၊၊||၊. ODORIKO! ،،♫ sharing music was your love language more than anything. so when spotify introduces a new feature that allows users to message each other one-on-one; your ex, park sunghoon, realizes he’s kind of fucked.
✶ -> p.sunghoon × fem!reader smau, exes-to-???
A/N: what do we think of a series… heh… Heh heh… also warning jake is a #freak i’m so sorry
PJS. ᝰ is writing — Love is in the air like literally. Someone tie this man down.
vol 5. — Jay floats everytime you smile at him defying gravity well love does defies gravity but can feelings stay grounded? Or will Jay end up ceiling-stuck forever? — a silly Jay headcanon with Jake loosing his shit.
note: I was listening to helium for like 50th time this week and had this funny thought lol
Jay has a problem. A very specific you shaped problem. He wouldn't call it genetics but it was definitely making him lose his mind. He doesn't just likes you...no no...this guy levitates at the mere thought of you.
You smile? He's hovering. You laugh? Ceiling tile cracked. You tie your hair up? JAY IS GONE. FULL LIFT UP. 9.8 m/s² WHO?
Jake keeps a spreadsheet. It’s titled “Jay’s Floating Incidents (Vol. 34): An Unstable Study of Hormones vs. Gravity.”
Week 1:
You said “Good morning!” → Jay rose 2.3 inches off the ground.
You lent him your highlighter → he hovered mid-air for 6 minutes.
You said “thank you” with a wink → Jake had to tie Jay to a chair using an extension cord.
You wore lip gloss → Jay floated so fast he hit the library’s sprinkler system.
Note: “This is not sustainable.”
classes are surely entertaining with Heeseung constantly facepalming "just confess man...get it out of your system" and Jay nodding is head in a disbelief because in his head there is a constant thought if you reject him he will float and perish in space. Well...safe to say the god of luck is not in his favor because your homeroom teacher just paired you two for a group project !
It doesn't take 5 minutes for Ni-ki to let out a muffled squeal "guys he's doing the floaty thing again!" With that mf vine boom sound in background as Jake profusely sweats under his hoodie "“Please for the love of Newton, keep him grounded—”
And then you let out a laugh at Jay's joke. He's now horizontal, hovering by the overhead projector like a balloon someone forgot to deflate. Your homeroom teacher pauses her lectures “Is Park Jongseong... levitating?” Well for Jay his poor heart can't do anything as he deadpans from above and mutters "can't help...It’s a chronic condition.”
And when you finally catch him you question “Why do you keep floating every time I show up?” He lets out a nervous laugh while Jake gives default background screeches “THIS IS YOUR CHANCE. STAY ON THE GROUND. ACT NORMAL.”
He takes a breathe and answers "...because you make me feel lighter than air...", you giggle, blinking your lashes in slow motion with glitters shooting ( Jay's words ) and grab his hoodie pulling him down gently “Then maybe stay down here with me.” Well its safe to say Park Jongseong only combusts...nothing special, nothing abnormal.
Jay Starts Wearing Ankle Weights. He still floats. But now it’s controlled.
Jake had begged him to behave “I’m a Physics major. Your existence is embarrassing. PLEASE just sit. Still. And DON’T try to kiss her.” Well...his requests did not really last longer than 3 seconds anytime.
Ni-ki surely made some profit selling Jay-themed helium balloons with the tagline “Love got you floating? Same.” in school festival.
And Jay? He still floats a little when you smile. But now, he holds your hand on the way down.
When you pull back, your gloss smeared all over his lips, you giggle, “You’re floating again,” like this was normal. Jay tried to pretend he wasn’t inching upward like a confused soap bubble.
“I’m not.”
You pointed.
He looked down.
His socks were no longer touching the carpet.
Jake somewhere in the distant going nuts “Nope. Not again. I’m switching majors. This isn’t physics. This is psychological warfare.”
Jay tried to claw his way down but somehow went higher, knees tucked up as he hovered near the ceiling fan. You stood up, arms crossed, trying not to laugh. “Need help?”
Jay, face redder than a sunburned tomato could only answer “…Maybe?”
Jake arrived with a broom, handing it to you like a firefighter handing someone a rescue hose.“Just. Gently. Nudge him back toward Earth, please.”
You poked Jay with the broom. He spun slowly like a tragic weather balloon.
“THIS IS HUMILIATING,” he called, upside down.
You couldn’t help but laugh harder “You’re kind of cute like this.”
And for the love of god he goes up another foot.
Jake *on the floor*: “WHY does affection make him float harder?!”
Eventually, you got on a chair and held your hands out. “C’mon, Park Jongseong. Just fall for me already.” Jay, not missing a beat says “I already did.” And then, because the laws of anime physics apply, Jay softly descended into your arms like a trust-fall from the heavens.
You caught him. “Your heart’s beating really fast,” you whispered, flushed.
Jay gave you the most confident, not-confident look ever. “well, you make me feel like helium.”
You leaned closer. “So…can I kiss you before you float away again?”
Jay blinked “Sure,” he said, already halfway to the ceiling again.
You grabbed his hoodie and yanked him back down. And when your lips finally met his again, soft and sweet and hilarious, Jake calmly opened his laptop and dropped out of his major.
im not big into kpop demon hunters like i thought it was a cute and well made movie and i enjoyed it but i have to say watching golden climb its way back up through the spotify top 10 vs. the flood of taylor swift slop album songs is killing me. go girls save the honmoon
pairing. maki x gn!reader genre. fluff warnings. none rlly just language notes. i’ve been high off that &team pill lately and maki is the new loml so i wanted to cook smth up
everybody knows that i'm a good girl officer - p. jay
dom!jay x sub!f!reader
DAY 11: come licking, handcuffs | wc: 692
summary: you were arrested... but the sexy cop on the front of the car offered you a second chance, in exchange for something.
tags: suggestive, come licking, handcuffs, oral sex (j. rec.), car sex, semi public (inside the car in an empty but public street), dub con (due to the power dynamic), hair pulling, light crying, light degradation/humiliation, j is referred to as officer
a/n: this is immoral but like, we all already know police sucks so… but i do think the uniform would fit jay, at least he'd be a sexy cop. short because i was too tired today to write this one, i accidentally had written already most of the prompt for the week but not his... talks about being an idiot sigh
it was stupid, embarrassing, to be arrested for trying to steal a dumb shirt from a store in the mall... and maybe also for assaulting a public official, but that was another issue. you didn't think it was necessary, and you wouldn't have done what you did if he hadn't started putting his hands all over you.
there was silence in the patrol car. obviously, you would never talk to the cop who arrested you and who you had spilled iced coffee on. he had taken your phone away so you were trying to remember your mother's number or a friend's, someone who could come and pick you up at the station, since your car was still in the mall parking lot. the policeman, park read the name tag, was fiddling with the radio while driving, making only static noises leak out of it. you saw him turn it off. He also put away the walkie-talkie he used to talk to headquarters and the other officers, , which you didn't think was possible while in service. there was a jingle in your brain telling you that what was happening was strange, wrong, but you ignored it, or at least tried to. it was difficult once you saw him turn to the wrong exit. he was going in the opposite direction he needed to go. you tried to think of other ways to reach the police station, but the more he drove the more impossible the way there seemed to be.
you arrived in an almost abandoned neighborhood, no one was around on the streets or at home— at least from what you could tell. the houses were small, the gardens unkempt and the grass overgrown, the walls of the buildings were covered in graffiti sprayed in fonts impossible to read. you asked him where he was going, but he didn't answer. now panicked, seeing him drive into an alley, dark even in broad daylight, you started to twitch in your seat, trying to make some noise, to attract his attention. those damn handcuffs on your wrists wouldn't let you smash your hands on the divider between the two of you. officer park just looked at you from the review mirror, smirking before pulling the brakes.
“it doesn’t have to be difficult, just do what i say and you’ll be free to go.”
It was outright manipulation, abuse of power, but you thought about it carefully and decided that it was actually in your best interest. in no time at all, officer park had pulled the passenger seat back as far as it would go, and you, still handcuffed, were kneeling in front of him, your hair pulled back by his fingers in the lack of a hair tie. his free hand unbuttoned his blue uniform pants and took his already hard dick out of his underwear.
you began working on the length right away, without giving yourself time to get comfortable. the cop was big, his tip touching the back of your throat when you had it all in the mouth. your tongue moved skilled over his cock as you were mentally taking note all his veins. cop park was completely still in the seat, not even slightly moving his hips to meet your movements, making the situation perhaps even more degrading than it already was. you were gagging on a stranger's dick to avoid being arrested. tears formed in your eyes and began to roll down your cheeks to your chin, where they became one with the saliva that had built up and escaped from your mouth in the meantime.
his moans and grunts filled the car, along with heavy breathing that made the air unbreathable. “you make a cute plaything for a thief,” he said between his teeth.
he came with a loud groan, finally jerking his hips forward and forcing cum in your mouth, making you gag. his fingers, still in your hair, pulled them, hurting you slightly. when he pulled out, he cleaned the corners of your mouth from his seed with his thumb. forcing it inside, making you lick it clean.
★ ENHYPEN WHEN THEIR S/O DOES A MATURE DANCE COVER.
. . ──𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗉 𝗈𝗎𝗍.
﹙ 𝒘𝐞𝐛 ⭑ 𝒅𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝓁𝓈. ﹚ enhypen hooked on the way you move. fem!r. fluff, tad bit suggestive. wordcount` 1427. requested. アーカイブ ARCHIVE?
PLS REBLOG!!!!
𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆
heeseung's on his phone, scrolling through tik tok trends when you walk out of the room all dressed like you're about to go out to the gym. high waist yoga pants and a crop top to match. heeseung so loves it when you wear them, they hug your curves just right and he can caress your tummy when he goes in for a hug.
"are you going to the—" his words die down in an instant as you set up your phone camera and ring light. she's filming something!, he thinks all excited to see which trend you decided to do. and it's all innocent with a little bit of sus moves here and there until there's a switch in the song and you get down to the floor for it. heeseung contemplates whether he should record it or he should just focus on taking the view all in.
though ultimately it's over before he even realizes it, so focused he didn't notice you're already done. immediately rushing to backhug you, unaware the camera's still recordeding and it's captured the sweet little moment where he nuzzles his head into your neck and mumbles out a soft,"why are you so hot?" in butterfly kisses that the viewers can't get enough of once you upload the video.
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆
it's just a normal day for jay. looking through the files on your computer to find your vacation videos from last year, the reason.. it's a secret. a little surprise he's preparing for your birthday. however this certain file with the familiar song name and you on the thumbnail in a rather compromising position gives him the surprise of his day.
can he see it? was he supposed to see it? is he allowed to? is he prepared to? oh man jay has no idea but what he knows for sure is, he is seeing it. and oh boy is he seeing it. the amount of times he replays it, he has lost count of it. each time finding a new move he thinks is way too hot. and wondering of where and how you learnt it and why the hell hasn't he been told about it already?
"jay babe, i'm back!" the moment he hears you walk through the door he's bombarding you with questions, the thought of his own surprise slipping out somewhere in the gutter. "do it again for me, please?" he begs, so wanting to see it real time and find out just much hotter you can be.
𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐔𝐍
if he's actually seeing it right or he's dreaming, jake doesn't know it but for sure he knows he's drooling. mouth slack open with occasional lip bites when you move your hips just the way he likes it. and he didn't know how much he liked it until he saw it today, and to be more precise until ten minutes ago.
he's in awe, like oh my god that is my girl? and then a few seconds later, only my girl can do it so well! and then a few seconds later, oh god how can my girl be so perfect? like he's literally so geniune and so in love, anything you do he's lovestruck. he's babbling in his mind the entire time he's watching you practice.
"shit princess, you looked so amazing," jake walks over to you in quick steps the moment he notices you taking a break. telling you about how you rocked certain moves and how he loved the way you moved your body to the music and how he was mesmerized to the point of being tongue-tied. so many over the top compliments but the way his eyes sparkled gave away just how sincere he was, he was fascinated both at how good and how hot you were.
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍
for sunghoon putting things away around the kitchen and pantry was the second best part about grocery shopping with you. so obviously he was crest fallen when you left him alone in the middle of it. wondering about what was so important for you to do that to him.
however you return in a few minutes and he forgets all about his sadness the moment you drag him to the couch to show him a little something you specially prepared for him. oh! for me? hehe, the grin on his face is wider than anything and everything watching you dance, eyes zeroing in on the way you move for him. for him, the most important part.
it's all well until you get down on your knees for a certain part and sunghoon feels all his senses kicking in as he immediately shoots up to pick you like a doll and get you into the bedroom,"my god baby! you can't just do that with the curtains open?!" so panicked over the fact that someone would see what's only for him to see. and wondering where you learnt all that from.
𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐖𝐎𝐎
you better believe he finds it first and then begs you to learn it, even going as far as learning it first and then teaching it to you himself. holding and caressing and taking advantage of the situation to feel you up. he's elated that you agreed to learn it and over the moon that you decided to learn it from him.
"mhm yes love go! that's right! love the way you move there!" he records it for you without even you having to ask him. and he's posting it the next day because like there's no way you do it so well and people don't know about it. sunoo is so happy to have you dance to it just how it makes it look fantastic and perfect.
"babe, everyone's loving it! too bad you're only mine," and he's so happy to share with everyone just how amazing you are. there are certain comments that make him regret it a tad bit though, thinking of gatekeeping all future videos like these.
𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍
"baby baby baby, help me film this!" your cute little pouts melt jungwon and he folds without even asking of what you want him to help film. helping you is jungwon's favorite thing in the world, and no matter how many times he scolds you for pranking him with the said excuse, he just gives in when you give him the puppy eyes.
with your outfit and your makeup, just how pretty you're dolled up, jungwon knows it's not gonna be a prank and for that he heaves a sigh of relief. but it's not long before his stress comes back, hands immediately throwing away the phone to the couch when you get on the floor and start with that certain hip move that tingle his heart rates.
"babyy! w- what, you can't do that, no! i ain't letting you post that!" he scolds, all flustered when you whine at him for stopping. it takes a great deal of convincing to persuade him to continue recording and the condition is that you'll keep it in your drafts forever. him being the only one who knows of it.
𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈
he has no idea how much he needed you to ask him to correct your moves until you do it. if there's a phrase that could describe how he feels right now, it would be in the clouds. the moment you come up to him and tell him to watch you and correct you if you do it wrong, it's the start of an episode riki will remember for forever.
"no baby, you do it this way," he touches your arms, legs, hands, thighs, neck, shoulder, and everywhere to put you in the correct form. having you go over it again and again, and you don't question it because he's experienced and he knows best, right?
"do it again," intentionally telling you to repeat any move he liked too much just to see you doing it repeatedly to fulfill his own desire. it's not like you'll know anyway and it's only gonna help you get better. that's what he keeps saying to himself. knowing it's not entirely true with how his eyes look at you. and how his hands stay on you a little longer than necessary.
kim sunoo was too cute for his own good. all soft edges and a charm that made him impossible to resist.
you still vividly remembered the first time you met. you had just finished your first ever performance, glitter clinging to your stage outfit accompanied by a thin layer of sweat coating your skin, when a boy with the brightest smile you've ever seen skipped his way over to you, exuding some natural serotonin.
"hi y/n!" he practically beamed, bouncing on his feet. "i'm your new manager, kim sunoo! but you can call me noo! no need for that formal stuff; we're family now."
your eyes widened at his assertiveness, blinking a couple times to make sure the guy carrying a clipboard like an accessory wasn't some angel.
"oh, um- nice to meet you, noo. im-"
"i know who you are, silly! nation's first love, kpop royalty, and the ultimate trendsetter already? trust me y/nnie, i've done my research!" he chirped, his eyes curving into crescents.
you couldn't help but laugh, cheeks warming. "that's...slightly terrifying."
"you got it all wrong! it's just proof i'm a dedicated manager." he retorted matter-of-factly.
and he wasn't lying. a deceptively soft wafer on the outside, sunoo turned out to be more like firm pudding underneath—balanced and put together. he had your schedule memorized to the t, booked your appointments, and was most importantly your very own hype boy.
if someone thought they were your biggest fan, they had clearly never met sunoo.
"you did amazing today, y/nnie!" he'd gush after every stage, already shoving a water bottle in your hand. "your high note was perfect; i almost fell to my knees back here."
"sunoo," you groaned, hiding your face in your palms. "you're my manager, not my fanboy."
"manager, fanboy, coach, emotional support system—same thing." he'd sing.
your favorite memory of all was the night of your first solo stage at one of the biggest award shows. the crowd roared, lights gleamed, and as the final note left your lips, you glanced backstage only to find sunoo crying.
like, full on sniffling with a couple wet tissues stuffed in his pockets.
"noo—are you crying?" you gasped, rushing over as soon as the music stopped. "what's wrong? did something happen?"
he waved his hands in dismissal, trying to find his voice again. "n-no, i'm fine! i just—" he sniffled, "you've grown so much since the first day i became your manager wahh!"
you laughed, eyes softening. "you're such a baby."
"i'm a empath!" he corrected, choking back tears.
but if sunoo's breakdown couldn't have made your life even more interesting, the headlines could.
"infamous idol, y/n, caught on a secret date with manager kim sunoo?"
you knew this was coming. you were often spotted together anyways. shopping, getting breakfast, him holding an umbrella over you when it decided to rain after a music show—the list goes on. it was all perfectly innocent, but the tabloids painted it as something else.
you watched sunoo sit frozen at the company office, gripping his phone tighter. "this isn't true!" he squeaked defensively. "y/n i swear i didn't leak this—i mean, not like i wouldn't date you, wait i mean—"
you cut him off with an amused laugh, leaning against his desk.
"relax, noo. i don't mind the rumor."
the look on his face was gold. he blinked cautiously, staring at you like he just saw a ghost. "you don't...?"
you shook your head, shrugging. "nope. i dunno... 'manager-boyfriend' has a nice ring to it."
to my followers, my mooties, my friends, writers reading this… please never stop writing. good, bad, mediocre, questionable, entirely unreadable, works of pure art, masterpieces. on google docs, in your phone notes, in a notebook, on your math homework (just me?), on a napkin, the inside of an empty tissue box… please never stop writing. even when you can’t get the words out. just try. please. i beg of you. let it be bad. let it be something you want to rip to shreds and burn before anyone else catches wind that you’ve written it… never stop. never ever. we writers are needed now more than ever. your voice matters. YOUR voice matters.
Hii, I was wondering if you could do something with a studio like Jake or jungwon are working late recording and then y/n and him end up making a sextape but audio recorded xx
summary: You’re a rising soloist finishing your demo tracks after hours. Jungwon, the quiet sound engineer who always keeps things professional, stays behind to mix your vocals. But when a lyric test turns into something far less innocent — breath, tone, volume — the line between recording and desire dissolves. The mic catches everything: the trembling whispers, the gasps, the soft pleadings you never meant to immortalize. By morning, there’s an unmarked file on the desktop titled Take One.
the studio after midnight never really sleeps; it just lowers its voice.
You push the door with your shoulder and the hinges answer in a soft hush, as if even the hardware knows to keep it down. The B room smells faintly of coffee and warm dust, a clean, lived-in quiet shaped by foam panels and heavy curtains. The console glows like a city at night — rows of tiny LED windows, some green, some amber, a small red dot that means someone is listening even if no one’s here but you and him.
Jungwon glances up from the session as if pulled by the air current your entrance makes. He doesn’t smile, not exactly. His mouth relaxes, though, and his hand lifts in a silent greeting before it returns to the trackpad. You’ve learned his language. A tap of his ring finger means he heard you; a subtle tilt of his head means headphones are on the left hook; a ghosting of his thumb over the talkback button means, Ready when you are, y/n.
“Hey,” you say, and your voice sounds too loud in a room built to catch it.
He nods toward the vocal booth. “Warmups first. I printed the comps from yesterday if you want to hear them.”
He says it like weather, like schedule, like the way the world turns. You shrug off your jacket and hang it on the back of the chair he keeps pointed toward the booth — he never lets you face the door; he says you sing better when your body forgets the outside exists. Your water bottle lands on the desk with a muted thud. He turns the preamp down a hair anyway.
There were other engineers before him. You remember their neon encouragement, the way they filled silence with compliments that felt like confetti — pretty but flimsy. Jungwon doesn’t do confetti. He trims quiet like a gardener, he’s exacting with EQ, he listens to your mouth shape consonants and adjusts for the spaces between them. He will tell you your S’s are getting away from you and then he will pull a de-esser exactly to the point where your voice still feels like yours. He lives in increments: half a dB, a quarter turn, one breath more than you think you have.
You like him because nothing about him is performative. You like him because he cares how you sound when you don’t think you’re being heard.
Headphones on. Pop filter straightened. You step into the booth and the world narrows: a rectangle of glass with his reflection in it, the silver mesh of the condenser mic glowing softly, the faintest hush-hush of the air unit. When you speak, your own voice folds back into your ears a millisecond after you’ve made it, as if the room answers you with a quiet yes.
“Check,” you say. “One, two.”
“Got you,” his voice says through the talkback, thinner, edged with the little radio-static that turns his confidence into something gentler. “You’re a touch hot. Don’t move. I’ve got it.”
He moves like he mixes: minimal waste. The gain drops a fraction. The red light in the corner stays on; it always stays on when he’s in the chair. You wonder if he sleeps with his eyes closed or if he just lowers the faders.
You hum through your scale. Lip trills, shoulders loose, jaw soft. Your tongue feels clumsy for the first few notes like it always does, and then it finds the track it’s supposed to run on. Jungwon writes something down. You don’t ask what; his notebook is a private city of shorthand and arrows and little stars drawn beside measures he likes. Sometimes you joke that he’s keeping blackmail. He doesn’t laugh, but his shoulder goes a little less rigid.
“Run the chorus once,” he says. “No pressure. Let me hear where you sit today.”
You sing it clean. You don’t push. He’s taught you that your voice is not a hero, not a martyr — it doesn’t have to bleed to be good. When you finish, you take one ear off to listen without the comfort of yourself. He’s quiet for a long breath. Then:
“Chest is warm. Head’s soft. You’re not glued at the seam yet, but we’ll get there.” A small pause. “You sound awake.”
You do, and you don’t. Awake in the body, yes. But there’s another kind of alertness in this room that only turns on after midnight, when the top-line writers have left and no one’s telling you to make it trend. It’s just sound. It’s just breath. It’s just him.
He plays back the take. Your voice fills the booth — familiar and a little strange, like hearing a recording of your laugh from the next room. He loops a bar you didn’t ask him to. The edges of your vowels feather there; you can hear your mouth trying to keep something in. He toggles a high-pass, then takes it off. Leaves it raw.
“Run it again,” he says. “Keep your tongue low. Think about space behind your teeth.”
“Bossy,” you tease, because you’ve learned that his eyes soften when you poke at him.
His mouth twitches. “Efficient.”
You meet him halfway, as ever. Another pass. He marks the take. He doesn’t tell you which one he prefers — he never does before you’re done, because he doesn’t want you aiming at yesterday’s perfection when tonight might build a new one. You like that about him, too.
The clock on your phone ticks into nothing hours. The outside world smears. He rolls his chair back only to fetch the second pair of in-ears when yours start to pinch. He remembers which ear gets sore first. He remembers you hate peppermint tea before takes and he stocks chamomile even when it makes him roll his eyes at himself. He remembers that your name is y/n, and that you like how it sounds when he says it quiet, like it’s not for the room at all.
“Water,” he says, sliding the bottle through the booth door when you crack it open. The studio air kisses your skin and the hairs at your wrist jump.
“Thanks.” Your fingers brush when you take it. Static snaps; it’s small but it’s there, a tiny spark the room witnesses. You both pretend it’s the carpet.
Back in the booth, you work consonants like beads on a string, careful and meditative. Jungwon’s voice comes through the talkback only when needed — an anchor, a guide, never interrupting the tide. You love the way he says again. Not like a demand, but like trust — like he knows you’ll find it if you keep walking toward it.
You do a run that makes you grin at yourself. In the glass, you watch the smile arrive and then press your tongue to your back molar to keep it from changing the next phrase. He notices. He always does.
“Hold that,” he says softly. “That’s the color.”
“Color?” you echo, amused.
“The way you smiled changed the vowel. It… opened it.” He clears his throat, as if he’s embarrassed by his own metaphor. “It’s nice.”
You shouldn’t be as warm as you are over a word as mundane as nice, but his nice carries weight. It puts a pin through the moment, saves it on a shelf.
There are other shelves, too. Little ones. The first time you came in late and found an extra hoodie on the chair — not his, some generic black thing — and he said nothing about it, just nudged it closer with his knee when the booth air got cold. The night the guitar player joked too close to your body and Jungwon’s hand, still on the fader, stilled in a way that made the room go still with it. The afternoon a manager wanted a brighter take that made you sound like someone else, and Jungwon turned a knob and said, politely, She’s already bright. You’ll lose the grit if you chase shine. The manager stopped talking. The take on the record stayed yours.
No one writes songs about engineers. Maybe they should.
You lose track of time and lines. You keep finding new ones. Jungwon trims the dead space around your words with a precision that feels like care. It’s subtle, the way his attention wraps around you without touching. It makes you brave. It makes you tell the truth even when the truth is air.
“A couple breath tests?” he asks eventually, neutral. “We’ll comp them with the outro.”
There it is — the point where the night leans in.
“Breath tests,” you repeat lightly, teasing the phrase as if it’s not already turning your pulse a shade deeper. “So glamorous.”
His eyes flick, dark and quick. If he hears what you hear in your own voice, he doesn’t say it. “Proximity effect,” he explains, as though reading from a manual. “I need to know how the mic colors you when you’re close.”
When you’re close. The booth is suddenly full of that idea.
“Okay.” Your lips find the edge of the pop filter. Your mouth barely parts. You breathe in and then release, a slender ribbon of sound you only ever share with rooms like this. Your headphones feed it back, larger than life; the ghost of you fills your ears. It’s not intimate because of what it is, but because of who hears it.
On the other side of the glass, Jungwon sits back a fraction, not away — just enough to listen with his whole face. He adjusts the gain by feel, not sight; you can tell because he doesn’t look at the numbers, just at you, then at the meter that jumps in time with your lungs.
“In,” he says. “Slow. Out… slower.” The talkback softens his consonants, makes him sound like a secret.
You do it, and the room answers with itself. Your own breath becomes character: the start, the swell, the soft catch at the end where you almost — almost — let your throat close too soon. He rides the fader gently to keep the noise floor respectful. The smallest nod tells you he’s pleased.
“Again.”
The word doesn’t feel bossy. It feels inevitable.
You warm to it. Breath becomes a craft. There’s something tender in the way you learn to inhabit the space between inhale and exhale, the way he listens to the negative space like it’s music. You imagine he does this with everything — makes room, waits, doesn’t rush the moment it becomes itself.
It’s natural that you stop watching your mouth and start watching him. He only realizes because your next release stumbles, a whisper catching on its own self-consciousness. He doesn’t sigh. He just presses the talkback and, with a calm that threads right through your chest, says, “Eyes closed, y/n.”
You obey without thinking. Darkness slips over the booth; sound swells to fill the new room it’s been given. Your shoulders drop a centimeter. The breath that comes next is unperformed, the one you’d let out if you thought no one was there.
“That’s it,” he says, so quiet you almost wonder if you dreamed it. The red light keeps its vigil.
You open your eyes because it feels like too much, somehow, to stay in the dark with only him and your lungs. His gaze is already elsewhere — on the waveforms appearing like coastline on the screen. He’s cataloguing your breath like a geographer. You find it absurdly, unaccountably dear.
“We’ll take a five,” he says eventually, flicking the talkback off, then on again as if correcting himself. “If you want. Or we can keep the lane. You’re in a good place.”
“I’m fine,” you say, and you are. You’re also something else that feels like standing on a low cliff above warm water.
“Okay.” He’s all consent and space. “Then let’s color a whisper.”
You huff a laugh, and the headphones catch it; the little sound loops back as a clean, unguarded thing, and the way his mouth softens at hearing it makes heat lick your ribs in a shy, inexplicable arc.
He sets a marker. You watch the cursor blink. It’s a metronome for the heart.
You step closer to the mic because that’s what the work needs. Your breath ghosts the mesh. The first whisper is more air than consonant — a test balloon. He trims its tail and leaves it intact, raw edges and all. The second finds tone; you can hear the grain of it, the small texture that is uniquely, inconveniently you. He doesn’t compress. He lets your softness be big.
“Good,” he says, so softly the talkback barely holds it. “Stay there.”
You stay. You whisper again, and this time the end frays into a tiny, involuntary sound that isn’t a word. Not want, not apology — just a quiet spill of feeling your body forgot to swallow. It isn’t indecent. It isn’t even loud. But it is honest, and the speakers, unblinking, give it back.
Something passes over his face. Not surprise. Recognition, maybe, or the ache of finally hearing the thing you both pretended wasn’t in the room.
He doesn’t loop it. He doesn’t play it twice. He just lets the take roll on like a river that has decided where it goes.
“Again,” he says, and this time your name is not on the end of it, but you hear it anyway.
You drink water to give your hands something to do. The bottle crackles. The mic picks it up; it always does. You imagine the little spike on the waveform labeled fidget. You imagine his notebook — a star next to the bar where your breath sounded like a secret you wanted someone to keep.
The night re-settles. You don’t look at him, and he doesn’t look at you except in the ways that count. The romance of it, if that’s what this is, doesn’t flare; it glows steady, a pilot light refusing to go out. Professionalism isn’t a mask here; it’s a kindness. You feel protected by it. You feel seen within it.
He rolls the chair back, just once, to set the talkback to latch so he doesn’t have to hold it down. It’s a small decision that says: no hurry, no jump cuts. We are going to take our time with this.
“Last few,” he says, a hint of a smile in it. “Then we’ll comp.”
You find the mic with your mouth like you’ve found it all night — not needy, not coy, just true. The whisper this time lands whole. The breath afterward is long and-—to your mortification—audible when the end curls into a tremor you didn’t authorize. It could be fatigue. It could be the hour. It could be the man in the next room listening like it’s his job to cradle whatever your throat can’t explain.
He doesn’t mark the take. He doesn’t stop it either. He gives you the dignity of not making a ceremony out of a human sound.
“Good,” he says, and his voice, for the first time tonight, sounds not just like an engineer satisfied with a file but like a man relieved of pretending he doesn’t hear you the way he hears you.
The air between rooms strings tight as a guitar line. You don’t pluck it. Neither does he.
You run the outro clean. You exhale. You look at him through glass, and he looks like himself — careful, focused, the hint of a crease at his brow that means he’s thinking three steps ahead about reverb tails and consonant fades. But there’s something else there too, a warmth at the edges, a willingness to let the session run five minutes past what the schedule calls for because the moment is asking.
“One more breath set,” he says, voice even. “Then we’re done.”
The word done hangs in the booth differently now. Finished. Or starting something. You can’t tell which line the red light intends to draw. You step closer anyway. You breathe in. You breathe out. The room hears you. He hears you. And somewhere, in the back of the DAW where markers become memory, a new lane opens with no name yet.
You don’t cross anything. You don’t say anything you can’t return from. You just stand there and let sound be sound, let attention be care, let the glow be enough.
For now.
Outside the glass, he clicks a single key, gentle as a promise. The cursor moves. A file saves to an auto folder with an unromantic timestamp. Jungwon doesn’t label it anything special; he never does before the work is finished. You watch his hands, steady and sure, and think, without hurry and without fear, that if anything ever lives between the two of you, it will happen the way music does here — honestly, in time, and recorded only when you both know you’re ready.
_____
Hours dissolve in the studio the way sugar dissolves in tea — slowly, invisibly, until you’re left with something sweeter without noticing when it changed.
Your voice has been shaped, trimmed, coaxed into form over the night, but Jungwon hasn’t once raised his tone or let impatience color his eyes. He’s as steady as the metronome you sometimes tap against your thigh, the quiet architecture holding everything upright.
But the hour has teeth now. It bites into your body, into the fine tremor in your calves from standing too long in the booth, into the rasp forming at the edge of your voice. You lean back from the mic, stretching your neck. The glass shows you your own reflection, pale under studio light, but it shows him too — seated, gaze lowered, one hand at the faders like it belongs there, the other tapping against the desk as if mapping your breaths into rhythm.
You unlatch the booth door. The hinges sigh.
“Break,” you declare. “Or I’m going to start sounding like sandpaper.”
His eyes flick up, unreadable, and then he nods. “Five.”
You slide into the chair beside him, rolling it close enough that your knees nearly touch. He passes you his own mug of lukewarm tea without comment, like it’s routine. You sip and wince at the bitterness. He smirks, just barely.
“You keep drinking it,” he says.
“You keep offering it,” you counter, and for the first time tonight he laughs, quiet and rough-edged, as if the sound is out of practice.
Silence returns, but it’s softer now, less functional. The monitors glow between you, a low buzz filling the absence. You catch yourself staring at his hands, the way his knuckles flex around the mouse, how his thumb hovers near the space bar like it’s the trigger of something delicate. He catches you staring — you know because he doesn’t look away quickly enough.
“You’re restless,” he murmurs.
You shrug. “Restless sounds better than tired.”
He tilts his head, considering, then clicks the session window open to a blank track. “We’ll use it.”
Your brow furrows. “Restlessness?”
“Energy,” he corrects. “It colors everything. Even silence.”
The way he says it makes your pulse quicken, though you couldn’t explain why.
He adjusts a mic at the console this time, not in the booth. Closer, more intimate. When he motions for you to lean in, you do, and the room feels smaller, his cologne mixing with the warm electronics. He cues the track, then lifts his chin toward you. “Breathe.”
It’s ridiculous — you’ve been breathing all night. But here, now, inches from his face, with the mic catching every flutter of your lungs, it feels illicit. You exhale, slow, the headphones feeding the sound back into your skull. His eyes stay on the waveform, but his jaw tightens when the tremor at the end betrays you.
“Again,” he says softly, almost a whisper, as though raising his voice might break something fragile between you.
You do it, slower, closer. The air leaves your lips like a confession.
The playback is unbearable — the studio speakers throwing your need back at you, stripped of context. Your chest tightens. “Delete that one,” you say quickly, almost pleading.
He doesn’t. His finger hovers above the keyboard, but he shakes his head. “Not yet. It’s real.”
The room thickens. It’s not what he said, not even how he said it — it’s that the line between professional archive and private keepsake blurred with a single keystroke.
You swallow, hard. Too loud. The mic picks it up. He notices, of course he does, his lips twitching like he wants to smirk but doesn’t dare.
“I think,” he murmurs, finally meeting your eyes, “you’re starting to understand why I keep the red light on.”
Your pulse stutters. “So you can catch everything.”
His pause is heavy. “Exactly.”
The silence that follows isn’t empty — it hums. It hums like electricity in the walls, like possibility stretching taut. You sip the bitter tea again just to have something to do, but it doesn’t cut through the taste of what’s forming between you: this fragile, charged awareness that the session isn’t just about music anymore.
The file on his screen blinks “Untitled.” He doesn’t name it. Not yet.
_______
The studio clock ticked closer to two a.m., though neither of you seemed in a hurry to leave. The room had settled into its rhythm — faders breathing their quiet light, headphones hanging loose around your neck, Jungwon’s pen still carving little marks into his private shorthand.
You had already finished the takes that mattered. At least, the ones you were supposed to. What you were doing now — lingering on warmups, testing vowels, playing with whispers — didn’t belong to the official session anymore. It was something else entirely.
Jungwon didn’t name it. He never did. But he stayed. He let the cursor blink at the bottom of an empty lane, waiting.
You toyed with the pop filter, nudging it aside with your finger so you could speak directly into the mic. “Does this bother you?”
The pop in your P’s hissed back in your headphones, ugly and unpolished. You grinned.
Jungwon didn’t. His gaze flicked from the monitor to you, measured. “It bothers the mix.”
“Not you?” you pressed.
His mouth twitched — almost a smile, almost not. “I don’t hear it as wrong. I hear it as raw.”
You looked away too quickly, and the headphones punished you with the sound of your own nervous swallow. The wave it created bloomed across the screen. He didn’t delete it.
The silence between you wasn’t empty anymore. It was full of everything unsaid.
You sang another line, softer this time, letting your voice feather out into air. When it ended, Jungwon leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, studying the screen. He played it back, once, twice. Then he muted it, turned his head just enough to meet your eyes through the booth glass.
“Don’t change it,” he said.
“I cracked on the last word.”
He shook his head. “That’s the part that makes it live. If you smooth it out, it dies.”
You pressed your palm to the mic stand, grounding yourself. The warmth in his tone wasn’t professional. It wasn’t critique. It was something closer to reverence, and it left you unsteady in your own body.
When you re-entered the control room, the air shifted again. Out of the booth, the space felt closer, less filtered. You set your headphones down on the console, brushing his sleeve by accident. Neither of you moved away.
“You always stay later than you need to,” you murmured, leaning on the desk with both hands.
His pen stilled. “Maybe I don’t need to. Maybe I want to.”
The words dropped into the room like a low note, resonant and undeniable. You searched his face for any sign he regretted it, but Jungwon only tilted his head, as though waiting for your answer.
You didn’t give one. You couldn’t, not with your heart thrumming against your ribs like another metronome. Instead, you reached for the mug of tea he had abandoned hours ago, sipping what was left. Bitter. Cold. It steadied you.
“Do you ever get tired of listening to people breathe all day?” you asked, a clumsy pivot.
He studied you, unreadable, then let the corner of his mouth soften. “Not yours.”
The room held its breath.
You turned away, laughing too quickly, pretending the heat in your chest was something you could disguise. “You need sleep, Jungwon.”
“Maybe,” he said, quiet. “But you still owe me one more test.”
Your eyes darted back. He was already opening a new track, labeling it with tonight’s date. The cursor blinked, waiting.
“Proximity,” he clarified, almost gentle. “Just lean in. Give me a breath.”
It was nothing. It was everything. You leaned. You breathed. And for the first time, the sound that left you didn’t belong to practice, or to song, or even to the work. It belonged to the space between you.
Through the headphones, you heard yourself unravel — a trembling exhale you hadn’t meant to give away.
The monitor looped it back.
Your body went still. It wasn’t a moan, not quite, but it was close enough to shame you. You reached for the keyboard instinctively. “Delete it—”
Jungwon’s hand caught your wrist before you could touch a key. His grip wasn’t hard, but it was firm, his voice steady in the hush.
“No.” His gaze anchored you in place. “First takes are always the most honest.”
The red light burned on. The file blinked.
And in that moment, you knew the line you’d both been balancing on all night had finally started to blur.
___________
The studio had shrunk down to breath and blinking lights. The outside world was gone; it was only you, him, and the red dot that had never gone dark.
Jungwon didn’t move his hand from your wrist. He didn’t press harder, didn’t lean in, just held you there with the calm weight of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.
“That sound,” he said, his voice hushed but sharper than the monitors, “wasn’t a mistake.”
Your throat tightened. The headphones betrayed you again — the tremor in your swallow echoed back, intimate and undeniable.
“Jungwon…” You meant it as a warning, but it came out like a plea.
His thumb brushed once against the inside of your wrist before he let go, and you hated how your skin chased the ghost of it. He leaned back, clicked the mouse, and the sound played again: your own breath, fragile and trembling, looping, each repetition dirtier than the last.
Heat crawled up your neck. “Stop.”
He muted it, but didn’t delete it. Instead, he tilted his head, studying you the way he studied waveforms — carefully, like he could see the places where you’d peak, where you’d break.
“You think it’s shame,” he murmured. “But it’s music.”
You stood frozen, pulse hammering too loud in your own ears, until he broke the silence.
“Sit.” His voice wasn’t sharp, but it left no room for refusal. He rolled his chair back an inch, giving you space, and when you didn’t move, his eyes flicked down, then up. “Now, y/n.”
You sat.
The chair creaked under your weight, the mic angled close enough that your lips nearly brushed it. Jungwon shifted behind you, pulling the headphones snug against your ears, and the static crackle of his breath filled the left channel.
“Stay right there.” His voice went lower, slipping through the talkback system like a secret meant only for you. “Let me hear it again.”
Your chest rose. You exhaled — careful, shaky, almost silent — but the condenser mic magnified it, turned it into something intimate, something that carried weight.
“That’s it,” Jungwon said, closer now, and then you felt it: the graze of his hand at your thigh.
Your breath caught. Too loud. It stuttered out of you and the mic swallowed it whole, spitting it back through the monitors. A gasp, wet and startled.
Jungwon didn’t flinch. He slid his palm higher, fingers testing the hem of your skirt. “Don’t fight it. Don’t cover it.”
“I—” But the word cracked, half-gasp, and the sound replayed instantly, humiliating and hot.
The cursor blinked. Untitled track. Recording live.
His fingers pressed firmer, edging higher until they curved between your thighs. You jolted, knees parting instinctively, the chair scraping against the floor. The noise joined the recording too — clumsy, real, dirty.
“Perfect,” Jungwon muttered, almost reverent. “It’s all texture.”
Then his hand was under your skirt, over your panties, the heat of him pressing into you where you were already damp. The hiss of fabric shifting fed into the mic, every rustle amplified, obscene.
You clamped a hand over your mouth, horrified at what might come out.
Immediately, Jungwon’s other hand caught your wrist, yanking it down. His lips brushed your ear as he growled: “No. Let it hear you.”
Your moan broke free before you could swallow it. A raw, shameless sound that bled straight into the monitors and played back an instant later, doubled, layered, inescapable.
The file blinked. Still Untitled.
Jungwon’s fingers dragged the cotton aside, finding your slick heat, stroking once, slow. The sound was wet, obscene, and the mic caught it. Caught everything.
“God, listen to you,” he whispered. The playback made it sound like he was everywhere, in your ear and in your chest and in the monitors surrounding you. “Don’t you dare hide from me.”
Another moan tore out of you when he pressed inside, fingers curling deep, thumb catching your clit with cruel precision. It looped back instantly. You could hear yourself coming apart, every wet thrust, every gasp, every breath.
“Too much,” you whimpered, hips jerking against his hand.
“Not enough,” he corrected, curling his fingers harder, his voice breaking into static through the talkback. “I want the mic to remember how you sound when you can’t stop.”
Your head fell back, hitting the mic with a hollow thunk. Feedback screamed, sharp and brief. Jungwon cursed under his breath, then adjusted the stand with one hand while never pulling the other from you. “Stay still. Or I’ll tie you to it.”
You cried out, the threat searing through you, and the mic recorded it.
Every second was being kept. Immortalized.
And you wanted it.
When your orgasm hit, you screamed into the mic, body writhing, his hand relentless. The monitors replayed your climax back at you in real-time, filthy and raw, your own voice filling the room like another instrument.
Jungwon held you through it, his forehead pressed to the back of your head, his breath hot in your ear. “That’s it. Don’t you dare forget how good you sound for me.”
The file blinked.
He didn’t stop the recording.
________
You barely had time to catch your breath before the chair wheels screeched back. Jungwon’s grip left your wrist only so he could yank the headphones off your head and toss them carelessly onto the console. The monitors still played — you still heard the wet pulse of your body on loop, the shaky, broken moan replaying like a chorus you never meant to write.
“Up,” he ordered, voice rough, already pushing the mic stand aside.
Your legs shook when you stood, knees clumsy, but he was there — dragging you by the hips until the back of your thighs hit the edge of the desk. The hard wood pressed into you, cold, unyielding, while the warmth of his body crowded close.
The red light burned. The cursor rolled on.
He shoved your skirt up with one hand, the sound of fabric rucked high a hiss against the mic. His eyes dragged down, catching on the wet patch darkening your panties. His jaw tightened.
“Fuck,” he breathed, voice guttural, not through the talkback now but right against your skin. “You’re soaked, y/n. For me. For this.”
The words slapped hotter than his touch.
Two fingers hooked your panties to the side, and the room filled with the slick sound of him spreading you open. The monitors caught it and spat it back, magnified, filthy. You whimpered at the echo.
“Listen,” he growled, sinking his fingers into you again, curling until your thighs trembled. “You hear that? That’s your cunt telling me it wants more.”
Your head dropped back, the moan breaking out of you raw, and the mic swallowed it greedily.
Then Jungwon dropped to his knees.
The sight of him there, framed by the console glow, hair falling into his eyes as he shoved your thighs apart, was obscene. Reverent. Possessive. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t tease — he buried his mouth against you, tongue flattening, licking one long stripe from your dripping hole to your clit.
You screamed. The mic screamed with you.
The playback caught every wet slurp, every messy suck, every gasp he ripped from your throat. It was pornographic in its honesty.
“God—” you choked, gripping the edge of the desk until your knuckles ached.
He groaned against you, the vibration making your knees buckle. His fingers pumped inside you, hard and relentless, while his mouth latched onto your clit with obscene, sucking pressure. The sounds of it — wet, raw, lewd — echoed back instantly, layering with your helpless cries until the room was nothing but filth.
“Fuck, Jungwon—please—”
He pulled back just enough to snarl, lips glistening: “Louder. Don’t you dare swallow it down.” Then he dove back in, tongue stabbing, curling, tracing every nerve until you sobbed.
The mic fed it back. The monitors kept you trapped in your own ruin.
Your thighs shook violently, his nails digging crescent moons into your skin as he held you open for his mouth. You could hear the suction when he pulled off your clit, could hear the wet drag of his tongue shoving back inside you, could hear his low groan when your slick coated his chin.
“Delicious,” he muttered, voice husky, almost unrecognizable. “I’m gonna keep you like this, y/n — recorded, ruined, mine.”
Another thrust of his fingers, another brutal suck at your clit, and you broke.
The orgasm ripped through you like fire, your scream ragged, unrestrained, caught perfectly by the mic. You could hear yourself come — the choked sob, the guttural whimper, the wet squelch of his fingers pumping faster, the obscene slurp of him licking you through it like he was starving.
The monitors replayed it all, doubling your shame, doubling your pleasure, until you were sobbing his name, body shaking, hands clawing at the desk.
Jungwon didn’t stop. He kept you pinned, mouth working, fingers curling, milking every drop, dragging your orgasm out until you thought you might black out.
When he finally tore himself away, chin slick, eyes blown wide with hunger, he looked up at you like a man possessed. His voice was a rasp, feral and reverent at once:
“I’m gonna ruin you, baby”
He licked his lips, and the file blinked on the screen.
________
Jungwon rose from his knees slow, like he wanted you to see the wreck he’d become. His chin glistened with your slick, his lips swollen, his hair falling messily into his eyes. He looked at you like he’d finally snapped, like the last tether of professionalism had torn clean through.
And you—panting, thighs still trembling, skirt bunched at your waist—looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes. Submissive. Wrecked. Pretty.
That was all it took. He lost it.
He grabbed your face in both hands, dragging you into a kiss that was feral and desperate, all teeth and tongue, messy with your own taste smeared between you. You whimpered into his mouth, and the mic caught it — the muffled cry, the wet press of lips, the obscene sound of him kissing you like he meant to devour you.
You clung to him, fingers fumbling at his belt. When the buckle clinked, your eyes found his, pleading, wordless. Please.
Jungwon’s groan rumbled low in his chest, ripped out of him like it hurt to hold it back. “Fuck,” he hissed against your mouth, voice shaking. “You want it—” Another ragged kiss. “—so bad, don’t you?”
You nodded frantically, tugging his belt open, shoving the leather through loops until the sound of it slapping against the floor echoed through the room.
“God, y/n,” he moaned, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot, desperate. “I’ll give you everything—fuck—I can’t hold back anymore.”
His pants hit the floor. You barely had time to breathe before he spun you, pressing your chest onto the desk. The wood was cold against your cheek, the monitors flaring green as the mic tilted to catch every ragged breath, every gasp.
Jungwon lined himself up, his cock hot and heavy against your soaked folds, teasing once, twice—until you whined, high-pitched, needy. The sound looped back instantly, making you want to crawl out of your skin.
He groaned at it, loud and guttural, the kind of sound he’d never let slip in the daylight. “Shit—so wet, baby—”
Then he slammed into you.
You screamed, the mic screaming with you, feedback buzzing faintly before it steadied into the filthy rhythm of skin against skin. He bottomed out in one thrust, buried deep, and the guttural moan that tore from his throat was louder than yours. Raw. Animal.
“Fuuuck—y/n—” His voice broke, hips jerking against you. “Tight—god, you’re so fucking tight—shit, I can’t—”
The desk rattled beneath you as he pounded into you, every thrust rough, deep, shaking the mic stand until it wobbled. The monitors caught it all: your cries, his moans, the slick squelch of your pussy clenching around him, the slap of his hips slamming into your ass.
You sobbed into the wood, fingers clawing for purchase, but he bent down, chest pressed to your back, kissing the shell of your ear between ragged groans. “You sound—fuck, you sound so good. Listen, baby. Listen to us.”
The playback shoved it in your ears — his moans layered with yours, filthy harmony. He was completely gone, no mask, every thrust dragging new sounds out of him: grunts, growls, desperate whimpers he couldn’t bite back.
“Ah—shit—y/n—fuck—” His forehead pressed into your shoulder, hips slamming faster, rougher. “I’ve never—never sounded like this before—fuck, only for you—”
You keened, voice cracking, and he moaned with you, hips stuttering like he was losing control. His thrusts turned erratic, needy, as though your pussy was pulling him deeper than physics should allow.
“Please, Jungwon—” you cried, wrecked.
He growled, pulling out only to flip you, lifting you onto the desk, pushing you flat on your back beneath the glare of the red light. He thrust back in hard, knocking the breath from your lungs, your scream recorded crystal clear.
Now you could see him. His face twisted with pleasure, his mouth falling open with every thrust, moans spilling out unfiltered. He was beautiful like this — ruined, undone, lost in you.
“Y/n—ah, fuck, y/n—” His voice broke as he slammed into you again, again. “I’m—god, I’m so deep—look—look at me—”
You wrapped your arms around his neck, dragging his mouth down to yours, swallowing his moans as he rutted into you. His cock hit something devastating inside you, and the cry you ripped out nearly shattered the monitors.
Jungwon broke the kiss to bury his face in your neck, moaning into your skin, filthy and desperate. “Shit, baby, I can’t—fuck—I can’t stop—”
Every thrust was punctuated with another moan, another curse, another broken sound that told you he wasn’t the composed engineer anymore. He was just a man, lost in the heat of you, helpless in the grip of your body around him.
The desk creaked. The mic hissed with every breath, every cry. The room was filled with nothing but filth: your moans, his shameless groans, the slap of bodies, the slick of your cunt swallowing him down.
When he came, it was violent — a choked sob of your name, hips slamming hard, cock pulsing deep inside you. His moans echoed back at him through the monitors, and it undid him further, leaving him trembling, gasping against your throat.
You screamed his name as you followed, clenching tight, milking him, your cries layered with his until the playback turned into pure chaos.
The file kept running. The red light never blinked out.
Jungwon’s forehead pressed to yours, his voice wrecked, still moaning even as aftershocks shook him. “Mine—fuck—you’re mine. And the mic—fuck—it’s proof.”
The track blinked. Untitled. Still recording.
And in the morning, when you’d left, when the session was nothing but haze and sweat and sore limbs, the file would be saved under a single name:
SYNOPSIS ➤ people could argue that having a rich boyfriend who spoils you rotten was the dream—but when you tell sunoo all you need is his attention and not his gifts, he decides to spoil you with both at the same time.
CONTAINS ➤ 3.1k words. smut. idol!sunoo. dom!sunoo, sub!reader. porn with little plot. fluff. established relationship. angst if you squint. profanity. dirty talk. sunoo gets a little feral. praise mixed with degradation. dumbification. impact play. implied multiple rounds. pet names. (baby, doll, pretty, and more.) not proofread.
NOTES ➤ hello, it's ur resident sunooluvr. this is mostly self indulgent, but i'm dedicating this for my sunshine @prodbywon as thank you for entertaining every sunoo thought i have, no matter how unhinged. ( ˶>˶˶<˶) ily bad, bini sol !
𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 ♡
being an idol had its cons. it's a job that exhausted both sunoo's mind and the body. there's a distinct lack of routine too. one small change, and sunoo entire plan of having a day off for himself could be moved six months from now.
however, it also had its perks.
an average person can't say they get to travel around the world and get paid for it, or routinely get invited to watch fashion shows—but sunoo can. it's a privilege he's earned by working his body to the bone for years.
but the biggest perk of his job, and arguably his favorite, was getting to spoil you too.
not that you'd want to. you've always turned down his gifts politely, always telling him that his attention and time was all you need. but this time, he made sure you wouldn't be able to refuse.
he didn't even bother asking you if you wanted anything. he bought as much as he was allowed to, and even decided to personally deliver it to your apartment, sneaking in with his spare key.
"love! i'm back!"
your eyes widened at the familiar voice and you shuffled out your bed with a wide squeak. "baby! can't believe you didn't even text me that you'd... be... here?" your voice trailed off at the sight of your boyfriend.
he was beaming at you with not just one, but multiple paper bags hanging off of his arms—all stamped with the familiar prada milano logo. "i come bearing gifts!" he giggled, body shimmying along with the bags.
your lips are parted as you stare at the bags, then back to his stupidly pretty face. you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "sunoo... how many times do we have to go over this? i told you i don't need those."
the disappointed tone quickly watered down your boyfriend's bright and bubbly demeanor. "it isn't a matter of you needing them, baby." he frowned. " i want you to have them. i picked all of them out especially for you. you said you wanted a new bag, right?"
"yeah, from the department store, maybe! these probably cost a fortune." you gave him another sigh of exasperation, grumbling underneath your breath.
you don't mean to sound ungrateful, especially not when sunoo's being so generous, but gifts—especially extravagant ones like these—made you feel guilty.
but what would you expect from a boyfriend whose love language is gift giving? expensive gift giving, to be specific.
sunoo, seeing the grim expression on your face, set the bags down on the coffee table. he walked to you, arms snaking around your waist before pressing an affectionate peck on your forehead. "well you'd be glad to know that we get a hefty discount as prada ambassadors."
"really?"
he smiled and leaned forward to rub the tip of his nose against yours, pulling out a giggle out of you. "mhm. the boys bought a lot too, but i already have enough clothes, so i used mine to get you nice things. now don't worry your pretty little head about the price, okay? or else i'll be upset."
you pouted, nodding in defeat. "thank you, baby."
"no need to thank me, doll." sunoo gave your bum a pat and quickly stole a kiss from your lips before gesturing to the mountain of bags in your living room. "give me a fashion show. i wanna know if they look as good on you as i imagined."
sunoo sat on the couch with a calm and laidback smile plastered on his face as he watched you flaunt your brand new clothes. your confidence grew each time you left your bedroom in a different piece, and he gladly gave you encouraging compliments, one after the other.
a leather jacket, shiny new heels, a purse, a dress—sunoo truly went all out. though he couldn't say he did it all for you. selfish as it was, it was also rewarding for him.
he felt useful whenever he spoiled you. given how much attention the public gave to him, he knew he couldn't indulge you in a lot of other things other "normal" boyfriends would, so this was his way of compensating for that.
seeing you in shorts skirts and revealing tops that he picked on purpose for this very occasion just so happened to be a very nice bonus.
"sunoo, they look so pretty!" you bit down your lip as you strut out in a lacy tank top and wool skirt from the brand's most recent collection, gasping and giggling in excitement after making your silly poses. "they make my legs look longer, too."
he leaned forward wearing a calculated smile. "of course they do. i told you, i only got the ones i know you'd like." sunoo's sharp eyes dropped down to the smooth skin of your upper thighs, tongue running across his lower lip. "give me a twirl, princess."
you followed your boyfriend's orders, unaware of how his eyes stuck on to your body—at how the fabric lifted just enough to give him a quick look of your ass and the thin black panties hiding the sweet dip between your thighs.
he couldn't resist the grunt clawing out his throat, already feeling himself grow firm under his pants. "god. so fucking pretty, aren't you?"
your teeth sank on your bottom lip and a giddy laugh bubbling out of your mouth before you could control it. "first you spoil me with clothes, and now you're spoiling me with compliments?"
sunoo shrugged, opened his arms, and beckoned you over. "come here, doll. i have one last gift to spoil you with."
he pulled you on his lap until your back was pressed flat against his chest before fishing a small leather box from his side. you watched him open it slowly, revealing a white-gold necklace.
the sight of the tiny diamonds pressed into the triangular pendant almost made you choke. the thought of your boyfriend spending his hard-earned money on something so obviously expensive made you push his hand away, shaking your head.
"sun, it's... it's beautiful but—"
"no buts, princess." sunoo ignored your protests and swept your hair to one side. he pressed a kiss on your bare shoulder, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the base of your nape, raspily whispering, "you'd wear it for me, won't you?"
he escalated it into nips and licks, knowing your resistance would slowly break with each press of his plump lips on your skin. you let out a soft mewl, neck instictively tilting to make room for his mouth. soon enough, he had your head bobbing weakly.
once it the accessory was secured, sunoo let out a small sigh, pride gleaming in his eyes. the pendant sat right between your collarbones and the metal perfectly accentuated the light red marks blooming across your decolletage.
"you look so good in it, baby." he whispered, voice low and thick with restraint. his palms that once rested on your knees began treading dangerously high up your inner thighs. "so, so pretty. and all fucking mine."
sunoo resumed his assault on your neck and you grew dizzy under the wet kisses, body beginning to feel like jelly as his hands roughly grabbed at every inch of your skin with need.
his gave your perky mounds a rough squeeze though the thin top while simultaneously reaching under your skirt to trace his delicate fingertips along the hem of your soaked underwear.
your hips pushed upward, trying to gain some sort of friction and he just chuckled at the cuteness of your attempt, teeth sinking down on your shoulder blade. "i'm not even doing a lot and yet you're already squirming, doll." nevertheless, he relented and cupped your dampened core.
"pretty. so fucking beautiful even when you're needy." he praised softly as he watched your pathetic attempt to grind into his palm, cooing when you cry out his name in frustration.
he pressed a firm hand to your stomach and you slumped against him in defeat, head tipped back against his shoulder. he planted a kiss on the tip of your ear, swapping his warm palm with fingers on your clothed clit. "d'you miss me, doll? tell me you missed me. tell me you missed this."
his finger pushed, rubbing your swollen bundle of nerved through the rough fabric making you gasp and nod eagerly. "yes— fuck.. i missed you so much, sunoo. please– please, i need it."
his fingers threaded through your hair and he used his hold to tilt your head towards him—still done with love but with enough to make you gasp at the mild sting on your scalp.
"i missed you too, doll." his plump lips ghosted over yours before tugging on your hair to claim your mouth in a fiery, passionate kiss like he wanted his actions to prove his words.
sunoo claimed your lips like it's the only air he needs, tongue prodding inside your mouth like he's trying to remember every corner and every ridge again.
as if the lip lock wasn't enough to drive you insane, he began rubbing you through your underwear harder, smearing the sticky mess inside until it seeped out onto his fingers that moved in tight, firm circles.
at this point, you're panting into his mouth. your body felt like a live wire, jolts of pleasure shooting straight to your core with each flick and pinch he gave on your most delicate parts.
and sunoo was not faring any better with the way you kept rocking your ass against his covered length. "shit, i can't take this anymore— i need to feel you now."
his fingers found the ends of your skirt, and just before you think he's going to pull it off—he pushed it up, causing the fabric to bunch around your waist. "s–sunoo?"
"want to see you like this. my pretty little doll getting fucked in clothes i bought for her, hm?" he flashed you mischievous grin and with another pull at your top's neckline, your chest is exposed as well.
he removed your panties last—the only thing he hasn't gifted to you—tugging it down your thighs before manhandling you until you're straddling him again. "my girl."
sunoo's eyes hungrily raked up your still-clothed yet very bare body. his fingers tweaked and rolled on your sensitive nipples, abusing the poor buds until you're arching your back further into his touch and dripping down onto his denim. "yours, sun. mmh— a–all yours, i promise."
his fingers ghosted higher, index finger hooking on the chain of your new necklace. you saw a ghost of a smirk on his lips before you're pulled down, lips crashing with his in another messy, uncoordinated kiss. he willingly swallowed all your sinful noises, only breaking away from the kiss so he could look at you, reveling at your glazed eyes and spit-slick lips.
your skin buzzed with each touch and it amplified when he began pushing your wetness against the evident bulge of his jeans, guiding you to roll your hips against him. "like that, sweetheart. feels good, doesn't it?"
"yes. y–yes, fuck.. so good." your eyes fluttered shut, letting out a quiet whimper of his name as the rough fabric tugs on your exposed clit, the friction enough to have your thighs shaking. "want you, sun... want it so bad, please—"
he threw his shirt side, pushed his jeans and boxers down to his knees with the speed of a man whose patience was stretched too thin to be bothered about removing them properly.
you wrapped your finger around his firm length, licking your lips as translucent beads of his arousal leaked from the dark pinkish tip. sunoo let out a low hiss when you ran your thumb across the tip, giving your thigh a gentle smack.
"quit teasing. you wanted my cock, right? so sit on it, doll." his cocky demeanor faltered for just a flash when you guided his tip to your entrance, letting out a quiet his when you sank down.
his sharp eyes locked where you were connected, pupils dilating at the sight of you greedily swallowing him whole, "like that.. such a good doll for me, aren't you? so warm, so tight— fuck, you're killing me, baby." he whispered, muscles of his jaw growing tighter as he fought his body's urge to buck upwards.
"f–full..." was all you could say—whimper, rather. you settled in that position for a while and sunoo graciously rubbed your skin, thumb moving in soothing circles on your clit while muttering praises of how well you're taking him.
"i know, love. it's been a while since you got a good fucking like this, haven't you? don't worry. i'll give you the attention you deserve—let you have as much as you want." he cooed.
when you felt good enough, you planted your palms against his firm shoulders walls to anchor yourself and began moving. your walls dragged against his length as your pelvis moved up, only to slam down again, each drop causing his length to press into you in its entirety.
the pain of the stretch is swiftly replaced with the overwhelming sensation of wanting more, and more, and more until all you could do was babble incoherently with eyes rolled back as pleasure consumed you. "i missed you, sun— fuck. n–none of my toys or—mmh—fingers... c–could—"
"none of them feels the same, do they?" sunoo breathlessly chuckled, drinking in the sight of your bouncing figure: your hair that stuck to your face, your tongue that stuck out as you panted, the chain that glinted around your neck like his personal branding.
he reached up, cupping your bouncing mounds, tweaking at a nipple. "nothing—and no one—would ever fuck you as good as i can, baby. "
you felt your thighs starting to burn, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop—not when each drop on his cock has the tip kissing your cervix, battering the sweet spot you wouldn't even dream of reaching by yourself. "no. fuck, o–only you, sun! only you can."
you bounced, rocked, and ground yourself against him, claws digging down on his skin but his eyes were stuck—glued to the way the diamonds of your new necklace caught the light with each hop you did.
he almost felt guilty that it distracted him from your blissed out expression, but something about the way it hung on your neck, the way it shone against your dampened skin like it was made just for you—it filled him with a deep, insatiable feeling of possessiveness seeing you fuck yourself dizzy on his cock wearing it.
before you know it, his hips began to move, thrusting upwards to meet your own as it sunk down. "o–oh, fuck, sunoo!"
your nails left red streaks on his shoulders and on the thick of his arms, but he couldn't care less. sunoo even indulged in the pain, letting out a moan of your name as he secured his arms around your waist, lifting you up and down on his cock and shamelessly using your body as his own toy.
"it's okay, baby. let me do the work." he grunted in between short gasps, once again pulling you down by the chain around your neck so you could rest your forehead on his broad shoulders.
sunoo let out breathy sighs of your name, mingling with the constant sound of skin slapping bouncing off the walls. "poor baby. you must've missed this, huh?" he smugly laughed, hand rearing back to landing a few hits your ass. "missed getting treated like a slut? a dumb needy hole for me to fuck?"
you couldn't answer him in your disheveled state but your clenching walls were enough for sunoo. still, he wanted to drag it out. he needed to hear it from you. "is my baby too dumb to answer already? too drunk on cock? come on, answer me." he demanded with another whip to the flesh of your thigh.
"yes! yesyesyes, fuck—" you nodded your head as much as you could, nose buried in the crook of his neck while chanting sunoo's name like a prayer. pleased, he rewarded to by angling his hips to where he'd have you seeing stars with every precise thrusts.
"of course you did." he chuckled, tone dripping in confidence. the muscles of his arms tensed, biceps curled as he pushed you up, only to pull you down to meet his thrusting hips half-way.
"you fucking ruin me, d'you know that? every night i was away—mmh, fuck—all i could ever think about's your pussy– 'bout destroying this pretty cunt as soon as i get home."
more filthy confessions spilled from his mouth his mouth in dragged out slurs as he chased after his high, driving his cock up into your weeping hole until tears of overwhelm left your waterline, reducing you into nothing but a babbling, shaking mess. "sunoo! i'm gonna cum, s–shit!"
"wait— nngh– fuck, hold it. wait for me, doll." his jaw tensed and his brows pinched together, pent up desperation translated to merciless thrusts and red handprints on your ass and thighs.
you tried your best, but the pressure was too much—far too much for your body to handle, especially with your boyfriend whispering dirty promises into your ear, detailing his plans of ruining you all night.
you cried out his name as you hit your peak, body writhing on top of his as sunoo pulled your hips down all the way until he bottomed out inside you, releasing thick spurts of his cum with a shudder and a quiet whisper of your name.
the exhaustion finally hit you both like a freight train. no sound of the world outside the walls of your apartment, just two lovers catching their breaths and muttering soft proclamations of love to one another.
you laid your head on his shoulder. the calm aftermath allowed you to feel the way his heart beating quickly beneath his chest, and you giggled, "god.. i forgot how insane and needy you become after tours."
sunoo laid his hand on top of yours, the other mindlessly playing with the necklace's clasp that rested on your nape. "you're calling me needy like you didn't just confess to being unsatisfied with your little toys." he chuckled, pressing loving kisses on the crown of your head. "you did so well, doll. 'm so proud of you."
"do you want to get up and shower? i can set up a bath for us." you offered, but sunoo shook his head, speaking in that soft, sonorous tone you missed so much. "later. let's stay like this for a while, mm?"
you nodded your head and carefully adjusted yourself on top of him to get a little more comfortable. sunoo hissed, his torso flinching when the movement made you involuntarily clench around his still-twitching length. "actually— why don't i clean you up in the shower?"
you met his eyes and swallowed.
this night was going to be much longer than you thought.
YAN'S NOTES ➤ ending kinda ass but this is another YUMMY drabble that came about from this request. everyone say "thank you, peach anon" for giving me this idea !! again, i'd love to hear ur thoughts!! send your feedback to my inbox jsy ! < 3
six different spots you and the enhypen members turned into your own private playgrounds.
⎯⎯ smut, minors do not interact.
contains : semi/public sex (they dont get caught tho), unprotected sex, petnames, more warnings listed for each member
total wc : 4.1k ⎯⎯ not proofread
𐙚 sol : hi im #Alive lawl ive been busy nd sick (mostly sick </3) ill answer asks soon my precious anons but heres smth while u wait !!! this is such a rushed post so if there r any typos or mistakes lmk :,))
LEE HEESEUNG
: fingering, use of panties as a gag, degradation, panty stealer hee :p, library sex
“No, sweet girl. Stop making so much noise unless you want to get caught.” Heeseung pushes your already damp panties further into your mouth, the sudden pressure making you gag faintly around the fabric yet again. Your muffled protests earn nothing but a disapproving ‘tsk’ from your boyfriend, head falling down in shame.
Your mind barely registers how it all happened—you were peacefully studying with your boyfriend, genuinely enjoying the quiet focus for once. After drowning yourself in textbooks all week, you were desperate for a break but still wanted to keep up. So, studying together at the library felt like the perfect compromise, at least, until things took a different turn.
And well, you really should’ve seen this coming, knowing Heeseung.
As the both of you were tucked away in the farthest corner of the library, his wandering hands beneath the table made it clear to you that studying was the last thing on his mind.
Your textbooks are long forgotten; all you can concentrate on is the deliberate curl of his fingers inside you. Every twitch of your body doesn’t go unnoticed by Heeseung, as well as every greedy squeeze of your cunt around his fingers. Slick drips down onto his hand and trails down to your thighs as he presses continuously against the spot that has you writhing, biting back a cry that would surely give you both away.
It’s more than obvious that this excites just you as much as it does him. It makes him laugh under his breath, almost mocking, because his sweet girl is really enjoying this?
You whine against your drool stained panties, eyes rolling back when he pulls his fingers out of your weeping cunt only to rub harsh circles against your clit. “You’re being so fucking loud. You want to get caught, don’t you, angel?” He raises a brow when you shake your head frantically, chest pressing harder into the shelves as you fight the tremors in your body, desperate not to knock a single book loose.
Saliva drops down your chin as your thighs tremble around his hand, fingers slowly making its way back inside your fluttering walls. Just then, footsteps echo down the aisle.
You freeze, eyes going wide, nails digging into the wooden shelf as panic surges through you. The shadow of someone passing by stretches across the floor, lingering really close. Heeseung stills his fingers inside of you, his other hand holding your hip to steady you.
“Quiet,” he breathes out softly, voice deceptively tender despite the way his fingers had just been stretching you open. You barely dare to breathe yourself, your whole body trembling with the effort of staying still while his fingers remain buried deep inside you.
The footsteps pause—right at the end of the row. Your heart pounds so violently it feels deafening, it makes you think that everyone can hear it. Heeseung smirks against your shoulder, fingers sliding in and out of you at a cruel pace that makes your knees buckle. You bite down hard on the panties stuffed in your mouth, muffling those needy sounds that threaten to slip out.
After what felt like eternity, the shadow moves on, footsteps finally subsiding. Relief washes over you, but before you can even get to relax, Heeseung presses back into you, lips thinning into that grin.
“See, baby? No one has to know when you learn how to listen and stay quiet.”
He hooks two fingers into the drenched fabric between your lips, tugging it free with slow precision. The way he watches you—in complete awe—makes your stomach flutter. You cough weakly once the fabric is gone, swallowing down the excess spit that had gathered in your throat.
Your panties, soaked through with your arousal and drool, dangle from his hand for a moment before he casually folds them up and slips them into his pocket, like he has every right to keep them.
“I’ll buy you a new one, yeah?”
PARK JONGSEONG
: fiance jay, pool sex (nobody is around Though), slight breeding kink, teasing more than anything tbh, backshots, praising, jay is smitten <3
Visiting Thailand with your fiancé, Jongseong, was nothing short of unforgettable—you spent days wandering through breathtaking sights, soaking in the scenery, and picking up souvenirs for your family back home. Though after a full week of nonstop sightseeing, your body had finally had enough.
By the time you reached the hotel,l it was only natural for you to groan dramatically to Jay about how “your feet were killing you,” craving nothing but relaxation.
Slipping into the hotel’s rooftop pool felt like heaven. The water was cool and refreshing, the city lights stretching out below you, and for once, the place was completely empty, just the two of you. The quietness made it feel private, even though you knew at any moment someone else could step through the doors.
Not that it mattered, it was already late, and right now the pool felt like it belonged to the both of you alone. Surely no one would come in, right?
Your thoughts are quickly replaced the second Jay’s hands find you under the water, groping you in places where they shouldn’t. A teasing grin is plastered onto his face as he leans down, whispering filth against your ear while keeping a perfectly calm expression like he wasn’t completely driving you insane.
“You’re so sexy, wearing this all for me? I might just be the luckiest guy in the world, princess.”
And that he is.
Your stomach flips, heat rising under your skin as his hands slide lower, squeezing your ass hard enough to pull a squeal from you. “Jay—” The words die in your throat when he catches your waist, turning you with little effort until your back is pressed against his chest.
“Baby—here? You’re not serious…” You giggle breathlessly, as if you had been holding it all this time. You think he’s not serious, half-convinced he’s only teasing you, but you realize better when you feel him kiss your temple from behind.
“Why not, princess?” he murmurs against your skin, “wouldn’t it be such a waste to wait until you take this beautiful bikini off?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, instead his lips trail down to your neck, teeth grazing teasingly at your skin, and you can’t help but grind your ass against the bulge growing beneath the water.
Splashes ripple around you as his free hand moves up to squeeze your tits, and you hear him chuckle with such smugness that normally would make you roll your eyes at him, but you don’t even bother to at this moment.
“Look who’s enjoying this now,”
“Shut up,” you shoot back breathlessly, but it comes out more like a whine than a threat.
Jay just grins against your skin, letting his hand slip lower, skimming your stomach languidly until his fingers slide under your panties. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, making your knees nearly give out, but his arm around your waist keeps you steady.
“Already so wet,” he mutters with a breathless laugh, his other hand tugging at his shorts to free his hardening cock. In one smooth motion he pushes your panties aside, the blunt tip of his length pressing against your dripping cunt.
You suck in a sharp breath, the sudden pressure making your body go tense. “J-Jay—” you whine, though it’s not exactly a protest when you push your hips back against him. He ignores your needy whimpers and whines darkly as he slowly drags the head of his cock along your slit, teasing, smearing your slick over his length. “You were grinding on me first, sweetheart,”
Your nails dig into his forearm where he steadies you, another whimper slipping from your lips when he finally pushes inside, just enough to stretch you open before pulling back again. The water does little to hide the way your body shudders under his hold, your voice breaking when you beg. “S-stop teasing me,”
His hips roll forward just enough to bury himself deeper, pulling a strangled moan from your lips before he pulls back again, deliberately slow. The water ripples with every shallow thrust, each one just enough to make your legs twitch, but never enough to satisfy the ache growing at your lower stomach.
“Jay, please,” you whimper, throwing your head back against his shoulder.
His grip on your waist tightens, nails digging in as he groans at the way you clench around him. “Shhh… let me fill you up nice and slow, yeah? Stay still and look pretty, hah—just like that, my beautiful girl, so perfect. You never make me regret putting a ring on you.”
SIM JAEYUN
:: dryhumping <3, making out, lots of praise, cowgirl pos, car sex
“So pretty, fuck—prettiest girl ever.”
Jaeyun loves making out with you.
Especially when you’re straddling him in the driver’s seat, the cramped space making every movement feel hotter. Your lips are already swollen, your neck marked with the hickeys he’s painted across your skin, he eats it all up—every dazed look, every shiver, every little sound that slips out.
Like right now, you’re on his lap, knees pressing into the worn leather, hips grinding down against the growing bulge straining under his sweatpants. The fogging windows and faint creak of the seat only leave you drowning in the pleasure of it all.
But none of it matters when his mouth is on yours, shoving his tongue down your throat, and the car is the only place in the world that exists.
His hands travel down from your jaw to your hips, guiding you to grind down even harder against him, pulling moans straight from both your throats. “Just like that, baby,” Jake mutters, breathing ragged as he relishes in the friction of your clothed cunt dragging over his clothed length.
Your fingers clutch at his hoodie, desperate for something to ground you as your nails dig in its fabric. Each drag of your body over his makes your thighs tremble, the small space increases every nerve and sensation until you feel like you’re burning alive.
“You feel so good even like this,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot and ragged. The steering wheel digs into your back when he leans forward, chasing more of you like he’ll die if he doesn’t. The car rocks faintly with your movements, the windows now fogged beyond recognition.
He trails wet kisses down your neck, his hand brushing the waistband of your shorts before tugging them down. The fabric gets stuck for a moment in the cramped space, but Jaeyun doesn’t care. He groans into your neck and yanks harder until they’re bunched around your knees.
“Fuck, finally,” he breathes, eyes flicking down to where your panties are already clinging to your soaked heat. You can barely think, can barely breathe, especially when he pushes the crotch of your panties aside and runs two fingers along your slit. “J-Jake!”
He breathes out a chuckle before moving to tug your shirt over your head in one swift motion, then unclasping your bra with the kind of ease that comes from too much practice (and you know damn well he has).
His eyes drink you in shamelessly, tracing over every inch like he can’t get enough. Your brows knit together, heat rising to your cheeks under the weight of his stare. You nudge his shoulder, trying to pull him back to you. “Jakey…”
His brows lift, and for a moment he looks at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world —like he wasn’t just about to fuck your brains out. “Up,” he commands, and your hips obey before your brain even catches up.
Your head spins and your heart pounds in excitement as he positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging insistently against your slick folds.
“Hold onto me if it gets too much, okay, baby?” he murmurs, eyes soft even as his grip stays firm, and for just a split second you catch the worry there, making your chest ache. You nod quickly, fingers clutching his shoulders like your life depends on it.
With one steady thrust, he eases into you. The stretch makes you gasp from your throat, pressing your forehead into his. “Feels s’good,” you whimper, your body trying to adjust around him. He groans as he kisses your temple softly, almost too gently for the way he’s splitting you open.
“Good girl, doing so well for me,” he all but breathes out, hips stilling for a moment to let you catch your breath. His thumb rubs soothing circles into your hip, though the hunger in his eyes betrays how badly he wants to move.
Your breath hitches when you feel him twitch inside you, before you lean back, his grip tightening on your waist. Slowly, you start to move—every descent making your walls flutter around him, every slam down drawing a moan from deep in his chest.
“So tight—shit, you’re milking me already. Mhm, its okay baby, don’t rush it. Go on, take me deeper.”
PARK SUNGHOON
: use of vibrator, kinda brat reader, hoon’s a meanie, degradation, omo :3, club bathroom sex
Pissing off Sunghoon before going to a party with him had to be one of the biggest mistakes you’ve ever made. He wasn’t the type to let things slide easily, and you should’ve known better than to push his patience when he was already reluctant about it in the first place.
He, also, made it clear that he didn’t want to be here. The music was far too loud than usual, the lights were too bright, and the press of strangers grinding on the dance floor only annoyed him further.
He’d rather be anywhere else than trapped in the suffocating heat of the club, forced to shout just to be heard over the thundering bass.
But you had whined and tugged on his arm until he finally caved, rolling his eyes and muttering that you “owed him for this.”
Now it was you, reaping the consequences.
You weren’t just stuck dealing with the bass that shook the floor and the suffocating press of bodies on the dance floor—oh no, that would’ve been too easy. To make things worse, your friends had somehow vanished the second you came back from the bathroom, leaving you stranded in the chaos.
The blinding strobe lights, the sticky air heavy with alcohol, all of it grated on your nerves, but none of it compared to the throbbing hum between your thighs, tucked beneath your panties.
It takes every ounce of your willpower not to let your legs loose right then and there. It’s no better when you can see Sunghoon’s eyes piercing right at you, too. “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, dropping your head down to make a beeline for the bathroom—intent on breaking his one rule: to remove the vibrator out.
But he's faster. He knows you too well by now, and to say the least, he's even more fucking pissed. He catches your wrist before you even get to open the bathroom door, the look on his face tells you everything. "You truly never learn, do you, baby?"
Before you can even form a response, he’s dragging you inside, shoving the door shut behind you with a harsh click of the lock. The cramped stall suddenly feels smaller with the weight of his glare on you, his hand still tight around your wrist. “Hoon—”
“Shut the fuck up, I’m pissed enough already.”
Sunghoon cuts you off in a harsh tone, clearly irritated . In one rough motion, he turns you around, pinning your wrists behind your back with one hand. His free hand slips into his pocket, pulling out the remote.
Without hesitation, he cranks the vibrator up a level, the sudden intensity shooting through you so hard your knees nearly buckle, saved only by his grip on you.
Your thighs press together, mouth falling open in a strangled cry. Your body folds forward as pleas spill from you, hips twitching forward uncontrollably with every wave of stimulation. Tears blur your vision as the knot in your belly coils tighter, threatening to snap at any second.
When he dials the toy up even higher, you choke on a scream, eyes shooting open. With all the drinks you’ve had—you’re certain that you’re going to pee anytime.
And he fucking laughs. He laughs at you, slipping the remote back into his pocket as his fingers thread through your hair, yanking your head back.
“You’re seriously going to wet yourself fully clothed? Poor girl can’t even hold it in, what am I gonna do with you?”
You shake your head, chest heaving as you desperately beg for him to stop, to make it stop. Albeit it only urges him further, his smirk widening like this is the most fun he’s had all night. He pushes up your skirt, letting his gaze feed on the beautiful sight of your panties drenching wet with the vibrator still buzzing inside it.
Heat floods your cheeks, humiliation twisting with arousal until it’s impossible to tell them apart. You know you can’t hold it back anymore, you don’t have a choice. A broken whine slips from your lips as it spills between your thighs, your legs squeezing together while your palms press against the cold bathroom wall for support.
“Wetting all over like you’ve forgotten how to behave, how embarrassing is that?”
KIM SUNOO
: co worker sunoo, face fucking, cumplay, degradation & praise
Sunoo thinks he’s got you wrapped around his finger, when in fact, it’s him tangled around yours.
He’s so envious—but you’re so fucking pretty. Who could blame them? That doesn’t change the fact he hates you. He hates you, and still can’t stop being endlessly in love with you.
The two of you are tucked away in the storage room, shelves of office supplies stacked around you, the hum of printers and faint chatter of co-workers bleeding through the thin walls. It’s so cramped that every shift of your bodies makes the boxes rattle. It’s reckless, stupid even, knowing someone could walk in at any second. But not the both of you care, you perhaps even like it.
“Yeah… take it, take me deeper.” He pants, head tipping back, eyes rolling as he fights not to cum too soon. Because the sight of you on your knees, mouth stretched around his cock, is enough to ruin him completely.
Your tongue drags along the underside of his cock and his thighs tense instantly. His hand shoots to the back of your head, forcing you down further than you’d expected. “Fuck—just like that. Knew you’d be good for something other than stealing my spotlight.”
His words are cruel, but his voice cracks with need that betrays him well. Drool slips past your lips, dripping down your chin as he uses you to chase his high. You stare up at him with tear-brimmed eyes, eyebrows slightly knitting to top it all off.
The risk of someone opening the door at any second only adds to the thrill. Every creak of the floor outside, every muffled voice drifting down the hall makes your pulse quicken, makes you press your thighs together just a little tighter. You know better than anyone else that with just a few words you could flip this entire situation, have him on his knees instead, begging to taste you—but where’s the fun in that?
You feel the grip he has on your hair tightening, the sound of his ragged breaths filling the cramped storage room. “Look at you,” he groans, “you’re drooling all over yourself,” the sting of his voice makes a tear fall from your eye, though his thumb brushes your wet cheek in a touch far too soft for his cruelty.
“So beautiful like this,” he admits, voice dropping, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. You moan around him, the vibrations rippling down his length, his knees nearly giving out. His eyes lock onto yours, and thats when you feel he’s spilling into your throat in thick spurts, helpless against the way you swallow him down.
When you finally pull off, a strand of his cum clings between your lips and the swollen tip of his cock. You cough softly, wiping at your chin, but he catches your wrist mid-motion. “Don’t,” he mutters, thumb swiping a streak of spit and cum across your cheek.
You let your tongue dart out to lick what’s left on your lip, and his breath stutters. On impulse, he scoops the spill from your chin with two fingers, pressing them against your mouth. “Open,” he orders, voice hoarse. You obey, lips wrapping around him, sucking his fingers clean
You continue to stay quiet, biting back the smirk threatening to form, because the real game isn’t who’s in control right now, it’s how long you can let him believe he is.
“Good girl, what a pretty little thing. I should leave you like this, let everyone see who you belong to.”
“Do you think being smarter makes you untouchable?” Jungwon spits out, dragging you into an empty classroom.
Even with his grip tight on your wrist, you still manage to smile up tauntingly at him, because you know well that he’s told you before not to outdo him.
“Maybe,” you breathe, just as he slams you back against the wall, showing no mercy.
Being rivals with Won wasn’t easy, not easy at all. But it was fun. Fun to see him lose control like this, fun to know you could get such a reaction out of him. And god, if it didn’t turn you on to no end.
His hand presses firmly against your chest, pinning you harder into the wall. His face is so close you can feel his breath fanning across your lips, eyes burning with irritation and something darker he’d rather die than to admit.
“You think this is funny?” he growls, his hand tightening around your wrist.
“Mm, maybe,” you whisper again, tilting your head just enough to make the taunt sting more.
Jungwon’s jaw flexes as he drags you toward a desk, forcing you to plant your palms against the cold surface. The suddenness makes your heart leap, and his grip is far too strong to break free. “Jungwon—!” you squeal, and this time, it’s his turn to wear that menacing smile.
“Silence,” he mutters, forcing you to stay in that position. “If you’re so smart, then take this. Let’s see if you’re top of the class at handling me.”
A shiver runs through your body at his words, and he notices instantly. You try to glance back, but his hand shoves your head down, keeping you bent over. You whimper, trying to breathe normally.
Smack!
His hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp sting shooting straight through you. You jolt, a cry tearing from your lips, thighs squeezing together on instinct. The sound echoes in the empty classroom, and you’re certain anyone that would pass by could hear.
You try to wiggle your way out of his grip, whining as you do so. “Where’s all that confidence now, Y/N?” The continuous land of his palm on your skin has you shaking uncontrollably, either whining and whimpering whenever a strike hits.
He hikes your skirt up, taking a peek like he’s some fucking pervert, only to be met by the drool-worthy view of your panties soaking wet, making his throat bob, a low groan threatening to emit. “And you like this…” He trails, slowly inching closer to look closely at your slick-stained panties.
You’re fucking embarrassed, to say the least. “Jungwon—”
“Yeah, baby? No need to say it out loud, ‘know you like this. Getting treated like a whore. Who would’ve thought?” His laugh is edged with cruel sarcasm, making your chest tighten. You try to squirm away again, but he’s faster, pinning you in place. You should’ve known better by now.
He hooks a finger under the waistband of your panties, “tell me to stop,” he raises a brow at you, not mockingly, like he’s genuinely asking you. He tilts his head to the side, watching you as you hesitate.
You freeze, torn between shame and desire. “K-Keep going,” you whisper at last.
The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk at your words. Really, who would’ve thought this was all it took to finally shut his rival up? A little teasing, a little smacking around—and now you’re bent over for him.
He tugs your panties down just enough to expose your ass, fingers trailing between your thighs, brushing along your soaked slit with feather-light touches. You barely have a second to catch your breath before he’s plunging two fingers deep into your sopping cunt, making you gasp.His other hand clamps onto your jaw, forcing your mouth open. “So wet, all because of me, isnt that right?”
You squeeze your eyes shut, shame burning your cheeks. “D-Don’t say it like that—”
“It’s okay to admit the truth,” he sighs, cooing at you with mock sympathy. “After all, shouldn’t a good top student always be truthful? Pfft, my fingers alone are already enough for you to go silent. Maybe I should do this everyday, no? Plug your pretty butthole while I’m at it, too.”
✰ mentions — a bit rough dry humping , kissing , boob sucking , nip rubbing, slut-shaming
✰ 🔞mdni!
“Ahh, jay—fuck!”
You press against him, the friction building as your hips grind in slow circles. The thin fabric of your panties does little to dull the heat between your legs, and Jay's hands dig into your hips. his thumbs pressing into the curve under your ass as he grinds his hard cock against you. "Fuck, baby," he growls against your mouth, “ so wet f’me.”
“ Nghh.” Your moans escape in short, breathy gasps as he pushes up against you, the hard trace of his cock straining against his jeans.
"Mm, I can feel how turned on you are through these thin little things."
His fingers find the peak of your nipple through your thin shirt, rolling it as his mouth trails down your neck. “Mmph. f-feels good, fuck—“, You whimpered as the touch is electrifying, sending a jolt straight to your core.
His other hand slides between your legs, pressing firmly against your soaked panties. A low groan in his chest as he feels how wet you are for him, “ God,I love how you move for me, baby. How fucking needy you get when I touch you."
Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him groan as his hips jerk against you. "Mmph, Jay—fuck me," you gasp, the words ragged with need. "I-I need to feel you more.”
His hands move with need, tearing your shirt over your head before yanking your bra down just enough to expose your breasts. His mouth is on them instantly, hot and wet as his tongue swirls around your nipple before sucking it deep into his mouth.
The sharp pleasure-pain makes you arch your back, pressing your chest forward as his fingers work your clit faster through your panties. "Oh god," you whimper, your hips rolling against his hand shamelessly.
"Hm, taste so fucking good," he growls between licks, the vibration of his words sending fresh waves of pleasure through you.
Jay freezes his movements, his head still buried in your breasts as his other hand tightens possessively around your waist. The sudden stillness makes your pulse race with confusion - one second he was driving you wild with his mouth and hands, and the next everything has gone completely still.
You started moving your hips on their own grinding on his cock, the pleasure washing all over your body. “Oh god, Jay—“
His breathing grows ragged as he watches you grind up on him, the heat in his gaze intensifying. "Fuck, that's it," he breathes, his voice thick with need. "Fuck, you're such a greedy little slut, aren't you?" Jay growls.
He leans back on his hands watching you grind on him. His hands travel rubbing both of his own nipples through the fabric of his shirt. His hips jerk upward involuntarily, pressing his hard cock against your soaked panties. The sight was just too lewd, "You like watching me touch myself while I fuck you,huh?" he growls. You whined nodding rapidly.
"Look at you—fucking yourself on my cock like the needy little slut you are." His hips jerk upward, the thick outline of his cock rubbing against your soaked panties. "I bet you'd ride my cock just as hard, wouldn't you?"
You whimper, your hips rolling desperately as your inner walls quavering. Jay moans whilst rubbing his nipples.
“Fuck yeah—doll, cum for me," he growls, his voice thick with need as he watches your face.
Your whimpers builds as Jay's clothed cock fuck you ruthlessly, the perfect friction against your swollen folds, the way he watches you with dark intensity—it all pushes you toward the edge. Your back arches, a broken moan tearing from your throat.
"Oh god, Jay—fuck—"Your body shakes violently as the orgasm crashes over you.
A large wet spot darkens the fabric of your panties, from your release spreading across the thin material. Jay groans, his cock twitching in between your thighs as he watches you come undone.
"Fuck, look at you doll," he growls. "So fucking wet. made a big mess in your panties,hm?” He murmured pulling you up for a kiss. the kiss was rough and hungry as he pulls you close. His tongue slides into your mouth.
Breaking the kiss, Jay nips at your bottom lip before growling in your ear, "I want to fuck you right now baby.”
