☆★ NOTES: Small drabble based on Haechan’s teaser photo!!
There was something primal you felt when you looked down at Donghyuck between your legs. He was lazily slouched against the headrest of the bed, gazing at you with sharp, black-lined eyes. His fingers idly toying with your bent knees at his side. You could hardly breathe when you looked at him.
It was your first time seeing Haechan after the argument. It was an argument that had ended with you caving first and calling him over, finally breaking the month of radio silence.
His smoke-lined eyes looked down at you, a notorious smirk playing on his lips. He walked through the door, his hair slightly damp from the rain outside. Without a word, he casually dropped his wet biker helmet outside your door and the sound of it makes you flinch when it clatters against the concrete. Then, with deliberate slow steps, he stalked toward you.
The scent of mist and musk trails behind him as he steps inside. It was intoxicating. He’s just a little taller than you, enough to look down at you with that piercing gaze as he passes by. He completely ignores your personal space, and you can feel the brief brush of his leather jacket against your skin causing a shiver to run down your spine.
He looks at you expectantly, hoping to hear the words “I'm sorry,” but you're too distracted to speak. Under the faint glow of your apartment, you get a better look at his smoky eyes. One eye was slightly bruised, his lips tinged with red and looked slightly swollen. He seems to have gotten into another fight.
“Really, Hyuck? What did you do this time?”
”That guy I scammed about three months ago? That dickhead found me and beat my ass.”
If you were a good girlfriend, you’d help lick his wounds, but that wasn’t you. You were a decent girlfriend, so you simply take your thumb and press it firmly against the bruise on his lip.
“Ow! What the hell?”
“You deserved to get your ass kicked,” you sneer
Haechan tilts his head and licks the inside of his cheek. “I don’t remember you calling me over here to talk shit,” he says, crossing his arms.
You can’t help but grin as you step closer to him. Loosely, you throw your arms over his shoulders, and his body opens up to you, pulling you in with arms that wrap around your waist. You hold his gaze, knowing exactly what he’s waiting for. You nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck and graze his jawline with a flutter of kisses. Haechan melts into it, arms tightening around you, hands gently massaging your hips. Your kisses stop at the corner of his mouth, and you pull back slightly to look at him again. Eyes begging him to let you off scott free.
He plays along at first, a slow smile tugging at his lips as he pulls you closer. His hips begin their deliberate grind and You feel the cool, solid press of his belt buckle through the layers of your clothes. His hips were slow and teasing but after weeks apart it feels incredible. You meet his rhythm, subtly swirling your hips in return, carefully taking in whatever slivers of affection he offers. After about five minutes of continued heavy petting, the tension became almost unbearable. You needed his lips, the desperate need to feel him consume the air in your lungs.
“I’m close,” you whine, begging him to finally press his lips to yours.
“That's not the magic word,” Haechan shakes his head with a smirk.
This was going to hurt your pride a little later, but for now, to hell with stubbornness. “I'm sorry,” you whisper, your voice soft and pleading.
Haechan studies you through the curtain of his fringe, “It took you a month to realize you were sorry?” he pressed, adjusting his grip on your waist, halting your subtle shifts. He wouldn't concede easily. You deserved this pushback, you had been testing the boundaries of his patience.
“You don’t look sorry,” he murmurs, the words a low challenge.
His hands glide up your sides, the cool weight of his rings and bracelets a deliberate tease as they graze your skin. They rise until they bracket your wrists, deftly undoing the hold they had around his neck. He slides out of your immediate space. “You think I’m that easy?” he asks, the question laced with a playful tilt of his head.
He turned toward your bedroom, and you followed in his wake. He sank onto the bed, moving until he sat against the headboard with a lazy confidence. The invitation was unspoken, patting his lap in a silent command. You crawl over to meet him on the bed and you pull the shift from over his head while leaving his briefs pulled down to mid-thigh. Before he can even give you his next command you're already grinding against him, desperate for his touch.
“Show me,” he commanded quietly, “how badly you needed me. Because I needed you.”
You pull your shorts down and shiver as the cold air meets your cunt. You sank down, taking all of him and finding a comfortable rhythm. Haechan remained still underneath you. He makes you sweat, he wants you to earn it. You beg for him until your throat is sore until finally, a faint flicker of pity crossed his features. His hands clasped your hips, providing leverage to help you ride him faster. You could feel tears well up in your eyes. It wasn't enough. You needed to feel his hips snapping up into you. Haechan watches as tears shimmer in your eyes. He drove into you from below, a low moan catching in his throat as he threw his head back. “Choke me,” he rasped.
You grip the dog tags hanging around his neck, twist and then tug, applying pressure around this throat. You maintain your rhythm until his eyes roll to the back of his head and his hips stutter. You release your hold and he sucks in a huge, desperate breath of air.
You lean over him with a devious smile. “We’re not done yet.”
“once, I saw a bee drown in honey, and I understood.”
pairing: haechan x fem!reader
genre: smut. a little fluff. angst. slice of life. strangers to secret lovers.
word count: 6k
warnings: infidelity, lying, emotional pain, oc has a bf (sorry to this man) whom she cheats on with haechan, she’s a lil evil i guess hehe, haechan is a darling and a cutie and he just needs a hug :( , both are morally compromised. +18: car sex, lots of kissing :(, fingering, handjob, penetrative unprotected sex, she rides it, titties and nipple play, creampie, multiple orgasms, brief mention of backshots and oral sex, oc has an iud (YOU COULD STILL GET AN STD GROW UP), anyway i think that's all!
a/n will be at the bottom <3
You had promised yourself.
You had promised you wouldn't. You had promised it was harmless. Just a silly one-night crush on a boy too cute to be single. A boy so cute you hated to admit exactly how cute. A boy so sweet to look at. Sweeter than any type of candy you've ever had. Eyes all round and pretty, nose so adorably scrunched whenever he laughed wholeheartedly, lips full and pouty with each syllable he uttered, two front teeth so unique and perfect, hair fluffy, just enough to make his head look a little round from the back, skin tanned and glowing enough to think he'd just returned from holiday. Yes, definitely too cute to be available.
Unfortunately for you, he was. And you weren't.
Even so, as taken as you were, it didn't mean you couldn't look, right? Everyone's allowed to look. Looking does not classify as cheating, does it? Neither does it signify that you want him. Or that he's cuter than your sweet boyfriend, who you so very much love, right? So, yeah, looking shouldn't be forbidden. But where does one draw the line? Because, deep down, you know there's a difference between harmlessly appreciating good looks, and staring like you need to make someone your oh-so-desired dessert that you didn't know you wanted until you laid eyes upon it.
It wasn't until you were caught red-handed that darker parts of you started caving in. Pools of dark brown eventually settled straight on you from across the crowded room. And you couldn't help but feel this dread in your stomach as your darling boyfriend cluelessly rested his delicate hand on your lower back. Like something inside you shattered and needed to be put back together instantly, before anyone saw. Otherwise, well, you'd be fucked. And fucked you were. Because even if no one really did see; the cute boy did. And that was enough for your downfall to begin.
It was like you'd been a stranger to anything sweet before he smiled at you. Not really in secret, or with any ill intent hidden. That was the problem; the innocence behind it, the blush in his cheeks when he looked away, the tiny purse of his lips as though he needed a moment to recompose himself before rejoining the conversation he was supposed to be a part of.
You certainly did need a moment, if not longer.
In reality, if you really wanted to keep your promise, you would have fled and gone home with your man. You would have done your skincare together like you always do whenever he spends the night at yours, maybe watched funny YouTube videos, until eventually falling asleep with a clear conscience.
But promises, unfortunately, as beautiful as they can be, they are also frail, and just like hearts, they're made to be broken.
"Wait, wait, wait." You whisper in the stuffy air of Haechan's car, the steering wheel uncomfortably digging into your lower back. His skin feels soft against your fingertips as they trace his jawbone to his chin, the light stubble oddly soothing to the touch.
"What?" He blinks in confusion, as though offended that he's deprived of your mouth on his. You instantly feel a twinge of regret in your stomach the second his fingers pause inside you, the incoming orgasm subsiding and suddenly clearing your fickle judgment. The moment of clarity doesn't last long, however, not when the hand on your backside slips under your summer dress only to land exactly where it was, this time with a gentle squeeze. "What is it?"
"This wasn't–" You gulp nervously, the scratch in your throat difficult to ignore when he's this close, the sweet and familiar scent of his cologne clouding your silly little brain, especially when his fingers hook deeper inside you, pressing right against where you need them to. "We weren't supposed to– this is not why I wanted to see you."
He blinks twice as he takes in your hesitation and slowly nods. It's clear in his eyes that he knows. He probably already knew when he received your cryptic text asking to 'meet up' because you 'had something to tell him'. That's rarely a good sign, especially when it's out of the blue. What was strange, though, is that he didn't seem worried or surprised when he picked you up from the work drinks your boyfriend thought you'd stay at until later in the evening. If anything, there was understanding and calmness in his gaze and demeanour. Exactly like right now.
He might sound slightly out of breath from all the kissing and straining of his arm but he never fails to maintain a grounded attitude. "Why did you wanna see me then?"
When your hands travel down to his chest you start to realise that maybe he's not as calm as he seems, and for some reason the unstable thumping of his heart is enough for your own to drop to your stomach.
You wish you could treat him right. Respect him like he's been respecting you the past four months, coming and going whenever you wish him to while all you've been doing is slowly eating his soul with your indecisiveness. You can hear the disappointment in his voice whenever you ask for space or cancel on a secret rendezvous. Whenever your hands feel too full. Whenever guilt eats away at you a little too hard. And you wonder if he thinks you're mean and heartless. If he portrays you as the villain in his life. Maybe he should.
"Why do you not hate me?" The question wasn't supposed to make it out of your thoughts, but it's genuine and you know he knows with the smile he gives you. It's an endeared one that somehow carries so much sadness behind it, and if it weren't for his adorable nose rubbing against yours as a gesture of comfort, you're worried your heart would be shattering.
"I dunno." He murmurs as he tilts his head a tiny bit, his top lip brushing against your bottom one so lightly that if you weren't hyper-fixated on his every move, you would've probably missed it. "Just can't."
"Why not?" You press, your fingers gently curling into his shirt, not convinced that he hasn't got reasons behind whatever it is he feels for you.
He sighs in defeat, the action causing a soft vibration against your palms. Everything he does is soft. "It would be a lot harder than liking you."
Whether his words are meant to comfort you, you don't know, but what they do manage to do is make you like him a little more and yourself a little less. Not because he's lying, but because it's so clear he's not. In the way he looks at you. In the way he touches you. In the way he speaks to you. In the way he breathes when he's around you. No one could doubt that Haechan likes you more than he should if they looked hard enough. Though, to you, it's clear as day.
Your lips seem to have a mind of their own as they pucker against his, leaving a gentle kiss he doesn't have time to return before you drag them across his cheek, scattering tiny pecks that turn into long, wet suckles when you reach his neck. "So sweet." You mumble, suddenly having forgotten that you asked to meet him for one last time before completely ending whatever it is you have with him. His soft hum of appreciation is worth it, sending the negative thoughts into the void of your mind, even if temporarily.
"You always say that." He whispers breathlessly, head tilting more to the side, making you smile at the silent way he gives you permission to mark him. He always lets you, even if he can't do the same to you and that thought, with the small curl of his fingers inside your slippery heat, is enough to pull out a moan from you that gets muffled by his smooth skin before your tongue dips out to get a taste.
"It's true," You admit between gentle sucks that you know he approves of when his hand leaves your ass for the back of your head, keeping you in place as you impatiently grind down against his hand, needing more from him, like you haven't already taken enough. Like you don't always just take, take, take and barely give anything back. "You might be the sweetest boy I know."
His fingers slip out just a tiny bit before he starts to properly finger you, curling them just right, coaxing more of your arousal to smear on the crotch of his jeans, and you wonder if he's going to keep them unwashed just as a reminder of you and your last time together.
"If I'm so sweet," He pauses with a whimper when you bring a hand to the button of his jeans, and you almost forget the task at hand as his fingers drive into you with a little more vigour, the sounds so unholy, a grim contrast to the whispers exchanged between you. "Why can't you just keep me?"
The neediness in his gentle request breaks your heart a little, his honey-like voice more than enough to make your eyes well up as they flutter closed at everything he's making you feel. "Why– ah fuck– why would you wanna be my secret?"
The words are meant to cause some sort of awakening in him but they only seem to spur him on as he lets out a raspy moan accompanied by a subtle raise of his hips. The only indication of frustration is the tight hold he's got on your hair as he forces you to look at him without stopping the torture between your legs. "You're my secret too."
You can't help but smile at his furrowed eyebrows, bratty grimace so cute even when angry. Even cuter when he's trying to put up a hard front, as though he's trying to convince both of you that he's in control of the situation as much as you are.
"Not by choice." You remind him even through your panting, not minding how ruined you sound when the heel of his palm is rubbing against your clit so deliciously and the pads of his fingers stimulate your sweet spot in a rapid vibration-like motion. He's not pulling them out at all at this point, and your brain melts at how well he's come to know your body.
"Just cum, please?" You know that's his way of kindly requesting your silence, instead of simply just telling you to shut the fuck up, which he's easily so entitled to. He's entitled to do a lot more than that, to say a lot more, yet, he never has. You don't know if he's just a saint or if his mum has raised an absolute gem of a human being, but even through the haze of your orgasm, he's all you can think about. Not the many million mistakes you've made since meeting him, not how much you've hurt him in the process, not how much you've hurt yourself or even your boyfriend.
Just Haechan.
Just Haechan and his sultry voice that you've come to adore so much. You think it's what you miss about him the most when you go long periods without seeing him. His sweet moans and whimpers of pleasure when you're on your knees for him, begging for him to cum on your tongue just because you so love the way he tastes. His gentle whispers of encouragement when you take his cock like a champ, even if he's being a little rough with you, even if he's grabbing onto your hips hard enough to leave small bruises as he pounds into you from behind. You mostly love it when he's so worked up that he becomes whiny and putty in your hands, letting you do whatever you want with him. You vividly remember that time he begged for you to sit on his face simply because 'he loves it when you suffocate him with your thighs'. It always brings a smile to your face how he almost cried that night because you kept denying him his release.
"That's it." His coos bring you back to reality as you slowly descend from whatever cloud your orgasm has brought you to. You're shaking, but his arm, tightly wrapped around your middle, brings a sense of calmness, fingers stroking up and down your side over your dress. You wish you were both naked, just so you could feel his skin on yours once more.
Your sensitive pussy is still pulsing around his fingers when you allow your trembling fingers to clumsily undo his jeans. He gets the message and lifts his hips enough for you to pull his boxers down. You only catch a glimpse of his pretty cock, already flushed and fully erect, before he nudges your nose with his and slots your mouths together in a kiss you hadn't realised how much you craved. You so eagerly part your lips when his tongue prods at their seam, and your heart flutters at how tenderly his thumb swipes over your cheek, palm warm against your face as he tilts your head so he can kiss you as deep as he wants, as messily as he needs to. And messy it is, and wet, but ever so soft, just like the way his fingers slip out of your heat, leaving you empty in more ways than one.
You bring a hand to the back of his neck, forcing his mouth to work harder against yours, licking and sucking on his tongue and bottom lip, pulling pathetic sounds out of him that rewire your brain and send chills down your spine. He's so different to anyone you've been with. So responsive and willing to be vulnerable with you. He never tries to prove anything, yet, he hasn't failed to unintentionally prove multiple times that you'll always end up crawling back to him, asking for more and more until he's got nothing left to give.
"I'll miss kissing you so much." You confess quietly, trying your best to ignore his whine of complaint, praying that more kisses and your hand around his shaft will pose as a good enough distraction. You start with lazy strokes, purposely not squeezing him hard enough, but that only lasts for a few seconds before he wraps his hand around yours, fingers slippery with your juices as they force a tighter grip. You sigh at the familiar sensation of his velvety skin in your palm, the weight of him, the perfect thickness, already making your mouth salivate against his.
"Can we– ah baby, fuck, not so tight." He pleads in a hurry as you squeeze around the tip hard enough to feel some precum trickle over your thumb.
You ease up when curiosity gets the best of you, though. "Can we what?"
"If this is the last time," He pulls back enough to be able to look at you, his mouth swollen and covered in spit and so scrumptious. "Can I feel you without a condom?"
The request itself doesn't shock you; if anything, it excites you. It's the innocence in his eyes that entices you further down the rabbit hole. He's just asked to fuck you raw for the first time ever, yet he looks like he's begging for forgiveness. Like he knows he's sinning, but is hopeful for salvation all at the same time.
"Please? I'll pull out, I swear, I just wanna know what you feel like. Or let me just put it in once and then I'll wear a condom? I won't even–"
"Are you clean?" You save him from further humiliation, but instantly regret the question and how interrogative it comes out. You have no right asking him if he's been with other people during the time he's been with you, and equally, he has every right to fuck around as much as he wants after what you've put him through. Though, you can't deny that the thought of him pleasuring someone else leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, an intense contrast to the sweetness you usually taste when you're with him.
"Yeah, I haven't–"
"No need to pull out then." You scoot a little forward, letting your hips hover directly over his, and before your centre makes any contact with his, nervous hands are grasping your waist.
"Wait, really?" His stare is full of awe and disbelief, making the ache in your chest blossom into adoration.
"Yeah," You nod while you cradle his face with both hands, resisting from squishing his adorable cheeks. "Anything you want, it's okay for tonight."
His eyebrows raise as he takes in your statement, not in surprise, but appreciatively. "I just don't want you having to worry about it after."
You feel the corners of your mouth twitching as you try to fight a smile at his genuine concern of you dealing with unwanted consequences on your own. "I have an IUD, remember?"
"Yeah, but you said it's like 99 percent effective."
"If in that one percent window you manage to get me pregnant, then maybe that's fate telling us something." You don't mean to reveal how emotionally compromised you are, and you certainly don't mean to bring fate into it. It's easily one of the most stupid things you've ever said.
Yet, that's not what his hesitant smirk says. "Fate's been telling you all sorts of things for a while but let's not go there now."
You don't really have a decent comeback. Truthfully, the only thing that your brain manages to come up with is an apology. You don't know what exactly for, considering there are tonnes of unspoken things that demand for one, but you don't manage to get there anyway. Not when Haechan already senses the uneasiness in your silence.
"It's okay." He reassures you with a squeeze on your side, and a pained smile that fails to conceal the melancholy behind his eyes. "Give me a kiss."
A halfhearted laugh is pulled from your chest, even through all the dread, echoing around Haechan's car, and you have no choice but to comply. Though, before the tenderly slow glide of your lips can escalate into something filthy, he's pulling away, leaving you a little baffled for only a second as he proceeds to yank his t-shirt off. Honey skin comes into view, asking to be touched and tasted in all the places but instead, you choose to mirror him by sliding the wide straps of your office dress down your arms, letting the fabric pool around your hips. Your bra comes next, his nimble fingers expertly undoing the clasp and peeling the garment off carefully, making your nipples perk up at their newfound freedom.
It should feel wrong to let another man see parts of yourself that are supposed to be reserved for your boyfriend's eyes only. And it does. But only in a way that feels undeniably good too. It's the only way your sick brain can describe the twisted feeling. Because Haechan doesn't observe you with eyes full of lust. He doesn't greedily squeeze or grab. Nor does he make you feel exposed. He never has. He simply just admires as he lets his knuckles graze over your ribs, drawing random patterns that you'd happily tattoo your skin with if you knew what they were. Just as a reminder that a pretty boy with the sweetest ever voice once touched you there.
"I love that you always let me touch you like this." His fingers cascade down your skin, slowly tracing over your stomach, and you slightly lean back, hands resting on his thighs to hold yourself upright but still give him space to touch where he pleases.
"Like what?" You pose a question to which the answer you think you already know, but considering you're already going to hell you might as well hear him say it loud and clear.
"Like you're mine." His warm hands feel a little damp when they envelop your sides, thumbs reaching just under your tits that already beg for more attention as your nipples harden at the softness in his touches, the skin pebbling too uncomfortably for your hips not to roll forward, seeking for some friction to relieve the throbbing between your legs. Though, it's the weight of his confession that makes your heart stutter right under where his clammy hand rests. Would he catch it if it jumped out? Would he be careful with it? Or would he squeeze it until it's withered and useless?
And once again, you're short for words. But he doesn't seem to mind as he leans in and presses a delicate smooch on your sternum, right between your breasts that are finally blanketed by warmth and comfort. Your head tips back in relief as he kneads the flesh gently, his mouth making its way over your skin while leaving a wet trail behind, and when his tongue makes contact with one of the raised peaks, circling torturously, you let out a shameless moan. "Baby, please."
He answers you with a low hum and a not-so-gentle suck, his fingers digging into the flesh a little harder as he opens his mouth for more, and you don't even realise one of your hands has a firm grip on his hair, forcing him to lay his claim upon you. He willingly lets you guide his mouth onto the other mound, silently asking for the same treatment as your free hand reaches between your legs to relieve some of the throbbing in your clit. The combined sensation of his mouth on you and your fingers pressing right where it hurts, only leaves you wanting more. You let your hand slip down to your entrance, rubbing over the whole expanse of your cunt to gather some of the slickness.
"Sit back." You tug on his hair a little too impatiently, and he reluctantly pulls away with a shameless slurping sound and one last flick against your abused nipple. His hot puffs of air make you shiver as they hit the chilling wetness he's left behind, but when his fucked-out and unfocused gaze comes into view again, you easily regain control of your actions. Giving into the temptation you've been suppressing, you possessively cup his chin, fingers digging into his cheeks, forcing his already puffy lips into an irresistible pout. The hand between your legs blindly reaches for his cock, and you wonder how he's always so patient, rarely begging for any attention unless it has anything to do with your own pleasure. "You're such a cute little thing, aren't you?"
His innocent eyes become even rounder as he stares up at you, the tiny nod he offers making you swoon. You swear he looks like he's emerged straight out of some filthy manga magazine when his eyes roll back at the firm squeeze you give him just below the swollen head of his cock. The glide is easy with the added lubrication as you start to slowly pump, lathering your essence all over his length.
"I could fucking eat you up." You mumble against his spit-covered mouth. "You'd want that, right?"
"Mhph– please, anything you want." He begs with a cute whine, sounding already completely ruined, the words coming out a little muffled due to the hold you have on his face. The grunt he lets out when you crush your mouth against his, vibrates between your bare chests, making your slicked-up and already sensitive nipples ache for attention. You just wrap an arm around his shoulders to bring him as close as possible while you guide his cock between your legs, knees tightly framing his hips as you languidly lick into his mouth, letting your tongue tangle with his. It's so messy, yet, it doesn't come anywhere close to the dripping mess that's accumulated between your legs.
"Be good." You whisper mid-kiss when you feel the impatient rise of his hips, his cock bumping into your clit, causing your nails to dig into his shoulder. And you can tell he's struggling to keep up with the kissing when you run the tip up and down between your wet folds. You can't help but smile at his shallow breathing and trembling whimpers, his hands noticeably shaking as they trail down your torso and around your back, only stopping when they reach your ass, grabbing onto each cheek like a lifeline.
"I'm always good to you." He almost sounds like he's complaining, like you've unfairly misjudged him, and you coo at him with a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth.
"I know you are." You shuffle your hips until your leaking hole is right above the thick head of his erection, and you gently sink down, just a little, just enough to tease him with a subtle clench before sliding off. "So good, and sweet."
"I'll cum like this if you keep teasing." He exhales in defeat, but yelps in surprise when you let your hips drop again, your pussy swallowing the tip, and you clench involuntarily this time, the intrusion causing a mixture of slight burning and pleasant heat.
"Fuck." You curse as you struggle to stay sane, both arms now wrapping around his shoulders tightly, needing to hold onto him.
"Feels so good." He whispers against your parted lips, sounding more like he's in unbearable pain. "Please, just a little more."
You try your best to give him what he wants, letting him press you down with a desperate hold on your backside until you feel like the stretch getting too much. Your sharp intake of breath is enough indication for him, and he helps you lift up again, the slow glide a little easier this time. You make sure to leave the tip inside each time you raise and drop your hips, slowly building a rhythm that seems to fuel the heat in your belly as well as the prettiest expression of bliss on his face. Roll after roll, you finally manage to sink down fully, walls slightly spasming around the base of his cock when you feel the tip of it tickling a sensitive spot inside you.
"So, so perfect." You murmur, eyes inevitably closing as you try to welcome all the sensations he's putting your body through, yet, the chemicals in your brain somehow decide to mix pleasure along with guilt and sadness, creating a sticky mess you know you'll be dealing with later, when Haechan is not there to make you forget with soothing and sugar-filled words.
"My pretty girl." The little claim of ownership affects you more than the compliment itself, but fully aware that it's forbidden territory, you decide to occupy his mouth with yours before he utters anything that would make leaving harder than it already is. It's so easy to entertain the idea of keeping him, just like he asked earlier, but thankfully, his tongue tastes sweet enough to satiate some of the longing in your chest.
You can't help but moan when he starts meeting your thrusts just like he always does, welcoming whatever tempo you set and going along with it until you need him to take over completely. And having been in this position for longer than anticipated, the burn in your thighs comes a little sooner than usual this time, but Haechan's hand traces up your spine until it settles on the back of your neck, arm draped across your back to keep minimum space between your bodies as he saves you from the effort of bouncing too much. Instead, he holds you in place, and gracefully starts delivering sharper thrusts, the soft skin of his thighs slapping against your ass lightly, only to create a stream of filthy sounds as your arousal keeps smearing between your bottom halves.
"Wish I'd met you first." He slurs between wet kisses, sounding totally pussy-drunk and oh-so-wrecked. But most of all, he sounds desperate, and so devastatingly beautiful, even if his words carry ache and something unrequited. He could've easily wished to not have met you at all. Ever. Yet, it sounds like the thought hasn't even crossed his mind. And that alone makes a part of you shamefully wish the same.
What would life be like if he had met you first? Would he be your boyfriend instead? Would you be treating him better than you're treating the man who's probably waiting for you to get home and let him know you're safe and have had enough water? Would he be wanting you the same if you weren't taken?
"Kiss me back." Haechan pleads with a whine and a hard squeeze on your ass, and you realise you're so lost in thought that your mouth just aimlessly hangs open against his. You can faintly hear your phone buzzing from the passenger seat, and you blatantly ignore it, refusing to taint your last moments with Haechan.
"Harder, please." You beg him with an filthy kiss, not even sure if you're getting his lips or his chin, though he doesn't seem to mind, and harder he fucks you, the slaps of sweaty skin overpowering the obnoxious buzz. You're holding each other so close that your bouncing tits just rub against his skin, adding to the stimulation by keeping your nipples erect and sensitive. You're so surrounded by him, his hands, his soft skin, his shallow breaths, his taste, his sweet scent, and you can't shake the thought that you're going to miss even the smell of his sweat.
You feel yourself getting dizzy from the lack of oxygen, and you reluctantly break the kiss with a gasp, opening your eyes to take in the sight of him doing the same. His messy fringe tickles your forehead, but you don't mind, if anything, you mentally add it to the list of things you're going to miss about him.
His pelvis kisses your clit each time it meets yours with a short grind, making you see stars as your eyes roll back in bliss. "Think I'm gonna cum."
"I know, baby, me too." He rasps, letting his face bury in your neck with a defeated sigh. "Come on, let me feel you one last time."
You try to muffle your mewl of despair and pleasure in his hair, inhaling his signature citrusy scent to distract yourself from the new crack that forms in your heart. It's suffocating. All of it. And you love it and hate it at the same time. So much that the tears you've been holding back all night finally spill over your cheeks and thankfully land where your face is tucked in his hair.
"Oh my g– fuck, I can't–" You whimper incoherently, jaw slackening with a quiet shriek as you mindlessly claw at the back of his neck and shoulders.
"Ah shit! You're so fucking tight right now." His cock is now roughly driving into your sopping hole, dragging just perfectly against your slick walls that tighten by the second, practically sucking him deep inside you, where you wish you could keep him forever. It's his shamelessly feral grunt that manages to completely loosen the tension in your tummy, forcing the tingles to spread all over your body and turning them into spasms. Your cunt rhythmically pulses around his base, kneading him so hard you fear you might push him out, and you pray he stays buried deep inside until he's filled you to the brim.
"Make me yours then, if that's really what you want," You whisper in his ear, harshly pulling at his hair to force him to look at you. "Go on, give it to me."
"Oh fuck." His hooded eyes widen just a fraction before they roll back in ecstasy accompanied by the adorable scrunch of his nose and a raspy moan that fans over your hot skin. "Sh–shit… I'm– fuck, I'm cumming."
You watch the beautiful sight for a few seconds, having the inexplicable need to memorise what he looks like in such an intimate and precious moment. Just as a reminder of what could have been. Just you and your favourite sweet boy, and all the beautiful moments that came off the breaking of a promise you made on a random night that changed everything.
His hold on the back of your neck tightens almost painfully as he delivers a few more uncoordinated, harsh thrusts, blunt nails digging into your skin as you purposely increase the tensing of your walls around him. The second you notice he starts shaking, you decide to crash your mouth onto his with a loose hand on his throat, and you feel the first hot spurts of his release inside you as you slowly grind your hips, coaxing more of his cum to paint your walls for the first and last time ever.
The soul-crashing hold he's got on your body bears a feeling of safety and fear at the same time, making your insides feel mushy and your brain rotten. And the way his mouth moves with yours brings you back to the first time he dared to cross a line that can't ever be uncrossed. The first time he kissed you all those months ago. It wasn't unexpected, you just didn't think he had it in him to engage in something so morally wrong, especially when your clueless man was inside enjoying the party with all his friends.
"Oh fuck, I'm sorry." Haechan had muttered under his palm the second he pulled away, like you'd burnt his skin.
Even through all the thoughts rushing in the mess of your brain in that moment, it was easy to realise that it was your eagerness to kiss him back that mainly startled him, not your initial reluctance.
And you could've at least pretended to be offended or taken aback. Though, it wouldn't have felt as good as his mouth felt on yours when you grabbed him by his shirt and and resumed the kiss he so sensibly tried to put an end to. And it certainly wouldn't have felt as good as all those secret meet-ups after work, or as good as having him over on nights you weren't staying at your boyfriend's.
There's no denying that you could've avoided this. Could've told him it's wrong. Could've spared the both of you from this heartache and same mistakes you've repeatedly and knowingly made over and over again. He was the first one to act on his impulses, but your response is what turned this from a momentary lapse into the beginning of this godforsaken, never ending cycle you can't seem to escape.
And maybe you're not really his, but Haechan seems to have a hold on you that you've always found hard to define or explain. Even in your own head. But then again, maybe it's that lethal sweetness that drew you in. Maybe it's how fragile he's always felt in your hands and the power he's so willingly handed you to break him. But it's not until now that the big realisation of Haechan's power hits you. Because as much as he's always let you have the upper hand in your little situation, as much as he's let you push him around and do as you please with him, he's also let you become undeniably addicted to him.
Because he's sweet like honey, but just like the situation you've found yourself in, honey is incredibly sticky, and as much as you hate to admit it, you're way past trying to save yourself from drowning in all that stickiness you yourself created.
You started sinking long ago.
Now you're just at the bottom of the jar, beyond resurfacing and way beyond saving from the sweet boy whose soul you've completely and so greedily devoured.
cookie's note: hi there! miss me? i hope you're okay after this bc i'm certainly not :) i am aware that i owe you guys pt2 of jaem's fic but i'm struggling with the ending so i thought i'd give you this little prezzie for now as a thank you for always being so patient with me! this was heavily inspired by aespa's new song ‘lollipop’ (did you know ningselle are my mommies), ‘jawbreaker’ by 5sos (a masterpiece) and ofc ‘honeybee’ by olivia (queen) rodrigo, so if you caught some lyric references in there you probs have impeccable taste in music and i applaud you. i am heavily in my hyuck feels rn and i wanna eat him so pls allow this!! anyway, homewrecker haechan?!! pls don't hate me!! ILY and can't wait to know your thoughts!!! 🌼🐝🍯
ps. i do NOT condone this kind of behaviour nor do i romanticise it!!! but unfortunately there are people out there who do behave like this so i guess this is what i'm portraying here. if you have cheated/are cheating on a partner i hope you get acute diarrhoea :) and if you're in haechan's shoes GET TF OUT YOU DESERVE BETTER!! ❤️🩹
📖 check out my other works here.
🤑 my kofi in case you liked this so much you wanna love me in dolla.
❯ summary: Learning that your husband has a colourful and exploitative past with women is hard enough—never mind learning that he used to like things rough and wild. Especially when he’s not like that with you. Maybe you’ll have to do something to bring that side of him out. Maybe the answer is waiting in the little black dress hiding in the back of your wardrobe.
❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader
❯ genre: established relationship, ceo!au
❯ words: 7.4k
❯ tags: 18+ minors dni, unprotected sex (don’t do this), creampie, fingering, insecurity, public sex, name calling, jealousy and possessiveness, retroactive jealousy, DEGRADATION, praise, rough sex, exhibitionism, reader uses she/her pronouns, tiniest but of world building, just y/n wanting to be hyuck’s slut idk.
The marble bathroom was blissfully quiet compared to the ballroom outside.
The moment you'd slipped through the heavy door, the muffled swell of the string quartet had dulled into a distant hum, replaced by the steady drip of a faucet and the soft buzz of designer heels against polished tile.
You'd only come in to fix your lipstick. Instead, you found yourself frozen inside one of the stalls, fingers wrapped around the edge of your clutch as unfamiliar voices drifted through the bathroom.
"...Hyuck's wife is just so sweet, isn't she, girls?"
The woman speaking had one of those sugary voices that sounded pleasant enough on the surface but left a bitter taste behind. Every syllable might have been dipped in honey, but every word was sharpened underneath. You frowned before you could stop yourself.
"She is," another agreed with a quiet hum. "Did you see her skirt? Adorable."
Automatically, your eyes dropped. The navy pleated material fanned neatly around your knees, exactly where it was supposed to, and you’d paired it with a silk blouse tucked in at the waist, its high neckline finished with a delicate bow. Elegant. Pretty.
Hyuck had stopped you in the bedroom before you'd left the penthouse to remind you of that, his hands settling on your waist as he'd looked you over with that slow smile that always made your stomach flutter.
You did look adorable.He'd kissed your forehead after he'd said it, too.
And sure, adorable should've felt like a compliment. Coming from him, adorable always sounded like beautiful. Coming from them...it suddenly felt very, very embarrassingly small.
"Oh, and that little neckline." The first woman gave a dramatic sigh. "So conservative. She's such a sweetheart."
A chorus of amused titters followed, and warmth crawled up your neck. An hour ago, these same women had smiled across champagne glasses whilst complimenting your outfit and asked how married life was treating you as you stood on your husband’s arm. Now, hidden behind closed doors, those same smiles had teeth.
You stayed perfectly still, barely daring to breathe.
"Honestly," the first woman continued, lowering her voice as though she were about to let everyone in on a secret, "it's just... surprising."
"What is?"
"The Hyuck we knew?" She laughed softly. "Let's just say he never exactly went for or liked his women..." She paused, searching for the right word. "...poised."
More laughter. Another woman snorted.
"Oh, absolutely not. He liked his women loud."
"Bolder."
"More experienced."
"And definitely not the kind who blushes every time he looks at her."
Did you do that? Probably. Definitely.
Feeling your pulse begin to pound against your ribs, your fingers tightened around your clutch until the leather creaked.
You'd only known your husband as patient and protective. Possessively sweet in the quietest of ways—the hand resting against the small of your back, the subtle way he'd always positioned himself between you and a crowd, the look he'd give anyone who lingered a little too long. But you never got it twisted. You knew he lived an entire life before you. One you rarely asked about, but it’s not exactly like he was volunteering much of it anyway.
Outside the stall, another laugh echoed off the marble walls.
"I almost don't recognise him anymore. Back in the day he’d already had his way with one of us before the speeches even began."
"What can we say, Isla, marriage changes a man."
"No," the first woman corrected, amusement dripping from her words now. "She changed him."
Silence settled over you. For the first time that evening, the wedding ring on your finger felt strangely heavy. Despite the warmth of the gala outside, an unfamiliar chill slid down your spine.
"Like, let’s be serious.” She continued laughing. "Can you honestly picture someone like her being gagged with her own panties? Told to keep quiet while she's bent over the sink and pressed against the tile at one of these charity galas? Begging to cum from nothing but that man's fingers?"
A chorus of immediate no's erupted around the sinks.
You were grateful for it, because nothing—and you mean nothing—could stop the horrified sound that lodged itself in your throat from the image that arrived uninvited in your mind.
Hyuck. With another woman. Another several women. These women, apparently, whom he introduced you to, smiled at, never said a fucking word about (pardon your French). Your stomach twisted. God, right now, the mere thought of him existing in the same room as other women period was starting to annoy you.
"My money's on him holding her hand the whole time," another woman chimed in. "'You're so beautiful,'" she cooed in a mockingly gentle voice. "'We're making love, sweetheart. Not fucking.'"
Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth almost twitched.
Wrong.
Ha! Take that!
Sure, Hyuck could be unbearably sweet. He kissed your forehead and talked you through sex the entire time. But he also had a habit of leaving bruises shaped like fingerprints on your hips after a weekend away. He’s the one who discovered just how flexible you could be.
These women didn't know everything.
Right?
"But honestly..." The first woman's voice cut back in, followed by the unmistakable click of a lipstick cap and the soft glide of it across her lips. "It's almost a shame."
The room quieted.
"A man like that was born to fuck." She said it so casually. "It's crazy to think he actually settled down with some preppy little princess in pink who probably thinks letting him take her from behind counts as adventurous."
Another round of laughter echoed around the bathroom. You stared at the stall door in front of you, but you weren’t really seeing it anymore. Because logically, rationally, you knew their words shouldn’t matter. They were gossiping, speculating strangers. Women who knew a version of your husband from years ago. Women who were filling in the blanks of a story they had no right to tell. Women who had no idea what happened behind closed doors.
Or maybe they did, and that was the problem?
Logic didn’t stop the tiny, poisonous seed from taking root. And suddenly, every little thing you loved about him felt like it had another meaning.
Had Hyuck really been that wild before you?
"I don't know." The woman smacked her lips together, the faint click of her lipstick cap echoing through the bathroom. "He just seems... different."
"Different?"
"Soft."
The word settled heavily in the air.
"So?" someone challenged.
"So..." She let out a small laugh. "You don't go from that Hyuck to... whatever this new Hyuck is."
"What, a husband?"
"A domesticated, loyal husband."
Laughter rippled through the bathroom, making your stomach knot, before they continued.
"I'm serious. Remember Vegas?"
"Oh my God," someone breathed.
"Exactly." The woman sounded almost nostalgic. "That man was on a rampage. If he wanted something, or someone, he took it. Hard. Half the women in the city thought they could be the one to tie him down and change him." A pause. "And then this sweet little thing comes along with her cardigans, pleated skirts, pearls..." she continued. "And suddenly he's Prince Charming."
"You don't think men like Hyuck change?"
"I know they don't,” The answer came instantly. "They just get better at hiding who they are. And truthfully?" She added with a quiet laugh. "I wouldn't exactly complain about being the person he hid with."
Your chest tightened.
You were angry.
The audacity of it. The casual way she spoke about your husband like he was still some single man waiting to be claimed. Like your marriage was just a temporary inconvenience standing between her and whatever affair fantasy she had built in her head. But underneath the anger was something worse. Worse enough you couldn’t even confront this...this bitch, because of all the questions circulating through your head.
Did he hide this side from you because he was getting it elsewhere?
No, Hyuck would never cheat on you…so was he settling? You don’t want him to settle, right?
Before you could spiral any further, the bathroom door swung open.
"Or maybe," a calm voice cut through the bathroom, "Hyuck just respects his wife."
Every woman turned to Karina, who stood in the doorway, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised as she looked between the women. Your best friend had mastered the art of looking effortlessly elegant whilst simultaneously making people regret every decision that led them into her line of sight.
"It's weird to speculate about someone else's marriage," she continued, stepping further into the room, "and even weirder to speculate about their sex life, Isla. Especially at a charity gala where everyone knows everyone."
The women exchanged uncomfortable, awkward glances.
"Oh, liven up, Karina, we were only joking."
“Good,” Karina smiled, perfectly polite, but it just never quite reached her eyes. “I'm glad it was only a joke. Because I'd hate to have to tell Hyuck how much interest everyone has taken in his marriage all of a sudden."
One by one, they collected their clutches, checked their reflections, and smoothed down their dresses.
"Have a lovely evening now, ladies," Karina ushered them all out sweetly.
The women filed past her with tight smiles and quieter voices than when they entered. The door clicked shut behind the last one, finally letting silence engulf the room. Karina waited a few seconds before walking toward your stall.
Two gentle knocks. "You can come out now."
You didn't move.
"I know you're in there, Y/N."
You let another beat pass before you decided to unlock the door. Karina's expression softened the moment she saw your face. "Oh, honey."
"I'm fine."
"You've always been a terrible liar." She reached out, gently straightening the sleeve of your blouse more to give her hands something to do than because it needed fixing. "Don't listen to them."
You nodded automatically. "I know."
"They're bored. And they’re jealous. And they’re just trying to turn your marriage, which they know nothing about by the way, into entertainment by getting under your skin because they’re mean."
Another nod.
"They don't know you."
"I know."
"They don't know him."
That’s when your throat tightened, because that was the problem you were currently battling. You were worried they did know him—or rather, a version of him you didn't.
Karina studied your expression before sighing. "Come on. Speaking of your husband, he’s spent the last ten minutes pretending to mingle whilst very obviously looking for you. I swear, he’s like a lost puppy."
That should have made you smile, and normally, it would have. Normally, you would have teased him for being incapable of going a full evening without checking where you were. You had always loved how protective Hyuck was. How he noticed everything. How his hand always found yours in a crowded room. How he looked at you like you were something precious and fragile. But now…?
Now you couldn't stop wondering if maybe that was all he saw. A beautiful thing to protect. A little damsel who couldn't handle the darker parts of his world, his tastes, his desires. And that thought hurt more than you wanted to admit. Because you didn't want to be the woman who tamed Hyuck. You wanted to be the woman he chose and knew all of him. The woman he could be wild with.
Instead, one sentence kept replaying in your head until it drowned out everything else.
The Hyuck we knew.
The seed had already been planted.
And no matter how many times you reminded yourself that they were just bitter women clinging to stories from years ago, you couldn't stop wondering.
Who had Hyuck been before he became yours?
Hyuck had been eleven the first time someone had called him ruthless. He’d liked the sound of it, then, as a child, with only a father to look up to. A man who had a business empire waiting for him to inherit; ruthless had sounded like the highest compliment a person could give him. He’d worn it like a medal.
Even now, more than a decade later, he supposed the characteristic had served him well. He was, after all, the youngest CEO on the Forbes list. If only his father could see him now.
Hyuck liked to think he’d be proud.
His father had always valued strength above everything else. The ability to walk into a room and make everyone else understand exactly who held the power without ever having to say it. Hyuck had learned all of those things and he’d learned them well.
But on the rare occasions when he was exhausted enough to let his guard down—or sick, which he hated being because it meant needing to be cared for—his thoughts inevitably wandered somewhere else.
To his mother.
He wondered what she’d think of him now. Of the ruthless, meticulous son she’d once tucked into bed and kissed goodnight. He liked to imagine she’d be proud. The truth was, he wasn’t sure she would be.
His mother had been the softest person he’d ever known. Not to be mistaken for weak, though. There had been a gentle strength to her that Hyuck hadn’t understood until he was older. Until he was married. She was compassionate in a way that didn’t make sense to him, endlessly patient when he was difficult, generous when she had every reason not to be. She loved people easily and Hyuck had never understood how she did it. He’d certainly never inherited that part of her.
At least, that’s what he’d once told himself. Or rather, that’s what people told him. They saw the ruthless CEO who’d built an empire. His father’s son. But Hyuck knew, somewhere beneath the steel and the ambition, in the deepest part of him, probably in the honey-filled veins he inherited, he was still his mother’s son. A mama’s boy, if anyone was brave enough to say it to his face.
It had been a few years now, but when Hyuck first met you, his wife, that honey feeling he used to feel—the part that made him feel gooey and sweet—returned. Even now, Hyuck still can’t quite understand how you’d managed to get under his skin so completely.
You were sweet. Simply good. Soft around the edges and kind. Narcissistically, that had made him suspicious at first because he wasn’t used to people being kind without wanting something in return. But you’d looked at him like he was a person and not a bank account. And, more confusingly, you’d given him your time.
Hyuck had spent most of his adult life understanding exactly what he wanted from a woman. He wasn’t raised to be disrespectful, but if he was being completely transparent: Hyuck had never met a beautiful woman he didn’t want to fuck. Degrade. Consume. Consensually, of course. But then you came along and made the entire equation useless.
For the first time, he didn’t want to take, or assert his control. He wanted to give. He wanted to know and understand you. Why you laughed when you were nervous? Why you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were embarrassed? Why you, this wonderfully honeyed woman, were giving him the time of day?
Why he wanted you to?
You became a puzzle he had no intention of solving; he preferred having more pieces to discover. Honestly, it was quite amusing how this man, who could reduce a boardroom to silence, became completely useless when his wife looked at him.. He was hopeless for you. That he’d happily admit. An intoxicated, useless lover boy.
And, apparently, so long as it was off the record, that was another way he was his father’s son. The Lee men had always been weak for their women.
Which is precisely why Hyuck is currently in a foul fucking mood.
Tonight is his company’s annual charity gala. One of many, he supposes. Just last week he’d attended Jeno’s, because apparently the charitable season had decided to descend upon the city all at once.
Hyuck didn’t mind giving money away, though. He had more than enough of it, and he’d always believed that having more than you needed came with a certain responsibility. In that way, he was like his mom. Besides, he liked being considered a charitable man. There were worse things to be known for.
But if Hyuck were being completely honest, charity wasn’t the only reason he tolerated these events. He liked that you got all dressed up. Liked the ridiculous amount of money he could spend on dresses he knew you’d eventually let him peel off you. He liked jewellery that sat against your skin and branded you in a way that was only his.
And, more than anything, he liked watching you get ready. That was his favourite part. Standing behind you in front of the full-length mirror he’d insisted on buying, one hand sliding over your stomach as you pretended to be annoyed with him. Nuzzling into your ear, the rumble of his voice telling you that you looked beautiful. Watching your cheeks turn pink. Just knowing he could turn your cheeks pink. Pressing his mouth against your neck when you tried to escape.
For Hyuck, the gala started long before the ballroom. The shower. The dress. The jewellery. The perfume he could still smell on your skin hours later. All of it was foreplay.
Except tonight, he’d missed the entire fucking thing. His own gala, mind you, that his team had spent months organising; he hadn’t even been there for the beginning. For the best part.
Kim Jungwoo from SnoopyTech had talked his ear off during a meeting that should’ve lasted forty minutes but somehow turned into two hours, pushing his entire schedule back until there was no time left to go home. So Hyuck had come straight from the office with no other choice but to send you a quick text.
(He blames that ruthless trait of his.)
Running late. Meet you there, baby.
Your response came almost immediately.
Okay, honey.
Hyuck had stared at the message for several seconds. He couldn’t explain why it bothered him. It shouldn’t have. It’s not like you were angry or demanding an explanation. Hell, you weren’t even complaining. You were being your usual perfect self. And yet, for some reason, that irritated him.
Especially now, standing in the ballroom with a glass of bourbon in his hand and an investor he had absolutely no interest in partnering with talking directly into his ear. Hyuck found himself with nothing better to do than thinking about you again.
Actually, he’d been thinking about you all week. Because something had been off. He could pinpoint the moment it started, too, because he notices everything about you. It seemed to start last week at Jeno’s gala after you’d disappeared into the bathroom.
When you’d come back, you’d seemed different. Not necessarily dramatically, but as he said, Hyuck notices everything about you. Even small things. And he noticed the slight hesitation before every smile you’d shoot out of the rest of the night. The way you started to look at him with a puzzled brow the next day. The way you’d started brushing off his compliments and swatting his hand throughout the week.
That really bothered him.
His love language had never been difficult to understand. Words of affirmation. Or physical touch. He means, he likes touching you. Needs it, almost. A hand on your waist. His fingers threaded through yours beneath tables. A kiss against your temple when you weren’t expecting it. He liked telling you that you were beautiful because you were. And he knew you liked it too.
Usually, his compliments earned him that little giggle he loved. The blush creeping over your cheeks. The hot as fuck squirm you did when you tried to hide your smile and failed miserably. But lately, all you seemed to manage was a quiet, mumbled thank you, accompanied by that little lopsided smile that made his chest hurt for reasons he couldn’t quite identify.
It was ridiculous. You were fucking perfect. So why the fuck were you responding to him telling you that with so much…uncertainty?
When a man—no, scrap that. Hyuck doesn’t like thinking about other men finding you beautiful. If he thought you were breathtaking, you should let it go to your head. You should walk around like the queen you were, completely certain of your place beside him. But you weren’t.
It was starting to make him feel like a wounded puppy because, by not believing you were beautiful, it meant that you didn’t believe him. He could understand insecurity. Everyone had it. What he couldn’t understand was why you suddenly seemed to think his opinion of you wasn’t enough.
Which is why he was dead set on doing his usual foreplay with you tonight. He’d wanted to pick you up from the penthouse himself and watch you get ready. Wanted to kiss your shoulder as you put on your earrings. Wanted to whisper in your ear how beautiful you looked until you got shy and told him to stop.
Instead, he’d spent the evening in meetings being the ‘Ruthless CEO’ everyone called him. And for once, he was beginning to hate it.
His jaw tightened. The investor was still talking. Why was he still talking? Hyuck had no idea what he was saying; all he could think was that he’d missed the one thing he’d actually wanted.
Sure, his business life was great, but what about his personal life? You were pulling away from him, and Hyuck had absolutely no fucking idea why.
Perhaps it has something to do with the little black number you’re wearing tonight. Hyuck feels something swell in his throat. A lump. Thick and unpleasant and impossible to swallow down. He can’t decide whether it’s because you look fucking smoking or because every other bastard in the ballroom seems to have noticed it too.
At the top of the stairs, you’re tucked against Johnny’s arm, one hand resting lightly on his sleeve as he guides you down the final few steps. Hyuck has to force himself to swallow whatever the hell is currently lodged in his throat, because he’s fucking furious.
That should be him up there.
The ugly, possessive part of him wants to fire Johnny on the spot. He knows better—knows his driver is loyal, careful and good to his people—but none of that ebbs the raw scrape of jealousy under his skin. He knows exactly how pissed you’d be if he did something that stupid and irrational. Still doesn’t stop the thought from flashing through his head like a lit match.
His hand should be the one settled at your waist. Your body should be leaning into his. He should be the one helping you descend those stairs while trying—and failing—not to picture what you’ll look like later, that dress discarded somewhere on his bedroom floor. Instead he’s standing several feet away, watching another man escort his wife into the ballroom. And judging by the number of eyes following you, he’s not the only one having a hard time looking away.
If Hyuck was angry before, he needs a new fucking word for what he’s feeling now. Because this—this is the other side of the coin. The part he loves almost as much as he hates it. Everyone in this room getting a good, long look at exactly why he fell so hard. He’s always known he was punching above his weight with you. Always. And the sick, possessive bastard in him likes to relish the moment everyone else realises it too.
When you finally reach the bottom of the stairs and let your eyes find his, Hyuck feels something loosen in his chest. That little smile that softens your entire face when you see him eases the tension in his shoulders just a bit. But then…
Then you don’t walk toward him, and everything feels tight again. You turn to Johnny with a smile, thanking him as your fingers linger around his arm for just a second longer than necessary before you let go.
It’s innocent. Entirely innocent. Hyuck knows that. It still makes something unpleasant twist in his belly. His gaze drops to Johnny’s hand, then returns to you, and there’s something about the expression on his face that makes your pulse pick up. You’d know that look anywhere. It’s the one he gets when he’s trying very hard to behave like a reasonable man.
Something he isn’t known for being.
Normally, you’d probably go to him and let him slip an arm around your waist and pull you against his side. Tonight, though, you’re tired of being predictable.
It’s the conversation you overheard in the bathroom that’s been sitting in the back of your mind for the better part of the last week. It’s been poisoning things you hadn’t even known were capable of being poisoned. It’s the entire reason you found your sluttiest—but still classy, it’s a gala after all—dress.
The Hyuck we knew.
You still don’t know what that means. And you hate that you want to. So when you catch Hyuck watching you, you don’t look away, you hold his gaze and let your smile linger.
Smoothing your palm over your dress, more out of nerves than anything else, you glance around the ballroom as though you haven’t noticed the attention you’ve been getting. You can feel eyes on you from every direction, but none of them especially matter.
Only his do.
Hyuck doesn’t wait for you to come to him. He’s not exactly known for being a patient man, either. He cuts through the crowd like it isn’t even there, glass abandoned on the nearest tray, every step thundering and harsh. People try to stop him on his tirade—investors, board members, someone from the charity committee with a too-bright smile—but he doesn’t slow down or even look at them. His eyes stay locked on you the entire way, dark and focused in a way that makes the air between you feel thinner.
When he reaches you, he doesn’t touch you right away. He just stands there, close enough that you can smell the bourbon on his breath and the faint trace of his cologne, close enough that the heat of him seeps through the thin fabric of your dress.
“Hi,” you say, soft.
His eyes drop, slow and thorough, tracing the neckline of the dress, the way it dips just low enough to make him swear under his breath at the plush flesh of your breasts. Then lower, over the curve of your waist, the short hem that shows the velvety inner skin of your thighs when you shift your weight. By the time his eyes come back up to yours, something dangerous has settled in them.
“Baby.” His voice is low and rough around the edges. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
You tip your chin up, refusing to look away. “A dress.”
“That’s not a dress.” He steps closer, one hand finally settling at your waist, fingers spreading wide like he’s claiming the space. “It’s a piece of fabric, Y/N. Something only I should see you in.”
The warmth of his palm seeps through the material, and you feel the way his thumb presses lightly against your side, testing. The same way he always does when he’s trying to decide how much control he’s willing to keep in public.
“You don’t like it?” You ask, even though the answer is already written all over his face.
Hyuck’s jaw flexes. “I like it too fucking much. That’s the problem.” His other hand comes up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, lingering just long enough for his knuckles to graze your cheek. “Every man in this room is looking at you like they want to take you home. And I don’t like it..”
You let the silence stretch between you for a beat, pulse thudding hard under your skin. Then you tip your head just enough that his fingers slide along the edge of your jaw.
“Maybe I wanted them to look,” you say quietly.
His eyes flash with Something dark and possessive rolls through them so fast it almost makes you dizzy. “Say that again,” he grits out.
You don’t really know why you’ve decided to pick this fight right now—when you haven’t even had a single glass of bourbon yourself for courage. Maybe it’s the black eyeshadow you’d lined your eyes with. Maybe it’s the diamonds glittering at your throat and ears. Whatever it is, it had made you feel like a badass when you walked down those stairs.
Now, with Hyuck in front of you, nostrils flaring, crowding into your space before you could even say hello to Karina, you feel small. Still, you don’t back down. You mean, that’s the entire point of this. You aren’t pliant. You can’t be. Not after a week of those women’s voices living rent-free in your head. Not after deciding that if they thought you were too soft, too sweet, too adorable, you’d show up looking like the opposite.
Smoky eyes. Darker lipstick. A dress that stops mid-thigh and clings like it was painted on. You wanted to look like someone who could take whatever the old Hyuck used to give. Rough. Ready. Naughty enough to be bent over a sink without needing to be talked through it first.
You hold his stare. “Maybe I wanted to look like the kind of girl you used to—”
“Don’t.” The word is harsh, almost a warning. His hand tightens on your waist, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who you’re talking to. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
But you do. Because the seed they planted is still rotting somewhere under your ribs, and tonight you need to know.
“Like the kind of girl you used to fuck in bathrooms at these things? And don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you have no idea of what I’m talking about.”
For a second, Hyuck goes completely still, only dragging a hand across his jaw as if to keep himself in check. But then he moves towards you, and guides you backwards with that same firm hand at your waist until your shoulder blades meet the wall of the nearest alcove, half-hidden by a tall arrangement of white orchids.
The string quartet is still playing. People are still laughing and clinking glasses less than twenty feet away. His body cages yours, one forearm braced beside your head, the other still locked at your waist like he can’t stand the thought of space between you.
“That’s what this past week has been about?” His voice is tight, almost pained. “That’s why you’ve been so quiet? So distant? Because you think…” He searches your face, eyes dark. “You think I look at you in this dress and wish you were someone else?”
You swallow. “I think you used to like women who didn’t blush when you touched them. And there’s more than a few who can attest to just how true that is.”
He lets out a short, humourless breath. “You’re jealous.”
It isn’t a question, only a statement. One you can’t entirely deny. You are jealous. Who wouldn’t be, when their husband has a past that colourful and refuses to colour any of it in for you?
Hyuck leans in until his mouth is right next to your ear, breath warm against your skin. “I don’t know who put that idea in your head, baby, but you’re out of your fucking mind if you think I don’t want you.” His voice drops. “I like that you blush. I like that you get shy when I tell you you’re beautiful. I like that you still look at me like I hung the moon even though half the people in this room think I’m an asshole.” His hand slides lower, fingertips brushing the bare skin just beneath the hem of your dress. “And I love that every filthy thing I do to you still makes your breath hitch.” His fingers skim higher. “Just.” Higher. “Like.” Higher. “That.”
Your breath does exactly what he said it would; your knees go a little weak. He feels it—of course he does—and his grip tightens, holding you up against the wall like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“But this?” He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes nearly black now. “Walking in here looking like every wet dream I’ve ever had, letting other men stare at what’s mine because some bitter women convinced you I miss the past?” He shakes his head once, slow. “That’s not fucking happening.”
You open your mouth, but he cuts you off with a soft, almost gentle press of his thumb against your lip.
“But if you want to dress like this,” he murmurs, sounding hungry, “if you want to prance around here looking like a little slut…” His thumb drags slowly across your bottom lip. “I’ll treat you like one. But you’ll be only my slut. Got it?”
The words land low in your stomach, hot and heavy. Hyuck has never, not once, spoken to you like this before. You should be offended. Instead your thighs press together of their own accord, your pupils blowing wide, mouth parting at the mere idea of being degraded like that.
Hyuck notices it too, his eyes flaring. “You like that, huh?” He leans in again, nose brushing yours, lips hovering just shy of a kiss. “You like the idea of being my own personal little fucktoy?” His hand slips fully under the hem of your dress now, palm warm against the bare skin of your thigh, fingers spreading possessively.
“Hyuck—we’re in public—”
“Nu-uh.” He bites your lower lip, hard enough to sting. “You wanted the version of me those women remember, right?” He asks against your mouth. “Then stop acting so fucking shy when I touch you and ask for it properly.”
Your heart is hammering so hard you’re sure he can feel it. A hot flush of embarrassment crawls up your neck, because not only has he never spoken to you like this, you’ve never ventured anything close to it outside the bedroom. Well—maybe the bathroom, or the kitchen, but that was still the safety of your own home. Still, you haven’t come this far just to turn around now.
Tipping your chin up the last fraction of an inch, lips almost brushing his, you give him exactly what he’s asking for.
“Please, Hyuck.”
A low sound rumbles in his chest—half groan, half curse—and then his mouth is on yours, hot and claiming and a little mean, all teeth and tongue. His hand under your dress slides to the highest point, rough palm dragging over the skin of your inner thigh until his fingers find the lace of your underwear.
He doesn’t bother easing them aside; he just yanks the fabric and pushes two fingers straight into you. The stretch is sudden, filthy, perfect, and you have no choice but to gasp against his mouth. Instinctively, your walls clench around him, and he groans like it physically hurts him.
“Fuck—already this wet?” He curls his fingers, dragging them against that spot that makes your knees buckle. “You asked for this, so fucking take it.”
He doesn’t give you time to adjust. His fingers thrust deep, the wet sound of it obscene in the quiet alcove. Your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging in as he fucks you open with his hand right here, twenty feet from a room full of people who think you’re the soft, sweet wife on his arm.
“Hyuck—”
“Shut the fuck up.” His free hand clamps over your mouth to muffle every broken sound trying to escape. His eyes are black, locked on yours, his voice vicious against your ear. “Draw attention to yourself, Y/N, and I will make anyone that sees you like this live a living hell. That’s what’s fucking different about being a slut and being my slut. It’s for me, baby. Only I get to degrade you like this. Don’t let anyone else hear my pretty little sounds.”
Nodding frantically, you obey with tears already pricking the corners of your eyes from the effort of staying quiet. Something inside you thrills at how rough he’s being—how little he’s holding back. Another part of you wants to demand why he never did this sooner, why he kept this version of himself locked away. But maybe you needed the jealousy. Maybe you needed those women’s voices in your head to push you into asking for it, because without that push it might have scared you.
Right now none of that matters. Right now all you want is to be good for him. Obedient. Submissive. He rewards you by adding a third finger, stretching you wider, the burn making your hips jerk.
“Look at you,” he mutters, almost in awe. “Taking it so fucking well. All dressed up like a whore for me, dripping down my hand in the middle of my own gala.” His thumb finds your clit and rubs tight, mean circles. “This what you wanted? To feel like one of those girls I used to bend over sinks and fuck until they couldn’t walk straight? To be my whore?”
You can’t answer. His hand is still over your mouth. All you can do is moan into his palm and nod again, hips rolling down to meet every thrust of his fingers.
“Answer me properly.” He eases his hand just enough for you to speak, but keeps it hovering right there, ready to silence you again.
“Y-yes,” you choke out. “Wanted—wanted to be that for you—”
“You already are.” He shoves his fingers deeper, curling hard enough that your vision sparks. “You’re my pretty little fucktoy. Mine to use. Mine to ruin.”
His fingers work faster, the wet, filthy sounds of how soaked you are loud even under the distant music. Your thighs are trembling. Your dress is shoved up around your hips. Anyone who walked past the orchids right now would see exactly how their golden couple can become so easily marred with just a little bit of possessive goading.
Hyuck leans in, teeth scraping your jaw, voice pure gravel.
“Cum on my fingers like a good little slut. And if you make a single fucking sound louder than a breath, I’ll pull my fingers out of this hole and leave you here all frustrated, Y/N. I don’t need the entire party to hear how well my wife takes cock.”
Your orgasm hits like a slap—your walls clamping down around his fingers as you shake apart against the wall. You bite down on the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste copper, every broken moan trapped in your throat while he keeps working you through it, relentlessly, whispering filth against your ear the whole time.
“That’s it. Soak my hand. Show me how badly you needed this. My perfect, filthy girl.”
When you finally go limp, he pulls his fingers free with a wet sound that makes your face burn. He doesn’t wipe them off, but brings them to your mouth instead.
“Clean them.”
You open without being told twice, tasting yourself on his skin while he watches you with a dark, obsessed look. Outside the alcove, the string quartet keeps playing, but Hyuck is already reaching for his belt.
A rush of panic surges through you the second you hear the soft clink. It was one thing to cum on his fingers so publicly—already more than you’ve ever done outside your own walls—but fucking? Here? At a charity gala with half the city’s elite less than twenty feet away?
“Hyuck—wait—”
He snarls, low and sharp, and the sound alone makes your stomach drop.
“Don’t be so selfish, baby.” His hand is already free of the belt, shoving his pants open just enough. “You’re so used to me giving. Even now you think you can just cum on my fingers and walk away like a good little wife.” He leans in, voice pure gravel. “Maybe before, when you were pretending to be so sweet and respectable. But if you wanna act like a slut, I’m gonna take.”
His free hand presses into your hip.
“Turn the fuck around and press your hands against that wall. Now.”
Heart slamming, you do it. Spinning around so fast your palms slap against the cool wall. Instantly, your dress is rucked up around your hips and underwear shoved to the side. Your thighs are still slick from how hard you just came, and you can feel the heat of Hyuck at your back, the bare blunt head of his cock dragging through the mess he already made of you.
“Don’t fucking worry about who’ll be around that corner,” he mutters, lining himself up. “That’s my problem. Yours is staying quiet while I use this pretty cunt the way it’s asking for.”
He sinks in with one brutal thrust—that stretch. You don’t think you’ll ever be used to it. The sheer length punches the air out of your lungs. It doesn’t help that you’re still sensitive, still fluttering from the orgasm he just dragged out of you, and the sudden fullness makes your arms shake against the wall. Hyuck doesn’t give you a second to adjust. He pulls almost all the way out and drives back in hard enough that the soft slap of skin echoes under the distant music.
“Fuck—look at you.” One hand fists in your hair, tugging your head back just enough that his mouth can find your ear. “Taking cock in a hallway like you were made for it. My perfect little exhibitionist slut. Who knew, huh?”
He sets a ruthless pace, hips snapping forward, every thrust deep and punishing. The risk of someone turning the corner is real and constant—voices, footsteps, the occasional burst of laughter—but he doesn’t slow down. If anything, the danger makes him harder, rougher, the hand not in your hair gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.
“You wanted this version of me,” he grits out between thrusts. “Here he is. The one who takes what he wants. The one who doesn’t give a fuck about being quiet or careful or respectable.” He slams in particularly deep, and you choke on a moan. “Except I do give a fuck. Because this—” another hard thrust “—is mine. Only mine.”
“Yes, Hyuck,” you nod, forehead dropping against the wall.
Tears of overwhelm prick your eyes. It feels too good, too much, the stretch and the risk and the filthy, degrading praise all tangled together until you’re shaking again.
Hyuck feels it.
“Already close again?” He sounds almost proud. Almost unhinged. “Greedy fucking thing. Cum on my cock then.”
Biting down on your own forearm to keep the broken noises locked in your throat as he fucks you harder, your eyes flutter. The way you shatter and clench around him, the desperate little tremors running through your thighs, rips the last thread of his control clean in half.
“Fuck—baby—” His voice fractures. The hand in your hair tightens, yanking your head back so he can bury his face against the side of your neck, marking. His hips lose rhythm, turning brutal and messy, chasing his own release like a man possessed. “Gonna fill this greedy cunt. Gonna pump you so full it’ll be dripping down your thighs when I walk you back into that ballroom, and you’re gonna love it, aren’t you? Like a naughty fucking girl.”
He slams in once, twice, three times—each thrust deeper than the last—then buries himself to the hilt with a low, broken groan that vibrates against your skin. You feel every pulse of him as he cums, hot and thick, flooding you so completely it borders on too much. His free hand clamps hard over your mouth again, muffling the soft, helpless sound that escapes you at the sensation. He keeps grinding through it, like he’s trying to force every drop deeper.
“Take it,” he pants against your ear, still twitching inside you. “Every fucking drop. That’s what you get for looking like this. For making me so goddamn crazy with jealousy I have to fuck my wife in a hallway like some desperate animal.”
His hips finally still, chest heaving against your back. For a long moment the only sounds are the distant string quartet and the two of you trying to remember how to breathe. Then Hyuck presses a slow kiss to the side of your neck—soft, completely at odds with the way he just used you.
You see his lips twitch, almost as if to say something, but then a voice booms over a microphone.
“And now a word from the city’s top donor: Mr Lee Donghyuck.”
[꩜] . sobre o plot: é o mesmo plot da fic do johnny, (fruto proíbido) o haechan tem namorada e a pp namora o johnny, só que eles fizeram um acordo de troca de casais.
[꩜] . conteúdo: haechan × f!reader, sugestivo, ~0.9k e acho que é só!
[꩜] . notinha da gabz, sua escritora preferida do mundo todinho: achei uma coincidência e tanto o plot dessa ter a ver com loja de vinis e o nct ter postado essas fotos no insta KKKKKKK eu juro que eu literalmente só vi elas agorinha. enfim, vocês gostaram da fic do johnny, ai eu escrevi essa pra completar, espero que vocês gostem! 🩷
Foi você quem escolheu a loja de vinis como ponto para o primeiro encontro com Haechan. Você o cumprimentou com um beijo inocente na bochecha, mas ele segurou sua cintura por mais tempo do que um cara que não era seu namorado deveria segurar.
Estavam brincando com uma espécie de jogo perigoso, feito de olhares trocados entre as prateleiras e toques “acidentais”. Haechan já tinha resvalado os dedos pela barra do seu vestido curtinho e chegado a ficar atrás de você, pressionando o peito contra suas costas enquanto você lhe mostrava um vinil da Cyndi Lauper. Mas, na verdade, seu corpo estava muito mais interessado em senti-lo em cada terminação nervosa.
Sentia-se culpada por querer outra pessoa.
Johnny era seu namorado brilhante, claro e quente como o sol, enquanto Haechan fugia de todos os seus requisitos para um homem. Você sempre preferira os raios solares, mas ele era completamente o oposto: a lua e as estrelas reunidas em uma só pessoa.
Haechan exalava mistério e um perfume delicioso que começava a deixá-la zonza. Ele sabia disso. Não poderia sorrir daquela maneira tão convencida se não soubesse.
Você se virou para ele, fazendo com que seus olhares se alinhassem. Haechan a pressionou contra a coleção de vinis antigos.
— O que você acha que eles estão fazendo? — você questionou.
Haechan sorriu, os dedos passando devagar pelos seus braços e arrepiando sua pele no processo. Você não seria capaz de afastá-lo nem se quisesse. A presença dele era magnética.
— Transando?
— O Johnny não...
— O Johnny não transa? — questionou, brincalhão.
Você discordou. Definitivamente, Johnny fazia sexo, e você estava tendo alguma dificuldade para se lembrar de que ele fazia isso com você. Você, que naquele momento desejava Haechan diante de si, inalando o odor daquele perfume estupidamente perfeito.
— E a sua namorada? Vocês transam?
Haechan assentiu. Inclinou-se para deixar um beijinho demorado no cantinho da sua boca e permaneceu ali por alguns segundos, as mãos pousadas em seu quadril. Você abriu os lábios, mas a frase ficou implícita no ar.
Porra.
Você não conseguia nem organizar os pensamentos para se dirigir a ele.
— Sabe o que eu sempre gostei em você?
— O quê?
— Você parece ser inacessível, mas, no fundo, é uma manhosa.
Ele beijou o outro cantinho da sua boca. Você sequer havia percebido, mas, em algum momento, seus dedos tinham agarrado a jaqueta de couro dele, impedindo-o de se afastar, mesmo que apenas alguns centímetros.
Sentia o cérebro liquefeito. Seus olhos acompanhavam atentamente cada mínimo movimento, até o mais delicado bater de seus cílios. Começaria a lacrimejar se não piscasse em breve, mas não queria perder absolutamente nada.
— Eu fico imaginando... — Haechan juntou os dedos aos seus, e o calor de sua pele dourada pareceu se espalhar por você.
Com Johnny, as coisas não funcionavam daquele jeito. Ele sempre fora cuidadoso. Gostava de comandar, e você também gostava de fazê-lo. Mas, com Haechan e aquele rostinho passivo de filho da puta, você se tornava uma gatinha indefesa.
Haechan fazia você esperar como uma espécie de tortura. Afastava-se quando você tentava beijá-lo porque queria tanto aquilo que estava quase chorando feito uma criança birrenta.
— Fico imaginando alguns cenários.
Você murmurou um palavrão. Dessa vez, Haechan permitiu que você o beijasse. As mãos dele foram direto para suas bochechas, os polegares acariciando sua pele enquanto o beijo se aprofundava em uma volúpia graciosa. Os corpos se aproximaram por instinto, buscando contato, e Haechan deixou escapar um gemido contra seus lábios antes de sorrir, abrindo os olhos sem pressa.
— Foi bem burra da sua parte escolher um lugar público para o encontro — comentou.
E, infelizmente, você estava de acordo.
Assentiu com a cabeça, parcialmente ofegante.
— Eu não achei que você me deixaria com tanta vontade.
Haechan riu, olhando para você como se fosse de outro mundo.
E, para ele, você era mesmo.
Um anjo no qual ele tinha a chance de tocar.
— Não me subestima assim.
— Senão você vai fazer o quê?
Ele adorava desafios.
Você adorava propô-los.
— Deixa eu te levar para a minha casa e eu te mostro.
[જ⁀➴ ♡] contém: haechan × f!reader, namoradinhos, slice of life, sugestivo, 0.6k palavrinhas e acho que é só isso!!
[જ⁀➴ ♡] notinha da gabz, sua best preferida: eu precisava MESMO escrever uma coisinha com meu homem lindo!! espero que vocês gostem!! 💚
— Eu sei, eu falei com ele ontem e… — Haechan te olhou por cima do celular. Ele estava jogando, pra variar, te esperando sair do banho para se juntar a ele na cama espaçosa. Você se sentou de frente para as pernas esticadas dele, um creminho corporal em mãos. — Faz massagem, môr!
— Será que você tá merecendo, ursinho? — você questionou de propósito, com as sobrancelhas arqueadas.
Haechan esboçou um biquinho, concordando com um balançar de cabeça. Você sorriu, colocando uma quantidade de hidratante nas mãos antes de tocá-lo nos pés.
Haechan costumava ser tão manhosinho que gemeu só com o mínimo dos toques.
— Caralho, amo suas mãos — disse, te olhando nos olhos.
Na verdade, nem era para ele estar na sua casa numa quarta-feira à noite. Vocês tinham que acordar cedo no dia seguinte e sempre acabavam ficando acordados até tarde quando estavam juntos, fosse porque Haechan tinha encontrado um joguinho multiplayer novo, ideal para casais, porque você queria finalizar aquela série com ele ou simplesmente porque queriam namorar.
Naquela noite, a terceira opção era a mais válida, considerando que Haechan havia colocado na Alexa aquela playlist intitulada por ele mesmo de “pra fazer amor”, e sua respiração falhava toda vez que suas mãos subiam dos pés para as pernas, espalhando o creme inocentemente.
Mas ele te conhecia melhor do que ninguém para saber que não existia nada de inocente na forma como você se comportava. No modo como tinha demorado no chuveiro, como ficou pelo menos uns dez minutos procurando aquela babydoll que você tinha certeza de que seu namorado adorava — embora, em algum momento, Haechan inevitavelmente fosse tirá-la, é claro.
Você se curvou na direção de Haechan, alcançando as coxas bronzeadas dele. Apertou-o com as palmas das mãos bem abertas, e Haechan deu um sorrisinho, segurando seu queixo para beijar sua boca devagarinho.
— Amo suas coxas.
— E o que tá entre elas? — Haechan questionou em um sussurro, os olhos parcialmente fechados, o rosto próximo ao seu graças ao beijo.
Você amava aquele rostinho. As pintinhas o tornavam ainda mais charmoso. Para você, Haechan parecia ter saído de alguma exposição de arte. Agora ele era seu; você podia assiná-lo, pintá-lo da forma que bem entendesse. E não dizia isso por si mesma: Haechan te concedia essa permissão toda vez que te olhava.
— Não sei, não…
Haechan te colocou no colo dele, afastou uma mecha do seu cabelo para o lado e te encarou. Adorava aqueles momentos, na intimidade do seu quarto, quando não deviam ser nada além de duas pessoas apaixonadas. Haechan procurava aquela sua pintinha ínfima na pálpebra inferior, enquanto você examinava aquele rosto de tirar o fôlego pela milionésima vez.
Aquele safado era o cara mais bonito sobre o qual seus olhos já tinham tido a oportunidade de recair.
— Quer que eu coloque na sua boca pra você relembrar?
— Haechan! — você riu, desferindo um tapinha fraco no peitoral dele.
Haechan mordeu sua bochecha — vantagem de ser bochechuda — só para te provocar, as mãos acariciando suas costas de um jeitinho gostoso, atencioso como ele sempre era contigo.
— Você é muito fofo pra falar tanta putaria.
— Só com você, môr.
Ele depositou um beijinho no seu ombro, afastando a alcinha do pijama para ter maior alcance da sua pele deliciosa. Você buscou pela boca dele de novo, movendo o quadril na direção dele para senti-lo melhor.
Haechan sorriu, um sorriso libidinoso, enquanto se esticava com você ainda no colo para apagar a luz pelo interruptor perto da cama.
— Valeu pela massagem. Mas agora quero suas mãos em lugares mais interessantes, môr…
Haechan pendeu a cabeça para trás. Não precisou te guiar; você sabia exatamente o que ele queria.
NCT DREAM REACTS TO THIRST TWEETS!
“I would drink a warm sour milk if it came with Chenle's seeds”
Word Count -> 2k
Warning -> sexual comments (ofc!). This isfictional (manifesting it to reality lol).
Author’s Notes:- got so tired of sm not sending dreamies to read thirst tweets so I had to take matters into my own hands. Btw not all the thirst tweets are mine, thank you to @neoyet and @withlovemark for sharing ur thirst tweets <333333!
Anyways, I had so much fun writing their reactions so I hope u guys enjoy reading it as well!!
"To the World, we are Nct Dream," the Nct Dream members greeted the audience with a vibrant energy. "Today we will be reading thirst tweets!"
"Woah!"
"Oh yay!
"Sexy!"
"How do you guys feel about reading thirst tweets from fans?" Haechan asked his members.
"Excited! Looking forward to what kind of things our Czennies have to say!" Jaemin cheered enthusiastically.
"Haechan, why don't you start us off?" The Producer suggested and handed a stack of cards to each member.
"Alright," Haechan flipped the first card and read the tweet out loud:
haechan pls record love beyond ooh aah ooh ahh acapella version.
Haechan stared right ahead and smiled proudly. "Of course! Anything for the fans! Love Beyond Acapella version coming soon!"
It was Jeno's turn to read the thirst tweet so he flipped his card and read:
jeno can i slide down ur nose bridge?
"Ah! This person is talking about my verse in Both Sides," Jeno flashed his signature apologetic eye smile, "sorry guys, but I'm not a playground."
"But Jeno does have a really strong and nice nose," Chenle complimented Jeno and all the other members nodded in agreement.
"Listen to Both Sides by NCT JNJM," Jaemin snapped his finger as he promoted the song.
Chenle was so excited for his turn that he immediately flipped his card and started reading:
if i had one wish, i would wish to be a basketball so chenle could play with me
"Let's go!" Chenle shouted with excited as he threw an invisible basketball in front of him. "We can do one-on-one anytime."
"Next fan meeting concept!" Renjun suggested.
"Loser has to do aegyo," Haechan piped in.
The Producer chuckled off camera, "Chenle, I think you should read it again."
Chenle looked down at the card again and reread the tweet again and giggled when he had a moment of realisation. "Oh! They want me to play with them!" He laughed so hard till his tummy was hurting. "No, no, but we can go on a one-on-one basketball game."
Renjun cleared his throat before he read his:
renjun is so cute i just want to put him on my bag and carry him around like a keychain
"Awwww," all the members except Renjun cooed at the tweet except for Renjun who seemed a little shy at the comment.
"Kawaii," Jaemin moaned as he tilted his head back.
"Renjunnie," Haechan said his name cutely as he looked at Renjun.
"You can't put me on your bag but you can put Jjun on it." Renjun cutely laughed.
Jaemin flipped his card with urgency and read it out loud:
idk what kind of jam jaemin like but i hope he like honey glaze donut 🫦
"Jaemin loves strawberry jam!" Chenle shouted.
"With milk!" Haechan cackled.
"Give him strawberry glazed donut!" Jisung told the audience.
"No! No! No!" Jaemin protested with a huge X. "I hate strawberry and milk. No!"
"He loves it don't listen to him," Chenle teased.
Next up was Jisung's turn so he flipped his card:
Jisung, Uranus is my favourite planet
Jisung read it out loud and grinned from ear to ear at the comment. "Uranus is definitely a great planet! What I really love about Uranus is that -"
The producers and all the staffs behind the camera were laughing hard at Jisung's innocence. "Wha-why are you laughing?" Jisung's eyes grew as big as a saucer as he politely laughed, confused at everyone's response. Even the members all look bewildered at everyone's reaction.
"It's a play-on-word," the producer clarified, "a pun."
"Pun?" Jisung asked. "On what?"
"Anus is the hole in between your cheeks and the tweet is saying your anus not Uranus." The translator off camera explained to Jisung and the members. The boys all hollowered when they finally understood it while Jisung blushed and grew shy.
The first round of thirst tweets were over so the Producer asked the members, "how was it so far?"
They all looked at each and gave nods of approval. "It's all very sweet so far."
The producer laughed, "ok, get ready for the next ones."
"What kind of energy is this?" Jeno eyed playfully and skeptically.
"This is making me nervous." Renjun affirmed as Haechan began to read his next card.
most of the time he’s a chocoball but some of the time he chocoliciously attractive as helll and he know that we wipe for him
"Ah, thank you," Haechan winked as he blew a flirty kiss, while others cringed at his confidence.
"He's chocoannoying," Jeno whispered to himself but everyone heard it.
"Yah!" Haechan whined sassily.
Jeno simply chuckled, ignored Haechan and flipped his card:
jeno's eye smile is fatal but his bicep is a safety hazard
Jeno displayed his signature eye smile as he finished reading the comment. "Thank you," he thanked with a hint of shyness.
"They said it's a safety hazard! Show it off, show it off!" Chenle screamed in the studio.
"Show it off! Show it off! Show it off!" Everyone began chanting so Jeno rolled up his right sleeve and flexed his biceps hard under the bright lights till the muscle were protruding and his veins were visible.
"Sexy!"
"Wow!"
"Screenshot that!"
"Owowow!"
The chaotic noise died down so Chenle picked up his card:
no amount of yapping can stop Chenle from eating me out
"Ung? What does this mean?" Chenle furrowed his eyebrows and showed the card.
"Eat you out?" Jaemin repeated to himself.
"It means the person wants you to [REDACTED]" the producer explained and all Chenle could do was laughed.
"Woah, I never expected this kind of content to be educational as well," Jaemin grinned.
Next up was Renjun's turn so he read his out loud:
Let me reincarnate into Renjun's bag in the next life cuz I want him to stuff me full
"Hey, hey, hey, respect," Haechan scolded to the camera.
"No, not Renjun Hyung," Jisung protected Renjun.
"Renjun does have pretty bags," Chenle commented.
"He really has a lot," Jeno added on.
"If you were my bag in the next life, I will treat you prettily," Renjun concluded.
Jaemin fanned his card and hooted before he read his thirst tweet:
give me 5 mins with jaemin and we’ll fix korea’s declining birth rates
Jaemin flashed a cheesy smile and laughed. "It would take awhile to fix Korea's declining birth rate even if you had five minutes with me."
"Ah, it's a serious problem in Korea." Haechan commented.
Jaemin's voice dropped an octave in a serious tone, "it's definitely a worldwide issue where the birth rate everywhere is dropping and it's a nuanced situation where we have to factor-" he droned on.
The others yawned and looked out of it so Haechan shouted, "OK! CUT!" He gestured scissoring motions to signify to out the clip.
Jisung's turn was next so he flipped his card and read it:
I want to squish Jisung's juicy ass
Jisung smiled shyly till his cheekbones were protruding, "I didn't know fans liked my butt that much."
"Jisung does have a big butt but it's firm." Jeno nodded.
"Show us Jisungie~" Chenle motioned Jisung to get up and show his butt.
"Wh-what?" Jisung's face grew crimson red.
"It's for our czennies," Jaemin encouraged on.
So Jisung stood up from his seat and turned around to show everyone his butt which situated perfectly in his fitted jeans.
"Sexy," Renjun smacked Jisung's butt.
Once Jisung sat back down, looking smugly proud, Haechan began reading his card.
lock me up in the studio with Haechan till the audio engineer has an album full of his moans
"Speechless," Haechan snickered in awe at the comment. "It's such a burden to carry this magnificent voice." He faux sighed pitifully.
"Byeontae!" Renjun playfully said at the camera.
"It would put a strain on his voice if he had to use it all night," Jeno commented before he read his thirst tweet.
until the dentist knows it's jeno and his nine inches
Jeno looked confused and pouted, "hm? 9 inches?"
Jaemin cackled so hard he fell of the chair while the others couldn't stop laughing and started hitting each other.
"You guys think it's only nine inches?" Jeno asked with a shy smirk.
"Ya, ya, ya, we are still idols." Jisung said in a panicked as he tried to stop Jeno from revealing too much.
Chenle took a breather, face still red laughing too hard, and then flipped his card:
Chenle's not that good at cooking cuz he hasn't tasted me yet
"I'm not a cannibal guys," Chenle shook his head in a disapproving manner, "it's illegal."
"I don't think humans would taste good either way," Renjun hummed thoughtfully.
"What if you had to eat a member?" Jisung randomly asked. "Like you're stuck on a deserted island with no food or water -"
"But if you're stuck on a deserted island, there is food and water," Jeno disputed Jisung's logic.
"No," Jisung paused for a second, "imagine it's a dystopian society where there's nothing and the only way to survive is to eat another human. What would you do?" He asked the members.
"I choose death," Jeno raised his hand and flashed a cute smile at the camera.
Haechan stared right at the camera, "you see what we have to deal with," and playfully shook his head side to side.
Next up, Renjun took his card and read the comment out loud:
I know Renjun raises fireflies, I hope he raises his c**k next
"Perverts!" Haechan scolded while pointing his finger.
Renjun simply laughed, unsure of what to respond and looked at the camera, "this is why they're called thirst tweets," he chuckled. "I can show you how to raise fireflies but not the other thing."
Jaemin cleared his throat and widened his eyes like crazy before he read his card:
Let me bounce and tickle Jaemin's boobies
"I'll do it for you guys!" Chenle grinned from ear to ear and started caressing Jaemin's pecs as Jaemin let him touched him however he wanted. "Should I tickle his nipples for you too?"
Jaemin could feel the mischievousness in Chenle's eyes so he pushed Chenle's hands away before he could do anything. "I'm ticklish," he held down Chenle's wrists.
Jisung turned over his card and slowly read it out loud:
The urge to suck Jisung everytime I see him on screen
Jisung cracked his head to the side, "are they saying that I suck?" He showed the card to everyone.
"No way! Fans won't do that!" Chenle responded.
"It means that the fan wants to [REDACTED] you," the translator clarified and everyone snorted and cackled at the tweet.
"Wow, they really don't hold back," Jaemin commented.
"Eh?!" Jisung shyly fanned himself with the cards in his hand and hid half his face behind, "I don't even know what to say," he chuckled.
Haechan dried the tears of laughter in his eyes and flipped his card:
Haechan, u have to stop wearing shorts or I'll have no choice but to ride it.
"Pervert, pervert, pervert," Haechan crossed his leg and covered up his body with his hands, "perverts!" He muttered one last time.
"Fans really love the most unexpected things," Renjun chuckled.
"Haechan does love wearing shorts," Jeno stated before he read over his thirst tweet.
it's hard listening to jeno growling in hashtag while looking at his pictures with one hand
All the members died laughing on the floor while Jeno chuckled silently so hard that his shoulders moved. "Aigo, what to do?" He simply said. "Hopefully you don't get tired." He muttered the last part.
"He growled in Hashtag?" Haechan asked while he was laughing, "I didn't know that."
Jaemin calmed himself down before responding, "yeah, I think it was after the second verse."
Once again, it took awhile for Chenle to calm down before he started reading his:
I would drink a warm sour milk if it came with Chenle's seeds
"Ew milk," Jaemin pulled a disgusted face.
"You're going to get food poisoning," Chenle scolded playfully with his hands. "Don't eat or drink expired food, especially things that are not meant to be consumed!"
"That is insane," Renjun commented then read his out loud:
when I hear Renjun whine n there's nothing more I wanna do than make him whine some more 😈
"One thing about our Renjunnie, it's very easy to rile him up," Haechan teased.
"But he looks so cute what to do," Chenle's cuteness aggression towards Renjun amplified.
Renjun involuntarily whined at the teasing from his members and everyone teased him some more.
"This is why fans want to tease you," Jaemin pointed out. He cleared his throat and read the next tweet:
Jaemin, can u pls be my gym trainer but the gym location is my bed and the gym equipment is me while u talk me thru it
"Ah," Jaemin crossed his arms with a playful frown, "I don't think there will be much space to work out if it's on the bed," Jaemin retorted back logically. "It's important to go the gym and build muscles for your health!" and flexed his biceps.
"I don't think space is an issue for them," Jeno snickered quietly.
It was finally Jisung's turned and he read the last and final tweet out loud:
i want to bounce on Jisung's dick while i trace my tongue all over his ab line with him wearing that unzipped jacket
Once again, Jisung fanned himself with his hands and then wiped it off on his jeans. "Really," he sighed shyly and looked up at the ceiling before he faced the camera again, "no comment."
"His tweets are so intense." Haechan pointed out.
"Our czennies are very," Renjun paused, "passionate."
"Wow! Sexy!" Jaemin emphasized.
"Don't you think it's our fault that they're behaving like this?" Chenle suggested after a deep thought with himself. "It's only a reaction to our behaviour."
Jeno chuckled to himself, "so it's all our fault?"
"We're sorry czennies." Jaemin bowed his head down while laughing and followed it too.
All the members lifted their heads and Haechan concluded the filming, "this has been Nct Dream, thank you for watching!"
"Like and subscribe!" The rest shouted and hollered.
the soft glow of rgb lights painted the room in shifting shades of blue. haechan barely spared a glance beneath his monitor, his attention fixed on the game while the steady stream of chat messages rolled up the side of his screen. “alright, chat,” he laughed into his microphone, leaning back in his chair. “we’ve officially hit the next milestone, you guys are actually insane.” notifications chimed one after another, each donation earning another grin from him. his headset rested comfortably over his ears, his fingers moving effortlessly across his keyboard as he queued for another match.
beneath the desk, you shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable in the cramped space. the gentle hum of his pc fans and the occasional vibration of his laughter filled the otherwise quiet room. every so often, his foot nudged your knee absentmindedly, a silent acknowledgment that he hadn’t forgotten you were there despite his focus being split between the game and thousands of viewers.
“one second,” he muttered under his breath, too quiet for the microphone to catch, as he briefly lowered his hand from the keyboard to tap twice against your hand on his thigh, a reassuring gesture before returning to the match.
the contrast amused you. to chat, he looked effortlessly composed. cracking jokes, thanking subscribers and pulling off impossible plays during his matches. hidden from the camera’s frame, however, was the quiet chaos of you tugging at his jean’s zipper, both of you suppressing smiles whenever he narrowly secured a kill.
when you finally managed to undo the zipper, you paused, careful not to make enough noise for the microphone to pick up. haechan didn’t look away from the monitor, but the slight hitch in his breathing and the way his fingers faltered over the keyboard for a fraction of a second told you he’d noticed. then, your attention shifts to the waistband of his boxers. after a brief attempt to pull down the black stretchy fabric, you decide the front opening is the better option, mentally thanking the designer.
finally, you have his bare cock out, it’s not fully hard just yet, but you take the tip into your mouth and work your way down to the base. you hear haechan’s breath hitch in his throat again and he tries to play it off by coughing, trying to maintain his full focus on the match but it’s not easy. the hair brushes against the tip of your nose and you move your mouth back just a little, letting your hand take the extra length you couldn’t take.
you’re mindful of any sucking sounds as you bob your head, letting your tongue work across the underside of his length. switching between keeping it flat as you sucked and swirling the tip of your tongue beneath his sensitive head. using the excess saliva as you gently massage the base of his dick, while you suck the rest of it.
haechan refers to you as a pro at head or, as he likes to put it “head game”. whatever that means, but you know this much: he never lasts long whenever you’ve got his cock in your mouth, despite whatever he bluffs about outside the bedroom.
you feel his length twitch in your mouth and you can tell he’s close, so you increase your pace, trying to battle the smirk creeping onto your face as his movements across the keyboard begin to falter.
haechan’s gaze snaps to yours, lingering there just long enough for time to seem to stretch between you. when he finally looks away, it’s with obvious reluctance, his eyes returning to the screen while his mind appears to lag behind. he clears his throat before continuing with the match and you resume sucking with the same intensity, making sure to give his tip attention too.
it’s not long before you feel hot ropes shoot the back of your throat, coating it white and haechan tries to keep his composure, his eyes glued to his screen as you look up at his focused face, daring him to look away. you continue sucking, swallowing every last drop of his seed until the poor boy jerks in his gaming chair, screen lighting up with defeat across the monitor as you let his length go with a gentle pop.
a shaky breath escapes his lips, accompanied by a quiet, breathless “fuck”, as he leans back in his chair. the stream’s chat erupts instantly, messages flying by too fast to keep up.
LMAOOOOO
AINT NO WAY 😭😭
GG GO NEXT
CHAT CLIP THAT
HE FOLDED LMAOO
NAHHH WHAT JUST HAPPENED???
MODS CHECK HIS PULSE
the relentless flood of messages paints his defeat in real time, each new line disappearing beneath a dozen more before anyone has the chance to read them. yet none of it seems to register. his attention drifts from the monitor, his gaze settling on you instead.
a not so innocent grin spreads across your lips as you meet his eyes, the corners of your mouth curling with quiet satisfaction.
for a moment, neither of you says a word. the only sound filling the room is the muffled chaos of his stream, the game music looping back to the menu and the relentless cascade of chat messages still flying across the screen.
BRO IS GONE
HES NOT READING CHAT 😭
SOMEONE CHECK ON HIM
haechan lets out a quiet, incredulous laugh, rubbing a hand over his face before glancing back at the monitor. “you are actually the worst.” he mutters, though the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth betrays any real annoyance.
you raise an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “oh?” you ask. “did you lose?”
his head turns just enough for you to catch the exasperated look he sends your way. “i did,” he sighs, still mumbling. “and chat is never going to let me live it down.”
the smug grin lingering on your face is impossible to hide as haechan finally tears his attention away and turns back to the monitor. the torrent of messages has slowed from an unreadable blur to something he can actually follow, his eyes scanning each line with growing amusement.
a comment halfway down the screen makes him pause.
what happened to his gf?? i swear she was just here
his eyebrows lift ever so slightly before he lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head at the chat’s uncanny ability to notice everything. within seconds, the speculation snowballs.
SHE VANISHED LMAOO
CHAT WE MISSED LORE
WAIT WHERE SHE GO
BROS ACTING SUSS 😭
