makes your knees go weak.

when he finally pulls back, he doesn’t speak right away. he just licks his lips slowly, savoring the taste, the glossy sweetness still lingering.

“mmm… still tastes like peach,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing, leaving you breathless and flushed, chest fluttering, caught between wanting more and pretending you’re in control. 

[doietopia]

── ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ cold feet - o. sion

same thing, every damn night.

you crawl into bed like a little creature of chaos, soft blanket dragging behind you, skin warm from your nighttime routine, pajama shirt hanging a little off your shoulder, and you always start on your side. tucked into your own corner like you’re going to respect his personal space for once.

but sion knows better.

he’s already bracing for it.

“don’t you dare,” he mumbles, already eyeing you with suspicion from his side of the bed, arm tucked lazily behind his head, hair a little wet from the shower.

you look at him with your most innocent face, pillow hugged to your chest like you’ve never committed a single crime.

“me?”

he raises a brow. “you. and those ice block feet of yours. keep them far, far away.”

you giggle. and he knows, knows, the moment he sees that little twitch in your mouth, that barely-there smirk you’re trying to hide, he knows that’s the exact moment he’s doomed.

he closes his eyes like he’s made peace with his fate. and then, five minutes later, just as his breathing starts to slow…

ice.

right against his calves. your feet, sharp little shocks of winter, slipping under the covers and pressing into his skin with evil precision.

he yelps. an actual, involuntary jolt.

“oh my god,” he groans, “why are they this cold. are you a corpse?”

you just wiggle closer, laughter spilling out before you can stop it, your voice muffled into his shoulder. “you’re warm. you’re basically a space heater.”

“i’m not here to thaw you out, babe.”

“yes you are,” you murmur, sweetness curling around each word. “and i’m sure you love it.”

he glares. “i literally don’t.” but his arms are already wrapping around you anyway.

truth is? he does love it. he loves the way you burrow into him without hesitation, cold feet and all, like he’s safe. like your body just knows it’s home when it finds his. he loves the contrast, your freezing toes and your warm breath against his throat. your soft little whines when you finally feel warm enough to relax. the way you always tangle your legs with his after.

he’ll grumble every time.

he’ll complain like it’s the worst thing in the world.

but when he wakes up and your feet aren’t pressed against his calves, he’ll shift in the sheets, searching for you. because without your stupid cold feet at night, it doesn’t feel like home.

[doietopia]

── ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ shy - l. haechan

it wasn’t supposed to lead to this, just the two of you, alone. but the night unraveled slowly.

it was just a casual gathering, just a few of you from the group project, drinks and takeout in someone’s apartment, the usual teasing and banter that always bubbled when haechan was around. loud laughs, music too low to matter, the way his eyes kept finding yours across the room and fingers brushing when you both reached for the same fry.

you didn’t think much of it when the others left. someone had to catch a ride, someone else had an early class. you lingered. so did he.

“so,” haechan says now, leaning against the kitchen counter, swirling the last inch of soda in a cup he hasn’t touched in twenty minutes. “you’re just gonna pretend you didn’t spend the whole night avoiding my eyes?”

you scoff, flustered. “i wasn’t avoiding—”

“uh-huh.” his mouth quirks up. “then why’d you blush every time i looked at you?”

“i didn’t—”

he steps forward, slow, casual, like he’s not watching you panic beneath the surface. you back up without meaning to, until your shoulder bumps against the fridge. he smiles, as if he won something.

“you always get like this when it’s just us?” he asks, tilting his head. “or am i special?”

your heartbeat kicks up. “you’re ridiculous.”

“but you’re not walking away,” he says softly. “interesting.”

he takes another step. then another. until he’s close. so close you forget how to think. you open your mouth to reply, but he leans in again, not quite kissing you. just hovering. close enough to count his lashes, to feel his breath ghost over your lips.

“’cause if it’s shyness,” he whispers, voice dropping into something wicked and gentle, “i can fix that.”

his hand finds your waist, warm through the thin fabric of your shirt. his thumb slides just beneath the hem, slow and daring, testing what he can get away with.

“tell me to stop,” he murmurs. “or tell me what you actually want.”

[doietopia]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ needy — n. jaemin

pairing: jaemin x f!reader genre and content: smut, soft dom!jaemin, praise kink, emotional intimacy, slight needy!reader, lap sitting, unprotected sex, mutual yearning, gentle dominance, established relationship, soft possessiveness, body worship. mdni wc: 1.4k sypnosis: just one soft, breathless request is all it takes for jaemin to melt you in his hands.

“you’re fidgeting.”

you freeze, fingers halfway to the hem of your his oversized old shirt, caught red-handed. jaemin doesn’t look up from the book in his lap, just turns a page slowly, like he’s giving you time to either confess or continue misbehaving.

“i’m not,” you murmur.

his eyes rise at that. calm and a little amused. “you’ve been squirming for ten minutes.”

you want to argue, but you’re already curled up in his lap, one leg tucked beneath you, the other hanging lazily over his thigh. he’s warm beneath you, bare-chested, soft grey sweatpants riding low on his hips.

“i’m just…” you start, then trail off, cheeks flushed.

“restless?” he supplies. he closes the book carefully, setting it aside on the nightstand with a quiet thud. then he looks at you. “or needy?”

the word makes you swallow.

you don’t answer, not that you need to. his hands find your waist anyway, hot through the thin cotton. he shifts beneath you just enough to hold you better, and you let him. you feel small like this, tucked into his lap, breathing his air.

“use your words, baby,” he says, thumb brushing slow circles over your hip. “you know i’ll always take care of you, but you gotta tell me.”

your lashes flutter as you meet his gaze. “i want— i want you to touch me.”

that makes his face soften. he leans in and kisses your cheek, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth. “that’s all you had to say.”

his hands slip under the hem of your shirt, finding bare skin. his thumbs spread lightly across your waist, and the shiver that follows is instant.

“you’re always so soft” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw as he speaks. “so easy to touch.”

you let him move you, pliant in his hands as he lifts the shirt inch by inch. his knuckles graze your ribs, then your chest, until the fabric slips over your head and it’s gone.

his eyes flick down your chest, then back up to your face. he leans in, mouth brushing the corner of yours. “pretty baby,” he whispers. “always so beautiful.”

he takes his time, thumb grazing the smooth swell of your breast, the other hand gliding up your spine to cradle the back of your neck. your knees bracket his hips. 

he leans in with a long, slow kiss to your shoulder, your collarbone. then he draws you in, pressing your bare chest flush to his. heartbeat fluttering where it meets his own.

you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, and he hums in contentment. “that’s my good girl,” he murmurs.

maybe you sigh a little. maybe your body melts just a bit more into his. because when he holds you like this, when his voice dips low and careful, when he says things like that, not demanding, not rough, just claiming you with kindness, it undoes something quiet and deep inside you. you feel safe here.

but the ache doesn’t fade.

your voice comes out small. “i want more of you.”

he stills for a second, as if absorbing every word. then his lips curve, slow and knowing. “there she is,” he murmurs, almost proud. “see? that’s all you have to do.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you. the cool air hits your skin, but his hands never leave. they find their way back easily, sliding over your sides, cupping your breasts. too warm. 

his thumbs brush over your nipples with a lighter touch. and the contrast makes you flinch. they tighten instantly under the attention. he watches everything, your face, the way your breath stutters, how your lips part when he pinches just a little harder.

one of his hands leaves your chest, dragging slowly down your side. he follows the dip of your waist, then slips between your thighs, cupping you over your panties, the pressure making you whimper.

his fingers move with purpose, rubbing slow circles through the fabric. “is this what you needed?” he whispers, lips brushing your temple. “this what you’ve been squirming about all night?”

you nod against his shoulder, breath catching when he presses a little harder. the friction makes your thighs tremble.

“words, baby.”

“yes,” you breathe. “please. more.”

he eases the panties down your hips. it drags slowly across your thighs, damp from how much you’ve been wanting him, and when he finally gets them past your knees, he tosses them somewhere off the bed. 

he moves between your legs, spreading you open carefully. your body jolts at the contact, skin on skin. fingers gliding easily. slow strokes that drag through your folds and circle your clit with devastating patience.

“fuck,” he exhales. “you’re dripping.”

you whimper, burying your face in his neck. he keeps going, his thumb slick now, tracing circles that grow a little tighter, you can barely keep still.

one finger pushes in, gently, and you gasp at the stretch. he waits until your body relaxes around him before sliding in a second. he curls them slightly, and your mouth drops open in a silent cry.

his other hand slips beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, adjusting himself just enough to free his cock. you can feel the bare press of his length against your thigh, responding to every shift of your hips.

you’re barely breathing when he withdraws his fingers covered in slick. you look up at him, wide-eyed, dazed, and before you can say a word,he slips them into his mouth. your whine breaks the silence.

“please—” 

“please what?” he says gently, kissing your jaw. “you want more?”

you nod helplessly, rocking your hips against his lap. breath stuttering as he speaks again, “sit up a little for me.”

you do, and he guides you, palms steady on your hips as he shifts you into place, your entrance hovering just above his pulsing cock.

“jaemin—”

his cock slides through your folds first, slow and teasing, the head catching on your clit and making you jolt.

“you’re so ready” he says, more to himself than you. “gonna feel so good inside you.”

and then he’s pushing in, letting you feel every inch stretch and fill you. with a broken sound, you fold forward, forehead pressed to his shoulder.

he doesn’t rush at first. just holds you there, seated fully on him, his cock throbbing inside you. you pulse around him, still adjusting, and he groans softly, one hand sliding up your back to cradle the base of your skull.

“you okay?” he whispers, lips brushing your temple.

you nod, dazed, your voice barely a sound. “yes… i just—need a second.”

“take it,” he says. “i’ve got you.”

he waits, patient, thumb rubbing small, grounding circles into your hipbone until your breathing evens out. until you start to shift on your own, just a little, testing, rocking forward, then back, chasing that sweet friction. you cling to his shoulders, letting him control the rhythm

“that’s it,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek. “take me. just like that.”

he helps you move. lifting and lowering, and every time he rocks you down, your clit brushes against the base of his stomach.

your forehead presses to his. “so good—” you gasp. the heat builds impossibly fast. your thighs start to shake, rhythm stuttering.

you whimper his name, and he smiles against your skin. “i know, i know,” he coos. “you’re close, aren’t you?”

you can only nod and moan against his skin through clenched teeth. every part of you feels strung tight. 

his thumb finds your clit again, and the moment he circles it, you snap. your body locks up, a full-body tremor ripping through you as you cry out, clenching hard around him. white heat floods your vision. his other hand slides up your back, spreading wide between your shoulder blades, holding you steady as you come.

he kisses your cheek as you ride it out, murmuring against your skin: “that’s it, baby. i’ve got you.”

he thrusts up hard once, twice, chasing his own high and then groans against your shoulder as he comes, pulsing deep inside you. his grip on your hips turns bruising for a moment, and then he melts under you.

when you both finally still, breathing heavy and tangled together, he strokes your back in slow circles.

“my pretty girl,” he whispers. “you were perfect.” you hum sleepily, still wrapped around him. safe. full. loved.

[doietopia]

── ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ holding back - t. yushi ㅤㅤ (+18, mdni)

your room is dim. the sheets are warm from your bodies, and everything smells like that “full moon” candle you lit earlier, mixed with the faint coconut lotion you always put on before bed. yushi’s next to you, one arm tucked under his head, face turned toward yours. he’s been looking at you for a while now. not saying anything. just breathing slow.

“can i ask you something?”

you hum, shifting to face him a little more, your knee brushing his. “what is it?”

he hesitates. his eyes study your face, checking if it’s okay to keep going.

“do you ever… do it when i’m not here?”

“do what?”

his voice is softer when he answers. “touch yourself. when you’re alone.”

you look at him. maybe it’s how he asks it. but it feels genuine. like it’s been sitting on his tongue for a while.

you smile a little. “of course i do. why?”

his fingers twitch where they rest between you, not quite touching, but close enough that you feel the warmth of his skin.

“i don’t know,” he says, blush creeping up his cheeks. “i guess i always wonder how it looks. how you… do it.” 

your stomach pull tight. “you wanna know what it looks like?” 

he nods slowly. eyes still on yours.

“only if you want to,” he adds, his voice cracking a little.

you kiss him. not as an answer, but to let him know that his wanting doesn’t scare you. instead, the idea of letting him see that, felt intimate… 

“it’s okay,” you say after a pause. “i want to.”

he exhales once, but it sounds like relief. leans back against the headboard, legs slightly apart, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. 

“just watch?” you ask again, breath low.

he nods. his hands stay on his thighs. he doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. making it clear he’s not here to participate, only to witness.

so you lie back, heart fluttering. one hand trails across your abdomen, slow at first, dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, dragging lightly over skin already warm. you feel a little exposed, shy. but the way he watches you, with such quiet awe, makes you keep going.

your fingers find the spot they always do. the first real touch makes you shiver, a quiet gasp leaves your mouth. you trace slow, steady circles, exactly how you like them, low and tight, not too rough yet, enough to keep your body buzzing. 

you settle into it, and soon you’re moving the way you do when you’re alone, but this isn’t alone. this is him, there, watching, and you start to feel a little drunk on it.

your free hand fists the sheets beside you. your touch gets more confident. wetter. dipping down before circling again, and the friction makes your stomach tighten. you can hear it now, the slick sound of your fingers against your skin, how wet you are, how desperate. the tiny gasps leaving your mouth.

you don’t even notice your eyes have shut until—

“keep them open,” he says softly. not a command. not even a request. just… need.

you obey.

and when your gaze finds his again, something clenches low in your core. his eyes are dark and fixed. jaw tight. his knuckles white against his thighs, but still doesn’t move. you want to touch him. you want to ask him to touch you. but that’s not what he asked for. he wanted to see. and so you let him.

you’re panting now. the circles turn to strokes. and it’s loud now. wet and obscene and utterly vulnerable. 

every movement sends heat spiraling up your spine. the friction makes your hips lift on instinct, chasing pressure, chasing your own touch. your rhythm is faster, sloppier. messy. the way it gets when you’re close and trying not to break too fast.

your eyes burn a little with the intensity of it all, and your body aches for more, for him.

“yushi,” you gasp. your other hand reaches out for him blindly. but he doesn’t come closer. instead, he shakes his head, barely. 

“not yet,” he murmurs, breathing hard through his nose. his fists clench tighter, and for a second he looks almost in pain. like it’s costing him everything not to reach out.

you whine, thighs throbbing. you’re aching. everything throbs. you spread your legs wide open for him, giving him the full view, and he still doesn’t touch.

“you wanted to show me, remember?” he says, voice low.

you nod. barely. that makes you want to fall apart under his eyes. because somehow this, the silence, the patience, the way he’s holding back so hard, feels the most intimate thing he’s ever done.

you can feel how close you are. the way your stomach tightens, knees pulling in, fingers pressing harder. and then, abruptly, a pulse hits deep inside you. you grind into your palm, faster. you come so hard. his name is on your lips again, over and over. it feels like falling off a cliff with no bottom. you don’t even realize you’re crying out until it’s already leaving your mouth.

your movement slow but don’t stop, drawn out, overstimulated. your whole body twitching with the aftershocks. your eyes find him again, blinking up at him like you’ve never needed anything so badly in your life.

and only then does he move.

his hoodie’s gone in seconds. his hands grip your thighs, spreading you open again as he leans in to kiss the inside of your knee, so gentle it almost makes you cry.

“my turn,” he murmurs, voice thick, a hand already at the waistband of his pants. “lie back, baby. you’re not done yet.”