May 27
Sub heeseung or Jake audio? — tyty if you do 💓
NSFW audio! requested!
heeseung loves when you get on top and ride him.
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Sub heeseung or Jake audio? — tyty if you do 💓
NSFW audio! requested!
heeseung loves when you get on top and ride him.
SORRY BABY, I CAN'T STOP
— this is how i imagined each of straykids members do when they try to muffle their moans by biting on your flesh as they fucked the shit out of you. forget restraint, they need grounding.
HEY— this is an 18+ post! please proceed witu viewer's descretion as this piece contains graphic smut thenes not suitable for minor readers. MDNI!!!!
CHRISTOPHER CHAHN BAHNG
Chan tries so hard to stay in control, but when he’s buried deep inside you, that control slips. He has you in missionary, legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks you with deep, powerful strokes. His face is buried in the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning against your skin.
Every time he thrusts particularly hard, a low, guttural groan tries to escape him. He bites down on your shoulder, not too hard at first, but firm enough to muffle the sound. “Fuck… you feel too good,” he growls against your skin, teeth sinking deeper as his hips snap forward. His bites are possessive but caring, leaving clear marks he’ll kiss tenderly later.
He loves the way your body jolts when he bites harder, the way you clench around him. “Sorry, baby… can’t help it,” he rasps, voice strained, before biting again to silence another moan as he pounds into you. His hands grip your waist tightly, using your body as leverage while his teeth stay latched onto your shoulder or neck. When he gets close, his bites become more desperate and messy, almost like he’s trying to ground himself. He cums with his teeth sunk into your skin, groaning deeply into your flesh as he fills you up. Afterwards, he licks and kisses every bite mark apologetically while whispering how perfect you are.
LEE LEEKNOW MINHO
Minho is a teasing sadist even when he’s losing control. He has you on all fours, one hand fisted in your hair as he fucks you hard from behind. Every deep thrust makes him groan, and instead of letting the sounds out freely, he leans down and sinks his teeth into your shoulder blade.
The bite is sharp and deliberate, meant to muffle his pretty moans. “Quiet… or I’ll bite harder,” he whispers, voice sweet but threatening, right before his teeth dig in again. He loves the way you whimper when he bites, the way your pussy clenches around him. He alternates between soft, teasing nips and hard, possessive bites that leave clear teeth marks.
He’ll bite the back of your neck, your shoulder, even the curve of your waist if he can reach it. Each bite is accompanied by a low, muffled groan that vibrates against your skin. When he’s close, his rhythm becomes punishing and his bites turn almost feral. He cums with his teeth sunk deep into your shoulder, groaning loudly into your skin as he fills you. Afterwards, he licks the bite marks almost apologetically while calling you his pretty kitten.
SEO CHANGBIN
Changbin is loud, intense, and completely unable to stay quiet when he’s lost in you. He has you bent over the edge of the bed in a deep doggy-style position, his powerful body completely covering yours from behind. His thick, muscular thighs slap against the back of yours with every brutal thrust, the sound wet and obscene in the room.
Every time his fat cock slams deep into you, hitting that perfect spot that makes your toes curl, a deep, guttural groan builds in his chest. He tries to hold it back, but he can’t. Instead, he leans forward, pressing his broad, sweaty chest against your back, and sinks his teeth hard into your shoulder. The bite is strong and possessive, his jaw clenching as he muffles a loud, animalistic moan against your skin.
“Fuck— baby, you’re so tight,” he growls, voice deep and rough, the words vibrating through his teeth into your flesh. His massive hands grip your snatchable waist tightly, fingers digging deep into your soft skin as he uses your body like a handle to pull you back onto his thick cock. The contrast is overwhelming. His huge, muscular frame against your smaller one, his teeth sunk into your shoulder while he pounds you mercilessly.
The position lets him hit even deeper, and his muffled moans become louder, more broken. He growls into your skin, teeth clenched tight as his hips stutter. He cums with a loud, deep, muffled roar, sinking his teeth hard into your shoulder as thick ropes of cum flood deep inside you. His whole body shakes against yours, muscles flexing as he holds you in place, refusing to let go until he’s completely emptied himself.
HWANG HYUNJIN
Hyunjin turns even something as raw as biting into something almost poetic. He has you riding him slowly, his back against the headboard, hands gripping your hips as you sink down onto his cock. His head falls back at first, long hair messy, lips parted in pleasure. But as the intensity builds and his thrusts become deeper, needy moans start slipping out.
He suddenly leans forward, burying his face in the curve of your neck and shoulder. His teeth graze your skin teasingly at first, then sink in with a low, breathy groan that vibrates against you. “You feel too good… I can’t stay quiet,” he whispers hotly before biting harder, teeth pressing into your soft flesh as he snaps his hips up sharply.
The bite is firm but graceful enough to leave a clear imprint, but never truly painful. He loves the way your body jolts when he bites, the way your pussy clenches around him in response. His long fingers dig into your waist as he uses your body to bounce you harder on his cock. Every deep thrust is paired with a new bite. On your collarbone, the top of your breast, the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder.
Then he'd moans against your skin, teeth grazing before sinking in again. His voice is breathy and beautiful, even when muffled. As he gets closer, his bites become more desperate, almost frantic. He holds you down on his cock with one hand on your waist while his mouth stays latched onto your shoulder, moaning loudly into your skin as he cums deep inside you. Afterward, he gently kisses and licks every bite mark, admiring how pretty they look on your skin while whispering how perfect you are.
HAN JISUNG
Jisung is loud, desperate, and completely unable to stay quiet when he’s inside you. He has you in missionary, legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks you hard and fast. His face is buried in your neck, hot breath fanning against your skin with every thrust.
Every time his cock hits that perfect spot deep inside you, a loud, broken moan tries to escape him. He solves it by sinking his teeth into your shoulder, muffling the sound against your skin. “Fuck— baby, you feel so good I can’t—,” he whimpers before biting down harder, teeth digging in as his hips snap forward desperately.
His bites are messy and needy, lots of small, overlapping marks all over your shoulders, neck, and collarbone. He can’t control himself. The harder he pounds into you, the harder he bites, using your body to muffle his loud, whiny moans. “I’m sorry— you’re too tight,” he whines pathetically against your skin, teeth still latched on.
When he gets close, his thrusts turn frantic and sloppy. He buries his face completely in your neck and bites down hard on your shoulder as he cums, moaning loudly into your flesh while filling you up. His whole body shakes against you. Even after he finishes, he keeps his teeth gently pressed against your skin for a few seconds, breathing heavily, before he starts kissing and licking the marks apologetically.
LEE FELIX YONGBOK
Felix’s deep voice makes his muffled moans incredibly sexy. He has you in missionary, body pressed close to yours as he fucks you with slow, deep rolls of his hips. His face is buried in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your skin.
Every time he bottoms out, a low, rumbling groan builds in his chest. He muffles it by sinking his teeth into your shoulder, the vibration of his deep voice traveling straight through the bite. “You feel so fucking good, angel,” he groans against your skin before biting harder, teeth pressing firmly into your flesh as he grinds deep.
His bites are sensual and possessive. He loves leaving a trail of marks across your shoulders and chest. The combination of his deep voice, his teeth on your skin, and his thick cock stretching you open is overwhelming. He’ll switch between soft, teasing nips and harder bites that make you gasp. “Can’t stay quiet when you’re this tight around me,” he moans, voice beautifully low even when muffled.
When he’s close, his thrusts become deeper and more intense. He holds you tightly and bites down on your neck as he cums, groaning deeply into your skin while filling you up. The feeling of his teeth and his low, vibrating moans pushes you over the edge with him. Afterward, he gently kisses every bite mark, his deep voice soft and loving as he tells you how perfect you felt.
KIM SEUNGMIN
Seungmin tries to stay composed, but you feel too good for him to stay quiet. He has you pinned beneath him, fucking you with sharp, precise thrusts. His face is in your neck, and every time a moan threatens to slip out, he bites down on your shoulder.
The bite is firm and teasing. “Can’t even stay quiet for me?” he mocks softly against your skin before sinking his teeth in again. His bites are tender, never too painful, but hard enough to leave clear marks and make you whimper. He loves the way you clench around him when he bites. “Pathetic… getting wetter every time I bite you.”
He keeps one hand in your hair, pulling your head to the side so he has better access to your neck and shoulder. His thrusts are relentless, each one paired with a new bite. When he’s close, he bites down harder, muffling his rare but beautiful moans as he cums deep inside you. And even that bite couldn't hide how desperate his moans are spilling ending up with his whole body rigid. Afterwards, when you tried to open it up with he'll act as if that thing never happened.
YANG JEONGIN
Jeongin gets surprisingly possessive and eager when pleasure overwhelms him. He has you in doggy style or spooning, body pressed close as he fucks you hard. His face is buried in the back of your neck or shoulder, breathing heavily.
Every deep thrust makes him moan, so he solves it by biting down on your shoulder. “Noona… you feel too good,” he groans before sinking his teeth in, trying to muffle the sound. His bites start a little shy but quickly become more confident and possessive. He loves leaving marks on you, clear evidence that he was there.
As he gets more lost in pleasure, his bites become harder and more frequent. He grips your waist tightly with one hand while biting your shoulder, using your body to pull you back onto his cock. “I can’t stop… you’re too tight,” he whimpers against your skin, teeth still latched on. When he cums, he bites down firmly on your shoulder, groaning into your flesh as he fills you up, making up pull his head up just so he could gasp the pleasure out. Afterward, he becomes very soft and clingy, kissing the bite marks gently while asking if he was too rough.
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all rights reserved © 2026 sitri. none of my works shall be produced or reproduced in any form without consent and proper asking.
──── 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 | 𝗷𝗷𝗸
𓄲 In order to make ends meet you pick up a side job as the nanny of a brooding, cold perfectionist by the name of Jeon Jungkook — while in the process of doing so, you might've ended up twisting the narrative about your education just a little. Watching over a few children couldn't be too hard, right? Only Jungkook is very peculiar about how he wants things done — strict routines, meal plans and tedious study hours that make the Jeon estate feel more like a military camp than a home — and it's only a matter of time until cracks in the seemingly perfect facade begin to form.
전정국 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw dilf!jungkook single dad jungkook nanny!reader 1980s au slowburn fluff angst explicit content age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20) jungook keeps secrets & so does reader
⧽ word count ⋮ 228.7k+ and counting total reading time ⋮ 18 hours and 55 minutes
Help Wanted receives updates every week, usually around 4-6 days apart <3
[ Pinterest Board] ╱ [ Timezones For Updates ] ╱ [ Read Help Wanted On Wattpad ] ╱ [ Help Wanted Spotify Playlist ] ╱ [ Read Help Wanted on Ao3 ]
𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗫
chapter 01 "daddy doesn't sleep in there anymore" [5.7k] reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 02 "your clothes are dirty" [5.5k] reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 03 "could you stay?" [7.3k] reading time ⋮ 40 minutes
chapter 04 "when mom was here" [6k] reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 05 "are there some messes that can't be fixed?" [5.2k] reading time ⋮ 25 minutes
chapter 06 "hide and seek" [8.3k] reading time ⋮ 45 minutes
chapter 07 "pancakes for lunch and empty fridges" [6.8k] reading time ⋮ 35 minutes
chapter 08 "I didn't know you wore glasses" [6.2k] reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 09 "dirty dancing" [5.9k] reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 10 "whiskey tears" [7k] reading time ⋮ 40 minutes
chapter 11 "checkmate" [6.1k] reading time ⋮ 35 minutes
chapter 12 "guilty as sin" [6.4k] reading time ⋮ 35 minutes
chapter 13 "the truth" [5.8k] reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 14 "you should be careful with that" [6.7k] reading time ⋮ 35 minutes
chapter 15 "crumbling resolve" [11.4k] reading time ⋮ 1 hour
chapter 16 "tainted skin" [6.3k] reading time ⋮ 35 minutes
chapter 17 "daddy-daughter dance" [5.9k] reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 18 "Birthday Girl" [6.8k] reading time ⋮ 35 minutes
chapter 19 "Dancing Queen" [9.7k] reading time ⋮ 55 minutes
chapter 20 "Be Quiet" [11.5k] reading time ⋮ 1 hour
chapter 21 "Heartbeat" [9k] reading time ⋮ 45 minutes
chapter 22 "The Day Before" [10k] reading time ⋮ 50 minutes
chapter 23 "Give and Take" [7.3k] reading time ⋮ 40 minutes
chapter 24 "Twig Snap" [8.3k] reading time ⋮ 45 minutes
chapter 25 "Jeon Jungkook" [20.6k] reading time ⋮ 1 hour and 30 minutes
chapter 26 "Moby Dick" [7.2k] reading time ⋮ 40 minutes
chapter 27 "Happy New Year" [9.8k] reading time ⋮ 55 minutes
chapter 28 "Epiphany" [9.4k] reading time ⋮ 55 minutes
chapter 29 "Man Tears" [6.1k]
chapter 30 . . .
more chapters to be added <3
The taglist for Help Wanted is CLOSED.
PROCEED WITH CARE ﹒❀ m.yg
─── HANDLE ME WITH CARE ꕤ⠀ՙ When Yoongi stays quiet every time you’re together, never letting a sound or reaction slip, doubt slowly takes root in your mind, leaving you wondering if he even enjoys being with you at all. The insecurity builds until, the next time, you force yourself into something more performative, but Yoongi notices immediately, and what starts as confusion turns into an honest conversation neither of you expected. ✶﹑
🥣 min yoongi x f ! reader ﹐☆ established relationship ﹐ꕀ miscommunication trope slight angst slight arguing faking an orgasm smut rough sex missionary hickeys grinding hair pulling riding doggystyle ➜﹒minors do not interact
▹ word count ✶﹐11.6k
The room is dim, lit only by the thin sliver of moonlight cutting through the half-drawn curtains. The air feels thick, heavy with the scent of sex and Yoongi’s cologne, something woodsy and cool that always clings to his skin. Your back is pressed into the mattress, sheets already twisted beneath you from how long he’s been moving above you.
Yoongi is buried deep inside you, hips rolling in that slow, deliberate rhythm he always uses when he wants to take his time. Every thrust is precise, angled just right to brush against that spot that usually makes your toes curl and your breath hitch. His hands grip your hips firmly, fingers digging into your skin with just enough pressure to ground you, but never enough to bruise. He knows your body so well— better than anyone ever has.
It feels good. Of course it feels good. It always does with him.
His cock stretches you perfectly, sliding in and out with a wet, obscene sound that fills the quiet bedroom. Each time he pushes forward, the head drags along your walls, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through your core. You can feel the slight tremor in his thighs where they press against the backs of yours, the way his abs tighten against your stomach with every controlled roll of his hips. He’s sweating lightly, a faint sheen glistening on his collarbones and the sharp line of his jaw, but his face… his face stays almost serene.
That’s the part that’s been haunting you lately.
Yoongi is quiet.
Painfully, unnervingly quiet.
While you’re trying to lose yourself in the feeling of him— his thickness, the way he fills you so completely, the heat of his body pressed to yours, you keep getting pulled out of it by the silence. There are no desperate moans spilling from his lips, no broken curses, no rough growls of your name. Just the occasional low grunt when he sinks in particularly deep, or a barely-there groan that vibrates through his chest when his pace picks up for a few strokes. Even his breathing stays measured, controlled, like he’s meditating instead of fucking you senseless.
You bite your lip as another slow thrust drags a real spark of pleasure from you. For a moment, you let your eyes flutter shut and try to focus only on the sensation: the drag, the fullness, the way his pubic bone grinds lightly against your clit with every forward motion. It’s good. So good. Your walls flutter around him involuntarily, and you feel yourself getting wetter, slick sounds growing louder between your bodies.
But then your mind drifts again.
Why doesn’t he make noise? Does it not feel as intense for him as it does for you? Is he holding back because he’s not actually enjoying it that much? Or worse… is he bored?
The thoughts creep in like smoke, curling around the edges of your pleasure and slowly choking it out. Your orgasm, which had been steadily building, starts to slip away. The heat in your belly dulls, turning from a roaring fire into something distant and lukewarm. You clench around him on purpose, trying to chase the feeling back, but it’s already fading.
Yoongi doesn’t falter. His rhythm stays steady, deep, unhurried strokes that should be driving you crazy. One of his hands slides up your side, palm rough and warm as it cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in slow circles. It sends a shiver through you, but it’s not enough to pull you fully back into your body. Your mind is louder than the pleasure now.
You don’t want him to know.
You don’t want him to stop or pull away or ask what’s wrong. So you do the only thing you can think of in the moment.
You start faking it.
A soft, breathy moan slips past your lips— higher and more theatrical than the ones that usually come naturally. You tilt your head back into the pillow, letting your mouth fall open as you force another moan out, longer this time, letting it tremble at the end like you’re right on the edge. Your hands slide up his back, nails digging in just a little harder than before, and you rock your hips up to meet his thrusts with more exaggerated movements, making sure your body moves like you’re lost in it.
“Oh… fuck, Yoongi,” you whimper, voice pitched just a touch too sweet, too performative. You clench around him again, purposefully this time, and add a little gasp at the end for good measure. “Feels so good…”
Your heart is pounding for an entirely different reason now. The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you keep going, layering on more moans and whines, letting your breathing come faster and more ragged than it actually is. You arch your back dramatically, pushing your chest up toward him, and let your eyes squeeze shut as if you’re overwhelmed with pleasure.
Inside, the real pleasure has almost completely slipped away, replaced by a tight knot of anxiety in your stomach. But you keep the act going, hips rolling, moans spilling out one after another, all while Yoongi continues to fuck you in that same devastatingly silent, controlled way.
His skin is hot against yours. His cock still feels perfect inside you. But your mind won’t shut up, and now your body is performing instead of feeling.
You just hope he doesn’t notice. You keep the act going, layering moan after moan as Yoongi’s pace stays steady and deep. Your voice sounds foreign to your own ears— too breathy, too eager, too loud in the quiet room. You tighten around him deliberately with every thrust, rolling your hips up to meet him with exaggerated movements, letting your nails rake down his back a little harder than usual.
“Yoongi… oh god, right there,” you gasp, forcing the words out like they’re being torn from you. Your back arches off the bed in a dramatic curve, breasts pressing against his chest as you whimper and whine, building the performance higher and higher. The real pleasure has long since faded into the background, drowned out by the loud buzzing of insecurity in your head, but you push through, faking the climb with everything you have.
Inside, your stomach twists. You hate this. You hate lying to him like this, but the fear of him realizing how disconnected you feel is worse.
You feel his rhythm falter just slightly— only for a fraction of a second, before he drives in deeper, hips snapping forward one last time. A low, guttural grunt escapes his throat, the sound vibrating against your neck as he buries himself to the hilt. His cock pulses inside you, hot and thick, spilling deep as he cums with that single, restrained sound. His body tenses above you, muscles locking up, fingers digging harder into your hips for a moment before he slowly relaxes.
You fake your own release right after him, letting out a long, trembling moan that peaks sharply and then dissolves into shaky little whimpers. Your walls clench around him rhythmically, body shuddering beneath him as if you’re riding out wave after wave. You even let your thighs tremble and your breath hitch dramatically, clutching at his shoulders like you can’t handle how good it feels.
When it’s over, Yoongi stays buried inside you for a few long seconds, breathing steady against your skin. Then he slowly pulls out, the wet slide of his cock leaving you feeling empty and strangely hollow. He presses a soft, almost absent kiss to your collarbone before rolling off you and sitting up on the edge of the bed.
The room feels colder without his weight pressing you down. You stay exactly where you are, flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling. The fan above spins lazily, casting faint shifting shadows across the white paint. Your chest rises and falls with breaths that are still too fast, but not from pleasure anymore. Cum slowly leaks out of you, warm and sticky against your inner thighs, a reminder of what just happened. Your body feels used in the best physical way and yet emotionally distant, like you watched the whole thing from somewhere outside yourself.
Yoongi stands, the mattress dipping and then rising as his weight leaves. You hear the rustle of fabric as he picks up his discarded boxers and sweatpants from the floor, the soft sound of him stepping into them. He doesn’t say anything. He never really does after sex. The silence that felt intimate before now feels like a weight pressing on your chest.
He pads out of the bedroom barefoot, footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor, heading toward the kitchen. You remain motionless, eyes fixed on that spinning fan, the aftershocks of your faked orgasm leaving a sour taste in your mouth. The sheets beneath you are damp with sweat and slick, clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Your heart is still racing, but it’s anxiety now, not desire.
A few minutes later, you hear the faint clink of a glass and the sound of the faucet running. Yoongi returns, the soft glow from the hallway light outlining his silhouette as he steps back into the room. He’s shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his narrow hips, black hair slightly messy from your fingers earlier. In his hand is a glass of water, condensation already beading on the outside.
He sits on the edge of the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. The glass is cool as he gently presses it into your hand. “Here,” he murmurs, voice low and a little rough from disuse. His dark eyes search your face in the dim light. “Drink.”
You push yourself up onto your elbows, taking the glass with fingers that feel slightly shaky. The water is cold and refreshing as it slides down your throat, but it does nothing to ease the knot in your stomach. Yoongi watches you quietly, one hand resting on your bare thigh, thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin.
When you lower the glass, he asks, voice tentative and softer than usual, “You okay?”
You force a small smile, nodding quickly. “Yeah… of course. It felt really good. You always fuck me so good, Yoongi.”
The lie slips out easily enough, but your voice sounds a little too bright, a little too rehearsed. For a split second, you swear something flickers across his face— those sharp eyes narrowing just a fraction, lips parting like he might say more. Your heart stutters. He knows. He has to know.
But he doesn’t push.
Instead, Yoongi lets out a slow, quiet sigh, running his fingers through his damp black hair, pushing it back from his forehead. The motion makes the muscles in his arm flex subtly in the low light. He nods once, almost to himself, then swings his legs onto the bed and lies down beside you.
“Come here,” he says gently, reaching for you. You let him pull you against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder, one of his arms wrapping securely around your waist. His skin is still warm, heart beating steady and slow beneath your cheek. He smells like sex and sweat and that familiar cologne, and for a moment the closeness makes the ache in your chest ease just a little.
“I love you,” he whispers into the darkness, lips brushing the top of your head.
Your throat tightens. “I love you too.”
He reaches over with his free hand and clicks off the bedside lamp. The room plunges into complete darkness, broken only by the faint moonlight seeping through the curtains. Yoongi’s breathing gradually slows, becoming deep and even as sleep claims him. His body relaxes completely against yours, arm heavy and comforting around you.
But sleep doesn’t come for you.
You lie there wide awake, eyes open in the dark, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breaths. The fan continues its lazy spin overhead. Every time you close your eyes, you replay the scene: your fake moans, the way you performed for him, the single low grunt he gave when he came. The insecurity gnaws at you, sharper now in the silence. You feel raw and exposed, even though he’s holding you so tenderly.
Hours seem to pass. The glass of water sits forgotten on the nightstand, condensation pooling beneath it. Your mind races in circles— wondering if he really bought the lie, if he’s truly satisfied, if something is wrong with the way you make him feel. Yoongi sleeps soundly beside you, completely unaware, while you stare at the ceiling again, the weight of your doubts pressing heavier with every passing minute.
The next afternoon, sunlight filters through the large café windows, casting warm golden patches across the wooden table. The scent of fresh coffee and sweet pastries hangs in the air, mingling with the low hum of conversations and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. You’re seated across from Wonyoung in a cozy corner booth, both of you cradling warm lattes in your hands. She looks effortlessly pretty as always, long hair cascading over one shoulder, a soft pink sweater making her glow in the natural light.
You’ve been stirring your drink absentmindedly for the past ten minutes, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic mug. The conversation started light, but you finally let it spill, the thing that’s been weighing on your chest since last night.
“So… things with Yoongi have been good, really good,” you say, voice quieter than usual. “But… during sex… he’s just so quiet. Like, almost completely silent. I mean, he’ll give a little grunt here and there, or this low groan when he pushes in deeper, and that’s basically it. Even when he cums, it’s just one low sound. Nothing more.”
You take a small sip of your latte, the warmth doing little to ease the knot in your stomach. “It feels amazing physically, he always makes sure I cum, he knows exactly what he’s doing. But I keep getting stuck in my head about it. Last night… I actually started faking it. The moans, the way I moved, everything. I felt so stupid afterward, lying there while he held me and told me he loved me. I couldn’t even sleep.”
Wonyoung’s eyes widen slightly, her perfectly shaped brows furrowing in concern. She sets her mug down and leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “Oh, honey… that sounds really tough. Have you tried talking to him about it?”
You shake your head quickly, fingers tightening around the handle of your mug. “No… I’m scared. What if I don’t like his answer? What if he tells me he doesn’t find me sexy anymore, or that the spark is gone for him? What if he’s just going through the motions because he feels obligated? I don’t think I could handle hearing that.”
Your voice cracks a little on the last part, and you look down at the foam art slowly dissolving in your coffee. The café suddenly feels too bright, too exposed. You can still feel the ghost of Yoongi’s quiet body against yours from last night, the way he fell asleep so easily while you stared at the ceiling for hours.
Wonyoung reaches across the table and gently squeezes your hand. “I get it. That fear is valid. But bottling it up is only going to make it worse. You two are so good together, communication is important, especially about something this intimate. Maybe there’s a reason he’s quiet. Or maybe he doesn’t even realize how much it’s affecting you.”
You nod slowly, chewing on your bottom lip. “Yeah… maybe. It’s just… Yoongi always been this quiet, from the very beginning. I didn’t really think much of it at first because everything else felt so intense. But then you told me about you and your boyfriend, how vocal he gets, the way he moans your name, how he tells you how good you feel… I don’t know, it made me realize how different it is with Yoongi. I started craving that too. I want to hear him. I want to know I’m making him feel as crazy as he makes me feel.”
Wonyoung gives you a soft, understanding smile, tilting her head slightly. “I remember telling you those stories. And yeah, my boyfriend is loud in bed— it’s hot, it makes me feel desired. But Yoongi… he’s always been a quiet guy overall, right? In everyday life too. He speaks when he has something important to say, but he’s not the type to fill the silence just to fill it. Maybe during sex he’s the same, maybe he just processes pleasure differently. Still… you should talk to him. Even if it’s scary. Tell him how it makes you feel without accusing him. Something like, ‘I love being with you, but I’ve been feeling a little insecure because you’re so quiet, and I want to know if you’re enjoying it as much as I am.’”
You let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping as you trace the rim of your mug with your fingertip. “You’re right… I know you’re right. It’s just terrifying. What if talking about it makes things awkward? Or worse, what if he confirms my fears?”
She squeezes your hand again, her touch warm and reassuring. “And what if he doesn’t? What if he opens up and you both end up even closer because of it? You won’t know until you try. You deserve to feel confident and wanted in every way.”
You manage a small, grateful smile, even though your chest still feels tight with uncertainty. “Thank you for listening. I really needed this.”
The two of you finish your coffees slowly, the conversation drifting to lighter topics— work, a new drama you both started watching, Wonyoung’s latest shopping haul. But your mind keeps circling back to Yoongi, to the quiet of last night, to the conversation you know you probably need to have.
When it’s time to leave, you both stand and gather your things. Outside the café, the spring air is mild and fresh, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers from the nearby park. You pull Wonyoung into a tight hug, breathing in her familiar perfume.
“Thank you again,” you murmur against her shoulder. “For the advice… and for not making me feel crazy.”
She hugs you back just as tightly, rubbing your back gently. “Anytime. Text me later if you need more pep talks, okay? You’ve got this. Just be honest with him.”
You nod as you pull away, offering her one last smile before turning to head home. The walk back feels longer than usual, your steps slow on the sidewalk as the weight of her words settles over you. The sun is warm on your skin, but inside you’re still torn— part of you wanting to listen to her encouragement, the other part terrified of what Yoongi’s answer might be. By the time you reach your apartment door, your heart is already beating a little faster at the thought of seeing him again tonight.
-
That evening, you chicken out completely.
The conversation with Wonyoung plays on repeat in your head the whole walk home, but the moment you step through the apartment door and see Yoongi already there— barefoot in the kitchen, stirring something that smells like garlic and soy sauce, the words die in your throat. He glances up at you with that soft, small smile he reserves mostly for you, black hair falling slightly into his eyes, and your resolve crumbles. Not tonight. You’ll talk to him tomorrow. Or the day after. Just… not right now.
Instead, you both settle into a quiet movie night.
The living room is dimly lit by the glow of the TV screen and a single lamp in the corner. The couch is piled with soft blankets and pillows, the faint scent of buttered popcorn still lingering in the air from the bowl now sitting empty on the coffee table. Yoongi sits in his usual spot, legs stretched out, one arm draped casually around your shoulders as you curl into his side. Your head rests against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear, his body warm and solid through the thin black t-shirt he’s wearing.
For a few blissful hours, the sex issue fades into the background.
You laugh together at the ridiculous comedy on screen, his low chuckle vibrating through his chest whenever something genuinely funny happens. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm, occasionally brushing through your hair in that absentminded way that always makes you feel safe. You steal glances at his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks when he blinks, the subtle curve of his lips when he smirks at a joke. For once, your mind is quiet. No overthinking. No insecurity. Just the simple comfort of being wrapped up in your boyfriend, the two of you tangled together like you belong there.
As the movie credits start to roll and the second film begins autoplaying, the comfortable haze starts to shift. The room feels cozier now, warmer. The blanket draped over both of you traps heat between your bodies. You become hyper-aware of how close you are, his thigh pressed against yours, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the fabric softener on his shirt. Looking up at his face in the flickering light of the TV, something stirs in your chest. His expression is relaxed, peaceful, those dark eyes reflecting the screen. A sudden, sharp wave of want washes over you. You want him. Not just the quiet, controlled version from last night, but something more. You want to climb into his lap, feel his hands on you, lose yourself in him again— but this time without the doubts.
Maybe you were just being paranoid, you tell yourself. Maybe Wonyoung was right and he’s simply a quiet person in every aspect of life. Maybe last night was a fluke, and if you initiate tonight, it’ll be different. Better. You could make him feel good enough that he finally lets go.
The decision settles in your mind, warm and impulsive.
You shift slightly, turning your body toward him. Your lips find the side of his neck first— soft, slow kisses pressed just below his ear, where you know he’s sensitive. His skin is warm, slightly salty from the long day, and you breathe him in as you trail kisses down the column of his throat. One hand slides up under his shirt, palm gliding over the smooth planes of his chest, feeling the faint ridges of muscle and the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.
Yoongi’s breath catches for just a second. He turns his head toward you, and a small smile tugs at his lips.
But the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s something off about it, too tight at the corners, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze before it smooths out. It’s odd, a tiny detail that nags at the back of your mind, but you push it aside. You’re already too far gone in the moment, desire overriding caution.
Encouraged, you let your hand drift lower, sliding down his stomach until your palm presses over the front of his sweatpants. He’s half-hard already, and you rub him slowly through the fabric, feeling him twitch and thicken under your touch. A few firm strokes, your fingers tracing the outline of him as you continue kissing and gently sucking at his neck, leaving faint marks that will probably fade by morning.
For a moment, it feels promising. His body responds, hips shifting ever so slightly under your hand.
Then he moves.
Yoongi lets out a quiet sigh, long and heavy, the kind that carries weight. He sits up straighter, gently but firmly catching your wrist to stop your movements. His other hand runs through his black hair, pushing it back from his forehead, then drags down over his face, rubbing at his eyes and the bridge of his nose like he’s suddenly exhausted or stressed. The TV light flickers across his features, highlighting the tension in his jaw.
You pull back, staring up at him in confusion, your hand still hovering where he stopped it. The warmth that had been building in your belly cools rapidly. “Yoongi…?” Your voice comes out softer than you intended, laced with uncertainty.
He doesn’t look at you right away. His gaze is fixed somewhere toward the TV, shoulders slightly slumped. The comfortable cocoon of the movie night suddenly feels fragile, like it could crack at any second. The blanket slips down to your laps as the distance between you grows, even though you’re still sitting right next to each other. Your heart starts to pick up speed, that familiar knot of insecurity creeping back in, stronger than before.
The room is quiet except for the low dialogue still playing from the movie, but the easy laughter from earlier is long gone. The silence stretches between you like a taut string, ready to snap.
Yoongi sits there on the couch, still slightly leaned forward, one hand lingering over his face as if he’s trying to wipe away whatever thought just crossed his mind. The TV continues playing in the background, the low murmur of dialogue and soft soundtrack now feeling intrusive instead of comforting. The air in the living room suddenly feels cooler, heavier. Your heart hammers in your chest, the earlier warmth of desire replaced by a sharp, anxious flutter.
You can’t take the quiet anymore. “Do you… not think I’m sexy?” The question slips out in the middle of the silence, small and fragile, barely louder than a whisper. Your voice cracks on the last word, and you hate how vulnerable it sounds.
Yoongi’s head snaps toward you instantly. His dark eyes widen, the relaxed expression from the movie night completely gone. For a second he just stares at you, like the words don’t compute. “What the hell?” he says, voice low but sharp with disbelief. “Why would you even think that?”
The intensity in his gaze makes your stomach twist. You look down at your hands, fingers twisting together in your lap, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. The confession starts pouring out, slow and halting at first, then gaining momentum as the insecurities you’ve been carrying finally break free.
“Because you’re so quiet during sex, Yoongi,” you say, voice trembling slightly. “You barely make any sounds at all. Just… a grunt sometimes, or that one low groan when you cum. That’s it. Nothing else. We never really switch positions much either, you stay on top, controlled, like you’re holding back the whole time. It always feels good physically. Really good. You know exactly what to do and I cum almost every time… but lately I keep getting stuck in my head. I start wondering if there’s something wrong with me. If I’m not doing enough, or if I don’t turn you on the way I used to. If maybe you’re just… going through the motions.”
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back, swallowing hard. The words hang in the air, raw and exposed. You feel stripped bare, sitting there in the dim glow of the TV, the cozy movie night now feeling miles away.
Yoongi lets out a deep, heavy sigh. “Fuck…” he mumbles under his breath, the curse quiet but laced with frustration, not at you, but at the situation. He runs both hands through his hair, messing it up further, then drops them to his lap. For a moment he just sits there, shoulders tense. Then he shifts closer and sits fully beside you again, the couch dipping under his weight. His thigh presses against yours, warm and solid, but he doesn’t reach for you yet. He’s silent for another long second, eyes fixed on the floor in front of him, jaw tight. The pause feels endless, your pulse roaring in your ears.
Then he speaks, voice low and careful. “Was that why you faked it last night?”
Your breath catches. You turn to look at him, eyes wide with shock. “You… you knew?”
Yoongi nods slowly, still not quite looking at you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a heaviness in it now. “Yeah. I could tell.” He pauses, swallowing. “I know your body. I know the way you sound when it’s real, the little hitch in your breath, the way your thighs shake, how your voice gets all breathy and broken. That wasn’t it. Not even close.”
He finally turns his head to face you fully, those sharp, dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. “Why did you do it?”
The question is gentle, but it still lands like a weight. You feel heat rush to your face, a mix of embarrassment and relief that he noticed, that he cared enough to pay attention. Your fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket as you answer, voice barely above a whisper at first.
“Because I go into my head about it… about how silent you are when you’re fucking me. It makes me think I’m not affecting you the way you affect me. That maybe it doesn’t feel as good for you, or that you’re not really lost in it. So last night I just… performed. I faked the moans and the movements because I didn’t want you to know I was doubting. I didn’t want to ruin it.”
The confession leaves you feeling drained, exposed. The room is quieter now, the movie long forgotten in the background. You can hear the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen, the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Yoongi’s presence beside you is steady, but the air between you crackles with everything unsaid.
He doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, eyes never leaving your face, that deep sigh from earlier still lingering in the way his shoulders remain slightly hunched. Your heart is still racing, cheeks warm with the vulnerability of having finally said it all out loud. You feel raw, like you’ve peeled back a layer of yourself and handed it to him.
Yoongi doesn’t speak right away.
Instead, he leans in slowly, one hand gently cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushes tenderly over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen. Then his lips meet yours in a slow, gentle kiss. It’s soft at first— barely more than a press of warmth, then deepens just enough to feel reassuring. His mouth moves against yours with quiet care, tasting faintly of the popcorn from earlier and the familiar comfort of him. There’s no rush, no demand, just the steady reassurance of his lips and the way his fingers thread lightly into your hair.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests gently against yours, breath mingling warmly between you. His eyes are closed for a moment, silver lashes brushing his cheeks, before they open again, dark and earnest. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispers, voice low and rough with emotion. The apology settles over you like a warm blanket, sincere and heavy.
He stays close, forehead still pressed to yours, sharing the same air. “You’re the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen,” he continues, the words coming out quieter than usual, but no less intense. “I’ve never once not been satisfied with you. Not even close. Every single time… you drive me crazy.”
Then he pulls back just enough to look at you properly. A faint blush creeps across his pale cheeks, coloring the tips of his ears pink. He glances away for a second, toward the darkened TV screen, as if the admission costs him something. His fingers twitch where they rest on your thigh, like he’s fighting the urge to hide.
“I’ve been holding myself back,” he admits, voice dropping even lower, almost shy. “Because… I get embarrassed. I don’t know why exactly, but if I fully let go… if I let myself indulge in you the way I want to… I was scared you wouldn’t like it. That you’d think it was too much. Too loud. Too intense. That it would change how you see me.”
The confession hangs between you, surprising in its honesty. Yoongi, usually so composed, so in control, looks almost vulnerable sitting there with that soft blush and averted gaze. It makes your chest tighten with affection and a rush of heat at the same time. You let out a low, soft laugh, the sound gentle and warm in the quiet room. It’s not mocking; it’s full of fondness and relief. You reach up, gently turning his face back toward you with your fingertips on his jaw.
“Yoongi…” you murmur, smiling softly as you look into his eyes. “You are the hottest, sexiest man I’ve ever been with. Seriously. Nothing about you letting go could ever be ‘too much’ for me. I want it. I want to hear you. I want to feel how much I affect you. All of it.”
You take his hand in yours, fingers intertwining slowly. His palm is warm, slightly calloused from years of playing instruments and producing late into the night. You give it a gentle squeeze, thumb brushing over his knuckles.
“Do you want to try?” you ask softly, voice barely above a whisper, but full of quiet hope. “Right now?”
He looks at you for a long moment, eyes searching yours. The blush on his cheeks deepens just a fraction, but then he nods— slow, deliberate, decisive. “Yeah,” he breathes. His voice has shifted, gaining a new edge of determination beneath the softness. “I’m going to show you just how much you affect me.”
The words send a shiver down your spine. There’s a promise in them, dark and heated, wrapped in that familiar low tone of his. The air between you thickens instantly, the earlier tension transforming into something electric and anticipatory. Yoongi’s hand tightens around yours, his thumb stroking once over your skin before he leans in again, closer this time, lips hovering just inches from yours.
The living room feels smaller, warmer, the forgotten movie long irrelevant. All that matters now is the way he’s looking at you— like he’s finally allowing himself to unravel, just for you. He leans in and captures your lips again, but this kiss is different from the gentle one moments ago. It starts slow, almost reverent, his mouth moving against yours with deliberate care. Then it deepens. His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he tilts his head and kisses you harder, tongue brushing against the seam of your lips, asking for entry.
You open for him instantly.
The kiss turns heavy, hungry. His tongue slides against yours, slow and thorough, tasting you like he’s trying to memorize every inch. A low, barely audible hum vibrates from his chest into your mouth— the first real sound he’s let slip tonight that isn’t guarded. His lips are soft but insistent, sucking gently on your lower lip before diving back in, the wet slide of tongue and shared breath making your head spin.
Your hands come up to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his black t-shirt as you kiss him back with everything you’ve been holding in. The earlier insecurity melts away under the heat of his mouth, replaced by a growing ache low in your belly. He kisses like he’s pouring years of restraint into this one moment— deep, consuming, and just a little desperate. Without breaking the kiss, Yoongi leans back against the couch cushions, pulling you with him. You follow eagerly, shifting until you’re sliding into his lap, knees settling on either side of his thighs. The position brings your bodies flush together, your chest pressed to his, the heat of him radiating through his thin shirt. His hands settle on your hips, gripping firmly as he tugs you closer, encouraging you to settle your weight fully on him.
You can already feel him hardening beneath you, the thick length of his cock pressing up against your core through the layers of fabric. It sends a spark of arousal through you, sharp and insistent.
Your fingers slide up into his black hair, threading through the soft strands. At first you just hold on, but as the kiss grows more heated— tongues tangling, breaths coming faster— you tighten your grip and pull. A low, broken groan escapes Yoongi’s throat. The sound is deep and raspy, vibrating against your lips. It’s not the restrained grunt you’re used to, it’s raw, involuntary, and it shoots straight to your core. You tug again, a little harder this time, nails lightly scraping his scalp, and another groan follows, louder this time, his hips twitching up into you instinctively.
“Fuck…” he breathes against your mouth, the curse muffled but unmistakable. His voice is already rougher, lower, the composure cracking. He kisses you even more desperately now, one hand sliding up your back under your shirt, palm hot against your bare skin, while the other stays anchored on your hip, guiding you to rock slowly against the growing bulge in his sweatpants. The friction is delicious, sending little waves of pleasure through you with every grind.
Yoongi’s breathing has grown heavier, no longer perfectly controlled. Each exhale comes with a quiet, shaky sound, half groan, half sigh as you continue to pull at his hair and roll your hips. His mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, then down to your neck, sucking and biting softly, leaving faint marks that make you shiver.
You can feel the tension in his body, the way his thighs are tight beneath you, the subtle tremor in his hands as he touches you. He’s letting go, piece by piece, and the sounds he’s starting to make— those low, gravelly groans that rumble from deep in his chest are everything you’ve been craving.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips swollen and wet, eyes dark with lust and something deeper. His hair is already messy from your fingers, falling into his eyes in a way that makes him look devastatingly attractive. “See what you do to me?” he murmurs, voice husky and strained. Another soft groan slips out when you roll your hips again. “This is just the start, baby.”
You roll your hips again, slower this time, dragging your core along the thick ridge of his cock through his sweatpants. The friction is perfect— hot, teasing, not enough and yet almost too much. A shaky breath leaves Yoongi’s lips, and this time it’s accompanied by a low, rumbling groan that vibrates straight through his chest and into yours. “Shit…” he mutters against your neck, the word barely formed but heavy with need. His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in as he guides you into another slow grind. "Feels good."
The praise hits you like a spark. You’ve never heard him talk like this during sex— never heard him say much of anything and it makes heat flood between your legs. You pull harder on his hair, tugging his head back slightly so you can look at his face. His eyes are half-lidded, dark and glossy, lips parted as another quiet groan slips out when you circle your hips just right.
You love it. You love every single sound he’s letting escape. Encouraged, you start moving with more purpose, rolling your hips in deep, deliberate waves, pressing down harder so the seam of your pants rubs right against his length. Each grind makes his cock twitch beneath you, growing fuller and harder until he’s rock-solid and straining against the fabric. The heat of him radiates through the layers, and you can feel yourself getting wetter, slickness starting to soak through your own panties.
Yoongi’s head falls back against the couch cushion, exposing the long line of his throat. Another groan tears from him— deeper, rougher, this time when you drag your clit along his cock again. “Fuck, baby… keep doing that,” he breathes, voice husky and strained. His usual composure is cracking wider with every roll of your hips. “You’re gonna make me lose it right here.”
You whimper at his words, the sound genuine and needy, and grind down harder, chasing the building pressure. Your hands stay buried in his hair, pulling and tugging in time with your movements, and every little yank draws another sound from him— a low curse, a broken groan, a shaky exhale that sounds almost like a whine. He’s talking more now, the words spilling out between heavy breaths as his restraint unravels.
“You have no idea… how much I want you,” he rasps, hips bucking up to meet your grind. “Every time I’m inside you I have to hold back so I don’t sound like a fucking mess…you feel too good.”
His hands slide up under your shirt, palms hot and greedy as they roam over your bare back, then down to squeeze your ass, pulling you even tighter against him. The new angle makes his clothed cock press right against your clit with every roll, sending sharp sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. You moan softly, real and unrestrained, and Yoongi responds with a deep, guttural sound that makes your walls clench around nothing.
“Yeah… just like that,” he murmurs, voice dropping even lower. “Let me hear you too, baby. Don’t hold back for me.” You grind faster, more desperately, the couch creaking softly beneath you both. The fabric between you is starting to feel like too much, too many layers keeping you from what you really want. Sweat is already beading along Yoongi’s hairline, his hair sticking to his forehead in messy strands. His chest rises and falls quicker now, breaths coming in short, ragged pants punctuated by those beautiful, broken groans every time you drag your hips over him just right.
You lean down and kiss him again, messy, open-mouthed, tongues sliding hotly together. He groans into the kiss, the sound vibrating against your lips as his hips jerk up involuntarily, chasing more friction. One of his hands leaves your ass to slide between your bodies, pressing firmly over your core through your pants, rubbing in tight circles that match your grinding rhythm. “God, you’re so wet already,” he mutters against your mouth, voice thick with awe and lust. “All this just from grinding on me? Fuck… I did this to you?”
You nod frantically, pulling his hair again as another needy sound escapes him. You’re loving every second of it, the way his voice is getting raspier, the way he’s starting to talk dirty in that low, gravelly tone, the way his usual quiet control is shattering because of you. “Yoongi…” you whine, grinding down hard, “I love hearing you like this. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He lets out a shaky laugh that turns into a groan when you tug his hair particularly hard. His hips buck up sharply, pressing his cock right against your clit. The grinding has turned desperate, both of you breathing hard and chasing friction like you can’t get close enough. Yoongi’s hands are gripping your hips tightly, guiding every roll of your body against his, his cock rock-hard and throbbing beneath you
Then he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and glassy with lust. His voice comes out rough, almost pleading. “Ride me,” he says, the words thick and heavy. “Please, baby… I need you to ride me.”
Your heart stutters. You’ve never ridden him before. Almost every time you’ve had sex it’s been missionary— him on top, controlled and steady, quiet and composed. The idea of being on top, of taking him like this, makes nervous butterflies erupt in your stomach. But the way he’s looking at you, the raw need in his voice, the way his hands tremble slightly on your hips… you can’t say no. You nod, voice barely a whisper. “Okay… yeah.”
Relief and hunger flash across his face. Yoongi moves quickly but carefully, helping you peel off your shirt and bra, his hands warm and eager as they slide over your skin. He tugs your pants and panties down your legs, lifting you slightly so he can yank them off completely. You do the same for him, pulling his t-shirt over his head, exposing the lean, toned lines of his chest and stomach, then helping him shove his sweatpants and boxers down his thighs. His cock springs free, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip, hard and curving slightly upward.
You’re both completely bare now, skin hot and flushed in the dim light of the living room. Yoongi leans back against the couch again, one hand wrapping around the base of his cock, holding it steady for you. His other hand rests on your thigh, thumb stroking soothing circles. You swing one leg over his lap fully, straddling him. Your hands find the back of the couch on either side of his head, gripping the cushions for balance. Slowly, you lower yourself, the head of his cock brushing against your slick folds. You’re so wet from all the grinding that it glides easily at first, but as you start to sink down, the stretch hits you.
Yoongi is big— thicker and longer than you sometimes remember in the heat of the moment. You pause halfway, breathing shakily as you adjust to his size, walls fluttering around him. The fullness is intense, almost overwhelming in this new position. A broken, needy sound escapes Yoongi the moment you start sliding down. “Fuck… oh my god,” he groans, low and guttural, head tipping back against the couch. His eyes squeeze shut for a second, lips parting as another deep moan rumbles from his chest. “You’re so tight… so fucking wet around me.”
He sounds completely gone already— pussy whipped in the best way. The usually quiet, controlled Yoongi is unraveling right beneath you, and you haven’t even taken all of him yet. You sink lower, taking another inch, and his hips twitch up instinctively. “Shit— baby, you feel incredible,” he rasps, voice strained and hoarse. His hands fly to your waist, not pushing, just holding on like he needs the anchor. “So good… taking me so well. Look at you…”
Another long, shaky groan leaves him when you finally bottom out, your ass flush against his thighs, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. His breathing is ragged now, chest rising and falling rapidly. You can feel him throbbing deep inside, hot and heavy, stretching you perfectly. “Fuck… I’ve wanted this,” he confesses, the words tumbling out between heavy breaths. “Wanted to see you on top of me like this… wanted to feel you ride me. You’re so sexy, baby. So fucking sexy.”
You stay still for a moment, hands gripping the back of the couch tightly, adjusting to the new angle and the overwhelming fullness. Every little shift of your hips makes him groan again, loud, unrestrained sounds that go straight to your core. Yoongi looks utterly wrecked already: eyes half-lidded and dark with lust, mouth open as more soft, desperate noises fall from his lips.
He’s never been this vocal, never this lost in it, and the sight of him like this— because of you—makes heat coil tight in your belly. You love it. You love how he can’t hold back the sounds anymore, how every tiny movement from you pulls another moan or curse from him. Yoongi’s hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as he looks up at you with pure reverence.
“Whenever you’re ready… babe,” he murmurs, voice husky and pleading again. “Please. I need to feel you move.”
You take a shaky breath, hands gripping the back of the couch tighter as you adjust to the deep, full stretch of him inside you. Yoongi’s cock feels even bigger in this position— thick and hot, pressing against every sensitive spot with no escape. The fullness is overwhelming in the best way, sending little sparks of pleasure radiating through your core with every tiny shift of your hips. Slowly, you begin to move.
You rise up carefully, feeling every inch of him drag along your walls as you lift until only the head remains inside you. The stretch when you sink back down is incredible, slow, deliberate, and devastating. You let yourself fall fully onto his cock, taking him to the hilt in one smooth drop. A soft, breathy moan escapes your own lips at the sensation, but it’s nothing compared to the sound that rips from Yoongi. “Fuuuck…” he groans, long and deep, the word breaking at the end. His head falls back against the couch again, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers dig into your waist. “Baby… just like that. God, you feel so good sliding down on me.”
The praise makes your stomach flutter. You repeat the motion— rising slowly, savoring the drag, then letting gravity pull you back down, impaling yourself on his thick length. Each time you bottom out, his cock nudges deep inside you, pressing right against that spot that makes your thighs tremble. The wet, obscene sound of your bodies meeting fills the quiet living room, mixing with the growing chorus of his sounds.
Yoongi’s hands slide from your waist down to find yours. He laces your fingers together, gripping both of your hands firmly in his. His palms are warm and slightly sweaty, thumbs stroking over the backs of your hands in a grounding rhythm even as his breathing grows more ragged.
You hold onto him like that, hands clasped tightly as you start to find a steady pace. Up and down, rolling your hips in a smooth, sensual rhythm that has pleasure building low in your belly. Every rise lets you feel the thick drag of him leaving you, every fall lets you feel the delicious stretch as he fills you completely again. The angle is perfect; his cock rubs against your front wall with every movement, and when you grind down at the bottom of each stroke, your clit presses against his pubic bone, sending sharp bursts of ecstasy through you. Yoongi’s groans grow louder, less controlled. “Shit… yes,” he rasps, squeezing your hands harder. “Ride me just like that. You’re taking me so deep… fuck, I can feel every inch of you.”
His hips start to buck up gently to meet your downward strokes, not taking over but adding to the rhythm, driving him even deeper. The new pressure makes stars burst behind your eyelids. You both moan together, your sounds mixing with his deeper, rougher ones. He’s completely lost in it now, no longer holding anything back. “Look at you…” he breathes, voice husky and reverent. His eyes are open again, locked on where your bodies connect, watching his cock disappear inside you with every fall.
You squeeze his hands tighter, using the leverage to bounce a little harder, finding a pace that has you both seeing stars. The couch creaks softly beneath you with every movement. Sweat beads on Yoongi’s chest, making his skin glisten in the low light, he looks up at you with dark, blown-out eyes. Every time you sink down, he lets out a broken groan or a whispered curse. “Right there— fuck, baby, right there…” When you rise up slowly, dragging along his length, he whines softly, the sound so needy it makes your walls clench around him. “Don’t stop… please don’t stop.”
You’re both panting now, the pace steady but building— rising and falling, grinding at the bottom of each stroke, hands clasped tightly together like an anchor. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, the stretch and fullness combined with the new freedom of being on top making everything feel more intense. Yoongi’s sounds keep feeding your own arousal, each groan and rasp pushing you closer to the edge. He squeezes your hands again, thumbs stroking desperately over your skin. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep going like this,” he admits, voice strained and raw. “But don’t you dare slow down… I want to feel you fall apart on me first.”
You lean down slightly, lips brushing near his ear as you breathe out, voice soft but teasing, “Just like that, baby?” The words have an immediate effect. Yoongi’s eyes snap open wider, a low, guttural growl rumbling from deep in his chest. The sound is primal, nothing like the quiet grunts you’re used to. His fingers tighten around yours for a second before he suddenly releases your hands. Instead, his palms slide down to grip your hips firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh with clear intent.
“Fuck yes… just like that,” he growls, voice rough and strained.
Before you can react, he plants his feet on the floor and starts thrusting up into you from below. The change is sudden and powerful— his hips snapping upward hard, driving his cock deep inside you with each powerful stroke. The new pace makes you bounce on his lap, breasts jiggling with every impact. The wet slap of skin against skin grows louder, echoing in the living room as he pounds into you relentlessly. You gasp sharply, hands flying to the back of the couch again for balance as he fucks you from below. Each thrust is deep and precise, the head of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over. The stretch feels even more intense now, your walls clenching around him with every forceful plunge.
Emboldened by his reaction, you keep talking, voice breaking with every hard thrust. “How does my pussy feel?” you ask breathlessly, the dirty words spilling out before you can overthink them. “Tell me, Yoongi… does it feel good?”
Another deep, animalistic growl tears from his throat. His grip on your hips tightens almost bruisingly as he pulls you down to meet his upward thrusts, impaling you harder on his cock. The pace turns punishing— fast, deep, desperate. The couch creaks loudly beneath you both from the force of his movements. “So fucking good,” he snarls, voice low and gravelly, eyes locked on yours with raw hunger. “Your pussy is so tight… so wet… sucking me in like it was made for me. Fuck— I’ve never felt anything this good.”
He punctuates his words with sharper thrusts, hips snapping up brutally. Each powerful stroke makes your head spin, pleasure crashing through you in waves. You can feel how deep he is, how perfectly he fills you, the slick sounds growing wetter and messier as you drip around his cock.
Yoongi’s breathing is ragged, mixed with constant growls and broken moans. “Keep talking to me, baby,” he demands, voice hoarse. “Tell me more… I want to hear you.”
You moan loudly, the sound genuine and unrestrained as he continues pounding into you from below. His hands guide your hips to meet his thrusts, the rhythm relentless. Sweat slicks both of your skins, making your bodies slide together hotly. His hair is completely damp now, sticking to his forehead, and his face is flushed with exertion and lust. You ride the wave of his thrusts, letting him take control from below while you still set the angle. “You’re so deep like this,” you gasp, voice trembling. “I can feel you everywhere… you’re gonna make me cum if you keep fucking me like this.”
Yoongi lets out another feral growl, hips stuttering for a moment before he doubles down, thrusting even harder. One of his hands slides from your hip to your ass, squeezing hard as he pulls you down onto his cock with every upward snap.
“Yeah? You like when I pound into you like this?” he rasps, eyes dark and wild. “My baby talking dirty now… fuck, it’s driving me insane.” The new dynamic has you both spiraling, your words pulling more sounds and filthy confessions from him, his powerful thrusts from below making stars explode behind your eyes. The pleasure is building fast and intense, your walls fluttering around his thick length with every brutal stroke. Yoongi looks completely lost in you, growling and groaning with every thrust, no longer holding back even a single sound.
Yoongi’s grip on your ass is bruising as he uses it for leverage, pulling you down onto his cock with every powerful upward thrust. He’s pounding into you from below with relentless force now, hips snapping up hard and fast, driving his thick length deep inside you over and over. The wet, filthy sound of skin slapping against skin fills the living room, mixing with his low, animalistic growls and your broken moans.
One of his hands stays firmly on your ass, squeezing and spreading you as he fucks up into you, while the other slides up your back, fingers digging into your skin. Every brutal stroke hits that perfect spot inside you, the angle making his cock rub against your front wall relentlessly. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, winding like a spring ready to snap. “Yoongi—fuck, I’m—” Your voice breaks as the orgasm crashes over you without warning.
Your entire body jolts violently on top of him. Your walls clamp down hard around his cock, pulsing and fluttering as waves of intense pleasure rip through you. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, toes curling, back arching sharply as you cry out. Bright sparks explode behind your eyelids. You grind down desperately against him, riding out every pulse, your slickness gushing around his length as you cum hard on his cock.
Yoongi groans loudly at the feeling, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrates through his chest, but he doesn’t let himself follow you over the edge. His thrusts slow just enough to help you ride it out, but his cock stays rock-hard and throbbing inside you, denying his own release.
The moment your shaking starts to ease, he moves.
In one swift, fluid motion, Yoongi pulls out of you, leaving you feeling devastatingly empty. You barely have time to whimper at the loss before he’s manhandling you with surprising strength. He flips you over the arm of the couch, bending you forward so your chest and stomach press against the soft cushions while your ass is raised high for him. Your knees sink into the seat, legs spread wide.
You gasp sharply as he grabs both of your arms, pulling them behind your back and pinning them there with one strong hand. The position leaves you completely exposed and at his mercy, breasts squished against the couch, cheek resting on the cushion.
Yoongi doesn’t give you a second to adjust.
He slams back into you in one hard, deep thrust, burying his cock to the hilt in your still-spasming pussy. The new angle is even deeper, stretching you wide and making your eyes roll back. A loud, broken moan tears from your throat at the sudden fullness. Then he starts fucking you hard and fast. His hips snap forward with brutal precision, pounding into you from behind like he’s lost all control. The sound of his pelvis slapping against your ass is loud and obscene, echoing through the room. Each powerful thrust rocks your entire body forward, the arm of the couch digging into your stomach as he rails you relentlessly.
“Fuck— yes,” he growls, voice rough and feral. His free hand grips your hip tightly, using it as leverage to pull you back onto his cock with every stroke. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Me losing control… fucking you like this.”
You love it. You love every second of it.
The way he has your arms pinned behind your back makes you feel deliciously helpless, completely owned by him. Every hard thrust sends fresh sparks of pleasure shooting through you, your sensitive walls still fluttering from your orgasm. The new position hits even deeper, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you. You’re moaning loudly, unrestrained, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts as much as you can in this trapped position.
Yoongi’s sounds are constant now— deep, guttural growls, broken groans, and filthy words spilling from his lips with every slam of his hips. “God, your pussy is gripping me so tight,” he rasps, pounding harder. “So fucking wet… you came so hard on me and you’re still this greedy for more?”
He leans over you, chest pressing against your back, lips brushing your ear as he fucks you even faster, building another orgasm dangerously quickly. You’re trembling, moaning into the cushion, completely lost in the overwhelming pleasure of being taken so roughly, so desperately by him. Yoongi’s pace never falters— hard, fast, deep, his hand keeping your arms securely pinned while he claims you completely.
Yoongi is fucking you so hard that the entire couch shifts beneath you with every brutal thrust.
Your arms are still pinned behind your back by his strong grip, your body bent helplessly over the arm of the couch as he rails into you from behind. Each powerful snap of his hips drives his thick cock impossibly deep, the wet, obscene slap of skin against skin echoing loudly in the room. Your pussy is soaked, fluttering and clenching around him with every stroke, still sensitive from your first orgasm. The overwhelming pleasure has tipped over into something almost too intense — your moans have turned into broken sobs, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as your body jolts forward with every thrust.
“Fuck… you’re taking me so well,” Yoongi growls, voice rough and strained, but he doesn’t slow down. His hips piston into you relentlessly, the head of his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you over and over. “Look at you… sobbing on my cock. So fucking pretty.”
He leans closer, chest pressed hot against your back, lips brushing your ear as he keeps pounding into you. “Tell me, baby… whose pussy is this?”
You can barely form words through the sobs and moans tearing from your throat. Every hard thrust knocks the breath out of you, making your voice come out shaky and wrecked. “It’s yours,” you sob, the words breaking apart. “It’s yours… only yours, Yoongi— ahh!”
The moment the confession leaves your lips, his free hand comes down hard on your ass in a sharp smack. The sting blooms hot across your skin, making you cry out louder. He doesn’t stop there, smack after smack lands on your ass, alternating cheeks, each one timed perfectly with a deep thrust. The pain mixes deliciously with the pleasure, sending sparks shooting straight to your core.
Your ass burns under his palm, but you push back against him desperately, craving more. You’re losing yourself completely— mind hazy, body trembling, tears streaming down your face as he claims you so thoroughly. Yoongi growls in approval, landing one particularly hard smack that makes your whole body jolt. “That’s right. This pussy is mine. Only mine. No one else gets to feel how tight and wet you get.”
Then he releases your arms only to slide his hand up and fist tightly into your hair. He yanks your head back firmly, arching your back deeper as he slams into you over and over and over. The angle is devastating — his cock drives even deeper, pounding that sensitive spot with brutal precision. The pull on your scalp sends fresh waves of pleasure-pain through you, making your sobs turn into high, broken whimpers.
“Fuck—yes, just like that,” he snarls, hips snapping relentlessly. “Take it. Take every fucking inch.”
You’re completely lost now, body shaking violently as another orgasm builds fast and unstoppable. Your walls flutter wildly around his cock, clenching down hard as the pleasure crests.
“I’m— I’m cumming— Yoongi!” you sob loudly, the words dissolving into a broken cry.
Your second orgasm hits you even harder than the first. Your entire body convulses, pussy spasming and gushing around his thick length as waves of intense ecstasy crash through you. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, vision blurring with tears, sobs tearing from your throat as you cum hard on his cock, soaking him and the couch beneath you.
Yoongi follows right behind you.
A deep, trembling groan rips from his chest as his hips stutter. He slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he cums hard, thick ropes of hot cum spilling deep inside you. His whole body trembles against your back, muscles locking up as he pulses and fills you completely. Low, broken sounds keep falling from his lips— raw, unrestrained groans and shaky curses as he rides out his orgasm, hips grinding shallowly against your ass to push every last drop into you.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the room are your combined heavy breathing and soft, lingering whimpers. Yoongi’s grip on your hair loosens gently, his hand sliding down to stroke your back soothingly even as his cock continues to twitch inside you. His body is still trembling slightly against yours, sweat-slicked chest pressed to your back, heart hammering wildly.
He stays buried deep, both of you panting and shaking in the aftermath, the intensity of what just happened hanging heavy and electric in the air. His chest is still pressed to your back, heart pounding wildly against your skin. Then, slowly and carefully, he pulls out of you with a wet, slick sound. A soft whimper escapes your lips at the sudden emptiness and the gush of his cum that immediately starts leaking down your thighs.
Your body gives out completely.
You slump forward against the arm of the couch, completely spent, limbs heavy and boneless. Your cheek presses into the soft cushion, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Every muscle feels deliciously used— your thighs still quivering, your ass warm and stinging from his smacks, your pussy pulsing with the aftershocks of two intense orgasms. Tears of overwhelming pleasure still cling to your lashes, and your breathing comes in shaky, ragged gasps.
You hear Yoongi move behind you, his footsteps soft on the floor. He disappears for a moment, then returns with a warm, damp cloth. Gently, almost reverently, he cleans you up — wiping away the mess of your combined releases from between your thighs, along your folds, and down your legs with careful strokes. His touch is soothing now, completely different from the rough way he’d handled you just minutes ago. The warm cloth feels heavenly against your overheated skin.
When he’s done, he helps you shift off the arm of the couch and onto the cushions properly. You curl onto your side, still breathing hard, body limp and glowing. Yoongi grabs the glass of water from earlier (the one that had been forgotten on the coffee table) and refills it in the kitchen before coming back. He sits on the edge of the couch and carefully helps you sit up just enough to take a few slow sips. The cool water slides down your throat, soothing and refreshing.
You look up at him through heavy-lidded eyes as he sets the glass aside. Yoongi’s hair is a complete mess, damp strands sticking to his forehead. His cheeks are still flushed, chest rising and falling with deep breaths, but his expression has softened completely— those sharp eyes now warm and full of affection as he looks at you. “That was…” you start, voice hoarse and wrecked from all the moaning and sobbing. You swallow, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had in my entire life.”
Yoongi lets out a soft, breathless laugh, the sound low and warm. He leans down and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, and finally to your lips— slow, gentle, and full of love. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the last traces of tears. “Yeah,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice still a little raspy. “Me too, baby. Best I’ve ever had. Hands down.”
He kisses you again, deeper this time but still so tender, lips moving softly against yours like he’s pouring every ounce of his feelings into it. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed for a moment as he savors the closeness.
“I love you,” he whispers, the words quiet but heavy with meaning. “So much. And I’m sorry I held back for so long. I never want you to doubt how crazy you make me… how much you affect me.”
You smile tiredly, reaching up to thread your fingers through his messy hair. “I love you too. And I’m glad you finally let go. It was… everything.” Yoongi hums softly in agreement, shifting so he can lie down on the couch and pull you into his arms. He tucks you against his chest, one arm wrapped securely around your waist while his other hand strokes slow, soothing patterns up and down your back. His skin is still warm, heart beating steady beneath your ear now that the intensity has faded.
The living room is quiet again, the TV long forgotten, only the sound of your slowing breaths and the faint hum of the apartment filling the space. You feel safe, cherished, and thoroughly satisfied— the earlier insecurities completely washed away by the way he just proved exactly how much you mean to him. Yoongi presses another soft kiss to the top of your head, holding you close as you both come down together, bodies tangled and hearts even closer.
perm taglist ﹐ → @merakoo @rpwprpwprpwprw @littlejeanskirt @mikrokookiex
5-STAR DICK, 5-STAR DICKHEAD ׅ ⸝⸝ ۫ ׅ a sim jaeyun oneshot
« Man, fuck your pride Just take it on back, boy »
SYNOPSIS. ⋮ in which you have the best sex of your life OR- in which you get fucked over by the fuckboy
⋮. 심재윤. ⋮ 2.2k ⋮. ⋆ fuckboy jake ⋆ explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, fingering, doggy, squirting, overstim, spit kink, degration/praise, alcohol incidence, party scene, emotional cruelty, humiliation?, strong language
part 1 ┃ part 2 ┃ part 3 ┃ part 4
🥥 laceys note ; jake is lowkey a massive dick in this but it’s fine igggg, this is pure filth so MDNI (or do I can’t control you) hope yous enjoys babies 😘 comments, reblogs, feedback and likes keep me writing!
You had never been a party person.
Not really.
Your nights were usually spent curled up with a book or bingeing shows while your roommate Sunoo tried to bribe you out of your cave with promises of “epic vibes” and “cute guys.”
Tonight was no different—until he literally dragged you from your bed by the ankle, your oversized sweatshirt bunching up as you flailed.
“Come on,” Sunoo whined, tossing your jeans at your face. “It’s the pre-semester rager at the soccer house. Free drinks, hot people, zero studying. You need this.”
“I need sleep,” you groaned, but he was already rifling through your closet for something “sluttier than pajamas.” (His words not yours)
Thirty minutes later, you stood in the driveway of a sprawling frat house, bass thumping through the walls like a heartbeat.
The air smelled of cheap beer, weed, and desperation.
Sunoo linked arms with you, pulling you through the door into a sea of bodies—red Solo cups were everywhere, strobe lights flashing aggressively and people grinding in corners.
You clung to him like a lifeline, already regretting the tight black top he’d forced on you, that left nothing to the imagination.
“See? It’s great fun,” he shouted over the music, thrusting a drink into your hand. “Drink. Dance. Live.”
You sipped the mystery concoction—sweet, burning, vodka-heavy—and scanned the room.
Faces blurred. Laughter spiked.
Sunoo vanished into the crowd after ten minutes, yelling something about finding his “situationship.”
Left alone now, you wedged yourself against a wall, nursing your cup, watching the chaos of drunk and horny “adults” unfold.
That’s when some drunk asshole barreled into you. Liquid sloshed over your hand, soaking your top.
The guy—tall, sloppy, reeking of tequila—didn’t even glance back, just kept stumbling forward. Your cup was half-empty now, sticky and ruined.
“Fuck,” you muttered, shaking off the spill.
“Here.”
A voice cut through the noise—smooth, confident, closer than you expected.
You turned to find a guy holding out a fresh cup, condensation beading on the plastic.
Dark hair tousled just right, sharp jawline shadowed with stubble, fitted white tee hugging broad shoulders and a hint of abs beneath. Piercing eyes locked on yours, lips curved in a smirk that screamed trouble.
“On the house. That dipshit owes me for the mess.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the easy charm. “Uh, thanks. You didn’t have to.”
He shrugged with casual grace, positioning himself against the wall beside you, near enough that his cologne—a crisp, masculine blend of cedar and spice—enveloped you.
“Name’s Jake. And it absolutely was. I can’t let an asshole like that ruin a pretty girls night.”
The compliment landed with practiced ease, his gaze sweeping over you in a slow, appreciative of your low cut top, the look ignited something low in your belly.
You supplied your name, accepted the drink, and took a tentative sip. Stronger than the previous one, it spread warmth through your limbs almost immediately.
Jake mirrored your pace, conversation igniting as if you were old acquaintances. He was funny, sharp, the kind of guy who made the room feel smaller, quieter, just for you two.
“You dance?” he asked, nodding toward the makeshift floor.
You laughed. “Not nearly drunk enough.”
He grinned, dimples flashing. “We can fix that.”
Two more drinks later—his refills, always perfectly timed—the world tilted soft and hazy. The music coursed through your veins like liquid fire.
Jake’s palm settled at the small of your back, steering you into the midst of swaying bodies. Collisions occurred. During a slutry track, his chest aligned with yours, hips moving in perfectly against one another.
Heat radiated between you—his breath warm against your neck, fingers tracing the edge of your waistband with deliberate subtlety.
“You smell incredible,” he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
A shiver raced across your skin.
Emboldened by the alcohol and the electric pull of his proximity, you pivoted within his grasp, your hands gliding up the firmness of his chest. “So do you.”
The kiss happened naturally, like gravity. His mouth claimed yours—firm, skilled, tasting of whiskey and want and no hesitation.
His tongue teasing yours, deepening the kiss fast. Hands were everywhere: yours in his hair, tugging at the roots and his gripping your ass, pulling you flush against the hard line of him.
The world narrowed to Jake—hot, demanding, perfect.
He broke away first, eyes dark with hunger. “Upstairs?”
Your heart thundered against your ribs. Eveything in you screamed; stranger, party, mistake.
But alcohol took over and you nodded, still flushed from the kiss.
He grabbed your hand and navigated the both of you through bodies, you climbed the groaning staircase to a bedroom at the end of a corridor.
The door clicked shut and Jake locked it.
The space was dimly lit by a string of small light, illuminating a king-sized bed with rumpled sheets that carried a faint scent of fresh laundry.
Posters of soccer legends adorned the walls, discarded underwear littered the floor— giving a clear signs of occupancy or maybe a couple was here before the tow of you.
None of it mattered in this moment.
His shirt came off first, revealing a torso honed by relentless athletic discipline: broad chest tapering to chiseled abs, a tantalizing trail of dark hair vanishing below his waistband.
You absorbed the sight, desire pooling hot between your thighs.
Your top followed, then your bra, unfastened with his deft fingers that clearly told you he’s done this before. Jeans peeled away. Underwear vanished. You both were bare now, skin humming with anticipation.
Jake backed you to the bed, gaze raking over every exposed curve like a starving man.
“Fuck, you’re a goddamn dream,” he growled, voice thick with reverence and filth.
He claimed your mouth again—this time slower, dirtier, tongue fucking into you with lewd precision—before shoving you down onto the mattress.
He prowled over you, his weight pinning you down, mouth blazing a trail of wetness across your skin: teeth sinking into your neck hard enough to bruise, lips sucking purple marks across your collarbone, tongue lavishing attention on your breasts—circling hardening nipples, drawing them into the wetness of his mouth until you arched, a gasp tearing from your throat.
He was a fucking sex god.
His fingers dove between your thighs, spreading your already slick folds wide.
He pumped two thick digits inside—curling viciously against your G-spot, scissoring to stretch you open, his thumb battered your clit in brutal circles.
You thrashed from the pleasure, soaked and sobbing, the wet schlick of his hand was obscene and so loud over the muffled bass of the party below.
“Jake—fuck, please—”
He laughed dark, withdrawing his fingers but only to shove his boxers down.
His cock sprang free—thick, long, with veins bulging along the shaft and a flushed red head leaking pre-cum.
He snatched a condom from the drawer, rolling it on with practiced speed.
He gripped your thighs, yanking them apart wide, folding you nearly in half. Teasing your dripping hole with the fat head of himself, smearing your arousal all over him.
Then he slammed in—bottoming out in one brutal thrust that ripped a scream from your throat.
The stretch burned so perfectly, your tight walls fluttering around his girth. He was so big.
“So fucking tight—gonna ruin this pussy,” he snarled, hips snapping immediately into a brutal rhythm.
The bedframe banged the wall like a gun shot, headboard cracking wood over and over and over. Every stroke demolished you: cockhead hammering your G-spot relentlessly, his pelvis grinding your clit, balls slapping your ass wet and loud.
He pinned your wrists overhead with one hand, the other mauled your tits—pinching your nipple hard, twisting until tears pricked your eyes.
His mouth devoured yours in sloppy kisses, swallowing your escalating cries and screams.
Sweat sheened visible on you both under the dim lit lights, bodies slapping filthy—schlick-schlick-schlick echoed as a cream ring foamed at his base.
Your walls clenched around him involuntarily, signaling your approach.
He sensed it, redoubling his efforts—thrusts growing erratic, one hand hitch your leg higher over his hip, altering the angle to fuck you even deeper.
“Come for me,” he commanded, voice gravelly against your ear. “Let me feel you.”
The orgasm hit you and shattered you—your vision fracturing into white-hot bursts, thighs quaking uncontrollably around his waist.
A keening moan escaped you as your nails raked bloody crescents down his back.
He flipped you suddenly—ass up, face smashed into the sheets making your screams and moans muffled, your hips were yanked back onto his cock.
The new angle wrecked you even more: deeper, meaner, your cervix battered with each plunge.
Spanks fell on your ass—red-hot stings blooming from his large hands—his free hand fisting your hair, yanking your head back to spit in your open mouth. “Swallow.”
He fucked you harder with each thrust as you both neared the edge. Your gummy walls tightening around him, clenching him so hard. “Good girl—take this dick.”
Your second orgasm came faster and harder, your vision blacking this time, your cunt convulsing in violent spasms and pulses, squirting a mess down your thighs and on his cock.
He growled, pounding you through it once again, never slowing before burying balls-deep, in you, his cock throbbing while white ropes spurted into the condom, grinding his pelvis filthly against you as he made you take every drop.
Finally he collapsed beside you in wreckage, panting and euphoric.
Jake peeled off after a minute, knotting the condom and grabbing water in a bottle form the bedside table (who knows how long that’s been there). After he took a sip he tossed you it casually.
“Fucking unreal,” he panted, smirking sated.
You nodded, wrecked and glowing. “Holy shit.”
He stretched, muscles flexing in the low light, then glanced toward the clock. It glowed 2:17 a.m., the party below still faintly audible.
He rose then, sliding his boxers back on with nonchalance. “You leaving?”
The question struck like a bucket of ice water.
You propped yourself on your elbows, sheets pooling at your waist, disbelief etched deep into your features. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged, zipping his jeans up without meeting your eyes, tone clipped and entitled—as though you had overstayed your welcome.
“Party’s dying. Figured you’d wanna bounce before it clears out. Avoid the walk of shame.”
Silence enveloped the room. The finest climax imaginable, reduced to this? Dismissed like a paid companion post-transaction? No tender embrace. No exchange of numbers. No acknowledgment beyond the satisfaction of sex and a mind-blowing orgasm.
“You’re joking,” you said, voice sharpening.
He paused while tugging his shirt over his head, one eyebrow arched in mild irritation. A smug smirk twisted his lips. “What? This isn’t a slumber party, sweetheart.”
You bolted upright, snatching your clothes with trembling hands. “Fuck you, Jake.”
“Already did.” His grin widened, dimples showing like they were mocking you. “Good, right?”
Rage boiled in you, and humiliation settled hot on your cheeks.
You dressed fast, bra twisted hasty around you, jeans yanked rough on againt your skin.
He watched, arms crossed, leaning against the dresser like you were nothing but another notch in his fucked up belt.
You unlocked the door with click. And stormed straight out—no goodbye necessary, he didn’t deserve that form you.
You slammed it behind you, hard enough to rattle frame and echo down the corridor.
Downstairs people had dissolved—Sunoo located you eventually, concern furrowing his brow, he was still a bit tipsy but could see that look you had on your face. “Where the hell were you? You alright?”
“Fine,” you lied through gritted teeth.
Outside, the cool night air slapped you. The entire walk home you seethed with rage—your body still thrumming from the aftershocks of probably the best sex you’ve ever had (much to your dismay).
You thought about how casually he’d told you to basically “fuck off”, your mind branded him with entitled prick.
TAGLIST. @kristynaaah @yuudaiinhs @urlocalengene @woninlove @n4n4files @jimineepaboya @grdientlips @hooniluhv @afanok @engenewilstaykon @yumi-yearns (just ask to be added to perm taglist lovelies)
I might write a part 2 but idkk, maybe if this gets enough love 🤭
melting like an icecream ֗ ় 🧸 ✴︎
(𝓅récis) 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌!
𝒻luff ⓓrabble bf cortis x fem reader headcanons non idol au not proofread est relationship kissing ──────── ❤︎
JAMES 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾. 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌, 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗆𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝗂𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽. 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝖠𝖫𝖫 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒. 𝗁𝖾’𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗇 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖡𝖴𝖳 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗎𝗉, 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗇. 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄. 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗈𝖻𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖫𝖫 𝗎𝗉. 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖤𝖷𝖢𝖤𝖯𝖳 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗍𝗋𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾.
JUHOON 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝖾𝗑𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗅𝖽, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽. 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝗍 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖺, 𝗂𝗍 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖽. 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅, 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾. 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗆𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒. 𝖡𝖴𝖳𝖳𝖳𝖳𝖳 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝗎𝗉. 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗈 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗈𝗋 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗎𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗌. 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾. 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒, 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝖺𝗉 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒. 𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍, 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗄.
MARTIN 𝗂𝗌 𝖨𝖬𝖬𝖤𝖣𝖨𝖠𝖳𝖤𝖫𝖸𝖸𝖸 𝗌𝗎𝗌𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌. 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗅𝖻𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇. 𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎. “𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀.” 𝗁𝖾’𝖽 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖭𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖤𝖲𝖳 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄, 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝖿𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾. 𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝖾, 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗐𝖺𝗒. 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝖺 𝖫𝖮𝖳 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗏𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗈 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝗒𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾. 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗎𝖼𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖡𝖴𝖳 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖿𝖿. 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗂𝗆𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋. 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝖳𝖧𝖠𝖳 𝖤𝖠𝖲𝖸𝖸𝖸𝖸. 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖡𝖠𝖢𝖪 𝗂𝗇.
SEONGHYEON 𝖥𝖮𝖫𝖣𝖲 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗇𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾. 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍, 𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾. 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍. 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗌. 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗍𝗌. 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖨𝖭𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖭𝖳𝖫𝖸 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗌𝗍, 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗏𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄. 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇, 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗀𝗈.
KEONHO 𝗂𝗌 𝖤𝖷𝖠𝖠𝖠𝖢𝖳𝖫𝖸𝖸𝖸 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾. 𝗁𝖾’𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽. 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽, 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇. 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗆𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌. 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍, 𝗋𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒. 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀. “𝗌𝗈. 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗋𝗒?”
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"too cute to fuck"
kim ryul x reader
tags; not proof-read, headcanons, nsfw, reader is a cutie patootie, reader is quiet during sex, lotus position, masturbation (m), reader is described to have doe eyes,
Ryul who practically feels a wave of cuteness aggression at the feeling of your nails digging into his shoulders, forming tiny crescent moon shapes. All while he pounds into you, juices coating his cock and leaking onto the bed sheets that laid underneath you.
Ryul who has multiple favourite positions, including the lotus position. The sight of you sitting in his lap, completely limp as he either fingers you or smoothly slides you up and down his cock always gives him the most flustered grins whenever he looks back on those thoughts.
Ryul who's obsessed with your doe eyes looking up at him that he can't help but jerk off to them. Any photos where you're looking up at the camera with a confused look or a photo with your gaze somewhere in the far distance, spaced out. He just can't help it that you're so cute!
Ryul who finds it adorable whenever you straddle him, grinding down against his jeans to ease the ache between your legs a bit. Your breaths all huffed and hushed, hair slightly messy and most of the time in comfortable pyjamas.
Ryul who's favourite outfit isn't a formal dress or sexy lingerie but a simple off-the-shoulder worn out shirt and black shorts, bonus points if your hair is put up in a messy hairstyle. You just look so raw and so his in this specific look. Face flustered as he gropes your ass through the shorts.
Ryul, whose favourite feature about you during sex is how quiet you are. At first, he was worried you weren't enjoying it, so he stopped, but instead of being greeted with a thank you, he instead received a small whine. Turns out you're just quiet. He remembers the first time he made you cum, the sound he got in return was a sneeze.
Ryul who finds you fucking adorable yet adorably fuckable.
why is there no work on my guy ryul.
v0v0v0 © Do not copy, plagiarise, or translate any of my work.
BREED ME : A CONTRACT ✦ ┈─ L.HS
i. PAIRING — stranger ! heeseung × afab ! reader
ii. GENRE — porn with plot, near future / dystopian au.
iii. SYNOPSIS — in a near-future society, your fertility has a deadline—and your government-assigned mate is a complete stranger. with one week to comply, you must live as a married couple, navigating intimacy, desire, and forbidden pleasure… all while pretending it’s just for the contract.
iv. WARNINGS — KINKTOBER SPECIAL , mdni, smut, impregnation implications, voyeurism, sleepy sex, drugs / fertility enhancement tablets, unprotected sex, creampie, playing house but forced to, shower sex, blowjob, oral (both male & female), dirty talk, power imbalance, teasing, breast play, nipple teasing, eating out, dubious consent, cockwarming, squirting, lmk if more.
v. WORD COUNT — 6.7K — OCTOBER 5TH
“So… we’re assigned mates? Your contract’s about to expire too?” Heeseung—the name he at least claimed was his—spoke up as he glanced between you and the bed. The bed was shoved awkwardly into the sterile lab room, with a pathetic vase of flowers on the nightstand. A fake attempt at making the lab look like a cozy home.
“I guess so…” you mumbled, scratching the back of your neck. Your eyes flicked to the glass wall, where machines beeped rhythmically like they were mocking you. Honestly—how the hell was this supposed to be romantic enough to fuck in?
The rule was bizarre, but in the year 3000’s, everyone got slapped with a fertility expiration date. And with humans dwindling while robots ran most of the world, the government made sure no one wasted their fertility. You had to breed before your “deadline,” and until then, live like a married couple. A shiny little “family unit.” Apparently that was how humanity would cling to survival amidst the hum of robots sweeping streets and making lattes.
And you, being the shy—or let’s be honest, lazy-ass you were, never bothered to step outside. Why would you, when your robo-assistant Zozo was perfectly capable of fetching groceries, yelling at delivery drones, or dealing with annoying neighbors? So when the government officer came knocking while you were sprawled on the couch debating which show to binge next, Zozo had opened the door and accepted the letter with zero hesitation. You tried to ignore it, even as your stomach dropped reading the fine print.
But ignoring the government is basically an Olympic-level mistake. A few hours later, you were dragged into this lab, now forced to play house with a stranger who was—surprise—the father of your potential baby. Like, how did you go from lazy naps and snack runs to this? From half-asleep binge-watching to congratulations, you’re in a breeding contract.
You sighed, side-eyeing Heeseung who was awkwardly fidgeting with the corner of the sterile blanket. He didn’t look much happier. At least that made two of you.
And, okay, sure—you’d seen robo-dogs on the streets going at it like they were programmed for porn, so it’s not like you were completely clueless about the act. But this wasn’t just sex. It was a performance. Roleplay. Pretending to be a couple. A married couple. And if you two didn’t produce results? The fine would be so massive your descendants would still be paying it off centuries later.
Talk about pressure.
⪩⪨
“Umm… so?” he speaks up as he steps into the shower, clearly waiting for you to follow. Well, this is awkward—an attempt at getting used to intimacy when neither of you have the faintest idea how to start.
“So?” you echo, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel. But your eyes betray you, following the trail of water as it slides down his bare chest, glistening under the harsh bathroom light, then disappearing somewhere past his v-line and below. This is the first time you’ve ever been this close to a guy—like, this close—and you’re willing to bet it’s the same for him.
“You’re… showering in that?” he asks, voice hesitant, like he can’t tell if the question is rude or just dumb. The poor guy is clearly just as inexperienced as you.
You glance down at yourself and realize, oh right, you’re still fully clothed. Top and jeans. Jeans in the shower—how chic. “Umm… I forgot,” you mutter, laughing awkwardly before tugging your shirt over your head. Your plain black sports bra clings damp against your skin. His gaze lingers a little too long on your chest—long enough for you to wonder if he’s captivated, silently judging the size, or just zoning out like an idiot.
“Can you not look?” you mutter sharply.
“Uh—yeah, sure.” His voice cracks, embarrassed, and he whips around so fast to face the wall that water splashes up. You quickly peel off your jeans, now left standing in your bra and underwear, the steam curling around you both.
For a while, neither of you do anything but stand there, the water falling between your bodies while you try not to combust from sheer awkwardness. Yet you can’t help stealing glances at his back. It’s more toned than you expected, the kind of back you want to trace your fingers along without thinking. And then there’s the way the water darkens his hair, dripping down his shoulders.
You curse yourself for remembering that one accidental peek you’d taken when you first stepped in—the way his boxers clung to whatever he was hiding beneath. It’s… a lot. Too hot. Hot enough to almost make you forget this is government-mandated breeding prep and not… something else.
“Are you done?” he asks finally, still facing the wall like his life depends on it.
“Yeah, you can turn around now.” Your voice comes out a little weaker than intended. He turns, his expression neutral, and quietly reaches for the soap.
He scrubs himself with slow, methodical movements, completely ignoring your eyes burning holes into him—until he finally speaks. “If you keep staring like that,” he says, raising a brow without looking directly at you, “I can’t promise I’ll keep being so respectful. Wouldn’t really be fair, would it?”
You snap your gaze away so fast you nearly slip. “I just zoned out.”
“Mhm.” He hums, low and unconvinced, before continuing to lather up. He doesn’t hand you the soap, though—just keeps working it over himself like he hasn’t caught the hint at all.
“What do you do, Heeseung? For a living?” you ask quietly, already knowing how offensive that question can sound in today’s world, where robots basically rule everything.
“I… train robo dogs,” he mutters, almost shyly, as his hand works the soap over his stomach. When his fingers slip lower, your eyes flick down for a second before darting away in a rush of heat.
“Oh, that’s nice.” You reply too quickly, trying to sound casual when your face is burning. “I work at home… finding mistakes made by robos on popular websites.”
“So, basically unemployed?” he teases, finally loosening up enough to smirk at you. The smell of soap and the steam between you almost make the moment feel… normal. Domestic. Like you’re not two virgins being forced to learn how to fuck for the sake of humanity.
“Hey! Don’t say that!” you swat at his arm, laughing along even though you hate admitting he’s right. Like 96% of the population, you’re jobless. Maybe you shouldn’t have asked the question at all.
But then you feel it—his arm circling your waist and yanking you back until you’re flush against his chest. The way his breath ghosts over your neck sends a shiver down your spine, and the thick, unmistakable press of his cock through his wet boxers makes your pussy clench instinctively.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs softly, “you don’t have to feel bad. It’s not your fault the robots are taking everything.”
You nod, but your body betrays you. Your head tips back against his shoulder, lips parting as a small gasp slips out. His soapy hand slides from your stomach to the underside of your bra, fingertips clumsy as they push under the wet fabric and rub over your breasts. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, his touches too curious, too experimental—like he’s trying to figure out what your nipples even are—but it has your cunt throbbing all the same.
“Heeseung…” you moan, the sound spilling from your lips before you can stop it.
“Just… cleaning you up,” he whispers, but the way his cock is rock hard and digging against your ass tells you otherwise.
“Please just—ahh—” your voice breaks into another moan as he shoves your bra up, not even bothering to remove it, letting your tits spill out for him to knead. The cold water pouring over you makes the contrast of his hands even more intense.
His palms squeeze your breasts like stress balls, thumbs brushing soap slick over your hardened nipples, and you swear you’ll melt right there. “H-Heeseung…” you whimper, a shaky moan tearing from your throat when his other hand slips lower, tugging your panties to the side. You’re embarrassingly wet already, your pussy aching for something, anything, even if it’s not the official “breeding time.”
He leans down, his lips brushing yours, and before you can think, he kisses you—soft, sloppy, uncertain, but desperate. His hand still tugs and pinches at your nipple, and you moan into his mouth, the sound muffled as your tongue brushes his.
“Do you want to… keep on practicing?” he asks against your lips, his voice low, unsteady, but hungry. The way you look up at him, breathless and wide-eyed, says everything your words can’t.
You moan instead, sliding your hand between your wet bodies until your palm cups the thick length straining against his boxers. The groan that rips out of him makes your pussy gush. If sex is really going to feel this good—if his cock filling you will make you feel half as powerful as this moment does—you curse yourself for wasting so many years hiding from it.
Now all you have is Heeseung. And the way his lips part, eyes shut tight as your hand rubs him, his grip on your waist faltering—fuck, you smirk against his mouth. Because you love knowing you have that kind of effect on him.
“Can I… touch you more?” you whisper, voice uncertain but desperate, like you’re asking for something forbidden even though that’s literally the point of this whole set-up. For a second you almost forget this is all arranged—just a breeding contract. A week-long roleplay to make sure humanity doesn’t go extinct.
He doesn’t trust his voice, so he just nods, too breathless to say a word.
Your hand slips inside his soaked boxers, finally wrapping around his cock skin-to-skin. The moment you touch him properly, he groans—deep and guttural—his chest heaving as water streams down his face. He has never felt anything like it, and neither have you, but instinct is doing all the work. Your palm knows where to squeeze, how to move, even if no manual has ever explained how to handle cock.
It throbs heavy and hot in your grip, veins pulsing against your hand. Precum slicks your fingers even through the shower spray. His shaky hand reaches down and shoves his boxers off his hips, and your movements falter, because suddenly it isn’t just something hidden under fabric—it’s there, right in front of you.
You let your hand fall away just to look. His cock springs free, flushed pink at the tip, glistening with beads of precum that mix with the shower water. Thick, hard, longer than you expect, curved just slightly upward—it’s fucking beautiful. You glance up at him, but his eyes are squeezed shut, lost in sensation.
You don’t know what comes over you. Maybe curiosity. Maybe hunger. Maybe both. Your thumb brushes over the leaking slit, smearing precum over the swollen head. He shudders hard, muscles twitching under your touch. Then, with an impulsive grin, you bring your thumb to your lips and lick it clean.
“It’s salty…” you murmur, licking your lips slowly. The taste is raw, musky, addictive. You want more. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you sink to your knees under the spray, face tilted up to him as your tongue flicks experimentally at his tip.
His eyes snap open wide, panic and arousal clashing. He grabs his cock like he’s about to shield it from you. “N-No, no, don’t do that—” he stammers, his voice breaking.
“Why not?” you ask innocently, breath ghosting over his shaft as your lips hover close.
“Isn’t it… dirty?” he whispers, chewing his lip, like he can’t decide if he wants to pull you back or push you further.
You smirk up at him, hair plastered wet against your cheeks from the shower. “No. I like it. Can I have it back?”
His cock twitches visibly at your words. He groans low, like he’s fighting with himself, but gives in—grabbing your hand and wrapping it back around his length before letting go again, as if surrendering.
You lick your lips and kiss the swollen tip reverently. “This is so pretty, I swear,” you whisper, eyes wide as you stare at his flushed dick like it’s art.
“It’s not,” he mutters immediately, embarrassed, his teeth grit as his chest rises and falls like he’s just run a marathon.
Before he can defend his poor cock, you graze your teeth lightly over the head. His reaction is immediate: a strangled yelp that echoes against the tile. “NO TEETH, PLEASE! IT’S NOT FOOD—”
You giggle, lips brushing against the head of his cock. “You’re right… it’s not food. But it’s a snack.”
He groans so loud it shakes you, his knees buckling slightly. Your mouth wraps around him at last, hot and wet and clumsy, tongue swirling against the sensitive underside. The taste of his precum mixes with water, salty but not bad, almost intoxicating.
He sucks in a sharp breath, a moan spilling out of him as his hand instinctively buries in your wet hair. When you look up, his eyes are half-lidded, lips parted in awe. His cock twitches in your mouth as your tongue flicks over the treat again.
When his fingers tighten in your hair, you nearly whine at the sensation—because the look on his face is pure, overwhelmed pleasure. The sound of his low, desperate groan as he guides your head just slightly has your pussy clenching so hard you think your cunt will start dripping down your thighs.
It’s messy, hot, completely new for both of you. But with his cock heavy on your tongue, his voice breaking as he moans your name, and his eyes locked on you—fuck, it’s perfect.
You dive down to take him deeper, swallowing his length until it presses against your throat. The stretch makes your eyes water, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth as you bob your head faster, sucking greedily. The gag hits you, sharp and messy, but you don’t stop—if anything, the slight burn only drives you harder, your throat tightening around him. Heeseung’s breath stutters, his hips twitching helplessly as his cock pulses inside your mouth.
You don’t know what the sudden swell against your tongue means, only that it makes him groan brokenly, almost too loud under the hiss of the shower. You pull back with a wet pop, gasping, lips swollen and slick, confusion flickering across your face.
“What’s happenin—”
The question never finishes. Hot, sticky spurts shoot across your face, catching you off guard as you shut your eyes. Thick, white ropes cover your cheeks, your lips, dripping down your neck and chest before the shower water thins it, streams of cum and water sliding down your skin in a messy contrast.
You freeze, stunned, before blinking up at him through the droplets. Heeseung’s chest is heaving, his hand still tangled in your hair as if he lost control of himself completely. Relief is written all over him, his face flushed, but there’s shame too, creeping into his gaze as he realizes what he’s just done.
Your eyes drop to his cock again—still flushed, twitching, glistening under the spray, streaks of the same milky liquid clinging to it before the water washes it away. Your lips part in disbelief as you whisper, voice shaking, “That… that came from your cock?”
Heeseung swallows hard, too breathless to defend himself, and just gives a shaky nod.
Neither of you understand it—this raw, messy reaction, this proof of something more—but the hunger twisting in your chest is undeniable. And as the salty taste lingers on your tongue and your skin, you know one thing for certain.
You’re addicted.
⪩⪨
And the second day with him feels even stranger—stranger, but addicting. Both of you are already drowning in this whole thing about the fertility expiration date, the so-called breeding contract. You’re pretty sure the government officials would’ve happily stamped a certificate, binding you both together officially. It should feel wrong, clinical, but with how real everything’s gotten… it doesn’t.
“What are you making, wifey?” Heeseung’s voice breaks the silence as he walks out of the nightly shower, towel slung low on his hips, droplets sliding down his chest. The sight alone pulls you back to last night—the cock you’d touched, sucked, swallowed. The salty, musky taste of him still feels fresh on your tongue. Water cascading down his abs, the way his body shuddered under your mouth—“I asked what you were making, wifey.” He’s right beside you now, waving a hand in front of your dazed face.
“Fried rice… that’s all I can make.” You joke, but it’s the truth, your voice shaky as you snap back from your thoughts. Except he doesn’t look all that present either, his eyes heavy, his expression unreadable.
Then he’s behind you, close—too close. Heat radiates off his damp skin as you stir the rice, and you nearly drop the spatula when his hand cups your ass, firm and greedy. A gasp rips from you when his fingers slide between your thighs, brushing your slick folds, spreading the wetness you’d never dared touch yourself.
“Hee—” His name spills from your lips, cut into a moan when his finger glides up your slit, pressing right where it makes your knees weak. “Ahh…” Your head drops helplessly against his shoulder, his breath warm as he leans in, tongue flicking against the shell of your ear.
“Don’t you think…” his words vibrate low, sinful, “…we should at least enjoy ourselves a bit before ‘The Day’? Hm?”
Your body betrays you, pressing back against him, desperate. The spatula trembles in your hand, rice forgotten, brain fried worse than the pan. But then, just as you’re about to melt, he pulls away. His lips brush your ear, whispering smugly, “Focus on the fried rice. Can’t compromise on dinner, right, sweetheart?”
You don’t know when he got this bold—maybe last night broke something open in both of you. All you know is that you like it. Too much.
“Heeseung…” Your voice cracks on his name, shame mixing with hunger. “Can you… touch me again? It felt so good… we-we can enjoy all we want.” The words tumble out, raw and desperate, and you cringe at how needy you sound—yet you can’t stop yourself.
His smirk is audible in the way he breathes against your neck. “Of course. I owe you after yesterday, don’t I?” His lips press against your skin, just below your ear, and your moan betrays you instantly. His hands wander lower again, teasing, claiming, but every time you falter at stirring the rice, he pulls back, leaving you whining at the loss.
It’s a cruel game. A dangerous one. And you’re hooked.
“shh… if you want it, just keep working on our dinner, mm?” His voice dips low, his breath ghosting against your ear as one of his hands slides directly beneath your panties, cupping the soaked heat between your thighs. The other hand pushes your top upward until it bunches around your chest, and with a deft flick, your bra unclasps. You gasp, heart racing, realizing he learned the trick from last night’s shower.
“i-i understand.” you mumble, your words shaky, tears of embarrassment stinging your lashes as your body betrays you, moaning when his palm squeezes your bare breast. You clutch the spatula tighter, trying to keep stirring the rice, but your arms tremble as he plays with your body, shamelessly drawing out every sound you try to hide. The scent of garlic and spices mixes with the heady, unmistakable scent of your arousal, thick in the air. Heeseung inhales deeply behind you, lips curling into a grin.
“smells good… eating it after we enjoy would be even better, no?” His tone is casual, almost mocking, as if fingering you while you cook is the most normal thing in the world. Just as you suck in a breath to respond, his finger presses against your slick entrance, circling teasingly before slipping inside with a slow push. You choke on a gasp, hips twitching as the thick digit sinks into your tight heat, nudging against tender, gummy walls that hug him greedily.
A low sound leaves him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he feels your warmth around him. “Fuck… you’re so tight. Just my finger and you’re squeezing like this…” His words stir the heat pooling in your stomach. He moves it inside you, testing, curling upward slightly, brushing something that makes your knees buckle.
“Heeseung—” your breathy moan escapes without restraint.
“Shh, it’s okay…” His lips press at your temple, soft, almost tender, while his hand leaves your breast only to flick the stove off with a practiced motion. The rice sizzles one last time before silence falls, leaving only the sound of your shallow breaths and his finger plunging wetly into you.
Then suddenly, he pulls out. You whine at the emptiness, thighs quivering, but he doesn’t let you fall apart there. He turns you around, guiding you gently until your back is pressed against the counter. Your sweatpants are tugged down to your knees, messy and damp from the arousal staining them. Your breasts spill forward, nipples flushed and needy.
“Heeseung…” You say his name like a plea, chest heaving, shame and desire battling in your eyes.
Heeseung looks down at you, his boldness from moments ago flickering into something almost shy, almost boyish. His gaze lingers on your trembling thighs, the wetness dripping from your slit, before he raises his eyes back to yours. His voice is soft, hesitant, but laced with hunger.
“Let me… return yesterday’s favor.”
And without a word he sinks down to his knees, as if duty-bound to fulfill what being your breeding mate meant. The air leaves your lungs in a sharp gasp the moment his mouth latches onto your soaked folds, his tongue already tasting you, suckling at your core like he’s been starving for you.
“Oh—fuck,” you whimper, your head falling back as his mouth works between your legs, his tongue slipping and flicking against every sensitive part it can find. The wet, obscene slurping sounds echo in the kitchen, louder than the soft hum of the cooling stove. The way his tongue dives deeper and deeper, teasing you, even circling before trapping your swollen little bud between his lips.
“Ahhh—Hee—fuck—” your moan cracks as your knees threaten to buckle, and you grab the counter for balance, your free hand gripping his hair like a lifeline.
“Like it?” he murmurs against your cunt, lips brushing your clit, voice vibrating against your folds—sending shockwaves through your whole body.
“So much, so fucking much,” you pant out, tugging at his hair harder, grounding yourself against the overwhelming sensation of his tongue exploring places you never even thought were reachable.
“Mmhh—” he hums, sucking harder, his hands holding your thighs apart as if to cage you there, rubbing your lower stomach like he knows something’s building inside you. The pressure makes you dizzy, your muscles clenching, your core tightening uncontrollably.
“Wait—stop, I feel like I’m… gonna—piss,” you whimper, tugging at his hair to make him stop, but he only groans and pins you harder against the counter, tongue delving in even deeper.
The cry that rips out of you is helpless, raw, trembling, “HEESEUN—GHAHHHH!” as your body jerks violently, liquid spilling from your cunt, dribbling down your thighs, coating his tongue, his lips, his chin.
He doesn’t stop—he fucking drinks it in, swallowing, slurping like it’s everything he’s ever wanted.
When he finally pulls back, his lips and chin glisten with wetness, strands of your slick shining over his mouth. Your face burns with embarrassment, heart pounding.
“Heeseung…” your voice trembles, mortified.
“You did this,” he murmurs, smirking faintly, wiping nothing away—almost proud to wear you like this. “Why’re you getting so shy now?” His voice is low, teasing, but his own cheeks are flushed as if he’s losing control too.
He rises to his feet, closing the distance until his hands cradle your face, and before you can answer, his mouth claims yours.
The kiss is messy, deep, his tongue sliding against yours. You can taste yourself on his lips, the musky, salty-sweet flavor mingling with the heat of his mouth. Dirty. Intoxicating. The thought that you’re tongue-kissing the same mouth that was just devouring your pussy should disgust you—but instead it makes you moan, arching closer, needing more.
Your fingers grip his shoulders desperately, ready to climb him, ready for more, when he suddenly pulls back, panting. His forehead presses against yours, his eyes dark, burning, but flickering with restraint.
“I—We should eat dinner,” he murmurs, swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as though he’s choking back desire. “If we don’t stop now, I don’t think either of us will…”
His voice trails, his jaw tightening, and the way he looks at you—hungry, guilty, desperate—you know he’s right. Still, you can’t stop the way your body aches for more, already addicted.
You just nod, breathless, even as your lips tingle from his kiss, even as your thighs tremble from what he just made you feel.
⪩⪨
The days ahead pass in a haze of exhaustion. The tablets the helper-robos keep giving—supposedly to boost stamina and fertility before the expiration date—do nothing but drag you both down into constant drowsiness. You feel sluggish, heavy-limbed, and so does he.
“Hee…” you call out softly, voice almost drowned by the silence of the room as you lay curled on your side. The bed is warm, too warm, and the setup is so real, so home-like, that sometimes you forget you’re in nothing but a lab—a carefully constructed stage meant to look like a house, a controlled mating ground for humans.
“Mm?” he hums back, voice thick with sleep. His arm is already reaching around your waist, palm lazily tracing circles against your stomach. His touch is slow, unhurried, and even in your drained state, it makes you melt closer to him. The blanket shifts as he tugs it tighter around the two of you, cocooning you together.
“Don’t you feel tired…? I swear the tablets have something to do with this…” you murmur, eyes heavy as you press your forehead into his chest. He hums again, the sound low, reassuring, and kisses the top of your head. The simple gesture stirs something deep in your chest, not sexual—just a strange, foreign warmth you can’t name.
“I feel like that too… but maybe it’s not bad,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your skin. “We get to rest before the big day.” His arms tighten around you, his lips brushing against your hair, and the closeness makes your heart race even more.
“True…” you whisper back, though the thought only makes your stomach twist. The idea of him finally ending up bonded to you forever—sealed, unchangeable—sends your pulse spiraling.
“Do you regret it?” you ask quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your fingers clutch at the fabric of his t-shirt, gripping like you’re bracing for a blow. “Like… do you wish it was someone else?”
His chest rises beneath your cheek, and then he answers, soft but steady. “No. Definitely not.”
You exhale shakily, relief washing over you like warmth after a chill. He shifts, rocking you slightly in his hold, and the gentle sway lulls you further. Your eyes flutter shut despite yourself, exhaustion tugging hard.
“Good,” you mumble, your words slurring into a yawn. His chest rumbles with a stifled laugh—careful, quiet, as if he’s afraid to wake you. Soon his movements slow, stilling completely, and with you curled tightly against him, both of you sink into sleep almost instantly.
⪩⪨
The robo beeps as the government officers run the analysis of their relationship on a monitor. At least they’re decent enough not to watch them go at it—oral or otherwise. Honestly, the robots seem to have more humanity than the humans in charge.
“But their relationship doesn’t seem genuine according to this article on human connections in the 2720s,” the robot pipes up, printing out the dusty old document almost immediately. The words flash across the paper, outdated theories that make no sense when matched with the sounds the two of them have been making almost every other night since they were placed together. Noises that had gotten loud enough for the officials to drug them just to slow things down.
“We can’t rely on old articles. Not right now,” the officer mutters, shutting down the live camera feed that showed the humans inside the mock-home setup. His tone is clipped, tired, like he doesn’t want to deal with it.
The helper robo tilts his head, a mechanical sigh almost leaving him before he shakes it off. “Why bother helping when those bastards don’t even need it,” he grumbles, following the officer out of the room.
After all, tomorrow is the final day before their fertility expiration date. And the others have already prepared everything they’ll need.
⪩⪨
You yawn as you wake, stretching your arms above your head—only to find you can’t move. It takes you a moment to realize why. Heeseung’s arm is still looped around your waist. By the time he finally stirs and pulls back, sitting up, the air feels noticeably colder. Without thinking, he dives straight back under the covers, wrapping himself around you beneath the heavy blanket.
“Too cold, too cold,” he mutters through gritted teeth. His body trembles against yours, and instinctively, you shove your feet back under the blanket too after testing the icy air outside for just a second.
“Did the temperature suddenly drop?” you shiver, pressing closer to him for warmth. That’s when you feel it—his bulge, hard against your thigh.
Your breath hitches. “Why are you hard?” The words slip out before you can stop them, awkward and quiet, as you try to shift just enough distance between you in case it sets him off.
“What do you mean, why?” Heeseung mumbles with a shrug, completely unbothered. “I get this every time I wake up.” Then, seeing the way you go silent, lost in thought, he adds quickly, “But don’t think too much. We don’t have to do anything if you’d rather wait until night.”
You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip before whispering, “N-no… I mean… a little practice before the actual process wouldn’t hurt, right?”
His eyes widen, shock flickering before his lips curl into a slow smile. The officials’ forced temperature drop is long forgotten as you push your panties down, sliding them off. Heeseung doesn’t waste a second—his boxers end up on the floor beside your panties, leaving nothing between you anymore.
Your upper bodies stayed hidden under the blanket, but your lower halves were already speaking a language of their own. You hooked one leg over his hip, opening yourself for him, and Heeseung’s hand immediately wrapped around his cock. The blanket muffled the sight, but you felt every second of it—the head nudging against your folds, still dry until he pressed harder. Wetness bloomed instantly, coating you in slick warmth as he rubbed himself against your slit.
A broken moan escaped you, and he swallowed it in a kiss. You barely noticed when he shifted lower, sliding the tip between your folds, teasing that sensitive bundle of nerves—the very same spot he’d played with that night while you’d been making fried rice. And then he pushed. Hard. You cried out at the sudden intrusion, but his mouth captured yours, muffling the sound, calming you down even as your body jolted.
He groaned against your lips. “God, so tight.” Your walls clung to him, greedy, swallowing inch after inch of his cock like they’d never let go. You trembled beneath him, overwhelmed by the texture of his thick length, every ridge and vein dragging against you.
Your eyes rolled back as your body adjusted, the stretch almost unbearable. He stilled, hovering, his forehead pressed to yours as he whispered, voice low and careful, “Should I give more?” His lips brushed yours in a tender kiss, at odds with the way he filled you.
You squirmed helplessly beneath him, body caught between resistance and desperate want. It hurt—yes—but it felt so good you almost hated yourself for liking it this much.
“Ahhh—” you bury your face into his chest, shivering as he rubs your back, one hand sliding lower to part your ass cheeks. His coarse pubic hairs brush against yours, and you know you’re in heaven just from the friction, the closeness.
“Oh god…” you moan, a tear slipping down your cheek as he starts to move, nudging against your walls. “It’s too good… too good.”
“I know… shh…” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His fingers graze your hard bud, flicking and rubbing your clit between your legs, and you shiver with every brush. He hits a spot inside you you didn’t even know existed, sending tremors up your spine.
Before you even notice, sleep drags you under again, pressed against his chest. The tablets are hitting harder than before, and he—already drained from the night—is dozing too, quietly, yet his hand remains wrapped around you, fingers caressing your hair. His cock pulses lazily inside you, still hard, a slow reminder of what you’ve shared.
Neither of you gets to cum. Not yet. The robots arrive, silently entering to re-decorate the room for the night, ignoring the way the two of you are tangled together like an actual married couple, lost in warmth, wetness, and the closeness only you two can share.
⪩⪨
When you wake up, it’s night. Heeseung is sprawled across the bed, completely naked, the blanket long gone from over your bodies. The dim lights and the faint scent of roses fill the room, creating a staged intimacy that screams final breeding night. Your stomach twists with heat and self-consciousness as your eyes take him in—every line of his muscles defined in the soft glow, the way his chest rises and falls slowly, the way his cock rests low and exposed, just waiting.
“Hee… wake up,” you whisper, rolling onto his side and nudging him gently. He doesn’t stir. Your hand slides lower, brushing against the softened length of his cock—and to your shock, it stiffens instantly in your palm. Your fingers wrap around him, rubbing along the slick shaft, feeling the heat, the pulse, the way he’s so alive beneath your touch.
Heeseung stirs, eyes half-open, still lost in the fog of sleep. Boldness courses through you, and you start stroking him thoroughly, biting your lip as your own audacity surprises you.
“S-stop…” he murmurs sleepily, voice rough, half-lidded eyes fixing on you. His hand pushes your palm away, but instead of letting go, he pins you gently to the bed. His cock presses against your stomach, tip glistening with precum, and you shiver from the warmth and pressure.
“How did we even fall asleep?” you murmur, shivering as he leans down and plants a teasing kiss on your neck. His mouth starts suckling, teeth grazing lightly over your skin, and a moan escapes you before you even register it.
“W-why does it feel soo good?” you breathe, voice trembling. His lips and tongue are consuming you, sending shivers down your spine, teasing you so exquisitely that your own body reacts without thought.
“Don’t ask questions. Just feel… we need to finish why we’re here, right? So we can go out and raise our baby,” he whispers against your neck, and your face melts into his hair, overwhelmed. You’re so lost in him that you don’t even notice when his tip presses and slides against your folds, gliding perfectly over your wet, slick skin.
You wrap your legs around his waist almost instinctively, every nerve in your body on fire. You don’t know where you learned this, but it feels right. This fertility expiration, this ridiculous breeding contract—it’s finally ending, and Heeseung is the only one who could make it feel like this.
“You really wanna raise the baby togeth—aghh!” A moan rips from your chest as he slips inside you effortlessly. Your body trembles at the stretch, chest heaving, eyes wide as you feel him fully—every inch of his thick, veiny cock filling you. God, it’s too good. How could something feel this right? You had no regrets about coming here, even if it had been forced.
When he moves, it’s like you’re falling straight into heaven. “Oh my… oh my god… ahhhh…” you gasp, gripping his shoulders, trying to ground yourself as every thrust presses him deeper, pushing all your limits of pleasure.
“Shh… gently… I’ll go gentle.” And he does. Heeseung starts slow, bottoming out fully, checking in with soft murmurs. But soon, the tempo builds, and he’s plunging deeper, too deep for your brain to catch up. Your body reacts before your mind, muscles clenching, and you can’t stop the first squirting eruption that floods against his pulsing cock.
Your eyes lock with his—burning with embarrassment—but he’s unfazed, so present, so attentive. God, what a man. And then he hits that same spot again, and your second gush coats him, your palm flying to your face, cheeks flaming. Minutes pass in a blur of trembling, slick, overwhelming pleasure. Your eyes roll back as you come hard, walls squeezing him like they never could before, every shudder wringing a guttural curse from his lips.
“Fuck… too tight…” he groans, cock pulsing violently inside you. Before either of you can process it, he erupts—hot, thick, sticky—filling you completely.
“I—” you start, but he pins you gently, eyes fluttering as his release surges. “J-just take all of my seeds…” His chest heaves on yours, some of it dribbling down your slit, proof of how much he’s given. It’s like he poured out weeks of stored need into you.
“Enough to make another human in the community?” he gasps, breathless, thumb brushing away a stray tear of pleasure from your cheek. His head rests against your chest, listening to your rapid heartbeat.
“Those tablets by robos better work,” you whisper, arm wrapping around his waist as you gently shift atop him. His cock still pulses inside you, leaking little drops, making you laugh and moan all at once. Every inch of you is slick, spent, alive—and you can’t imagine ever feeling this way with anyone else.
⪩⪨
“This one’s complete. Who’s the next pair for the human breeding contract?” the government officer asked, his voice flat but his eyes lingering on the glowing monitor. The feed showed the two of you tangled together in the aftermath—naked, bodies spent, still joined at the hips as though refusing separation even in sleep. For a moment, the officer simply stared, a flicker of discomfort crossing his otherwise stoic face before he looked back at the machine beside him.
The robot’s optical sensors whirred as it adjusted the angle, zooming in without hesitation on the mess between your thighs, where Heeseung’s cock remained buried inside you, a faint spill of his cum already leaking past your swollen folds. It held there for a beat, scanning, before its voice rang metallic and certain. “Based on the administered fertility tablets, probability of conception is at one hundred percent. The female has been successfully bred.”
The officer exhaled slowly, almost relieved, then leaned back in his chair. “Good. Another pair. Humanity lives another day.”
The robot didn’t stop processing. Its gaze shifted across its databanks, and a new name filtered onto the screen. “The next subject approaching fertility expiration: Park Sunghoon. Male. Age twenty-three. Behavioral report: reclusive. Rarely leaves residence.”
The officer raised a brow, a dry smirk tugging at his lips. “So, one of those ‘touch grass’ types?”
The robot made a noise that could almost be mistaken for amusement. The officer chuckled, shaking his head as he reached for his notes. “Guess he won’t have much of a choice soon. Get him paired. Humanity’s down to scraps—we can’t afford a single wasted seed.”
And with that, the two of them turned back to the monitors, logging another successful breeding while already preparing for the next. After all, humans were a rare species now—too fragile, too precious—and extinction was not an option.
© shortonwon—twenty twenty five. do not repost, translate or copy my work on any other platforms (including tumblr). THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING <3