imagining riding haechan and hearing his voice get higher as you become more rough with your movements while he slowly reaches his orgasm. he’s sooo whiny when he feels your pussy clench around him ;( he loves when you use him as a toy to chase your own high
── the white lines in the parking lot are crooked. you’ve noticed it before—the one between your space and the next curves ever so slightly, like the painter had grown careless toward the end of the job. you’ve learned to angle your car to match it. haechan hasn’t.
it’s a thursday night when you find his black sedan sprawled over both spaces, the hood angled like it’s posing for a photo no one asked for. he’s taken yours—your number painted in neat white digits on the asphalt—without hesitation, without apology.
you stand there in the still, cold air, keys heavy in your hand. somewhere above, muffled by concrete, you hear his laugh. it’s the kind of sound that feels like someone has tapped you on the shoulder without warning—light, but irritating in a way you can’t shake.
by the time you drag yourself upstairs, the laughter has moved into the hallway. he’s there, outside his door, hood up, scrolling on his phone like the building belongs to him.
“you’re in my spot,” you say.
he looks up, one eyebrow lifting. “pretty sure asphalt isn’t personal property.”
“it’s numbered,” you point out, holding up your key fob like it’s proof of something meaningful.
“yeah, well,” he slips his phone into his hoodie pocket, “you weren’t using it.”
it’s still strange sometimes, living across the hall from him. you’d known who he was before you moved in—not personally, but in the way everyone vaguely knows an idol. you’d seen his face in subway ads, grinning under flawless lighting, and in those hyper-edited music videos your younger cousin wouldn’t stop replaying. now he’s just haechan from across the hall, the one who leaves his laundry in the communal dryer too long, who forgets to take in his packages until they pile up like building blocks, who sings under his breath while checking his mailbox. he’s almost normal until you remember he isn’t.
the hallway smells faintly of burnt toast—probably from his kitchen. you imagine him leaving bread in too long just to annoy you. he smirks like he can tell you’re thinking something unpleasant about him.
“i’ll move it tomorrow,” he says, already turning his key.
“tonight,” you correct.
he glances over his shoulder, grin widening. “i like you better when you’re mad.”
the door shuts. the faint click of his lock lingers in the quiet, leaving you with a dozen things you could have said but didn’t.
ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ
the elevator dies on a monday morning. no warning, no apologetic email from management—just a limp, handwritten sign taped crookedly over the buttons that says out of order in smudged marker.
you stare at it for a while, as if the sheer force of your glare might coax it back to life. twelve floors suddenly feels like a punishment rather than a home.
“guess we’re walking,” a voice says behind you.
you don’t need to turn around to know who it is. that voice has a particular way of wrapping itself around a sentence, casual but smug, like he’s already certain you’re going to disagree.
haechan steps up beside you, hands in his hoodie pocket, eyeing the sign. “what’s the matter? afraid of a little exercise?”
“afraid of having to listen to you for twelve floors,” you say, pressing the stairwell door open.
he follows, his sneakers squeaking faintly on the concrete steps. “don’t worry, i’ll slow down so you can catch your breath. you can thank me later.”
“i won’t,” you reply, but you already know he’s smiling without looking at him.
the stairwell smells faintly of dust and something metallic. your footsteps echo in an odd, hollow rhythm that his somehow syncs with, even though you’re both pretending not to notice. by the third flight, he’s humming under his breath—a melody you recognize from one of those overproduced comeback teasers—and you hate that you know it.
when you reach your floor, he holds the door open for you with an exaggerated bow. “ladies first. can’t have my favorite neighbor collapsing right outside her apartment.”
you step through without looking at him, but your pulse is a little too quick for the climb alone.
it’s nearly midnight when you push through the glass doors of the lobby, the air outside still clinging to you—warm, heavy, and faintly carrying the smell of grilled meat from the restaurant you just left. you’re not drunk exactly, but your balance has softened, and the world seems slower than it was an hour ago.
the elevator is still out, the crooked out of order sign hanging stubbornly in place. you’re about to open the stairwell door when it swings toward you, and there he is—haechan, or 'hyuck' - you've learned —blinking like you’ve just woken him from a dream.
“evening,” he says, drawing the word out. there’s a pink flush high on his cheeks, and his grin looks lazy, loosened.
“you’ve been drinking,” you say.
“so have you,” he points out, leaning on the doorframe. “you’re holding your shoes.”
you glance down. you are. the straps had been digging into your feet all night, so you’d given up on dignity three blocks ago. “i didn’t feel like suffering for fashion.”
he chuckles, low and warm. “that’s a shame. i was going to say you looked nice tonight.”
“you’ve never said anything nice to me before.”
“i complimented your hair once.”
“you said it looked less terrible than usual.”
“still a compliment.”
you push past him into the stairwell, the smell of his cologne trailing after you—something sharp but not unpleasant, like citrus just before it’s cut. he follows, his steps falling in time with yours even though you speed up just a little.
“i’ll walk you up,” he says.
“i don’t need an escort.”
“i know. but it’s late. and you live in the apartment right across from mine, so really, this is just me walking home.”
the stairwell feels narrower than usual, and the fluorescent lights overhead make shadows bloom in the corners of his face. by the eighth floor, your conversation has drifted into the kind of nonsense that’s only funny when you’re both a little buzzed—arguing about whether cereal counts as soup, who’d win in a fight between a pigeon and a rat. you laugh without meaning to, and it hangs in the air between you, light and dangerous.
at your door, you pause, keys in hand. he leans against the wall, watching you with that same easy, half-asleep smile.
“you sure you don’t need me to inspect the place for intruders?” he asks, tilting his head toward your door.
“i think the only intruder here is you,” you say, sliding the key into the lock.
he grins. “then i’m already inside your head. rent-free.”
you roll your eyes but don’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. the door swings open, and you step through. he stays leaning against the wall for a moment longer, gaze lingering like he’s waiting for something. only when you close the door do you hear him head to his own, whistling that same tune from the stairs, faint through the wood.
the doorknob had been loose for weeks—wobbling in your hand like a tooth ready to fall out. you’d been meaning to fix it, but meaning to do something isn’t the same as doing it.
this morning, it’s suddenly solid again. the screws are tight, the turn smooth. you test it twice, then a third time, like you’re trying to catch it in the act of failing.
when you open the door, haechan is just stepping out of his apartment. hoodie, ball cap, a paper bag swinging from his hand.
“you break into all your neighbors’ places,” you say, “or am i just special?”
he doesn’t slow his pace. “if you’re asking if i fixed your doorknob, you’re welcome.”
“i didn’t say thank you.”
“you were about to,” he says, glancing over his shoulder with that quick, infuriating smile.
later that afternoon, you walk back from the café down the street with two coffees in hand. you tell yourself you only bought the second because they got your order wrong and you don’t like caramel.
you knock on his door. when he opens it, he looks suspicious.
“i don’t drink caramel,” he says.
“i know,” you reply, handing it over.
“so this is…?”
“a bribe,” you say. “for future illegal home repairs.”
he takes it, still watching you. “i could get used to this.”
“don’t,” you tell him, turning to head back across the hall. but you hear the click of his tongue, and somehow you know he’s still smiling when you shut your door.
ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ
the storm hits without warning. rain hammers the windows like a drummer gone mad, and the building lights flicker once, twice, then die altogether. darkness fills your apartment, thick and heavy, smelling of wet concrete and ozone.
you fumble for a flashlight and curse under your breath when it slips from your hand. that’s when you hear it—soft thumping from the hallway. hesitation. footsteps that are familiar, too familiar.
“you’re awake,” haechan says, voice low, carrying through the dark like it belongs there.
“i could say the same,” you answer, gripping the flashlight like a weapon.
he’s leaning against the wall outside your door, the hood of his sweatshirt half fallen back. his hair is damp, curling slightly at the edges, and for a second you catch yourself staring longer than necessary.
“want to come upstairs?” he asks. the words are casual, but his eyes are something else entirely. “candles, a better view of the storm. you can keep your flashlight.”
you hesitate, then follow him, letting the familiar banter ease the tension. on his couch, the room is small and warm, lit by the trembling glow of scattered candles. shadows dance across his face, making him look like someone you’ve only ever half-known in photographs and social media clips.
for a while, you don’t speak. the rain drums against the windows, and the air smells faintly of coffee he brewed hours ago, forgotten. then he hums a low tune, one you recognize from the stairs the night the elevator broke.
“you hum inappropriately loud when you think no one hears,” you say.
“i hum inappropriately loud when someone does hear,” he replies, leaning closer. the shadow of his smile stretches across the candlelight. “it’s… more fun that way.”
you try to turn your attention back to the window, to the storm, to anything that isn’t him, but the words stick in your chest. the warmth of the room, the closeness, the teasing edge in his voice—it all presses against your nerves like static.
“why are you like this?” you ask quietly, not really expecting an answer.
“like what?”
“like… everything. annoying, impossible, way too charming.”
his eyes soften, then glint with mischief. “maybe i just like you noticing.”
the pause lingers, heavier than the storm outside. and for the first time, you realize the elevator, the stolen parking spots, the petty arguments—they were all just prelude.
ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ
the elevator is still broken. again. you curse under your breath as you push open the stairwell door, half-expecting him to be there. he is. of course he is.
“late again,” he says, smirking, as if punctuality is a personal affront.
“you could say the same,” you snap, stepping past him.
“i could,” he replies, stepping closer. the space between you narrows, the walls echoing with the hollow rhythm of your steps. “but i like to keep things interesting.”
you spin on your heel, toe catching the edge of the step. he catches your arm—lightly, but enough to make your pulse skip.
“careful,” he teases, voice low. “wouldn’t want you to fall before we reach the top.”
“i don’t need saving,” you say, tugging your arm free, though your hands are shaking just a little.
“you might,” he murmurs, leaning closer. the air between you tightens. you can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint tang of his cologne, something sharp that makes your chest flutter.
the argument dissolves into something smaller, softer, more dangerous. words falter. you both stop mid-step, too aware of the other’s proximity.
“you know,” he whispers, almost a question, “we could just… skip the rest of the stairs.”
you bite your lip, trying to focus on the concrete beneath your feet, but it’s impossible. his hand hovers near yours, not touching, and your stomach knots in a way that’s equal parts annoyance and want.
for a moment, you both stand there, suspended between irritation and something unspoken. the air thrums with it, and you can’t tell if it’s the storm outside or him that’s making your heart race.
then the stairwell door swings open above, and someone else’s footsteps echo down. he steps back, just enough to break the tension, grin teasing and infuriating.
“later,” he says, and his voice leaves a trail down the empty steps, warm and promising.
you watch him go, and when your hand finally lowers from where it had been hovering, you realize—somewhere in the middle of all the fights, all the teasing, something has shifted.
you knock on his door because you have to. you tell yourself it’s only to complain—loud music again, the bass rattling the walls like it’s trying to break something in you—but the moment he opens the door, the air between you feels heavier, electric.
“you again,” he says, voice low, one eyebrow quirking. his hoodie is half on, hair mussed, eyes sharper than the hallway light lets on.
“i came to ask you to turn it down,” you snap, though your chest hitches when he smirks.
“you could’ve just texted,” he replies, leaning in just enough that you smell the faint tang of coffee and something sharper, like citrus.
“i wanted to see if you’d actually listen,” you fire back, stepping inside.
he doesn’t move, doesn’t close the door, just tilts his head, letting the silence grow heavy between you. you can feel the weight of him, the warmth radiating off his body.
“why are you like this?” you whisper, half exasperated, half unsure if you’re asking him or yourself.
“like what?” he murmurs, taking a step closer, the corner of his mouth twitching in that impossible, teasing way.
“like… impossible. always… everywhere. annoying,” you falter, voice trembling without meaning to, “and somehow—”
“somehow what?”
“somehow i can’t stop noticing,” you admit, your heart thudding too loudly.
he smirks, but it’s gone softer, too. he closes the gap, hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “maybe you just needed an excuse to see me,” he says, low and deliberate.
your rebuttal dies on your lips when he leans in, pressing against you just enough that your knees threaten to buckle. the first kiss is messy, urgent, a collision of weeks—months—of pent-up tension. hands grab, tug, explore. he’s warm and insistent, teasing between kisses.
“so all this time, you hated how much you wanted me?”
you grab him harder, matching him, words lost to gasps and murmurs. clothes tangle, and the floor beneath your feet disappears, leaving only the heat and friction of skin, teeth, lips, and whispered curses.
when you finally pull back, breathless, your forehead resting against his, both of you are laughing quietly, incredulous.
“you’re impossible,” you manage.
“so are you,” he says, grinning like it’s the only truth that matters, “and yet here you are.”
before you can slap his shoulder out of annoyance, his lips crash into yours again, hungry and insistent. you gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders as he backs you against the doorframe.
his hands slide down your sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. you arch into him, relishing the friction. months of tension unraveled with each touch, each breathless moment.
"took you long enough," he murmurs against your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin.
you tug at his hair, drawing a low groan from him. "you're one to talk. all those times you 'accidentally' bumped into me in the hallway."
he chuckles, the sound vibrating through you. "just trying to get your attention."
"by being insufferable?" your breath catches as he pushes you through the doorway. you both stumble into his apartment, knocking into the coffee table - him catching your fall by your waist. candles from the earlier power outage still glowed faintly, casting dancing shadows across the walls.
your shirt catches on the edge of the couch as he tugs it over your head. haechan's fingers tangle in your hair, tugging gently as he deepens another kiss between you two. he sits up from above you on the couch as you nudge the bottom of the fabric on his shirt - he gets the hint, freeing the clothe from his torso.
as he returns his attention back to you, cupping your breast with one hand he murmurs against your neck, voice low and teasing, "still want me to turn the music down?”
your jaw tremors open as his teeth graze your pulse. "shut up," you growl and embarrassingly half-moan, raking your nails down his back.
he lets out a throaty chuckle. "make me.” you nip at his lower lip in response, drawing a sharp inhale from him while you palm the growing bulge from his sweatpants.
"bossy," he breathed, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. his hand slides lower, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your pants. he props himself up on one elbow, middle two fingers in motion over the fabric of your panties. your hips arch into the sensation and you whine, pleasure blooming through your body as he stroked and circled. you moved your hand from over his sweats to grab the edge of the couch as he found your clit.
“not fair,” you gasp, nails digging into the couch, hips pressing into him without meaning to.
“fair isn’t interesting,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, warm breath sending shivers down your spine. his fingers curl expertly, circling, dipping, coaxing every reaction from you.
you tilt your head back, letting out a shuddering moan, “hyuck… stop teasing.”
“i’m not teasing,” he whispers against your ear, voice low, almost a growl. “i’m making you feel… exactly what you’ve been wanting.”
your hands clench at the cushions, hips rolling involuntarily into his touch. every stroke, every circle sends sparks up your spine, down your legs, until it feels like fire pooling between you.
and then he stops.
your body jerks, surprised, and his lips brush against your cheek—soft, teasing, impossibly close.
“what are you—?” you gasp, voice trembling.
he smirks, low and dangerous. “i’m apologizing,” he murmurs, moving down the couch with deliberate slowness, heat radiating from every step, “for my poor neighborly conduct.”
before you can react, his hands grab the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down with swift precision. your legs part as he positions himself between them, eyes dark with intent.
“you’re fucking unreal,” he growls, voice low, “driving me insane.”
you whimper, hips shifting instinctively, trying not to—but it’s useless.
he leans in, lips brushing the sensitive skin at the apex of your thighs. one teasing lick, and your back arches. his hands grip your hips, steadying you as his tongue slides against you, exploring, tasting, coaxing every whimper and moan from your lips.
you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as he alternates slow, deliberate flicks of his tongue with firmer, deeper strokes, hitting every sensitive patch with precision. he hums low and possessive, sending shocks of pleasure straight through your spine.
“look at you,” he mutters, voice sharp and commanding, “losing it for me already. fucking perfect.”
every word, every movement drives you higher, your hips rocking against him even though he’s holding you steady, teasing, testing, making sure you feel every inch of his tongue without mercy.
your nails rake through his hair, tugging lightly, testing how far you can push him.
he whines—soft, breathy, impossibly needy—into your skin, letting out a sound that makes your pulse spike.
“you like that?” you murmur, fingers gripping tighter.
“fuck… yeah,” he groans, voice rough, and the whine turns into a low hum of satisfaction.
he leans closer, practically devouring you, teeth and tongue moving in tandem, hot and demanding. every flick, every press, every teasing nibble drives you higher, your hips instinctively pressing down, desperate for more.
“god… hyuck—” you gasp, nails digging into him, pulling, tugging, needing.
he moans against you, almost obnoxiously loud, but it’s perfect, messy, exactly what you want. his hands grip your thighs, keeping you open and vulnerable, tongue darting with precision.
“you feel… so good,” he murmurs between licks, biting lightly, humming low. “i could do this forever.”
every sound he makes, every hungry flick of his tongue, makes your chest rise and fall faster. he’s utterly lost in you, fully in the moment—the messy, shameless, munch-like way he devours, completely unashamed.
your nails leave marks in his hair, your hips roll without control, and you can’t stop gasping, moaning, letting him take every bit of attention, because right now, you don’t want to.
your hips jerk uncontrollably, nails still tangled in his hair, breath catching in ragged gasps. every flick of his tongue, every press of his lips, every sharp hum against your skin pushes you higher and higher.
“fuck—oh my god!” you cry following his name, voice breaking as pleasure crashes through you in waves. your body shudders, your legs trembling, hips rolling into him even as he holds you steady, relentless, perfect.
he groans low, a deep, satisfied sound, as you come undone beneath him, shaking, quivering, lost in the sensation.
your chest heaves, heat still pooling between your legs, and with one swift motion, you shrug off your bra. the cool air against your bare skin makes you shiver, and he notices immediately.
he shuffles closer, eyes dark and predatory, and without a word, he pulls at the waistband of his sweatpants, sliding them down in one swift motion. you bite your lip, heart hammering, watching him cock his head to the side, a low hum escaping him as he starts pumping himself slowly, teasingly.
you lay back against the couch, legs parting slightly, breath catching as your hands graze over your own skin. the sight of him—focused, needy, just for you—makes a shiver run down your spine.
“god… you’re driving me fucking crazy,” he groans, voice rough, gripping himself tighter for just a moment before leaning down.
without another pause, he lines himself up, sliding inside you in one smooth, deliberate thrust. your back arches instinctively, nails digging into the cushions as heat and pleasure bloom between your bodies.
you dig your nails into the cushions as he starts moving inside you, slow at first, just enough to make your hips roll against him. every thrust sends sparks straight through you, and your breath hitches in ragged gasps.
“you’re… so good,” you murmur, voice trembling, chest heaving.
his hips stutter, a low whine escaping him. “say it again,” he whines, voice needy and desperate, eyes dark and fixed on yours.
“g-good boy,” you breathe, teasing, and the way his lips curl into a feral, almost worshipful grin makes your stomach clench.
“fuck… i love that,” he murmurs, almost whining as he grabs your hips, pulling you flush against him. “on your knees—no, come on.”
before you can protest, he shifts you onto all fours on the couch, pressing himself into you from behind. the sudden angle makes your breath hitch again, nails scraping the cushions as he starts thrusting harder, faster, chasing the way you squirm beneath him.
“you like that, baby?” he groans, voice thick, teeth catching your shoulder. “taking me in that tight, perfect pussy of yours?”
you arch against him, and he slaps your ass sharply, low and hard, making a gasp escape your lips. the sound only seems to fuel him further, and he leans closer, hips snapping into a steady, urgent rhythm.
every hit, every groan, every whiny, desperate sound he makes presses deeper into your senses, and your body trembles with a mix of heat and pleasure, riding every inch of him as he switches the rhythm, keeping you both on edge, messy and lost in each other.
you push back against him, taking the reins, sliding down onto him with a sharp, controlled motion. he groans low, hips stuttering as he watches you, face flushed and eyes dark with need.
hands grip his shoulders, then drift to his throat, fingers curling just enough to tease, to claim. “fuck… you’re crazy,” he groans, a whine escaping him, but there’s no resistance—only trust, lust, and obsession.
“like this?” you murmur, bouncing slightly, testing him, the pressure of your hands on his neck making him shiver beneath you.
“yes… god, yes,” he pants, voice ragged, a mix of whine and groan, “don’t stop… don’t you ever stop.”
you ride him harder, your hips snapping in rhythm with his, teasing and pressing, every motion driving him wild. his hands grip your hips, guiding you, but his head tips back slightly at the subtle choke, mouth open, groans spilling out uncontrollably.
“s-so tight,” he pants, voice thick and needy, “and you… you know exactly what you’re doing to me.”
every movement, every gasp, every sharp intake of breath fuels the fire between you, and the sound of him whining, desperate and obsessed beneath you, makes your own pleasure spike even higher.
you ride him harder, hips snapping, hands gripping his shoulders and throat with control. every movement, every gasp, every whine spilling from him fuels the fire burning between you.
your chest rises and falls, heat pooling, and suddenly it hits—the sharp, overwhelming wave of pleasure building deep in your core. you shiver, cry out his name, and come over him, trembling, body quaking as your orgasm crashes through you.
he groans low at the sound, voice thick and needy, but it’s sharp, urgent, almost desperate. “i’m gonna… i’m gonna come,” he pants, hips jerking, hands gripping your hips to steady himself.
you mutter something about your mouth in your high and he reluctantly slides out.
you kneel in front of him on the floor as he rises up to sit, lips brushing the tip of his cock, and he whines immediately, high-pitched and desperate, hips twitching against your mouth. “fuck… yes—just like that—shit, yes,” he pants, voice breaking into that needy, whiny sound that makes your heart palpitate.
you take him in, slow at first, letting him adjust, teasing him with the way you suck and lick, fingers curling around the base. his hands thread through your hair, gripping gently, guiding you, voice cracking with every small gasp as your doe eyes remain on watching his every reaction.
“ah—fuck! right there, yes, oh god—” he groans, hips snapping, voice high and needy, whines mixing with grunts as his release spills into your mouth.
you hold him through it, swallowing every pulse, teasing just enough to make him shiver, until he’s trembling, spent, and utterly obsessed with you.
you pull back, brushing a sticky strand of hair from your face, and he’s still catching his breath, chest rising and falling fast. his eyes flick to yours, sharp, amused, and dangerous in that way you know too well. his thumbs wipes the remainder of his orgasm past your lips, he’s dazed.
“you good?” you ask, voice low, teasing.
he smirks, pressing closer, letting out a soft groan. “i’m alive… barely,” he mutters, voice high and whiny from just having been wrecked. “not that i’d ever admit it.”
“you’re a mess,” you tease, thumb brushing along his cheek. “i could’ve stopped anytime.”
“yeah? try me,” he shoots back, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “i don’t think you could.”
you laugh, shaking your head, letting him drape an arm around you as you search for your underwear on the living room floor. he leans back on the couch, eyes glinting, that familiar mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.
“looking for something?” he asks, voice low and teasing, tilting his head as he watches you fumble.
you glance up, biting your lip, and he doesn’t miss the pause. “oh… wow,” he says, eyes flicking down, then back to your face, mock-serious. “you’re… completely drenched. did i do that?”
you groan, cheeks heating, and scramble faster across the floor. “shut up,” you mutter, grabbing at your soaked panties.
“nope,” he cuts in immediately, grin widening. “absolutely not. this is too good. i mean, come on—you look like a disaster… a very wet, very perfect disaster.” his voice dips lower, teasing, almost growling, and the words make a shiver run down your spine.
finally finding your underwear, you hold them up, and he leans closer, eyes glinting with mischief. “wow,” he murmurs, half-whining, “you really know how to make a mess. lucky for me, i get to watch.”
“you’re terrible,” you mutter, tugging the fabric back on, cheeks flushed.
“and you love it,” he replies, smirk widening, eyes glittering with that playful, hungry light. “admit it.”
you roll your eyes but can’t stop the quiet laugh escaping you. “maybe a little,” you concede.
he chuckles, low and satisfied, before leaning down to press a light kiss to your temple. “good. that’s all i need to know,” he murmurs, letting the teasing linger. then his grin twists sly. “by the way… don’t think i’ve forgotten about our feud. stealing your parking spot? not sorry.”
you snort, shaking your head. “you’re such an asshole.”
“maybe,” he says, tugging you closer so your shoulder rests against his chest. the apartment feels warm and intimate now, messy and sticky from earlier chaos, yet somehow calm. tangled together on the couch, playful and charged, the teasing settles into a quiet closeness that leaves both of you grinning and breathless.
ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ
the next morning, sunlight cuts across the floor as you’re dragging yourself out of bed, still groggy, when you hear a rumble outside. peeking through the blinds, you spot haechan sliding his car out of the spot he’d stolen yesterday, finally giving you the space you were owed. you can’t help the small, satisfied smirk that tugs at your lips.
then something catches your eye: a sticky note, bright yellow, taped to your door. you pull it off and read, your breath hitching slightly:
"hey neighbor, come knock on my door and tell me to turn this music down… or don’t. i kind of want to hear you complain while i watch. —h"
from next door, the bass vibrates through the walls, low and teasing, and you roll your eyes with a laugh. of course he’d leave a note like this—provocative, cheeky, and entirely him, daring you to respond while making it impossible not to. you trace the words with a finger, already imagining the exchange when you go knock—knowing full well you’ll be grinning like an idiot the entire time.
thinking about taping a vibrator against jenos dick and watching him make the prettiest noises while you watch him squirm and gasp… hands tied behind his back while his cock twitches to the vibrations and leaves him on the verge of tears, forcing him to cum all over himself. my cute, pathetic boy :(
i love you and this page more than my life .. could you possibly do yuta links and/or audios :,)
nsfw twt links - yuta edition
thank youuu for the kind words!!! i’ve gotten a couple of yuta reqs so i’m finally posting him hehe. honestly, i think his fav position is anything involving you riding him but i wanted to post something kinkier than that bc he’s a perv too LOL
putting you on a leash to finger you
tying you up with rope so he can overstimulate you as much as he wants? yes please
forcing you to make yourself cum with a vibrator after being too flirty with another guy
fucking you in the bathroom after getting jealous of how affectionate you are towards the other members
making you bounce on his cock while he overstimulates your clit
watching his cum drip out of you
overstimulating your clit until you cry
what happens after you wake up to his cock throbbing against your ass
