Hii it's me again lol about the g dragon, can i request something like kwon jiyong x idol reader, reader is younger than him (OF COURSE LEGAL AGE HAHA), she's a soloist or in a girl group (you decide 🥰) when bigbang performed in the mama awards just last year so iconic lol, after they performed they have to sit with other artists, he purposely planned talked to some staffs to make his and her group sit together, and they have some moments that the fans caught on and yes HAHAHA you continue BUT SOMETHING LIKE THAT, idk if you could understand it 😔😔😔 i dont know to explain this properly lol
Exposed || Kwon Jiyong
Pairing: Idol Jiyong X Idol Reader
Genre: Fluff
Summary: Jiyong and Y/N, a idol from a popular girl group, have been secretly dating. However, their relationship starts sparking rumors after several accidental (and not-so-accidental) moments at the MAMA Awards.
A.N: Please let me know if you guys want a part 2 continuation of this story
Please give it lots of love and support! Don’t forget to leave your thoughts, comments and don't forget to follow for more stories like this—they mean so much to me and help me improve. Your feedback and encouragement keep me motivated to keep writing. Thank you for being patient and sticking with me. Love you guys 💖💖
And also feel free to make any request for any other members or other groups
M.list
The night was electric. BIGBANG had just finished their performance, a stage that would be talked about for years. The energy was still buzzing in the air as the members walked off, their breathing still heavy from the adrenaline. And from his place on stage, Jiyong had already located you.
Your group had been watching from the front rows, standing, clapping, and cheering along with the other artists. But unlike the rest, you felt the heat of his gaze.
You knew you had to play it cool. You kept your eyes forward, lips pressed together in the perfect image of a professional junior idol. But when he bowed, when he let his eyes flicker to yours for half a second longer than necessary, you felt your pulse quicken.
It wasn’t over.
Because when it came time for seating arrangements, suddenly, your group was ushered toward BIGBANG’s section.
Your leader glanced at the staff in confusion. “Oh, we’re sitting here?”
A staff member just nodded, completely unaware of the tension brewing beneath the surface. Or maybe they did know. After all, Jiyong had made sure of it.
As you sat down, your assigned seat just happened to be diagonal from his. Close enough for accidental touches. Close enough for subtle games.
And Jiyong? Oh, he was enjoying himself.
The first time your knees brushed, you thought it was an accident. The seating was cramped, and idols were squeezed together with barely any space to move.
But then it happened again.
This time, he pressed his knee deliberately against yours.
You didn’t react. You kept your posture perfect, eyes locked on the stage. But your fingers curled slightly in your lap.
And that was exactly what he wanted.
Jiyong chuckled under his breath, low enough that only you could hear.
"You're good at this," he murmured, barely moving his lips.
You exhaled slowly, keeping your eyes on the performance. "At what?"
"At pretending like I’m not here," he mused. Then, leaning slightly closer, he added, "But I know you feel it."
Your breath hitched. The warmth of his leg against yours, the way his voice sent a shiver down your spine—you hated how easily he affected you.
But two could play this game.
So, without missing a beat, you pressed your knee back against his.
And that was the moment his smirk faltered.
Sometime during the award announcements, a staff member brought bottled water to each table. You twisted open your cap, taking a small sip—only to nearly choke when Jiyong’s ringed fingers casually reached forward, stealing your bottle.
Before you could react, he took a slow sip, completely unbothered.
Your eyes widened, but he merely wiped the corner of his lips with his thumb, setting the bottle back down in front of you.
"Yah," you whispered, shooting him a glare.
"Problem?" he asked innocently, tilting his head.
You scoffed, reaching for another bottle, but before you could, he leaned over and slid the original bottle back toward you.
His voice was barely above a whisper. "Just drink from mine."
Your stomach flipped. You hated that he was enjoying this.
And you hated even more that you took the bottle and drank from it.
It started as something harmless. Just a quick glance in his direction.
But you didn’t realize the camera had zoomed in on you.
At that exact moment, Jiyong, ever the instigator, tapped his fingers against the table in a rhythm only you recognized—a song he’d written for you.
Your lips parted slightly in surprise. He noticed.
And before you could stop it—before you could school your expression into something neutral—your lips curled up in the tiniest smile.
And the fans caught everything.
The camera cut away almost instantly, but not fast enough.
Twitter exploded.
"WHY DID Y/N JUST SMILE OUT OF NOWHERE WHEN GD WAS TAPPING THE TABLE HELPPP"
"WHAT WAS HE TAPPING?? HELLO CODEBREAKERS??"
"Y/N SMILING AFTER GD LOOKED HER WAY... Y'ALL WE'VE SEEN THIS BEFORE 👀"
"GD took HER bottle?? And she didn’t even react?? Oh nah they are not slick."
And then—dispatch dropped a clip.
A grainy, fan-taken video from the upper seats of the arena. The footage was shaky, but clear enough to show:
Jiyong passing your group a drink, but ONLY handing it to you.
The knee touch under the table.
Your stolen glance. Your tiny, traitorous smile.
It was subtle. Barely noticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking.
But the fans? They saw everything.
The awards continued, but you barely registered the winners.
Because Jiyong wasn’t done.
His fingers drummed against the table again. This time, the rhythm wasn’t a song. It was a message.
T-A-L-K T-O M-E
You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head slightly.
Jiyong grinned. He saw that.
Then, the absolute menace that he was, he raised a brow and mouthed, "Scared?"
You nearly scoffed. Oh, he wanted to play? Fine.
You leaned in slightly, just enough for only him to hear.
"Oppa," you murmured, voice sweet but laced with warning. "Behave."
The effect was immediate.
Jiyong’s smirk twitched, his fingers freezing for just a second—because he liked it when you called him that. And you knew it.
His hand curled into a loose fist on the table, jaw tightening for a moment before he exhaled and shot you a half-lidded gaze.
"That’s unfair," he murmured back, voice husky.
You bit back a smirk.
You knew Jiyong was watching.
You felt it.
The moment your group took the stage, the energy in the arena shifted—louder screams, flashing lights, and a certain someone sitting comfortably in the artist section, front row, with that signature smirk.
At first, he was composed—just nodding to the beat, sunglasses perfectly in place.
But then?
Then came your part.
The camera panned to him just as you stepped forward for your solo.
The moment your hips rolled, your gaze sharp and commanding—
Jiyong?
Gone.
The man leaned forward, elbows on his knees, sunglasses sliding down his nose as he openly stared.
The live audience noticed instantly.
"HE'S STARING. HE IS NOT EVEN HIDING IT."
"DID Y'ALL SEE HIS SMIRK WHEN Y/N DID HER PART? EXCUSE ME????"
"THIS IS NOT EVEN A FANBOY REACTION. THAT'S A MAN ADMIRING HIS WOMAN."
It got worse when you locked eyes with him for half a second.
Jiyong?
Smirked.
The type of smirk that said, "You know exactly what you're doing, jagiya."
The camera caught it all.
And just when people thought it couldn’t get any more insane—
Mid-performance, a cameraman—who deserves a RAISE—zoomed in on Jiyong again.
This time?
The man was biting his lip.
"JAIL. JAIL FOR THIS MAN."
"Y/N NEEDS TO PAY FOR MY THERAPY BECAUSE HER PERFORMANCE GOT GD LIKE THAT."
"HE'S SO OBVIOUS IT'S EMBARRASSING PLEASE."
You could feel the heat creeping up your neck.
Jiyong?
Still shameless.
By the time your performance ended, he was back to normal, clapping like nothing happened.
But when you walked back to your seat—next to him—he leaned over and whispered:
"You almost killed me up there, sweetheart."
You gritted your teeth. "Serves you right."
He chuckled, voice dangerously low.
"Just wait till later."
Your breath hitched.
And just like that—the night wasn’t over yet.
At the very end of the night, artists were standing, clapping, saying their goodbyes.
Jiyong was walking ahead with the BIGBANG members when, for just a second, he glanced over his shoulder at you.
And you looked back.
The moment lasted only a second, but someone caught it on camera.
A single, slow-motion GIF.
Jiyong turning his head, looking back at you.
Your eyes meeting his.
That split-second smirk before he faced forward again.
Twitter? In flames.
"HE LOOKED BACK. HE LOOKED BACK. OH MY GOD HE LOOKED BACK."
"That was NOT a casual glance. That was a ‘meet me later’ look."
"THE SMIRK. I CAN’T BREATHE."
"They think they’re being sneaky. THEY ARE NOT."
Later That Night…
Your phone buzzed.
Jiyong: So, when are we announcing the wedding?
You: Jiyong-ah.
Jiyong: Yes, my love?
You: I’m going to kill you.
Jiyong: But you’ll miss me too much, won’t you?
YOU: You did that on purpose right?
Jiyong: Of course I did. How else will they know you’re mine?
You: WE ARE NOT GETTING CAUGHT.
Jiyong: Sweetheart, we’ve already been caught.
Jiyong: You looked unreal tonight.
You: You made it OBVIOUS.
Jiyong: You make it hard to behave, jagiya.
You: STOP.
Jiyong: Make me. 😏
You groaned, flopping onto your bed. The worst part? He wasn’t wrong.
And the actual worst part?
You liked it.
It started as fan theories.
A harmless coincidence.
But by the time the MAMA afterparty ended, it had escalated into a full-blown scandal.
TRENDING ON TWITTER
#GDxY/N #Y/N_LuckyGirl #GDRAGON_LostHisCool
THE CLUES THAT STARTED IT ALL:
The Seating Arrangement Scandal
Why was your group suddenly seated next to BigBang when it wasn’t in the original floor plan? 🤨
Fans dug up footage of Jiyong talking to staff before the show.
"HE PLANNED IT. THIS MAN WENT OUT OF HIS WAY TO SIT NEXT TO HER."
Jiyong’s Reactions = A Man Down BAD
The lip bite. The smirk. The unholy stare.
"We’ve seen GD fanboy before, but this? This is different."
"He was watching like he already KNEW how that dress looked up close." 😭😭
The Afterparty Coincidence
You and Jiyong left around the same time.
Different cars, but same direction.
Fans noticed your manager looking stressed while BigBang’s team tried to be low-key.
"They didn’t even try to stagger their exits. HELP."
The Matching Accessories Debacle
The next day, Jiyong posted an Instagram story.
A hand, casually holding a glass of wine.
A familiar ring on his finger—the same one you were seen wearing months ago.
"SO WEARING COUPLE RINGS IS JUST A THING NOW? OKAY."
THE COMPANY RESPONSES = SUSPICIOUS AF
Your Agency:
"Y/N and G-Dragon are just industry colleagues. The seating was arranged by MAMA organizers."
YG Entertainment:
"We do not comment on our artists' personal lives."
TRANSLATION: "We're not denying it."
"YG NOT EVEN TRYING TO LIE LMFAO."
"If they weren’t dating, they’d have shut this down IMMEDIATELY. Oh, they’re so caught."
"Just drop the wedding invitation at this point."
After days of speculation, Jiyong did what he does best—
Trolled everyone.
NEW IG POST: A selfie. Smirking. Caption?
"I love MAMA."
THAT’S. IT.
"HE'S PLAYING WITH US HELP."
"SIR JUST CONFIRM IT OR DENY IT. DON’T TEASE US LIKE THIS."
"This man enjoys chaos too much I can’t."
THE INTERNET STILL HASN’T RECOVERED.
And neither have you. 😭🔥
If people weren’t sure before—
Now?
They were certain.
All thanks to one tiny, completely avoidable mistake.
NEW IG POST: Y/N’s Group Behind-The-Scenes Photos!
Your group’s official account posted casual snapshots from rehearsals, practice rooms, and random candid moments from recent schedules.
Harmless, right?
Wrong.
Because eagle-eyed fans noticed something immediately.
THE CLUE THAT BROKE THE INTERNET:
In one mirror selfie, you were holding your phone in the corner.
Reflected in the mirror? A very familiar-looking silver bracelet.
The exact same bracelet Jiyong had been wearing for years.
FAN REACTIONS = PURE CHAOS
"I NEED EVERYONE TO ZOOM IN RIGHT NOW."
"THAT. THAT IS GD’S BRACELET. THAT MAN DOESN’T TAKE IT OFF."
"SO SHE WAS WITH HIM? OR…???"
"Not them getting caught by a MIRROR REFLECTION."
Hours after the bracelet debacle, Jiyong—being Jiyong—made everything worse.
NEW IG POST: A Random Aesthetic Shot
A simple photo of his hand, resting casually on a table.
Except…
The bracelet was front and center.
The background? Suspiciously similar to a place you had visited just days ago.
Caption?
"Good things should be kept close." 😏
FAN REACTIONS = ABSOLUTE CHAOS
"SIR. SIR, THIS IS NOT SUBTLE."
"ARE THEY EVEN HIDING ANYMORE??"
"Y/N POST THE MATCHING PHOTO OR WE RIOT."
"I feel like we’re getting a dating confirmation in 3…2…1."
Chats:
You: Jiyong. YOU. NEED. TO. STOP. 😡
Jiyong: Stop what?
You: YOU KNOW WHAT.
Jiyong: I just like my bracelet. 🤷
You: I WILL THROW THAT BRACELET INTO THE OCEAN.
Jiyong: Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t dive in after it.
You: I AM BLOCKING YOU.
Jiyong: Again? Cute. 😘
One week later, just when the rumors started to die down—
Jiyong did something so reckless that even your company gave up.
NEW IG STORY: A simple photo of his hand intertwined with someone else’s.
The angle? Purposely vague.
But the bracelet?
Still there.
And the nail polish color on the other hand?
The exact same shade you had worn the day before.
Caption?
"Some things don’t need to be explained."
INSTANT WORLDWIDE MELTDOWN.
OFFICIAL STATEMENT FROM BOTH AGENCIES:
"We ask fans to respect our artists’ personal lives."
TRANSLATION: "Yeah, they’re dating. We’re tired. Leave us alone."
THE INTERNET GOES INSANE
"AFTER ALL THAT TEASING, WE FINALLY HAVE CONFIRMATION???"
"GD REALLY SAID SOFT LAUNCH THEN HARD LAUNCH LMAO."
"Y/N YOU ARE THE LUCKIEST WOMAN ALIVE."
"MAMA 2024 BETTER HAVE A COUPLE SEAT ARRANGEMENT READY."
nsfw. minors dni.
c/w: fem!reader / sub!ji-yong. glimpses of domestic life. age gap. praise. unprotected sex. soft smut.
a/n: typed w one hand tbh
ji-yong always found himself under you during sex. that’s just how he liked it best.
he’s a busy man, and he’s not young anymore either. after a long day at work, he just wants to kick his feet up and let you take care of him. and that’s fine by you! you’ve got youthful energy to spend, and there’s not many sights as precious as the king of kpop himself sprawled out beneath you, completely at your mercy.
he finally has the rare chance of some free time with you— a breather amongst his packed schedule during his comeback. actually managing to get him out of bed on his days off was a rarity. but today he’s eager to take you out, dedicate a day to you; make-up for how work’s been demanding most of his focus. you shake your head when he pulls out his black card, but he’s not taking no for an answer.
later that day you found yourselves tangled on the couch in a hot flurry of kisses. he couldn’t keep his hands to himself while you were out; you had to tell him off for being so touchy in public, cameras could be anywhere.
pinning you down was the first thing on his mind once you were back home. your hands are lost in his hair, his are snaked under your top. his knee’s hiked up and digging into your core, and he mumbles a cuss as you rock yourself on his leg. you figure, since you’re already here, you may as well ask:
“ji, baby. would you be on top?”
he’s taken aback. for a beat, he hums and tosses the idea over. it’s certainly been a while since he’s had the energy to take the reins of your intimacy. the imagery of you beneath him gets ji-yong hot— sending a pulse straight to his dick. then, he kisses you with such force that your head cranes back. he’s hungry and his tongue’s on yours and he’s grinding down into your core with a newfound vigour.
you’re fully committed: you’re biting your lip, arching your back. you even encourage him with soft mewls as he sucks at your neck. he’s already panting at the sight of you. you slide a hand between your bodies to palm at him, finding his trousers damp with his arousal. ji-yong trembles over with a moan. on instinct, he’s keeling over for you to take control.
your mouth’s hot on his ear as whine how bad you need him. with that, he practically rips off your bottoms, and is too impatient to tug his own all the way off as they bunch at his knees.
your hand is atop his as he guides himself in, his face scrunching as he fills you to the hilt. he stays there for a beat— dick twitching inside of you. you hum:
“fuck me, hun.”
and he obeys. ji-yong sets a gruelling pace, snapping his hips in and out of you like crazy. you egg him on by letting moans slip from your mouth, and he has to bite his lip to muffle his own. you guide his hands all over your body: fondling your breast, squeezing your neck, even tilting your own hips up so each of his thrusts hit the sweet spot.
even though he’s on top, you’re directing ji-yong through his actions: “kiss my neck there again.” “go faster, i can take it.” “put my leg up, honey.” and of course, you reward him with compliments when he follows: “that felt really good, ji.” “you’re doing so well for me baby.”
he was hanging on to your every word. the noises spilling from him were diabolical— he sounded like a pornstar.
a little greedy, you tease him with a few pulses of your core. ji-yong’s thrusts turn shallow before he pauses, dick spasming inside of you. as little whines left his mouth. your hands find his pelvis, coaxing him to move, but his body falls onto yours and pins you against the couch.
he shudders, “w-wait, please..”,
you can feel his muscles flexing on your bare stomach. he’s begging you to not make him cum. he has to screw his eyes shut and focus, else your naked body’s going to teeter him off the edge. he does a quick snap of his hips— but has to immediately pull out and suck in a breath between his teeth. you soothe him, caressing his sides and pressing reassuring kisses to his nape. he frowns at himself. he’s not usually so quick..
“i want it, ji. c’mon,”
he huffs out a sheepish laugh. “if you couldn’t tell..”
his dick twitches on time. something cruel stirs in you; you snatch his hips and pull him to thrust back into you. his hands fumble in an attempt to restrain you, and he’s out of breaths to say it with words. you’re undeterred, leading him in and out for your own pleasure, and ji-yong can’t help but take it as you grind onto him. his head’s buried into your shoulder, your ear soaking up all of his cries.
“if you keep, ah,.. i can’t—”
“go on, hun.”
ji-yong tried to move his own hips between your control. he’s a whimpering mess as he cums, laying lifeless on-top of you as warm ropes shoot inside of you. you hum, pleased with him, drawing lines over his back muscles.
“ah, i don’t have the back for this.”
that made you chuckle. “you made me feel so good, baby.”
he groans, disagreeing about his performance.
“no, i’m sorry. you didn’t cum,” he pressed his sweaty forehead into your neck. “sorry, just give me a minute and i’ll, yeah..”
his voice was hoarse, still breathless from his orgasm. but he snakes a shaky palm to your cunt and fidgets for your clit.
you giggle, moving his hand off of you with a reassuring peck. he had no idea you were about to roll over and ride him till you came.
About story: A dinner that was supposed to be just a simple step forward suddenly turns into something much more. What starts as a sweet evening with Jiyong’s parents slowly shifts into something dangerously intimate once the door to his childhood bedroom closes. Surrounded by remnants of his past, faded posters, old memories, and glow-in-the-dark stars, the line between who he was and who he is now begins to blur. And when restraint finally breaks, it’s not just about desire anymore, but about risk, tension, and the thrill of almost getting caught...
Pairing: Jiyong (G-Dragon) x Reader
Word Count: 7,068 | Oneshot
Content Note: Meeting the parents, humor, teasing dynamics, explicit sexual content, dirty talk, semi-public risk (parents in the next room), loss of control, praise/degradation elements, intimacy, aftercare, almost getting caught, soft emotional ending
A/N: This is actually the first story that came out of my Korea trip. Give me a bottle of soju, drop me into Seoul at night and this is the kind of thing I end up writing... 🫣
Today is the first time you’re having dinner with Jiyong at his parents' house. You’ve been dreading this dinner for an entire month, basically from the moment Jiyong told you his parents would finally like to meet you. You played out every possible scenario in your head, every sentence, every look, and you were even prepared for the possibility that they’d tell you they couldn't imagine a woman like you by their son's side…
But reality turned out to be completely different. Your nervousness slowly fades as the evening progresses because Jiyong’s parents are incredibly sweet and friendly to you. You laugh, you talk, time seems to fly by, and suddenly it’s so late that going home doesn't even make sense anymore. When Jiyong’s parents suggest you stay the night and head home in the morning, you both agree before you even have time to think it over.
When you step into Jiyong’s room, you pause in the doorway for a moment. You just stand there, letting your eyes slowly glide over the space, as if you’ve stepped into something more personal, almost intimate. Faded posters on the walls, a bookshelf packed with old CDs and manga, a desk with photos of Jiyong and his friends, all of them striking strange angles and overly cool poses.
"Oh my god," you breathe out when you finally take a few steps inside. "This is amazing!"
Jiyong follows you, and the door clicks shut quietly behind you. "It’s a bit embarrassing, I’d say…" he mumbles and nervously rubbing the back of his neck. "I told my mom to redecorate this place years ago."
You turn to him, surprised and the corners of your lips twitch into a smile. "And destroy this time capsule? Never!" you answer seriously, walking over to the bookshelf. Your fingers slowly brush over the spines of the books and CDs, as if uncovering layers of his past. "Is this... is this a signed TVXQ album?" you ask and picking it up.
"I was fifteen," he answers softly.
"You were a fanboy!" you laugh and waving the signed CD in the air.
"I wasn't, I just..." he starts, but you don't let him finish.
"You definitely were," you interrupt and turning the album over in your hands. "Did you have more posters on the walls? Did you practice choreographies here in front of this mirror?"
Jiyong crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall, watching you with a slight tension in his eyes. "I’m not answering that."
"So, yes," you smirk victoriously, putting the album back in its original place and moving with interest to the corkboard hanging near the bed. You lean in closer, examining the individual photos and sensing out of the corner of your eye how Jiyong is watching you. He looks a little nervous for your taste, or maybe he’s just curious about what else you’ll discover and what will catch your eye in his teenage kingdom.
"Look at you, that hair... were you trying to look like an anime character?" you chuckle and pointing at one specific photo where Jiyong is posing like the biggest gangster in Seoul... or at least trying to. "Were you one of those teenagers who wanted to seem dark and mysterious?"
Jiyong snorts. "I was dark and mysterious," he counters, but there’s amusement and a hint of embarrassment in his voice.
You look at him over your shoulder and studying him for a moment. "You were cute…" you say more softly than you originally intended, and for a second, a brief silence falls between you, though you break it immediately, as if not wanting to let it develop further. "I guess you brought a lot of girls here and tried to impress them with your dance skills."
Jiyong just shifts his weight from one foot to the other and rolls his eyes, but he doesn't answer or comment on your assumptions. Meanwhile, you move toward the bed and stop beside it, lightly running your palm over the comforter before sitting down.
"And this bed…" you start again, "…how many girls have you had in here, Kwon Jiyong?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Do you really want to know?"
"Probably not," you laugh and bouncing slightly on the bed. The bed immediately creaks in protest and you both freeze, looking at each other.
"Yeah," Jiyong says drily. "that’s been a problem since I was sixteen."
You move slightly again and the bed creaks even louder, which making you laugh. "How could you... I mean, with this..." you start, but you don't even have to finish. Jiyong sighs. "Very carefully... and very quietly."
That amuses you even more and you laugh without restraint. You lie down on the bed and bury your head in the pillow. Only now do you notice the ceiling dotted with glow-in-the-dark stars, which are a bit faded but still clearly visible. "Stars…" you whisper. "Of course you had stars here."
Jiyong shrugs and takes a few steps closer to the bed. "Every drowning teenager needs stars, right?" he answers, and you lift your head to give him a quick smile. He was clearly always like this. Gentle, a bit of a dreamer, his head always somewhere between reality and a dream. That’s exactly what you love most about him...
You lay your head back down, but out of the corner of your eye, you catch something peeking out from under the mattress. Curiosity makes you reach out and pull it out. It’s a magazine and you just stare at it for a moment before realizing what kind of magazine it is. "Oh my god!" you gasp.
Jiyong instantly snaps to attention. "Give me that!" he says quietly but quickly, heading toward you with fast strides. You roll to the other side of the bed to escape him.
"Definitely not!" you laugh. "Is this what teenage Jiyong used when..."
"Y/N, I swear to God I’ll kill..."
"Under the mattress, how original!" you continue and flipping through the magazine while watching his face turn red out of the corner of your eye. "This is amazing... you were lying here, looking at these pictures while you were touching your..."
At that moment, he reaches out, finally snatches the magazine from your hand and quickly hides it in the nightstand drawer. You notice that besides his face, even his ears are red now.
"You’re terrible," he mumbles.
You sit up and lean back on your hands, still wearing an amused expression. "And you were a horny teenager with a creaky bed and porn magazines hidden under the mattress. God… I wish I knew you back then. I would’ve laughed at you and tortured you."
Jiyong just looks at you for a moment and then snorts. "You’re laughing at me and torturing me now…"
"That’s different," you reply and patting the bed beside you. "Come here and tell me more about your tragic and sexually frustrated youth."
Jiyong rolls his eyes but eventually sits down next to you. The bed creaks in protest again.
"Two," he says after a while, and you look at him, confused. "You asked me how many girls I’ve had in this bed. There were two. Both experiences were very quiet and very... fast."
You raise an eyebrow. "Fast?"
"I was sixteen, everything was fast. I lasted about two minutes, no more."
You snort. "And now?" you turn to him. Jiyong looks at you and his expression changes. You know that look all too well. He leans closer, his fingers gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and staying there a second longer than necessary.
"Now I take my time," he says quietly. His fingers slowly slide from your ear to your neck, tracing its line. "Now I know exactly what I’m doing, I know how to touch a woman, how to satisfy her and how to make her beg."
"Jiyong..." his name sounds almost like a warning, but you know yourself that there’s no real resistance in your tone, more of a weak attempt to stop this before it’s too late. But Jiyong just stares at you, his eyes darkened, focused only on you, as if nothing else exists in that moment.
He leans closer, his voice turning husky as he whispers right against your lips, "Do you want to know what I was thinking about? Do you want to know what I was thinking about when I was lying in this bed, staring at those stars above me with my hand gripped tight around my hard cock?"
You swallow hard, your throat dry, yet you ask, barely audibly, "What?"
His fingers touch your skin again, gently brushing over your collarbone and sliding into the hollow of your throat, where they pause for a moment as if he’s savoring the contact. "I was imagining a girl…woman like you," he answers softly. "A beautiful woman, smart... exactly the kind I could have spread out under me while I fucked her."
Your body reacts before your mind does; you shiver and try to say something else. "Jiyong, your parents..."
"Are sleeping," he interrupts immediately, not allowing you to finish the sentence. His hand slides lower and, through the fabric of your shirt, brushes over your breast, very slowly, exploringly, as if testing how far he can go. "The house has been dead silent for at least an hour," he adds quietly.
You try to grasp the last bit of rationality. "The walls are thin and..."
He leans closer to you, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Then you’ll have to be quiet,” he whispers. “Do you think you can do that for me? Do you think you can stay completely quiet while I do all those smutty things I’ve been fantasizing about since dinner?”
You shiver because his hand is still resting on your breast, moving in slow circles and squeezing your nipple through the fabric between his fingers. “What… what things?” you breathe out, barely able to control your voice as his mouth drifts down to your neck, his tongue sliding upward to your earlobe, which he gently bites.
“I was thinking about burying my face between your thighs,” he whispers, his voice deeper now, rougher. “I was thinking about how wet you’ll be, how you’ll taste when I spread you open with my tongue and how your pussy will clench around my tongue when you come…”
“Oh God…” slips out of you quietly, your fingers digging slightly into the blanket beneath you.
“I was thinking about sliding my fingers inside you. One at first, then two and how I’ll stretch you out. I was thinking about how tight you are, how hot, and how desperately you’ll want me,” he continues, his hand slowly sliding down from your breast across your belly, stopping just above your skirt. “I was thinking about fingering you until you’re shaking, crying, begging me to let you come...”
“Jiyong…”
His teeth catch your earlobe again. “And then…” his voice drops even lower, “...I was thinking about burying my cock inside you, so deep you forget your own name… how I’ll fuck you into this mattress, how you’ll be screaming into the pillow trying to stay quiet while I take this sweet little pussy…”
You tremble when his hand finally slips under your skirt between your thighs and he exhales sharply the moment he feels how wet you are, how that dampness has soaked into the fabric of your panties.
“We shouldn’t…” you whimper, but there is no real resistance in your voice, only a faint echo of what you know you’re supposed to say. You lower your gaze and watch the way his hand moves beneath the fabric of your skirt over your soaked panties.
“I know,” he says quietly, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “Tell me to stop and I will… But if you don’t say it within five seconds, I’m going to undress you and show you exactly what adult Jiyong learned and teenage Jiyong never could…”
The five seconds pass before you even realize it. You don’t even manage to take a breath before he presses into you and kissing you hungrily and passionately. His tongue moves against yours with confidence, claiming you, while his hands are already reaching for the hem of your shirt. “Take it off,” he murmurs against your lips. “I need you to take it off right now.”
Your shirt is gone within seconds. His mouth immediately drops to your neck, biting, sucking hard enough that you know it will leave marks. His hands are everywhere on you. He unhooks your bra and pulls it down and his palms instantly wrapping around your breasts. He squeezes them, kneads them and rolls your nipples between his fingers until your back arches beneath him. “Look at those perfect tits…” he breathes. “Do you know how many times I stared at them during dinner? Every time you leaned forward and I could see down your shirt. I’ve been so fucking hard for hours thinking about how I’d lick them, suck them…”
“Really?” you gasp, your head falling back as he lowers himself to them, circling one nipple with his tongue before gently biting it.
“Yeah… I imagined sucking on these beautiful tits… bending you over the dining table and fucking you,” he murmurs, biting a little harder this time. You have to bite your lip to keep from making a loud sound.
“Exactly,” he whispers. “Stay quiet, be my good girl…”
He gives your breasts his full attention, as if nothing else in the world exists in that moment. He alternates between them slowly, methodically. His tongue glides over sensitive skin and his lips wrapping around them before releasing them again only to return with even more intensity. Sometimes he bites gently, sometimes he just presses harder and you squirm restlessly beneath him. Your back arches into the mattress, which creaks softly but dangerously under every movement. Every touch sends electric waves deep into your whole body. All your muscles tighten, your breathing quickens and you feel yourself growing wetter and wetter, the tension building inside you, spreading with every movement of his, with every word he breathes against your skin…
“Please,” you moan softly, barely audible, as if you’re trying to monitor how loud it sounds. “Please, I need…”
Jiyong pulls back slightly, just enough to see you. His lips are glossy, his breathing uneven, his eyes dark and focused only on you. “What do you need, baby?” he asks calmly, but there’s something in his voice that makes you hold your breath. “Tell me, be specific.”
You swallow, but the words still get stuck somewhere between your chest and your throat. “Touch me…” you breathe out in the end, almost helplessly.
His lips lift just slightly into the hint of a smile. “I am touching you,” he replies, running his fingers over your breast again.
You shake your head, just a little, nervously. “Lower, please…”
He pauses for a moment, watching you. He enjoys it, that moment when he knows he has you exactly where he wanted you. “Lower where?” he asks calmly, almost amused. “Use your words, tell me exactly where you want my hands.”
Your face burns and you can feel the heat rushing into it, but the need is stronger than the embarrassment. You can’t look away from him. “Between my legs,” you whisper. “Touch me between my legs.”
His fingers slide down, stopping again right at the hem of your skirt. He lightly traces the fabric, as if deciding. “What am I supposed to touch?” he asks quietly. “Say it… Say the word.”
You close your eyes for a moment and take a breath. “My… my pussy…”
“Good girl,” he answers immediately, satisfied and hooking his fingers into the hem of your skirt. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He pulls your skirt down along with your panties in one smooth motion, as if he already has no patience left. The fabric slides down your legs and gathers somewhere around your ankles while you lie beneath him completely naked and spread out on his boyhood bed. For a moment you become intensely aware of it. Your gaze flickers up to the ceiling where those old glow-in-the-dark stars still shine, and the contrast between that innocent remnant of his adolescence and what is happening now throws you off balance for a second.
Jiyong pauses only briefly, his gaze moving over you slowly, hungrily, as if he wants to memorize you exactly like this. His hands return to your body again and you feel your breathing pick up instantly and the tension inside you rising again just as quickly.
“Fuck,” he exhales quietly, almost disbelievingly as he looks at you. His gaze travels over you slowly, thoroughly, as if he wants to memorize every detail. “Look at you. Naked in my bed and completely wet because of me… This is exactly what my teenage self used to secretly dream about.” There is a mix of satisfaction and fascination in his voice that hits you deep in your body. Before you can say anything, his hand slides between your thighs and the groan that leaves him when he feels how wet you are makes you clench instinctively around nothing, as if reacting to the sound of his voice alone.
“Jesus, baby,” he murmurs, his fingers starting to move along your folds. Slowly, deliberately, spreading the wetness he caused himself. “You’re completely soaked… all this just from my words?” He pauses for a moment, his fingers barely touching your skin and then adds quietly, his voice full of satisfaction: “Your pussy is glistening for me.”
“Yes…” you breathe out, unevenly, barely managing to keep your voice down even though you know you have to.
“From me telling you how I’ve been thinking about fucking you?” he continues, while one finger starts slowly circling your clit, just lightly enough to drive you insane. “How I’m going to lick this beautiful pussy until you start crying?”
“Yes, please…” slips out of you again. Your voice is shaky and your whole body is tense with anticipation.
He stops. “Please what?”
You lift your gaze to him, your breath catching, your body already reacting on its own. “Please, touch me… really touch me…”
His lips lift slightly again. “Like this?” he asks quietly and before you can answer, he slides one finger inside you. You gasp and your body tenses. “Is that what you need? My fingers in this tight little pussy?”
“More…”
“More?” he repeats, almost amused and adds a second finger, slowly stretching you, watching every reaction of yours. “You needy girl… You can’t even control yourself with just two fingers inside your pussy…”
He starts thrusting his fingers slowly but deeply. The rhythm is exact and keeping you right on the edge but not letting you come. He curls his fingers, searching for that spot inside you, and when he finally finds it, your whole body jerks uncontrollably. You quickly turn your head and press the back of your hand against your mouth to keep quiet, to keep anything more than a muffled moan from slipping out. The bed creaks softly beneath you and reminding you where you are, how close his parents are, how little it would take for you to get caught.
“There it is,” he murmurs, satisfied, and you can hear it in his voice, that calm, that certainty. “I can feel how desperately you want to come…”
“Please…” you whisper desperately.
“Not yet.” He pulls his fingers out and you moan at the sudden emptiness before you can stop yourself. “First I want to taste you. I’ve been thinking about it all evening…”
He moves down your body slowly and his hands sliding over your hips, stopping at your thighs, which he gently spreads further apart. He settles between them and looks up at you, his dark eyes holding you in place, forcing you to breathe slowly even though it’s almost impossible.
“Remember,” he says quietly but firmly, his hands running over your thighs, “not a sound. If you wake my parents, I stop. Do you understand?”
You nod desperately and unable to look away from him.
“Good girl.” he murmurs, and then finally touches you. At the very first contact of his tongue, you see stars, and not just the ones stuck to the ceiling... Your head falls back against the pillow, your fingers digging into the sheets as he starts licking you slowly, with full focus and careful attention. He savors you. The sound he makes, that deep, low groan of satisfaction, spreads through your body and vibrates right through your most sensitive places. One hand grips your thigh, holding your legs open.
“It’s even better than I imagined,” he growls against you, his voice muffled but clearly audible. “You taste like fucking heaven...”
He eats you like he’s starving for it. Long, slow strokes from your entrance up to your clit. His tongue dips inside you and moving in shallow thrusts. After a moment his lips focus on your clit and start sucking. The flicking movements of his tongue are so intense you don’t believe you can last much longer. Your body trembles beneath him, trying to stay quiet, but every touch pushes you closer and closer to the edge.
For a moment he pulls back, just enough to look at you. “Do you like it?” he breathes quietly. “Do you like my tongue in your pussy?”
“Yes, God, yes…” you gasp unevenly, your voice breaking as you try to control how loud it sounds.
Jiyong doesn’t stop for even a second, his movements smooth and certain, because he knows you well and knows exactly where to touch and how long to stay there. “Do you know what I used to do in this bed?” he whispers against your skin, his voice calm, almost dangerously relaxed. He pushes two fingers deep inside you again and starts moving them while his tongue goes back to work on your clit. “I used to jerk off and imagining exactly this… A beautiful woman spread out beneath me. Wet, willing, begging me to let her come…”
His fingers curl exactly the way you need and when he hits that spot, your whole body jerks. You quickly grab the pillow and press it against your face to muffle the sound that tries to tear its way out of you, because you know you can’t let it out loud.
“Do you know how many times I jerked off in this bed?” he continues, as if he’s talking about something completely ordinary. “I thought about girls, imagined what it would be like to taste them…”
“I don’t know,” you mumble, not even sure what he’s asking anymore because you can’t focus on anything but his fingers and his tongue.
“A million times,” he murmurs calmly and his tongue dragging slowly over your folds again, a long, deliberate stroke that makes you arch once more. “But I never imagined it would be this good…”
You arch into him, your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling harder than you meant to.
“Exactly,” he mutters against you without stopping. He lets out a quiet laugh and the vibration runs through your whole body, making you shudder again. “Fuck, you’re gripping my fingers so tight… this greedy little pussy wants to come, doesn’t it?”
“Please… please, I need…” your voice breaks, you can barely keep the words together anymore.
“Need what?” he doesn’t let you escape. “You need to come on my tongue?” His lips tighten around your clit and your hips lift instinctively off the bed.
“Yes, God, yes,”
“Then ask me properly.”
You swallow, your eyes filling with tears from the intensity flooding you from every direction. “Please,” you breathe out unevenly. “Please let me come, please, I need it… I’ll do anything…”
He pauses just long enough to take a breath. “Anything?” he repeats quietly, his fingers speeding up. “Will you suck my cock after? Will you get on your knees like a good little slut and take it into your mouth until you’re choking?” he whispers.
“Yes..”
“Will you let me fuck your mouth?”
“Yes… anything, please…”
“Then come,” His mouth clamps firmly around your clit and presses down while his fingers start driving hard into that sensitive spot inside you again. “Come now...”
The orgasm hits you like lightning. A sharp, sudden current that completely consumes you. You bury your face deep into the pillow to muffle the cry that forces its way out of you. Your body tightens violently, shaking, clenching around his fingers while Jiyong doesn’t stop. He keeps licking you and keeps moving his fingers, deliberately stretching out every wave of that feeling until you completely fall apart, sobbing in broken breaths. Eventually, he slows down. He gives you a moment, lets you just lie there, breathe, try to put yourself back together. The bed creaks softly beneath you, but this time you barely register it.
After a while he moves back up to you and leaning over and kissing you. His lips are hot, wet, and from the way he kisses you, you know this is only the beginning for him. Then he takes your hand and presses it firmly against the hard bulge in his pants, letting you feel it fully, leaving no room for doubt.
“Feel that?” he whispers into your ear, his voice rough, broken by breath he still can’t quite steady. He presses your hand tighter against himself, as if he wants you to feel it completely. “This is what you do to me. I’m this hard just from eating your pussy…”
You squeeze him through the fabric instinctively, curiously and he hisses out a breath, his whole body tensing. “I’ve been hard since dinner,” he continues and his voice spreading over your skin as he slowly moves against your hand. “I was watching you smile, watching you talk… and the whole time I was thinking about what I want to do to you.” He rocks against your palm slightly, like he can’t control it. “I almost lost it… the thought of me alone here, jerking off in this bed… and having no idea that one day I’d have someone like you under me.”
“Jiyong…” you breathe, but he doesn’t let you finish.
“Take it out,” he says quietly, but there’s no room for hesitation in his tone.
You obey. Your hands tremble for a moment because your fingers not as steady as you’d like because the aftershocks of your orgasm are still holding onto you. You pull his pants down and wrap your hand around him. He’s hard, heavy, hot and incredibly sensitive. The moment your fingers slide over the wet tip, he groans deep in his throat. The sound is muffled, but still too loud for where you are.
“Careful,” you whisper, leaning closer to him. “You have to be quiet too.”
“I know,” he answers, but his breathing is uneven, broken. He starts thrusting slowly into your grip, losing control of the pace. “I know, but your hand feels so good…”
You look up at him, something new still flickering in your eyes, something bolder than what you had a moment ago. “What about my mouth?”
His whole body shudders. “Fuck…”
“Would you like that?” you ask quietly. You’re still sitting on his bed, in his room, under those stars and suddenly it feels like you’re the one holding the situation, at least for a moment. “Do you want me to suck you off here? Add it to all those teenage fantasies of yours?”
“Yes, God, yes,”
You gently push him back onto his back. The mattress creaks louder than before, but neither of you pays attention anymore. You slowly move lower along his body and bracing your knees on the bed as you settle between his thighs. One hand wraps around him again at the base and you look up at him. Then you take him into your mouth. His hand shoots up to his face immediately, pressing his palm over his mouth to muffle the sound that escapes him. As you take him deeper, slowly, inch by inch, his body tenses and his back lifts off the bed. When you reach as far as you can, his breath catches.
“Fuck,” he mutters into his own hand. “That mouth of yours…”
You start moving, slowly up and down, your tongue sliding over the sensitive tip, your hand working where you can’t reach. He’s big and you feel it in your jaw, in the way he forces you to open more than feels natural. The weight of him on your tongue makes you let out a quiet moan, and the vibration travels straight through him.
He curses again, more muffled this time. “You’re way too good at this,” he breathes unevenly. “If you keep going like this, I’m going to come in about thirty seconds…”
Suddenly you stop. The air between you stills for a moment. He lets out a quiet, dissatisfied whine, almost unexpectedly.
“Not yet,” you say softly. “You promised you’d fuck me.”
For a moment he just stares at you and then he sits up, pulls you toward him and kisses you hard, almost painfully, like he’s trying to make up for every second you made him wait. “I did promise that, didn’t I?” he mutters against your lips. “On your back.”
You obey almost immediately. You lie back on the bed and your body still trembling from the aftershocks, while he moves over you and settles between your thighs. His movements are more focused now, slower, but full of tension. You feel him against you, hard, hot, the tip of him pressing at your entrance.
“Still so wet,” he murmurs against your lips as he leans over you, brushing them lightly, as if savoring the contrast between your uneven breathing and his control. His forehead rests against yours and your breaths mixing. “This pussy is desperate for my cock, isn’t it?”
You close your eyes and nod, your hips shifting slightly against him as if your body is answering for you. “Yes, always…”
Jiyong runs his hand over your thigh and his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you a little closer. “I can’t wait to feel you around me,” he whispers, his voice low and tense. “I can’t wait to fill you up…”
You look up at him, still unable to steady your breathing. Slowly you spread your legs wider, inviting him closer. “Then do it,” you say quietly. “Fuck me, Jiyong.”
Jiyong braces one hand next to your head and leans down to kiss you again. His expression shifts, softens, as if he’s suddenly that gentler version of himself again and trying to keep control over the wild side that wants to give you everything you ask for. “Remember,” he whispers, and his voice is suddenly sharp, focused. “You can’t make a single sound.”
You nod, but you barely have time to react before he presses closer. He guides himself slowly, every movement careful, incredibly precise. And then he finally pushes inside you.
You both freeze for a moment. The sensation is immediate, full, almost stealing your breath for a second. He stops completely, one arm still braced beside your head while his other hand moves to your thigh and lifts it higher, and you feel how he fills you, how he stretches you exactly the way you wanted... The bed creaks loudly beneath you and you both hold your breath at the same time. Neither of you moves, you just listen. The tension hangs in the air and every second stretching endlessly.
“Okay,” he exhales quietly, almost in relief, but still careful. “Okay… now I’m going to move and you’re going to stay quiet.”
He starts slowly. Long, deep movements that make you grip the sheets beneath you and your fingers digging into them as your legs tense. Every thrust is controlled, precise, like he’s balancing between what he wants to do and what he can allow himself. The bed protests softly beneath you, but it’s still manageable.
“God, you’re so tight,” he breathes and leans closer to you. “This pussy is squeezing me so hard, like it never wants to let me go,” he whispers.
The pace quickens, Jiyong starts fucking you faster, harder, and the bed beneath you begins to creak. The headboard knocks against the wall with every thrust, but you don’t care anymore. You need this, you need him…
“Do you like it?” he pants against your ear. “Do you like me fucking you in my teenage bed while my parents are sleeping next door?”
“Yes…”
“Do you like that my mom could walk in any second? See what a slut you are for her son?”
“Yes, God,” you breathe out, letting out a quiet whine. Your legs wrap tighter around Jiyong’s hips, as if you never want to let him go again.
“You dirty little girl...” He lifts your leg higher, changing the angle and pushing deeper. “At dinner you were such a good girl and look at you now… spread out, taking my cock and trying not to scream.”
“Jiyong, I’m going to…”
“Already?” he sounds almost excited. “I barely started and you’re already about to come again?”
“I can’t help it, it feels so good with you…” you bury your hands in his hair and pull gently. You pull him closer so you can kiss him.
“Then come.” He reaches between you, his fingers finding your clit. “Come on my cock so I can feel it.”
“I’ll be too loud…”
He starts thrusting into you harder and the rhythm breaking into something wilder, more uncontrolled. The bed creaks beneath you, louder now, steady, every movement imprinting itself into it. It’s too loud, you know it, you both know it, but you can’t stop, you can’t slow down.
You shake your head, your body trembling. “I can’t stay quiet…”
For a moment he leans down to you again, almost covering you, and kisses you hard and deep. His mouth swallows everything you would have otherwise cried out. “Then don’t…” he whispers against your lips.
The orgasm hits you again, this time sharp, uncontrollable and your body clenching around him so tightly that he gasps. He holds you firmly as he keeps moving with you until it pulls him under too. He comes inside you, muffled, your name breaking apart on his lips, lost in the kiss.
The bed creaks loudly beneath you one last time, the wood protesting under the weight of your bodies and then everything suddenly breaks into silence. Not complete silence, that wouldn’t even be possible. What lingers is the aftermath. Your breathing is fast and uneven, like you’ve just run something much longer than the few steps between the door and the bed. Your heart is pounding so loudly you feel like it’s vibrating through the mattress, like that rhythm is spreading through the whole room, into the walls, into the hallway… like someone else has to hear it.
The warmth between you hasn’t faded yet. Skin against skin, sticky, sensitive, every small movement echoing with the tension that hasn’t fully dissolved yet. You lie there tangled together, legs intertwined and his hand still resting somewhere on your side as if he doesn’t want to let you go even an inch further away. His chest rises against your face and you feel every breath, every slow attempt to calm down.
“This…” Jiyong exhales after a moment, his voice still slightly hoarse, “…wasn’t quiet.”
You turn your head toward him, your hair sticking to your forehead and neck, and it takes you a second to even focus. “That’s your fault.”
“My fault?”
“You told me not to be quiet.”
He lets out a quiet chuckle, the sound soft, tired, but still carrying that amused edge. “I didn’t think you’d take me so literally.”
You want to say something, maybe argue again, maybe just nudge him with your elbow, but you don’t get the chance, because you both hear it. A quiet, muffled sound you can’t miss. Footsteps.
You freeze before you even realize it consciously. Your body reacts on instinct, your muscles tightening and your breath stopping completely for a moment, as if you’re trying to disappear. Jiyong reacts almost the same, just a fraction of a second later. Your eyes meet and everything is in that look: realization, panic, a clear oh fuck…
The footsteps move slowly down the hallway, unmistakably heading toward his room. Instinct makes you move before your thoughts catch up. You shove him away, sharp and desperate, just to create space. The blanket tangles, catches on your knee, and you struggle with it for a moment before you manage to pull it over yourself. Your heart is pounding even louder now, not from arousal but from pure panic that spreads all the way to your fingertips.
The footsteps stop right outside the door and for a moment there is silence. Both of you stare at the door, almost hypnotized, and then a voice breaks through.
“Jiyong?” His mother’s voice is sleepy and confused. “Is everything okay? I heard some noises.”
Your gaze drops automatically to the doorknob. You watch it so intensely you feel like you’re holding it in place with sheer will. It would take so little. One movement, one decision…
“I’m fine, Mom!” Jiyong calls out, his voice impressively calm considering everything that just happened. “Just… I just dropped something. Sorry for waking you up.”
You can’t believe how normal he sounds and how steady his voice is, as if he isn’t lying there naked next to you, as if you aren’t barely covered and still shaking from everything.
The silence that follows feels endless. The seconds stretch, drag, each one lasting far too long. You keep staring at the handle, waiting for it to move at any moment. Scenarios race through your mind one after another, the door opening, light from the hallway flooding the room, his mother’s gaze falling on the bed, on both of you… on you. Exactly like this. The way she must never see you. You feel your face burning and heat rising all the way to your ears.
“Alright. Good night, sweetheart, good night, Y/N.”
Hearing her say your name hits you harder than anything else. “Good night!” you answer quietly and your face burning. You try to sound normal, calm, as if you aren’t lying there under the blanket wondering if this is the end of your role as Jiyong’s sweet, polite girlfriend the way his parents saw you at dinner.
The footsteps start moving again and slowly fading away. Each step feels lighter than the one before, like the tension is slowly peeling off you. You hear the bedroom door at the end of the hall close.
You don’t say anything, you just wait. Ten seconds, twenty, a full minute. And then you both break. You collapse into quiet, hysterical laughter, trying to keep it inside but failing completely. Your body shakes, your shoulders tremble and your breath falls apart again, this time not from arousal but from that absurd relief that comes after fear.
“Oh my God,” you gasp, tears running down your face. “Oh my God, what did we just do?”
“I dropped something,” he pants, shaking. “I told her I dropped something…”
That sentence makes you laugh even harder. It’s completely ridiculous, painfully childish, and at the same time terrifying, because it would have taken so little for his mom to actually open the door.
You lie there tangled together, his arm coming back around your shoulders as if he needs to reassure both of you that the danger is really over, that you’re safe. You try to stay quiet, but every now and then a muffled burst of laughter escapes anyway.
“God.” You cover your face with your hands. “She knows, she definitely knows.”
“She doesn’t know.”
“She knows, Jiyong! She knew I wasn’t asleep too, she said good night to me!”
“Maybe she… suspects. That’s different.”
“I’ll never be able to look her in the eyes again, I’ll have to fake my own death…”
“You’re being dramatic… But maybe next time we visit, we should get a hotel.”
“Or just not have sex in your parents’ house.”
“That’s also an option.” He takes some tissues from the nightstand and fumbles with them in the dim light of the lamp for a moment before finding them. He gently cleans you both and his touch now calmer and more caring, as if he’s trying to bring things back into balance. “Less fun, but safer.”
You curl up against him and hide your face in the crook of his neck. His skin is still warm and smells familiar, in a comforting way that slowly pulls you back from that wave of adrenaline. Above you, the faded stars glow softly in the dark, some barely visible, but still there. A quiet reminder of something that existed long before you.
“I think your teenage self would be impressed,” you whisper and press a kiss to Jiyong’s neck.
He laughs and kisses your hair and his lips lingering there for a moment. “My teenage self would have come the second you touched him.”
“You think?”
“Definitely.” He pulls the blanket over both of you again, properly this time, hiding you completely from the world. “But my teenage self would have never even been able to imagine someone like you… so I’d say my adult self is winning.”
“Winning what?”
“Life.” He holds you tighter. “I’m winning at life over my teenage self.”
You smile against his chest and close your eyes. Your thoughts keep running for a while. Tomorrow, breakfast, his mother, her gaze… You know it’s going to be awkward, maybe painfully awkward, but that thought fades after a moment, because right now, in this room full of faded posters, teenage memories, and glowing stars, you’re with the person you love more than anything in the world, more than anything under the sun and under the stars…
His warmth surrounds you and his fingers gently tracing your back reassure you that you are exactly where you’re meant to be, exactly where you want to be forever… in his arms.
Title: Just A Little Closer [Part 3]
Pairing: G-Dragon x f!Reader (established relationship)
Word Count: 11,738
Warnings: 18+!!! The warnings from Part 1+2 still stand. Sexual explicit content.
Note: I hope the third picture, which I've been using since part one makes sense now :P This series is now done. Thanks for reading!
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It starts like this.
********
You are trying to finish an email that was due an hour ago.
Trying being the operative word, given that you currently have two cats engaged in a territorial dispute that has, for reasons you don’t even try to understand, designated your shoulders as the contested border. They are both standing on the back of the couch, using your head as a kind of cover, and every thirty seconds or so you can feel them trying to swipe at each other directly over your ear.
“Just as annoying as your father when I’m trying to work,” you tell Zoa, who has just made a lunge for her brother and missed because of her short legs.
From the other end of the couch, there is no comment from Jiyong. You let it go and return to the paragraph you have now edited four times.
Every now and then, your eyes go to the television. Single’s Inferno is on. One of Jiyong’s current obsessions that you’d long since given up trying to understand. Under normal circumstances when the show’s on, this means a full running commentary for the duration of each episode: detailed opinions on every contestant, careful analysis of every dynamic, the occasional monologue delivered to the room at large. He once paused an episode to stand up and pace, gesturing wildly, explaining at length why the contestant had made the wrong choice in potential partner, before sitting back down and pressing play like this had been a necessary intermission. You have come to enjoy the commentary even if you don’t care for the show itself.
Tonight he is unusually quiet.
You glance up at the television again. Gorgeous people are arranged around a swimming pool exchanging loaded looks and talking about wanting to find a real connection. You watch thirty seconds of manufactured tension and then go back to the email.
You let Jiyong be. You have an email to finish, one you are determined to finish in the next five minutes, and you know if Jiyong has something to say he will say it. Honesty has become a practice between you, a deliberate one, since that night.
You stop typing and your eyes go to your left hand that is resting on the keyboard.
There, on your ring finger, an engagement ring. The real one, the one he’d put on your finger at the lunch a few days after the aluminum foil version, in front of everyone. Your people and his people in the same room, the friends who had become shared somewhere along the way, his parents who had embraced you with the warmth of people who had already made their decision about you long before that afternoon and made sure you felt it. Your own family, welcoming him with open arms. You had started crying before he finished the question. He had cried too, which his friends had apparently predicted in advance, Soohyuk turning to Daesung with the look of a vindicated man and saying told you, you owe me dinner before they had all come forward to pull you both in a hug. Little sister, they’d called you.
Two weeks until the move. Then the same space, every morning together, his cats fighting over your shoulders during the evenings. Wedding preparations.
You look back at the screen. You fix two sentences and then press send before you can find anything else to second guess. You close your laptop, your mind already jumping to dinner plans.
“Do you masturbate?”
You turn. Jiyong is looking at you with the expression of a man who has just heard himself say something out loud that he himself was not expecting to say. You watch the surprise move across his face, followed immediately by something that looks like panic.
“Sorry, fuck, I didn’t—”
“How long have you been sitting on that?” you ask.
He stops. The panic recedes at your tone, which is genuinely more amused than anything else. “Three weeks,” he says. Then, “That wasn’t how I meant to ask. Sorry.”
“No?” You set the laptop on the coffee table and angle yourself toward him, pulling one knee up onto the cushion. “How were you planning to ask then?”
“I was going to ease into it,” he says. He winces. “Somehow.”
“I don’t mind,” you say. And it’s true. It’s easier now to talk about this.
He looks at you. There is still some residual embarrassment at having asked so bluntly, but underneath it there’s that look he gets when he wants to understand something and isn’t sure how much he’s allowed to ask. It’s strange even now, almost a month since that night, to be at this new stage in your relationship where everything is now in the open.
“Not often,” you finally answer. “I used to do it more before we met.”
He nods. Then he smiles, a little forced. “Do you want to elaborate before I take that personally?”
You play your own words back in your head and realize how they landed. Immediately, you close the distance between you on the couch, tucking yourself closer to him.
“That came out wrong. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded,” you say, looking at him, and he nods, accepting it as truth. He still waits and you try to think about how to explain it. “When I thought I was done with relationships, those few years, it was… practical, you know? A way of taking care of something on my own. And then I met you, and when I got—I mean, I still wanted to, but every time I tried I felt—” You pause, to really search within yourself, so that you speak only the truth. “Guilty. Like I was taking something for myself that I wasn’t giving you. It made it impossible to actually—Well, you know. It just ruined it. I couldn’t get out of my own head.”
Jiyong listens to all of it without interrupting, which is something you have come to appreciate about him in these conversations, the way he gives you time and space to get these painful confessions out.
Then he nods. “I figured it would be something like that.”
You look at him, curious. “What do you mean?”
He takes your hand, turns it over in both of his. “You carry a lot of guilt,” he says. “About your body. About what you think you owe me as my partner.” He lifts your hand up to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist. “I can tell it’s gotten easier, since you told me everything. But I also know it’s going to take time before you really believe me when I say you don’t owe me this.” He looks into your eyes as he says this. “Not now. Not even after we get married. My love is not conditional on this. It won’t change.”
You know he means it. That’s the thing, you actually believe him now, there is no more fear that he will one day change his mind. You still think of yourself as selfish when you compare everything you take from him; his love, his attention, how devoted he is, how constant he is with what he says and does, to this one thing you are unable to give him, something so simple and normal in a relationship. But that voice in your head has gotten quieter, which is a new landmark for you.
“I don’t want you feeling guilty for taking care of yourself,” he continues. “I mean that. Whatever makes you feel good… I want you to do that. Without it meaning anything about us, my love for you, or your love for me.”
You look at him and you know he’s right. You know that this is a thing people do even when they have loving and committed relationships, that it doesn’t diminish anything, but your situation has always turned what should be simple into complicated things. His words stir that old sadness, the one you’ve been carrying since that first experience, but you make a conscious choice to set it aside. You are working on unpacking all of it, so you don’t bury it, but you set it aside in favor of this moment, which is a good one. Another landmark.
You go for some lightness. “So you’re giving me your blessing to flick the bean?”
He snorts, amused. The smile on his face is a triumph for you.
“You’re encouraging me to be a DJ?” you ask.
“A—what?” he asks, genuinely confused.
You make a motion with your hand. The rapid, technical, back and forth scratch of a DJ working a record. The implication is quite clear.
Jiyong stares at your hand for a full two seconds and then cackles, throwing his head back against the couch.
“What—Where did you even hear that? That’s a new one for me,” he says, still laughing.
And then you ask. “How often do you masturbate?”
The way his laugh stops combined with the deer in headlights expression that immediately appears on his face is enough to make you start giggling before he even tries to say a single word.
“Three, four times a week?” you ask after a moment.
He opens his mouth. Closes it.
You lift an eyebrow. “More?” You look at him with an appreciation that is only partly performed, because the number implied by his expression is actually quite remarkable. You feel that familiar sadness and guilt stir within you again, and alongside it, something else. Something warmer and more complicated that you haven’t quite managed to untangle. You choose, again, to set the first part aside. “Look at you, old man, who would have thought.”
He pulls you against him, laughing, his arm going around you. “Who are you calling old?”
“I’ll stop calling you old when you stop using ‘Ow my knees’ as an excuse not to do pilates with me.” He makes a face of profound disgust at the mention of Pilates. You smile as you settle against him. “Besides, I probably wouldn’t have dated you if I’d met you in your twenties.”
“No?” He looks at you, mock offended. “That was my prime,” he says. “Top of my game.”
You snort. “Is that another way to say you were a fuckboy?”
He laughs. “No.”
You squint.
“I swear! I just mean I was different then. I was more interested in going out. Clubs, parties, that whole world” he says. “A lot of people find that more exciting than what I do now, which is mostly staying home when I have any free time.”
“I find what you do now considerably more appealing,” you say because it’s the truth. You do go out occasionally, but you’ve always preferred the quiet of a shared evening, where you can spend quality time together, over the loud chaotic world he sometimes inhabits. “Did you date a lot?” you ask. “Back then.”
“Not really. I had some serious relationships, but they fizzled out. Mostly my fault. I wasn’t always the most present person. Emotionally, I mean. And my schedule back then was also pretty messed up and not good for a relationship.” He considers. “After that, some dates here and there. If you can call them that.”
“You mean casual sex” you say.
He glances at you, then back to the television. “Yeah.”
You tell yourself not to ask the next question. You ask anyway. “And before we met?”
Something shifts in his expression. It’s not discomfort exactly, he’s not upset. But this is new territory and you can tell he is being careful with his words. You’ve never asked about this before and you know why. Not because you didn’t want to know, though you have always believed you weren’t entitled to his history if he didn’t want to share, but because asking would have meant bringing attention to the elephant in the room. To the one thing you couldn’t give him so this relationship could be like his other ones.
“About a year,” he says. “Maybe a year and a half since the last time.”
A year. Maybe a year and a half without one of these dates.
Your mouth moves again before you can stop it. “Did you masturbate more during that year, year and a half, than you do now?”
He turns to look at you.
The conversation had shifted away and here you are back to this again. Something in you is aware that you keep returning to this, that there is something else underneath your curiosity, some question you haven’t reached yet. You can feel yourself working toward it without fully knowing what it is or why you’re doing it.
“No,” he says.
You wait, but he doesn’t add anything else. On the television, someone is having an emotional crisis by the pool. You should end this particular conversation now. You know you should. Your mouth opens. “Why more now?”
He looks at you. He seems to be weighing something, not whether or not to be honest, because Jiyong has always been honest with you. He seems to be considering how that honesty will land now. What it will do to you. Whether you are asking because you actually want to know or because some part of you is still looking for evidence to use against yourself.
“Do you really want to know?” he finally asks.
You feel that answers your question, but you still nod.
“You,” he says. He looks back to the television, to the episode he’s no longer watching. You can tell he’s no longer paying attention to it, but he looks away from you to give you another chance to change the subject.
You think about that day you walked in on him. The video on his phone: you, fully clothed, laughing, completely ordinary. You think about the feeling underneath all the shame and panic of that afternoon, the warmth you had felt at knowing he wanted you that much. You’d filed that feeling away and hadn’t returned to it.
You return to it now.
“What do you think about?” you hear yourself ask.
He turns to look at you and he says your name. It’s a quiet sound. An offering. We can stop here, it says.
You find you don’t want to stop.
“I want to know,” you say. Your hand moves to his thigh without premeditation, just settles there, looking to keep his attention on you, but you feel him go very still beneath it. You watch as his eyes drop to your hand and then come back to your face, the way he parts his lips. “Tell me.”
“Eating you out,” he says, like he can’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth. “Making you come.” He pauses. “When we kiss—” he wets his lips. “Sometimes you make these sounds. Small ones. And I think—” He stops.
“What?” You can hear yourself, the way the word comes out. Breathless. Unsteady, in a way that has nothing to do with fear, or that old anxiety that’s been with you for years.
“I think about what you’d sound like…” he says. You’re leaning in. “With my mouth on you.”
And then you’re kissing him.
It doesn’t start slow. It starts hungry, mouths open, his tongue sliding against yours as you move, climbing onto his lap. His hands land on your waist as he returns the kiss with a scorching eagerness that has you panting within seconds.
You’ve made out before, of course you have, this is the only act of physical intimacy you’ve shared with him. You know the pleasure of it, the warmth, the connection, but something has always held a part of you back. The history you were carrying, the things you hadn’t said, the anxiety that existed in every moment of closeness like some breathing thing you couldn’t ignore.
It’s different now.
His mouth is hot and insistent and you feel dizzy with it. His tongue flicks in wet strokes across your bottom lip and you open your mouth to it, moaning as you suck on his tongue and feel how that makes his hands tighten on your waist.
“What else—” you pant, your breath hot against his mouth. “What else do you think about?”
He swallows. Hesitates.
You pull lightly at his lower lip with your teeth.
“Fuck,” he breathes, and kisses you again. He shifts you on his lap just slightly, a small adjustment, but the friction of it makes you feel a sharp zing of pleasure between your legs so intense that you gasp against his mouth.
“Ah!” Your legs widen on either side of him, instinctive, your body knowing exactly what it wants, which is to grind down on his lap, to get closer. He holds you still with his hands on your waist, lifts you so you’re barely touching him. “Jiyong—” You try to move down, but he doesn’t let you, and you moan. His mouth has moved to your jaw and you feel his teeth graze the skin there. He bites, and you hear a high pitch whine, that a second later you realize it came from you. “Tell me. Tell me, please—”
“Fucking you,” he says, his voice fraying. “I think about fucking you.”
You pull back.
His eyes snap open at the same moment, because he’s just realized what he’s said out loud, and you look at each other, both breathing hard. You wait for the familiar anxiety to take hold of you, to lock everything down the way it always has, but it doesn’t come.
What comes instead is heat. A deep, low pulse of it. Stronger than anything you’ve felt before.
But the pause is enough for the poison in your mind to take root. You can feel your mind beginning to move in the wrong direction, starting the cycle again, and the questions arrive before you can stop them: what are you doing? Climbing on his lap like this, to start something you can’t finish? Again? That stranger’s voice in your head: Fucking tease. You wonder if Jiyong is thinking it too. You wonder if he’s keeping count of all the moments like this one that have led nowhere.
“I’m sorry,” you say, and you hate the words even as you say them. You hate that it always comes to this.
“No, no,” he’s already shaking his head. His mouth finds the spot on your jaw he’d just been biting, and kisses it. Soft. Then the corner of your mouth. Tender. “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have—”
“Jiyong,” you say. He stops. You feel a sadness so profound you want to cry. It’s a miracle you don’t. You are so tired of apologies. Yours, and his. His most of all, because he has,never, not once, done anything that deserves one. Every sorry from him is just another way of absorbing the cost of something that’s your fault, and you are tired of watching him do it. You’re tired of ruining perfect moments with your overthinking. “Don’t apologize.”
He says your name. Makes you look at him with a gentle touch under your chin. “It’s okay.”
It’s not, but you don’t say it. You lean your forehead against his and you stay there.
You become aware, in the quiet moment that follows, of his hands still on your waist. They’re exactly where they landed at the beginning, never moving, never reaching for more. You become aware that they stayed there through all of it, through the heat of it, containing himself with that discipline of his that’s been consistent since the start of your relationship. You also become aware that he has been holding you slightly lifted this whole time, keeping a careful distance between your hips and his, and it’s not difficult to realize why.
You press a small kiss to his mouth, then move off his lap and back to your side of the couch. He sits forward, elbows on his knees. Trying to hide himself. A beat passes.
“I’m going to get something to drink,” he says. “Do you want anything?”
“Water, please,” you say.
You watch him get up, angled away from you, before he makes his way to the kitchen. You lean back and put your hands over your face, shaking your head because what were you thinking? You listen to him in the kitchen, the tap running, a good couple of minutes before the fridge opens. The tap again.
When he finally comes back, his hair is damp at the temples. He’s gone and splashed his face to cool off. You pretend you don’t notice it as he hands you your glass before he sits back down. You both look at the television where the episode has continued without you.
You take a sip. Your skin still feels warm, too warm, and you’re wet between your legs. Wetter than you’ve ever been because of another person.
It takes a long time before either of you are really watching the episode again.
********
Then there’s this.
********
You have gone through the drawer twice and the boxes three times and you still can’t find it.
You take everything out from the first box onto the floor: the jewelry roll, a small dish that holds miscellaneous things, a handful of small boxes that hold jewelry pieces that require more delicate care, and you sort through it all again as if looking through everything for the third time will have a different result.
The tiny box you’re looking for is not here.
“No, no, no—” You move to the second box again, pulling things out more quickly now, making a bigger mess on the floor.
Jiyong appears in the doorway carrying Zoa, who is draped across his forearm with the boneless contentment of a cat who knows she’s spoiled by her human. He takes one look at your face and sets the cat down immediately. She stalks off, an annoyed little meow in her wake.
“Hey,” he crosses the room. “What’s wrong?”
“I lost it. I don’t—” you move back to the first pile, crouching, sorting through the items again. “I put it in a box. You remember the pendant you gave me, the glass jewelry box it came in? I put it there and I can’t find it. I’m so stupid—How could I lose it?”
“Lose what?” He crouches down beside you, ready to help.
“The ring!” You sit back on your heels. “The one you made. The aluminum foil one. It got a little crushed when I was packing and I tried to fix it because—" You stop. There’s a lump in your throat. You cover your face with your hands. “I put it in the box because I wanted to keep it.”
The ring had been more than just a piece of aluminum foil to you. It had been that night, the whole weight of it. The honesty in that hallway, Jiyong choosing you. The question he had asked in the dark, his voice steady in that way it got when he wanted to convey he was serious, and a ring made from the wrapper of a piece of toast. You valued that small flattened circle of foil more than almost anything you owned.
“I think I’m going to cry,” you say with a small, wet laugh, because you know it’s absurd to be crying over a piece of aluminum foil. It doesn't matter how absurd it is, it seems, because you already feel the tears in your eyes.
You lower your hands. Jiyong is smiling.
You glare at him, sniffling.
“You’re cute,” he says.
“Don’t tease! I’m upset, how could I—”
You watch him stand up, go to the drawer in the bedside table, the one on his side. He opens it and takes something out. When he walks back, he crouches down in front of you and places a small box in your hands. It’s different from the one you were looking for.
“You didn’t lose anything,” he says. “I saw how upset you were when it got damaged so I took it. I was going to give you this later,” he pauses, smiles a little. “But I don’t like seeing you cry. So, open it.”
You look down at the box for a moment, then you open it.
Inside, nestled in velvet, two rings. Delicate, transparent, with something silver suspended inside each one. It only takes a second to understand. Silver flakes. Foil. The ring, preserved.
“Is this—?” You look up at him.
He smiles and nods.
You look back down. Two matching rings, resin-set, the aluminum foil caught inside each one. They are delicate and not all flashy, so you know he made these with your taste in jewelry in mind.
“I had to watch a YouTube tutorial,” he says, and he sounds slightly awkward. “For the resin. It took a few tries. “
You look at him. At this person who saw you getting upset over a piece of foil, who quietly took it and then looked up tutorials and made something out of it. Not because you asked, not some thoughtless gesture, but because he noticed this mattered to you and you’d want to keep it.
“Jiyong…” Your voice has gone unsteady. You lean forward, arms going around his neck, and you feel him catch you, one hand at your back. He kisses your cheek, and you turn your face and your mouths meet in a kiss that is soft and a little uncoordinated because you’re still crying and smiling at the same time. “Thank you.”
He kisses you once more, gently. “You like them?”
You pull back to take the rings out of the box. “I love them,” you say. You look up. “Are you going to wear yours?”
He extends his hand in answer. You smile as you take the larger ring and reach for his finger. He lets you get it halfway on, and then:
“‘Cause if you like it then you should’ve put a ring on it,” he sings. “Whoa-oh-oh—”
You laugh, the last of the tears still on your face, and he grins. He still continues, because he’s apparently decided this is the appropriate soundtrack for the moment, until you push his shoulder and he laughs. He lets you finish sliding it into place.
Then he takes your hand and puts yours on for you. When you look up he is already looking at you. You can feel yourself smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.
“You look happy,” he says.
You lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder, his arm coming around you. The two of you on the floor of your shared bedroom, surrounded by the displaced contents of two boxes.
You are. You really are.
********
And then this.
********
You wake up slowly, pulled from the depths of sleep by a rhythmic pressure.
It takes a couple of seconds to realize it’s a steady, unconscious grind against your backside. Jiyong’s arm is around you, his chest against your back, the familiar tangle of how you always end up in the night. But he isn’t still. His hips move in a sleep driven cadence, each push a soft, persistent nudge against you.
You feel the hard line of his erection nudging against you, and your breath catches as you stay frozen, every nerve ending suddenly awake as you take in the sensation. The friction is muted by your silk shorts and the cotton of his boxers, but the warmth that moves through you is so sudden and intense as your heart rate doubles.
He makes a sound. A muffled groan, half swallowed by sleep. Your mind, still fuzzy with sleep, wonders: What is he dreaming about? The thought itself is a spark. The possibility that you could be the subject of his dream sends a fresh wave of heat through your veins, and a sweet aching pressure settles between your legs.
You feel the exact moment he wakes.
His whole body goes rigid as you feel a sharp inhale against the back of your neck, then you feel the frantic shifting as he pulls his hips back. He lays perfectly still, trying to steady his breathing into something even.
You force your own breathing to stay deep and slow, the picture of undisturbed sleep, despite the hammering of your heart against your ribs.
This has happened before, many times. He wakes, retreats to his side of the bed, and sometimes when that isn’t enough, he slides out from under the covers to silently lock himself in the ensuite. During those times you have lain in the dark and imagined what he does, your body humming with frustrated arousal.
You have tried, more than once, to do something about it on your own. The wanting is there, has been there, increasingly, since the move. The proximity of sharing space, maybe, waking up tangled together every morning, his presence woven into every moment of your day. It seems your body has been paying more attention than your mind has. So you have touched yourself, and the build up is good, but you can’t get out of your own head long enough to finish, and each failed attempt makes the next one harder.
That pulse of heat is currently an undeniable presence between your legs. You feel swollen with it, sensitized, and when he begins to move, to either roll away to the side of his bed or to get up, your body acts before your mind can veto the impulse.
Your hand grabs his wrist, your fingers curling around it to keep him there.
“Wait,” you say.
He exhales, a surprised sound. He seems to understand immediately that you were awake the whole time. “I’m sorry, I was—”
You are honestly starting to hate that word. Sorry. What it means, the reason it’s said most of the time between you two.
“Jiyong,” you say, your voice a low murmur in the dark room. “Stay.”
Silence. Then his voice, thick with sleep and embarrassment. “I’ll be right back, I just need—”
“You can do it here,” you whisper. The words feel strange and bold in your mouth. “This is your bed too. You can—” You swallow, your throat feels dry. “Go ahead.”
A longer silence follows. Taut. Electric.
He says your name, and the question underneath it is clear: are you sure?
“Please,” it’s all you can say. “I want this. Stay.”
You release his wrist, but he doesn’t pull away just yet. His fingers find the strip of skin at your waist where your silk top has ridden up, a light graze, barely anything, but the sensation moves through you so sharply that you gasp.
After a moment he shifts and the mattress dips as he moves onto his back. You stay facing away, but you feel the change in the air. The quiet is no longer awkward, it’s charged, thick with a new kind of tension.
You hear the soft rustle of fabric, you imagine him pushing his boxers down. Then, nothing, just the quiet of the room. And then a moment later, a change in his breathing.
Curiosity, something hungry inside you, makes you turn just enough to look at him.
There is enough moonlight filtering through the blinds to take in the sight before you. He’s on his back, eyes closed, his right hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes, his thumb tracing over the head on each upstroke. The motion makes his hips flex, a tiny involuntary thrust into his own hand.
Your eyes go to his face and see him biting his lip. Keeping himself quiet. For you.
Something about that makes your heart ache with tenderness.
“Jiyong,” you say. His eyes open and find yours across the pillow. “Make yourself feel good.” A pause. You turn fully on the bed to lie on your side facing him. “I want to watch.”
He goes still for just a moment, and you watch him search your face the way he always does, looking for a sign that this is too much, that you want to stop. After a few seconds, his hand resumes its movement, slower now that he knows you’re watching. His breathing changes, there are now shorter, sharper inhales through his nose, and then he moans softly.
That sound goes straight through you. A deep internal throb, low and insistent, that matches the rhythm of his hand. Then before you can stop yourself, your hand moves to the front of your panties. You feel the damp heat of your arousal through the thin fabric, and that, just that simple touch, is a shock of sensation that makes you moan. Jiyong’s eyes drop to your hand. The pace of his strokes increases slightly.
With your eyes on Jiyong’s hand on himself, you move your hand underneath the fabric. You part your legs slightly and you find where you’re warm, slick, and swollen. You move your fingers and find your clit, a moan that sounds like his name escaping your lips.
Meeting his eyes, you watch him looking at you with an intensity that makes you throb harder. Your fingers move in a slow, circling pattern, your hips shifting on the bed as you gather some of your slickness to rub your clit harder.
It’s good, it is so much better than any time you have tried this alone, and you understand why immediately. There is no room in your mind. His eyes on you, the sounds he’s making, the sight of him feeling pleasure, it pushes out all the noise out from your head. It leaves less room for the part of your brain that always ruins things.
“Jiyong,” you moan, and you can hear how you sound. Needy. “I want—”
He moves at the same time you do. The small distance between you closes and his mouth finds yours in a kiss. You feel the panting warmth of his breath against your lips as he moves half over you. His mouth drops to your jaw, and without thinking, you raise your hand, the one you’d been using, to his face. You mean to cup his cheek.
He turns his head, almost desperate, and opens his mouth. Your fingers slip between his lips, and he groans, low in his throat, as he licks them clean. The heat that floods through you at the understanding of what’s happening, that he’s tasting you, makes you moan before he kisses you again, slow and deep.
Your arms go around him, pulling him closer. His erection presses against your stomach and the contact makes you break the kiss. “Jiyong, please, I want—.”
He pulls back, panting. “What—” he’s breathing hard, his forehead against yours. “What do you want? Tell me—”
“You. I want you. Can we—” Your hands find the waistband of his boxers and you pull them further down. “Please. Please.”
With desperate movements you pull your panties down. He makes a sound, then helps, his hands careful even now, making sure nothing happens you haven’t asked for.
“Listen,” he tries to say, “we don’t have—”
“Jiyong. Please.”
“Okay,” he kisses you. “Okay.”
His hand settles on your hip as he shifts between your legs. He’s still wearing his t-shirt, you’re still wearing the silk top of your pajamas, but there is skin against skin in places there hasn’t been before.
Your mind decides to make noise before you can stop it. You’ve been here before.
Not with him. With others. In beds that weren’t this one, with people who didn’t know you the way he does. You’ve been here before and your body locked up and it hurt and even when you pushed through it, you weren’t enough.
You try to push the thought away. You reach for his mouth, but the thought lingers. It festers, quickly spreading through you like icy water, and your breathing changes and not in the way it was a moment ago. It’s now laced with panic that keeps rising with every second. You shut your eyes, willing yourself to calm down.
Jiyong notices. Of course he notices.
He pulls back immediately. No hesitation, no frustration in the movement, which somehow makes the guilt sink in deeper. “Hey,” he says softly. “It’s okay.”
“Stop saying that!” you say, your voice breaking at the end. “Please don’t say it’s okay. It’s not. It’s not—” You can feel the tears and you hate them, hate that you’re here again, that you can want something this much and still have your body betray you this way. “Why can’t I—” you breathe hard, more angry at yourself than panicked. “I want this. I want you. Why can’t I do this?”
“Do you want me?” he asks.
“Jiyong… ” you meet his eyes. He’s looking at you, waiting. “Yes. I want you. But I can’t—”
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
You look at him. At this man who has been nothing but patient and loving every day for the entirety of your relationship. Who asked too fast? once and never had to ask again. Who has, for a whole year, not asked for more than what you can give.
You nod.
He kisses you, slow and soft, taking his time. Your arms go around his neck, and you think that maybe you can just endure it. You did it before, for someone who did not have this patience. For Jiyong, you are willing to endure it again.
He pulls back just enough to look at you. Then he moves, shifting one of his legs between yours, his hand on your hip. You are already bracing for how badly you’ll fail at this, the aftermath of that failure, that you don’t notice his movements. You close your eyes, waiting for what you know. The pain. The way your body simply refuses to cooperate.
He guides you towards him. And your pussy makes contact with his thigh instead.
“Oh.” You open your eyes. He’s watching you. He does it again, guides the movement with his hand at your hip, and the friction is so good, so perfect, that your body chases it before you realize what you’re doing. Your hips move on their own, lifting, seeking more of that friction.
“Like that,” he breathes against your mouth. His lips brush yours, not quite a kiss, just staying close. “I won’t do anything else, I promise.” He pulls you closer, his hand steadies the movements of your hips. He kisses the corner of your eyes, the wet track of tears there. “Just this, sweetheart.”
You hold onto his shoulders and let your body move. You almost ask is this enough for you?, but he’s still hard, his erection trapped between your bodies as you rub yourself against his thigh, and he’s making these little sounds, soft groans against your mouth. You know just this is not a consolation. It’s not some lesser version of what he wanted. It’s pleasure you can still share, that he’s offering you freely, without the weight of expectations.
You lift your head and catch his mouth and what happens can barely be called a kiss. Your mouth is open, breathing hard, and he licks inside and catches your lip with his teeth. You feel that bite everywhere.
“You don’t know—” his breathing is ragged against your mouth. “What you do to me. How much I’ve wanted to touch you. How I’ve—”
“Touch me then,” you say. You take his hand from your hip and you push it beneath the hem of your silk top. You leave it there. He waits, looks at you. You nod. “Do it.”
You watch his face as he looks down, the way his lips part. His touch is almost reverent as he cups your breast. You moan and arch into the touch, feeling his thumb brush over the hardened peak. He leans down and mouths at it through the silk. Your reaction is immediate. You moan, your hips moving faster to rub yourself against his thigh. And then you reach for the hem of your silk top.
“Off,” you say. “Now. Take it off.”
He laughs, soft and warm, and helps you pull it over your head.
“Can I turn on the light?” he asks.
You nod.
He reaches past you and the bedside lamp comes on, the soft one, the reading lamp on your side of the bed, and the bed is cast with a warm glow. You watch him look at you. First your face, then lower. He is quiet for a moment in the way he gets when something has his full attention.
“Jiyong…”
He cups your breast again and leans down. The way he touches you is unhurried, attentive, his mouth brushing across the swell of your breast before moving to the underside, nuzzling the soft skin there with tenderness. Then a kiss to the sensitive skin at the curve of it, before moving to press his lips to the space between your breasts, his hand warm and steady at your side.
The way he touches you is with so much care and tenderness that you feel the burn of tears in your eyes again. You blink them away and bring your hand to the back of his head, making him look at you.
“I showed you mine,” you say. “Now show me yours.”
He grins. “You’ve seen mine before.”
You tug his hair. He makes a sound, low and involuntary, surprised out of him, his eyes going out of focus for a second. Oh. You file that reaction away for later, and watch him reach back and pull his t-shirt over his head.
“Come here,” you whisper.
He looks at you and he understands without explanation. He settles back over you, his thigh finding the space between your legs again, his body pressing against you as he kisses you slow and tender.
You have been naked with people before, but you have never been present for it, never been fully, actually, inhabiting your own body while it was happening. You’d been somewhere in your head, consciously removing yourself from the experience, just waiting for everything to go wrong.
You are here now. Fully present in your body, and you want to be naked with him. Not just for pleasure, though the pleasure is real and good, but because you’re finally in your body with this person who has waited, and you feel only want, only warmth, and the joy of being wanted in return.
The tender kiss changes. One moment it’s soft and the next he kisses you like he’s staking a claim. His tongue flicks against your bottom lip and then inside your mouth, his hand moving from your breast down to your waist and then settling at your hip. He guides you back to his thigh again and you move, your body already knowing the rhythm.
If your mind wasn’t so hazy with pleasure, you might be embarrassed at the sounds you’re making, the small desperate ah, ah that you can’t control, and the way your hips move with complete abandon. But your mind is gloriously full and there is no more room for shame or the voice that usually takes you out of the moment.
You’re not sure how long you stay like this. Kissing, grinding onto his thigh, your hands on his shoulders and then his back. You have touched him before, but never like this, never to learn how he feels against you, how he reacts to your touch.
He shifts his thigh, pushes it harder against you, and you realize you’re close. So close you feel the beginning of your orgasm in your next breath.
The sound that comes out of your mouth is loud, shock and pleasure combined. “I’m—” you gasp against his mouth. “Jiyong I’m going to—”
You come with a cry, your nails finding his shoulders as your hips keep moving on their own, instinct driving you through it, working yourself against him through every wave of pleasure as they move through your body, one after another. Your open mouth drags across his jaw and you bite down without thinking and you hear him curse, breathing hard, his own composure fraying.
He turns his face toward you and you pull him into a kiss, still moaning with the aftershocks, your body trembling beneath him. The pleasure of it seems to linger longer than usual, and then you realize you’re still sensitive, still throbbing. The arousal, rather than having crested and receded, feels like it has simply been amplified.
“Jiyong.” You hear yourself and you barely recognize that voice. Unashamed, wanton in its sound, it doesn’t feel like yours at all. This voice is a stranger to the person who used to think of this as something to be endured. “I think, mmh—I need to. Again. Can I—again? Please, please.”
“You want to come again?” he asks. His voice is low and a little breathless and the sound of it sends a fresh pulse of heat through you.
You nod, frantic. You try to hook your leg around him, try to pull him back where you need him, to rub yourself against his thigh, but he stops you and you hear yourself whimper. Actually whimper. “Please, I need—”
“I know,” his breath is hot against your throat. “Shh. I’ve got you.”
He kisses down your throat. You feel his teeth and then his tongue. You grab his face and pull him back up to your mouth because you want to kiss him, and because you want him to understand you want more. More, like before, with his thigh, with your body feeling more of that pleasure. You feel him smile against your lips and you bite him in retaliation.
“Mmhm—fuck. Okay, okay.” A soft, breathless laugh. “Bossy.”
He begins moving down, kissing your collarbone, then each breast. He takes one nipple into his mouth and the sensation, the pleasure of it spreads and centers between your legs. You’ve spent so long fighting your own body, that you’d forgotten how sensitive it could be. That it can give you pleasure. You writhe under his mouth, moaning when he gives the same attention to the other before he moves lower.
“Stop me if you don’t like it,” he says, and you stare wide eyed, realizing what he means to do.
For a brief moment, one clear and specific memory comes to your mind and it takes you back to another room. The last time someone did this for you and how absent you’d been for it. You remember how you’d performed your way through it, too focused on dreading what you knew was coming next, to feel anything of what was happening. You do remember the physical sensation of it, cold and slippery, unpleasant in every way, because it was being experienced through layers of anxiety.
Then you come back to this room.
To this bed. To the warmth still moving through your body, evidence of how much you actually want this. To Jiyong, who is waiting, who is always waiting, who looks up at you from where he’s settled between your legs and waits for your permission.
You nod, and then he looks down and you fight the urge to close your legs. He leans down and presses a kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.
That’s all the warning you get.
His tongue, flat and warm, moves from your entrance where you are wettest, upward to find your clit with a precision that has you crying out and grabbing at the covers. The sensation is nothing like the cold, slippery memory you have of this. It’s warm and good and you want more of it.
“Jiyong—oh, oh—”
You don’t get a chance to catch your breath. He’s entirely devoted to this, making sounds against you, like he’s the one receiving something, like this is something he wanted, and the knowledge of his enjoyment sends you higher.
Your fingers grab at the pillow before dropping to his hair. He pauses, you realize, trying to tell whether you want him to stop. You curl your fingers and you pull him closer to your pussy, and the moan that comes out of him is loud and wrecked in a way you’ve never heard before. And then he says:
“Wait. Stop—fuck—”
You release him immediately, alarmed, thinking you’ve hurt him. “Sorry, sorry—”
He shakes his head, he’s not hurt. His forehead drops to your inner thigh and you watch him move a hand between his body and the bed, watch his shoulders tighten, hear his rough exhale.
You quickly understand what’s happening. The knowledge of it, that he’s doing something to stop himself from coming, that he feels this way, that you have done that, fuels your arousal with shocking intensity. You feel yourself clench around nothing and you reach down without thinking, your fingers finding your clit. You feel out of your mind with want, your body acting on instinct. You press down on this swollen point of pleasure, your hips lifting off the bed.
Jiyong turns from your thigh to watch and he groans, his hand still beneath his body. “You’re killing me, fucking hell–”
He pulls your hand away and his mouth returns. You keep moving your hips, trying to push against his mouth. He holds you down, and then his tongue moves, twice, with devastating accuracy, that he puts you on the edge painfully fast. You are loud, completely, unashamedly loud.
“Mmhm—yeah, yeah” you moan. “Jiyong, Jiyong—
It cannot be more than a few minutes before your second orgasm arrives, harder than the first, your back arching clean off the bed, and your vision blurring at the edges. Jiyong moves his mouth lower, pushes his tongue in you to feel it, and you cry out again, feeling everything. All of it, every wave of pleasure and aftershock. You feel your body pulsing around his tongue and you think he’s inside me he’s inside me, and the thought makes the pleasure sharpen into something almost unbearable. You squirm so much that he has to hold you down, his hands at your hips keeping you open, working you through it.
Your ears are ringing. Your legs are tingling. You’re trembling in a way that feels like it starts in your bones and radiates outward.
You’re still moaning softly and you realize, slowly, that Jiyong hasn’t stopped. His touch has gentled, his tongue moving carefully, avoiding the oversensitive peak of your clit, tracing around it and lower, unhurried and thorough, like he’s simply saving every drop of your pleasure. It feels good. It keeps that hint of arousal right on the edge, and you think he’ll move up soon, but after a couple of minutes you realize he has no intention of stopping.
“Jiyong—oh god, I—” You mean to say you don’t know if you can come again, but he covers you with his mouth and sucks, licks with relentless focus and you feel it build up again. You feel, with a shock of wonder, that not only can you come again but that you want to. You need to again. Your body is already reaching for it. “I’m—ah! You—don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop please, don’t—”
He stops, pulls his mouth away with a curse.
You cry out in desperation and your hips lift shamelessly toward his mouth, chasing what he’s taken away. “No, please, come back, please—”
He says your name and he sounds wrecked. “I need—” He’s moving up your body. “Sorry, sorry I need—”
You look at his face as he moves over you and you see it, the tension in his jaw, the way he’s trying to stop himself from trembling. And then you remember, with a fresh wave of heat, that he has been hard since he woke up. That he has been attending entirely to you this whole time, and has asked for nothing, but somehow your pleasure has unraveled him to this point.
“Come here,” you say, your eyes on his mouth. His lips are swollen and red and wet.
He kisses you and you open to it immediately, curious. Your tongue touches his lips, tasting yourself there, and the pleasure it gives you makes you pull him closer.
“What you did,” you say, quietly. “With your mouth…can I try? I won’t be any good, I haven’t—But I can try. I want to. I want to make you feel good too.”
Jiyong drops his forehead to your shoulder and groans. You feel his whole body shudder in your arms before he shakes his head. “I won’t last,” he says, his voice rough against your shoulder. “I’m already—I’ll last seconds if you—” He licks his lips, trying not to shake. “Just—fuck. Touch me. Please, just—”
“Next time then?” you ask. You want this. You want this so much it shocks you. It’s suddenly paramount you give him pleasure like this. The idea of it makes you dizzy, mad with arousal. “Can we, next time?”
He lifts his head and looks at you. He must see it in your face, the desire for it, because he smiles, a little huff of a laugh.
“Next time sounds really good,” he says.
Next time.
You sit with those two words for a moment. Next time. More of this. Something to look forward to rather than dread. The future as a place that holds more of something good rather than the eventual arrival of the end.
He kisses you as you work a hand between your bodies. He’s so hard and so warm when you finally wrap your hand around his cock. You feel him shake, feel his breath go fast and hot against your cheek as he breaks the kiss to groan. You try to remember how he was touching himself and you try to recreate those movements, your thumb brushing over the head on each upstroke. You speed up your movements as you turn your face to find his mouth. The kiss is messy, wet, all tongue.
You push him back and he moves to lie on his back, pulling you on top of him. You crawl up to straddle his thighs, your hand still loosely around his cock. You mean to keep touching him, but you look down and see the evidence of how long he’s been waiting, the way he’s leaked over his stomach. Curious and wanting, you lean down and kiss his navel, your tongue darting out to taste—
He pulls you up before you even get a taste, and he’s panting and flushed all the way down his collarbones, his lips parted. “Evil,” he says, breathless. “You’re genuinely evil. That image is going to be seared into my brain for life. Do you know what you—”
He bites down on your bottom lip and the sharp pleasure-pain of it makes your body clench, makes you moan, and he doesn’t finish his question because you tighten your grip around him again.
"Like this?” you ask. Your thumb brushes over the head, gathers the precum there as you begin to stroke him in a steady rhythm.
He groans, doesn’t even answer as he leans back against the headboard, his eyes closing as he finally gets some relief. After a moment his eyes open and finds yours. He bends his left leg at the knee, his foot planted firmly on the bed, and you immediately know what he’s offering. You shift back until you’re straddling his thigh, until your pussy makes contact with the firm muscle there.
You start slowly, rolling your hips against him, moaning at the sensation. His hands go to your hips, steadying you as he watches you move, his eyes moving over your body. You watch him take in the way your breasts move with every roll of your hips, then the point where your body is spread over his thigh as you rub yourself against him. You can feel your own wetness, you can hear the slick sound of your arousal as you move faster, harder, and your moans grow louder each passing second.
Jiyong sits up to kiss you and it means you can’t move quite as freely or as fast, but you don’t care because you’re already close, so close, your clit throbbing as it rubs against his thigh. You can hear his own ragged gasps when he breaks from the kiss as you keep stroking him.
He leans down, not far in this position, and kisses the top of one of your breasts, nuzzles and grazes the skin with his teeth. Your free hand cups the back of his head, guiding him back to look at you. His eyes are half lidded and unfocused, pleasure drunk. Beautiful. He is so beautiful like this.
Your fingers thread through his hair.
You tug.
And Jiyong grunts and comes with a shocked groan, louder than he expected. You can see the surprise in his face at his own volume, the way he bites his lip before quickly giving up on being quiet.
His hands tighten on your hips, so much it almost borders on actual pain, but you love every minute of it. You love the sounds he makes, the way he gasps for breath, the way he pants against your throat as he leans forward, shuddering. The way he feels, the evidence of his pleasure as it spills warm onto your hand. All of it combined, his pleasure, his voice, the way he seems to come for a long time, it makes you feel the most encompassing pleasure of your life.
You feel your own orgasm somewhere between his groans and the desperate grip of his hand, quieter and less intense than the other ones, but deeper, somehow more complete. Less about the physical pleasure of it and more to do with how overwhelming it feels to know what you’ve shared with him.
He leans back again, brings you down with him so that you’re half on top of him. Your head rests against his chest and you hear the way his heart slams against his chest as his body trembles once, twice, before finally settling.
You did that, you think. You.
Between one breath and the next, the tears come. You don’t try to stop them and you don’t try to wipe them away. You simply let yourself feel it. The full weight of what this was, not just tonight, but everything that came before it.
And Jiyong notices again, because Jiyong notices everything about you, and a year later it’s still a marvel.
He guides your face up, tilts it enough so you can look at him. He doesn’t ask anything, he guides you up for a kiss, then rolls you over so he’s once again on top of you. He kisses you with a gentleness that almost makes your bones ache. He kisses you until the tears stop, and then kisses you again for a couple of minutes just because he wants to.
When he pulls back, he moves to lie on his side, pulls you close so you’re snuggled up against him. He looks at you, smiles.
“Did you like it?” he asks.
You let out a soft laugh, and turn toward the pillow to hide the smile that’s too big for your face. “Yes,” you say.
He grins. “Getting shy on me now?”
You smile. You don’t answer. It’s not shyness, exactly, though there is some of that. It’s just that this is new. It’s yours and it’s something you realize you get to have. You already know you’ll have it again. It’s exciting in a way you didn’t think it could be.
You look at him, then down to his chest where he’s holding your hand over his heart. You look up at him again, and he’s just staring. You wait. Almost a whole minute and then you can’t help it.
“Jiyong!”
He laughs softly, brings you close to kiss you. “Just ask.”
You huff, resist for a beat, then: “Did you like it?”
“That,” he says without hesitation, “was the most erotic experience of my life.”
You bury your face in the pillow again, but you are grinning so hard your face aches with it.
He leans in and kisses your smiling mouth and says “You getting shy on me is so fucking hot. Why is it hot?”
You smile. You think you will smile about this for a month. Your whole life.
“Most erotic experience of your life, huh?” you ask, once you’ve recovered enough to speak. “Something you can think about then, the next time you jerk off when I’m not around.” You put it out there, this topic that you still hadn’t been able to talk about openly, not since that day on the couch when the conversation had gotten out of your control.
He recognizes what you’ve done, and then he grins. “It’ll definitely be on my mind.”
“Good. Because you getting off to a video of me laughing at you was honestly a little sad.” You keep your voice solemn. “Don’t do that again. You’re going to develop a complex.”
He laughs. “It wasn’t you laughing at me that’d get me off.”
“No? What then?
He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Honestly?” You nod. “Just you. Looking happy.” A pause, then. “And also on top of me.”
You think of the way he looked at you tonight straddling his thigh, his hands at your hips, his eyes moving over you with so much desire you felt it like a caress.
“Hmm, good information to have,” you say. “Like the fact you like getting your hair pulled.”
Jiyong groans. Then laughs a little. “I actually didn’t know.”
“No?” you ask. He shakes his head. You smile. You like the idea of him discovering something new about himself with you.
You are both quiet for a moment, his naked body against yours is something too that you think you won’t get tired of. You think you might even enjoy it more than the sex, which was good. Perfect. You think: we should have done this sooner.
But then you hear his voice, clear as day, even though he isn’t speaking, because you know him and you know what he’d say. You did this when you were ready. Because you chose it. You wanted it. That’s the only right time.
He leans in to kiss you and you move your arms around his neck. You kiss and then you kiss some more, and when the kiss ends he stays close, his breath against your lips.
“Can we—more”
“Do you want—”
You smile, you feel his smile when he kisses you again. He’s not done. You want more. You feel the hum of arousal still in your body. You wonder if it’s normal to want so much.
You don’t sleep for a long time.
********
This is your life now.
********
You look at the random notepad you picked up from your office, then at his laptop with its twelve pinned tabs.
Twelve.
You’re at the kitchen table with two cups of coffee, Jiyong sitting next to you. You both had agreed this would be a casual, no pressure conversation about the wedding. A starting point. Nothing decided. Just a general idea of where to start planning.
“You have twelve pinned tabs,” you say.
He doesn’t answer.
“Is that a google spread sheet?” You lean slightly to look at the screen. “What’s this tab about?”
“Okay,” he says, with the focused energy of a man who apparently came prepared to this casual, no pressure conversation you decided on ten minutes ago. “I think we should decide on venues first. Everything else follows from the venue.”
“Sure,” you say, because you’re not a wedding planner, but apparently Jiyong is, and you decide to trust him.
“I’m thinking something with scale,” he says. “Something like… let’s say two hundred people to start—”
“To start?”
“— with the option to expand, because once you factor in both sides of the family and friends, two hundred is actually quite a conservative—”
“Jiyong.”
“— but I’ve been looking at a few places, and there’s this one in the south of France that—”
“Jiyong.”
He looks up from the laptop.
“How many people are currently on your mental guest list?” you ask.
He at least seems to be self-aware enough to hesitate. “It’s a working number” You look at him, waiting. “Three-fifty.”
You put your cup down. “Three hundred and fifty people.”
“Approximately. Remember, it’s a working number,” he says, like this makes it better.
“I don't know three hundred and fifty people,” you say.
“You know everyone I know at this point,” he says, and turns the laptop toward you to show you a document that he has apparently already started, which is organized by category and colored coded by group, that has listed all the people he wants at the wedding.
You stare at the document. Then you stare at him.
"How long have you been working on this?" you ask.
He takes the laptop back. "Not long.” A lie.
"Jiyong. There is a tab labeled florist shortlist."
A beat.
"Flowers are important," he says.
You lean back in your chair and look at the man you’re going to marry, who is currently cross-referencing something on his second tab with an expression of concentration that you have only previously seen him deploy when he's finishing writing a song, and you feel a laugh building somewhere in your chest.
"Will there be a theme?" you ask, deciding to follow this wherever it goes.
He brightens, like he was waiting for this question. “Okay. So. I haven't quite decided yet, but I'm thinking it should be something grand, you know. Flowers everywhere, and I mean everywhere, like ceiling installations, the whole thing. This is for the ceremony, of course. The reception is obviously a different conversation—”
“Obviously.”
“—and for the dress, I mean that will be entirely your decision, I have no opinions—” he pauses. “But I do have some thoughts—”
“You have thoughts about my wedding dress.”
“Yes. Thoughts. Like just a general aesthetic direction, really, nothing like—”
“I'm surprised you don't have a Pinterest board,” you say.
Silence.
“... Do you have a Pinterest board?”
More silence.
“Show me the Pinterest board, Jiyong.”
“It's not really—It's more like—” he tries to say.
“Show me.”
He turns the laptop again, clicks on one of the tabs. The Pinterest board has your name as the title. With a heart.
And it has two hundred and seventeen pins.
You look at it for a full minute.
“You have a board with two hundred and seventeen pins of wedding dresses?” you finally ask.
"And venues," he says. "Scroll down."
You scroll down. There are, as promised, venues. There are also floral arrangements, table settings, invitation designs, and what appears to be an entire section on wedding cakes.
"You've been planning our wedding in secret," you say.
"I've been envisioning," he says. "There's a difference. All of this is just inspiration. I plan to design the invitations. And possibly the cake as well.” He pauses, fidgets, then because apparently he will combust if he doesn’t say it: “I could also help design the dress, if you wanted.”
You fold your hands on the table and you look at him.
"Jiyong," you say. "My love.” You pause. "You are a Bridezilla."
He draws himself up. "I’m not —"
"You are the Bridezilla. You are the apex Bridezilla. You are —" the word appears in your head and you hold back a giggle. "GDzilla."
He stares at you, lips twitching.
“GDzilla," you say again, and this time you giggle. "Ravaging the wedding industry. Leaving a trail of venue shortlists and florist recommendations in your wake."
He barely manages to hold back a smile. “You're laughing at me.”
You laugh. “I'm not! But even if I was, I thought you were into that.”
“Oh my god, when are you going to let that go? I don't get off to you laughing at me.”
“Hmm,” you make a sound like you don't believe him. “I know what I saw. Now. Three hundred and fifty guests."
"It's a working number —"
"And we're going to have to work on bringing that number down,” you say.
He opens his mouth. You raise an eyebrow. He looks at his notepad. He picks up his coffee and takes a long sip.
“Two hundred and eighty people then" he says after.
"One hundred and fifty. Max,” you say.
"Three hundred, final offer."
You sputter out a laugh. “That's the wrong direction. That's not how negotiating works."
"It's how I negotiate,” he says, cheerful.
You look at him. He looks at you with the calm of someone who has decided on a number and is comfortable waiting.
“If you promise to consider it, I'll do that thing you like with my tongue,” he says.
You try not to smile. “Fine," you say. "I'll consider it. No promises though!”
“Of course. We'll decide once we pick the venue." He clicks on one of the other pinned tabs. “Speaking of, you have to see the one in France. Look. I saved some pictures.”
He clicks on a folder and he talks and you only half listen as you stare at his profile. He is animated, his eyes bright and happy, his hands moving in that way he gets when he's excited.
You think of these twelve tabs and the Pinterest board with the two hundred and seventeen pins and the folder with dozens of pictures, and you think of those three days where you refused to pick up the phone, when he thought you were going to leave him. You think of how he had already planned to propose. How he must have started all this planning before that.
And you think of how you'll give him everything he wants. The venue in France if he wants it. The three hundred and fifty guests. The ceremony with flowers everywhere.
You'll say yes because you want all of it too. Because it'll make him happy to have this day and you think it's more than fair when he gives you so much love you sometimes feel you'll burst with it.
He’s moved on to the cake section of his Pinterest board now, explaining his vision with a seriousness the topic perhaps does not require, but that you find hopelessly endearing.
This is your life now.
Tag list:
@ldydeath @1950schick @lolzworld @strawinyourdrink @jiyongieahx
contents- smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, just an appreciative smutshot for ji's sexy ahh hands lol
synopsis- your boyfriend's hands have always been your weak spot, and jiyong loves to play into that.
word count- 1,289
a/n- this was requested a couple times and good lord you guys get me. he could genuinely do anything to me with those hands i'm so serious
Jiyong knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows exactly what these types of posts do to you. And he loves it.
He does it deliberately now. He posts photos that he knows will drive you insane, and just waits. And this time, he did not have to wait long.
You, Jiyong, and Daesung were just getting back to your hotel when Jiyong paused right before getting on the elevator.
“I think I left something in the car. Go ahead up to our room, I’ll be right there.” He kisses your cheek before turning and heading back outside. You nod and follow Daesung into the elevator.
When you get to your floor, you give Daesung a hug and head to your room.
But just as the door shuts behind you and you’re kicking off your shoes, your phone buzzes in your pocket.
xxxibgdrgn new post
You narrow your gaze. He posted something right now? You open it and scroll through the pictures. You stop on the third photo.
Fuck.
His hand holding a signed baseball, that tattoo taunting you.
Then the fifth slide.
His hand again, showcasing his bracelets, the lighting making his rings bling, and that damn tattoo seemingly smiling directly at you, testing your patience.
You stare at your phone for a long time. Until you hear the door click behind you.
You slowly turn to him, narrowing your gaze, earning a sly smile from Jiyong.
“You are evil.” You step forward, poking at his chest.
He laughs low. “You liked my post?”
“I think you know I liked it.” You reach down and take his hand. You press your thumb against the back of it, running it along his veins and tattoo.
“Good. I chose those pictures for you.” He grabs your waist, pulling you closer.
You hum, letting him push you backward until you fall to the bed. Jiyong climbs on top of you, hunger and mischief in his eyes. He holds you down, his big hands tight around your arms and pressing them into the mattress.
“I think I’ve got a better use of these hands, though.” He whispers, low and accompanied by a sly smile.
You shiver, a small, breathy exhale slipping from your lips. Your body aches with need suddenly, Jiyong’s gaze seemingly burning a hole through your head.
He slowly drags his fingers up your arm, over your shoulder, down your torso, and stopping at the hem of your shirt. He holds your gaze as he pulls it up and over your head. He unclips your bra with ease, discarding it to the floor.
You reach out and try to grab his shirt too, but he stops you. “No, baby. Let me take care of you.”
You don’t protest. You lay back and let Jiyong run his hands over your body. He accompanies them with his soft lips, starting at your neck and making their way down your chest.
His fingers massage at your hips and waist while his mouth finds your nipple, flicking and sucking on it, causing your back to arch under his touch. His fingers trace your ribs, mapping your lines and committing you to memory.
Jiyong moves to cup your breast and tense his hand around it, allowing you to clearly see the outlines of the veins on his hands and that damn tattoo, smiling up at you as he devours your nipple.
“God, fuck-” you moan as he trails his lips down your body again. He stops at your stomach, sucking at the skin and leaving soft bruises on your waist.
Jiyong slowly unbuttons your jeans and pulls the zipper down. He drags them off of your body, planting kisses on your abdomen and running his hands up your inner thighs until they settle on the wet spot on your panties. He hums, pressing his thumb against your clothed heat.
“Already so wet for me? Such a good girl.” His voice is deep, breath ghosting the hot skin on your leg.
He hooks his thumb on the waistband and pulls them down in one swift motion. Suddenly you’re exposed, hands reaching down desperately to grab at any part of him you can find.
He smiles at your antics before leaning in and connecting his tongue with your aching clit. Your head reels back, hands curling into the sheets and an exasperated moan falling from your lips.
“Mm, you taste so good, baby.” Jiyong growls. His hands are still massaging your inner thighs, but they move up, his pointer and middle fingers tracing your entrance.
Your thighs clench around his head, drawing him in closer, forcing his fingers inside of you. He doesn’t protest. He pushes his fingers into your dripping pussy, his tongue still swirling and flicking against your sensitive bud, and you almost fall apart right there. He curls his fingers deep inside you, hitting that spot that drives you insane.
“Ji! Oh my… d- don’t stop…” you breath, voice broken and body basically convulsing under his touch.
He intensifies his movements as his free hand that was resting on your thigh goes up your side, reaching for your breast again. Then, he adjusts himself a little so he’s able to reach his hand up to your throat. His tongue doesn’t falter once, neither do his fingers, still fucking you deep.
Jiyong’s grip around your neck tightens, and you almost pass out from pleasure. You claw at his arm and run your fingers along the veins there, moans slipping out when his long fingers grab at your jaw and tilt your gaze down to watch him.
“Mm… good girl…” he whispers into your heat. He speeds up his fingers and his tongue, seemingly effortless, sending you spiraling and making you dizzy in the process.
He’s always been incredible with his hands. Whether it be creating his art or fucking your pussy until you’re screaming, that’s one thing he’s always had going for him. He’s so good at it, he knows exactly where to press his fingertips, exactly how deep to go to make you go insane.
You find yourself moving your hips with him, basically riding his face and fingers, chasing any friction you can get.
“Ji- ah- I’m so close…” you whimper, the sounds of your moans filling the room soon after.
Jiyong smiles again, pleased with himself. “Cum for me, baby. You’re doing so well.”
That’s all you need. You come undone as Jiyong presses against your clit and that spot deep inside you at once, letting out a loud, broken moan as your orgasm clouds your vision.
He slows his movements until you come down from your high and he slowly pulls back, his face dripping with your slick. You look down at him, dazed, admiring his blown pupils and satisfied grin.
“I will never get bored of that.” He says, voice deep and strained.
You huff a small laugh before reaching down and pulling him up to eye level. He settles on his elbows and meets your eyes.
“Neither will I.” You smile, pulling him down to meet his lips.
Jiyong moves his lips down to your ear, sucking a small bruise right underneath it.
“Ready to go again? I wanna taste you again.” He growls, and your body shudders.
“You can do whatever you want with those hands.” You smirk, tilting his chin back up to you.
“Good. They’re only for you.” He meets your lips again as his hand moves back between your thighs and gently rubbing against your swollen clit again, and you already know this is going to be a long night. But you wouldn’t have it any other way, especially when you feel his fingers slip into you again, as if that’s what they were made for.
kind of inspired by sabrina carpenter’s “15 minutes.” (or maybe i just couldn't think of a title)
“i can do a lot with fifteen minutes, only gonna take two to make you finish.”
warnings: 18+, smut. + not proofread
a/n: sorry for not posting all week 😭 i had so many big assignments due this week that i procrastinated… i also have so many wips that i’m trying to finish so hopefully more coming soon !!
anyways, these photos were literally my inspiration to write. he looks so good
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
you watched as your boyfriend got ready for his event. he was stood in front of the mirror, tousling his hair and trying to get it perfect for what seemed like forever. you were sat in bed, watching him, wearing only his t-shirt and some underwear - a reminder from last night. jiyong met your eyes through the mirror. “don’t give me that look, jagiya.”
you sat up a little straighter in bed, covering your bare legs with the bedsheets. “hm? what look?”
jiyong turned around to face you, giving you a knowing smile. “like you’re trying to undress me. i have to leave soon.”
“how soon?”
he checked his watch, “fifteen minutes.”
you smiled and beckoned him over. “that’s enough time for me.”
jiyong shook his head with a smile, but walked over to you, sitting down on the bed next to you. you pulled him in closer, running a hand through his hair.
“baby, i just spent half an hour getting my hair perfect.”
you leaned in closer, just barely brushing your lips to his, whispering, “i’ll fix it for you later. don’t you want me right now?”
that was enough to break jiyong.
he pushed you down onto the bed, kissing you roughly. his hand slipped into your underwear, making you gasp as his cold fingers touched your warm and already wet folds. he smirked at your reaction, slipping two fingers into you and using his thumb to rub your clit simultaneously. you moaned at his touch, arching your back in an attempt to feel him closer to you. jiyong removed his hand from your underwear, instead trailing it up your body, his hands roaming under your bare shirt.
you took the opportunity to roll him over, pushing him down onto the bed, climbing onto his lap, and straddling him, before connecting your lips with his. jiyong kissed you back, passionately and yearningly, like he was trying to soak up every fiber of your being. you smirked into the kiss, loving how needy he could get so quickly. you moved your hips against his lap, the friction making you moan against his lips and tangle your fist in his hair. jiyong groaned as you tugged on his hair and his hands made their way to your hips, trying to pull you in closer to him - if that was even possible.
you began to undo his belt, and jiyong lifted his hips up slightly to tug his pants down just enough, as you threw your underwear on the bedroom floor. you aligned yourself with his length, rubbing it across your wet folds a couple of times, before sinking down onto him.
jiyong stifled a moan, his breath shuddering, as you sank deeper onto him. he rested his hands on your hips, pulling you in as close to him as he possibly could, your foreheads pressing together. you rested one hand on the back of his neck, trying to keep him close, and the other on the headboard for stability as you began moving up and down.
you stayed close to him, foreheads pressed together, letting your body heat and breathy moans consume each other. as you continued to move, you threw your head back a bit, to which jiyong took the opportunity to kiss your neck, while one hand moved up under your shirt. your rhythms were synchronized, your lips connecting as you swallowed each other's moans and soft, dirty phrases whispered.
you felt yourself getting closer, your hand moving from the headboard to jiyong's shoulder for stability, your fingers digging into his skin. jiyong knew what that meant, murmuring, "come for me, baby." with a couple more messy movements and jiyong helping guide your hips up and down, you felt yourself unravel, shaking into jiyong's chest. you pulled him closer to you, hands wrapping around his neck, as he continued thrusting up into you, chasing his own pleasure.
every movement was overstimulating, painfully pleasureful. you whined into jiyong's ear, still holding onto him, as his movements got faster. "'m close, baby..." he murmured. "be patient for me." you could only provide a small gasp in response, as his pace quickened. two more sloppy movements, and you felt jiyong spilling into you, shaking slightly as he slowed down and held you.
his hands slipped under your shirt to trace small, loving circles on your back. after a couple minutes, he helped you off of him, laying you down softly on the bed and pressing a kiss to your forehead. "i'll be right back."
he went into the bathroom, returning a couple of minutes later, looking as if nothing had happened, except for his disheveled hair. he held a towel in his hand and gently cleaned you up, before sitting down in bed next to you again, pulling you close to him.
"now i don't want to go to this event." he mumbled.
you laughed, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "you're gonna have fun."
"i'll miss you," jiyong murmured, as if he was going to be gone for eternity.
"you're so dramatic," you smiled, sitting up a bit and cupping his face. "but i'll miss you too."
you ran your fingers through his hair, trying to smooth it down a bit. "you look really good."
jiyong groaned, burying his face in your shoulder. "i really don't want to go."
you smiled, pulling him away to press a kiss to his lips. "go. have fun. i don't want you to be late."
jiyong gave you another look, one that said i really don't want to leave you, but you beckoned him to go. as he left, he kissed the top of your head, "be ready when i come home."
