#frontman smut

[navimaximoff]

🩷 squid game twitter links nsfw

content warning: fem!viewer. these are explicit smut videos, watch at your own risk. you have been warned! if you don’t like this, don’t watch.

author’s note: i’ve been seeing so many twitter links posts for different fandoms so i decided to do one for squid game. make sure to be logged into twt/x beforehand, if some of the links stop working let me know. this was so much fun hehe. enjoy <3

want more? check out part 2❤️‍🔥

〇 salesman / recruiter tw: bdsm

he never makes love, he fucks, like he hates you

you better take it all

△ in-ho / frontman (001)

he gets so hard watching you play the games

relieving stress on his limousine

too big

□ thanos + nam-gyu (230 + 124)

they didn’t like your vote, they’ll change your mind

“see? you can’t vote x. staying here is way better”

〇 thanos (230)

he likes it rough

loves doggy

△ nam-gyu (124)

the way he talks is sooo namgyu, your throat around his cock + degradation? perfect combo

im telling you he has an obsession with your mouth

□ jun-ho / police officer

after a nightmare he had to make sure you were good

passionate and loving

taking care of you after a long day

〇 sang-woo (218)

you asked your hot professor for help, this is how it went :p

thinking about you

△ dae-ho (388)

he’s a MUNCH

matches your freak

□ min-su (125)

mommy kink going crazy

type of shit he deserves pt 1

pt 2

〇 myung-gi (333)

he’s an asshole

△ pink guards

being their favorite player <3

you literally have them wrapped around your little finger

[bwounce]

Lee Byung Hun, your teacher. ADULT CONTENT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

more of teacher byung hun · contains: teacher x student, huge age gap: reader is in school, byung hun in mid 50s. smut, dry humping.

byung hun was never the type to want someone so young, no, never— that was until you came into the picture. the little glances he'd share with you in his classroom, your perfect body all dolled up in skimpy clothing just for him, he could tell you do it for him, how desperate you were for his attention. his eyes would be fixated on the gentle slopes of your waist, the curves of your ass and the plush of your thighs. he just wanted to devour you whole. keep you all to himself.

and you weren't oblivious to that. you would always feel his gaze lingering on your figure a bit longer than usual, heat pooling down your core as you squeezed your thighs together in attempts to find something to grind onto. he made you such a mess.

he wanted to keep things professional; keep his distance. but the way you'd look up at him with those fuck me eyes had him running into the staff bathroom stalls, unable to handle any more of the ache growing between his legs, beads of precum spilling out of his uncontrollably swollen tip before he even got to take his boxers off. he needed you. needed you to take his load out into. but he knew he couldn't make his move; poor little byung hun knows he'd get in so much trouble if he tried messing with you.

and he doesn't care.

because right now you were straddling his lap and the growing bulge you thought you were supposed to ignore, as he tutored you after keeping you back when school had ended. the school halls were empty, save for the faint echoes of laughter drifting in from outside. the room was locked, he made sure of that. he doesn't anyone walking in and seeing what he does to his pretty girl.

“such a dumb girl, hm?“ he'd make a remark, pointing to the big red C on your test papers. and all you could do was nod calculus was never your strong suit— but you were beginning to feel like mr. byung hun gave you a C just to keep you back in his classroom.

your breath hitched as he laid a big heavy hand on your thigh, the other held a pen fixing the mistakes on your test paper. you craned your neck back to look at him, faces so close you were practically breathing each other's faces in. he had a dumb smirk plastered on his face— one so subtle you weren't sure if he knew what he was doing right now. if he knew you, his student, was on his fuckin’ lap right now. what a whore.

he tilted his head, removing his hand from your thigh to take off his glasses before setting them on the desk, and clasping his hand on your thigh back again. this time, he'd rub small circles and grab small chunks of meat occasionally. poor you, you didn't even know what to do at that point— but you wanted it. you were down right pathetic for him.

without warning, he'd buck his hips up into the softness of your ass, prevailing in rubbing the growing boner just into the right spot. your breathing got faster, as you bit your now-bleeding bottom lip once again. you were—

“grind.“

and holy fuck. you were absolutely leaking after that. you were so, so, desperate, you started drawing circles into his lap with your hips without giving it much thought. he'd shut his eyes close, nipping at your neck as his free hand reaches around and clamps the base of your throat and pulls it back slightly; all whilst you two were going back and forth, taking turns grinding on each other.

and byung hun was so effing cute, he creamed his boxers before you guys could properly even start. you can't be mad at him, after all, he was your beloved teacher.

cc @inhogf dont steal

[dyingswanpavlova]

Treasure

Pairing: Hwang In-ho/The Frontman × Reader

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Smut, Age Gap (Reader is 25, In-ho is 54), Usage of Daddy, Mentions of Emotional Abuse in the Past, Low Self-Esteem, Sex as a Business Deal, Edging, Spanking, Overstimulation, Face Slapping, Oral Sex (Both receiving), Gagging, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Minors do not interact!

Author's note: It's mostly bad experiences and smut. Anyone who knows me, knows I can't do wholesome...But, you guys, I'm trying!

It has been quite a while since his wife died and he hasn't gotten over it. But now he found someone who brings out a softer side of him...or makes him feel anything at all. Even if it's just the fact that he doesn't have to dine and sleep alone.

The day of her death was always the worst.

Of course he was always cold. One might even muster up the courage to call it cruel.

He was a complicated man in any sense of the word. While he was as cunning as he was handsome, he was also cool and composed. He didn’t ever lose that tight composure, until he allowed himself to. There were only few situations that allowed him to let loose and unleash the beast that lived within him.

It was rather obvious that there was more to him. The way he carried himself made it seem like he was no more than the stoic business man, but sometimes, sometimes you caught a soft glimpse of whatever was underneath. The way his eyes shone in a certain light.

 His brother was enough.

His wife, of course.

 But you were clever. And your sense of self-preservation forbade you to pry. All you had to do was do your job. And what was your job?

You found yourself applying a drop of perfume to your neck and your wrists, staring at your form in the mirror. The black lace covered most of your intimate parts, but it was just enough to leave him yearning for more. He liked that especially – when he had to use his imagination.

But sometimes, on rare occasions like that night, he needed more. He needed a little, naughty dream, to distract him from the turmoil that raged within him.

He was never cruel to you. He was just cold.

It wasn’t like you minded. So far, you had heard all kinds of things from a few friends of yours. Men could be vile creatures, who performed the most heinous crimes, whenever they felt like it. You were sure you could call yourself lucky, when it came to that.

He was older, that was out of question. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Not for you anyway.

You couldn’t tell when that started or what the exact reason was.

Your father had been a fairly good man. He never abused you and never hurt you out of the ordinary. The occasional session of spanking was something that stopped once you got older. Of course a child that steps out of line will get punished. It’s not that dramatic and you were sure, you took no damage after that.

He had been a kind man. Good-hearted. He loved you, your sister and your mother very much.

Until he got drunk.

Of course, he loved you then as well. And he never hit you then, either. Not you.

Your mother, sure. The poor, sweet woman she was. Her broken spirit cracked through the light in which her soul was covered, because she was strong like that. Gentle, but strong.

He wasn’t gentle when he drank. No, all you had to do was say the wrong thing at the wrong time and suddenly he’d explode. The way he yelled out of nowhere was the worst thing. The way he gritted his teeth like a wild animal.

You had flinched more than once during the course of your life, simply because he got so angry.

But after a while, he always calmed down, didn’t he? He came down from his demonic horror trip and suddenly, he was good again.

Of course he was proud. Too proud for anyone’s good. His pride often kept him from apologizing. In most cases, he’d just try and act like nothing changed, like nothing happened, like he didn’t just made the walls crumble with his anger.

But sometimes, when he went really overboard, he managed to swallow his pride and then he would apologize. A hug, a kiss, and everything was back to normal.

You forgave him. Why wouldn’t you? He was your father. He loved you.

But daddy issues? No. He was there, after all. He didn’t abuse you. Didn’t hit you.

You had no issues. Why would you?

Right?

You finished applying the perfume and decided to put on some lip balm. It held the faintest hint of rose-color. He didn’t like too much make-up. He didn’t like anything that felt like you were playing dress-up. The silk on your body, it only made sense if it highlighted your character in a way. Not change it.

The gloss on your lips, the blush on your cheeks. No eyeshadow allowed, unless it were natural colors. Mascara was alright, but no fake lashes.

Blush was okay, contour was not.

Lace was okay, leather was not.

J’adore was okay, Chanel Number 5 was not.

You released a slow breath and took a moment longer to check your appearance.

You were pretty, you knew that. Probably not in the way that made you get voted prom queen. More in the way that made weird men ogle you.

That was a talent of yours you had figured out at some point. Your eyes were expressive. And people loved to eye-fuck you.

Sometimes, you’d indulge. It depended on the man and the situation. It depended on the way his eyes on you made you feel.

Not any man would do. Some were perverts, some were disgusting, some desperate. You didn’t look back, when a man walked beside his oblivious wife and looked at you like he was ready to devour you. You also didn’t look back, when a man stared at you with wide eyes and licked his lip in a way that was too lecherous at once.

A subtle glance.

Not even a smile.

Just a look.

You’d look away and after a while, you’d check again. The feeling that spread in your chest was often the same. One of recognition, of attention. It made you feel pretty and desired. Someone wanted you. They were subtle about it, but not subtle enough to refrain themselves from staring.

In most cases, it didn’t lead to anything.

Sure, you had that messed-up phase, after you turned nineteen. Looking back, you really wished your father had been stricter with you. You were always allowed to do whatever you wanted. Meet who you want, do what you want, unless, of course, it got dark outside. No walking alone in the dark.

But he never checked who you were with, if you were truly where you said you were. Your parents trusted you. Back in the day, when you told them you had already finished your homework, they trusted you. Your bad grades weren’t their fault. They had trusted you to do better.

Back when you were nineteen, when you told them you were at the cinema with a few friends, they trusted you. They didn’t check, if maybe you were getting pounded away by some forty-seven year old man, who came on your face and left you feeling used and humiliated.

Never during. Always after.

You had no idea why you felt like you needed this so badly. Attention of men. Approval of men.

Men.

They were never good to you. They used you in most cases and then they’d just up and leave.

First, you were naïve. You pictured all kinds of things. Your mother’s Italian friend, who’d take you to Rome and buy you gelato. You’d walk some coast and he’d show you the lovely way Italians lived. He’d love you, you were sure.

It didn’t matter than he had a daughter your age or maybe even a few years older.

He’d love you.

But of course, he didn’t. Silly you, you really believed that, didn’t you? And he didn’t even say he would. You just made up that version of him in your head.

Some sweet guy from Oregon, who sang Arctic Monkeys song for you with his guitar. You only spoke online, but why care? You’d go and live the American dream with him. Of course you would. He had those soft, brown eyes and the voice of an angel.

You’d give him as many babies as he wanted.

So, of course you agreed, when he asked you to take your top off. Suck on your fingers, look up at the camera with doe eyes, while you did. You slipped two fingers inside yourself, moaning and gasping. Of course you were pretending. Who got off on this? Not you. All he did was stare at you. You didn’t see his face, while he pulled his pants down. It was either his face or the rest of him. But you were looking at him, while you touched yourself for him. It didn’t take him long to cum. But that was alright. You’d get married, after all. In some cases, long distance worked. This was one of them of course.

Blocked.

You spent months trying to find him again. But no way. He was gone, deleted, lost in the depths of the internet. A lost memory. A shameful one.

Sometimes you asked yourself, why your sister turned out normal. She had a job, a family, a husband who loved her. Or did he?

He did get angry, at times. And those few times when he called her a slut, when they argued. It wasn’t that bad, right?

That one time he left her standing at the sidewalk in the middle of the night, in a foreign city. It wasn’t that bad, right? She had angered him after all.

You felt nauseous, just thinking about it. Your sister was the epitome of life and liveliness. She was so spirited, that sometimes her anger scared you. Her confidence did for sure. She was your father’s daughter after all.

But the bastard she married broke that spirit.

And she didn’t even realize it. She just let it happen. You didn’t understand it.

But what you did understand was that she wasn’t as perfect as you always thought. Things were a little more complicated than you initially thought. But you were still far behind her.

You tried to push the thoughts of your messed-up existence and upbringing aside and focus on the task at hand.

Him.

Mr. Important.

You knew his real name and he knew yours, but names didn’t really matter. All you normally called him was daddy.

But luckily, you weren’t babygirl or little girl. That felt odd, even to you. It wasn’t that he was after that – someone who was remarkably younger than him. You just happened to be.

He was fifty-four, going fifty-five. You were twenty-five, going twenty-six.

Thirty years more or less, who cared about that?

And he didn’t really look his age. You found, he looked a good forty-six, maybe.

But aside from that, he was different. The were two kind of men in the world.

The real ones and the made up ones.

The ones who ogled you, while they were walking beside their wives and the ones who never got over their wife’s death and were looking for a way to distract themselves.

You had seen a picture of her. He didn’t make a secret of it. No, he was proud to having loved her. The thought filled you with something bittersweet. A part of you was jealous. Jealous, that someone got loved so intensely, that she’d never be forgotten, ever.

After all, she died young and pregnant. It made you nauseous.

And another part of you, the far bigger part, the less selfish part, it admired him.

He loved her. He loved her so dearly, that she took a great part of his soul with him, when she left.

God, you wished to be loved like that. To be loved at all.

You remembered the way you first met him. The subtle eye-contact. No smile.

But you didn’t feel like you normally did. Something about him was different. He wasn’t lecherous. He was calm. Almost like he was…lonely.

And he understood your loneliness.

The arrangement came quick and without any fuss. He did pay you, but not with money per say. He paid for your studies, he bought you gifts, sometimes he took you out to places you had never been before.

The theatre. The ballet. The opera, even.

That was what you loved the most. He didn’t just use you and left you feeling empty. He didn’t even fuck you every time you saw him. Sometimes you’d just go out. Have dinner. Talk.

You talked a lot and about everything. Sometimes you felt like you were an old soul, sometimes you felt like you knew nothing at all. He knew things. He looked at you. He listened to you.

Sometimes he could be really funny. On other nights he was rather quiet.

You didn’t care if he absentmindedly played with your hand or hair or if he stared straight ahead. Whatever he did, it always made your heart race.

You understood that you were treading on very thin ice.

Feelings were not a part of the arrangement.

He would never love you. You would never be more to him than treasure.

But when you lay there, your head on his chest and still breathless after you just spent hours doing the most wicked things to each other, you couldn’t help yourself. You craved his warmth. His arms around you and how protected he made you feel.

You couldn’t make a mistake. Nothing you did ever made him yell at you.

And that was rather dangerous.

Because you could picture it so easily. Being his wife. His everything. Having his children. Cooking his dinner. Doing all the things loving people did.

All the things loved people did.

You pushed the thought aside with intense fervor, when you heard his raspy voice call out for you.

“Treasure? Are you alright?”

You nearly gasped when you realized how long you had been in there. With a soft shake of your head and a slow exhale, you pushed down the door handle and stepped out of the bathroom. He stood in front of the fireplace and stared down at the flames, lost in thought. When he heard the door open, he looked up and met your gaze. Something in him stiffened for a moment and his gaze ran down your body slowly. You swallowed thickly and tried to push your nervousness aside.

You wanted to be perfect for him. But you were so far from perfect. Each and every time you feared he would look at you, scoff and shake his head.

“I don’t remember that much skin.”

“You looked younger last time.”

“Where’d that wrinkle come from?”

But of course he never said anything like that. Simply your insecurities, giving you a hard time.

He hummed softly and shifted so that he was fully facing you.

“You look beautiful.” He murmured. “Come here.”

You approached him with slow steps, the sound of your tiptoes the only sound beside the crackling of the fireplace.

You came to a halt before him and he tipped your chin up in a gentle way, slowly tilting your head up and making you look at him. He brushed his lips over yours in the softest way, making you shiver in response.

His hand slowly ran down the side of your neck, until his fingers brushed over the lace that covered your collarbone. His eyes followed the movement and he released a soft sigh.

“You get more and more beautiful every day.”

How did he expect you not to fall in love with him, when he was being like this?

“Thank you.” You whispered in return and swallowed a bit of your nervousness.

His eyes crinkled in a smile that hardly reached his eyes and his hands slowly came down to grip your hips.

“You know what day today is?”

You nodded.

“Good.” He whispered and dropped his hands to his sides. “Then be a good girl for daddy and distract him.”

You licked your lips and slowly pushed him back. He was letting you. Until you reached the armchair and he slowly sat down on it. You stood before him and tipped his chin up, making him look up at you now. The look in his eyes was nothing short of admiration. His breath against your skin sent a pleasant tingle down your spine.

You slowly straddled his lap and rested your knees on the armrests, pressing yourself against him and feeling the hardness in his pants press into you already. But not yet, you thought. Why not tease him a little?

You leaned in as if to kiss him, but the second before your lips met, you slowly pulled your head back, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

A low growl grumbled in his chest. “Stop being a brat.” He murmured.

You bit your lip and leaned back with a grin. “Me? A brat?”

“You’re just asking to be punished.”

That made you chuckle. “Well…”

“Oh, I see.” He tangled a hand in your hair and tugged on it, tilting your head back and making you look up at him. “That’s how you want to play?” He murmured and his hot breath fanned over your lips and neck. “Alright, then. I invented this game, little dove.”

He released his grip on your hair and grabbed you by the hips, standing up and holding you against him. He picked you up like you weighed nothing and strode off to the bed, practically throwing you down onto it. The sudden intensity left you breathless and you looked up at him with wide eyes. He reached for his tie and slowly undid it.

“I thought you were daddy’s good girl. Looks like I was wrong.”

He sounded as calm as ever, not a hint of anger as usual. He was just being himself.

“I am your good girl.”

“I’d prefer you to be bad right now. Because I feel like punishing you.”

You swallowed thickly and bit your lip, like you did every so often when he got you cornered like this.

“How?” You whispered.

He smirked in that delicious way, which lit his whole face up without even trying. Then he slowly pulled the tie off and ran his fingers along the soft material.

“Turn around.”

Within seconds, you were on your knees and facing away from him. His hands were gentle as he reached for your wrists and brought them behind your back to tie them together. You took a slow breath and closed your eyes, while your body surrendered. It wasn’t hard for you. You trusted him. He knew your boundaries.

For whatever reason, with him you had boundaries.

Never in your life before had you ever told anyone to stop or not do something. Was it fear of being rejected? Simply fear? Something else? Whatever it was, it kept you from setting healthy rules to keep your body and mind safe. You were free to use. Anyone just did whatever they wanted.

Sometimes you did protest, but they wouldn’t stop and eventually you gave in.

But not so him.

He had asked not once, not twice, but countless times. Until eventually you had been forced to be honest and tell him what it was that threw you off. And to your surprise, he didn’t get angry, didn’t even move a muscle. He just nodded and accepted it.

There were a few freaky things you were into and you were obviously allowing him to do. But if there was something that you didn’t want, he didn’t do it. Just like that.

How hard it was not to fall for him. Impossible even.

He tied your wrists together fairly tight and made a point of pulling on the tie to make sure it was good enough. You felt his gaze roam along your back silently. He then ran his fingertips up your back, over your shoulder blades and eventually the back of your neck.

“You’re my little brat, aren’t you?” He purred.

When you didn’t respond at first, he made a point of gently tugging on your hair.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“And you’ve been bad, haven’t you?”

When you nodded, he tugged again, slightly harder this time. You gasped and immediately added: “Yes. Yes, I’ve been bad.”

“So, you deserve to be punished. How should I punish you?”

There was only one right answer to that.

“However you wish.”

You heard the way he smirked. “Good girl. You’re learning.”

He hummed and slowly circled you like a predator. Of course you felt rather exposed, kneeling on the bed like that, wearing nothing but that thin piece of lace and nothing to cover the dampness between your legs.

“Look at you.” He murmured. “So open and ready for me. Let’s see how ready, shall we?”

He didn’t hesitate to slide his hand between your legs and run a finger over your wetness. You couldn’t help but inhale sharply. Your body was aching for his touch.

Surprisingly, he knew how to make you cum. Pretty good even. No other man had ever accomplished that. You’d normally count only on yourself for that, but Mr. Important? Fuck, he was skilled.

He circled your clit in the same skilled way, causing you to squirm and gasp under his touch. He began to work his fingers on you more and more quickly, keeping his gaze firmly on your face. Your brows furrowed in a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment, but you didn’t care. You were so close. So close. So-

You whimpered when he sharply withdrew his hand, leaving you aching.

“Please-“ You whined.

“Not yet.” He said calmly. “Open your mouth.”

You obeyed wordlessly, allowing him to slide his slick fingers into your mouth and making you taste yourself on him. The bulge in his pants became more and more obvious and it did things to you. The way he looked at you, while he made you suck on his fingers was enough to make you go dripping wet. After a beat, he slowly pulled his fingers back and dried them against his shirt. You let out a shuddering gasp.

“You still ought to be punished, if I recall correctly.”

“Wasn’t this punishment enough?” You whispered.

He smirked. “Not even close.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and gently draped you over his lap, stomach down and your rear up in the air. Your cheek was pressed against the sheets and you closed your eyes.

“Ten. You know the rules.” He murmured and you nodded.

His flat hand cracked against your skin, sending a sharp pain through your body. He wasn’t gentle about that. Not at all.

You cried out in pain and tried not to squirm too much. “One. Thank you, daddy.” You gasped out.

He hummed approvingly, before his hand came down a second time, causing you to wince and cry out again. Somehow, every strike seemed to get more and more rough. Your skin felt raw and sensitive, more and more with every hit, but you forced yourself to stay still and count, like a good girl. By the time you reached the seventh hit, the pain was nearly unbearable. But you knew better than to beg and plead. It only turned him on more and he was ready and eager to start anew.

“Nine. Thank you, daddy.”

“One more. Just one more, treasure. You’re almost done.”

He deliberately waited for a few seconds, causing you to go rigid and tense in his grip. The uncertainty of when the next hit would follow was nearly killing you. Just when you expected it and you winced forcefully, he instead ran his palm along your red skin gently. You took a deep breath.

And then it came.

The most painful of them all and you immediately felt tears sting your eyes. Your voice cracked as you cried out: “T-ten. Ten. Thank you. Thank you, daddy.”

He made a soft sound, filled with approval and a hint of pride. “That’s my good girl. You did so well. I’m proud of you.”

His words made you feel warm and fuzzy and suddenly you felt like crying even more. Your feelings for him were more complicated than you thought.

“Thank you.” You whispered, still trying to catch your breath.

“I think you deserve a reward.” He murmured.

You tried to swallow, with your mouth dry and whispered: “I do?”

He ran a gentle hand over your hair and hummed again.

“You do. Let’s see what we can do for you.” He shifted you gently so you lay on the mattress instead, staring up at him with red-rimmed eyes. He ran his knuckles over your cheek and smiled slowly.

“Was it too much?”

You shook your head.

He took a slow breath and nodded. “Good.” He shifted so he was on top of you now and pressed a leg between your own. His knee slowly pressed against your core and you felt your eyes fall shut. You didn’t try to hide your pathetic whimper.

He smirked against your ear and gently nipped at it. “Look at that. Have you been this wet all the time?”

Your face flushed painfully and you swallowed your embarrassment. “Yes.”

He hummed approvingly and ran his lips along your cheek, before they finally met your own. You had no time to understand what was going on, when his tongue already parted your lips and delved into your mouth. He wasn’t sweet about it, instead your tongues met in a messy battle, ready to prod at and devour each other.

“What are you?” He groaned against your lips.

“Your cumslut.” You whispered back.

He groaned again and bit down on your lower lip. “Fuck, yes, my dirty little cumslut. You want daddy’s cum, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy.” You moaned out.

“Where do you want it, treasure? Dripping down your chin or deep inside you?”

Your eyes nearly rolled back. “Wherever you want.”

He pulled back just enough to kiss your neck. His kisses made you squirm and shudder, but it only ever got more and more intense. You felt so exposed and helpless, but also cared for.

He slowly moved his lips along your collarbone, before they brushed over the material that covered your breasts. He bit down on it and tore at until you felt the cold air hit your now exposed chest. He growled in response and didn’t hesitate to kiss and suck at the skin of your breast. Your hips involuntarily arched against his knee, which was still working on your core. You gasped breathlessly and rubbed yourself against him, desperate for more friction.

“Please-“

“Patience.”

He licked a wet path down your stomach, causing you to writhe and moan.

He wasn’t one for half things. When his lips reached your core, he wasn’t gentle or careful. No, his mouth enveloped your most sensitive spot and he began to work his tongue on you almost furiously. He sucked and licked, slid his tongue inside you and over your wet folds with an intensity that made you cry out. He then sucked on your clit in a way that was almost too much, but just right to make you cum so good that you felt like everything around you faded into nothingness. You felt warm and good, better than you had ever before. He took his time and made the moment last, riding out your release so intensely that you nearly had to pull away from him when it became to much. He smirked up at you and slowly came back up to face you. He was fighting for air, as were you.

“Oh God, that was-“

He pushed his tongue back inside your mouth, nearly fucking it. At the same time he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them torturously and pumping them against you in a way that brought you close yet again.

“P-Please, I- Ah!” Your release rolled over you again, hard and soft at the same time, with an intensity that was near painful. Your hips arched off the bed and you nearly screamed by the way you couldn’t find it in you to shut your mouth.

You gasped for air and expected him to finally pull back, but he didn’t. He kept curling his fingers against your sweet spot and the feeling quickly became too much. Your body was so sensitive and every new touch he added felt almost painful.

“Stop- Please- St-“ You cried out and pressed your hips against his hand involuntarily. Your release came crashing yet again, this time it was a feeling between heaven and hell. It still felt good, but it felt far too much.

“Please.” You gasped, before the feeling even was gone. “Please. I can’t take any more…”

He smirked against your lips and gently bit down on the lower one, before he slowly withdrew his hand.

“Good girl.”

You were still panting and gasping for air, when he gave your cheek a light slap. “Time for you to get to work.”

You moaned, and with some effort, fought your way to get up. Your hands were still tied, so you carefully slid down to your knees, kneeling in between his legs. He was still in his pants, so you looked up at him with innocent eyes and whispered: “Can you help me?”

He smirked again and gently cupped your cheek in his hand. “So obedient.”

He freed himself from his remaining clothes and you found yourself staring at him. Despite his age, he was so well-built and you were always desperate for every glimpse, every touch and every taste.

“Can I?” You breathed out.

He hummed and nodded. “Get to it.”

Your gaze wandered down, but he quickly caught your chin. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Your insides tingled with newfound desire. You forced yourself to keep looking at him, while your tongue slowly slid down his stomach. You saw the shift in demeanor. He was still dominant and calm, but his breathing sped up and something changed in his eyes.

“No teasing today.” He all but growled. “Let me feel that pretty mouth.”

You didn’t hesitate to obey. You parted your lips and ran your tongue over his tip. His head fell and back and he groaned. He then tangled his hand in your hair and guided your movements. He didn’t give you time to catch your breath, he just pushed you down and forced you to take him in. You were caught off-guard for a moment and felt yourself gag. He loosened his grip the tiniest bit and you began to move in the rhythm and pace that he set for you. He quickly went from calm and collected to a beast which rammed his thick cock into you and began to use your throat to his pleasure.

You felt yourself grow wet yet again as you moaned against his skin. Whenever he seemed to hit the back of your throat, he couldn’t control the low moans and groans that left his lips. Your movements became more and more frantic, determined to make him feel just as good as he had you.

Of course you wanted him to fuck you and he probably would in an hour or two. And again and again and again…But right then, you wanted nothing more than for him to shoot his hot load into your mouth and down your throat.

You sucked and flicked your tongue against him in a way that made his grip tighten more and more until he-

He went still, except for his cock, which was throbbing furiously inside you. He came with a low growl and he filled your mouth with his seed. He held your head in place, until he rode out his release. When he finally caught his breath back, he released a soft sigh and his grip on your hair became gentle again.

“Oh God, that was…” He sighed again. “Fuck.”

You slowly swallowed every drop of his cum, all the while never taking your eyes off him. His eyes instantly darkened again and he ran his thumb over your tongue.

“My good girl. My treasure.” He breathed out. “I’m so proud of you.”

You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch. It became increasingly gentle and he slowly cupped your cheek in his hand.

“That was incredible.” He murmured. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He reached behind you and carefully freed your from his tie. Then he slowly rubbed his thumbs over your sore wrists.

“Does it hurt?” He murmured. You shook your head.

He pulled you up onto the bed again and gently laid you down beside him. He stared down at you for a long moment, before he finally rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a full-course meal right now.”

You chuckled and wrapped your arms around him, slowly running your hands down his back. “Isn’t that what you just gave me?”

He smirked and slowly opened his eyes. “You and that wicked mouth of yours.” He murmured.

Your smile softened when he pressed a lingering kiss against your forehead.

“Can I stay for the night?”

He would most likely let you. He never sent you away feeling used or unsatisfied or, God forbid, unwanted. But there was a part of you that needed to be reassured so badly. And he seemed to know.

He raised a brow and his own expression softened.

“Did you expect anything else?”

His coldness melted away whenever you were like this, entangled and breathless.

No matter how many times he said that it didn’t mean anything.

His eyes told a different story.

“No.” You whispered softly and rested your head on his chest. “No, of course not.”

[aajjks]

warnings. 18+ smüt, ÈXPLÏCÏT THÈMÈS, blöödy sëx, màsturbátïön, pàín kïnk, YÀNDÈRÈ, únhèàlthy ïdèàs öf sèxüàl plèàsürè, èxplïcït sèx, bôrdèrlïnè dèvôtïôn, öbsëssïön.

Yandere man who literally shivers and burns up over a mere touch, just a glance from you and he gets hard, his cock reacts on its own, it starts pulsing.

His breath hitches, he doesn’t know how to react because you are an evil, evil woman. How come you look so beautiful all the time and get his dick aching. Yandere men who go completely silent and their thoughts are incoherent because all they can think about is fucking you, until that beautiful face of yours is stained with your running mascara, your petal like lips swollen from his devouring kisses. And your body marked by him, your cunt filled with his essence.

Yandere man who finds you so beautiful that he can’t help but have to— HAS to jerk off in their bathroom, bedroom multiple times in a single day.

But he is still unable to cum, because you’re the only one who can make him explode, and he wants NOTHING MORE than to bury himself deep inside you until his cock is hitting your cervix, fucking you so deep and hard into his stained sheets that your moans echo all over his house.

He wants to fuck you until your pussy ends up bleeding, becoming a beautiful mess of light and dark colors, the colour of his cum and the dark crimson of your blood.

But the worst part is that he will still not get enough, because truly, how can anyone ever get enough of a goddess like you?

But then a yandere man who will give you the most sensual, gentle thorough after care, with the most lukewarm towel, that he ever so lovingly rubs on your legs, over your breasts, and then he uses another towel to clean his most favorite part about you.

Your fucked out aching cunt, that’s bleeding, but you’ve had so many mind blowing orgasms that you can’t even feel the pain.

Yandere man, who sometimes gets so lost that he often blurs the line between pain and pleasure, but in reality, even just the thought of hurting you has him considering cutting off his own dick.

jjk: TOJI, geto, GOJO

squid game: front man, THE RECRUITER.

bnha: BAKUGO, aizawa.

[lost-in-thoughts03]

RODEO || FRONTMAN

" You know that I'm nasty, you know that I want it."

Summary: You work as a servant. You are serving those filthy and evil VIPs who are watching the game. However, the Frontman did not like what he saw when a VIP unintentionally flirted with you.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, DARK THEME, HEAVY SMUT, AU, explicit content, mature language, age-gap, yandere behavior, possessive behavior, obsession, power dynamics, dub-con, coercion, manipulation, mutual pining, threats, erotic, jealousy, heavy tension, toxic relationship, ownership, dominant male, controlling, mentioned of VIPs, rough, hard, dirty talk, worshipping, oral (M receiving), PiV, unprotected, breeding kink, daddy kink, nicknames, riding, markings, dry humping, pussy slapping, older man x younger woman (LEGAL), boss x employee, dom! Frontman x sub! Reader

The room smelled of thick cologne, expensive cigars, and roasted meats laced with spices too rare for common kitchens. The dull hum of foreign tongues, muffled laughs, and greedy hands filled the VIP lounge of the facility.

You moved like a machine—neutral expression, steady pace, posture perfect. A silver tray balanced effortlessly on your palm, crystal glasses of vintage wine swaying with each step. You served the VIPs as instructed—no emotion, no deviation, just efficiency. Just another ghost in the background.

Until him. The Wolf VIP. Mask of ivory fur and sharp fangs covered his face, but nothing could hide the lewd glint in his eyes. His hand brushed your wrist when you offered him the wine. You didn’t flinch.

“ Oh, how steady.” He purred, voice thick with false admiration.

“ I like a servant with discipline…but I’d like you better if you break that mask just for me.” You stared blankly ahead.

No reaction. That was the rule. No matter the words, the gestures, or the way his fingers trailed up your forearm with disgusting entitlement. The Wolf leaned closer, breath hot and reeking of whiskey.

“ Come now, let me see those pretty lips curl into something. A smile? A whimper?” You didn't say a word. But across the room—he noticed.

The Frontman stood in the shadowed balcony above, overlooking the floor like a god judging mortals. His gloved hands clenched, the sound of leather tightening around his knuckles barely audible over the laughter below.

He saw that bastard touch you. He heard those filthy words spill from his mouth. Behind the impassive black mask, his jaw tightened. His revolver weighed heavily in his coat—one flick and he could silence that VIP forever. But not yet. Not here. Not with you watching. Instead, he descended the staircase, slow and precise. You didn’t notice him until you felt a hand grab your elbow—firm, possessive. You looked up, and there he was.

“ Come.” The Frontman ordered.

You blinked, caught off guard. “ I’m not finished—”

“ I said come.” He cut you off sharply. He yanked you away from the table, nearly knocking over the tray in your hand.

The Wolf VIP chuckled behind his mask, mocking. “ Jealous, are we?” The Wolf teased.

The Frontman ignored him. Didn’t even glance his way. He dragged you to the other side of the hall, past the curtains, into the side corridor where other staff hustled with trays and carts.

“ Help the others prepare for the next course.” He snapped coldly.

You frowned. “ That’s not my task. I still have three tables left to—”

“ I don’t care.” He snapped, the usual calm venom now boiling into something harsher. “ I gave you an order.”

You stiffened. “ With all due respect, sir, I still have a pending load to manage and my rotation isn’t in—”

He stepped forward. Looming. Intimidating. Voice low but sharp like a blade. “ You will do as I say. Now.”

The corridor fell silent around you. You swallowed hard. His voice wasn’t just demanding—it was furious. Furious in the way that made your pulse skip, in the way that made your heart twist with something you didn’t dare name.

You lowered your gaze. “ Yes, sir.”

As you turned away to help the others, you could feel his eyes burn holes into your back. Watching. Possessive. Protective in the most dangerous, suffocating way.

The Wolf VIP would laugh it off for now. But the Frontman? He was already imagining the perfect place to bury his body.

…

The clatter of metal trays and the hiss of simmering dishes filled the preparation room. The heat of the stoves mixed with the pressure of confusion as you stepped in—shoulders squared, expression unreadable, but a storm broiling just beneath your skin. The helpers all looked up as you arrived, a tray in hand, your server uniform completely out of place among the kitchen uniforms. Their eyes flicked to each other in confusion.

“ What are you doing here?” One whispered.

“ This isn’t your rotation.” Another muttered.

You ignored them and began assisting—stacking plates, wiping edges, checking the menu cards. You were trained for front service, not backroom chaos. Every movement was slightly off, slightly wrong for the system they had. You were an outsider in the wrong gears of the machine.

“ Hey!” Barked the head manager—a graying man with a clipboard and a voice that carried authority.

“ This isn’t your section. You’re going to mess the flow—go back where you’re assigned. I don’t care who you think sent you—” Before you could respond, a heavy stomp echoed behind you.

Click. The sharp cocking of a rifle. Everyone froze. The Triangle guard stood just by the entry, rifle raised, cold and unmoving. The muzzle aimed directly at the manager’s forehead.

A pin-drop silence fell in the room. The only sound was the quiet hum of the cooler and the distant clatter from the hall. The Triangle’s muffled voice came through his mask like a verdict.

“ It was the Frontman’s order.”

The head manager’s voice broke. “ W-What…?”

The Triangle stepped closer, not lowering the weapon. “ You will not question it. Do your job.”

The manager’s face paled. He swallowed the lump in his throat and slowly backed away, clipboard shaking in his hands. “ Yes. Of course.”

The helpers went back to their stations in a flurry of nervous movements, no longer looking you in the eye. They worked quickly, silently, the tension thick like oil in the air. You didn’t say anything either. You just kept working—loading the next trays, wiping the sides, arranging the dishes. But in your chest, a thousand things boiled.

Why did he do that? Why did he use force? Why did he drag you here like that, like some possession being moved across the board?

And yet…you couldn’t forget the way his grip tightened when the Wolf touched you. Nor the way his voice dropped to that low, dangerous growl. As if only he was allowed to see you, command you, control you. From somewhere above—maybe in the cameras, maybe hidden in the shadows, you knew he was watching. And you could feel his gaze like a collar on your neck.

…

Steam curled from the silver trays as you arranged the last platter, the tension from earlier still clinging to your spine like cold sweat. You were trying to keep your head down—follow the damn order, get through the task, and get out of this strange assignment. That’s when a Triangle Guard approached from the hallway—tall, rigid, mask expressionless as ever. You straightened, wary.

“ The Frontman wants you in his chamber.” The Triangle announced flatly.

You blinked. “ What? Now?”

“ He has a task for you.” The guard added. But the tone…it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t about plates or wine glasses. You hesitated, hand pausing over the last tray.

The Triangle’s voice dropped low, sharper now. “ Don’t make him wait.”

Your stomach turned. “ I’m in the middle of a rotation, I shouldn’t—”

“ He hates waiting.” The Triangle snapped.

“ If you want to stay alive, follow me. Now.” That cold threat sliced clean through your chest.

You swallowed hard, dropping the towel you were holding. Without a word, you followed him down the corridor—past silver doors, dim halls, surveillance eyes watching from every corner. The path twisted deeper into the facility, the air growing stiller with every step. Then you arrived. A massive black door—tall, silent, intimidating. The Triangle opened it. And shoved you in.

Click. The door shut behind you. Now it was just you…and him. The chamber was dimly lit, spacious and sleek. A matte black desk sat in the corner, untouched. A wall of monitors glowed faintly. The air smelled of leather, smoke, and something sharp—something him.

The Frontman stood near the window, his back to you, hands behind him, long coat brushing the floor like a shadow. He didn’t say a word. You stayed by the door, frozen. The silence stretched unnaturally long. Your gloved hands began to sweat. You could feel your pulse hammering against your neck.

Why did he bring you here?

Why now?

The last time you were this close to him, he had barked at you in front of everyone—commanding you like some pawn on his board.

But this was different. This…was private. Personal.

You dared to speak. “ Sir…you called for me?”

Slowly, the Frontman turned. His black mask stared at you—void of expression, yet somehow burning with something deep. Something raw. He took one slow step toward you. Then another. Each footfall sounded louder in your ears than your own breath.

“ I don’t like sharing.” He said, voice low, rough, edged with a simmering possessiveness.

You took a step back. He advanced again—calm, composed, but there was tension in every movement. Like a man struggling to leash a beast inside him.

“ You let that bastard touch you.”

“ I didn’t.” You whispered. “ You saw it. I didn’t even flinch.”

“ But he wanted you to.” His voice dropped. A growl beneath the mask.

Your breath hitched. He stood right in front of you now—so close that you could smell the faint scent of cologne on his coat. One of his gloved hands reached up…and hovered at your throat. Not touching. Not yet. But you could feel it there.

“ You don’t get it, do you?” He murmured.

“ You walk around like a ghost, but the moment someone else looks at you, touches you, wants you—” He snapped his gloved fingers once, sharply, like breaking glass in silence.

“ I see red.” You stayed silent, lips parted, lungs struggling for calm breath.

He raised his hand again, slower this time, and gently tugged at your uniform collar—just enough to break the professionalism. Just enough to remind you: he could strip you of this role in a second.

Your voice came out shaky. “ What’s the task…sir?” His fingers lingered on your throat now, pressing lightly. Not choking. Just owning.

His head tilted. “ I told you.” He whispered, stepping even closer, until your back hit the wall and there was nowhere else to go.

“ You’re here because I don’t like sharing.” And in the silence that followed, your body betrayed you—tense and hot, blood roaring in your ears, breath shallow against your own will.

You were no longer a servant here. You were prey in his den.

…

The room was dim—just the soft flicker of amber light coming from the lamp near his desk. Shadows curled on the walls like smoke, wrapping the place in quiet danger. The Frontman sat back in his black leather chair, legs wide apart, posture dripping with dominance. His mask lifted slightly on his face, revealing the hard lines of his jaw and the exhaustion etched in the set of his mouth. He took a slow sip of his whiskey, eyes never leaving you.

“ Come here.” He said, voice low, gravelly.

“ Sit on my lap.” Your breath caught. You stood frozen in place, eyes darting to the glass in his hand, then back to the sharp glint in his eyes.

“ W-What…?” You stammered, nervous fingers curling at your sides. His brow twitched. Annoyance flickered across his face. He didn’t like repeating himself. You knew that.

“ I said sit. On. My. Lap.” His tone was firmer now, slow and dangerous like a blade being drawn.

“ I don’t have the patience to beg for obedience. Not tonight.”

You swallowed hard, your heartbeat pounding in your ears as you stepped forward—hesitantly, as if approaching a predator. Your knees brushed the inside of his thighs as you climbed over and finally settled on him. His legs were strong and wide under you, and the heat radiating off his body felt like fire through your clothes. His arm lazily draped around your waist, pulling you in flush against him, his fingers dragging up your spine like he was playing with prey.

“ Good girl.” He muttered, voice low against your ear.

“ Now do what you’re told. Make me forget today.” You could smell the whiskey on his breath, feel the tension in his muscles beneath you.

Your lips parted as you looked into his eyes—burning, unreadable, dark. You started to move, slowly, testing the waters. His hand gripped your hip hard, making you gasp.

“ No hesitation.” He warned.

“ You wanted to play with fire. Now burn for me.” He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered filth and praise in equal measure. His other hand trailed up your thigh, rough and deliberate, dragging every nerve in your body into awareness.

“ You’ll take my stress.” He murmured, voice thick and deep.

“ Every ounce of it. And I won’t stop until you do.” His eyes locked on yours, daring you to disappoint him.

You sat nervously on his lap, trying to calm your frantic heartbeat. The cold sheen of your mask barely hid the crimson heat spreading across your cheeks. His body was all tension and heat beneath you—coiled like a beast, dangerous even in stillness.

You cleared your throat, unsure, your voice barely a whisper. “ W-What…what should I do to help you relax…?”

The air stilled for a second. Then a dark chuckle echoed through the chamber. His mechanical voice activated as his finger tapped the side of his throat, the modulator kicking in with that deep, distorted rasp that made your core tighten. It rumbled through the air like thunder licking down your spine.

“ What should you do?” He repeated, mockingly slow.

“ Tsk.” He leaned back a little, swirling the whiskey in his glass, his free hand spreading wider on your waist.

“ That’s the question you’re going to ask me? Really?” He scoffed under his breath—cold, amused, cruel.

“ You’re the one warming my lap, sweetheart. You figure it out.” He tilted his head slightly, voice lowering into something dark and thick.

“ Or do you need a manual for that too?” Before you could respond, he shifted under you—just slightly.

But it was enough. You stiffened when you felt it. The distinct, undeniable hardness pressing against your thigh. A thick silence fell between the two of you. Your breath caught in your throat, hands digging into the fabric of his suit jacket for balance. Your legs tensed, body unsure if it wanted to recoil or melt into him. Heat bloomed in your stomach, hot and inexplicable, curling into a sensation you couldn’t name but didn’t want to stop. Your thighs squeezed involuntarily.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“ Ah…” He murmured.

“ So you do feel it.” His voice was like gravel dipped in honey.

“ Blushing under that little mask of yours?” His hand slid up, fingertips teasing your side through your thin blouse. He leaned in, breath ghosting the edge of your ear through your mask.

“ I can feel how warm you’re getting.” His voice was laced with a cruel smile.

“ You’re trying so hard not to squirm.” He placed his glass down with a soft clink, freeing both hands now as one gripped your hip and the other traced the curve of your back—slow, possessive.

“ So…” He murmured, dragging the question back to you.

“ What are you going to do…to help me relax?”

This time, it wasn’t sarcastic. It was a command. You swallowed thickly, struggling to hold his gaze even though your face was masked—somehow, you knew he was reading everything underneath it.

“ I…I don’t know…” You whispered honestly, your voice trembling as your fingers clutched his suit jacket tighter.

“ I-I could…give you a massage?” For a second, there was silence.

Then—a growl. Low. Deep. Dangerous. It rumbled from his throat, the mechanical modulator twisting the sound into something darker, feral. His grip on your waist tightened, and he leaned in close until his breath ghosted over your cheek.

“ A massage?” He repeated, a cruel smirk in his voice.

“ That’s what you offer me?” Another guttural chuckle slipped from his chest.

“ You think my stress is on my shoulders?” Before you could stammer out a reply, he grabbed your wrist—his fingers firm, possessive, leaving no room for resistance.

“ Let me show you exactly where it is.” He slowly dragged your hand across his chest—gliding over the firm plane of muscle beneath his shirt, letting you feel the heat of his body, the power held just under the surface.

Your fingertips brushed against his heartbeat, strong and steady. Then he kept moving your hand lower. Past the buttons of his vest. Down the firm ridges of his abs.

Lower. Your breath hitched—panic, heat, anticipation all tangled up inside you. You felt the shift in his body, the tension building like a storm waiting to break. Then—your hand brushed against it. Your fingers froze. Hard. Heavy. Thick. You gasped audibly.

Your body went rigid on his lap, thighs tensing around him as your masked face whipped up toward his—only to find his gaze already pinned on you like a predator savoring the moment prey realizes it’s too late to run.

“ Feel that?” He murmured, his voice pure gravel and fire.

“ That’s what you do to me.” He didn’t release your hand. Instead, he guided it—pressing your palm firmer against the bulge straining beneath his slacks, forcing you to really feel the weight of his arousal.

“ All this…built up from watching you squirm. From waiting for you to stop pretending you’re innocent.” His other hand slid up your spine, fingers curling possessively into your hair, gripping the back of your head as he leaned in closer.

“ You wanted to help me relax?” He rasped.

“ Then use those pretty little hands…and make yourself useful.”

Your head lowered instinctively, eyes dropping to his lap as the heat in your body fought with the cold hesitation crawling down your spine. Your hands, still resting against his chest, began to tremble. You didn’t move right away. You knew what he wanted—but your breath came shallow, and your nerves made your limbs heavy. Then suddenly—his gloved finger slipped under your chin, lifting your face up, forcing your eyes to meet his.

That look. Dark. Intense. Completely in control. He didn’t need to raise his voice. His dominance was carved in his gaze alone.

“ Look at me.” He growled, the modulated voice echoing with dangerous calm.

“ I told you to relieve me. I didn’t say sit there and think about it.” His hand tilted your chin just a little higher.

“ On your knees.” He commanded.

“ Now. Open that pretty little mouth and make yourself useful.”

A hard swallow passed down your throat. Your core pulsed from the weight of his command. You couldn’t speak—only managed to nod shakily. You slid down from his lap slowly, eyes never leaving his, knees pressing into the cold floor between his spread legs.

Your breath quivered as you settled between his thighs. You didn’t dare rush. You didn’t dare disobey. Your trembling fingers reached forward—hesitating at his belt. The silver buckle glinted under the low light. With careful hands, you worked it loose. The metal clinked softly, loud in the heavy silence between you.

He watched every move.

“ You’re shaking..” He muttered, voice low and cruel.

“ Are you scared? Or are you just that turned on?” The zipper came next. You pulled it down slowly, your fingers grazing the heat beneath.

“ Take it out.” He ordered.

“ Show me how that mouth of yours can be good for something other than stuttering.” He sat back, arms draped along the chair’s rests, wide-legged, powerful—waiting.

His eyes burned down at you. “ Go on.”

He whispered, voice dark with hunger. “ Relieve my fucking stress…with your throat.”

Your hands trembled as you peeled back the waistband of his slacks, heart hammering so loud it drowned everything else out.

The heat radiating off of him was suffocating—thick, dominant, intoxicating. He leaned forward slightly, watching your every breath, every twitch of your fingers like a lion eyeing its prey just before pouncing. When you finally freed him, your breath caught in your throat.

Thick. Hard. Heavy in your trembling hands. His cock pulsed in your palm, already aching, already demanding. You stared for a second too long. He noticed. His gloved hand tangled into your hair and yanked your head back just enough to make your lips part with a gasp, the pressure deliciously sharp on your scalp.

“ What are you waiting for?” He growled, voice thick with menace and desire, distorted perfectly through the mechanical filter.

“ You wanted to help me relax, didn’t you? Then stop fucking staring at it and use that mouth.”

He didn’t let go. Instead, he guided you forward—slow, controlled and making you feel every inch of his power, even without saying a word. Your lips barely brushed his tip and he hissed through clenched teeth.

“ Open…” He ordered, voice deep, commanding.

“ Wider. Let me see how good that mouth looks stuffed full of me.”

You obeyed—slowly, nervously—and wrapped your lips around him, taking in his heat, his weight. The moment you did, his fingers clenched tighter in your hair.

“ Fuck, that’s it…” He groaned low, voice laced with dangerous satisfaction.

“ That mouth was made for this.” He started to guide your head, slow at first but firm. Controlling your pace. Letting you adjust only for a moment.

“ Relax that throat.” He warned, watching you closely.

“ I want to feel it. All of it.” You gagged slightly as he pushed deeper—but he didn’t stop. His hips rolled forward, making you take more, his free hand gripping the armrest while the other held your hair like reins.

“ Such a pretty little toy.” He gritted out.

“ On your knees, mouth full of cock, eyes all teary—fuck, I could keep you here all night.” His pace grew hungrier. Rougher.

“ You like being used like this, don’t you?” He rasped.

“ I can feel you squirming down there. Pathetic and soaked—just from sucking me off. That’s how filthy you are.”

The sounds of wetness, his ragged breaths, and your muffled whimpers echoed through the dim room, merging into a raw symphony of dominance and submission.

“ You’re going to swallow every drop.” He warned darkly, his voice vibrating with the edge of a growl.

“ Not a single drop wasted. Understand?”

His hips snapped once—deeper. Harder. The storm inside him was close to breaking. His grip in your hair tightened as he rocked his hips with slow, punishing force—each thrust deeper than the last, each movement pushing you further into submission. Your hands clutched his thighs, desperate for balance as your mouth stretched to take him.

“ Fuck, baby.” He growled, voice thick with filth and hunger.

“ You’re taking it so well. Drooling all over my cock like you need this. Like you were fucking made for it.”

His mechanical voice rasped every word with delicious, distorted power, making it echo inside your skull, straight down your spine. You couldn’t respond—not with your mouth so full, not with his thickness hitting the back of your throat. He looked down at you, eyes blazing.

“ Look at you…” He hissed.

“ On your knees for me. My perfect little stress relief. You don’t even realize how fucking good you look like this, do you?”

You whimpered as he pushed deeper, hitting your throat with a groan that told you he was close. His thighs flexed under your hands, his abs tightening with restraint he was fast losing.

“ You feel that?” He gritted.

“ That twitch? I’m about to fucking ruin that throat, baby.” His fingers fisted harder in your hair as his hips snapped one last time—deep, hard, buried.

Then he came. Hot, thick, and overwhelming. He groaned low and filthy, head dropping back as his release spilled into your mouth in heavy, pulsing waves. His jaw clenched, muscles taut with relief and raw satisfaction.

“ Fuck yes…” He growled through clenched teeth.

“ Take it. Swallow it all, like the good little thing you are.”

You did—barely able to breathe, barely able to process the intensity of it all. It dripped from your lips, down your chin, and he watched every second of it with dark, hooded eyes. He finally released your hair, breathing heavy, sweat dotting his temples. His hand moved to your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your lips.

“ You did so fucking well for me.” He murmured, voice still low and rough, no modulation now.

“ My sweet little mess. My perfect little mouth.” He smirked.

“ Next time, don’t hesitate.” His thumb dragged your bottom lip down slowly, exposing the glisten on your tongue.

“ I always reward obedience.” His breathing was still steadying from the climax, but the fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed. Not even a little. You were still on your knees, breathless, lips swollen, trembling slightly. You thought he might give you a moment to catch your breath. He didn’t.

“ Stand up.” He said, voice commanding—raw and dry, no modulation this time, just the full force of his tone.

“ Now strip.” Your heart jolted.

You hesitated, brows furrowed behind your mask. “ W-What? But—”

“ Did I stutter?” He cut you off coldly, his voice sharp as a blade. His eyes narrowed.

“ When I give an order, I don’t need commentary. I want you naked. On your feet. Now.” That tone—firm, cutting, possessive—left no space for argument.

You bit your lip, swallowing the words forming in your throat, and slowly rose to your feet. Your fingers went to the buttons of your uniform, reluctant at first. You undid them one by one under his unrelenting gaze, your breath catching with every inch of skin exposed. The fabric slipped off your shoulders and hit the floor. Now bare before him, your arms instinctively wrapped around yourself, heat flushing over every inch of your body.

“ Don’t hide.” He growled.

“ I want to see everything.” He reached for you again—his strong hands gripped your waist and dragged you back into his lap, this time with skin-on-skin heat that made your breath catch. You straddled him again, thighs spread over his, flushed bare against the fabric of his open pants.

“ You feel that?” He muttered, his hands sliding up your hips to your back, palm pressed to your spine.

“ That’s how real I want this to be.” Then his hand moved to your wrist and guided it toward the buttons of his uniform.

“ Your turn.” He rasped.

“ Take it off. Just the top.” You swallowed, nodding once, and your fingers started undoing the sleek black buttons of his uniform jacket, one by one.

His chest slowly came into view—taut muscles, a trail of hair, the hard shape of control sculpted by stress and power. He let out a low groan as your hands moved over his chest, palms dragging against his skin.

“ Slow…that’s right.” He breathed, voice dark and simmering.

“ Those hands are good for more than obeying—they’re good for worshipping, too.” Then your fingers moved to the sides of his mask.

You paused, just for a second. He didn’t stop you. With trembling hands, you lifted the mask up—slowly, cautiously. You peeled it away from his face, inch by inch. And there he was. The man behind the voice, the mask, the control. His eyes—sharp, heavy-lidded, unreadable. His jaw—tense but so devastatingly handsome.

A scar marked his cheek, subtle but jagged, like it had a story you'd never been told. He didn’t flinch. He just stared at you as you took in every detail, as if daring you to say a word.

“ So…” He murmured, his voice quieter now, but no less intense.

“ Was it worth the wait?” His hand moved to your throat—gentle, but firm—guiding your eyes back to his.

“ Now that you’ve seen the face…show me how much you want it.” Your body was trembling in his lap—bare, straddling him, skin flush against skin.

Your fingers still lingered near the edges of his discarded mask, heart pounding as you stared into the face that had haunted your curiosity for so long. But the look he gave you now was something else entirely—possessive, ravenous, and maddeningly in control. He leaned back, his hands gripping your hips as his cock, still thick and hard, pressed against your soaked folds. You gasped at the contact—hot, intimate, and maddening.

But he didn’t push in. He just slid it there. Back and forth. Teasing. Dragging his length along your dripping slit, letting the swollen head glide against your clit with slow, deliberate pressure. You whimpered, hips twitching.

“ Fuck, baby…” He growled, eyes locked on you.

“ You’re soaked. Absolutely dripping. Look at you—such a needy little thing sitting on me like that.” His voice was low, dark velvet against your ears.

“ But you don’t get to have me. Not yet.” He rolled his hips just enough to make you grind against him—your slick folds coating his length, but still denying you that final inch.

That stretch. That fullness.

“ You feel that?” He murmured, one hand sliding up to your lower back, the other gripping your thigh hard.

“ Feel how close I am to burying myself inside this tight, wet little cunt? But I won’t. Not yet.” You whimpered again, grinding down instinctively. He held you still.

“ Easy, sweetheart…” He warned, voice thick with lust and amusement.

“ You’ll take what I give you. Nothing more.” He shifted slightly beneath you again, sliding his length along your slit, letting the head tease your entrance, then moving it back up to your clit—slow, torturous friction that made you shudder.

“ God, you’re so fucking soft…” He whispered.

“ So wet for me. Just sitting here leaking all over my cock, like a good little mess.” He kissed your neck—open-mouthed, warm, letting his teeth scrape just slightly.

“ You want it, don’t you?” He rasped into your skin.

“ You want Daddy to fill this sweet little hole and stretch you open ‘til you forget your name.” You nodded desperately, hips twitching again. He chuckled darkly, gripping your ass to still you.

“ I love when you’re like this.” He breathed.

“ All obedient and ruined, just for me. My perfect little doll.” Then he slid the head down again, pressing—just barely—against your entrance.

So close. But not inside.

“ Beg for it, baby.” He whispered, lips brushing your ear.

“ Beg Daddy to break you open.”

You could barely breathe. Your thighs were trembling, your body trembling even harder as his cock continued to glide against your soaked folds—hot, heavy, teasing you to the edge of madness. Then—

With one slow, unforgiving push…

He entered you. Thick. Deep. Stretching you open inch by inch, forcing your walls to accommodate every part of him. You gasped—a strangled whimper escaping your lips as your hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging in instinctively.

“ Fuuuck…” He growled low into your neck, the sound gritty and feral.

“ So fucking tight…I can feel you clenching already, baby.” He didn’t move fast—he didn’t need to. He wanted you to feel everything.

He pulled back slowly, only to push back in just as deep, just as slow—grinding against that tender spot inside you that made your whole body jolt. Your legs locked around him. Your head fell into the crook of his neck, whimpering helplessly as your nails sank deeper into his back. He groaned—rough and low—both from the sting and the pleasure of you wrapped around him like a vice.

“ Mark me all you want, sweetheart.” He murmured darkly.

“ Scratch me. Bruise me. I want to wear your desperation.” Then he dipped his head to your chest, lips wrapping around your breast—hot tongue swirling, sucking hard until your back arched. You gasped, body quaking at the sudden heat of his mouth.

He groaned against your skin, his voice muffled by your flesh. “ These tits…fuck, I could stay here all night.”

Each slow thrust was calculated—deep and claiming—his hips rolling with relentless precision, making you take every inch of him.

“ Look at you.” He whispered between kisses to your breast.

“ Whimpering like a good little slut…dripping on my cock… clinging to me like you’ll fall apart if I stop.”

Your head lolled back from the pleasure, nails dragging down his back, leaving angry red lines he didn’t shy away from. If anything, it made him thrust deeper.

“ You were made for this.” He grunted.

“ Made to ride me. To take me. To serve me.” He bit gently at your nipple, sucking hard enough to leave it swollen and marked, and you moaned—high and broken. He reached up, cupping the back of your head, guiding your face close until your noses brushed.

“ I want to ruin this pretty body slowly.” He whispered, grinding up into you with heat that stole your breath.

“ Until every inch of you knows it belongs to me.”

His hands gripped your hips tighter—possessive, rough, fingers digging deep into your skin as he thrust up into you with slow, brutal force. Each roll of his hips filled you to the hilt, grinding against that aching spot inside you that had you crying out in broken, breathless sounds.

“ Fuck, baby.” He groaned into your neck, voice thick and ragged.

“ You take me so deep…wrapped around me like you were made for my cock.” Your body trembled against him, nails still clawing his shoulders, your lips parted with helpless whimpers each time he sank into you again.

Slow. Hard. Relentless. Every movement deliberate—every thrust meant to make you feel it.

“ Look at this tight little cunt.” He growled, biting your earlobe before dragging his tongue down your throat.

“ So warm…so wet…fuckin’ pulsing around me like she knows exactly who she belongs to.” You moaned, desperate, hips rocking into him on instinct, chasing every deep grind of his cock. His breath hitched near your ear, voice dipping lower—tainted with something darker.

“ You need to stay the fuck away from that damn Wolf VIP.” He said, voice seething between filthy thrusts.

“ I see the way he looks at you—touches you. I swear, baby, I’m one second away from putting him down for good.” You whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed by the sharp edge of jealousy in his voice, the heat of his words slicing into your core.

“ I-I will.” You whispered breathlessly.

“ I promise—please, Daddy…” That word made him snap his hips harder—deep, possessive, brutal in the way he drove himself into you.

“ Good fuckin’ girl.” He groaned, hand moving to your lower back, pushing you down to take him even deeper.

“ You belong to me. Say it.”

“ I-I’m yours!” You cried, choking on a sob as your body clamped around him.

“ Only yours, Daddy!”

“ That’s right.” He growled, pounding into you with feral purpose now, his breath turning harsh as his control unraveled.

“ And this cunt—this perfect little cunt—is mine to fill. To stretch. To breed.” You cried out, your body arching into him as he shoved you closer to the edge with each deep, deliberate thrust.

“ You’re gonna take it.” He panted, hips slamming up with a heavy rhythm.

“ Gonna let me fuck you full. Gonna keep every drop I give you, baby girl.” Your walls fluttered around him, soaking, desperate, and he felt every twitch.

“ Oh, yeah…you’re close, aren’t you?” He whispered darkly.

“ Wanna come all over Daddy’s cock while he fills you up, huh?” You nodded frantically, tears prickling the corners of your eyes from the intensity.

“ That’s it.” He groaned, his hands gripping you tighter as he drove up into you one last time—deep, hard, possessive.

“ You’re gonna take my fuckin’ cum, baby. Every last drop. And you’re not letting it go.” He bit down on your neck, muffling his growl as he came—hot and thick, spilling deep inside you while your walls clenched and pulsed, milking him for everything.

You clung to him like you were drowning, trembling from the high as his arms wrapped around you and held you there—still buried inside, still pulsing with heat and rage and love twisted into obsession.

“ You’re mine.” He whispered into your skin.

“ And I don’t fucking share.”

…

The aftershocks still rippled through your body, your thighs twitching around him as you clung to his shoulders, breathless and overwhelmed. His cock was still buried deep inside you—thick, hard, pulsing with possessive heat even after he’d filled you completely.

But he didn’t pull out. No. He kept you there. Held in place by the iron grip of his arms around your waist and the subtle rock of his hips, just enough to remind you—you weren’t going anywhere.

“ Stay right there.” He murmured against your neck, lips brushing over your skin, voice lower now but still steeped in dominance.

“ Keep me inside you, baby.” You whimpered, soft and submissive, and nodded into his shoulder. Your walls fluttered weakly around him, trying to adjust to the fullness that remained. He smirked.

“ Still so tight.” He whispered, one hand sliding up your spine, the other resting possessively over your lower back.

“ Gripping me like you don’t wanna let go. Just like you should.” Then he pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes—his gaze sharp and full of dark satisfaction. His hand cradled the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he brought your mouth to his.

The kiss was slow. Hot. Claiming. His lips moved over yours with a mix of sweetness and control, his tongue parting your lips as he explored your mouth with dominance that didn’t fade, even in tenderness. He kissed like he fucked—with intention.

“ You feel that?” He whispered between kisses, rocking his hips once—just a subtle grind that made you gasp softly.

“ That’s me inside you. Still hard. Still fucking owning you.” You whimpered into his mouth, hands sliding up to cup his face, your forehead pressed to his. The intimacy made your chest ache.

“ I love when you’re like this.” He murmured.

“ Full. Warm. Wrapped around me. Like my perfect little cockwarmer.” He pressed another kiss to your lips—then to your jaw, your throat, the top of your breast. His voice turned into a low purr.

“ You’re not getting up yet.” He said, kissing the side of your neck.

“ We’re staying like this…until I’m ready for you to take me again.” You squirmed slightly, hips twitching from the overstimulation—but he only tightened his grip on you and growled in your ear.

“ Ah, ah…” He warned, tone dipping into that delicious edge of authority. “ Don’t move unless I tell you to, baby girl. You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

“ Yes…” You whispered breathlessly.

He smiled, dark and full of hunger. “ Then keep me warm. Be still. And let Daddy enjoy his favorite place in the world…”

Another slow grind. “ Right inside his pretty little toy.”

Still buried deep inside you, he shifted beneath you, his arms slipping under your thighs and back. Without pulling out—without losing that intimate, hot connection—he stood, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

You gasped softly, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as you felt him still thick and hard inside you, your slickness making each step he took a sensual, unbearable ache. Your body clung to him, tender and trembling. He walked across the room, quiet but commanding, eyes locked on yours.

“ You’re not getting off my cock.” He said lowly, firmly, voice brushing your ear like silk over fire. “ Not until I say so.”

The bed creaked softly as he laid you down, still straddling him, still filled, your body stretched open and trembling from the fullness. He hovered over you for a moment—watching, studying your face.

Then, softly. “ Was I…too harsh earlier?”

You blinked up at him, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. You nodded slightly, lips parting to speak, but you didn’t have to. He sighed, head lowering to your chest, resting against the swell of your breast. His breath was warm against your skin.

“ I’m sorry.” He murmured, voice gravelly but sincere.

“ I lost control when I saw that bastard looking at you…like you were something he could touch.” He inhaled deeply.

“ I should’ve handled it better. I just—fuck, you’re mine.” Your fingers drifted into his hair, slow and gentle, combing through the thick strands without thinking. His eyes fluttered shut as he melted into the touch, and then—

He purred. A low, deep vibration resonated from his chest, sending tremors across your skin and down your spine. The sound was primal, raw, almost involuntary. It rumbled right through your breastbone where he lay, and you shivered from the sensation.

“ You feel that?” He whispered against your skin.

“ You’re the only one who gets this part of me. The only one I ever let this close.” He nuzzled into your chest, cock twitching slightly inside you, still hot and snug in your folds, your body clinging around him.

“ You’re my good girl.” He breathed, letting the praise roll off his tongue.

“ So sweet. So perfect. Even after I was rough with you…you still let me stay inside. Still touch me like that.”

You felt his lips graze your skin, and then a soft, broken whisper. “ Tell me I can stay like this.”

A pause. “ Tell me you want me to stay…inside.”

He wasn’t commanding now. He was yearning. Begging—not with words alone, but with the way he clung to you, the way he pressed his hips slightly forward to feel your warmth around him, like he didn’t want to leave your body, your softness, your heart.

And he whispered, like a confession.

“ Let me stay in you, baby…let me feel like I belong.” You stayed connected for what felt like forever—his cock still deep inside, your bodies molded together, breath syncing in a quiet rhythm.

His head rested against your chest, and your fingers lazily combed through his hair, the silence between you thick with something more than lust—something aching. But eventually, he shifted. With a soft groan, he slowly began to pull out of you.

You whimpered, your body instinctively clenching, not wanting to lose the warmth, the fullness. He hissed low between his teeth as your walls gripped him one last time.

“ Fuck, baby…even now, you don’t wanna let me go.” He leaned back just slightly to look at your center, where his release had begun to drip from your sore folds.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Then—smack. You gasped as he slapped the length of his cock against your soaked entrance, the wet sound echoing lewdly in the room. Your hips flinched, still sensitive, and he chuckled darkly, teasing your folds again with the tip.

“ Messy little thing.” He murmured.

“ Leaking everything Daddy gave you…” Then, slow and deliberate, he pushed just the tip inside—enough to scoop his cum back into your swollen, used entrance.

“ Can’t waste it.” He whispered.

“ Need it all back where it belongs.” You whimpered, your body trembling from the overstimulation, and he finally pulled away fully.

He stood up—quiet, focused—and disappeared into the bathroom. You laid there breathless, thighs sticky, skin flushed and trembling until you heard him return.

A warm, damp cloth in hand. He knelt between your legs, and with slow, tender movements, began to clean you. He was careful. Gentle. Reverent, even, like your body was something sacred. You whimpered softly as the cloth brushed your sore folds. His other hand came to rest on your thigh, stroking softly.

“ I know, baby.” He whispered.

“ You’re sore…I was too rough.” You shook your head weakly, eyes hazy. But he only hushed you, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your knee.

“ You were perfect for me.” He murmured.

“ You took everything I gave you like my good little girl. I’m proud of you.”

When he finished, he climbed back into the bed beside you. He pulled the sheets over your legs before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into him, body to body, skin to skin. His fingers found yours and interlocked with them—tight, grounding. Then he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, lips warm and soft against your skin. He began to kiss it slowly, nipping with just enough pressure to leave a faint mark.

A memory. A warning. A claim.

“ Mine.” He whispered between kisses.

“ Always mine.” You could feel his breath against your skin, his words sliding beneath it.

“ I won’t let anyone take you from me.” He murmured.

“ Not that bastard VIP. Not anyone.” His voice softened, low and broken in your ear as his hand squeezed yours.

“ You’re the only peace I’ve got in this place…and I’ll burn it all down before I let anyone else touch what’s mine.” He kissed your neck again, slower now. Reverent.

“ I’ll keep you safe.” He promised. “ Even if I have to destroy everything to do it.”

The room had quieted, bathed only in the low, amber light from the corner lamp. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, but beneath that—something softer lingered now.

Devotion. Obsession. A kind of intimacy that stripped away the harsh mask he always wore. He was still holding you. Fingers interlocked. Breath steady against your neck. His cock no longer inside you, but his presence was buried even deeper—in your bones, your chest, your soul. You felt him press another kiss behind your ear, his lips barely brushing the skin.

“ Do you feel it?” He whispered, voice low and husky. “ Right here…”

He pressed his palm flat against your stomach. “ Me. Still inside you. So full of me, baby.”

You whimpered quietly, your body aching but warm—too sensitive to move, too his to care. He buried his face deeper into your neck, inhaling you like he needed it to breathe. The possessiveness never faded—it just softened at the edges.

“ Fuck…” He murmured.

“ I hate how much I need you.” He shifted slightly, wrapping an arm under your shoulders as if to cage you in completely. His thumb brushed over your knuckles slowly, again and again.

“ You don’t get it, do you?” His voice cracked just slightly.

“ You’re the only thing that keeps me from turning into something worse. The only thing I can touch that doesn’t feel filthy.” He paused. You felt the tension build in his jaw as it rested against your neck.

“ I see them look at you.” He muttered.

“ Those sick fucks…the way they smile at you like you’re some kind of toy they’re allowed to play with.” You squeezed his hand gently. He didn’t look at you—but his grip tightened around you like he might never let go.

“ I’ll kill for you.” He said flatly.

“ Without hesitation. If any of them even breathe too close, I’ll make them disappear, baby girl. You hear me?” You nodded against him, pressing your lips softly to his temple.

“ I know.” You whispered. He exhaled, almost shaking. Then pulled back, just enough to look into your eyes.

“ No matter what happens here…no matter what I do, or how dark this place gets—you stay mine. Say it.”

“ I’m yours.” You whispered without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your thighs, the soreness between your legs, and the warmth still pooling inside you. His eyes darkened with something deep and unspoken—need, relief, madness, love. All tangled together.

“ I don’t care how many rules I have to break.” He whispered.

“ I don’t care what mask I have to wear… I’ll always come back to this—to you.” And then he kissed you—slow, searing. His lips molded to yours like they were claiming territory all over again.

The kind of kiss that didn’t ask. It took. And promised everything in silence.

Author's Note:

Welcome to the another episode of " What the fuck did I just write?" So yeah, another one-shot story of In-ho.

The story is a dark theme. Anyone who feels uncomfortable reading this is welcome to ignore this story. Please read the warnings before reading this story if you are under the age of 18.

All of the events in this story are fictional. The red flags mentioned in this story are not something I would tolerate in real life.

READ WITH RESPONSIBLY.

[murderofravens]

DUSK TILL DAWN MASTERLIST

pairing: hwang inho x fem reader

warnings: stated in every part

[1] dusk till dawn

[2] baby i'm right here

[3] fly me to the moon

blurbs and extras: coming soon...

comment to be tagged in future blurbs!

[rimzaaa]

Ahjussi

Oneshot!

Pairing: DBF! Hwang Inho x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/n has always been the quiet, well-behaved daughter—bookish, polite, the kind of girl no one suspects of harboring filthy fantasies. But when her father’s best friend, Hwang Inho, catches her reading one of her smutty romance novels, everything she’s buried deep starts to surface.

Warnings: Age gap (legal), smut with tension-filled buildup, forbidden relationship, mutual obsession, dirty talk, possessiveness, light dom!Inho, emotionally loaded first time, mild praise kink, name kink, rough(ish) but caring sex, lots of heat, lots of feelings, and a book title that says it all.

Author's Note: I had written this a long time ago but got the chance now to post it and also cause I had promised you guys that I'll give you something delicious after I recover. So yeah, here it is!

Words Count: 4828

Tag list: Lemme know if anyone wants to get tagged in LBH fics.

@salesmancarddd @marymun @astronomicalastro-blog1 @filthygalli @thehellhaveubeenloca @yosoylaprincesa2004 @watasinekoru @nightlark100 @drewstarkeysrightarm @doodle-with-rhy @lunaryoongie @ilovehwanginho @yxluana @sammie217 @sammat97 @alex-17s-world @mObi4girls @maah-sama @grylian @hecticspice @manager016 @mxriesss @christmascoles @nosebeers @carolinevoight @princesscherryblossom15 @frozen-waffle @eviesmoon @startled-cats @retiredpieceofshits @ft-winnow @weakh3rokdrama @bluechaoslizzy @frontwomann @cutecat2005 @starlightlunax @alex110370000 @wanna-plan-world-domination @akiyhara @natalie3657 @hornylittlesimp

Y/n had always been the sweet, well-mannered girl in the family. The kind who helped everyone, never raised her voice, and made her parents beam with pride.

In every way that mattered, she was perfect.

But what no one knew—what she kept tucked away behind innocent smiles and neatly folded cardigans—was a secret. A dark little indulgence.

She had an addiction.

Not to candy, not to gossip, not even to shopping.

But to smutty romance novels.

Not the soft, flowery kind either. No, she craved the dark ones. The ones with possessive, morally grey men and filthy scenes that made her heart race and her thighs press together.

Everyone knew she loved to read.

No one knew what she was really reading.

Whenever she had the house to herself, she’d curl up in bed or sneak off to a quiet corner with her favorite books. She’d lose herself in the stories, imagining herself as the heroine—the one being ruined, worshipped, claimed.

And as for the male lead?

Well… she imagined someone she absolutely shouldn’t.

Someone forbidden.

Someone who lived far too close.

---

Y/n was upstairs in her dimly lit room, sprawled out on her stomach, legs lazily kicking in the air as she flipped another page of the book that had gone viral on TikTok.

Oversized hoodie, soft cotton shorts, messy bun—she looked like every bit the cozy, innocent girl lost in her little world.

Downstairs, the sounds of laughter and clinking dishes filled the air as her parents set the table.

Tonight was special—her father's childhood best friend, Hwang In-ho, had come over for dinner. He was practically family, a regular presence in their home since she was a baby.

"Where’s our little girl?" In-ho asked, glancing around the living room with a fond smile.

"Up in her room, probably reading another one of her books" her father chuckled.

"Would you mind calling her down?" her mother added, carefully placing the last plate on the table.

In-ho nodded with ease, climbing the familiar staircase.

She used to cling to him as a child—her tiny arms wrapped around his leg, tugging at his sleeves for attention.

But as she grew, something shifted. The clinging stopped. The eye contact faded. Y/n became quieter around him, shyer… almost nervous. He always chalked it up to teenage awkwardness.

He knocked gently on her door.

No answer.

He knocked again.

Still nothing.

“Its me...your ajusshi” he said lightly, fingers curling around the knob. “I’m coming in, alright?”

He pushed the door open—and froze.

There she was, stretched out across the bed, the soft glow from her lamp bathing her bare legs in a golden hue. Her oversized hoodie had slipped slightly, exposing the smooth skin of her shoulder. She didn’t even notice him, eyes glued to the pages in her hand, lips parted ever so slightly as she read.

Inho’s breath caught for a second—just a second.

He knew he shouldn’t look.

But God, she wasn’t a little girl anymore.

He reminded himself—she’s off-limits.

Still, something stirred deep in him, something he’d buried the first time he realized her smile lingered a bit too long, her gaze flicked toward him when she thought he wouldn’t notice.

And now here she was—curled up in bed, absorbed in a book she definitely didn’t want anyone to see.

Inho stepped fully into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. He wasn’t sure what came over him tonight—maybe it was the whiskey from earlier, maybe it was the way she looked bathed in that soft yellow lamp-light—but something told him not to walk away this time.

Without a word, he strode closer to the bed and, in one swift motion, snatched the book from her hands.

Y/n flinched, eyes going wide. “A-Ahjussi!” she gasped, scrambling off the bed to chase after him. “Give that back!”

Inho smirked, holding the book high above his head with ease as she stood on her tiptoes, trying in vain to reach it.

“What’s the rush, hm? Let me see what kind of stories you’re so obsessed with, little one.”

“Ahjussi—no, seriously—!”

But he had already flicked the book open, eyes scanning the lines she’d been reading just moments ago.

His brows arched slightly as the words registered.

“His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her open with ease. ‘You’re mine,’ he growled, voice low and thick with need. ‘You’ve always been mine.’”

Inho let out a slow, surprised chuckle. “Well, well,” he murmured, glancing down at her flushed face. “Didn’t expect this from our sweet little Y/n.”

Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, lips parted, but no excuse came out.

He flipped another page, reading out loud again, this time with an exaggerated growl in his tone.

“She whimpered as his teeth grazed her neck, and he whispered filth into her ear—things no good man should say. But God, she didn’t want him to stop.”

He clicked his tongue playfully. “So this is what you’ve been doing when you lock yourself in here, hmm?”

“I-It’s just fiction,” she mumbled, reaching for the book again. “It’s not— I mean, I didn’t think—”

“Didn’t think I’d catch you?” Inho teased, slowly lowering the book but keeping it just out of reach. “Or didn’t think I’d be the one reading it to you?”

The silence between them stretched, heavy and warm.

And though she couldn’t quite look him in the eye, the way her fingers nervously fidgeted and her breath caught said enough.

He leaned down just a bit, voice dipping lower.

“Careful, sweetheart. Reading things like this might summon the wrong kind of man…”

His thumb slid across the edge of the page.

“…Or the right one.”

Y/n’s face turned crimson, burning hotter than ever. She fumbled for a response—anything to shift the weight of the air between them, anything to forget that the man she secretly imagined in place of those bookish love interests was now standing barely inches away.

She didn’t even know when it started—when the fantasy bled into reality.

Maybe it was the way he always looked after her, or the way his voice dropped low when he said her name. Or maybe it was the books… maybe it was just him.

“Give me my book back, Ahjussi,” she tried again, this time quieter—more breath than demand.

But Inho only raised the book higher, smirk still tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Or what? You’ll tell your parents?” He cocked a brow. “Go ahead. Tell them what their little girl’s been reading.”

She stepped forward on her toes again, trying to snatch it back—but in her haste, she didn’t realize just how close they had gotten.

One hand landed on his shoulder for balance. The heat between them flared.

Inho’s breath hitched.

She reached higher and finally snatched the book from his grip.

“Careful, baby girl” he murmured, his hand hovering near her waist, so close she could feel the warmth of his palm through the cotton of her hoodie—but he didn’t touch.

Not yet.

She stepped back instinctively, but before she could retreat, his fingers caught her wrist gently, guiding her hand to his chest. Firm. Solid.

And beneath it—his heartbeat, fast and unsteady.

“Tell me” he said, voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Who do you imagine reading all those dirty stories, huh?”

Her lips parted slightly, and without realizing, she licked them—nerves, maybe.

Maybe instinct.

Whatever it was, it made his gaze flick downward, jaw tightening as though holding himself back.

Then, just as quickly as it started, he pulled away—like something inside him snapped taut.

He stepped back, eyes dark. “Dinner’s ready” he said, tone suddenly rough. “Your mom’s calling you downstairs.”

And without waiting for her answer, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room—leaving her standing breathless, flustered, and with a book that suddenly didn’t feel like fiction anymore.

---

The book felt heavy in Y/n’s hand as she stood still in her room. Her heart was still racing, lips slightly parted, wrist tingling from where his fingers had held her just moments ago.

By the time she reached the dining room, she’d stuffed the book behind a pillow in her room—out of sight, but not out of mind.

“There you are!” her mom smiled. “Come, sweetie. Sit.”

Y/n nodded quietly and took her usual seat at the table. Inho sat directly across from her, sleeves rolled up, shirt collar slightly open. The silver watch on his wrist gleamed under the warm lights.

He was pouring himself some wine—calm, collected… like nothing happened upstairs.

But for her, everything had changed.

She tried not to look at him. She really did. But her eyes kept flickering up through her lashes. His jawline. The veins running up his forearms.

The memory of her hand against his chest, the sound of his voice saying baby girl—it echoed louder than the casual clinking of plates and cutlery.

“Y/n” her dad said, scooping rice onto her plate “Inho was just telling us about that conference in Busan.”

“Oh?” Her voice cracked slightly. “That’s... nice.”

Inho’s lips twitched. He hadn’t looked at her yet. Not once.

He cut into his meat slowly, deliberately. “Yeah. It was mostly boring. Long meetings. You’d have fallen asleep in the first five minutes.”

His voice was smooth. Normal. Polite. Completely unfazed.

But beneath the table, her knees brushed the wood, tense, squirming from the ache settling between her thighs.

And across from her, Inho’s jaw clenched ever so slightly as he finally—finally—looked up at her.

Just a second.

Just a glance.

But in that second, something passed between them. Something hot.

Dangerous.

Forbidden.

His eyes dropped to her mouth, and her breath hitched.

Y/n looked away.

He returned to his meal, taking a slow sip of wine like he hadn’t just stripped her bare with a single glance.

He was back to being Ahjussi. The beloved guest. The family friend.

But her mind was spinning with that question he whispered upstairs.

Who do you imagine reading those dirty stories, huh?

She clenched her thighs under the table.

And from across the table, Inho exhaled softly through his nose, fighting the urge to reach over, grab her by the wrist again, and take her upstairs—this time, without stopping.

But he didn’t.

Not yet.

He simply lifted his glass, his voice calm, his eyes too unreadable. “You seem quiet tonight, Y/n.”

She looked at him again.

And this time—she didn’t look away.

“So” Inho said casually, slicing into a piece of grilled beef, “what have you been reading these days, Y/n?”

Her fork paused mid-air.

She blinked, eyes darting up to him. His face was calm, lips curled in a polite smile. Like it was just a normal question.

Like he wasn’t the same man who held her hand to his chest upstairs and whispered filthy things that still echoed in her head.

“I—I, uh…” she stammered, cheeks turning crimson, “just some… light fiction.”

He tilted his head, reaching for the sauce dish. “Oh? Any recommendations?”

Y/n’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Her mother chuckled, oblivious. “She’s always nose-deep in those novels. She finishes a new one almost every week.”

“She’s a smart girl” Inho said, gaze flicking to Y/n for a second too long. “Sharp imagination, I bet.”

She looked down at her plate, stabbing at her food like it had personally wronged her. Her heart was racing. The air was thick. She could feel it—his eyes, the weight of his words.

“Have you always liked stories like that?” he asked, tone still light, warm.

“I—uh—yes. I mean—depends,” she mumbled, not daring to meet his eyes again.

“You should lend me one sometime,” he said smoothly, taking a sip of wine. “Maybe I’ll finally understand what keeps you so… enthralled.”

Y/n nearly choked on her rice.

Her dad laughed, shaking his head. “She’d be thrilled to have someone to talk about her books with. Right, sweetheart?”

Y/n nodded mutely, pressing her legs together under the table. Her palms were sweaty. She could barely taste her food.

Every breath Inho took felt intentional—every comment like a tease only she could hear.

“You okay, sweetheart?” her mom asked.

“Y-Yeah,” Y/n breathed, voice barely above a whisper. “Just… hot.”

“Oh, is it warm in here?” her mom asked, already reaching for the fan remote.

“No need” Inho said, ever the gentleman. “She’s probably just tired. You had a long day, didn’t you, little one?”

The nickname made her breath catch again.

Y/n looked up at him, wide-eyed—and this time, his eyes met hers and held. Calm. Unbothered. But deep beneath… hunger. Control.

He was playing with her. Masking filth behind courtesy.

She wanted to scream. Or run. Or kiss him. She didn’t even know anymore.

“Would you mind helping me with the dishes after dinner, Y/n?” Inho asked, smiling sweetly.

She nodded, dazed. “O-Okay.”

“Good girl” he said softly, and her fork slipped from her hand with a clatter.

The room fell quiet for a second.

Her mom raised an eyebrow, concerned.

Inho simply leaned back in his chair, sipping his wine with the same devil-may-care smirk.

“Clumsy tonight, hmm?”

Y/n swallowed hard.

She was in trouble.

And he knew it.

---

The kitchen was quiet, the clinking of dishes and the gentle rush of water the only sound.

Y/n stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her hands moving mechanically—but her mind was nowhere near the dishes. Not with him standing so close.

Inho was beside her, drying each plate she passed him. His shoulder brushed hers every now and then—subtle, just enough to feel. Each time, it sent a ripple down her spine.

He wasn’t saying much. But he didn’t have to.

He was too calm. Too close. Too composed.

Like he hadn’t just whispered filth into her ear upstairs.

Like he hadn’t held her wrist, watched her squirm, and walked away like it hadn’t wrecked them both.

“You’ve grown up a lot” he said suddenly, voice low—but just loud enough to carry meaning.

Her fingers froze around a dish. “…W-What?”

He reached for the plate in her hand, and this time, his fingers lingered—pads brushing over hers like a caress.

Intentional. Deliberate.

“I mean,” he said smoothly, “you were always bright. But now you’re…”

A pause. A look. A faint smirk.

“Different.”

Her pulse kicked. She turned back to the sink, pretending to focus, but her hands were trembling slightly beneath the stream of water. “People change” she mumbled.

“Mm.” He stepped half an inch closer. “Some changes are… hard not to notice.”

She nearly dropped the dish.

His voice had dropped lower—barely a murmur, meant for no one else but her.

She passed him another plate, but when he reached for it, his hand brushed against hers again—knuckles this time, warm and slow. Not an accident.

Not even close.

She held her breath.

“Still want to be a writer?” he asked casually, like they weren’t standing chest-to-arm, heat building in the inches between them. “Or maybe…”

His eyes flicked to her lips,

“…write your own stories one day?”

“I—I don’t know” she whispered.

“Hm.” He leaned in slightly, enough that his lips nearly grazed the shell of her ear when he spoke.

“From what I saw earlier… you already have the imagination for it.”

Her knees nearly buckled.

She dropped the sponge into the sink with a soft splash and gripped the edge for balance, her breathing shallow.

“You okay, little one?” he murmured, closer now, his hand brushing the small of her back. Light. Barely there. But enough.

She nodded too quickly. “Y-Yeah. Fine.”

He looked at her flushed cheeks, the slight tremble in her arms, the tension in her thighs as she pressed them together under the pretense of standing still.

He knew.

And he was enjoying every second of it.

He picked up the last plate. Dried it slowly.

Then, just before he stepped away, his fingers dragged ever so slightly down her spine—barely skimming through the fabric of her hoodie.

“Good girl” he murmured, low and warm, like praise laced with warning.

She froze.

And then he was gone—walking out of the kitchen, towel in hand, like nothing had happened at all.

Leaving her breathless.

Trembling.

And aching for something she wasn’t sure she could wait for anymore.

Not much longer.

---

The movie had ended, and the cozy warmth of the living room still clung to the walls. The soft hum of the credits played in the background as her parents stretched, murmuring something about heading to bed.

“Inho-ssi, it was so good to see you again. Y/n, will you see him off, please?” her mother called, already halfway down the hall.

Y/n nodded, though her heart was slamming against her ribs.

Inho was already standing by the door, slipping into his coat—slowly, deliberately, like he wasn’t in a rush to leave.

The silence between them was thick, pulsing.

She moved toward him, her fingers curling at her sides.

He looked at her once—then again, longer this time. His eyes dragged over her face, down to her bare legs, then back up like he was memorizing her.

“You looked beautiful earlier,” he said softly, voice meant for no one but her.

Y/n's breath stuttered.

“Lying there on your stomach…” he added, stepping forward just slightly, his tone low and rough like gravel and honey. “All soft. All exposed. So deep in your little world.”

She shifted on her feet, instinctively retreating—until her back hit the wall.

He followed.

Slow, quiet, like a shadow.

“Did you touch yourself while reading it?” he whispered, now close enough that his coat brushed her knees. “Or were you saving that for later?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Her breathing was shaky. Her thighs pressed together again, instinctively.

Inho’s gaze dropped, catching the motion.

“I know” he murmured, reaching out—his fingers brushing the side of her neck, the lightest touch. “That when you read those stories... you picture me.”

“T-That’s not—”

“Don’t lie.” His thumb skimmed up to her jaw, tilting her chin just slightly. “I’ve seen it in your eyes. That look you try to hide. That breath you hold when I stand too close.”

She was trembling beneath his touch.

He leaned in—nose grazing the shell of her ear, his lips ghosting just above her skin.

Close. So close. But not kissing.

“You smell like trouble” he whispered, breathing her in. “Like heat. Like sugar. Like something I should never touch.”

But he did.

His hand slid from her neck to her hip, fingers splaying lightly over the curve. He didn’t pull. Didn’t grab. Just rested there—possessive in stillness.

Her hands had risen to his chest without her realizing, palms pressed to the fabric of his coat like they could stop him.

They didn’t.

He leaned back enough to meet her eyes. His thumb traced the corner of her mouth.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me” he muttered.

And then—

Just a whisper of a kiss.

His lips barely touched the corner of hers—not a real kiss, not quite. Just the promise of one. The kind of touch that wasn’t enough. That would drive her insane.

Then he pulled back.

Fingers sliding from her body slowly, like he hated letting go.

“Goodnight, baby girl” he said, eyes darker now—hungrier.

He turned, opened the door, and stepped out into the cold night.

Leaving her against the wall.

Breathless.

Skin buzzing.

And a heat between her legs that no book could satisfy anymore.

---

It had been a week.

A week since he whispered “goodnight” like it meant more.

A week since his fingers curled around her waist and nearly didn’t let go.

A week since the almost-kiss that haunted her every time she closed her eyes.

Her parents were out of town now, off visiting relatives for a few days. Inho had been asked to check in, just to make sure she wasn’t completely alone at night.

Harmless, her mother said. He’s family. Trusted.

It was nearing midnight now.

They had dinner, watched a show, shared soft conversation like nothing was brewing between them. At some point, Inho had murmured something about getting some sleep and retired to the guest room down the hall.

And she was alone again.

Or so she thought.

Y/n curled up on the couch, one leg folded under her, another bent at the knee. A blanket draped lazily over her thighs. A new book in her hands. Another dark, smut-filled story that she couldn’t seem to put down.

She didn’t hear the door creak open.

Didn’t hear the soft footsteps padding across the wooden floor.

Inho had only meant to grab a glass of water. But when he saw her—so absorbed, lips parted, face flushed—something snapped inside him.

Again.

He walked up behind her without a word.

Then his voice, low and razor-sharp, cut through the quiet:

“He pushed her thighs open, growling against her skin, ‘You’ve teased me enough. Now I’m going to ruin you.’”

Y/n gasped, eyes flying wide. “Ahjussi—!”

She scrambled to her feet, the book slipping from her hands and landing on the floor with a soft thud.

Inho didn’t smile this time.

Didn’t tease.

He stepped closer. His eyes dark.

“Another one?” he murmured. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

She backed into the wall behind the couch. “I—I was just reading—”

“I know what you were doing” he said, voice thick now, full of restraint about to snap. “You were picturing it again, weren’t you?”

She didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Inho’s hand came up—fingers gently tracing along her jaw, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.

“I tried to be good” he whispered. “Tried to stay away. But you just keep tempting me, little one. Every night, every look. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is you.”

She trembled. “Then don’t stay away.”

That was all it took.

His mouth crashed onto hers, hands sliding into her hair, pulling her closer like he needed her just to breathe. Her fingers fisted in his shirt, desperate and hungry, and he groaned into her mouth like he’d been starved.

Then—

He gripped her thighs and lifted her easily, making her gasp against his lips.

Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively.

“You wanna be touched the way those men in your books touch?” he rasped against her neck. “Is that what you’ve been waiting for?”

“Y-Yes,” she whimpered, breathless. “Please.”

Inho didn’t wait. The second she said please, something inside him snapped loose.

His mouth crashed against hers—hungry, breath-stealing, devastating. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her close like he couldn’t stand the space between them for one more second.

She melted into him, fingers clinging to his shirt, legs trembling.

“You want to be ruined like in your books?” he growled into her mouth, kissing her deeper. “Want me to make you forget every line you've ever read, except the ones I write on your skin?”

“Y-Yes,” she breathed. “I want you. All of you.”

---

By the time they reached her room, she was already trembling.

Inho laid her on the bed—not gentle, not rough, but like he owned her. Like he’d waited too long to pretend anymore.

He stripped her slowly, his eyes devouring every inch of skin he revealed. Her hoodie. Her top. Her shorts. All discarded one by one.

“You wore this for me, didn’t you?” he muttered, thumb brushing up her thigh. “This tiny little outfit—hoping I’d look.”

She nodded, breathless. “I wanted you to see me.”

His mouth curled into something wicked.

“You’ve got no idea how many nights I’ve thought about this,” he murmured, kneeling over her. “Thought about you, under me, begging.”

She reached up, her fingers fumbling at the buttons of his shirt, desperate to touch him back. He helped her, yanking the fabric off, baring his chest—strong, veined, warm. She ran her hands over his shoulders, his neck, lower...

Inho caught her wrist. Brought it to his mouth and kissed her palm.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he said softly. “I’m trying to be good.”

“Don’t” she whispered. “I don’t want you to be good.”

That was all it took.

His mouth was on her throat, her chest, her stomach—leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses down her skin. His hands roamed, possessive and slow, as if he was memorizing her inch by inch.

Then his lips hovered just above her inner thigh.

“Spread for me” he ordered, voice dark.

She obeyed, heart pounding so loud she could barely hear her own breath.

He slid his hand between her legs, fingers gliding through the heat of her. She was already soaked, aching, twitching under his touch.

“So wet” he muttered, biting back a groan. “All this… just from your books? Or is this for me?”

“For you” she whispered, arching. “Only you.”

“Say it again.”

“You” she gasped. “It’s always been you.”

Inho leaned down and pressed a kiss just below her navel. “You filthy little thing” he murmured.

“Lying in bed at night, reading those scenes, thinking about my hands on you. My mouth. My—”

She pulled him, capturing his lips again, needing him too badly to wait.

He let her. For a moment.

Then he pulled back, eyes blazing.

“Turn over” he said, voice gravelly.

She hesitated, breath caught.

“Be good for me” he added, and her body obeyed before her brain could think.

She turned, chest pressing to the mattress, hips slightly raised. He leaned over her, one hand braced beside her head, the other sliding down the curve of her spine.

“You ever been touched like this?” he whispered against her ear. “Or have you only imagined it?”

“I’ve only imagined…”

He kissed the back of her neck. “Then let me ruin the fantasy.”

And he did.

Slow at first—teasing, controlled, pushing into her inch by inch until she gasped and clenched the sheets. He moved inside her with a rhythm that made her whimper, whispering filth into her ear the entire time.

“You feel that? That stretch? That’s what happens when you tease a man for weeks.”

Her moans filled the room. He growled against her skin, gripping her hips tighter, pulling her back into every thrust.

“You love this, don’t you?” he rasped. “Being taken like this. Like you’re mine.”

“I—I do,” she sobbed. “I love it. I love you—”

His rhythm faltered for a second, jaw clenched, hands trembling.

“Say it again.”

“I love you,” she gasped, “I’ve always—”

He kissed her shoulder—hard—then rolled her onto her back and slid deep again, locking eyes with her as he moved.

“I’m not stopping” he warned. “Not until you forget every man you’ve ever read about. Not until you know you’re mine.”

“I already am,” she whispered, legs wrapping around him. “I always have been.”

He swore under his breath and moved faster now—deeper, rougher, her body writhing beneath him.

She came first—crying out, nails digging into his back, trembling like she was breaking apart in his arms.

“A-ahjussi—!” she moaned, the word tumbling out between gasps.

Inho growled low in her ear, hips driving deeper. “No” he rasped. “Say my name. Not ahjussi. Say it.”

Her eyes fluttered open, dazed and soaked in pleasure. “I-Inho” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“Again,” he demanded, gritting his teeth as he chased his own release. “Louder.”

“Inho—” she cried out, trembling. “Please—I’m yours, Inho—!”

That did it.

With a harsh groan, he slammed into her one last time, burying himself deep as he spilled inside her. His body trembled over hers, chest heaving, arms wrapped tight around her like he didn’t want to let her go. Like he couldn’t.

They collapsed together, tangled in the sheets, skin sticky with sweat and breath still ragged.

Silence settled around them—soft, heavy, full of something warm and unspoken.

Inho lay on his side, one hand brushing the damp hair from her face. She nestled into him, tracing lazy fingers across his chest. Their legs remained tangled, their bodies pressed so close it felt like one.

Then, after a quiet beat, she spoke—voice soft and dreamy.

“I think I found what I’ll write about in my first book.”

Inho chuckled low, his hand still stroking her back. “Yeah?” he murmured. “What’s it going to be about?”

She looked up at him, mischief dancing in her eyes.

“You and me” she whispered. “This night.”

He smirked, already knowing where this was going. “And what will you call it, hmm?”

She smiled wide, leaned in close to his ear, and whispered

“Ahjussi.”

Inho barked out a laugh—deep and unfiltered, the kind that rumbled in his chest.

“You little brat” he muttered, pulling her closer and kissing her hair.

They laughed together under the blankets, hearts pounding in sync.

And just like that… her story began.

[filthygalli]

Hush

Fem!Reader x Hwang In-Ho

Warnings: MDNI18+, Oral (F receiving), Fingering, Pussy Eating, Overstimulation, SoftDom! In-Ho, Secretive In-Ho, Mentions of Gunshot wound, Light Alcohol consumption, No usage of Y/N (but readers getting called as "Sweetheart" and "Darling"), Not proofread, Let me know if I missed anything! 🖤

Word Count: 1,686

Author's Note: I was so sleepy and I zoned out with this idea, I had the urge to write it because I'm afraid if I sleep it'll be gone by the time I wake up, so I apologize if there's spelling and grammar mistakes!

© Pictures are from: I come by the rain (2009)

You've been married to In-Ho for 3 years. You've known him since you were kids, he's a dominant man but he would worship the ground you walk on, give you expensive things, treat you romantically without you noticing it. That's probably the main reason why you married him.

For over 3 years of marriage, you still don't know what's his work, he always tell you that he's just going out for a ‘business trip’ that he'll be gone for 7 days, you begged for him to tell you what's his work about—but he's just changing the subject quickly, avoiding the question about his work. You let it pass every time though, maybe it's something that you don't need to know, something that it's private—but you're worried, what if something bad happens to him during that ‘business trip'? Though, when he's away he always call you and send you messages when he can, one time you told him you missed him and you need him that you cried on the phone while begging for him to come home, In-Ho's heart ache at the sound on your voice breaking through the line on the phone, sometimes he hates himself from not telling you the truth about what he do, on who he really is…but for the sake of your safety—he choose not to.

He went straight home and cuddled up with you on your shared bed, whispering sweet nothings to your ear as you lay your head on his chest, his breathing calms you down—the way his chest would slowly rise up and down, matching the pace of your breathing, you relaxed at the soft hum of his voice as he tells you that he's sorry for leaving you for almost 3 days, that he'll take you out tomorrow to go and shopping and eat at one of your favorite restaurants in Italy.

But sometimes, you just can't help but ask In-Ho about it, even though you know he'll avoid the question, you wanted to know the truth.

“Sweetheart, I wish I could tell you in detail, but even if I did…you won't understand.” He said, sitting on the leather sofa, a whiskey in his left hand while looking up at you, “It's just…I'm worried,” you sat down beside him, “Last time you went home…you had a wound on your shoulder,” In-Ho clenched his jaw tightly, recalling the incident between him and his brother Jun-Ho, he sighed softly, eyeing you, “I know sweetheart, but I promise I'm ok, nothing to worry about.” he sets down the glass of whiskey on the coffee table as He assured you, he gave you a kiss on top of your forehead, You smiled up at him, “I love you, In-Ho.” You said kissing him, the kiss was gentle and delicate, you liked it when he kiss you like this—taking his time with you, making you take control of him if you want to, his hands travelled up to your waist as he picks you up to sit on his lap, he pulls away slowly, “I love you too, Sweetheart.” He said as he trails down kisses on your jaw all the way down to your neck, you whimper, “In-Ho…” you start to feel a familiar sensation between your thighs, “I know, sweetheart…let me take care of you, hmm?” you nodded eagerly, In-Ho chuckled at your response. He hooked his finger on the strap of your shirt, pulling it down slowly revealing your bare chest to him, “You look so beautiful like this, sweetheart,” he said as he plants kisses on your chest, sucking the exposed skin—leaving reddish marks on it, you whined, “In-Ho…please–” you begged as you looked down on him, still sucking your skin, he looked up, dark brown eyes turned up at you, he trails his warm tongue on your nipple, you moaned as he started sucking it gently. In-Ho can feel himself getting hard, he wants to fuck you right here, right now, but he wants to push you first, to make you feel good.

He released his mouth on your nipple with a loud pop, his saliva glistened on your nipple, “Tell me what you want sweetheart.” He said gripping your neck lightly, not too much to hurt you, “Please.. In-Ho,” you begged, tears started to prickle on the corner of your eye, “Please what, sweetheart?” He said reaching through your cheek to wipe your eyes using his thumb, “Fuck me, please, In-Ho…” you once again begged as In-Ho chuckled, “Want me to fuck you, huh, sweetheart?” He said cupping your chin to look down at him, you didn't say anything and just gave him a whinny look, “Need your words sweetheart,” he said giving you a smirk, “Want you to fuck me, Please In-Ho…” “As you wish, sweetheart.” He said as he lays you down softly on the sofa, he motioned you to lift your hips as he pulls down your shorts, revealing you in your undies, he leans down and trails kisses on your thighs, licking your skin, you whimper as In-Ho chuckled, the vibration of his chuckle sends shivers down on your spine, “Please…” you cried out, “Patience is a virtue, Darling.” He whispered on your skin, his breath feels hot on your skin, you want him to touch you, to fuck you to put you on your place, He hooked his index fingers on the waist band of your undies—exposing your bare cunt Infront of his face, “So wet for me, Sweetheart.” He said as he traced his middle finger on the slit of your pussy—earning a whimper from you, He leaned in as you felt his warm breath on your aching cunt, “In-Ho…please–want you,” your hips jerked up as he looks at you, he glared at you, your breath hitched as he stick his tongue out slightly licking your clit, teasing you as he smirk, “Mmm–” you mumbled, lips pressed together, “Wanna hear your voice, sweetheart, let me hear them.” He said in between kisses on your pussy, You moaned, When In-Ho heard your pornographic moans he eats your pussy like a starved man—slurping every juices that your pussy could offer him, sucking the bundle of nerves, biting the soft skin as your eyes rolled back from the back of your head, you arch your back—gripping your hands on the leather couch as you moaned his name like a broken record, He continues to eat you while looking at you, he reached for your hand that's grabbing the leather couch, softly putting it on his hair, your grabbed his hair tightly—pushing him down on your cunt—you want more, you want more of him, He flicks his tongue faster as he slides his index finger inside your pussy, “Fuck–In-Ho!” You moaned as he curled his fingers inside you, he smirked at the sound of you, priding himself that he could make a mess out of you by just doing this, making you beg for more till you break—of course he will keep giving you more till you can't cum anymore, he'll make you writhe against his touch, make you feel sore, he'll make you unable to walk for days as he pride himself for eating you out and making you cum and squirt all over his face. You started to feel a familiar sensation in your stomach as In-Ho continuously flicked his tongue on your aching clit, you're so gonna be sore for days you'll be staying in bed and call In-Ho for help to stand up, he hasn't fucked you yet and you feel worned out, what more if he rammed his thick cock inside your pussy? He'll rip you apart, not that you don't mind though, you're going to take it like a good girl. His good girl.

“In-Ho…” you cried out, In-Ho felt your pussy clenched around his index finger, he knows you're about to cum and he'll give it to you no matter what. “I know sweetheart, cum for me, Be a good girl and cum on my face,” he said in between a flick of his tongue as his husky voice sent shivers down your spine “ruin my face with your sweet juices, squirt on my face like a damn fountain.”

his voice soft but demanding, you whimpered at his words as you felt him go crazy on your clit, he added a second finger inside you, making you feel full of him already, he pumped his thick fingers inside and out of you, shoving it harshly—hitting every spot inside of you as you shivered and moan his name, “In-Ho!” Is the last thing you screamed as you squirt your juices on In-Ho's face, he hurriedly opened his mouth and slurped everything he could get, not wasting a drop as he repeatedly fuck's you with his tongue, you felt so overstimulated, it's all too much, but you need In-Ho inside of you, you want him badly.

“Stop–I can't! Too much!” you breathe out, “Want you.. inside ah!” You heard him chuckled darkly, “Sweetheart,” he said as he brought up his face a little, his chin and cheeks glistened with your juices, he licked his lips before opening his mouth to talk to you, “Let me make it up to you for those days that I'm gone.” He said as he sat up, unbuckling his belt—not breaking an eye contact with you, you moaned at the sight of him; it always excite you when he does this, it's simple yet so fucking hot and sexy, “I'll make sure you'll forget to ask that damn question,” he said as he threw his pants on the floor revealing his cock, he lined it up on your entrance, gathering some of your juices to use it as a lube for his cock, pre-cum beaded on his tip as he slapped the tip of his cock on your now swollen clit, “The only thing you'll remember is this moment, while I fuck you senselessly with my cock, I'll pump you full with my cum that you'll be leaking for days that I'm gone, You'll only remember how I fuck this pretty cunt of yours.”

Author's Note: I hope you like this one, Its longer than what i've imagined. Anyways, Let me know if you want a part 2 of this one, Thank you for the support!

< Squid Game Masterlist I Main MasterList >